What I learned in '09

Well y'all, its finally almost over...2009 is on its last legs. Its kinda bittersweet for me at least...it was an interesting year full of smiles and cries (acidic manly gangsta tears, thxmuch) but mostly it was a year of lessons. You see, most of the important things in life you will never learn in a classroom, and you just have to get busy living to gain some knowledge. I did plenty of that this year...and this is a partial list of what stuck to me while doing so (partial because I know y'all finna go partypartyparty tonight and you don't have time to be sitting around readin umf all night...I dig it...plus I get off at 12:30, so I don't have all day to write it lol). So, here it is...in no real order as usual, 64 things I learned this year.

1) Know the dress code anywhere you go. Its always good to be wearing the right attire for a destination you may be considering. It can help you decide whether to even take your ass there or not. (I learned the hard way at a club earlier this year haha...whatever tho...)

2) I do my best thinking intoxicated at 3am. Seriously, about 42% of the things on this site were written or pondered about while watchin infomercials and Sportscenter on some sleepless night with a SoCo and lime on ice or a funny cigarette keepin me company (in case you hadn't guessed)...and that's just fine with me...

3) Gin is tolerable with tonic/seltzer (is there a difference?). Matter fact, its quite nice... I always though gin tasted like liquid tree bark from my early experiments with Tanqueray. However, with the addition of tonic and a lemon slice...it somehow becomes one of my favorite drinks.

4) Always sign a prenup if you have money before the marriage. It ain't romantic, but that shit's real...something like 50% of marriages end in divorce, and the numbers ain't goin nowhere but up. Would you even bet half the money in your pocket right now on a coin flip? Let that marinate...

5) Everclear = Death. Point blank period.

6) Hand sanitizer kills both germs and any smell on your hands. So whether you just got through eating fish, just finished smokin whatever, or have any other undesirable or incriminating scents emanating from your hands...some Purell will cover ya... (thx Blaze)

7) You can get your ass beat over 60 cents. A bus driver in Philly got worked over after he asked that 2 teenagers pay a required extra transfer fee. You can't make this shit up. If you can get stomped out over 60 fuckin cents while driving a bus, times is hard.

8) Your father will steal your alcohol if you leave it out. At least in my life. On blast. Take that, mafucka.

9) Eagles fans are just above single celled organisms in the circle of life. With that horrible sickly metallic moss green color they love to wear so much, they can literally be considered the scum of the earth. Just thought I'd mention that.

10) Weed can keep you out of jail. I can't tell you how many times I came thisclose to wrecking somebody's day with both hands for some shit they did, then remembered that I was high and therefore didn't give a fuck. Katt Willams was absolutely right when he said a healthy dose of fuckit can really smooth out ya life.

11) If you think you fully know somebody, you ain't asked the right question yet.

12) I literally cannot live without this phone. One day I forgot it on my way to work, and was reminded when I started aging faster and faster the further I got from it. (I'm sorry, baby...) You damn right I went all the way back and got it.

13) Check your blindside. At least give it a peek. That works in football, driving, and life.

14) Pretty much the only thing that separates our brain development from some of the higher monkeys is a jaw muscle. Theirs is way stronger than ours, but the price they pay for increased bite power is that the muscle pulls down on their skull, restricting skull growth and therefore brain size. That shit's crazy...NatGeo can be arresting sometimes. (Don't tell me you don't believe in some type of evolution either...there's way too many monkey lookin mafuckas walkin around who support that theory.)

15) You can get shot for not knowing english. Earlier this year, during a robbery attempt, a foreign exchange student was pistol whipped before being shot in the chest and killed for not giving up his money. Why didn't he? He didn't understand what the robber was saying. (This is the part where I tell you it's a sad world when ESL class should be required so you can get robbed properly...) That is some fucked up shit...but its true to life.

16) People will buy anything from an infomercial. (Its a backwards robe, people! A cape for your front side with sleeves! Why?!)

17) Never let your guard down on the subway. Between creeps goin around raping and forcefondling defenseless women at rush hour, packs of teenagers who jump random people, and hammer wielding SEPTA maniacs, its never safe to get too involved with your iPod underground. Just sayin.

18) Center City robberies at high noon are a bad idea. Anybody who tries it deserve whatever they get.

19) There is such a thing as free lunch. (Thx Helen...if you don't know that story I posted it a couple months back, it's called "Cut 101"...I thought it was funny.

20) Never trust a stripper. They don't like you, they don't want you, they don't care about you. Get that shit out your head. They just want you to ball up a $5 and bounce it off they forehead. That's as far as it goes.

21) You can actually get into a fight over a football discussion. I found that out very early last year. (I won lol)

22) Broken porcelain is like a razor. I fileted the shit out my hand on a soap dish that broke during a shower earlier this year. It scraped bone. Ow.

23) "It just happened" is a very valid explanation. Some things really do just happen, and after its over nobody involved knows why it did. That's life.

24) Lead blocking is not just for football. Its for crossing the street too. That kind of lead blocking involves letting another person cross the street first when you're unsure whether to go or not. If they get hit by a car, you know not to cross yet.

25) Just cuz you talk about God all the times doesn't mean you're a good person. Some of the slimiest folk I know go to church every Sunday.

26) Love is really fuckin weird.

27) We lie to kids a lot...a whole lot. (I'm glad we do...gives me shit to share with y'all...)

28) My people need to do better. I'm sick of people embarrassing my race in public.

29) Wanna be apprciated more? Die. Worked for Tupac, Biggie and Michael Jackson...but I'm not willing to go that far for more page hits lol...

30) Crackheads are people too. Kinda. ("What the Friday" for further reading.)

31) Girls are confusing. I've know that for a while, it bears repeating tho.

32) Facebook (and other friendsites) can get you in trouble. You can lose your job, your spouse or your life behind some shit on Facebook. The shit gets real.

33) Its really funny when other folk trip. Really, really funny. Having a bad day? You won't after you see somebody roll down 2 flights of steps at a train stop.

34) How to fix a cigarette. I don't smoke a lot (mostly after some medicine or when I'm drunk) but I didn't even know you could. That trick had to have saved me like 7 dollars this year.

35) How to eat a chicken wing. Shame on you who still nibble at the non-leg-type pieces instead of removing the bones and eating it like the world's greatest chicken nugget.

36) A blowdart gun is the best dollar you can spend at work. I'm so good now that I can hit coworkers with a Nerf dart from up to 30 yards away. Its good to feel a sense of accomplishment in the workplace.

37) Some people are truly petty.

38) Not everybody who calls theyself a friend deserves an echo from you.

39) The justice system works slower than I thought. Working here at the defender office, you get to see that it can take your ass a year to even get sentenced...meanwhile you're sittin in jail. Yikes...that's a good reason to keep my black ass outta there, n'est ce-pas?

40) You can get a 6 for 22 deal when buying green. This actually happened. I don't know why. But will I take it? Fuckin real.

41) You DO NOT know what's gonna happen tomorrow. You don't. And just when you think you do, life is gonna throw you a curveball just to fuck with you.

42) The wings at Cavanaugh's are great. Great, I tell you!

43) It's easier to ask forgiveness than permission. (It's easier still to skip the part where you give a fuck.)

44) Pretending to work can get you a long way. Sometimes, its not the hardest worker, but the one who looks the busiest.

45) Affection is just as important as sex. That ain't a swagtacular thing to say, but...hell...if you don't know its true today, you will some distant tomorrow.

46) I'm not the only one who likes a drink at lunch. The bar is poppin at lunchtime, all with young semiprofessionals who just want a quick adult beverage to grease the rest of their day. (Try it, it works wonders.)

47) I hate long trips, but some friends are worth traveling for.

48) If She's there, She definitely has a sense of humor. I often think of Her as a chick with the world in a snowglobe, shaking it whenever he wants to be entertained. To Her, life is just the best reality TV show.

49) Never bet on Jake Delhomme. Ever.

50) SoCo and lime is awesome.

51) Some people have no concept of how big they are.

52) Never fuck for Phillies tickets. You will get caught.

53) It really ain't what you say...its how you say it. (If you're good you can tell somebody to go to hell in a way that makes them think they're gonna enjoy the trip.)

54) Quick hands save money.

55) Everything DOES NOT happen for a reason. Some things happen for no reason. If you don't know that yet, you will.

56) Never say your name on a cheating voicemail...especially if your name is distinctive and known around the world. (Like...say, Tiger for example.)

57) "Looks don't matter" is something asthetically challenged folk say. They do. A lot.

58) Life IS NOT too short. Name me one thing anybody you know has done that's longer.

59) I forgot this one when I was drunk...so I dedicate this spot for all the knowledge I had and lost that way.

60) There's nothing funnier than drunken officemates. (Go to an office party before you die. It is there that you truly learn that alcohol brings out people's true selves.)

61) Tipping a bartender is both socially responsible and a good idea. (You get bigger shots that way...trust me.)

62) You can get older without growing up. (Try it, it's fun! Yay!)

63) Never board a moving truck. There's no joke there, that's real font. Don't do it. (RIP Chris Henry)

64) Writing is the most therapeutic thing ever...besides drinking, fighting and hot, wild sex. (Seriously, idk what I did before umf...I hope you enjoy reading it half as much as I enjoy writing it.)

Well, there you go...those are 64 of the most important lessons that the experiences of this year have taught me. (Why 64? Because.) Maybe you learned something too...maybe you stopped reading around number 20 (idk how you got all the way down here tho). Either way, I know that the things 2009 schooled me on are things that will stick with me the rest of my life...however long that is. I can't wait to see what 2010 has to teach. (Or maybe I can and should, considering what I learned in '09. )Aight, ima take this opportunity to wish all of y'all luck, love and learning in the new year...hope it's better than this one, no matter how good it was. Happy New Year, umf!


New Years Revolutions

*fittedwearer's note: I could sit here and type some diplomatic bullshit about how I'm not talking about certain people or that I know that most of y'all are actually planning to do something with y'all lives next year...but ima just save time and say that if it hurts to read, you're reading about yourself. That about covers that...let's kick start this tho...

Aight, so I've been through 21 new years now, and if there's one thing I've learned over them, its that new years resolutions are 95% bullshit. I mean, people make all kinds of grandiose pledges and oaths to themselves that they're gonna lose 10 pounds or get a job or stop smoking crack or start paying they child support, and its all lies. Look, its all over Twitter MyFace (that does sound delightfully dirty, don't it? Relax tho, it's just all 3 friendsites smashed together...) everybody talking about "new year, new me" and "changes in their lives", "upgrading" or "transforming" and blah blah blah. Pardon my bluntness, but nigga please.

