Believe it or not, HumanityCritic has somewhat of a soft side. I can picture myself settling down, having a black picket fence, and having 2.5 kids. I can really see that, honest. But when I look deeper, and over-analyze(like I always do), I know that whoever Mrs. HumanityCritic is she will absolutely have her hands full. Granted, I would be faithful, show her the utmost respect, and never bring any other women into our bed.(Unless the woman is Rosario Dawson, she can't refuse that!) But my utter bullshit and my asinine idiosyncrasies will be tough for her to deal with, no doubt abut that. Forget my agenda of rage, my angry verbal outbursts, or how I will throat-chop a motherfucker on the drop of a dime either. I'm talking about something more close to home, literally.. My bad sleeping habits.
Those covers are mine!: That's right, I am a complete cover hog. It's weird though, because when I am awake, ready to go to sleep, a share the covers and I am very gracious. But something strange happens as soon as I close my eyes, I take complete control of the covers like Linus from Charlie Brown, but on Steroids and shit. There have been many occasion where I have woken up, smothered with sheets, with the woman beside me naked for all the world to see. There was this one time where a girlfriend of mine tried for 10 minutes to pry my lifeless body out of some sheets that I had cocooned myself in. Another girlfriend that I had went as far as to get a staple gun and staple the sheets on her side to the bed so I wouldn't hijack them. Unfortunately I am a prick in my sleep as well, because when we woke up, the staples were violently ripped out.
Shut the fuck up: Did I mention that I talk in my sleep as well? Yes, guilty as charged. Usually, when I talked in my sleep it was just random words, like the time where I uttered, "Peanuts..Willie Nelson..Rental Cars." But there have been times when it got bad, like the time where I apparently went on a 5 minute freestyle rap session in my sleep. Or the time, as I am told, when I went on a verbal tirade as I told some imaginary person "Shut your bitch ass up!", repeatedly for a few minutes. The worst case by far, is when I accidentally called a woman "Missy" when her name was actually "Deidre".(The funny thing about that is I have never known anyone named Missy in my entire life. OK, if you count the time when I yelled at Missy Elliot "Your music sucks ass!!" in traffic because she gave me a nasty look as "knowing", then I guess you can count that.) But talking in my sleep is frustrating for a few reasons. 1: What if I was a secret agent and my black ass went and blabbed the top secret info in my sleep? 2: What if I ran my mouth while I was sleeping and told my wife what I was getting her for Christmas? 3: What if a brother wants to have sex with his intern "Lewinsky" style, I would totally tell on myself. That sucks.
Fight Club: Probably the most dangerous of all the sleeping habits is the fact that I have been known to throw punches in my sleep. Granted, I have never connected and hit a loved one, only hitting the headboard while having a violent dream, but it is some scary shit all the same. I couldn't tell you how many women wouldn't sleep with me again because of that violent outbursts of nocturnal aggression.(That's what I tell myself, because dealing with the fact that I throw weak "pole" is already damaging to already low self esteem) This one time I was dating this aspiring model, so in the morning when she tried to shake me in a violent manner, she was almost the recipient of a HumanityCritic 4 piece.(..and I don't mean KFC) The look of horror on her face was like she had just seen me murder a puppy or something, or vote republican, or like she had just seen one of those fucking ghetto gospel plays. It was that bad. The only way she would sleep with me again was if I would, in some way, tie my hands so they were unable to throw any punches during the night. So I did what any self respecting, proud black man would have done when faced with such a humiliating request: I tied my motherfucking hands! Shit, I wasn't denying myself from telling wildly inappropriate "I used to bang a supermodel" stories, my stocky ass isn't looking a gift horse in the mouth!
Nocturnal Roamer: I don't do this so much now, but in my early 20's I had a problem with sleep walking. At first it was no big deal, my girlfriend at the time would find me in the kitchen, looking in the refrigerator swaying back and forth. She would simply guide me back to the bedroom and that was that. But as time went on things got to be a bit stranger. For one thing, I would find myself in bedrooms that I would never sleep in, waking up under a desk like a fucking crackhead or something. My friends even gave ave me a "suicide intervention" one time based on the fact that my friend Calvin found me sleeping in the backseat of my car that was parked in my garage.(I still remember telling my friends, "What person who tries to commit suicide does so while sleeping in the backseat, their windows rolled up, and no key in the ignition!!") The most embarrassing sleep walking episode was when I was sleeping over a girlfriends house. I guess I thought I had opened the door to the bathroom, when in actuality I had opened her front door and started peeing on her porch. The most embarrassing part was that it was around the same time her neighbors were going to work, so apparently they got a show that morning. I don't remember any of that obviously, but I still have a scar on my arm from where the girl I was with tackled me to the ground to get my naked ass out of her doorway.