Besides paying out the ass, and discovering things that I already know like me being a "sex addict" and having "father issues", the mere fact that the therapy sessions that I go to inspire some blog posts surely make it worth it. My therapist is patient with me, but I know she dreads having me for a client because most of the time we end up playing this twisted game of psychological warfare, which usually a trained professional like herself should have the upper hand. The same why you shouldn't really fight a individual who has nothing to lose, or isn't afraid to die, the fact that I simply don't give a fuck probably gives her fits and throws a monkey wrench in her whole program. For example, sometimes she seems to attempt to "test me" and provoke an angry response, but I usually just giggle like a young girl who just received a easy bake oven when that tactic is presented. Or sometimes when I don't think she is listening I'll say something crazy like, "Sometimes when I'm bored I staple my testicles to my leg, drink my own urine, and masturbate aggressively to old episodes of "Little House on the Prairie". Then I'll say, "You aren't listening are you?", then she calmly says, "Uh huh, you drink your own urine, staple your nuts, and love "Little House", Go on.." I feel we are acting like an old married couple.Anyway, she wanted me to go into things that I have done that I felt, looking back, were stupid. I think she wanted me to go into some long syrupy diatribe about my father and something that I regretted, or a costly mistake that I made with a very special someone once, something like that. Again, I knew what she wanted, but since it was my turn to move my "man" in this ongoing intellectual game of "Chess", I thought I would just go into my garden variety stupid acts from the past. Here are some random situations from my past that are indeed stupid, a fact that I know many of you will agree with.
Man Overboard!!!: One of the first women that I dated after my longest relationship to date was a woman named Sasha. She had money, scratch that, her family had a shitload of money and she was a bona fide snob. Usually, I wouldn't be attracted to a woman that looked down on people and thought she was better than others, but she had breasts and a backside that would even make a gay man question his lifestyle, so it was quite easy to look past her faults. Even though it was fun for a minute, her politics, her treatment of others, and her black conservative friends or "Pet Negros" as I called them were driving me nuttier that squirrel shit. I guessed it reached a boiling point when I accompanied her to a party she was having on this big ass boat her father owned. After flashing fake smiles to all her booshy ass friends, drinking a bit too much, and hearing some of the most self hating political rants a black man could take, I did what anyone would have in that situation. I went to the other side of the boat and silently jumped off, I figured I would swim back to shore instead of being around those stupid ass people. After I jumped in, the water was refreshing, but suddenly something occurred to me, I was drunk and I wasn't the strongest swimmer. Then I noticed that the shore was further than I thought, and since I am as paranoid as Ronald Reagan was around crazed Jodie Foster fans, everything that touched my body was a "Great White Shark" in my opinion.(Nothing says "macho" like sporadic womenly screams..)I thought about screaming back to the boat for help, but my pride and dignity wouldn't allow me to be saved by a bunch of black folks on the wrong side of the political dial.(Actually I did scream like a woman, but no one heard me.) So I flashed back to summer camp 83' when my swimming instructor taught me a "survival stroke", where basically you curve your body and float, sporadically turing your head for air. So for the next couple of hours I did that stroke, along with standard swimming, and praying to god, saying "I know I'm a son of a bitch, just let me live. Shit, Pleeease!!" (I'm sure god appreciated my colorful language) As I got to shore I realized how stupid that was, and the fact that I was wearing a rented tuxedo just highlighted that point. The funniest thing was I was laying on the beach, out of breath, and this stoner dude said, "Dude, Are you shipwrecked like Gilligans Island??" Pointing to my tux I said, "Yeah jackass, I'm the Millionaire, your high ass must be "Gilligan". But I must tell you, I have first dibs on "Mary Anne", because trying to touch "both sides" while having sex with "Ginger" would be like a ringer in a cowbell. Now Get the fuck out of here!!"
One year without sex: During college, because I tried to penetrate everything with a vagina and a pulse, and getting test results back became scarier than a Ron Artest rap album, I thought I would be celibate for a minute. I figured that it would be good for me, I could focus on school and have some peace of mind from not chasing tail like a hunting dog. But something happened as soon as I decided to put my condoms on hiatus, like a guy who just gets a girlfriend, women were offering their bodies to me like suicide bombers and shit. It was ridiculous, and even when I told them the truth about me going celibate it seemed that it was their personal mission to rid me of that burden in my life. The first 6 months were pretty cool, the next 4 were OK, but the last 2 were murder. I found myself relaxing the standards of what sex actually was, telling myself "If she just strokes it, it isn't sex." or "A mouth hug isn't really "sex" when you think about it.." I felt like Bill Clinton, trying to redefine the word "sex" to get him out of the pickle he had found himself in.(Or the cigar Monica found in her, OK, that was unnecessary) It got to the point that after the one year anniversary of my sex sabbatical, I was trying to schedule sexual rendezvous the same way a doctors schedules his clients. The day came and all the women that threw themselves at me earlier were harder to get a hold of than Jimmy Hoffa's body. The ones that I did get a hold of didn't find a guy "trying to get a piece of ass" attractive, not like the guy who was "saving himself" was. I eventually got some, and the woman in question was pissed that I came quicker than express mail, but the whole ordeal was stupid. I mean, the concept of celibacy is cool, just don't be like me and use it for evil and not good.
