Baaaaad Mafuckas- Michael Irvin

*fittedwearer's note: you know, I really wasn't even gonna do this, I swear..I was gonna leave my 'Boys outta this. However, at the request of my frienemy Ci, (an Eagles fan...I hope she gets better one day...) I am. I can't deny her that...she can enjoy greatness from the 3rd person at the very least. Aight so...yeah, here goes.

Well, you don't get a nickname like "the Playmaker" without having many tendencies of a baaaaad mafucka. Michael Irvin is one of the greatest wide recievers in NFL history and a pretty cool guy as well. I mean, he was good at what he did pretty much from birth. He was born in 1966 (the 15th of 17 kids, his father apparently made a few plays of his own...) and after starring in football all through high school, he went to the University of Miami where he won a national championship and set a bundle of school records which he still holds today.

In 1988, he was drafted by the then-pitiful Dallas Cowboys, who were by the late '80s little more than a punchline with cool helmets. He didn't help too much immdiately, as the 'Boys went 1-15 the next year, (ouch.) but after a few more years (and a few more Hall of Famers around him...you know, Emmitt, Troy, those folk...) he was able to see the Cowboys to 2 straight Super Bowls in 92' and 93' and one in '95, just for fun. I'd say being one of the main reasons for your team going from laughingstock to dynasty is pretty commendable.

Off the field, the man likes a party...and that can sometimes get folk into trouble. On his 30th birthday, during a wild blowout at a hotel, he was arrested on charges of cocaine possession and showed up to his trial in a full length mink. (Whatever you may think of that, you have to admit it's a bold move...takes balls to show up for a drug case looking like Frank Lucas at that Frazier fight.) He was also twice accused of sexual assault, however both stories were exposed as simple cases of 'party girl's regret' and thrown out like the lies they were. Mike stayed cool through the whole thing...and came out clean at the end.

Legal shit aside, he played 11 electrifying years for the 'Boys, accumulating accolades, records and controversy along the way. Mike was a very polarizing player, and if you liked football you either loved or hated him, most choosing the latter. (Yes, his mere presence on a football team created a media circus, but he had 3 rings to put in it...so there wasn't much to be said to the man.) Sadly, his career was cut short when he sustained a neck injury on a cheap shot from some nameless Eagle as their boorish, classless fans cheered his temporarily paralyzed body (a vile act of poor sportsmanship I still hold against Bird watchers to this day...guess thats what happens when your team is ass for half a century at a time...) but not before he had established himself as one of the best players of his generation and a 1st ballot Hall of Famer.

A vocal, emotional leader, he was known for his highly visible displays of excitement and celebratory outbursts. T.O., Chad EightFive and other recievers of today who gesture and flourish to punctuate good plays pretty much owe a debt to Mike. He talked a whole bunch of shit and backed it up on the field, setting just about every franchise record that they have numbers for during his illustrious career. He is also known for his distinctive style of dress, which cements his status here because only a baaaaad mafucka could wear a waist length creamsicle orange blazer and look fly doing so.

When I was younger, I wanted to be like Mike (I vividly remember running around in my little #88 jersey many years ago pointing and flailing just like my hero) and apparently I'm not alone. Mike is beloved by his fans to great lengths...in fact to illustrate this point, last year he was almost the victim of a carjacking...2 assailants rode up alongside his car with guns drawn, intending to take his vehicle. Normally this means you're about to call AAA and get a ride home (if not to the hospital). Not for Mike...his would be jackers were Cowboys fans, and after identifying the legend and professing their admiration for his work, they simply drove away and let Mike continue unharmed. You know you got more juice than Tropicana when your reputation acts as a car alarm...and that right there pretty much qualifies you as a baaaaad mafucka.

Try sleeping with an empty stomach... (A letter to whoever decides where to put Sonics)

Dear Sonic,

They say there's a thin line between love and hate, and that line might be a straw in one of your delicious shakes. Night after intoxicated night you tantalize me with visions of bacon double cheeseburger toasters and 476 varieties of fountain drinks (which I theorize would play very nice with many more alcoholic beverages besides vodka...oh the dranksmithing possibilities...) and what is it all for? There's not a Sonic within an hour of Philly...trust me I googled it. I really don't see why they even play your commercials out here, reminding me over and over that you're open all night for me...lot of good that does me 75 miles away.

I've only been to visit you one time on a random road trip a while ago...it was a one night stand, and I admit I was drunk at the time, but I want you to know I loved every of the 15 bucks worth of food I ordered, and I meant everything I said that night. (I even dropped a spicy cheese jalapeňo bite on my shirt, but it not only was so good I didn't get mad, I ended up eating it off the leg of my Levis...let's keep that between us tho...) Thanks for the memories, but damn...you could keep in touch. I even gave you my email and zipcode so you could 'send me special offers and research customer locations for placement of future Sonics.' You never used it...I'm hurt.

The distance strained our relationship, but the feelings for you remain...I'm forced to love you from a distance. Now every time I see a chili cheese Coney on TV it feels like seeing the ex that got away. (Its never good to see a grown man getting all misty eyed over a Fritos southwest wrap...makin me all hungrymotional and shit...) How long will my love for your loaded tater tots go unrequited? Why do we play these games? Unbreak my heart...please put a Sonic somewhere around here...or at least stop showing me delicious and unavailable food at 3 in the morning. (Seriously...I need you to stop sexting my stomach with those commercials if you're not gonna let me bite lol...)




When will people learn to leave animals the fuck alone? Like seriously...they're animals. Do you know why they call people who do fucked up and vicious things "animals"? Because animals do fucked up and vicious things. It's in their nature. That's why I never really messed around with those animal shows where they make kangaroos ride bikes or people who call themselves tiger tamers and shit...mafucka, you ain't taming a damn thing! It's a wild animal!

Case in point: Just yesterday a killer whale trainer was killed just before 'they' (meaning the whale...the trainer doesn't do shit but give orders and throw fish...ooh, impressive...the whale's not obeying you, it's hungry) were supposed to perform. The whale, apparently tired of jumping through hoops and re-enacting scenes from "Free Willy", turned on its trainer. It leaped out of the pool, grabbed the bitch in both fins before slapping her around a bit, crushing her bones with its body and finally dragging her down to a watery grave.

Aight, so number one...its a killer whale. KILLER. What don't you understand about that? You know why they call them 'poisonous snakes'? Because they poison. You know why they call them 'electric eels'? Because they electrocute. Fire ants? Stinging jellyfish? You follow me here? Not only that, but this particular whale isn't a first time killer. This is the 3rd trainer that the whale in question has drowned, mauled, or otherwise sent to find out which religion was correct. (Seriously, we have to start applying the law to animals...this whale should spend the next 20-40 years in Bikini Bottom Jail like any other undersea criminal...) If you're fuckin around with a killer whale with 3 bodies on its rap sheet, you're rolling the dice with your life.

You would think people would have learned after that baboon ripped that lady's face off like the paper off the top of a can of Pringles but noooooo...mafuckas just don't know when to stop! Its cool though...don't listen to me, go right on head...stick your head in that lion's mouth, wrestle that alligator, try and slow dance with that grizzly bear if the fuck you want...just don't come cryin to me when you wake up dead. There's a reason they call that show "WHEN animals attack" and not "IF animals attack"...it's only a matter of time until they show their wild side.

Random Thoughts 34- Twisted Up

You know, I find it interesting the things people don't notice that are right in front of their faces. Maybe it's just a coincidence, but if we pick up our history books for a quick second (yes...b o o k...they're the little rectangular things with the paper marked with all those squiggly lines inside that folk used a really long time ago...) we can see that in the 1600s, Europeans, many of them Dutch, took slaves from Africa to the new world and held them in bondage for hundreds of years...we all know what happened there, but long story short, it kinda sucked.

Now, about 400 years later, us black folk are free and enjoy many liberties, one of which is smokin cannabis (whether the law chooses to recognize that or not). That might seem like a really weird transition, but peep...the funny thing is a lot of us use cigars called "Dutch Masters" to roll. Even the package has a bunch of old-timey plantation-lookin white dudes on there...sit there and tell me a whip or 5 would look out of place in that picture. Its crazy how some of our ancestors might have picked that very same tobacco that stuffs those things. (Before it gets emptied to make room for the good stuff...) Why is that?

Thats seems a bit off to me given the history there...wouldn't we want to avoid supporting Dutch Masters as much as possible? I don't know about you, but I don't fuck with Dutch massas or any other kind...That's a lot like a Jewish person fueling up their car at a pump station called "Gas Chamber" or something. I'm not on no Conspiracy Brotha shit, I'm not sure how rolling papers fit into the grand scheme of "The Man", but I do think it's kinda funny in a way. Like I said, it may just be a coincidence...I just wonder... (Oh, and for the record I smoke Tops anyway :) )



Violence can be a big problem at some inner-city schools, and nowhere is that more relevant than at at South Philadelphia High School. In the paper this morning (shoutout to Metro! Free news is the shit...I ain't paying for no damn newspaper, what what bitch!) here have recently been a rash of racially-charged fights between black and Asian students. Now, obviously we don't want kids going all "Fight Club" on each other in gym class or hitting each other with trays and stale loaves of French bread in the lunchroom, so something has to be done...but what?

Many bright ideas have popped up as potential solutions...increased security, cameras in the schools to identify and punish offenders, stiffer punishments for those who do get caught...but like a lot of times in situations like this, the worst solution is the most popular and the closest to passing. What is this 'brilliant and innovative' cure to the ills of racial violence in school? Banning hoodies. Yes...banning hoodies. (No, not instituting uniforms...they already have those...just no more hooded sweatshirts.) Are you deadass serious?

I mean, what's the difference between jumping somebody in a hoodie and jumping somebody in a sweater vest or a button up or a polo shirt? The victim gets just as tuned up. Hell, you could make the kids wear tuxedos and they'd beat each other's asses anyway if they felt like doing it. (Well, maybe it looks a little more classy, but that's not the point...besides, nobody wants to be stomped out in a formal manner by dudes with their pinkies in the air...) So how does not wearing a hoodie make anything any safer? "Damn, my dude...I was gonna shank the shit out of you with this spork, but I see you wearing your church clothes and can't get dirty, so we good for now..." The only real benefit I can see is that it makes the fights more fair...nobody can do that thing where they pull your hood over your head with one hand and just wail on your covered dome like a flesh and bone piñata with the other...so there's one good thing, I guess.

