I am the "Hooptie King"

Due to my bouts with germaphobia and not wanting to catch a disease that would make my cock fall completely off, sometimes I feel that I have retired my "sex" Jersey and now it is in the rafters for all to see.(I always envisioned the number on that Jersey being 02, as in minutes) Of course I can be like Michael Jordan, un-retire myself if the right woman comes along, one who enjoys independent film, hip hop, and a porn collection that would make Larry Flynt sick to his stomach. But in the meantime, you don't know how pathetic it is to tell old stories of me folding a woman like origami on my couch like it was a recent event, when my friends go into their recent sexual conquests. It's sad man, then it got even worse when a friend called me out and said, "Why do all your stories end with '..and then I fucked her on my couch'? I bet your couch would glow like Sho-Nuff in "The Last Dragon" if we put it under a black light!" He had a point.

Then, bless his little "non hip hop listening" heart, he gave me the title of "The Sofa King." I dug the title but quickly told him that that was a MF Doom song, and even though I have had more crazy broads on my couch than psychiatrists, I wouldn't feel right biting Doom's style. So because the titles "Mattress King", "Fold out bed King", and "Couch King" don't have the same ring to it, I tried to figure out what in the fuck I was "king" of exactly. Let's see, how about "Jerk off king"? No that won't work, primarily because there has to be some poor bastard out there who touches himself more than I do, also people would probably think that I wasn't the recipient of said "jerking".(I'm all man baby!!) Here you go, how about the "Throat-Chop King", that has a pretty god ring to it. No, wait, I heard some random minstrel show rapper(platinum grill) refer to the term "Throatchop" as a euphemisms for oral sex, so that ruins that title for me completely. Then it hit me, as I saw a man broke down on the side of the road while his car overheated, I am the "The Hooptie King!" Let me explain:

See, even though I currently have a car that couldn't be classified as a "Hooptie"(Piece of crap car), for years following my obtaining a drivers license and through my college years, I was one "Hooptie" having motherfucker. Even though my old man was a master mechanic and I should have definitely paid more attention to him for automotive knowledge, the mere fact that I have had more beat up cars than junkyards I think qualifies me to get any mechanic job in my city if I wanted. So the other day, as I changed the oil of a woman that once experienced my pre-ejaculatory rituals up close and personal, I was insulted when she said, "You just don't know how it is to have a crappy car!!" Ok, let the debunking begin.

Transmission Fluid Leaks: Even though I would prefer this type of leakage over the STD variety, I am a grizzled veteran of various fluids leaking from my automobile. When I was in college I had a 85 Chevy spectrum, which was not only the easiest car to steal(I read that somewhere) but at that particular time it leaked transmission fluid like crazy, leaving a red trail like a wounded animal who just got the business end of a shotgun blast. I know, I know, my old man was a mechanic, but I would have tried anything to avoid degrading comments and a lengthy ass lecture to be totally honest. I must have spent hundreds of dollars on fluid, constantly filling it up, trying to stop that revving sound as my car desperately attempted to move, buying "stop leak", you name it I tried it. One thing I noticed is, unbelievably, is the degree of anger people feel when you leave a puddle of transmission fluid in their driveway. A friend wanted to fight me, a girl I was dating suggested that I take the bus to her house, my own mother told me to "park my 'that time of the month, transmission bleed mobile' down the street." The most embarrassing thing that I remember is getting a phone call from a girl that I was dating, she said "I saw that you stopped by to see me today!" I said, "Did your sister tell you that I stopped by?", in which she responded, "No, I saw the trail that you left." Great.

Gas leaks: When I was in my first year of college my father had what he characterized as a "drug intervention" for me. It wasn't the hearts and flowers shit you see on "Lifetime", his version was pointing at his gun and telling me that he would lodge a bullet in my backside if I was a "junkie", as he so succinctly put it. I had no idea what he was talking about, I smoked weed but not on the regular, so I asked him, "What in the world is your crazy ass talking about??" He told me how I always looked out of it, my eyes were always glassed over, and when I would come home after a full day of class I would sound incoherent. I had no idea what he was talking about, not at all, until the following Saturday when he took my car for an innocent trip to the corner store. I forgot what I was dreaming about, pouring chocolate over Sade, or a romantic tryst with the girls from "Oaktown 357", but he woke me out of my sleep screaming "You stupid motherfucker!!" He informed me, for probably more than a month, that I had a gas leak where the fumes were going into my car and I was inhaling them the same way Ruben Studdard inhales a rotisserie chicken. Ok, it makes sense now, I was wondering why my World Civilization night class was so goddamn funny.

Oil leaks: These leaks are the trickiest because they can come from so many places, but through my "Hooptie" years I felt like Jed Clampett because of all the oil I found. Let me tell you, you think that people get a little hot under the collar when you leak transmission fluid on their property, try leaving dark tar like engine oil in their driveway. One time I was visiting my friend Cory over his parents house for a party they were having, two deeply religious people that I respect tremendously. During the party his father rushes in the room, grabs me by the arm and ushers me outside. He points and says, "Is this your car HumanityCritic, because there is oil all over the place!" After I fessed up, I heard three words come out of the mouth of a man that not only taught Sunday school, but told me the benefits of having the "lord" in my life, he said, "Motherfucking Jesus Christ!!" After he fell to his knees and begin scrubbing his driveway like a ghetto Cinderella pre-ball, I made my exit immediately, the whole time him yelling profanities at me and letting me know the new and innovating ways to be called a "Bastard". Amen brother!

Oil Leaks(Part 2)The most vivid memory of my oil leak issues happened years ago, when I wasn't keeping up with my re-oiling duties. As I went to class I was aware that I was in dire need to put oil in my car, but I figured that I would put some in before class, no big deal really. But on the way there, in a Chevy Chase moment ala those "Vacation" movies, a beautiful Latina pulls beside me at a light and flashes me a "come hither" look. She was hot, and right before I could roll down my window and tell her the benefits of being with a chronic pre-ejaculator she pulls off, racing down the street. As the all around pervert that I am, I floor it and try to desperately catch up to her. Right when I get even with her my fucking engine locks up, all the dashboard lights come on, and I coast my sorry ass in a neighborhood that millionaires live in. The neighborhood is important because they have constant police patrols there, and in no time 4 cop cars were surrounding my black ass like I had just tried to assassinate a public official.

Muffler issues: A word to the wise for anyone wanting to sneak up on somebody and beat there ass, make sure you have a good muffler. Let me explain. I was playing basketball some years back and got into a scuffle with some asshole who kept talking shit. I was handling him pretty well, that was until his boys jumped me in and introduced me to the fine art of "getting jumped" I'm old school, if you beat me one on one I can take the loss and keep it moving, sincerely. But getting jumped is another story, so like I told a date after I spent 200 dollars on her as we were standing on her porch, someones got to pay.(Just kidding, kind of) So my plan, because I found out where each dude lived, was to systematically get my revenge like I was in a Karate movie and shit. Problem was, all of them were hanging at one location, so because they knew how my muffler sounded they heard my black ass when I was a block away, so they waited to ambush me. I narrowly escaped, vowing to "come back like I'm revenging my brothers death"(As Kool G Rap put it in "The Symphony") After I swallowed my pride and had my old man fix my muffler, a few days later as I am beating one of thos assholes in front of his girlfriend, I screamed "You didn't hear me coming this time motherfucker!!"