Fried Turkey: This is probably the stupidest of them all, but here goes. I was dating a chick in college that had her own place, so since she fed me and occasional put up with the 2 minute pelvic trust sessions, I stayed over there as much as possible and was an absolute leech. It was pretty cool now that I think about it, she would always be gone so me and my boys would get high and raid her fridge like the miserable bastards that we were. But it wasn't all fun and games, like I would soon find out on a cold winter night in December more than a decade ago. I was there by myself and I noticed that she had one of those "tazers", a device to keep a would be attacker away by shocking the shit out of them. Well, I was on the phone and I was playing with the tazer with a medal object, and you know the rest. I suddenly felt a jolt through my body as all my muscles tensed up, sending me to the floor drooling like a new born baby and shaking uncontrollably. I must have been on the floor for minutes, trying to scream but only hearing muted sounds like someone had put tape over my mouth. As soon as I regained my faculties I went to the bathroom to throw some water over my face.That is when my girlfriend at the time walks in, sees the chairs and table in disarray from my mini seizure, and the fact that I had literally pissed myself, and said, "You really need to lay off that marijuana.".
Call it simple idiosyncrasies or just plain bad habits, but some of the things that people do on a regular basis piss me the fuck off. If it isn't the way my brother lets out a inappropriate "Ahhhh!" after taking a drink like he had just ran a marathon and shit, or the way a friend of mine continuously says "Huh?" after every time you say something even though she heard what the fuck you said, sometimes I want to choke the living shit out of people sometimes. Being that I am pretty vocal about my irritation immediately, I thought it was time to be less of an asshole and expose some of my bad habits. Here are a few, and don't worry, I won't go into my chronic masturbation, I've touched on the subject enough.("touched on", "masturbation", hee-hee)
Knuckle Cracking: As long as I remember I have cracked my knuckles, it has to be my most severe habit to date. This has to be the habit that irritates those around me the most, making people cringe in agony as I crack my knuckles 5 at a time. Hell, I even lost a girlfriend one time because of this habit, but being that she found giving "mouth-hugs" to be disgusting, she had a rather short shelf life in the first place. Even though I'm glad that this is the only "crack" that I am addicted to, I crack other things as well, turning this habit into a full fledged way of life. Lets see, I crack my knees, neck, elbow, ankles, toes, wrists, back, and I can even make my jaw make a popping noise ever since I got punched really hard in the face one time. When people give me that same old "But you'll get arthritis" line, I brush them off with the same blind naivete that people have that think that the whole moon landing was "staged".
Talking to Myself: I've heard for many years, especially from my father, that it is fine to talk to yourself unless you start to "answer yourself", but it can be an embarrassing habit nontheless. Granted, I don't do it that often, and most of the time the dialog consists of me saying something like "Who does that motherfucker think he is talking to!!??", it can make people question your sanity. For example, a couple of years ago I was walking my dog and verbally going over a relationship situation in my life at the time. Talking to myself, I said: I wonder if I should pursue that girl or not, she said she likes me, but she just got out of a long term relationship though. Shit, but those thighs, to quote a famous leprechaun, are magically delicious. Not only that she either digs my love-making, or she is one hell of an actress, either way it is quite the ego stroke.." I thought I was alone, rambling to myself in a way that only a deranged homeless man could relate to, but I wasn't. Apparently an old lady was right behind me, walking her dog, and as soon as I turned around she said, "You should try to pursue that, she sounds like one hot number!!" Yeah I was embarrassed, so now when I am caught talking to myself I act like I have a cell phone ear piece in, even though I know people don't buy my wack theatrics.
My Potty-mouth: I love curse words, to the point that I incorporate them in my every day vernacular. Some people say that using excessive curse words just exposes the fact that a person has a limited vocabulary, and using said words is the only way that they can accurately express themselves. Well, Fuck those motherfuckers, that's what I say. But really, I am secure with my vocabulary and only use swear words as sort of a "seasoning" to my daily diatribes. This is indeed a bad habit, but not one that I am concerned about in the slightest, but when I say I have a "potty mouth" I mean something totally different in this case. No, it's not some sort of fecal fetish either, just childish bathroom humor, let me explain. Ever since I was a kid, I found it funny to come out of the bathroom after going "Number 2" and saying to whomever was listening "I feel so clear now!!" Another golden oldie was when I would try and make my old man laugh by finishing my "bathroom duties"(or "dooties") and yelling something inappropriate like, "I just lost weight!!. As I got older the phrases changed like my quoting Ice Cube and saying, "Comin' out, feeling about, 10 pounds lighter!!" or "I just saw the "browns" in the "Superbowl". I know, childish, and not really one to endear me to the opposite sex, but I am the same guy who currently rides a skateboard and who's favorite movie is "Willy Wonka and the Chocolate factory", so I guess you have to consider the source.
My Big Mouth: Like the chronic masturbator who once accidentally used super glue instead on hand lotion, it is extremely hard for me to let some shit go. For example, I was in a restaurant where this woman was praising Mariah Carey for her being an "innovator" by having the "first hip hop and R&B collaboration" with the ODB. Outraged, and somewhat drunk, I said "How about Jody Watley and Rakim with the song "Friends", you shithead?? Yeah, I should have just let their public inaccuracy go, and the fact that I was on a first date with someone didn't help things. Or the local radio personality and the way I questioned her sanity, her intelligence, and her sobriety after she had the nerve to claim that "John Legend outsang Stevie Wonder" during a performance that they gave. I pointed out that beside the fact that John Legend doesn't have the muscle fibers to carry Stevie Wonder's jockstrap on his best day, but also that Stevie is a very unselfish performer who will scale down his own performance to give the other person some shine. I think the conversation ended on me calling her a "Clear-Channel puppet", a "douchebag" and that she should resign as soon as possible because her "incompetence was embarrassing". I know, it wasn't that serious, but I felt better though.