The crazy part is this new rule has many supporters in the school district and the community and is being pushed through as some kind of pugilistic panacea. But my thing is, why are hoodies even a topic of discussion in a serious situation like this? I realize it is kind of stereotypical 'thug wear' but aren't there way more important issues at hand here than whether one's sweatshirt has a hood or not? (Not to mention we forget so fast that hoods have a legit purpose, like to cover your head in the rain or snow...you know, outerwear?) It's petty shit like this that distract people from the real problems, like why the students are fighting and what can be done to stop it, instead of what they're wearing while they are. Seems like folk just wanna find something to blame instead of actually solving anything...it's fitting that this nonsense involves school, cuz it seems like everybody has a lot to learn here. Hey...sometimes you can't do shit but shake your head...whether it's covered by a hood or not.

Minor Life Failures 14- Lost and Found

This is definitely one of the Failures that can make you feel the stupidest, but it happens more than you would like. Aight, so you're just walking along like on any normal day...maybe you're about to go over a friend's crib for some chillaxation. You want to call your friend to tell them you're at the door...but where's that damn cell phone? (You better have one...how many times do I have to remind you what year it is?)

You frantically check your left jeans pocket, then the right. No. Maybe it's in your coat pocket? Damn...you get a little more worried. You check all 7 pockets on your coat...no dice. Is it in your purse, your drawstring bag, your bra? Nope, nope, nope. A black dread creeps over your soul as you realize you don't have your phone (aka your networking lifeline)...shit, shit, shit...where the fuck could it possibly--oh. There it is. In your hand, asshole. You just searched your whole person for your phone while holding the damn thing...awesome job.

Shit happens sometimes, but it can happen less with a few solutions. One is to walk around nekkid. Its the tiniest bit illegal (and I wouldn't recommend it on days like today, guys...it's too cold and...ahem...its too cold.) but at least you won't have any pockets to check. Another is to get a hip clip and draw your phone like you're in a western-style shootout every time you wanna use it. (Yeeha!) You'll look a little odd, but you'll be way more likely to remember where your phone is. The last one is to have it on a lanyard around your neck...you'll always know where it is, and if you put a diamond or something as your screensaver, it makes a nice piece of jewelry. Hope one of those works for you...because the only other one I can think of is to stop smokin so much damn weed...but, eeeyeah...about that...lol...


Date-N-Switch: An Interview

*fittedwearer's note: Since both me and Blaze are straight males, we're gonna be talking about females...but the concept of the date-n-switch definitely extends to males too, maybe even more so...point is, lady umf'ers can feel free to flip it to their POV as always. With that typed...

On good days, you get people who are interested in you. On interesting days, you get somebody who is interested in you that has a much finer friend/cousin/sister that you have a lot more interest in. It's a sticky situation and feelings are very volatile in scenarios like this. How do you manage to sort out something like that? Well, I'm halfway a nice guy, so I don't really have the stomach for that kind of interpersonal espionage (I don't wanna end up on Springer)...but I know of a dude that does. umf'ers please welcome back Blaze... (who has been MIA like the Dolphins but managed to find his way back here) I think he can shed more light on this than I can.

umf: Ay man, where ya been at? *daps*

Blaze: I been around, my dude...don't everybody be havin time to be on Facebook and writin long ass articles about a bunch of random bullshit all day like you. *laughs*

umf: I think I see why I don't invite your yellow ass around here as much...

B: *laughs* I'm fuckin around, fam...its all love...

umf: Yeah it's all fun and games til somebody gets they dreads cut off in they sleep, fuckboy...anyway, on topic: you like to consider yourself a pretty smooth dude far as the ladies go, right?

B: Heh...yeah, I do aight...

umf: If you're doin aight, I wonder what the hell I'm...never mind, I don't walk into shit like that. Moving on, so I assume you've been in a situation where one girl may have wanted you but you wanted somebody else in they little group, right?

B: Haaaaaa...the 'date-n-switch'...

umf: Normally, I would say I name the concepts around these parts, but I'll keep that one, its pretty good. Aight, so how do you handle it? I mean, how do you diplomatically tell a chick "I'm flattered, but I really would prefer your cousin..."?

B: You don't.

umf: ¿que?

B: You heard me, nigga. Ain't shit 'diplomatic' about it. You just hit her with it! Life's tough, bitch...get a helmet.

umf: Damn, straight like that tho?

B: Yeah, straight like that...aight, say you have 2 girlfriends, a sexy one and a way less sexy one.

umf: They need names...

B: Do everybody gotta have a made up name all the time? Damn! Fine...Beyonce and Solange...

umf: *laughs* Works for me...continue.

B: Yeah, so Solange really likes you, but you don't like her...you like Beyonce. Funny thing is, Beyonce likes you a little too, but can't say anything because she don't want her girl Solange hurt.

umf: Right...

B: So what you do is go to Solange and give her the blunt force trauma. Tell her straight up that it ain't goin down.

umf: Damn, the blunt force tho? I mean...you and Solange can't be friends just because you want Beyonce?

B: Sure you could, in a perfect world...but you know damn well we don't live there. Kiss was right when he said "Niggas always hate what they can't have", and this a prime example. I would be down with 'just friends' with Solange, but she ain't up for it. Shit, you wrote that 'rejection' thing, you know how it works.

umf: True, true...

B: So like I was saying, don't leave any hopes in the air for her or she'll think she still has a shot and try to sabotage your future dealings with Beyonce.

umf: Sabotage?

B: Yeah, sabotage...you know, monkey wrench, throw salt--

umf: Mafucka I know what the word mean, don't try to play me...you the one who did a senior project about "Hop on Pop" with your semi-literate ass...don't let that 'word a day' calendar you got by your bed pump your head up...I was askin what you meant BY it.

B: *laughs* You right...but yeah, the ways they do the shit is real sneaky. Like Solange will know you and Beyonce are hangin out and start texting her all crazy...or she'll show up at the same restaurant y'all about to grab some lunch at and make it a tricycle date...or if she's desperate she'll even call Beyonce away from you for an important girl talk right as you were "watching a movie". The shit goes down.

umf: Wow, it's that serious?

B: No. It ain't. But some bitches make it that serious. So you gotta cut that shit short. Just be like "Lookit ma, you nice and all but...I want your friend tho..."

umf: Huh. That seems a little harsh.

B: Nigga what I just spend 10 minutes tellin you!?

umf: *laughs* You got it...I don't want no trouble.

B: Sure don't...anyway, when you tell Solange what's up, odds are she's gonna run right to Beyonce and spill it. Beyonce is gonna act like she's just as offended as Solange because she has to, but if she has a little something for you like I said she did, she'll secretly respect your honesty and be kinda flattered that you picked her over her friend. That's gonna work in your favor, and since odds are she already decided whether she was gonna let you in or not anyway...the rest is up to you.

umf: Aight, I could see where that would work...I guess...but damn, that sounds messy and...um...fucked up, for lack of a better term. Won't you damage Beyonce and Solange's reationship or...something?

B: Doesn't sound like my problem, Dr. Philly. They gotta work that out for themselves. Course, if Beyonce is a great friend, she won't fuck with you out of respect for Solange's feelings...that does happen sometimes, cuz some females actually have morals and shit...but these are scandalous twentyten bitches we talkin about, and respect ain't really a big theme nowadays anyway. A lot of bitches is hoes this year, and you just playing the percentages...

umf: Zoinks. That's a bit much for me...I would personally leave the whole thing alone if it was that tangled up. Maybe my pimp hand isn't strong enough...perhaps I should consider some pimpin' pushups or weighted bitchslaps...

B: *laughs* Always makin jokes...see, that's why you don't get it like you should now...you too fuckin nice. You're a 'gentleman' even tho there's so few 'ladies' left. How's that working out for you?

umf: *rolls eyes, tugs brim of hat downward* ...do we really gotta?

B: That's about what I thought. Shiiiiiiit, way I see it I'm handling it the civilized way by letting em know the deal...lot of niggas I know would just try to fuck both with no remorse...crazy part is they succeed sometimes.

umf: Also true. You know what, I've seen that happen from a 3rd person perspective but...eeeyeah...I'm good.

B: Yeah me too...it's fun, but you might could get cut when and if they find out.

umf: Truest. I like my dick where it is. Aight, ya womanizer...we're just about out of type for today, any final thoughts?

B: Just think about what I said to you.

umf: Hmm...will do...aight man, thx again for the visit...and come back before 3 months go by this time, willya?

B: Yup, I got you... *daps*

umf: Bettahad, bitch...


It's a post about nothing...

Nothing can be a great use of a weekend. Yes, elaborate outings and grand plans are always fun, but I think doing different variations of not a damn thing is a perfectly good way to spend that beloved 2-day hiatus we get. (Shit, even if you don't do a damn thing of note with yourself for that 56 or so hours, hell...you wasn't at work so...) Falling back alone at home can be aightish, but in the company of decent folk, a weekend of pure idle can be almost as good as a vacation. To prove it, I spent the last couple days doing just that. (Shoutout to Geraldine and Ashelee...never thought I'd have that much fun watching the Kardashians lol)

I arrived on campus Saturday afternoon and the first thing I noticed is that I was hungry as shit. I had skipped breakfast for no apparent reason that morning and was told of a nearby Subway. My last experience with Subway was subpar, but fuck it I was hungry...and after reading the big ass sign on the front of the door that said "ANY FOOTLONG SUB $5" in foot high letters and consulting with my angrily growling stomach, a $5 hoagie didn't sound bad. I walked up to the counter where an Indian lady greeted me with a blank stare.

I told her I wanted a chicken, bacon and ranch (best thing they make, point blank period.) and the first thing she said was *drumroll* ...that one wasn't $5, it was 6.50. After a good 45 seconds of thoroughly explaining to the woman the concepts of "any", "all" and "$5", as well as making the '$5 footlong' gestures from the commercial, I gave up and just bought the damn sandwich...the more sense I made, the less English she seemed to know how to speak. (Its funny how that happens with foreign folk sometimes.) I was frustrated and hungry, and I decided that giving this chick a 5 finger faceslap was counterproductive, seeing as if I did that I wouldnt get my food. They got me for $7+ this time, but watch and see...the next time I step foot in a Subway, I'll prolly be buying Fresh Fit meals for my kids. I'm serious about that, fuck y'all.