Let's be all the way real here...if you been the same funky mafucka for all the rest of the '00s, just what makes you think you're gonna be different in 2010? (And once again please, PLEASE don't hit me with that "new decade" poppycock...PSA: new decade: 1/1/11. Count with me...1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10. Ten years. Moving on tho...) Nope, at 12:01 you're gonna be the same dickhead you were at 12:00. No magical transformation happens when the ball drops...there's no such thing as the new year fairy. If your life sucked this year, its gonna suck next year too unless you do something about it, and I don't give a fuck what the date on the calendar is.

Even talking about most new years resolutions...really, they're just empty promises. (Its just like being in a political campaign...you tell little lies on top of blatant lies wrapped in egregious lies...the only difference is you're only lying to yourself.) No, you're not gonna be nicer next year. You're a bitch, you can't help it. No, you're not going to save money better next year...you just spent $90 to get into a new years party, and bought a new fit to go in. No, you're not going to exercise more...you're gonna park your ass right in front of the TV and watch "The Bad Girls Club" with a pint of Phish Food ice cream. No, you're not gonna stop letting your girlfriend push you around...you don't have any nuts this year, you won't get them next. If you're really not gonna do a damn thing, why even lie to yourself and other people? Next time somebody asks you what your new years resolution is, just walk away because you don't have one instead of just pointlessly sharing something you wish you had the cojoƱes to do.

That's why as a whole, I really don't believe in resolutions. Resolutions last an average of a month (the week it takes to come up with it and the 3 weeks that most people follow through with it...they usually drop it before MLK day). I believe in revolutions. Revolution is a permanent change you make happen, and its not just because it's a new year, it's because its a new day. That's what you wanna do because that's the best thing for you, no matter what day it is. If you're gonna improve your life, who's stopping you from doing it August 17th or March 25th or...hell...December 30th? I don't know...maybe that's just me. All I'm saying is you control your life every day, and you can make any changes you want any day you want. That's the great thing about life...just think about that. Best of luck in 2010 and whatever it is you want out of it anyway tho!

ETCAM #11- Wendy's Spicy Chicken Nuggets

The Wendy's spicy chicken nuggets are a logical progression of chicken based innovations. Spicy chicken patties have been available at restaurants for years (and I love em!), but this is the first time to my knowledge the concept has been applied to a nugget. Its one of those ideas you look at and think "that should have really been invented a long time ago." That's why I was so intrigued when I saw the commercial for them the other day...I had to try them.

Luckily there's a Wendys right on the corner next to my job. (I love working in Center City...anything I want to shove in my fat fuckin face I can get within a 3 block walk.) I walked in and tried to get in the regular line to order, but I was stopped by an employee claiming to be some kind of express order option. She was wearing an odd device that can only be described as an over-the-shoulder food slave laptop...I guess it was supposed to take my order and send it an amazing 5 feet to the people behind the counter, who would then prepare it. Ah, technology. (It's worth noting that the express line was just as long as the normal one...so maybe its an invention nobody fuckin asked for.)

Anyway, I told her what I wanted (20 of them mafuckas! Yeah!), took a step forward, got it and broke out. After I got back to my desk, I opened the bag and examined them. I don't know if it's evident in the pics, but the spicy nuggets have a reddish tint. I wondered whether that was spice or food coloring, but then remembered I was hungry and said fuck it and went to work. I ate the first one (whole...like a man!) and got exactly what they advertised. A spicy chicken nugget. I'm not sure what exactly what I expected, but it truly was what it was. That's not a bad thing...shit, that's what I ordered, and in many fast food places that's an accomplishment in itself.

As for exactly how spicy it was, it actually had a little heat for a fast food thingy. I wasn't fanning my mouth or sweating or any melotheatrical shit like that, but it was spicy enough to balance out the ranch dressing that came with it. For people who eat spicy shit like myself, it was a nice little twist on an old favorite (who wasn't addicted to chicken nuggets as a kid?) and I gotta say I'll be eating em again...and again...until they inevitably take them off the menu like every cool new idea they come up with...fuckin assholes. Anyway, give em a shot if you're into this type of thing...it's worth a buck (and 7 cents tax *rolleyes*) to find out.


A sexercise in futility...

One of the things I've learned in my life is that you can never come between 2 people who are fuckin. For some reason, that bond will make them completely blind to any crazy or just plain wrong scenarios that can arise out of their relationship. So what she's a unstable bitch, a gold diggin harlot or a loose-walled powersmut, so what he's a deadbeat, a cheater or a wifebeater (or whether they're just asthetically challenged...friends don't let friends date fugly) it doesn't matter to the person that shares a bed with them. Why? Cuz they're fuckin.

I mean think about it...how many of your friends go or have gone with somebody you know is, to put it the nicest way possible, a worthless piece of shit? I know I've seen it many a time...but you can never tell that friend shit about their boo. (Only after whatever relationship they had ends do they realize that everything you tried to tell them was true...funny how that works, no?) It's like damn, how many times are you going to complain about your significant other (or whatever term for 'mutual stimulation partner' you wanna use) doing the same thing over and over and then keep "making up" with them? Either cut bait with the mafucka or shut the fuck up about it. (That's good, solid male advice.) That would make too much sense. But they simply don't posess that not-so-common sense. Why? Cuz they're fuckin.

Its even to the point where one can never be sure when to assist in a intergender dispute between people you don't know. Say you're walkin down the street and see a dude whackin all upside some poor biddy's head. Damn, that kinda sucks right? Don't be so quick to tie on that cape tho...they could be boyfriend and girlfriend and you end up getting jumped by both of them trying to be a good person. (Which is another reason I think that's overrated at times...moving on tho...) It goes down like that! Females (and some 'men' too...bitch made punks lol) will really let their partner whup up on them and defend them at the end of the day. Why? Cuz they're fuckin! You just can't do it, I tell ya!

I don't know...maybe I'm the crazy one, thinking with the head that wears the hat and carryin on. (Who does some crazy shit like that?) I'm just sayin...at one point, when people ask for advice or help with their relationship (or lack thereof) but don't do a damn thing to change it besides roll right back in the hay with the offending party...it drove me triple fuckin bonkers. No more...I see the light. You just can't come between 2 people who are fuckin...its like a 5 hour staring contest in a mental hospital. Its pointless, a waste of perfectly good time, and at the end both parties are just as retarded as before. Just another life lesson I guess.


Face Time

Over the holidays, I was off from work and had a lot of free time. Besides eating (you really eat a lot more when you're just at home bullshittin...I think its just because it's there.) and watching fun, mindless TV like Maury, Cops, and random cartoons...I spent a lot of time on Facebook. Some may call that a waste of time, I say it's a valuable tool to figure out what kind of people get on your fuckin nerves.

I know we discussed overuse of the news feed in a Twitteresque manner before, but this goes farther than that. It has nothing to do with frequency, its content, especially over the course of a few days...its really funny to see how much you can learn about a person on Facebook. You see, your statuses can really be a window into your life, and some folk should really put up drapes. Sometimes you get a request from somebody, and you may not know them that well...maybe by name and where you know them from (school, work, that one night) but not really by...personality. In other words, you know of them but not about them.

Then you start reading their statuses (either on purpose or by accident...the news feed is a blessing and a curse...) and you slowly begin to figure out...this is exactly the kind of person I hate. I mean yeah, you added them because you almost know them, or maybe just because you thought the requester was kinda cute (guilty...) but then as you get to know more about them, their activities and their whole persona, it's like...I really wouldn't like you at all in the matrix.

It's really disappointing when it happens...its kind of like finally really hanging out with somebody you don't really spend that much time with and...finding out just why you don't spend that much time around them. Maybe they're a OD attention seeker (grr...I would get started on that, but I get off of work at 4:30...maybe another time), maybe they're just plain ole uninteresting and there's just not a lot there. (You're ALWAYS "bored..."!? Every day? Really? That's sad... You depress me.)

So, that being typed, I'm sorry (lol imagine that) to the folk who I'm gonna delete this Monday morning...its just that Facebook is too large a dose of you to take. It's nothing personal...well, maybe it is...fuck it. After spending a weekend with you, I feel like I know you better, and that's not necessarily a good thing. It is what it is.

[AJ likes this!]


The Morning After (7 Reasons to Keep Smiling After Christmas)

Depressed Christmas is over? Sad you'll have to wait a whole nother year for the next one? Here, I'll help. I've taken the liberty of compiling a quick list of reasons you don't have to be so sad that it's December 26th. *cracks knuckles* Here goes...

1) They stop playing Christmas music: Listen, I like Christmas music...I'm no Scrooge, hell I get into the spirit as much as the next man. But let's keep it 100...there's only a certain number of times you can hear "Jingle Bells" before wanting to kick a 47-yard field goal with a puppy. (I'm gonna get a letter from PETA lol...but hell, I meant it...every store has been playing their "Holiday Jamz" CD since the day after Halloween.) Don't be playing it after 12/25 either, swearfo'gawd if I hear you comin down the street bumpin "It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas" today, I'm gonna hook-shot a grenade through your sunroof like Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. Cut that shit out.

2) Those members of your family you haven't seen all year go back to wherever it is they came from: You now have 364 days to appreciate the fact that you only see these mafuckas once a year. (You can pick your friends, but not your family...I know that's true because I would never pick some of those people...love y'all, 'like' wasn't in the contract...) You actually thought you missed them and looked forward to their presence just a couple days ago. Now you are wiser. You realize absence makes the heart grow fonder, and they need to build up another years worth of absence before you're fond of them again.

3) You can stop pretending to like that Boggle game/gift card to store you never shop at/electric zebra print Snuggie one of those same clueless family members got you: (You know it's bad when you slowly say the name of the gift as you unwrap it..."oh...a Twilight paperweight! I...will...use...this...) They say it's the thought that counts, but...let's be real, if you had really thought, you woulda just gave me the money you spent on this thingamajawn and I coulda went and bought me some alcohol or a fitted instead of you trying to be cute and outthinking yourself. I'm not being ungrateful, I'm just sayin... (Of course you should thank the person anyway...jeez...)