Flipping my Hair: Growing dreadlocks for more than 10 years has left me looking, in the eyes of some, like a "black Rapunzel", "black Jesus", or a "Chubby black bastard who is in desperate need of a haircut". I put it in a pony tail sometimes, or I have some girl that I know put them in a sort of braided pony tail, but for the most part I leave them dangling in the wind. Leaving them like that causes me to do something that is not in the least bit masculine, flip my hair. I mean, not only do I do it with my hand, making me look like one of "Charlies Angels" circa 1977, but I also do it with the whip of my neck which looks uber feminine. I don't do it on purpose, it is like a reflex, but when people see it they usually give me a "He obviously doesn't know how gay that looks" face. This one time I was helping my brother carry some huge engines at my fathers old auto repair shop before we closed it down, and I grabbed something heavy by myself forcing my mother to say, "Look at my strong baby boy, looking like a real man!!" Well, right when she said that I did my feminine "hair whip" and she said, "..that was until you did that, Farah Fawcett!!"
Most people that I know dread the mere fact that they are getting older, many of them lying about their age like it will somehow slow down the second hand on father time's clock. But myself, even though I constantly call myself a "Old bastard", actually embrace getting older. For one thing, being able to pass down valuable lessons to younger people like "the best place to throat-chop someone" or "how to urinate your name correctly in the snow, calligraphy style" can be somewhat fulfilling. I even embrace the few strands of Grey hairs that I have in my dreadlocks and in my beard, even though too many Grey hairs in my pubic area would resemble a sausage in an ashtray to be totally honest, but lets not go there right now. I also feel like I am the first generation who actually has a legitimate argument when I say, "The music in my day was better than the crap now", but there are some things about getting older that undoubtedly suck complete ass as well. Here are a few things I have noticed since my 30th birthday that have reminded me that my black ass is indeed getting older.
Good and Bad Mirrors: This is going to sound silly, but in my house I have what you call good and bad mirrors. The mirror in the downstairs bathroom is my mirror of choice, I tend to think that on occasion I look very suave and debonair in that one, with a winning smile that should be seen by people across the world. The upstairs mirror, that miserable bastard, exposes every skin blemish and probably adds 40 pounds to a man that already is in desperate need of backing away from the buffet table. This mirror makes me look like crap, with a forced smile probably best used for radio work. I can't believe that I have spent this much time comparing mirrors, something I wouldn't have done 10 years ago, but then again I wouldn't have ever thought that I would pay money for a grown man to put his finger up my ass either.(For check-ups you asshole, not for recreation use Ala Star Jones' husband)
Geriatric Fight Club: When I was in my early twenties I could fight someone for as long as it took, even purposely elongating the fight to show off my fighting prowess. Fast forward 10 years and a few pounds later, I'm not trying to fight anyone because you have to grow up sometimes right? Plus, about a year ago I was at a supermarket where this man had assaulted a woman and ran off with her purse. She looked to me to get him, and I did indeed start running, only to calmly walk back to my car panting like R. Kelly in a grade-school playground. I got in my car, drove and found the "suspect", and "lightly" hit him with my car and got her purse back, problem solved.(Fuck that "running for blocks shit for a purse of a person I don't know" shit..) As you can tell after I turned 30 I knew that I had to be quicker and more economical with my "blows of fury"(I know that sounds like a harlot king-fu master, you get the point.) That is basically where the throat-cop came from, a strike that could leave your opponent powerless, it saves a shitload of time, and you don't get a fucking heart attack in the process.
Trim-spa maybe??: When I was in my 20's I had abs that you could wash a shirt on, now I have abs that could probably make me a lead candidate for an upcoming movie about Buddha. It's just that when I was younger the weight just flew off me and I could eat whatever I wanted. Now, if I eat a string of bad food it goes straight to my ass with a quickness.(I told my mother that exact line and she openly questioned my sexuality, which was weird because I thought loving show-tunes would have proven to her that I was all man baby!) With playing basketball, boxing, and jogging, it seems that a brother has to work out like Ivan Draggo in Rocky 4 to maintain my "chubby black bastard" status. But all in all I'm happy with myself, being that my only standard of weight satisfaction is the fact that I can see my entire penis when I look down. When I have to pull shit back to see what is already not the most visible thing in the world, then it is definitely time to become a vegetarian.
Embrace you inner asshole: OK, I have always been an asshole, but I had spent about 2 decades and a half denying it. When I reached 30, like a cocaine addict that finally realizes that attempting to sell his children for drugs proves that he has reached rock bottom, I came to the realization that I'm an asshole and that I'm OK with that. Granted, I am a different variety of asshole than my father was, he was more of a "asshole to everybody" type. I'm more of the "asshole to random jerks on the street, but loved ones will never see that side of me" variety. I just find it rather relaxing to be somewhere, hear somebody talk about their favorite artist, and say loudly "Lil John Sucks ass! You like that vomit inducing drivel??" Or when I heard a group of sisters talking about how black men stay away from them specifically because they are "educated" and "make more money than they do", which is a legitimate argument. But when they asked my opinion I said, "have you ladies ever thought that maybe all of you are unbearable nags?" They didn't find that funny at all, but at least I got a laugh out of it though.