After that debacle was over, we got to the dorm, and I dicovered that the dorm has some bass ackwards visitation rules. Even though the dorm is co-ed, my body plumbing differing from that of my hostess's meant that under the rules my visit was timed (my best guess is that they don't want outsourced booty coming in all night...but then again it also implies that most intergender visitation is of a sexual nature, a notion I find rather presumptuous...not to mention these rules do nothing to curtail same-sex overnight trysts...not that I personally endorse such, but it is twentyten and some folk are into that...back on topic tho...) and we had to...uh...creatively interpret...the rules...to get the whole thing started. (Thx for the assist, Dave...)

After watching "16 and Pregnant" for a while (its a good show, if only for the pure "damn, I'm glad that ain't me" value...when you can get a TV show just for getting knocked up abnormally early, it's a brave new world) Geraldine told me she hadn't slept in 3 weeks or some such shit and set off on a nap. After being left to my own devices for a while, I remembered that some of those devices could get me blazed. I wasn't tryna get nobody evicted or anything by sparkin inside, so I excused myself to take a walk in the neighborhood. (In retrospect, the "visitors may not re-enter, blah blah blah" sign should have deterred me...but on the other hand, I was bored and sober with the tools to fix both...ay...)

After my constitutional, I returned a few minutes later prolly smelling like "Eau de Ganja" and diddybopped smoothly past the check in counter to make my way back to the room when I was stopped by the attendant, whose name will be Front Desk Bitch from now on. (I don't know or concern myself with her real name, I feel this one fits better anyway.) "Ehh, yoo stay in thees beelding?" she asked me pointedly in a thick island accent of some kind. (I considered telling her I did and just had never been to my room the whole semester because I couldn't find it, but decided that was more trouble than it was worth...) "No..." I said before explaining that I was just a visitor who had went out for a smoke. Unmoved, she replied. "Yoo na allow to leev de preMEsaas widout ya host, who it ees?" This was gonna be harder than necessary.

I came thisclose to slipping up and telling the truth before remembering that officially I was signed in with Dave. I called upstairs to be escorted in by my 'host' but Geraldine showed up with him. Front Desk Bitch smelled a rat, but couldn't prove anything...so she just gave me a suspicious glare before allowing me back in. I thought that was the end of my dealings with Front Desk Bitch for the night, but a little later a liquor run became necessary. (Of course, this meant I had to be signed out again so I could sign back in when I got back a little later...I had begun to start feeling a little like a library book.) As I signed out, Front Desk Bitch cocked her head to the side and put 2 and 2 together.

She took out her metaphorical shiny monitor whistle and blew with every ounce of breath in her lungs. "Yoo are a lyah! Yoo say yoo ah heah wit de man and den you show down heah wid de semm gyal twice na! Do not do eet ah-gain!" Never mind that I didn't know or care about the technicalities of visitation procedures, (or even more than barely understand what the fuck she was saying...what I just typed is what I'm like 74% sure she said...there were many "whats?" from my end of the convo.) far as she was concerned, I had broken the sacred bond between front desk and visitor. She had her eye on me. Sick of hearing her voice, I just hit her with a "yeahAIGHT..." and kept it movin. I did have the faintest worry that she would see me when I came back and call the cops or something, but then again they prolly wouldn't understand her either...

As we returned with margarita materials, I was happy to see that Front Desk Bitch had left to wash out whatever irritant she had in her vaginal area. (I guess that was the problem...I'm not sure, but there had to be some reason she was all pissy, and a urinary tract infection would explain it...just my theory.) Another girl had taken her place, and let me pass with minimal harassment. By that time I was hungry again, so we ordered some pizza, knowing full well that alcohol pretty forces you to eat takeout. I put the order in online, and a lying ass graphic popped up saying that it would be there in half an hour. 3.5 halves of an hour later, the pizza came. Somehow it was still hot...whatever.

(Quick aside about Domino's: isn't it funny how they're so proud they revamped their pizza but now charge more for it? Remember that 5-5-5 deal they used to run? No more...now its $6. Good job Dominos...you basically admitted your pizza sucked by remamking it from the ground up, and then said "this new shit is better, trust us...and could you be a pal and give us an extra dollar too?" That's like Toyota recalling those janky ass cars that keep killing folk and then saying "yeah, we'll fix it...but we're gonna need you to come up off $500 more, somebody has to pay for all that product testing and we chose you. Sry bruh..." Nall...you made it bad, fix it for free, bitch!)

That would be the second restaurant I had put on my shitlist that day. (Even tho, to their credit, the pizza was good...it really is improved...I just dont appreciate being able to watch a whole movie in the time it takes to get a pizza delivered...guess there's a reason they don't do the "30 mins or less" promise anymore.) Some time after that, a few other cool peoples stopped through and we were gonna get to drankin...but we had no ice to make the drinks with. We deliberated for a bit and eventually decided on the "we be aight" approach...the drinks flowed iceless. After 2 it didn't matter. (They charged me with makin the drinks, which means I poured the maximum amount of alcohol allowed by law in each cocktail...since I can't cook, I take pride in my drinkmaking.)

We all sat there and watched some police video show (note to self: if I ever rob a bank, make sure to bring a bag to carry the money so you don't end up dropping it on the ground while trying to carry your gains out the door in your bare hands during your escape.) and talked about stuff I don't really remember but was enthralling at the time. When that was over, it was "let's recite Nicki Minaj lyrics" hour, but I was drunk so I didn't mind too much. After drink 7 I'm not too clear, but I'm pretty sure I just passed out...when I woke up, everybody was gone, including Jose Cuervo, who I invited but am told I personally escorted out of the building. Good times.

The next morning I woke up and it was more of the same...watched some show where people almost killed themselves trying to run up a conveyor belt on stilts and handwalk over gravel to win no cash and fabulous nonprizes while some guy commented on the whole thing in loud, frenzied Japanese, ate some leftover pizza (the great thing about ordering food is it becomes dinner that night, plus breakfast and lunchthe next morning...even dinner again if you're by yourself...), and other general hangoutery. Before I knew it, it was time to go home and get ready for work the next day...my weekend was over. Some people might say I wasted it...I say nothing you can enjoy can ever be a waste. Fuckit, I had fun...when people at work today ask me what I did this weekend, I'm gonna say "nothing"...and I'd do it again in a minute. Here's hoping I have nothing to do with any of you mafuckas...lol...


Random Thoughts 33- Overreaction much?

I'm sure by now we've all gotten wind of this champ who flew his plane into an IRS office building last week as some kind of tax protest. I'm pretty sure there's not a soul who will read this who loves giving 10-20% of your wages to the gov't ever time you get paid (I can't really picture somebody lovingly tucking a check to the IRS into an envelope then spraying perfume on it before sensually licking it closed and smiling like that weird guy from Iron Chef. Doesn't seem right...) but this dude just took it to the next level. 'Parently, it WAS that serious.

See, its shit like this that makes me think I'm more mature than I give myself credit for. Sure, my soul is about 16 years old so I'm definitely still good for angry outbursts and negative reactions to things that didn't go my way, but damn...if a chick in a bar doesn't wanna give me her number I'm not gonna fly a plane into her house. I mean, damn...don't you think that's a bit much, guy? (instant irony: the fact that the asshole died in the crash means he'll have to pay estate and death taxes posthumously...way to make your point.) You could really hurt somebody like that...oh well, good thing only you died. At least now you can't have kids who will run out in front of the ice cream truck if you won't give them money for a Bomb Pop.


Baaaaad Mafuckas- Huey P. Newton

It more or less goes without saying that Huey P. Newton was a baaaaad mafucka, but I'll say it anyway. He is. (I mean, you gotta be somebody special to get a main character on the Boondocks named after you...just sayin.) 

Born in the bayous of Louisiana in the late 40s before moving to California where he spent the bulk of his life, he grew up in a time where being black meant pretty much meant you had to be tough or die. ("Die" not necessarily meaning clinical death, but the death of the spirit via submission to the status quo...not insulting your intelligence, just being clear.) Huey chose the former, and you always have to respect that.

As a teenager, he was in and out of trouble with the law (not that trouble was hard to find for a black man in the '60s) but managed to complete high school...despite never formally learning to read! (He eventually taught himself...so illiterate mafuckas, there's no excuse for you...) He was willing to go outside the normal channels to further his education. He financed his Merritt College tuition mainly through corner store stickups and other petty crimes.

He even took it to the next level and used his education to further the other channels, himself claiming to study law to learn how to be a better criminal. Some see this as a conflict of interest, a different viewpoint shows it as inspired determination. The man was "Stealing Harvard" way before the movie came out.

It was during his time at Merritt he founded the most lasting piece of his legacy, the Black Panther Party for Self-Defense. (Yes, self-defense...that part always gets left out. When we think of a Black Panther, we think leather jacket, beret, assault rifle...and while that's true, it was for a reason...they were the hunted. If I'm gonna get shot at for the color of my skin, I at least wanna be able to return fire.)

In those days you could take home a whupped ass as a souvenir from walking down the wrong street wearing brown. Huey said "nuh-uh". This new black radical group promoted of black pride, civil rights, and the fact that black folk were not to be kicked around anymore.

The raised fist that became their salute still is used to this day, even by clueless whitefolk who have no idea about the message behind it. (You know it's good once the white people steal it from you...think about it, rock music, Super Soakers, "ebonics", sistas? All black, all stolen...you're welcome, Caucasians...)

Not long after that, he got into a situation which ended up getting him charged with the murder of a police officer. In 1967, as he was being arrested for some crime or other, a shootout broke out. What exactly happened depends on whether you ask the cops or not, as theirs is the only official version on record, but I don't know if I even believe it enough to discuss. 

(For the record, they say he somehow got free of his cuffs and shot an officer with his own gun...which, if true, makes him a combination of Jackie Chan, Jack Bauer and Harry fuckin' Houdini, and thus one of the baddest mafuckas to ever live.) Whatever happened, when the gunsmoke cleared, one officer was left dead, another incapacitated from a bullet wound, but Huey, who was also shot, managed to get up and stagger to a local hospital. True hardbody shit. 