4) *only if #3 was bought from a store or happened with a gift reciept ...if not, you are assed out...you're gonna have to wear that hand knitted sweater with Obama's face stitched into it at least once, sry bruh...* You can return said gift: There's no better feeling than exchanging something you don't want for a couple things you do want. (With all the after-Christmas sales floating around, that semi-useless junk somebody foisted upon you is now worth 3 or 4 items now...) It's like Wite-Out for gift giving mistakes...and you're recycling, so you can be proud of yourself for going green...aren't you great?

5) Folk have to put those charming Santa hats back in the closet for a whole nother year: A person who wears a Santa hat in December is prolly a fun-loving, free-spirited person...a person who wears a Santa hat in August is either senile or will be wearing a hugmyselfjacket and placed in a softroom within the hour. Yes, that includes my Cowboys-themed Santa hat...unfortunately...but luckily I have plenty of other blue hats with stars to wear. Don't be a dee bag, man...give it up. (I'm not taking that Facebook/gtalk pic down til New Years, fuck what ya heard lol)

6) You get to see who really goes to church: You see, Christmas and Easter are the most popular times of year for casual religious folk to make their annual appearances in the pews. I guess they feel obligated for some reason. I think that shit is triple fugazi...there are certain things you just can't do part time, like be a football fan, be religious or be gay. Those are lifestyle commitments. Either do it consistently...or don't. (I don't, personally...whatevz, we'll discuss my beliefs in a later post if you care.) Ain't no 3 ways about it, patna...

7) The counterfeit "holiday spirit" fades: See, people get situations confused and fucked up this time of year...they think everybody's family, and it's Christmas all over the world, and peace on earth and goodwill towards blah blah blah. (Not me personally, folk know where they stand with me all the time...if I like you you'll know it, and if I hate your stinkin guts you will know that too, no matter what the calendar says...not sure what the point in faking the funk is...) Fuck all that...its the 26th. Fake people can stop being seasonally polite and go back to their usual ways. You know these people I'm talkin about...don't say a kind word to you all year and then walk around talkin bout some gahdamn "Merry Christmas". YeahAIGHT. Bitch, we don't like each other no other time of year, so fuck yo Christmas, yo New Year, and yo couch...I hope Santa took a open ass shit in your stocking. That's from the heart...I'll tell your momma the same...Merry Christmas, ya filthy animal.

Well there you have it, Facebook addicts and umf'ers...everybody's favorite holiday (sorry, July 4th...presents and eggnog overrule beer and fireworks...but only by a thin margin) may be over, but there's at least 7 reasons to keep that big holiday grin on. (8, if you count the fact you can find herbal healing again...yes, even they take Christmas off...) Plus...da nog is available all year at the liquor store, so you can have yuletide flashbacks all year if you want. So gather up those gift reciepts, count up that holiday loot, put that Mariah Carey Christmas CD back under that drink on the coffee table where it belongs, and let's bang out the last week of this year! (Besides...you have New Years plans to make, dontcha?)


Lies They Tell the Chirrens- Bad Santa

One of the most beloved lies they tell em is the one about Santa Claus. Yes, that almost universal symbol of holiday goodwill and Christmas spirit (y'know, besides that Jesus guy) is merely a figment of every child's imagination. (I was so disappointed when I found that out last year!) After I realized that and thought about it, I now believe it could be a dangerous lie to tell chirrens in today's twisted, fucked up world. Seriously, consider some of his well-known characteristics.

Santa is a older round, portly gentleman who has a beard reminicent of Rick Ross's. (*Clauuuuuusssss"*) He is most often depicted cruising around at night with his vehicle full of of toys and candy, items irresistible to children. What's the first thing you think about when you think about a old ass man riding around after dark trying to gain the trust of kids with sweets and fun trinkets? Oh aight...

Second, he is always seen in the wee hours of the morning traipsing about with a all-red suit and a eccentric hat. I don't know about you, but the only people I know up at 3 AM with all red suits are pimps. Maybe where you live is different, I'm just sayin tho. Moving on, He is supposed to live in the middle of nowhere with his elderly, unemployed wife, and thousands of tiny unpaid laborers who work all year to make foreign toys. Sounds like a sweatshop to me...I don't know if children's fables should be glorifying slavery.

Mr. Kringle may seem like a family man, but if you look at the facts, you will find they tell a different story. There are actual songs written about people's affairs with the big red womanizer, including "Santa, Baby" and "I saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus". The man has audio evidence of his infidelity to Mrs. Claus! That's the exact same thing that everybody's downtalking Tiger for, and yet we celebrate Slick Kris every year! (Its gotta be the presents...its a shame that American family values can be influenced by a shiny new Xbox 360...) I just don't think dude is a good role model.

Even moving past the myth, it creates several real life issues too...it encourages people be comfortable telling their kids to go sit on a grown man's lap. Its a shame all a pedo needs during the holidays is a red hat and a fake beard...name one other costume that one can wear that makes parents unconditionally trust a stranger touching their kid? It also tells kids that if you hear somebody coming down your chimney (coming down the chimney tho? You can't leave those presents on the front doorstep? That's breaking and entering where I come from.) late at night, you should assume its Santa and go back to bed. If one day I have kids, and they hear somebody coming down my chimney late at night, I want them to wake me up so I can grab my revolver and pump 3 lumps of coal into his chest before he ever gets back to the sleigh.

Hey...sometimes you gotta face the facts...and the fact is that Santa is a shady character. The jolly public image of St. Nick is a lie, and if you search the clues, you will see the seamy underbelly of his hidden lifestyle. It's just one of the things you learn as an adult. But of course, that's way too much for a kid's mind to process...so we tell them that he's just a a friendly magic pimp who goes flying around the world behind his antigravity reindeer, delivering gifts to the whole world in one night for no apparent reason. Sure. It's not the truth, but sometimes they can't handle the truth...or even need it yet. Its better that way...and that's why this is a very special holiday lie they tell the chirrens. Merry Christmas, y'all...


Better?! But...

I'm sure we've all seen the commercials for those Reebok Easytone shoes. The chick in the spot goes on and on with facts about figures, telling us that walking in the shoes, which have 'balance-ball inspired technology' will make your legs 13.4% more toned and all that fitness related shit (*snicker*) while the uninterested cameraman is way more interested in her 'butt', pictured above. (Gotta love marketable female exploitation...)

Now, far be it from me to discourage folk from actually exercising to achieve their body goals...with all these lazy tools designed to help you get exercise without getting off your ass (ab-shocker, anyone?), and deceitful padded undergarments which will give the shapeless shape, (seriously, what's next, padded hips and thighs to simulate thickness? A full-on cokebottlebody jumpsuit? Lemme stop givin these folk ideas) its nice to see actual exercise and physical activity encouraged as a way to reshape one's body...it's a novel idea.

My beef with the commercial should be obvious. I mean..the shoes are intended to give one a better butt...I'm not gonna go all out and say she doesn't have one, but I am gonna say if she played football, she'd probably be a longback. If you can go from shoulder blades to mid-thigh without encountering so much as a speed bump...maybe you're not the best candidate to hawk booty boost footwear. I'm not even 100% sure she has a buttcrack...maybe one flat buttslab.

Yes, the place under her back where her legs meet her spine looks very fit...but ima be all the way honest, the 1st time I saw this commercial I caught it at this exact frame right here and thought it was a dude. I flipped that channel away so fast I almost rejammed my thumb doing so...I pounded that 'CH UP' button like John fuckin Henry. Eventually, I caught it ftom the beginning and wondered...better by whose interpretation? Even the tiny shorts she wore hung lifelessly off her...upper hamstrings, I guess you would call em (since the word 'butt' is a stretch to use here).

All I could picture was her in some of those sweatpants chicks like to wear with words on the ass (then get mad when we look...they tell us reading is fundamental but then get upset when we try to get some light literature in...what a backwards world lol) and the back letters are flapping in the breeze or arched limply like a sweater on a wire hanger with no buttocks to anchor them down. That's a sad picture to me...

Let's be real here...Reebok, you couldn't have recruited somebody with a little more booty meat than that? I mean, not saying you had to have Buffie the Body in the commercial, (semi-sequitur- If you think about it her ass is really kinda scary...unpractical too..I don't wanna get too graphic, but unless she has baby wipes on a stick, or a power washing hose, I'm willing to bet there's some unclean real estate in them thar hills...I digress...) just somebody who...you know...with a little curvature. If Reebok handles that, shit...I might buy a pair for their trouble. I'm sure somebody I know needs a better butt! (must...not...name...names...)

A wrap for that ass...

One thing I never really understood is the meticulous wrapping of holiday presents. I mean, yes...wrapping paper and bows and such are pretty, colorful and sometimes distractingly shiny (ooooooh, shiny...) but think about it...some people set aside as much as a whole day just to sit there and wrap gifts. I simply don't have that kind of patience (or manual dexterity).

Its not like anybody really cares about the paper anyway (it's just as cute on the roll as on the item). How many people have you heard say "Oh, this wrapping paper is so cute...I have to save this so my friends, co-workers and associates can see it." I'm willing to bet its been less than 5 times in your life. You know what everyone does...as soon as it's go time, they rip the shit to confetti in 3 quick, attacking swoops. So what you spent 10 minutes or more carefully wrapping it, taping it and sticking a bow on it. That shit went from decoration to trash in 7.3 seconds.

I don't know...some people find it traditional, some people think it's a nice gesture, I think it's kind of futile. From under this brim, ts sort of like making your bed and then inviting 2 sugar-addled children to have a big-foam-Q-tip American Gladiator style fight on it. In the words of dude from that Joey Jihad video (please finish this and go directly to youtube if you don't know what I'm talkin about) "What you dooo that foooor?!"

For all I care, any gift that somebody is nice enough to give me can be given to me naked. ("unwrapped", Y-chromosomers...but those of you without manparts can feel free to interpret that as you wish.) However, I do see how having something wrapped adds to the festiveness of it, but I feel a gift bag (no, not a damn Acme bag...buy a fuckin bag!) or one of those 2 part boxes with a nice design serve the same purpose and require 17% of the effort by the gifter. I bet you'll think about that next time you're sitting in the middle of the floor with pine needles in your butt trying to wrestle a mis-sized piece of wreath-print wrapping paper around a box...