Friends start looking like crap: I am a average looking guy, so I don't mean any maliciousness with what I'm about to say but some of my fiends aren't aging well. I mean, I think that I have held up pretty well but I always wonder when I will start looking like Grady from "Sanford and Son" because the way my friends are aging , so I feel that I must be next. Like this one guy, a guy I went to High School with named Walt. Walt was the most popular guys in my school, High School Quarterback, homecoming king, you name it, he was even nicknamed "Brad Pitt" in college because of his looks. Shit, I saw him in a hardware store the other day and his ass looks more like "Bottomless Pitt" now, kind of in the mold of Norm from "Cheers" and shit. With other friends losing hair and looking 20 years older than they are, I hope that I keep looking my age and that the clock doesn't strike twelve and it's my turn to look like I should take a swim in that "Cocoon" fountain of youth pool.
Obviously I am a procrastinating bastard, with how slow I am knocking the remainder of these "100 things" out, but I will be more prompt abut it in the next week or so. Here is 26-50
Let me tell you, you never really fully appreciate home until you venture out and see other places. Right when you think that your town is the most bullshit area this side of the equator, you find out that there are indeed places that are even wacker than the place you call home. So yes, my disappearance from the blogisphere over the past few days can be explained by a bit of out of town band business, and a woman who I see being my wife one day, with a smile that could light up a stadium. In no way am I dissiing Alexandria, or the DC area, just my specific experiences that happened there.(Contrary to popular belief, I didn't celebrate when Cam'ron got shot while I was in the area, and I wasnt the shooter. What kind of guy do you take me for??)I know that this piece is titled "Road Trip", and anyone who knows the distance from Virginia Beach Virginia to Alexandria Virginia would probably laugh at me like the first woman I had sex with did, but 200 miles is 200 miles motherfucker! Here are a few things that I encountered from October 22st to the 25th.
Rental Cars Rock!: Rental car, how do I love thee, let me count the motherfucking ways. Ever since I was a younger adult I treated rental cars as my personal stunt-mobile, doing things that I wouldn't dream of in my own car. When I rented a car this time, I thought that my maturity and my different perception of responsibility would change and I would handle this 4-wheeled monstrosity with care, but I didn't. The first thing I did was drive this rental through a dirt field, trying to catch air on a dirt hill like I was a black version of the Dukes of Hazzard and shit.(minus the confederate flag, and the incest theme between the Duke Boys and Daisy) Then on my way to the destination a guy cut me off and I gave him the finger, which prompted me to get out of my car and talk shit. When he threatened to hit my car, I told him to go ahead, but the consequences would be "side swiping" his Lexus at 100 miles per hour, something I wouldn't say if I was driving my car. Also, the mere fact that I was going 120 miles per hour in pouring rain on the way home shows that my maturity level hasn't progressed in the past few years, but doing 360 degree spins on a empy highway was sure fun though.
I need to be bilingual: Even though I took three years of Spanish, I couldn't construct a sentence if someone held a shotgun to my head while threatening to sing a Reaggaeton song. I mean, I could count to one hundred, and tell you that "Lupita is going to the library" in Spanish, but I don't see that getting me laid in a Spanish speaking country any time soon. I might as well think that being "bi-lingual" means having a three way with 2 chicks of different nationalities, the way that I am horrible at it. I had went to this Mexican bar a few blocks from my hotel, where the bartenders spoke little to no English, so ordering drinks came down to me pointing at bottles on the wall. They were nice and patient, but I just flashed back to me sleeping in Spanish class in High School and how I wish I had paid attention and stopped looking at Ms. Gonzalez' tits. The sad thing is that there were a group of Mexican women who were pointing at me, smiling, giving me that "come hither" look, whispering to each other. They were either saying, "That's the HumanityCritic, the "black blogger of the year", I sure would want to find out about his pre-ejaculating love making style!!" Or "Look at that chubby blogging bastard, I bet you money that that no Spanish speaking motherfucker is hung like a toddler." I kind of think that it was the last one. I could have dazzled them with what I did know, but being told that their "vagina smells like road kill" in Spanish would have probably gotten me stabbed.
Don't be a tough guy away from home: I know that statistically I can get my ass beaten, I have gotten beaten up before, but the fact that I think that I can whip anyone on the planet might get me killed one day. That, and plus the fact that I am kind of on a streak of throat-chopping pathetic bastards without a worthy adversarial response has gotten my head a bit inflated to tell the truth. So anyway, I went to that same bar that I mentioned in the last paragraph and this dude was looking at me like he either had a problem with me, or I had stolen his fruity pebbles and shit. I was patient, minded my business, but after a half hour of him staring at me like I was lunch I had to say something. I looked at him and said, "What the fuck are YOU staring at??" Again, not knowing Spanish he said something that I couldn't make out, like "What jackass,lets go!!" or "I don't have a problem with you!!" or "Your blog sucks, so does your band you ass-hat!!", who knows?? I brushed off his words, gave him the finger, and gave him the universal sign for "We can handle it outside if you want" as I left. He didn't follow, so I just chalked it up as another pussy who didn't want to get throat-chopped that night. Anyway, the next day I learn from my home-girl who lives out there that a El Salvadorian gang called MS-13(I think) frequents that bar, and apparently they are known for chopping peoples hands off and shit. Yeah, I really need to calm my ass down sometimes because even though I type with one hand anyway, not having both of them would probably suck. But then again, I just hope they don't take the right one, I need that one to masturbate.