What's more, they never proved anything against him. The case was eventually dropped.

In his later life he got out of the most active aspects of the Panthers, but still remained a prominent figure in the black community, holding sway over hundreds of thousands who subscribed to his message of Black Power. He wrote books and made speeches across the country to prove that just because you're brown doesn't mean you're out. After a few years of contributing in this way, his life tragically ended in 1989 when he was fatally shot by some faceless dealer for reasons still unknown.

Adding insult to injury he was murdered on a corner in one of the same Oakland neighborhoods the Panthers did the most community work in. However, according to multiple eyewitnesses, his last action before being struck 3 times in the face at point blank range were to look his killer directly in the eye and announce loudly "You can kill my body, but not my spirit...my spirit will live on forever!" 

Truer words were never uttered. Spoken like a true baaaaad mafucka.

PSA: Flash Mobs

So there's a new activity that seems to be getting popular among the younger generation, at least here in Philly. The kiddies these days, bored with childhood games like Red Rover, kickball, and dodgeball (its a shame, I was a dodgeball demigod back in the day...Neo from the Matrix can fuck himself, I def invented that backwards lean to dodge a projectile way back in the mid 90's...that's another topic tho.) have taken to organizing groups called "flash mobs". It's very interesting trend....and an equally disturbing one.

In case you're unfamiliar with the phenomenon, a flash mob usually starts on some friendsite or other with a mass message to a bunch of bored middle schoolers basically saying "let's go fuck something up at this time at this place", which they all respond and rsvp for. (Maybe this is a bit random, but I always think about if we had we had MySpace or something during the civil rights movement...then kids prolly would have used it to organize marches and sit-ins and shit, now they use it to gather unruly mobs for wanton vandalism...sometimes I fear for the future of society...) They repost it and tell some friends, who repost it and tell some friends...you get the idea.

They then show up 200+ deep, ready for a productive session of pointless tomfoolery. In the latest case, a throng of skinny-jean wearing heathens showed up at the Gallery (it's the main shopping destination in Center City, for the non-Phillyfolk...it's nowhere near as classy as it sounds tho lol) and began to pillage. They used the Macy's as a breach point and ran through the length of the mall leaving a swath of destruction in their wake. Mannequins were knocked down, carefully arranged displays torn asunder, '40% off!' signs ripped from their stands and flung around like toys...ever seen somebody's apartment get tossed by the cop on "Law and Order" or "CSI" or any other pig drama? That's the general idea, except in a 3 block mall in Philly instead of a 2 bedroom loft in Manhattan.

I guess I can kinda see how destroying shit that doesn't belong to you would appeal to a teenager, I can't say I've never broken anything for no good reason (many times as a result of something that happened during a Cowboys game) ...but that's not where it ends. Some even go so far as to shove folk, knock kids down and attack old folk just trying to get some indoor exercise. (And that's really where they fuckin up...I'll get back to that later tho...) Then, just as quickly as it began, it ends...the kids, satisfied that they've broken enough shit to prove whatever point they were trying to, disperse like bugs under a rock that just got lifted and go back to wherever it is they came from. The ambushed victims are left to spatula themselves off the floor and the store owners and mall personnel are left to pick up the pieces. Good clean fun, right?

Wrong. Damn wrong. See, amassing yourself on Facebook for a cause is one thing, but I really think if the best benefit you can get out of social networking is access to hundreds of other little dipshits to go around terrorizing people with, you really don't need it. (I blame Mark Zuckerberg...if it wasn't for you and this "let's make Facebook for everybody" bullshit, this wouldn't have happened!) Besides just kind of being a dick move overall, flash-mobbing is just not safe for the victims....or the perpetrators!

Really, how long til some graphic tee and swag rag wearing youngster catches a body like a male cheerleader for bowling over the wrong mafucka on a mad trash dash through some store or other? (Real shit...you might be underage, but you still can get fucked up...I guarantee if a pack of 16 year old snotnoses in deep V-neck t-shirts tries to accost me in the mall for no damn reason while I'm minding my own wax, they're all getting stuffed in the same trashcan...my fists don't card.) Do we really want kids to start dying over Twitter? I don't....and that's why I'm issuing this PSA. Kids...I implore you...stop the madness! No more flash mobs. Sit yo ass down somewhere, sport. Don't you have homework to do anyway? Sheesh...


W-2 Ballin'

I didn't get a tax return this year, but some folk really should have never gotten one. A tax return can be a blessing and a curse. Nothing can make stupid mafuckas get brand spankin' new like getting a few dollars they didn't expect. (It's the "they shoulda never gave you niggas money!" effect.) It usually manifests itself most strongly in those that don't got shit and ain't never really gonna have shit...those bass ackwards folk we all know who somehow can't afford real curtains, but has a 42" flatscreen that mysteriously appear in their homes during tax season? Yup, them.

The shit makes a little less than no sense, and it's more common than you think. Some people got life fucked up in twentyten...hell, I know of somebody personally who's a prime example. (Classic case of somebody who has her priorities way outta whack...lets her 3 permanently nappy kids of 2, 7, and 12 walk around all the time lookin KMart smart while she rocks her Prada shoes. Interesting, no?) I just don't think you should be able to go from rags to riches in the same damn crib. This is the kind of person who will spend all her tax return money trickin on whoever she's slapping stomachs with for the moment while her kids eat roman noodle sandwiches and Lucky Charms for dinner. Es no bueno.

Seriously, when did it become cool for a grown person to buy her and her boo tickets for a weekend in Vegas and get your car repo'd THE NEXT DAY? Your responsibility radar is that fucked up? (That's some shit you expect from a small child...you send them to the store for milk and eggs and they come back with a big bag of Skittles and Hot Wheels cars. Its kinda cute when you're 8, but not 28.) I guess some people get so excited that they actually got a couple dollars the first thing they have to do is some conspicuous consumption so the neighbors will know...but come on now, where's your head at? Can you see your colon from there?

Hey, I guess it's not for me to judge the lifestyles of others, but if February rolls around, and you and your man get all kinds of new clothes on your tax return dollar, the least you can do is make sure people don't wanna throw change at your kids when they walk down the street. I can see the 2 year old gettin a little grubby...hell, babies get dirty sometimes...but the 12 year old is too damn old to step out of your freshly leased 728i with a brown tee that used to be black and his sneakers talking. Stop that. No, I'm not hatin because I didn't get anything...congratulations to those of y'all who were lucky enough to get Uncle Sam to make it rain on y'all with your own monies...really, that's great. Please buy yourself something nice, that's your right. All I'm sayin is please don't be that person I'm talking about...your W-2 could become a huge L for you.

Special Moves: Spartan Kick

*fittedwearer's note: Violence is not the answer...it's the question, and the answer is 'sometimes'. Yes, there are a few times in most folks lives that you're gonna end up outside doing the fisticuff tango with some asshole for one reason or another. (I never start a fight, I subscribe to the 'dont start nothin, won't be nothin' theory.) In that spirit, "special moves" is dedicated to things I've always wanted to do in a fight and are somewhat possible.

The Spartan kick (from "300" when Leonidas kicked one of the only black people in the movie down the pit of death) is a devastating attack designed for use on a mafucka you wish to hurt and embarrass at the same time. I mean, it's kinda shameful to get kicked in your chest in public...and it's real satisfying to plant your foot in his chest. Of course, there's a technique, which appears below.

1) While facing your victim, stand with your arms at your side, fists clenched. This is the ready position.

2) Bend your elbows and pull them in. (If you need help visualizing the motion, think of a reverse fistpump.) This starts your windup and will give you the most possible momentum for the next few steps.

3) Inhale sharply through your nose to store up energy for the soon to come explosion. Begin to draw the leg on the dominant side of your body towards your chest.

4) With your leg and arms cocked, point your toes directly in the air to expose the bottom of your foot. You want your foot to land flat in the center of the victim's chest for maximum impact.

5) Push forward off the foot still on the ground. You could deliver the kick while just standing, but leaning into it makes it up to 50% more powerful...and if you gonna kick a fool in they chest, you might as well do it right.

6) It's go time! Powerfully thrust your coiled leg forward at a 180 degree angle with all the strength you can muster. (A battle cry is optional, but encouraged.) If you've done everything right, the result should be a front kick that damn near makes your victim's shoulders clap. Great job...you fucked dude up!

7) Admire your footwork...enjoy the scene as your victim flies backwards with all 4 of his limbs extended in front of them. (Bonus points if the chump hits a wall!) After a parting insult, just walk away. It's a wrap for they ass...even if they do get up, they're not gonna want to fight somebody who just kicked they dumb ass clear across a room if they're smart.

Yup...that's just one of the things I've always wanted to do in a fight, and I'm prolly gonna at some point. Seriously, don't be surprised. Join me next time as I share another...maybe by the time I'm finished, you will have found a special move of your own. Happy scrappin!



Earhustling is the fine art of being all up in somebody else's conversation. I don't really endorse it, but the shit happens sometimes. What starts out as passive overhearing can become active earhustling faster than folk would care to admit. No, nobody was talking to you, but we're all guilty of it...often you don't start out intending to listen to anything being dicussed by other people, but they're either being so fuckin loud with it you couldn't not hear them if you wanted to (I shouldn't be able to hear you discuss the pros and cons of different herpes medications over my music...) or the topic of convo is just too good to ignore. This was one of the latter cases.

It was Saturday afternoon and I was taking yet another el ride from Center City. I was sitting and staring out the window, watching that really cool effect that the relflection of the outside makes when the image moves in the opposite direction of the train. (If you haven't, look at it one day...it looks like you're traveling back in time lol) I was on my way to the Gallery to get a new hat to put with the other 213 or so that I own (how do you think I wear one just about every waking moment of every single day?) when a group of chicks that I'll call the Flock got on at 52nd St. and the entertainment value of the train ride increased exponentially.

