I don't want to come off like a ghetto version of Yoda, reflecting on what "could have been" like I was a few centuries old or anything. But as I get older and put my previous 32 years in the proper perspective, between my dead father, my sex addiction, and my penchant for throat-chopping motherfuckers like it wasn't a goddamned thing, a great deal of my day is spent looking back on my wasted potential. Listen, I'm happy with my life I really am, but when I think of how my life would have turned out if I just followed through and committed 100% to the task at hand, the possibilities seem endless to me. I'd like to blame my short attention span or ADD on why I didn't put my greatest effort behind the following examples I'm about to give you, but at the end of the day I guess the only culprit to this dastardly crime is good old fashioned laziness.
Being an MC: From the first time I heard someone rhythmically put words behind a beat, I knew that I would pray to the alter of Hip Hop until my last heartbeat on planet earth. When I was a kid, I would write rhymes constantly, making sure my language was both colorful and biting, so I could verbally execute some random catholic school fuck who thought he could take my title that particular day in the cafeteria.(Don't sleep, you didn't know that the best MC's come from Catholic schools? OK, not really) A few years after High School I was in a Hip Hop group that did pretty well in my area, but ego's and lack of focus derailed our fame train permanently. Of course I had dreams of being a solo artist, but my insecurity about my lyrical skill, my voice, and the plethora of talented MC's popular at the time made my dreams of rocking a crowd disappear faster than cocaine in front of Kate Moss. So for the past few years I have still wrote rhymes, not to break out and become famous or anything, but because of my love for the art form.(Also because you never know when some young douchebag might need his ass handed to him like liposuction. albeit verbally) But I still wonder what could have happened if I just threw caution to the wind and attempted to put my full effort into becoming a successful Hip Hop artist. But I have to admit something to you though.. Because of the lack of quality Hip Hop out there, from a wide spectrum of wackness ranging from the Dipset to those ultra wack "wacky taffy" clowns, I suddenly feel the need to dust the Mic off once more and throw my lyrical hat in the ring. I know, it's very "American Beauty, midlife crisis, Hustle and Flow"-ish, but a brother has to put up or shut up sometime.(Even though, if I do rap again, the only people who will probably hear it is all of and and my mother.)
Relationships: Do you want to hear some sad shit?? Like some "I'm not going to read HumanityCritic anymore because he is a fucking fool" shit? OK, here goes.. I have had a bad track record with women ever since a girl broke my heart when I was 18, silly enough for you? Let me explain. She was my very first "real" girlfriend, and I did everything I could to be the shining example of what a perfect boyfriend would be. Attentive, I always took her out even though I didn't have money like that then, Romantic(for me), you name it I did it. Well, when she left me for a dude who looked like Gary Coleman's stunt double, it crushed me to the point that I became extremely weary of women like my name was John Bobbit and shit. I know its not her fault that I have been an insufferable prick for 14 years, it's my fault, but that was the snowball that eventually turned into an Avalanche in the relationship history of Humanity F. Critic. Because of that, unfortunately, I have ruined a few great relationships because I was scared of getting hurt. Shit, I don't mean to write this crap with the intentions of implying that I'm not still fucked up because I am. Lets see, I know I can be insensitive, calling someone on a regular basis is as natural for me as an oral bowel movement. I know I can be an asshole, I kicked a girlfriend out of my crib one time when she openly admitted that she still talked to her "love of her life" ex boyfriend. I know I can be impatient, I couldn't tell you how many would-be relationships I abandoned because the woman in question kept me in an uber shitty "friend/boyfriend" zone for longer then I would have liked. Last but not least, and this is the hardest to admit, I'm jealous. I avoided this title for myself because you immediately think about "stalking", "violence", or any other random verb of the like that would make me out to be a garden variety "scumbag". But I'm more jealous in a "why didn't she call me when she said, I bet she's fucking someone else" paranoid kind of way, the whole time keeping that eternal dialogue to myself. Yep, I've fucked up more relationships than internet porn.