Season's Greetings!¡

What always pisses me off around this time of year is how picky folk are about how people wish them goodwill. You know...the whole "Merry Christmas" thing. Is it really that serious to where we have people in court suing each other because they got greeted with the wrong holiday? You serious, dude? The fuck is wrong with people?

It's even so bad where we've come up with bland, generic little euphemisms to try and please everybody...like "Happy Holidays" That one I don't really mind (it feels kinda insincere to me, but whatever doesn't get me reported to somebody). The one that really pisses me off is "Season's Greetings". What spineless PC slug came up with that one? Does it even really mean anything? Greetings are seasonal now...what season? Winter? Football season? Wabbit season? Killa season? What the fuck are you talking about?

I mean, check it...I don't really celebrate any winter holiday hardcore if you wanna get technical. (My family celebrates Christmas and so do a lot of other folk I know...so I'll exchange gifts and rock out with that whole thing...) But if somebody wants to give me a positive holiday greeting of any kind, I'm with it. Merry Christmas? Yup, to you too! Happy Kwanzaa? Sure, whatever...harambe! Shit, you wanna wish me a happy Hanukkah? Mazel tov, mafucka!

I'm not gonna get offended because somebody basically told me to "have a nice day" in a festive and seasonal manner, no matter what religion they speak. What happened to the spirit of goodwill? You're really gonna get sand in your panties because somebody wished you the wrong holiday? Because they're saying they want you to have a happy December day at some point, whether it be in an early menorah-lit week, under a tree the 25th or rockin Kente cloth in the week after? Well fine, don't have a merry whatever...instead, wait til whatever day(s) you celebrate on, buy yourself a .38 Special as a gift and bang yaself. (I don't HAVE to be nice, you know...fuck it.)

News flash, you antisocial asshat, people can't tell what you celebrate just by looking at you. They're not trying to offend you, shit on your holiday, or hurt you in any way...they're just being nice, and happened to pick the main holiday around these parts...oh, boohoo, they wished you a merry Christmas instead of your personal holiday. Cry me a river and drown in it. Meanwhile, the rest of us civil folk will be up here having happy Winter Solstice Chrismahannukwanzaakuh Festivuses. Whatever...I'm just saying its not that deep. Happy whatever, y'all....

Wow, really?¡ That's great!¡

Sarcasm is a service I offer free to anybody who needs it...because I'm just a nice guy like that. Anybody who halfway knows me knows that I'm...well, kind of a smartass. Nobody (I like) should really take it personal...cuz that's just the way I am. Anyway, in real life sarcasm is easy to detect through tone inflections and facial expression. Print sarcasm doesn't always directly translate...how often have you looked at something somebody typed and trying to figure out if they were serious or just joshin with ya? (Yes, joshin...fuck you lol)

I think I've come up with a solution. What if there was a punctuation mark to distinugish sarcasm from straight talk? (It can't be the 1st time this was suggested...but I'm being proactive about it...) But what? It has to be simple, recognizable, and easily made on a keyboard. I think "¡" used in conjunction with other punctuation is good (thanks, Dora and other Spanish speakers!)...peep, sarcasm can be interpreted as the opposite of excitement (unthusiasm?) and an exclamation point denotes...well, exclamation. Could work...let's try it out...

"Oh great, unpaid overtime!¡"

"Wow, this 40 page assignment over break is a great idea!¡"

"I have to shave there and use the special shampoo for 2 weeks?¡ Awesome!¡"

I can see where this would work...I'm implenting it on a trial basis...hopefully it spreads and never again will I have to explain whether I was laughing with or at. All right, if y'all will excuse me, I gotta pretend I have a job here real quick...I can't wait to start working again!¡


Absence makes the heart grow fonder...(?)

*fittedwearer's note: hey guys! Miss me? Sry, I was in football mode all weekend (Who dat?) Its only been 2 days...but I've been thinkin about y'all...come give me a hug. Male umf'ers, I'll settle for a fist bump...anyway, welcome back...

A long distance relationship is a very high maintenance pet. Number one, there's the distance. "Distance" and words like "intimacy", "closeness", "bonding", and other words Oprah uses make strange and difficult bedfellows. Let's be real...a relationship is very hard to keep running smooth even under normal conditions...from 3 point range it's like making a scale model of the Liberty Bell out of Legos while wearing oven mitts. It's frustrating, seems pointless at times, but very rewarding if you can pull it off. (Plus, if you can do it successfully, you're obviously very good with your hands...heh...)

It goes without typing that the person you're doing this with should be some type of special mafucka/mafuckette. Like...extra super double special. Smart, sensitive, sweet, sexy, and similar superlative shit. (go alliteration!) A relationship where you maybe see each other once a month (there's no way it's worth it if its less than that...I mean, come on now...) means that once better feel like 3 times, or the will to say "fuck this" and end the relationship will be a recurring theme the whole time. If the person is just not that special, the will will make a way. (Long distance partner arguing a lot lately for no reason? They want out but don't want to hurt you...sry I had to tell you.)

Of course, it takes a certain type of person to do it right...you can't be a jealous or unstable type at all. There's enough that can become food for negative thought even if you live on the same block...now extrapolate that 5 times for each 10 miles y'all live apart. If you're not the long-distance type, every time your estranged boo mentions a going out with a "friend" you're gonna drive yourself crazy, whether you admit it to your partner or not. The thing you have to accept isust because somebody has a significant other in another area code doesn't mean their life where they live gets put on hold. (What, you think your out-of-network gf stays in the house all weekend?) If you can deal with that, give it a shot...if you know you can't, don't even think about it...somebody will get hurt/stalked.

I'll skip over the part where I tell you a lot of long distance relationships are open relationships. (Whether both parties know it or not.) Wait, no I won't...nobody likes to hear it, but I guesstimate that 47% of them have at least one partner who has something local on the side. We're all adults here...people have needs, and unless your boyfriend/girlfriend is named Mr. Fantastic/Mrs. Incredible, you're gonna have a hard time satisfying them from that distance. It shouldn't happen, it sucks when it does...but it happens. Some people (like Mario Winans) take the stance that they don't wanna know. Not I...hypothetically, in that situation, I would absolutely wanna know. Please tell me...that way I can leave your dumb ass and find somebody around here. (I say that with hypothetical love...lol...)

Even with all that, a long distance relationship can be very fulfilling with the right person. If you 2 crazy kids can hold it together while you're apart, the love y'all share will be almost bulletproof. After all, if you're willing to make the sacrifices nesscessary to actually conduct the relationship the right way, you obviously have a deep and special connection that's worth keeping. In this age of social networks, video chats and sexy cell phone pics (oww!) carrying on a long distance relationship is probably easier than it's ever been...but that doesn't mean it's easy. Too hard for me personally (maybe I haven't met the right Californian yet lol)...but if you're both willing to put in the work...you have as good a shot as the next couple. If you're ready and willing to accept all the consequences that come with it, go for it...it's just not for everybody.

Paradise Found

It snowed here over the weekend...a lot. They had told us it was gonna happen on Friday, but they said it was gonna be a light blanket of 5-8 inches...what we woke up to on Saturday was a thick 24 inch quilt. (Furthering my theory that you or me can predict the weather as well as a 'meteorologist'...fuck yo forecast...) As a younger lad, seeing this would have filled me with childlike delight...as a grownish person, it kinda pissed me off. When you're a kid, snow is fun...when you grow up, it's a lot less. (Especially on the fuckin weekend...seriously? Nobody told it to snow on Saturday...I'm writing the big guy an angry letter...)

You see, as a youngling all you care about is the fun involved in snow...snowmen, sledding, igloos, all that winter fun. As we get older we just think about how in the way it is. Think about it...you have to shovel (you too, ladies...its 2009, throw on those Uggs and gimme a hand, willya?), you can't drive worth shit, making a beer/weed/sex run next to impossible, and more often than not you end up stuck in the house watching some old movie, about to literally die of boredom and wishing you had a flamethrower for snow removal.

That's when I realized I was looking at it the wrong way...I was looking at it like an adult. I didn't have to be a victim here...with a little help from my kid-ness, I could make the most of this. Why can't I walk to the liquor store AND pelt random folk with laser-rocket armed snowballs? ("Random folk" meaning "people with Eagles jackets"...pow, right in the kisser!) Why couldn't I go get some medicine and build an igloo to smoke it in? (Full disclosure: never got to that...football called...but next time, I swear.) "No reason in the world..." said my inner child excitedly.

I felt ashamed of myself for suppressing the desires of young AJ. Well...truth be told, I'm glad I resisted the snow angel...I like fun and everything, but a 6'4" man laying in the middle of the street flailing about is not a poppin look. Anyway, that was that...I walked out the door having learned a new lesson...sometimes you have to be very immature to make a mature decision. (What's more bratty, staying inside sulking or going out and doing something about it?) Next time you're snowed in, think about that...


The Trade: A letter to That Other Community

Dear swashbucklers, munchers of carpet, flexisexuals, and other alternative lifestyle type folk,

Hey guys/girls/menladies/guygirls...I'm a straight male (let's get that clear from jump), and I know we don't really talk much, but I think its time we had a real, real quick chat. I know y'all get a bum deal pretty much everywhere, and it's hard living in your pumps/Doc Martens. Though I really and truly wish y'all would quit with the Civil Rights Movement/gay struggle comparisons, (readers: you bet your ass you'll be seeing that topic here again) I guess y'all really aren't that bad. Matter fact, I do think y'all should be able to get married...who are we to say that 2 folk who like each other that much can't live in the same house and perform weird, unnatural sex acts on each other for the rest of their lives and get tax breaks for it? While it's not my twist, and creeps me a-a-a-a-all the way out (well, so does 2 obese folk melting and flopping together in bed, but that's off-topic)...I guess if that's what y'all wanna do, ain't shit I can or should do to stop it.

That's why I've decided something...I'm willing to support y'all cause, as long as y'all keep all that over there. Yes, you read right, I am prepared to do it. Of course, there's a reason why. See, I think we can help each other out here. (Not like that!) Peep game, me and people like me have a similar struggle...after all this time, my people are discriminated against, denied jobs, mocked and stereotyped...reviled and pushed to the fringes of society like outcasts and lepers. That's right we, the stoners, have been marginalized far too long. Our rights are being denied! Who is anybody to tell either of our groups what we can and can't put into our bodies? We feel your pain...wait, yikes...well...um...emotional pain.