The Flock was composed of 6 little chickenheads in training who couldn't have been more than 15 on a good day (and were prolly closer to 13). They noisily found seats somewhere behind me and began to twitter and squawk back and forth in the way that only a pack of teenage female baby birds can. I tried my best to ignore their little hoodrat forum, but caught bits and pieces of their loud discussion eventually I was able to piece together the topic, which got my radars up: their Valentine's day plans. The sad part is they sounded way more interesting than mine. (I'm not gonna get too graphic, that's child pornography...I don't need Chris Hansen breathing down my neck...let's just say my little V-day poem reflected no problems of theirs...)

They went on and on about seeing their boyfriends and getting gifts for Valentine's...it was actually kinda cute until one girl proudly bragged about, and I quote: "gettin some dick tonight". The other girls agreed enthusiastically and began to share their own plans. Another one of them chimed in with how she was gonna "put it on somebody" that night (You're 13 years old, ya fun-size smut...do you even have anything to put on anybody? I don't even think girls that age have separate lips yet...), I heard a squeal and high fives being slapped. Now, I'd be lying if I said this was the first episode of "SEPTA Sex Talk" I had seen, but it was my first juniors division show. I gotta admit, even in twentyten it shocked me a little.

I ventured a half head-turn to guage the reaction of other riders and saw people around me aghast..that was enough to make me feel justified in ear-hustling because I wasn't the only one who heard it. I turned my eavesdropperator to maximum power and leaned back in my seat to try and catch the next turn of the convo...it was like watching a live taping of an "out of control teens" Maury. It was at this point that one of the Flock mentioned how good of a time she had when she got 'partied' by 3 guys recently (in case you don't know what that is, it means the car carrying us wasn't the only train being run that day...) and how she had a repeat performance scheduled tomorrow night.

"Whoa Namath..." I thought to myself. On that one, I had to turn around...I had to see the reaction to this revelation. I expected for everything to just stop and her friends give her the "I wouldnta told that" face like everybody else on the car. It was met not with shock or disgust, but curiousity. Her friends wanted to know what it was like, they asked her questions like a interview with the MVP after the Super Bowl ("You've experienced triple penetration before you're eligible for a driver's license, what are you gonna do now!?") They congratulated her on her abilities..."Damn, girl you must can really take some pipe!" It was like she deserved some kind of jumpoff courage award in their eyes. (Who doesn't wanna win a Flockie for "valor in the face of a gangbang?")

That one was too much...I couldn't take it anymore. I didn't know whether to bust out laughing, cry for the future of our society, chastise the girls on their freely whorish ways like a old man (which would have been a lose-lose...I woulda got a rubbernecked cussout from a 14 year old MySpace freak, and I would ended up have giving her the right hand of discipline and got hauled off to jail) or just post about it at some point. They made the decision easy by getting off at the next stop, and I went with options A and D while most of my fellow El riders just shook their heads in disgust.

Yeah I sat there and listened to their whole conversation, but I wager you would have done the same. It's not like they weren't loud as shit for me to hear anyway, I'm not even sure it counts as a legit earhustle (Eavesdropping is only a bad thing if you do it all the damn time...ole Rick Ross "every day I'm hustlin" style folk) but hell, I did it. It was a real shame to think that most or all of the Flock will be either pregnant or burnt in less than a year...but hey, at least they had some fun on the 14th...and I know that, all thanks to a little earhustling.


'tention hawwz...

I've noticed something about myself: I can't stand attention whores. It really grinds my gears into dust. No matter how pretty she is, no matter how "dayummm!!!" this or that curve on her might be, it's an automatic turnoff. (It would be like meeting Amerie only to find her forearm deep diggin in her nose...ugh.) I just don't get it...why does everyone have to look at you all the time? You never get sick of trying to get validation? Did you not receive enough attention as a child? Were you the middle kid in a 13 child household and got lost in the shuffle? Why MUST you be the center of attention 25/8? (You can't take anybody like that serious...it's like dealing with a human commercial..."For more of me, text ANDREA to 11111 for exclusive pics, a voice greeting, and a Andrea quiz!" Shut up...)

You know these people...they're the ones who "get drunk" off half a cranberry and vodka at a party, climb up on a table and do a striptease, or the ones who put glitter in their cleavage and pretend to get mad when somebody looks at a shiny object crossing their field of vision (even though they're secretly relieved that they're not being ignored), the ones who have Facebook statuses like "I just can't find anybody to treat me right, maybe nobody cares about me" or "I think I'm losing my butt" or a 96 lb girl complaining about "getting fat" so thirsty dudes will tie on their capes and spring into action with replies that basically translate into the panting of a dog, or my favorites, the ones who constantly post provacative and sexual things to create the online equivalent of a stampede of 13 year old boys...makes them feel popular and belov'd. (More than a couple people have gotten hidden or deleted behind that type of thing...I won't kneel at your altar, ma'am, fuck you.) It's fucka annoying...I can't decide whether to shake my head or try to eat it whole so I don't have to see, hear, or even smell none of these bitches (desperation smells like acrid sweat stains).

I don't know, I just find it so pathetic. If somebody is really worth attention, won't they be looked at even without all the extra attempts to grab the spotlight all the time? I swear some of these chicks must have either lived up under a staircase in their childhood or be paranoid that they're invisible and are just making sure people ain't looking through them. (I often wonder if some of these females lie awake at night in a cold sweat cradling their digital cameras wondering how they're gonna get people to notice them tomorrow.) More likely, it's an internal issue with their confidence, and no amount of touting your "swag" or calling yourself a "diva" is gonna fix that. You don't really believe that, and just like nobody can make you feel inferior without your consent, nobody can really make you feel good about you until you do. Sry to break your life, sweetie.

I guess the saddest part is it ain't never gonna stop. There have been attention whores as long as there have been whore whores and the crazy thing is we men keep both operations running strong. Yeah, I admit dudes don't escape blame here...we're enablers..if we didn't give them the attention they so desperately crave, maybe they'd sit they ass down somewhere. Hell, I guess even writing this counts as attention for them. It's aight tho...as of right now, all that is a wrap as far as I'm concerned...I'm putting my concentration on the real women who deserve it and not the fake ones who try to demand it. From now on, fuckit...if you want validation, get your parking reciept stamped, and if you want attention, join the army, bitch!

*drops mic*


Captain AJ's Lonely Hearts Club (a poem)

Roses are red, and good tree's light green
this is for the singles, they'll know what I mean
what's good with you folk, I just wanna say hey
to those left alone on Valentine's Day
while everyone frolics around with they boo
with flowers and candy, all you have is you
but hell, I can't say that that's always so bad
you can still have the best V-Day you've had
ladies, I know it can't be what you wanted
but that don't mean you can't make the best of it
no lover this time? You didn't get chose?
YOU shoot you in the back with a Cupid arrow...
show yourself love, go shopping, catch sales
buy your damn self a 'infinity heart' thing from Zales
cop your ownself some candy, you know what you like
and won't confuse dark chocolate with the white
go to Victoria's Secret today
and dance in the mirror in your lingerie
(If it's not too much trouble, ill ask you this:
if you really get bored you can send me some flicks)
haha I'm just playin, out there, I just threw it...
I'm just Kiddin like Jason (unless you gon do it!)
drink a glass of champagne, why not, maybe 5
and love the fact that you are even alive
embrace your self worth and all that good shit
and maybe your 2/14 won't be the pits
and as for my homies deprived on this day
get yourself to the bar, and you'll be okay...
ya woke up alone, your day just might suck
if you lay down tonight sans somebody to fuck
the solution ain't hard, just be proactive
I know you can find a boo that's attractive
for real tho, the nightclubs are packed to the doors
with all the single chicks I mentioned before
they're ripe for the pickin, it makes sense to me...
(also ripe for the rhyme that begins with a 'd' ;) )
so get off your ass, and shower and shave
and maybe you'll get a girl to come play
talk to her a little, hell, commiserate
if you get with each other, y'all no longer need dates
get back to the crib, and if things go just right
you won't be self-serviced on Valentine's night
well, that's all the advice I can fit (or can rhyme)
fuckit...single or not, Happy Valentines!


Random Thoughts 32- Reality Rebound

It's a fact: a lot of men are desperate. Really desperate...there are those of us who will pursue anything with a pulse and a pussy (some even require less than that). We have many...uh...creative techniques...to try and attract the opposite sex. So I wonder...has anybody ever tried to pick up a woman scorned on national TV? I mean, it doesn't seem that farfetched...I've seen worse this week.

I mean, we've all seen Maury...these women go on there for the lie detector tests and 87% of the time their boyfriend is lying about makin fuck with the poor girl's coworkers, friends and family...I would imagine that's a vulnerable time in a woman's life. I just know there's been some ambulance chasin audience member dude trying to run the poor girl down in the parking lot after the tap talkin bout some "I know he did you wrong, he can't love you like I can, drop the zero and get with a hero, your man ain't me, hollahollaholla." It has to have happened.

I wouldn't even put it past the hosts. You can't tell me Joey Greco has never tried to make a pass at some crying girl on the way back from the cheater confrontation. ("I know you're going through a difficult time right now, but I was wondering if you might want to come back to my place and talk about the next chapter in your life...") Everybody who's ever watched a chick flick knows what happens when a hurt and sobbing girl is consoled in the arms of some caring gentleman.

I could even see it happening on Springer...some lady who just found out their man is actually a woman with 8 inches of plastic added (how do you not know what gender the person you're having sex with is? I know it's dark most of the time, but I can tell the difference between a man and a woman with my eyes closed, if you catch my drift...fuck that nonsense, you knew...) could definitely get swarmed by dudes in the green room after the show talkin bout some "Mine's all natural baby, come taste the difference...I'm like Wendy's, you know when it's real..." It's kinda crazy...but I do wonder...


Baaaaad Mafuckas- Oprah

*fittedwearer's note: umf'er and good friend Geraldine among others checked me on the fact that the 'baaaaad mafuckas' had a serious lack of estrogen...and y'all were right. That's not cool...even though I'm a boy and a good percentage of the folk I admire are male (who can learn you to be a better man like a better man?) there are definitely baaaaad mafuckas with 2 X chromosomes, and well, here's one...

You know how much of a baaaaad mafucka she is? I don't even have to use her last name and you know exactly who I'm talking about. (Not even week 1's Johnnie or week 2's Muhammad can say that for sure.) Yes, Oprah...that self-made multiextradoublebillionaire, that international corporation unto herself, that queen of all media, the prophet to stay-at-home moms and other folk that are home at 4:00...that Oprah.