Track and field: I know this is going to be hard to believe, me being the chubby chronic masturbator that I am and all, but once upon a time I was a bona fide stud. No shit, when I used to run track I had Ab's that you could have washed clothes on, and bi-ceps that would make Popeye totally wet himself. Now, 15 years and a million hamburgers later, I have Ab's that one could wash a parachute on and bi-ceps that would have made Big Pun chuckle a bit.(R.I.P) I was never the fastest person(my 100 meter time was like 10.8), I didn't have a great long distance time(I think I my best time in the mile was like an hour), and because I'm not tall doing the High Jumps wasn't an option. But one thing I could do, probably because of the huge calves I have from walking on my toes for years, was long jump my natural black ass off. From doing the bare minimum in practice, I became one of the best long jumpers in the state of Virginia, leaping over 23 feet.(Not to toot my own horn, but that's pretty good for a guy under 6 feet, I mean 5'11, I mean 5' 10...Fuck it, you get the picture.) But looking back at how I skipped practice to get High School ass, and slacked off in practice when I was there, I wonder how good I would have become if I had put out the maximum effort and gave it all I had. Who knows, I could have been good to the point that maybe the Olympics were in my future, traveling around the world battling Carl Lewis for long jump domination as thousands of Argentinian woman screamed my name. Shit, even if those things didn't come true then at least I would have had a few years more to hold on to those Ab's that you could have washed some clothes on at least.
Pee-Wee Football Coach: I know this example would have never brought me fame, fortune, or worldwide acceptance, but it is still relevant. My whole life, having a father that terrorized my self esteem and sometimes my will to live, I just knew that I would be a horrible father. It got to the point that anytime I was in a serious relationship and the topic of having kids came up, no shit, I would hyperventilate uncontrollably. I felt that I was cursed, and that I would leave a permanent scar on any offspring that I had, so I made it my business to never procreate, ever. That was until I volunteered to coach Pee-Wee football as a favor to a very sick friend at the time. Sure I was scared, scared of what I then characterized as a 'slew of bastard kids', not knowing how I would exactly interact with the youngsters. But I surprised myself, I loved those kids and had a patience that I didn't know existed, and when I got irate it was never at the kids but at those inbred officials who always fucked up their calls. Besides the patience, I learned that I could sacrifice my thirst to win and give every kid the same amount of playing time, even though some of the kids had limited skill compared to the others. Looking back, I guess I'm mad at myself because of my inability to keep my mouth shut when it came to their asshole parents.
The parents, no matter how much time I gave their kid in the game, were rude and talked to me like shit constantly. So me grabbing a parent by the neck and slamming him in a bar one night when he disrespected me, me calling one women an "inbred piece of shit" as she yelled at me at a bank one day, and me elbowing a parent in the chest when he called me a "black bastard" after one game made sure my days were numbered. The funny thing was, the last year I coached we were 6-2, go figure.
Writer/Hip Hop Journalist: When I first started this blog I did so thinking that it would be an avenue for me to talk shit, probably abandoning the whole thing in a month or so. But as time went on, and I wrote at more of a feverish pace, I realized that the writing bug had not only bit me in the ass, but infected me with passion to get my words out there for the world to see. I must admit, that all of you by being nice enough to read my daily ramblings have been the best kind of influence one could have in my goal of being a professional writer. My life is good, I have no complaints, but changing my life at this point to chase a dream is so daunting that I just hope that I don't do what I did before and not follow through. There are two things that keep this dream alive, the amount of people who encourage me on this blog to get things published, and the horrible state of Hip Hop journalism and all the hacks that call themselves "writers".(Pulls out soapbox, and stands on it)
There are some journalists that I love, but too many of them are just "Fox News"-style shills, just licking the ass of artists and record labels alike. What happened to real journalism, writing from the gut and not caring if you piss people off?? One thing about me, if it adds to my ultimate demise or not, is that I'm going to tell the truth like it or not. I'd have no problem saying that Lil Wayne is garbage, that Lil Kim is nothing but a professional cock sucker who got lucky, that I don't think that Dr. Dre should be on any Top MC lists because he doesn't write his own shit, the universal wackness of the guys that do that "Laffy Taffy" song, openly wondering what kind of cooked cocaine Nelly was on when he dissed KRS One, openly questioning Young Jeezy's I.Q level based on his claims that the "Snowman" t-shirts aren't referencing cocaine, and how MF Doom is the most slept on motherfucker to have ever existed. I don't know about other writers, but I'm not scared because this pen holder hits back, I want an upset Nelly to be pissed off to be totally honest.(I'd be selling off his platinum teeth in less than an hour, for weed and whore money of course.)