That's why I've come to you today with a proposal: let's start signing each other's legalization petitions! Seriously, think about it...the 2 issues are pretty much the 2 biggest legality issues at hand in our country today. I think if the pro-gay marriage folk and the pro-tree folk each stand behind each other, if only with a signature (I aint sayin you gotta march in nobody's parade or nothin...), that's 2x as many signatures on each petition. That's millions and millions of people. We'll both get what we want in no time. I don't mind a few hundred thousand homomatrimonies if I can puff on a blunt in the streets in return. Y'all can scissor and pack fudge under the bliss of a civil union, and I can self-medicate after work without the fear of some asshole cop throwin me in the slammer over 3 bags of sweet, stanky weed. Everybody wins...and gay potheads win twice! (I know there have to be some...can't hit my L tho hahaha) Think about it and get back to me. (Eww...or should "respond to my question" instead, just for clarity's sake?)

Hetero regards,

Swilla #6- Sweet Carolina Lemonade Vodka

The other day, I found myself in the liquor store yet again. Just as I was about to grab a nondescript bottle of gin and roll out, I felt the urge to try something new...seemingly at that moment this bottle crossed my field of vision. Sweet Carolina Lemonade Vodka introduced itself to me. Its fancy script and cool bottle design begged me to give it a closer look. Seriously, it looks so dignified...I can just imagine old-time southern belles and dudes with monocles sitting on a veranda sipping this stuff primly out of a tall drinking glass.

I considered my rocky relationship with vodka (we're trying to work things out) but decided the chance to give some new drank a shot was just too good to pass up. I picked it up and went over to the counter where Dave Employee was there to help me. "Hey, I've never had this before...we just got it in..." he commented. I told him how the bottle and concept just caught me eye. He went on to explain (with no prompting from me) that he had had the sweet tea the same company makes without even being aware of it...his friends had given it to him over ice, telling him it was normal iced tea. He drank 3 cups of it believing this and was unable to stand afterwards. That's a sound endorsement to my ears...I paid my $15.99 and headed out after promising Dave to tell him how the lemonade was. (Which is what I'm doing now...ima print this shit out, go back there and tuck it in his shirt pocket like a bribe...)

I got home, and after being mesmerized by the shiny metallic blue cap for a while (its pretty!), cracked it. I poured it over some ice and took a sip. Describing the taste is very simple...it was lemonade. Literally...lemonade. (I did a double take at the 35% alcohol content...I couldn't believe it, it was 7 times as alcoholic as Mike's Hard Lemonade, but tasted 12.4 times as good as that nasty lemon beer shit.) It's kind of crazy to be amazed that something actually tastes like what it claims to be, but there it is. If you like lemonade, you will like this...I'm in that camp, I find it tasty and refreshing. Of course, if you don't, you won't...but what kind of American are you? You some kind of terrorist? You like lemonade, I know it.

I finished the 1st glass and started to make a second...that's when I got the idea for a drink, because I was a bartender in a past life: 2 shots Sweet Carolina Lemonade, and some orange juice for a golden color. (Hmm...name...24k Punch? Morning Glory? OJ Sippin? I'll get back to you...) I thought it was great...prolly makes a great brunch drink lol... After 3 cups, I was able to stand...but it took some effort, and that's the sign of a decent buzz. Sweet Carolina Lemonade Vodka...smooth, strong, sippable...what else can you ask for? Not much, imo.Next time you're about to pick up that same old bottle of whatever, give this a shot...I think you'll agree.

Camera Phone Ninja Vol. 22- Semper Apparatus

Here's a young lady taking charge of her situation. I usually use this here segment to point and laugh at random folk on the street for whatever reason, but today I wanna give some congratulatons to a female with some foresight. As I mentioned a couple days ago, a dead battery on your phone can really fuck up your whole ride/night/life...unless you take prevantative steps. The resourceful chick in the pic has not only made sure to carry her charger on her, but managed to find a power source on the train. (That's called getting your full 2 bucks worth...) I've never seen it done before, but I've heard it said you learn something new every day. Clearly she's a smart girl with a smartphone. So thanks, train charger girl...truly you are an American heroine (kinda...sorta...whatever). If I ever see you again, drinks on me...


Got Some Teeth

I can't date a girl with bad teeth. (When I say "bad teeth", I don't mean a slightly askew tooth or a small gap...hell, who doesn't have that...I'm talkin about a full-on yukmouth...) I just can't. Call me shallow, call me superficial, call me Ishmael, its just a line I can't cross. You would think its kinda silly to be bothered by something seemingly so minor, but to me it's a big deal.

I mean, for one, its fucka distracting. How am I supposed to listen to the words coming out of your mouth if all I can think about is whether I can flick a paper football through the space in your teeth? I don't wanna seem disrepectful, but I at least attempt to look in your face when you're talking, (key word: "try"...I am a 21-yr old hetero male...) and if all I'm looking at is your curled up snagglemouth the whole time I'm gonna find it very hard not to bust out laughing.

Not even to mention its definitely a safety issue too...let's say we had a great night out and we get back to wherever and she decides to show me some special attention. (Lucky me!) Crooked, jagged teeth can really act as a salad shooter. Nothin personal, but I prefer my sensitive areas unpeeled. Shit, I was circumsized once, I don't need that procedure to happen again. Its just never a good time to place your pipe in a pencil sharpener...let's be real, we all grown here.

On some real shit, its just bad business to mess around with a chick with seasonal teeth (you know...summer goin this way, summer goin that way, a couple are about to fall out, and you wonder winter next dental appointment is cuz they damn sure need to spring for one). Just sayin...you could definitely end up regretting it if you decide to go that route. Me my own personal self...I don't. It's served me well so far, and I think its gonna continue...maybe that's just me tho. All I know is, if you look like one of those carnival clowns who got their teeth shot out with a water cannon, I can't fux with ya...sry lol


Get your tolerance up...

I'm really sick of folk calling me an alcoholic. That's just not true. Sure I enjoy a drink every now and now (I know what I typed) but I am in no way, shape or form an alcoholic. That's an offensive term for weak minded folk who let the drank control their lives, and I'm afraid that just doesn't describe me. There are a few important differences between your average leisure drinker like me and a true alcoholic. Allow me to enlighten you.

First of all, a real liquor junkie would drink Listerine and wring out rum cakes and suck on those nurse's office alcohol pads and shit. I do none of those things...they're beneath me. (I'm a classy mafucka...I drink Vladimir like a normal person lol...) Alcoholics let alcohol negatively impact their work, family, and social relationships...folk like me find that a drink makes all those things a little more fun...which is positive. Alcoholics hit the bottle right after the alarm clock. I wait until at least 3 for any hard liquor. (Except on Sundays...I feel like if they can drink in church at 8 in the morning I can do it at home...)

Alcoholics binge drink...I party. (I was once told that "binge drinking" is more than 5 drinks in a sitting...so because I drank a 6-pack in one night, I'm a raging boozer? Let's be real here...it takes more than that to even get my world spinning good...6 is nothing...) Most of all, alcoholics go to meetings...I think AA is for quitters. (If you're good at something, you might as well be the best damn whatever that is you can be. Live above the influence...or under it, whatever works for you.)

Point is, I'm sick of being lumped in with brown paper bag toting winos and folk who slurp the spill trays they pour shots over in bars. I realize we might have similar hangouts (bars, clubs, wherever the joy flows) and similar words that catch our attention ("open bar", "on the house", "free drink" ) but we are not the same. Calling a person who just likes a good buzz at times an 'alcoholic' is like calling a person who likes a good nut at times a 'nymphomaniac' or calling a person who pockets a pair of headphones from Best Buy a 'career criminal'...one don't automatically make the other. Its demeaning, degrading and unfair...so please start using the words "liquor enthusiast", "casual drunk", or "Tipsy-American" to describe my people. It's a little more tolerant, and a lot more accurate...thanks, and cheers...

PSA: MyCircle

*fittedwearer's note: The circle concept mostly only applies to unknowns on the street and people I don't know like that. I'm actually pretty comfortable with folk I actually know/like/am attracted to (of course) all up in my radius, its just weird how people you don't even know are so comfortable getting so close. Maybe they don't know any better...and that's why I'm writing this...

So apparently some people are unaware of the circle. The circle is a metaphorical personal space barrier measuring 2 feet, 7 inches or 75% of arms length, whichever is greater. (I only say that because my arms are long as hell, and if I decided to have a arm length circle, nobody would get within 3 yards of me...its not THAT serious.) Unless I want you closer, please don't violate my circle. That's a fair talking distance, a fair query distance, a fair distance for pretty much any interpersonal relations we're gonna have. Force field, mafucka...

I mean for real, you can't tell me you haven't encountered this. That dude who waits in line so close behind you you can feel his nostril fumes prickin up the hairs down the back of your neck? Yeah, he's in your circle. That person from International Charities Inc. or whatever who chased you with a clipboard for a block to try sign you up for something and is now standing so close to you you can see into their soul? (I HATE those fools...but as usual, story another day) In your circle. Oh, and yes...the coworker who wants to ask you a question but just HAS to get 2 inches from your face to do so is in your circle too. (Seriously, if you was any closer, you would be behind me...back the fuck up.)

Overall, there is no reason to get inside somebody's circle unless you know they want you there (and if you have to ask yourself whether they do or not, they prolly don't...just sayin). It poses health and safety risks besides just being a skeevy thing to do. The problem, of course, is there's not enough consequences behind violating the circle. Oh sure, you could give them a dirty look or even give them a fun-size cussout...but imo, that's not getting it done.

So I tell you what...from now on, anytime some street random wants to get close enough to smell your aura, I ask that you stand in place and start throwin bows like you just came down with a rebound. If they get hit, they was in elbow's reach and therefore way too close...you were just stretching and their face got in the way. I guarantee they'll adjust they position whether they get hit or not. Maybe if this becomes a movement, we can end circle violation in our lifetime...and that's worth fighting for, the way I see it...


"Hey thanks...man!"

By now, I'm pretty sure we're all aware of those BK holiday cards. You've seen the commercials...the guy goes around giving out the cards to people he kinda knows/likes and they seem either mildly appreciative or slightly weirded out. The cards, which come in 4 cheeky designs, are printed with a little sarcastic remarks (my favorite kind) and include a dollar inside intended to let the reciever know exactly how much their relationship with you is worth in your mind.