She was born in Where-the-fuck-am-I, Mississippi to a couple of poverty-stricken dust farmers and her life was quite suckish to start off. Among many other hardships, she was sexually assaulted at the age of 9 and pregnant by 14 with a baby she eventually lost. However, she did not let this early adversity keep her down...after a move to Tennessee, she landed a job on the local news. Eventually her talent for being a media personality got her a popular radio show in Chicago (where she makes her home today) and after launching her own production company, had a nationally syndicated show which was also broadcast in a few other countries. Now that's what I call pulling yourself up by your bootstraps.

Soon after that, she made the leap to TV and the thing she is prolly most known for, her show. This long-running and much beloved talk show explores a wide range of topics, ranging from stuff girls talk about, to relationships, to financial matters, to serious subjects like sexual predators. (The fact that she can even talk about these type of things after experiencing them firsthand is a testament to her strength of character...) It came out around the time Donohue and Geraldo were out, and is still going strong today....which is crazy because I'm willing to bet there's a couple of y'all that ain't even old enough to remember Donohue or Geraldo.

She is also quite possibly the most powerful woman in the world. She can make you rich or shut your shit down completely with a sentence. (Wonder if I can get her to shout out umf lol) Remember that "mad cow" thing? Yup...that was her...she crippled that whole industry for a while basically just by saying "Na, I'm good on that." Books become best sellers behind her recommendations. Political races are influenced by her opinion. She's fuckin unbeatable...just ask Harpo.

Not only that, she's disgustingly ballin. Like, the bitch could literally buy the moon. (I mean, she gave away vehicles to an entire studio audience...how much bread you got where you can make it rain on folk with motor vehicles? Fuck yo 500 ones, she can give you 500 horsepower and not miss a dime...insanity.) She was the richest brown person in the 20th century, and has a great shot at staying that way throught the 21st. (Unless my plans go through...anyway.) At last count, her net worth was infinity+1, and she will be able to keep her family and Steadman (lucky fucker) filthy stankin rich until they stop printing paper money (and even then her kids' kids' kids' kids' kids' kids' kids will have billions of holographic light dollars...) and she made every penny herself. Infuckingcredible.

Oh, and I'll just throw in besides being so rich it don't make no gahdamn sense, she's also one of the world's most active philanthropists. Don't you see she stay building hospitals and schools in Africa? (I fully expect that she texted over 3 billion dollars to 501501...when you got it like she do, why the hell not?) Oprah: strong, resilient, smart, socially responsible...and a pure hustla. If you can't respect that your whole perspective is wack. Yes indeed...Oprah Gail Winfrey is a baaaaad mafucka.

Lies They Tell the Chirrens: Snub is in the air...

One of the most hearbreaking lies youngins believe is about that wonderful made-up holiday a lot of us are finna celebrate. See, when you're young, everybody feels the love...you go to school, see the paper hearts with all your classmates' names on them, heart shaped cookie, get your tiny cup of Hawaiian Punch and your little baggie of heart-shaped flirty chalk candies (you know...with the cute little phrases: 'UR2cute', 'be mine', 'let's hug', 'lick me all over'...that type of shit...) and really get into the whole holiday spirit.

Then the fun (and tragically decieving) part happens. The valentines are passed out and exchanged...to and by everybody. The whole class's parents sent with their little angels a box of 32 V-day index cards (the kind that come in sheets...available for 2.39 at Rite Aid, Walgreens and other fine retailers), all with the Powerpuff Girls or Scooby-Doo delivering some cute message and inscribed to: the recipient, from: the giver. Even the less popular kids get one...Jimmy the nose-picker, Latoya who still wets her pants every so often, and Steven who eats paste...they're shown just as much Valentinial spirit as anybody else. That's a nice feeling, right?

Well...it is until about middle school...soon after that, the cruel truth is exposed: the Valentines stop coming to everybody at a certain point in time. I could see how it would be a shock the first year you get skipped over after being included in the festivities every year to that point. Most folk still get at least one or 2 and the lucky hot topics of the class get more...but folk like Jimmy, Latoya, and Steven are overlooked when it's time to get the lollipops/flowers/balloons/chocolate bunnygrams that are delivered to each class as gifts from their friends and admirers. Slowly, V-Day after V-Day, the pity gifts dwindle for those on the fringes of popularity/attractiveness.

More time passes and shit gets realer...after a few years, Jimmy (who still picks his nose), Latoya (who has poor hygiene below the equator) and Steven (who's just plain creepy now) are left alone each and every 2/14, unloved, unwanted, miserable. They are forced to realize that when you get older, some folk just gets no love. It's a rude awakening...but maybe it wouldn't be so rough if they never thought everybody gets an arrow from Cupid's quiver on Valentine's in the first place...cuz as we all should know, that's just a lie they tell the chirrens.


I just don't see it: Nicki Minaj

You Nicki's Witnesses out there might be a bit disappointed in me for this, but I gotta say I really don't see it. I just don't. Yes, she's nice to look at once she's all painted up and padded down (you REALLY think that thing between her legs is real? I don't believe you...it looks like half a jumbo peach or something...) but I think her little self-bestowed nickname "Barbie" fits her perfectly...plastic, overexaggerated, and extremely unrealistic. (How many 6'3" white women with waist length blonde hair, huge titties, no nipples, and 50 jobs do you know? Ill give you a week to think about that.)

Even her actual...uh...talent, rapping leaves something to be desired. Many folk admire her flow, but I think it's because they don't listen to the things she says...it's the Weezy effect. I won't throw out complete hate...when you just ignore her and listen to the beat, its quite tolerable...but the lyrics...oh boy, the lyrics.It's nice to know that you come off the top like asbestos, but bad to know that I'm gonna die of lung cancer after listening to your verse. I think it's great that you need good brains for your thinker, I wish you the best of luck in that search. No, it is never time to put your pussy on my sideburns...bitch, I will strangle you! (Let's be real...what kind of monster double-wide love compartment do you have where you can just envelop my face past my hairline? Is that pleasurable or a punishment? Do I really want to see Nicki Minaj's birth canal?)

Actually, it's not even Nicki so much I have a problem with...I mean, Lil Kim ain't around right now, so I guess we need that position played...so I'm not gonna throw too much salt. It's the chicks who think they're Nicki...now see here, woman...you ain't. Not even Nicki is Nicki. (Seriously, google up some of those "before" pics...it's like night and day...3 years ago she looked like Snoop from "The Wire". No bullshit.) No, you're not a Barbie, no you're not "*insert your first name here* Minaj", and no, you are not a gangsta stripper lesbian rockstar MC of any kind. You're the same person you were before she came out. Cut that shit short. If folk can minaj to figure that out, maybe I won't mind Nicki so much...but until then...eh...I just don't see it.

Random Thoughts 31- On some wings and a sprayer (of Febreze)

Aight, so Pizza Hut has a new special where on Wednesday nights, you can order wings for 50 cents a pop...now, as much as I love to see fast food places try and help hungry folk with limited time, money, culinary skills or all of the above, it's the commercial that bothers me. In it, a bunch of what I guess are supposed to be college students but look suspiciously like the crew from "The Hangover" (i.e. grown arse men) muse over whether to spend their rolls of quarters on wings or laundry.

Stop right there. Ima type that last sentence again. A bunch of GROWN ASS MEN need a group discussion over whether to spend their rolls of quarters on Pizza Hut wings or whether to wash their fucking (notice the 'g'!) clothes. Of course, they decide on wings and let their hygiene fall by the wayside for another week. Ah, college life...I remember...wait...what?! Nall...fuck wrong with you?

How about you skip the buffalo wings this week, get at some roman noodles, and make sure your 5 shirts (you know people who would even have this kind of debate don't have but 5 shirts, a pair of shoes, and 3 pairs of pants which they all share.) don't smell like warm buffalo ass? Just a suggestion. -5 cool points for Pizza Hut...I'm sure folk will be lightning fast to order food from a place that celebrates triflinness. I love wings as much as the next 2 men, but...I'm sayin tho.

Getcha popcorn ready!

Facebook statuses can be a fun spectator sport sometimes...you know how I say that some people really keep that window into their lives way too wide open? Here's a prime example of a chick who not only needs drapes, but should really consider boarding that window up. It follows a young lady's struggle to cope with her BD's BM's role in his life. (Its amazing, but before around 5pm yesterday, I knew little about this woman beyond her name...but thanks to the good ole news feed I feel as if we've known each other for years...) Obvously, I'm not gonna kick out no names here, but I swear to you I did not fabricate a word of this...I like to think I'm funny, but not that funny...this shit is straight c-and-p. (Oh, and if vulgar language offends you, you should prolly sit this post out...and what the fuck are you doing on umf?) Without further intro, here it is...

5:17- "mad cause he's yours?! He wasn't yours Thursday night/ Friday morning! He definitely started my weekend right. U can keep on being delusional, thinkin u really I leave this place. Like I said before: he knows where home is, u manish teriyaki tramp! Don't get shit twisted, I'll bring the walls crashin down on ur pretty lil fantasy world!!! crashin down on ur pretty lil fantasy world!!!"

This one is what first caught my attention...before I needed to ask question #1 to the chick, I now knew that she shared a dude with a young Asian lady who apparently smells like soy sauce flavored Slim Jims below the belt. (She said it, not me!) I also was able to determine that she had the weekend shift. After a couple hours, I got this next gem.

6:32- I'm too easily amused by silly bitches. That ugly bitch thinks she has a golden twat, when in reality it's weak as hell & smells like spoiled soy sauce! Bitch- I got KRYPTONITE over here. Step ur game up & holla @ a chick when ur serious!!! Real woman? Haha! Laughin so hard right now, stupid lil girl doesn't even realize she didn't win. I'm leavin hoe- that means u got him cause I quit playin the game. Dumb Trick!

Now, not only am I gonna steal "golden twat", but I now know that somebody on my friends list could kill Superman with her pussy. Riveting. Here's where things got a little...dicey...