Hotel, Motel, Not the Holiday Inn: Am I the only one that gets a hotel room and automatically envisions having freaky sex involving a handful of women, bondage, and a confidentiality agreement? Well, I do, but usually it ends with me watching SportsCenter or trying to figure out if the hotel porn is actually porn, or the Cinemax "dry humping" variety. Hotels are also misleading, because some do offer "real Breakfast"(i.e eggs, bacon, hash browns, etc.) but most of the time their breakfast includes a dry ass muffin, and some coffee that tastes like it was brewed with authentic horse piss. Also, the "cleaning staff" weirds me out because for one thing they kept knocking on my door every five minutes even though I had a "housekeeping Beat it" sign taped to the door, but also because when you are away you come back and your room is spotless. Which is cool of them to do, but what if you had a dead hooker in the shower, or a key of coke that you forgot to clean up?? That would suck.
That Someone special: You know, being single sucks, and for anyone who says they "love being single" I give you a huge middle finger while grabbing my testicles in my best B-Boy stance. But for a lot of people, myself included, being single tends to be an act of cowardice because being in love is the biggest gamble that one can partake in. Throwing the dice, in this case your heart on the table hoping for that big payoff is pretty ballsy, so I respect those who do it, sincerely. In a word, I'm scared, because even though I fear no man and have actually stared death in the face and tried my hardest not to flinch, I know how getting your heart broken feels and that's a pain I don't wish on my worst enemy. But, I have encountered someone who is indeed worth that gamble, truly a diamond in the ruff so to speak. While on my road trip I had a chance to hang out with her and she is engaging, intelligent, a soothing nature to calm my restless soul, and a smile that literally sends chills down my spine. But while we were hanging, something crept up on me that I didn't expect, insecurity. Like "I'm not good enough for her", "I bet she doesn't feel me at all", "She probably thinks I am the biggest fucking douche-bag", suddenly I am 15 years old scared to hear the answer from a "I Like You" note that I had sent. I suddenly feel myself pulling my chips in, refusing to bet again, because I know what it feels like to lose everything. I keep hearing the Q-Tip lyrics in my head "Scared money don't make none!", but I still feel myself walking away from the table and getting a drink at the bar.
Halloween is quickly approaching, where kids who are usually scared shit-less to come to my door because I am the "evil black man on the block", will flash their shit eating adolescence grins and ask for candy like I am the coolest motherfucker on earth. Some of them are pretty smooth, somehow even learning my last name to finesse the situation even further. It's funny, I promised myself that I would be the adult on the block that would give out the crappy stuff, like nickels and pennies and shit. I even did that to one kid to see what they would do, and when that little girl gave me a look like I had just murdered Santa Claus, I gave in and gave her a bowl full of sweets(Yeah, I am a push over)
Shotgun Larry: Like anyone who ever lived in Naval Housing will tell you, the cast of characters and ethnicity's that live around you are quite diverse. One of these eccentric individuals was a man that the kids dubbed "Shotgun Larry". Larry was a Vietnam Veteran who obviously had some post traumatic stress disorders from the war, because for one thing all of his stories involved the "murdering of Vietcong", the "proper way to throw a grenade", the time he "caught the clap" from a Vietnamese hooker, and early in the morning you could see Larry on his roof clutching a shotgun and mumbling to himself. My parents didn't want me passing his house at all, so the message was sent that Larry was nuttier than squirrel shit, period. One Halloween we decided to do the average childhood things, trick-or-treat, scare other kids half to death, and roll people's houses with toilet paper. We must have done abut 12 houses that night, laughing until I couldn't breath as we basically covered this one house with double-ply toiletries. Then we get to Larry's house, and my friends dare me to "roll" his house and call me a "chicken-shit" if I don't. I refuse, then they start calling me scared, clucking and whatnot very loudly. Beside the fact that I was all of 10 years old, I was not one to have my manhood challenged, so I grabbed a piece of toilet paper and cocked back to throw it. Well, apparently "Shotgun Larry" was hiding in the bushes because before it left my hand he grabbed my arm and said, "Oh no you don't!" We all let out loud girlish screams, then my friends took off like they had heard the Ice Cream man or some shit.
Witness Protection Program: One year my father had taken in the grandson of one of his Naval Mentors, a kid named Shawn. Shawn, who was a troubled kid and about 5 years my senior, so he became like a defacto big brother. No disrespect to my real brother, but being that my real brother was 11 years older than me, he wasn't going to beat some older kids ass that gave me a hard time. Anyway, there was a kid that started some discount gang in my neighborhood, and even though I just learned to fight, I couldn't take on more than one person at a time. This one Halloween a couple of those "gang members" stole my candy and beat my ass, sending me home crying like Kobe Bryant at a press conference. I told Shawn what had happened and immediately he went into his room, grabbed his nun-chucks(because he was into Karate at the time), and raced out the door with me close behind. All in all Shawn turned out to be a piece of shit, stealing from my family and whatnot, but that night he was my bona fide hero. He ran towards that gang and basically beat the whole crew with precision and accuracy with those two connected wooden sticks. As I regained my candy, Shawn reached down and grabbed the main one by the head and said, "Kick that motherfucker in the face for stealing your candy!!" I hesitated at first, but I think I remember kicking him 2 or 3 times, and boy did I like that feeling.