Now, some people see this and see kind of an insult. Me? I say its a recession...you good and gahdamn right I'll take that dollar. I mean, that dollar is good for a delicious burger at Burger King. (How little can somebody think of you if they're feeding you? That mean they don't want you to starve and die... I take that as goodwill, I love you too...) But you wanna know the best part? A dollar can buy other shit too...you can buy anything in the dollar store, a Rolling Rock at Drinkers', 2 loosies, a big ass hug juice and a box of Lemonheads or hell...even a double cheeseburger from McDonalds if you prefer them (or just wanna be ironic or something). Thank you very much, um...uh...buddy.

My point is, I'll take a free dollar from anybody willing to give one up. (Except for that guy at the gym...I don't accept money from dudes without pants, misundertandings happen that way.) Shit, some people you actually call friends get the screwface on if you ask to borrow a dollar...but here's somebody you only vaguely know willing to give one up just to say they give a semi-fuck about you. I think that's half thoughtful, and anybody who gives me one can surely get a whole thank you.

In that spirit, I will sincerely appreciate any and all quasi-love shown by sortafriends through these cards this holiday season. They say on the commercial they're holiday gifts for 2nd, 3rd, and 4th rate friends...but I can definitely buy a first rate bag of mistletoe if I have 5 people who kinda care about me (a dutch too if I have 6) and really, isn't that what this time of year is all about? So yeah...thanks again, what's-your-name.

Minor Life Failures 11- Fuckin Chargers...

fittedwearer's note: Yes, that's why I picked this title...I'm still mad about Sunday. If you know what I'm talkin about, you do...and if you don't, let's skip it. Aaaaaaanywayz...

One of the most frustrating Minor Life Failures here in the future is when the battery to your phone dies. (Especially to a device-dependent mafucka like myself...this thing is literally like a sidekick on my daily misadventures.) There are few more helpless feelings in the world than your shiny and wonderful $200 lifestyle toy being reduced to a HTC Paperweight thanks to a dead battery. Fuck yo apps.

The worst thing about it is your phone will die at the least convenient time possible. Maybe you're on a long trip, and your phone is the only thing keeping you sane with its internet and music and MyFace and all the delightful shit that our phones do nowadays...but then you look at your battery and that shit is hangin on by a thin thread. Now you have to stop all your entertainment activities just so you'll have enough power to make an emergency call (you know, the thing that cell phones are actually for? I forget that myself sometimes...) and not get stranded in Trenton, NJ or some shit.

Or worse, how about when you go out for a night on the town? You know you don't have a charger on you wherever you're gettin into trouble, so your phone is in your pocket(book?) the whole night, slowly dying. Then, of course, by the time you need it to drunktext somebody with (maybe that's just me...) the thing cut off. Even worse, it has just enough battery life to turn on and get to the home screen before cutting off again. (Why do they do that? If the battery is dead, the damn thing shouldn't turn on...that's just a tease...)

On to solutions...you could try carrying a charger on you all the time, (did you know some streetlamps have outlets on the bottom? If you have your charger on you, just jack in and get some juice from the city...fuck it, you're a taxpayer...) you could just turn your phone off when you're not using it, (lol imagine that...) or you could carry two batteries...if you can keep up with the things (I can't). Hopefully this will help next time you find yourself with a dead battery...and if it doesn't, call me...


The Joy of Sport

There's a certain quality about playing a violent sport for fun that just can't be duplicated. See, when they use superlative terms like "gridiron war" or "turf battle" to describe everybody's favorite oblong ball game, they're not that far from the truth. Football hurts. Period. (That's why girls don't play :p ) I had forgotten this over my...uh, hiatus from the game and somewhat foolishly accepted an invitation to a pickup football game on Saturday. I thought it would be fun...I was right...on certain levels.

I arrived at the field of play, ready to rip, run and sling the ball all around the lot. The first thing I noticed is that the field was bald...it did have some grass around the side, but the majority was definitely brown...kind of a Uncle Phil style thing going on. We were going to run around and tackle each other with no protection past a skully on this hard, unforgiving surface. (Yeah, yeah, boys are stupid...I said it was fun, not smart.) More players, most of who I didn't know, showed up in 2s and 3s, ready to beat the shit out of each other. In all about 20 people showed.

It was before the game started that I got my 1st injury. During a warmup game of catch, a fired frozen football smacked the shit out of my left thumb like a pigskin ballistic missile, jamming the holy everliving hell out of it. (And you wonder why I think they would make a highly effective weapon...) If you've never had your finger jammed, it's very unpleasant. The affected finger(s) feel like it's broken, and your hand swells up until it resembles a Mickey Mouse glove. (As you can imagine, this makes most football and life related actions extremely difficult and painful.) As we all know, if you don't have a thumb, you pretty much don't have a hand. On the streets, I would have hurled someone bodily through a plate-glass window for hitting me in the hand with a thrown object. Between the white lines, I not only did nothing of the kind, but I congratulated the thrower on a fine throw, and apologized for dropping it as I hopped around in agony waving my hand like a 3 yr old who has truly learned what the word "hot" meant for the 1st time. Ah, the camraderie of football.

Sides were chosen (I was 1st pick...what an honor!) and the game began. I took my position behind the line, barked out some meaningless signals and flailed wildly just for fun, and started the play. Seeing as we had never even seen each other before, we didn't have any set routes or anything...all of the recievers just ran around in random serpentine zigzags like some kind of jailbreak. I saw one of my teammates flash open downfield and delivered the ball. "That was easy..." I thought to myself as I ran to the spot of the catch for the next play.

2nd play...hike! At this point, I learned that you can never take blocking for granted. While scanning the field to find a target (its really hard to tell people apart without different color unis...they're not JUST pretty...) unbeknownst to me, a large gentleman had broken free of the block the line pretended to give him and was running at me with a full head of steam. I obliviously held the ball and continued to look downfield. That's when Big Dude slammed into my back with devastating impact, knocking me to the frozen tundra on my head. I got up and congratulated the guy who had just killed 302 of my brain cells, but glared at the person on my team who was supposed to keep him from doing so. (Yes...that's EXACTLY the way it works.)

After a couple handoffs, I stepped up to the line for the 3rd throw. I was still groggy and confuzzled from jarring my semi-nekkid skull into dirt that was only slightly softer than concrete...but I couldn't let anybody else know that, right? (You play to win the game! Hello?) I yelled hike, took a few steps back, and immediately noticed that there was more than one of everybody. Last I checked, football wasn't played 60 deep, so I was sure I was just hallucinating. I told myself to stop being a skirt and throw the ball...I picked the most real and solid looking of the people I knew were on my team, and rocketed it in his direction. Unfortunately, it wasn't what I thought it was...it was merely his afterimage. What occupied the space I threw to now was some guy on the other team. You damn right it was picked off. (I was so shocked...it was the 1st time I had EVER done that lol) I pump-faked to unsnap chinstraps that weren't there, and started to trot off to the sideline and let the D take care of it. What I had forgotten is I WAS part of the D. (I remembered when everybody gave me the 0_o face, and I sheepishly returned to the field.)

On D, I was assigned to rush their QB, who I called Eli because of his Giants skully and Caucasian skin color. (I'm trying to keep the football jargon to a minimum as best I can here...'rush' means 'run at and try to murder', not stand by him and yell 'throwitthrowitthrowit' like I know at least one of you pictured.) Cool...he hiked the ball, and their line actually did a good job keeping me away from him on the 1st couple throws. On the 3rd throw I broke through...he looked so confused...clearly getting borne down on by a big, fast moving black man was not on his to-do list today. I grabbed him around his waist, hoisted him into the air, and spiked him like a disobedient girlfriend. That probably would have gotten me shot in the streets, but after a few seconds, he popped up semmingly unharmed and attempted to pat me on the buttocks in congratulations (a practice I never got down with) I swiveled my hips like a salsa dancer to avoid his buttslap and ran back to my side after giving him one of those finger points of acknowledgement. (Its a lot less homoerotic.)

The game continued in this manner...I hit a couple people (and tackled nothing but air on one particularly nifty move by one of those dudes...I felt violated, that's how bad I whiffed...), threw some good passes, a couple bad ones, was hit a few more times, I blocked and was blocked...in the end (scoring by ones, we called it a tie at 6-6...we were tired and it was getting dark, sue us...) we and our battered bodies sat there sharing Powerade, talking football and smoking like we didn't just spend the last few hours injuring each other. Everybody had an ailment of some sort (rolled ankles, deep scratches, and swollen knees were particularly in vogue) and yet none of this mattered.

4 hours ago, we would not have spoken to each other on the street...now we were laying in a circle passing around medication and laughing about girls, music and the NFL like long lost friends...and that there is the joy of sport. Only through sport can such quick friendships be formed. After all what teaches you to trust somebody quicker than seeing them get poked in the eye trying to keep you off your back? Of course, the real pain didn't start until I dragged my filthy ass home and stopped moving (I had to sit down in the shower!) and I'm still sore as I type today (I didn't even go to work today...my Cowboys losing the next day did not help the hurt...) but you fuckin right I'd do it again. Like I said...there's certain experiences one can only have with a football in his hands. I recommend it to everybody (unless, of course, you a bitch).


Random Thoughts 26- 100 Million

Its always funny when you think about how folks lives start. No not childbirth (that shit is icky like a mafucka...another post/another time) but even before that...you know, the Great Fertilization Grand Prix? 100 million sperm shoot out from the starting gates and make a madcap headlong charge toward the one egg? (Just keep swimming, just keep swimming...) Actually, I imagine it would be kinda exciting to watch magnified on TV...like the Kentucky Derby, ppl making bets and carrying on...its like a sporting event and reality TV all in one.

Anyway, sometimes I look at people around me and go "YOU won the race!?" Seriously, I know you've thought this...you've looked at some useless, slack jawed asshole and wondered how in THEE hell they overcame 100 million to 1 odds to actually be the one that fertilized the egg. (Maybe that's a prime example of your life peaking too early when the best accomplishment of your life is winning the GFGP) These people just have a certain look about them...like they just KNOW they didn't deserve to be born.

Just what exactly happened? It wasn't a fair race... Did they take a shortcut? Get a head start? Did some of the other sperm trip or crash? There's no way they were the legit best sperm...they would prolly be a completely different and better person if the best swimmer their dad had to offer actually made it first..but NOOOOOO. Because they wanted to cheat, they probably prevented some future astrophysicist or AIDS curer or something from being born. I think they should be ashamed of theyselves lol...