7:09- Got murder on my mind, a blunt in one hand & a pistol in the other..... what to do, what to do. Should she be the only one to get it, or does he deserve some too? Bitches should learn to think before they speak & men should learn not to play games with a chick that has nothing to lose!

Zoinks! We went from tossing around a few casual insults and thinly veiled racial slurs to premeditation in less than half an hour...shit is serious...plus not only was she gonna off Miss Yellow Fever, she considered bangin the person that starts her weekends off right. I think that's a little counterproductive, but whatever... (Plus, it's not like Facebook or anything else you post online can be used against you in a court of law, right? Right? If the target the status actually did "get in an accident" only the poster and 300 of her closest friends would know who did it...she should be good, right?)

9:21- in the car driving, not sure what I want to do yet..... I told him all I wanted was a public apology since he felt the need to front for that bitch. He emailed & said he just did it cause I put his business in the streets. I got called a bitch so he could try to save face. Do I show her the time stamped sex video from Friday mornin or not..... what do u think? video from Friday mornin or not..... what do u think?

Not only did she update her status while driving, I also now know that the man in question prolly prefers Chinese food...and that the poster is an amateur porn star...*Fabolous* Niiceee */Fabolous* That was all for the night, but I'm pretty sure you get the gist of it. It was really awkward to watch, but you couldnt look away...like listening to somebody have a personal argument on the phone, especially since I caould only hear one side of it. (Sometimes that's all you need to hear lol) Let me once again say that I do not know this woman outside of the Facebook universe, and I actually did feel kinda funny reposting this...but Facebook definitely for damn sure ain't the place for this type of skullduggery, and fuckit...if you leave your dirty laundry in the wind don't be surprised when it blows into somebody else's yard. Ay...


I <3 Cheaters

Everyone who has ever been without a job or classes for a while knows that Cheaters is one of the best things going before noon. (Besides omelets, wake and bakes and something I like to call an "exploding alarm clock"...you need a willing assistant for the last one lol) While actual cheating is no laughing matter, it's funny as shit when it happens to people you don't know.

Every episode starts out the same way: "24 year old Adam is concerned that his girlfriend, Megan, who works at McDonalds, is handling meat both on and off the clock." They then cut to a tearful Adam doing a Real World confessional about how much he loves Megan and how they've been together for 5 years and all that...it's kinda heartwarming until you realize that person's life is about to suck.

After that, professional stalkers follow Megan and her unknown paramour as they traipse about town to obvious, visible public places like malls, restaurants and amusement parks like the shit is sweet. (Don't these Cheaters people have friends? You would think one of his would see Megan out sucking face at the Olive Garden with boyfriend #2 at some point...I digress...) 9 times out of 10, there's a phone call involved, which is usually pretty funny in its own way:

Adam: Hello?

Megan: *shh, shh, shh!* Hey babe what's up?

Adam: Hey Megan...I was calling you to talk...you know I'm sensitive to changes in our relationship. Things have been different between us lately and--"

*Megan giggles*

Adam: What was that?

Megan: What? Oh, nothing that was the grill...don't worry about that...I was listening!

Adam: You never listen anymore...and I thought you were off today!

Megan: Oh, no...I'm...working overtime...it's hard out here...real hard...*giggles*

Adam: Uh...yeah I understand. I was thinking about you all day. I miss you...I was just wondering if we could spend some time together soon so--

*Megan moans*

Adam: Now what was that?

Megan: mmm...uh...I was just stretching...listen baby, I'll talk to you later, my break is over...I love you, 'K?

Adam: I love y--

It's usually here that Joey Greco, patron saint of snitches, makes his appearance. Dude just looks like a snitch, don't he? He was that guy in college who reported drinking in dorms because he wasn't invited to the party...you just know it...he prolly started carrying a tattlepen and snitchpad at the age of 5...as Ashelee pointed out, it takes real dedication to the art of "Ooooooh, I'm tellin" to take a samurai sword to the gut for your hall-monitor-for-life ways and keep right on rattin'.

He knows FOR A FACT that 'snitches get stitches' ain't just a Biggie line, and bravely continues to poke his whole face in other people's business. That's a stool pigeon to the bone marrow.

Anyway, Joey comes to the cheatee and proceeds to make a weeks worth of covert surveillance into a 2 minute adultery presentation, complete with PowerPoint slideshow. He then asks Adam if he wants to 'confront' Megan, and he agrees...like always. (Really, has anybody ever turned that down? Who goes to the trouble of having their girlfriend monitored around the clock for days at a time then doesn't confront her with the results? "No, I'm satisfied, I think I'll go home and watch Sportscenter now..." wtf? Moving on...)

They then go to the site where the extracurricular lovers are right then, and the real fun begins:

*Adam, Joey, and Team Greco (the other 3 black vans full of cameramen, lighting engineers, and extras in case there's no one there to stand in the background and look excited that this is actually happening) roll up on car in deserted parking lot*

Megan: Mhf mmffmm...

BF#2: Yeah, that's good...oooh...I'm bout to--wait, what are all those vans?

Adam: *puts on tough guy mask, runs up to car, starts pounding on window* Open this goshdang door!

BF#2: Oh shit!

Megan: Adam?

Adam: You're freakdarned right! Get out here, you whore!

BF#2: *zips up, opens door* What the fuck is going on here?

Adam: I'm not talking to you, butthole! Shut that stuff up!

*Megan, BF#2 step out of car*

Megan: What are all these cameras!?

Adam: You're flipping exposed now, you b-b...*deep breath* BITCH! I've got it all on tape, the jig is up!

Megan: Can't we talk about this in private? You're putting our business in the street! Why do you have to treat me like this? (The guilty party always goes from offender to victim, claiming "we didn't need TV involved"...they skip over the fact that if they weren't doing anything to be televised, they wouldn't be on TV...)

Joey: Is this your boyfriend? Is this the man you sneak around with when you tell Adam you're out with the girls? Are you trying to hurt Adam? Megan, you're making some bad decisions. I think you're being selfish in this situat--

Megan: Who are you? Shut the fuck up, soul patch! Adam, baby...I love you!

Adam: It's a shame...you can't even wipe your mouth before telling more freaking LIES! IIIIIII HATE YOU!

Megan: *checks sideview mirror on BF#2's car, wipes mouth* I do love you...but you're ruining our relationship by bringing cameras and TV shows into it! I don't understand why you don't trust me! Why do you have to be this way?

Adam: I don't freaking trust you because you cheat on me with people like this dishrag!

BF#2: Dishrag?

Adam: *misdirecting his anger* Hey! Nobody's talking to you, Buster Brown...why don't you shut that piehole!?

BF#2: Hey man...she told me she was single, I didn't know she was your girl, I'm sorry about...

Adam: DIDN'T I TELL YOU TO BE QUIET!? *battle cry, charges*

BF#2: *dips shoulder, times Adam's rush, flips Adam over back and into air*

Adam: *hits ground, whimpers*

BF#2: I didn't wanna do that, but listen...I didn't know she had a boyfriend...I just met her in a bar one night and she was looking good so...

Adam: *while picking self up slowly* DON'T TALK ABOUT MY MEGAN GRRRRRR! *charges again*

BF#2: *tiger uppercut at gut of charging Adam* I told you I don't want no trouble!

Adam: oooooof! *sinks to knees, clutches stomach*

Megan: OMG Adam STOP! You're going to hurt yourself!

Adam: *still short of breath* But...but I love you...

Megan: Listen Adam...I don't know where I am in my life now...it's not you, it's me...I love both of you...

BF#2: Love? Bitch, I just met you last week!

Joey: Megan, I don't think this is fair to your boyfriend Adam...he really cares about you and--

Megan: What I just tell you, host boy? You tryna get fucked up out here? Shut your punk ass up...

Joey: *silence, looks at ground*

Megan: I really care about you, Adam...I think you're the sweetest, most sensitive--

BF#2: Ay, listen...you finna finish or not girl? I got things to do tonight...

Megan: Adam, I'm really confused...I'm gonna catch a ride back to my apartment and we'll talk about this in the morning...just me and you, no cameras or anything.

Adam: *still on ground in fetal position from gut shot* O...okay...I just care about you so freaking much... You made a mistake, but we just need to communicate more, I'm willing to work on this...

Megan: Yup, all that good shit...talk to you in the morning... *kneels down, kisses on cheek*

*Megan, BF#2 hop back in car, exit stage right*

Joey: *starts talkin again* Do you need a ride home, Adam?

Adam: I live with Megan...

Joey: ...

It's fun to watch as long as you're not on the show, and I think it's one of the best ways to kill an hour or 2...if you haven't peeped yet or haven't in a while...hell, most of us are off today so why not check it out?


Oh! Reeeeeeejected!

One of the hardest things for some folk to learn is to accept and handle rejection. (It's kind of funny, because some of the people with the least rejection coping skills are the ones who most need em...you can't have paper feelings if you have a plastic personality, and if you have a face like a rhino you should have skin like one too.) Sometimes it's just not your lifetime. I mean, I saw what I wrote over there (cbox >) this morning too, but if a "maybe" is a seed for a "yes" to grow, a "no" should be like scorched earth. Ain't shit finna grow, so stop watering it.

There are some folk just will NOT take no for an answer. These are your persistent classmates/coworkers, your peeping toms, your picture thieves, and other flavors of stalkadelic mafucka. It's like they have a filter on their eardrums that turns "no-no-no-no-no" into "yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah" (no B), and purposely avoiding them whenever possible, keeping all chance interactions with them short and civil, and making any excuse necessary (seriously, I'm really running out of copouts...my next dip-off line involves leaving my iron on smh...) to not spend more that 10 consecutive seconds around them equates to "playing hard to get" or something. Nall...dumb bunny, I just don't fuckin like you...

Even worse is those folk who have the nerve to get all lemonfaced after a polite "no, thanks!" I didn't have to be nice you know...I could have unceremoniously told you to fuck off. (Even though I'm not 100% sure what it means...and neither are you. Just sounds good.) I know I'm not the most mature person in the world...hell I still spend many Saturday mornings in my socks and ballshorts watching cartoons with a big bowl of Waffle Crisp...but how much of a grown person can you really be if you can't even handle being told no? Like seriously? You gonna basically hit me with the "fine, I'm not your friend no more!" we all remember from the schoolyard when somebody wouldn't give you some chips? (S-O-M-E...4 chips hahaha) Yeah, you acting like a passive-aggressive assclown is gonna make me change my mind, that's a solid plan there, sparky!¡ There are those of us who really need to grow the eff up.