Girl Fight: When I was younger, I wasn't as politically correct as I am now, instead of simply pouring a malted beverage on a woman that pisses me off, I used to do the unspeakable and call them out of their name. I guess I could chalk it up to age I guess, or the crowd that I hung out with, but it probably had something to do with my father's favorite phrase concerning women being "The B*tch ain't shit!" So, since kids are like sponges I absorbed this word and called any female that outside of my mom and my sister, and any other female family member that could kick my ass. Anyway, one day my friends and I were playing basketball when this girl named Wanda wanted us to leave to play double-dutch. When we refused, she tried to physically move us herself, which led the fateful words "get your hands off me bitch" to fly out of my mouth. Wanda walked up to me and stared me in the eye for a couple seconds, and proceeded in slapping the taste out of my mouth. I was embarrassed, put my hands up to fight her, but she was a big girl who looked way too eager to fight for my taste so I did what any self respecting black man would have done. I ran home, and for the following week or so I was ducking her the same way Courtney Love ducks showers. That led to Halloween night, where word was out that she was looking to put me on the business end of a beating.
Did I ever tell you how I distrust any male friend of a woman I'm dating, if only for just a little while? I know, I know, men and women can be platonic friends, yadda-yadda-yadda. I have a couple female friends who I have never contemplated penetrating, so I know that friendships between opposite sexes is indeed possible. But ladies, take it from a guy who used to prey on women who were already attached like Siamese twins and shit, I am an authority on the subject. It's horrible, and in no way am I glorifying my actions, but at one time I felt it was easier being with women in relationships because the chances of her stalking me, asking for a commitment, or meeting her parents were slim to none. Listen, because of my lecherous ways I think the relationship gods have put me in a sort of relationship purgatory for the past 6 years, so I feel that I have paid for my sins. That's why I wasn't really mad at an ex who left me for a dude who was a step above being a goddamned pan handler, because I figured it was just chickens coming home to roost.
Acting Nervous: I always know when a predator, posing as a platonic of friend of my lady is up to know good, especially when they start acting extremely nervous and shit. I mean, if your intentions are pure and you have no plans on seeing certain parts reserved for me and her gynecologist, there shouldn't be any profuse sweating and stammering when you don't have a speech impediment. I dated a girl in college who had a friend named "Ray", who she not only swore by, but I was told that he was the "life of the party" and a virtual barrel of laughs. I knew something was up because when I was around and "Ray" didn't seem comical any more, to the point that he couldn't give me eye contact and people in attendance openly asked him if "Everything was OK?" See, when I was on more girlfriends than engagement rings and I happened to meet someones boyfriend, I would act cool as a fan because like animals who smell fear, a dude can tell when you are trying to "tap" his misses. So ladies, if your new "homeboy" starts stuttering and stammering like Barney Fife in a crack-house when your man shows up, you might want to re-examine your new found friendship.
Sob Story: Fellas, if your girlfriend's "Homeboy" tends to always have a sob story, or play the "miserable bastard" role, look out. I won't generalize because women who read my blog are very diverse, but it is my experience that some ladies like mothering people and try to become Captain-Save-A-Douche to some asshole who calls himself her "friend". When I was in the business of being a total heathen, I wouldn't use this tactic because it could backfire and you could be branded an absolute loser across your city. But a few years ago I encountered this first hand, by a friend of a girlfriend who always seemed to have his "heart broken", or his "shit stolen", I even think he said that his mother became paralyzed in a "rock climbing" accident.(I shit you not) Even though these things could have happened, I was so tired of her running by the assholes side when his life was in shambles I confronted him in a public bathroom when we were all at the movies one night. I pushed him against the bathroom wall and said, "I know what you're up to, I invented this shit man. Back away or I will maul your motherfucking ass!!" This dude smiled and said, "You beat me up then I look like an even greater victim in the eyes of your girlfriend? Feel free!" He had done his homework, he was good. I finally got rid of him by befriending him, going out with him, and paying a few friends that I know to "jump" us while they beat his ass. It was hard because I had to take a dive and act like I was getting my ass handed to me as well, which was hard, but to see him get his ass beaten was priceless. I said that some women want to mother people, but having him sob like a 5 year old girl with a skinned knee was even too much for my then girlfriend to deal with. A couple of months later, she knew that I had orchestrated the whole thing when she said, "I knew something was up when you took that "ass-whipping" with grace and style"
Listen to them talk: It is my feeling that like playing poker, if you watch someone long enough they will expose their "tells"(mannerisms telling you how they are going to bet) People's true intentions eventually come out, and are for the most part bad actors and can't maintain any type of facade forever. If a dude is really a friend of your lady, he will express his feeling for her like a sister, like "she's like family" or "that's my home girl right there", shit like that. But this one time I had a dude actually tell me, "She is special man, she is like a beam of sunlight on a hot summer day. I wish I was you man, don't fuck it up!" Huh?? That's too much admiration for someone that claims to only be her "friend", his ass had to go. So I paid the waitress to pour a tray of drinks on his ass, which turned out to be quite the investment because he got so mad he called that woman every inflammatory thing a man could say to a woman. The B-Word..The C word that ends with a T..The S word that.., OK he called he a slut.. Anyway, this totally ruined his sweet, "nice guy" image he was trying to portray. See ya sucker!
Talk to his friends: Most guys will give up their friends for a few beers, so if you have the chance to talk to that "predator's" friends I suggest you do it. You learn from these ignorant sons of bitches that the guy who is "sensitive" and "caring", once had a rape charge in college, and other things that exposes him as a fraud. On the flip side of that, if their friends display the same type of closed-mouthed nervousness around you as well, something is probably up.