The Bad Boy Effect: an Interview

The "bad boy effect" is something I've been curious about for some time now. In case you're unfamiliar with the phenomenon, its the mysterious force that causes some females who profess to want a good man to keep going for the same gangstas, hustlas and suchlike over and over again. I did the obvious thing and talked to a few females about it, but have only come up with unsatisfactory answers like "I don't know" or "It's just something...so we have decided to bring in somebody with a little more expertise on the subject. Please welcome back Blaze, who tells me he gets most of his girls on the strength of that effect.

umf: Yo cuz, what's good with ya? *daps*

B: Ain't shit, ain't shit...you know, fallin back...you must not be at work today...

umf: Yeah, its too cold for that shit today, fuck it... Not too cold for a beer run later tho...I'm off topic tho. I hit you up today to ask you...what is it that a lot of females just love about people like you?

B: Light-skinned people with dreads?

umf: *sigh* Na, nigra...I'm talkin bout thugs...street-types...

B: Shit, bitches just love my gangsta swag...it's not all bitches tho...

umf: Yeah, just all the bad ones where I live, even all the way back through high school... *laughs* Anyway, hmm...it's that simple, huh? What you have that I don't is "it".

B: You know it my dude...shit, they just love my bounce. They look at me, see how I look, walk, talk and act, and just know that they're gonna get certain things by dealin with me.

umf: Like beat up on?

B: Nigga shut the fuck up *laughs* I don't even hit bitches all like that. Anyway, like I was sayin...they peep my swagger and know niggas like me can provide for em, protect em, and dick em down all crazy...and they love that shit.

umf: That right? Well, shit...in theory I could do the exact same thing. I got a job, I'm a big dude and nobody's ever complained about my horizontal dancing... You're saying a pair of Timbs and a rap sheet make me a better candidate?

B: Na, cuzzzzz you don't understand...you're lookin at this wrong. It's the whole presentation, it's the wrapping paper. Chicks who go for dudes like me don't go for nothing but dudes like me. It's the danger factor...its exciting for them. To them, 9-5 types like you are corny...no offense, cuz.

umf: I see...if they status ain't hood, they ain't checkin for em.Oh, and none taken...fuck it, I get off days and benefits...

B: Way to see the silver lining... *laughs* Anyway, yeah...bitches can't resist me... I get in the baddest bitch ear and before they know it they in my backseat...it gets like that.

umf: Hope you strap up...nasty mafucka. *laughs* Moving on tho, if these chicks want dudes like you, why they always talk about they want a good, stable man and shit? They'll beg and plead for a decent man like me and then go right for you...and then try to come back and cry on my shoulder when you do em wrong...quite frankly, that shit sickens me...

B: You saying I'm not decent and don't treat females well?

umf: That's precisely what I said.

B: Yeah, you right *laughs* Don't give a fuck about these bitches...anyway, the answer to your question is simple: they want both...

umf: That's...a little contradictory, ain't it?

B: Contra-what?

umf: Contradictory. It mean "the shit makes no sense". Dickhead... *laughs*

B: See, that's why your egghead self don't get no ass now, goin around using words like that...don't nobody wanna hear that shit... *laughs*

umf: Ay, fuck you dawg...straight up...man, answer the damn question.

B: haha...aight, aight...what these chicks you're talkin about want is a dude that can go out and get his own, somebody that's exciting but steady, somebody that's aggressive and sensitive, somebody that's gon handle that ass right and stay around to cuddle afterwards, ya dig?

umf: That...borders insanity. If they want stability, why you? Where's the stable when you could go upstate any day?


umf: It was just a scenario...I'll knock on wood just for you tho. Anyway, the only thing stable about you is your PO appointments...it don't make sense...

B: You're talkin about making sense with something involving females? I thought nerds like you was smart. *laughs*

umf: Yo, watch that shit...don't get that ass beat...

B: See, if you showed a lil bit of that to these bitches out here instead of takin your frustration out on me, you might be a lil better off...

umf: ...

B: Movin on tho, they just want all the best of both worlds.

umf: You ain't never lied...reversing the roles, that's like me lookin for some video vixen + cooking skills + head game + football knowledge - attitude - cheating +common sense + peach flavor love juices...just for fun... *trails off, spaces out, shakes head quickly to bring self back to reality* I'm not a rocket scientist, but that equation does not add up...I mean, that's just greedy...

B: Damn, that would be nice...but na, she don't exist. Course, if she did, she'd prolly go for me...

umf: Your humility is an inspiration... *laughs*

B: Um...yeah, thanks. You all off topic tho!

umf: Yeah I was...I got into my little dreamwife thought process and got distracted. Moving along, my thing here is you never even carry on a relationship...well, besides your bm...you just pop for a little while and then it's on to the next one...

B: I know that, and you know that...shit, they prolly even know that. They all just want a chance to try and tame me...you know, settle me down.

umf: But she should know if y'all was meant to deal with each other, she wouldn't have to change shit about you.

B: Huh...guess that's true...you would make a real smart female...

umf: I'm gonna try not to gigasmack the shit outta you... So what you're basically saying is they want my insides with your outsides?

B: Sounds about right...

umf: That's...prolly never gonna happen.

B: *laughs* Fuck it...they keep tryin, I keep gettin ass...I'll take it. Ain't say it was smart, I just said that's the way it be. Maybe you should rough up ya outsides a lil and get in on this action.

umf: And be a fraud? We have quite enough actors in the streets already, don't we? I'm good...I'll keep trying as regular AJ.

B: Being fake don't seem to bother a lot of niggas...they still get the benefits...

umf: Na, I'm cool...being fraudulent would bother me...thx for the offer tho, I have your card, I'll call you if anything changes...

B: *laughs* You a fool...

umf: Yeah...the giggles are my best weapon in this war, I guess...charisma is kinda like swag *laughs* aight, we're just about out of type for today, any final thoughts?

B: Fuck bitches, get money...

umf: How romantic...aight, thx again patna... *daps*

B: Anytime, cuz...

Swilla #5- Ed Hardy Sangria

I was wandering around in the liquor store looking for some medicine...uh...alcohol. I was thisclose to just picking up a bottle of the same ole vodka...I had it in my hand and was on the way to the register. That's when I saw it. Ed Hardy sangria. (Yes, the same Ed Hardy better known for overpriced, gaudy, formfitting glitter shirts for men...) I looked at the price...it was only 6 bucks. I decided I had to buy it for the pure "why the fuck does this product exist" factor. (The same reason I would buy a chain-mail durag if it was under 5 bucks...)

I brought it up to the counter, and the 1st thing employee Darlene said was "Oh, that's good..." She talked about how its great over ice and it was only out for a limited time and her family loves it...I'm not sure she wasn't gettin a check from Ed Hardy himself. Fuck it tho...I decided to roll the dice. I decided to get both bottles, just in case the tattoo fashion wine was undrinkable. (I fully expected it to suck, I can't lie...I just couldn't stand not knowing.)

I got home, got a cup of ice and cracked the bottle. I poured some into the cup (the bottle is about 5 good cups...not glasses...this ain't fine pinot grigio or nothin, it's more or less the midpoint between Yellowtail and Wild Irish Rose) and took a sip. I expected straight bum drank, but it was much more palatable. I was floored that I could actually stomach the shit...it really wasn't bad! It was...hmm...imagine making red flavored Kool-Aid with red wine instead of water. That's pretty much what this tastes like. Since I like red Kool-Aid, that wasn't really bad. Only problem is...at 7% alcohol (Yeah, I know, right?!) it's not exactly knockout punch.

That's when I had an idea for a cocktail...it was the standard double cran x vodka, but with the role of cranberry juice being played by Ed Hardy Sangria. (It just needs a name...hmm...cheap vodka and sugary wine..."Bum Rush?") That was my best idea yet. The drink that resulted was borderline great, and pretty damn strong. For me, that's where the real appeal of this shit (if any) lies...in its possibilities as a mixer. Its really not bad in that capacity.

It's not the classiest shit in the world (I wouldn't recommend you bring some new chick home to your apartment and bust this shit out, she might just wave goodbye and use your bedsheets to rappel down the side of your building.) but it's nowhere near as suckish as I thought it would be. So if you need a new, interesting chaser, want a rather tasty drink that won't put you on your ass, or just have 6 extra bucks and a curious nature...at least consider it. Who knows, maybe adult Kool-Aid will appeal to you.

ETCAM #10- GiGi's Soul Food Cart Platter

It took me 1.5 years to find out about the GiGi's cart (thx a lot for telling me so soon, co-workers...buncha ASSholes lol) but I'm glad I did. A few weeks back, I got wind that a home cooked type meal was a mere 1-stop train ride away. Tales of fried fish, chicken, greens and other traditional colored cuisine (greens, yams, cornbread, y'all know thee drill) were exchanged from floor to floor. It was less a lunch cart than a urban legend. I had to find out for myself.

After a short El ride, I got off at 30th street and scouted out for the pink truck I had heard so much about. It was about 3 degrees colder than a mafucka, but a black man will do strange things for fried foods. (Not THAT strange...get your mind out of the gutter, at least set it on the curb like you got some sense) I finally saw it and walked over to it. A large, cheerful African looking woman popped her whole upper body out the cart window like a jack-in-the-box before asking anybody in earshot "Whaaafooddoyoulike!?" (That's "can I take your order" in foreignerese...I understood...) It was very encouraging that the cook was big...obviously she got high on her own supply, which means it was prolly pretty good.

After a little consideration, I went with the fried fish, red beans and rice and mac and cheese. I was wary of soul food from a cart, and thought those were the hardest things to actually fuck up. (Besides, as I've told y'all before, I hate vegetables...) She took my order with a smile, and before I knew it, she extended an open platter out of the window for inspection. "Thiswhayoulike? Itgoodforyou?" I looked at it, saw it was both what I ordered and way more than I expected. I don't think the picture captures the full heap effect...that was a lot of fuckin food. "Uh...yeah, that's good." She looked like I had just given her a compliment. "Yesgood...it7dollar,yeah?"