I mean, how bad IS rejection, really? It's just "no". I mean, fuckit I've been shut down in my life...more than a few times. Who besides that swarthy old Dos Equis dude hasn't? Real rap, if you can speak French in Russian, you a bad mafucka...the type of dude who can win a game of poker with Uno cards...all respect to people of that caliber, I just ain't one of them. But getting told "no" isn't the end of the world. Even Wilt Chamberlain got told "not tonight" a few times, I'm sure. (I would continue with the basketball theme, but I think I'll take the high road and skip the Kobe joke...just know I thought about it lol) A no is kind of just an opportunity to hear a yes from somebody else in the future if you look at it right...hell, ya might even learn something along the way. Just sayin...

Random Thoughts 30- Special Delivery

You know that DiGiorno commercial where those 2 guys are sitting next to each other in a dimly lit room doing nothing of particular interest when suddenly a table with a heavily topped pizza apparently weighing 6 metric tons on it comes crashing through the roof? (Never mind that if it was heavy enough to crash through a load bearing hardwood floor in what seems to be a well-built upscale apartment building, how the FUCK did you get it out of the oven?) That shit gets me every time.

What bothers me is not that it defied the laws of physics by not crashing through every other floor of that building and prolly clear through to China like those old cartoons, or that the 2 guys were more concerned with eating the pizza than their new pepperoni skylight, but that the asshole who didn't make sure his apartment was zoned for pizza actually had the unmitigated gall to ask for his pizza back. Mafucka, you just put a hole in my ceiling! You lucky I don't I harpoon your dumb ass and pull you through the hole in your floor like Scorpion...the least you can do after fuckin up my home and losing both our security deposits is let me get the pizza. Just a thought.


Inverted Snowday

Something interesting sometimes happens the first day of work after a snowstorm. Often, a lot of people will either through inability or indifference not show up for work that day. (Some people just didn't get time to free their vehicles from the immense snowdrifts...others are taking climate-induced fuckit days...I can dig that too.) This creates an effect I like to call the "Inverted Snowday"...people call out to the point where there might be more people where you live than at your job...except for you, who was lucky/dumb enough to show up.

In an inverted snowday, you and a select few officemates are the only ones who braved the poorly shoveled streets and freezing temperatures to actually take your happy asses to work. This usually works out in one of 2 ways, depending on what type of work you do. If you work, say, at Starbucks, you and your manager (you know in those type of jobs a lot the managers take their jobs way too seriously because being the head honcho at the neighborhood chain store is the only power they wield in their lives. They'll show up rain, sleet, snow or nuclear fuckin fallout cuz hey...it's time to make the donuts!) are the only people there to work 3 registers. This sucks because now you have to perform the jobs of all your missing coworkers and will be stuck all day makin venti mochafrappuciniattos at triple speed for impatient caffeine junkies all day while your manager watches you and only you. You'll prolly wish you stayed your ass home.

However, in other types of jobs like mine, inverted snowdays are almost as good as regular ones. Yes, you might still wish you had stayed your ass home at some point, (I mean you ARE still at work...) but days like this are a lot more tolerable. When you're not watched as closely to begin with, a few less prying eyes means a lot more leeway...and since just about everybody decided to not come in, there are way more people out than in. I'm prolly gonna spend most of today flicking rubberbands at that chick down the hall, talking to you guys and working on my trashcan fadeaway jumpshot. (I'm like 83% from 3-point range...I'm working on a office basketball scholarship to Temple...) So, for all those people on the Atlantic coastline who made it to work today despite the conditions, I salute you. Whether you are forced to work both the grill and drive thru today or are gonna spend today on Facebook because your supe didn't show up...try to make the most of your inverted snowday.

Camera Phone Ninja Vol 25.-The Dark Knight's Day Job

Holy corner store, Batman! I would have never expected it...billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne works for a Wawa in Philly when he's not beating on the Joker or chasing Mr. Freeze around (the mental image of a chubby quickiemart assistant manager battling a powder-blue painted Arnold Schwarzenegger almost made me spit out my formula 50 vitamin water this morning). That's brilliant...hide in plain sight! Only one flaw in his disguise...if he's trying to keep his identity a secret, actually putting "Batman" on his ID tag isn't the best way to go about it...good try tho, my dude. (tho I guess if nobody knows Superman is Clark Kent just because he took off his glasses and put a Jersey Shore guido slick in his hair, his camouflage just might work...)


The Nor'Easter: Making the best of a sucktastic situation..

I call it a Nor'easter...it's really just a margarita with a snowball in it, but fuck it...it's delicious...like a ice cube from the heavens descended all the way down into my Mexican martini. For the 1st time in my life, I'm eating yellow snow on purpose. It's only while bored and stuck inside in a snowstorm you realize snow is just what the cavemen used to cool their cocktails. When life gives you lemons, you should make margaritas and when life gives you ice you should make a drink...this covers both!

Snowed in and (almost) lovin' it: the checklist

Hey umf'ers...we east coasters woke up to over a foot of snow...and it ain't done yet. When it's all said and done, some of us will have as much 2 feet of it...which means many of us will be snowed in for today at the very least. (On the weekend too...nice timing. I'm sending Mother Nature a angry text, the bitch...)

However, with a little foresight, it doesn't have to be so bad...for me, a few essential items can make pretty much getting your weekend pretty much canceled a little less suckish . Of course if you don't have these items by now, you're kinda buttfucked...but at least you'll remember for next time. Here's my checklist...

AJ's snowed in checklist:

[x]- got it!
[ ]- don't got it...

1) DVDs [x]- the TV programmers don't care if it's snowing or not, they completely expect most folk to be outside doing things with their lives. They then take this opportunity to air the bullshittinest TV in their stash (it's gotta air sometime...) because hey, nobody's watching!

So instead of getting stuck watching the edited "Baby Boy" on cable for the eleventysixth time, cop the DVD and watch it so you don't have to hear Tyrese and Snoop exchange melted obscenities like "ziggin" and "uff"...uff that isht.

2) Food [x]- I'm not talking about the essentials everybody likes to bumrush the store for before a snowstorm like it's Y2K12 out this mafucka, (yes, both!) you should have those anyway. I'm talking about munchies, dude! I wanna see that pantry packed with Hot Pockets, Doritos, Aunt Jemima Griddlecake sandiwches and Chef Boyardee overstuffed ravioli!

You eat a lot more when you stay at home (don't worry, you'll burn it off shoveling later...) and it's just better if you have stuff you can zap up in a minute or less and eat with a smile on your face. Besides, you'll most probably need it after...

3) Tree [x]- (hey, it's my checklist lol) Yes I need this if I'm gonna be forced inside all weekend. A good half ounce should last me til the snow stops...and when I'm good and blazed I can just sit and watch the snowflakes fall...ooooh, pretty... As a bonus, once it stops snowing I can build a nice healing hut igloo to finish my stash in...just like the Eskimos do. (You think those dudes don't smoke? WTF else is there to do when not only are you snowed in 6 months a year, but it's nighttime the whole time too? Nanook had them na-nicks out...you can't tell me no different.)

4) A good shovel or 15 bucks to pay a shoveling contractor [x]- Seriously, the snow is gonna stop at some point and it's your responsibility to move it once it does. Don't be that one douche on the block whose property I have to trudge through long after everybody else had the courtesy to make a path for pedestrians. (Ladies, it's twentyten, so if you can vote you can shovel...excercise your rights and your arms, put on those knee high Timbs and gimme a little help here?)

Like I said, you don't even have to do it yourself...get some crackhead or entrepreneurial little preteen to do it...it's still just as shoveled, and you can feel good that you stimulated the economy by giving Ezal beer money or 13 year old Tayshawn enough money to buy his girls something for V-Day. (That's coming up, you know...just thought that I would give u a reminderrrrrr)

5) Drank [x]- (yeah, you just knew it, right?) I will not be in the house for 2 straight days mired in sobriety...it just can't happen, fuck that. I was smart and made my liquor run at work yesterday (at lunch of course! 0:-) ) so I would have plenty of 151 to drunk myself up on during the hours I'm being held hostage. You can call me an alcoholic if you want (tho I prefer "pleasure drinker" or "liquor enthusiast") but when I'm stumbing around my house laughing and making nekkid snow angels at 3 in the morning having a good ole time and you're in there making the bitter beer face because you're bored and sober, don't come crying to me.

6) Mixers [x]- Trust me, I feel the appeal of the straight shot...simple, direct, effective. It's the alcoholic equivalent to a quickie but when you make a drink, it's like a marathon session...before you know it you want another one and another one and after enough you're either feeling really good with your eyes rolled up in your head or sleeping off the feeling somewhere.

For that reason, I definitely stopped and got 2 2-liters of. Coke, because Bacardi and Cola have been fuckin' for years... (Off topic: with the crazy names some folk are giving their kids nowadays, I fully expect to use that last sentence in reference to people one day) It's funny, that sex analogy definitely transitions me into number 7, which is...

7) Boo [ ] - Oh yeah, this is definitely that kind of weather. I mean, who doesn't wanna be cuddled up in the cold with somebody sexy? (I'm sure I don't have to tell you how y'all can share body heat in an efficient manner...we all grown here, it's like nature's space heater...) Not to get too romantic comedy on y'all, but I'm pretty sure it's a survival instinct or something, besides being a damn fun thing to do. Who can frown with a mouthful of titty? Not I. Mind you, it doesn't have to be a ongoing thing...you reserve the right kick the fucka out once the snow stops, but y'all can go together til the plows come through. I wasn't lucky enough to grab this one (I'll have it right next time, dammit!) but I'm still takin volunteers lol...

Anyway, there you have it...I know it's too late if you don't have any of these things now, but hell...after reading this, why not go gather them up and put them in a little "snow survival" box? (Yes, even the boo...I'm damn about to keep one in like a glass box that say "break open in case of emergency" smh) It's gonna happen again, and when it does, you better make like Scar and be prepared. Hope that helps...happy lounging, umf!