You went Bra shopping?: I'm not sure about any of you, but if you aren't a gay male there shouldn't be any reason a man should enjoy shopping for bra's and shit with a woman. Like a Kobe Bryant rap album, that shit doesn't make any sense to me. There was a dude named Mike who used to go and shop with a lady friend of mine some years back, and when I asked if he was gay and was told "no" I knew something was up. Granted, I once preyed on women with boyfriends, even I couldn't go that route, even a scumbag has standards. I forgot how I got rid of him, something to do with telling him if I ever found out that he had bad intentions that I would "castrate him in a public place", but I can't quite remember exactly. I see him nowadays and he always tries to shake my hand where I say, "Fuuuck you!" OK, did I tell you how I could hold a grudge?
They Talk shit about you: When female friends of a girlfriend that I have usually talk shit about me, they know they are safe because I can't beat the shit out of them. But, dudes posing as friends mistakenly think that they have the same privilege and join in on the "HumanityCritic" bashing. He forgot that he is a man, so he was eligible to get a first class ass beating, and his name was next on the list. How do I know he spoke ill of yours truly? Well, Ladies, no matter how much of a psycho your man is about something, many of you can't resist telling your man exactly what would set him off. I remember it like it was yesterday, my girlfriend coming in and saying, "The other day John said that you were a piece of shit who needed to be taught a lesson, and that you are lucky that you never stepped to him. He thinks that I should leave you alone as well!!" Now, why did she just say that to me?? So the following weekend I went to a club that they were all at, walked up to John and kicked him dead in the chest to the point that he fell backwards and slid about 4 feet onto the dance floor. As John was holding his chest and crying like a character in a ghetto gospel play I screamed, "What did you have to say now!!" That was when a couple of bouncer proceeded in kicking the living shit out of me, but that's beside the point, John got the message.
For anyone with aspirations of becoming a successful musical artist, having a great manager is essential. Someone who truly believes in your art, to the point that they will argue, manipulate, and deceive in order to get you gigs that they think are important in furthering your career. The husband and wife team that manage my band are great, they believe in our music and would go to any lengths to get us that "key gig" as they put it.(i.e Fight prompters, offer them loose women who also "believe" in our band, free weed, shit like that) Sure their tactics are a bit "extreme", but I turn the other way because out of all the haters in the world, knowing that someone holds your art in high regard is somewhat soothing.
A few weeks ago I saw a movie starring Viggo Mortenson entitled "History of Violence", where a small town man had successfully hid from his wife and kids the fact that 20 years prior he was not only part of the mob but also a stone cold killer, until his past came back to bite him in the ass. I could really relate to the main character, minus the part about killing hundreds of men and the mob ties. I mean, when I regurgitate these stories of violence and near death occurrences on this blog I do so for cathartic reasons, but also because I feel that I might want to keep my ultra violent past hidden from any offspring that I might have, so I might as well tell somebody before I try to erase certain things from my memory.
Just Shoot Me: I have said this before, but the time surrounding my fathers death was horrible for me. Not only did I have to balance the death of a parent, but I was also juggling my mother's breast cancer and I had just got dropped like a bad habit by a woman that I had planned to marry. It wouldn't be an understatement if I said that I wanted to die, and definitely had serious thoughts of helping the grim reaper come decades sooner than he was supposed to. I'm not vain at all, but I try to make myself look presentable whenever I go out, but at that time I didn't care and looked like a ghetto version of Grizzly Adams. Danny knew I was on the brink of death, so he did what any friend would do when he sees that his friend is grasping on to his last breaths, he takes me out and gets me shitfaced drunk.
Tear the club up: On a lighter note, I know that I have talked a great deal about strip clubs, well this is yet another strip club story. I used to go to a lap-dance joint called "The Flame" religiously. I don't mean a few times a week, I'm talking about every night of the week because I was addicted to naked women dry humping me the same way a girl named Nikki dry humped me when I was 12 years old. I was loved and hated at that particular establishment, loved because I was a steady source of cash flow to most of the dancers, and hated because whenever I got a lap-dance I would pick a long ass Isaac Hayes song on the jukebox that lasted for like 15 minutes and shit. Anyway, between lap-dances I would sit in front of a bar that was positioned right in front of a tinted glass window that you could see the parking lot from. On one night, I think I had gotten arrested for a fight, or maybe I actually found a woman that I didn't have to pay for, but I skipped a night of having a sweaty, glittery woman climb all over me. Lucky for me, because apparently a gentleman that had a particular beef with the club, went there that night and started blasting his 9mm, multiple times, through that glass window that I usually sit in front of. Actually, it was the same spot that I usually sat at while awaiting a dance from some random woman, probably named "Lexis" or Candy", I could have really been shot the fuck up that night. When I went back there the strippers knew that I could have easily been killed, so for a while I was treated like Norm from "Cheers" in that motherfucker. You know that song "Last night a DJ saved my life"? Well, that night, "A pair of tits almost ended my life".
I hate cops, I really do. OK, not all cops, but a vast majority because the many that I have come in contact with continuously abuse their authority and try to bait you into saying some slick shit, so they can arrest you and hit you on the back of the head multiple times. But I must admit, to the men and women who protect and serve and do their job the right way, I have nothing but love and respect for them. In my 32 years on this planet, when I have been in the wrong and the cop treated me like a man, I fessed up to the crime I committed and addressed them with "sir" or "Ma'am", respectively, because they lay their life on the line on a daily basis. But unfortunately, I have come in contact with too many ex-high school outcasts, who are mad that they were unpopular in high school or didn't get "the girl", so they work their frustration out on your ass. To those bastards, they get nothing but disrespect and backtalk, because they smear the memory of every good officer who put on that uniform before them.