I hadn't even bothered lookin at the menu prices, but did expect to pay more than $7. (I mean hell, a Happy Meal is damn near 7 dollars in 2009...) I quickly handed over the money before she changed her mind. She gave me an enthusiastic wave and told me to havehniiiceday. I returned the well wishes, accent and all. I got back on the train where the smell of the food was KILLIING me. I smelled the bag over and over again...I musta looked like I was huffing glue on the train stop. I didn't care...the aroma was rich and intoxicating...damn near felt like I was eating (couldn't have told my stomach that tho). I noticed negroes around me sniffing the air and looking hungrily at my lunch... I guarded my bag like a posessive boyfriend...

After a long train ride (it was the same distance as the one there...just seemed like it took forever cuz I was famished like a mafucka) I got to my desk after absorbing about 56 jealous stares on the way back (including 14 on the elevator) at my bag as the aroma wafted out. I opened the food and took a picture, then grabbed 2 forks and dug in. (I'm exaggerating...but only slightly...) I went for the red beans and rice 1st. For some reason, Popeye's makes my favorite...but these were damn close. As you can see, she used about a whole bag of rice, so there was no way in hell I was eatin all that. I moved on to the mac n cheese. A pet peeve of mine is bland mac n cheese. Nothing worse than expecting a mouthful of cheesy goodness and biting into a sponge instead. No such problem here...there was plenty of cheese and spices I couldn't identify and didn't really care to identify. The shit was bangin, and that's good enough for me...

My favorite part, of course, was the fish. 4 long fried filets, generously seasoned and fried to a golden brown perfection, it rivaled fried fish made by people's grandmoms. (I know, I know...yours makes the best food, but everybody says that, we'll be here all day arguing.) The fish was the only thing I ate all of...which ain't a shot at the sides, just an indication of the raw volume of food in that styrofoam platter. The shit was great to come off a cart, and pretty damn good in general. For 7 bucks, you can't beat it. I highly recommend if you're ever around 30th street station that you look for the pink cart and the jolly African lady. Yuwonbeedisappointeeed...


Foiled Again...

You definitely gotta watch yourself here in Philly. You never know what type of next-ass shit that folk are plotting out here...even in the cozy confines of Center City (the safest place in the city...it's chock full of wealthy Caucasians, so they do everything short of forming a human chain of cops holding hands up and down every street to keep the rich folk sleeping well at night...) you can get got if you're not on your P's and Q's (wtf does that mean, anyway?). I used to think you could walk around with a $100 bill taped to your forehead and be good...but you can never account for reckless/stupid/desperate folk.

I found this out a few days back...I was walkin down Chestnut St. on my lunch hour. Me and one of my job kin were gonna go on a lunchtime session then grab something to eat. (The 2 just go together...) As we stood on the corner waiting for a light, I noticed a shady lookin mafucka (who I'll call Lester) hovering around a nearby store entrance. Lester was a older black man, possibly homeless, with a scraggly salt and pepper beard and a filthy skully in a color that can only be described as blacgraybrown. He shifted his eyes furtively in that way that announces "I'M UP TO NO GOOD!" I knew whatever jank he was planning, he wasn't stupid enough to try on me if he wanted to continue to breathe, so I just shifted into defense mode and filed his presence away in the back of my mind...just in case.

Right then, 2 rich-looking white ladies (why not...Paris and Nicole) walked up behind us to wait for the same light. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lester leave his post and sidle up to the white ladies. "Of course...here we go..." I thought to myself. He got way unnecessarily close to them and asked them for the time in a low, gutteral grumble (a classic sneakthief move). Nicole clutched her pocketbook like a fragile newborn child, Paris recoiled in horror at being approached by an undesirable. (Usually I'm not a fan of this type of behavior, but it was justified this time...dude had "freakazoid" damn near tatted on his forehead.) I just stood there and watched, wanting to see what would happen next.

Lester continued to edge closer to Nicole, his eyes locked on her expensive designer bag. I could FEEL him about to snatch that shit and run. (Never mind it was high noon in Center fuckin City, he was still gonna try the jack move and prolly get arrested 2 blocks over.) I felt I had to do something. I realized nobody had told him the time so at the very least he would have no excuse to be around them anymore. I took the liberty: "Yo, oldhead...it's 12:30..." Lester glared at me, knowing I knew that he knew that I knew he knew I knew what he was trying to do. "Aight thanks...", he spat before returning to his perch.

After that, we all crossed the street. (Yeah, that was the longest red light ever, right?) I overheard Paris tell Nicole "Ohmigawd, I think that black guy just tried to pick your pocket!" (The fact that she mentioned he was a "black guy" let me know she's not around them too much...don't want ppl to get a bad impression...I mean how would you feel if the only black person you met this week tried to rob you? Jeez...) I shook my head as I thought about how stupid it was to try and rob somebody in Center City. Just then, I happened to glance back across the street where Lester was trying his bullshit on another terrified looking white girl. I just told this old coon the hour on the clock, but he still didn't know what time it was. Dude was really trippin...hell, making us all look bad. (You know, the whole "embarrassed to be black" thing.)

I was NOT gonna let white folk have a bedtime story about "the crazy black guy who robbed me today and the black folk who stood around and watched". (I hate that story.) I would be damned if a crackhead was gonna fuck it up for all of us. "YO!" I barked across the street at him, pointing at him for emphasis. Lester, apparently thinking I was gonna chase him down and curb-stomp him (I was gonna do no such thing...that "YO!" was about the limit of my involvement), stopped being interested in the time and skittered back into the alley he came from like a cockroach. It felt great. Of course, the moral of the story is that you have to watch your back wherever you are (remember that and thank me later) but what I learned is that race relations are more powerful than they look. Guess that's the way it is...

Buried Treasure

About 2-4x a year, something magical happens...you find money in your clothes. You know, you absentmindedly reach your hand into that jacket you haven't worn since last year (or that pair of jeans you wore on that night out when you didn't check your pockets before you drunkenly tossed them into the dirty clothes) and fish out a $20? Course, it only works when you find it in YOUR clothes...if you find money in somebody else's clothes, that's called stealing (and no, you're not Christopher Columbus...you can't just say you "discovered" their bread and the shit's cool...doesn't go down like that).

That's a truly exhilarating feeling...the first 10 seconds after you pull your hands out of your pocket and see that it's not some old reciept/club flyer/religious tract, (if you live in a big city, you're gonna get an average of 4.31 useless papers foisted upon you daily) but real, actual money is an overwhelming euphoria. It's like taking ecstasy...not that...um...I would know anything about that. *clears throat* But like I was saying, it's way more exciting than earning the same amount of money. If somebody gives you 7 bucks, I'm sure you appreciate it...but it's not really anything to write home about. In contrast, if you find that same measly 7 bucks in your back pocket, everybody around you knows it. You're prolly gonna tell friends, coworkers, anybody who will listen that you found 7 fuckin dollars.

Having this happen to you can make a whole day better, especially if the money you just found is more than you had (but shit, it even feels great finding $5...it's like winning 3rd prize in a contest you never entered). Overall, its one of the greatest small events in life...one of the best rushes you can have with your clothes on. Yes, it's just your money you're finding if you wanna look at the glass half empty, but the half full view is you're whatever amount of money you found richer now...and hell, that's how I see it....to me, it's a gift from the universe. (Ain't that the best kind?)


The Girl is Yours...

*fittedwearer's note: All stats are advanced hypothetical guesstimations based on 21 years of research and study at the University of Real Life. Those of y'all who know me know I've never exactly been a mathlete, but I have a calculator on my phone, so trust the analysis dammit. Furthermore, I'm gonna use 'girl' and 'girlfriend' throughout because I never had a boyfriend (and ain't in the market for one) but it works both ways...lady umf'ers can feel free to modify as needed. Oh yeah, and all exceptions are made for marriages. That's different. This only applies to non-legally-committed relationships. Damn that was a lot of fine print...

One thing I definitelydamnsure never understood is dudes fighting (or worse) over a female. Seriously? There are much better things to fight about...the last slice of pizza, whether Jay-Z or Nas won, football...but not females. First of all, on some real shit, it makes no statistical sense. Don't believe me? Lemme run some figures by you.

Aight, at last count the world's population hovers around 7 billion, right? It's then safe to say that there are 3 billion females that were born females on the planet. (Gotta account for trannies, its 2009...unless..you know...you're into that kind of thing...) Right on, let's continue. Of those 3 billion, we can say that 1 billion are under 18. (Stop looking at iCarly like that, creep...) We'll discount them. Another .5 billion are old as fuck...unless you really like pulling apart grilled cheese sandwiches, let's throw them out too. That leaves...what, 1.5 billion?

Cool...about half to 2/3rds of those are total bitches or asthetically disadvantaged (read: pug fugly) so we'll toss them out as well, because I'm assuming we're sober. That leaves about 400 million perfectly acceptable females on the planet. That's 40x the population of New York (or like 200 Phillys!) You tellin me both of y'all stupid mafuckas can't find another bitch? (Calm down...I don't mean 'bitches' in a disrespectful way...) Yeah some of em live in East Korea, Timbuktu or Montana, but in the age of social networking and shit, that's no excuse. There's not just somebody for everybody, there's prolly like 15 people if you look hard enough. Don't be lazy.

Even besides raw numbers, there's also common sense. You're fightin this dude...for what? Because y'all happen to be fuckin the same girl? Nobody wins there...that's Ls all around like a party at Snoop's crib. I mean...it's understandable to be upset if you actually know the guy. Shit, if you find out your girl is gettin it in with your co-worker/'friend'/brother...you have every right to beat that mafucka into a vegetative state. He knew full well and crossed the line, that's a respect thing. Not cool, bruh...not cool.

However, if you don't know this man and you upset with HIM because your girl is messin around? Bad look, patna. How do you know dude even knew she had a boyfriend? It's not like there's a boyfriend ring that chicks wear. Maybe he just saw her at the bar/party/club/library like any other female. You can't fault him for that. But who you can and should unleash your wrath on is your now-ex-gf (you better not take that bitch back, show a sac for chrissake). What do you want her so bad for anyway? She cheated...which means she's prolly gonna do it again whether it's on you, boyfriend #2, or the next dude. You're better off, my dude...

You see, the only one you know for a fact knew she was your girl was...your girl! Handle that with her. umf would never advocate that you hit a woman (first), but if you yell enough hurtful, angry shit, she's bound to strike you...then it's self-defense. It'll hold up in court, trust me. Anyway, if reading this causes one fight over a female to be averted, I'll feel I've done my job. The world may be a better place because of it. As always, thanks for wasting time reading this...no refunds!