Maybe I'm paranoid, but is civilization as we know it rapidly coming to an end? I don't ask that question because of global warming and the natural disasters that it intensifies, this miserable administration and their wretched record on environmental issues, African Americans who put on black-face and support this president, or even the depths that Hip Hop has fallen during the past five years. It is the utter decay of my beloved neighborhood. I really should have titled this post "When suburban kids go bad" because my middle class neighborhood is desperately trying to become a bad rap video cliche. Granted, my specific street is still the same, very safe and people on my street still think that I'm the anti-Christ, but the streets surrounding mine are starting to look rather suspect. I don't know, maybe I'm paranoid, you tell me.
Whores in Training: When I saw an episode of Oprah about middle class girls turning to the oldest profession in the book, I didn't really pay much attention to it until recently when I noticed some possible "whoring" going on in my neighborhood. How could I tell that those girls were offering some discount ass? OK, any guy will tell you that it is easy to spot a prostitute because when you pass them on the street, they do a complete 180 and look at your car with a hungry look on their face. This has happened to me a few times, and the median age of these girls had to be about 17 years of age, which forces me to pose the question, "Where in the fuck are their parents?" I know one thing, if my daughter's lifelong ambition was to be a prostitute I would build a wrestling ring and slam her ultra loose ass from the top rope and shit.(Not really, but I would have a wrestling ring handy) Sometimes I want to stop my car and give these misguided teenage harlots some rogue-like advice, but I always chose against it because I am afraid that they are being monitored by the cops and I would get arrested for being a "John", and with a butt like mine I avoid correctional facilities at all cost, like George Bush avoids encyclopedias.
"Just add water" thugs: When Hip Hop was in its glory years, it was easy to debunk people who said that the "music was influencing bad behavior amongst teens." Now, because 2 minutes of farting might sound better than a lot of the music on the Hip Hop landscape now, and misogyny and violence in music is a prerequisite, I can see where some music can influence a few weak minds.(I never thought I would say that.) Case in point, some of the teenage boys in my neighborhood think that they live in South Central LA or something, taking their time and sometimes refusing to get out of the way when you are trying to drive past them. After my "get your ass out of the street before I beat your little ass" threats, my "get your bitch ass daddy, I beat both of your asses" tirades, I found two remedies that make teenage boys scatter like roaches with the lights on. I either a)Try to hit them with my car(Not really, but coming very close) or b)I throw a lit M-80's out my car so they get the fuck out of the way. Now they give me props, I guess because they see that I'm not playing, by saying "What's up OG!! Hey Dread!!" I should be nice back, but my response is usually something like "Shut the fuck up peasant!!" or a simple middle finger out of my window representing Hip Hop to the fullest.
Trust Fund Street Gangs: In Virginia Beach, republican as can get, I have discovered a street gang in my midst. I was getting a beer at a local quick mart when this white gentleman approached me, wearing a gigantic chain with a Jesus emblem swaying back and forth. When he opened his mouth he sounded like a black man, to the point where I giggled and said, "How do you do that?? You gotta show me that one day." like it was a magic trick and shit. Anyway, he informed me that he was part of a street gang called "The Misfits" or some nonsense, and that since they respect me that they don't have any problems with yours truly. Even though I knew he was trying to be nice, I was offended because he implied that if we "weren't cool" that there would be need for me to worry. I was like, "Fuck you pussy, go away..", then he gave me a really dejected look on his face like I had just shot his dog. Immediately I said, "See, a "real thug" would have said some slick shit back or at least hid his rejection!! You really need to practice this "gangster thing"!" Fast forward a week later and I find out that this fool lives a block in back of me, so I thought I would bring this dude named Jesse by to kind of do a "scared straight" thing on them, hoping that this would provoke soaked trousers and hurt feelings. Jesse is a real thug, who had spent 10 years in jail and who has actually killed someone, he is a counselor now and I thought he would show these kids that they weren't built for gangsterism. That was a mistake, because instead of scaring these kids, Jesse inspired these fuckers. His tales of murders, robberies, and anal rapings in "the big house" became something for these trust fund fuckers to shoot for. I saw that wannabe thug the other day and he asked me, "When is Jesse coming back by??" Where I just replied, "Beat it fem-inem!"
Ghetto Casino: A few months ago Danny came by and told me that this guy he knew a few blocks over had a card game going on and that we should go. We went, they had poker and blackjack, and the people there consisted mostly of college kids and local degenerates. I had a ball, winning 800 dollars tends to do that, and I had even more fun when I won 300 more dollars there the next time. I just thought that the guy who threw this thing did it every now and then, but I recently found out that not only is this college boy doing this full time, he is also selling drugs out of his house as well. His house is already "hot" in terms of police attention, but I sort of, kind of, think that a guy that I hit one night because he was fucking with Danny was a off duty cop.(The only reason I'm not concerned is because how is he going to explain where he was at when I hit him. But if I stop blogging for a while, you'll know why.) Jesus I hope not, but you know that I haven't been there since and I feel bad talking about this being a factor in the decay of my neighborhood, because I contributed to it in the beginning.