Tuesday, February 28, 2006

Sick and Tired of Being Sick and Tired

As I sit here typing on a computer mainly used for illegal music and porn downloads, juggling dry heaves, the chills, and trying to find something witty to say, I realized how much I absolutely hate being sick. I guess we all hate being sick, but it happens so infrequently to me that whenever I do feel under the weather it always seems like a brand new experience for me. For a chubby bastard like myself, you would think that I would embrace being sick since I have lost 15 pounds in the matter of hours. I thought that people would comment positively on the slimmer and trimmer physique of HumanityCritic, but when you lose weight suddenly and have a pasty look of death on your face people just wonder if your favorite past time has become inhaling cooked cocaine.

People say that you learn a lot about yourself when you are in a fight, something that I have to disagree with being that I have been in a thousand fights and the only thing I've learned is that I'm addicted to violence. People say that you learn a lot about yourself when you are in love, a notion I disagree with since the last woman I was in love with left me for a panhandler(literally) , and I would to hate to think that my only lesson was to "not" fall in love. But being sick over the past couple of days I would say that I have learned a lot about myself, and what I have found out about myself is that when I'm sick I'm not an extremely weird motherfucker(weirder than usual) and a 32 year old baby. I know some of the stuff I have written on my blog has many of you thinking that I'm as nutty as squirrel turds, but after reading about some of the rituals I partake in while being sick, be kind enough to not report me to the puzzle factory.

Believe it or not, I have even less patience: This is going to sound funny coming from a dude who once proclaimed that if I had a check for a million dollars and the cashier's line was particularly long that I would come back later, when I am sick my patience is non existent. Last night when I was in the checkout line about to by a toxic mix of drugs that I thought would stop me from praying to a porcelain god, an old lady was in front of me with 20 items and holding nothing but coupons. I was cool for the first 30 seconds, but erupting out of my mouth like my mandible was a ghetto volcano, I loudly yelled, "Come the fuck on lady!!! You have a knot of money but want to keep a dying man in limbo as you pinch pennies??" She quickly looked back at me in a "you sure are an asshole" kind of way, and went on with her business. When she went to get something else while keeping me there in a puddle of illness, so I told the cashier that I would pay for her stuff as long as I could get my black ass out of there. When the lady ran up to the register upset that I had paid for her items, for some reason I did something that I have done a million times when faced with awkward situations. I ran.

I am tactless: This one chick who is a critic of my blog claims that she is sick and tired of the way that I beat the whole "asshole" motif in the ground. She also apparently doesn't care for the way I talk about my sub par sexual prowess, and my ability to sporadically throat-chop a black republican in a single bound. I guess she would have an argument if she didn't have such a horseshit blog herself, but I am insecure about my penis size, I have throat-chopped more men that I care to mention, and I have been known to be an insufferable asshole throughout my life. Granted, I'm an asshole to people who deserve it, priding myself on the fact that friends and family have never been on the business end of a brutal tongue lashing. But when my symptoms include a high fever, chills, and constant vomiting, I tend to abandon any type of governor I had on my mouth previously.

Case in point, I have a good friend named Grant who I have known since college. He is a good guy, but every conversation we have had over the past 5 years involves how horrible his ex is, her horrible mothering skills, and the hell that she has made his life. I don't know why I erupted with the following diatribe, because usually I have held these feelings back, but I said: "If I hear one more "my ex ain't shit" stories I think I'm going to go on a killing spree. I told you not to mess with her, her fucking our entire college basketball team should have at least been a warning sign to you. Shit man, you still married that tramp even though I told you she tried to get me to have sex with her, you deserve everything you get motherfucker!!" When those words barrelled out of my mouth I knew I fucked up, and I'm pretty sure the insincere "I'm sorry" didn't help things. I'm going to apologize in a proper fashion in a few days, but at least the conversation ended on a hopeful note when he said, "I forgot who much of an insufferable prick you are when you are sick."

Gotta have the right movie on: I don't know what it is, but whenever I'm throwing up breakfast more than gang members throw up gang signs, it is important that I have the right movie playing in the background. Maybe its all in my mind, but if something is on the boob tube that particularly disagrees with me, it is my belief that I will throw up even more. If Fox News is on by some chance, I am vomiting more than Kate Moss in a bathroom stall. If SportsCenter is on I still might throw up, but it is definitely a soothing sound to the flu like symptoms that I have. Some soothing flicks that I enjoy when I'm sick include "Wild Style", "Clerks", "Snatch", and "Bamboozled".

I'm a baby: Regardless of the macho bravado I try to portrait on this blog, just know that when I am sick I am the biggest baby in the world. I not only moan like a constipated turkey when I'm feeling under the weather, I become an all out attention whore for any female who is kind enough to bring over chicken soup, or any "sick dish" for that manner. It gets even worse when that person, whether it be my mother, ex girl friend, or stripper I briefly dated on a dare once, comes by at the height of my illness. This is embarrassing to admit, but I find myself speaking like a 5 year old boy, reaching out to them, and in my best sick voice saying "Please hold my hand!" You would have thought that I was on my motherfucking death bed, making my mother call me a "pussy", forcing my ex girlfriend to say "Now I know why I broke up with you", and that stripper to say "I can't believe I let you fuck me!"

I tend to do the weirdest shit: Even though I have more issues than a 6 oclock news broadcast, I feel that my wife will have the toughest time dealing with my idiosyncrasies while I'm sick. For one thing, for a reason I can't explain, I tend to smear Vick's vapor rub all over my body. If that isn't weird enough for you, I tend to put both my hands down my pants as if I was a dreadlocked version of Al Bundy.(What can I say, its soothing) Even though this is probably adding to the problem, I tend to constantly soak my hands in extremely hot water to fight off the feeling of the chills.(I guess that wouldn't be so bad, if I didn't yell out "Yeah baby, that's what I'm talking about!!!") I'm not even going to go into my TheraFlu addiction, and my penchant for running full speed on my treadmill during the early morning hours.

Thursday, February 23, 2006

Fun with Racism

Even though I feel that I am in a perpetuate state of trying to prove my mother wrong when she says that I am a "32 year old child", sometimes I feel that I prove her right by the way I keep doing things that I know I shouldn't. Like last year when I was at a friend of mines bachelor party and was offered some high powered marijuana that I knew I had no business smoking. I went against my better judgement and smoked it, and the next thing I knew I was at the house of one of the strippers afterwords, performing a striptease for her and her stripper pals to a chorus of "shake that ass" and "work it chubby".(I did get a few bucks though, but the mere fact that a few of them put nickles in my undergarments crippled my self esteem) Or recently when I went to a gathering that a ex co-worker was having, where I got absolutely shitfaced in the matter of a couple of hours. When a chick that I had just met asked me if I wanted to "chill in the hot tube" I knew it was a bad idea. But since my life revolves around "C.R.E.A.M"(my Cock Rules Everything Around Me) I went against my better judgement and decided to chill with this chesty beauty, with hopes of getting lucky later. Unfortunately, my hopes of having her count ceiling tiles were cancelled when she damn near had to resuscitate me because of me falling asleep and almost drowning.

I also know better than to not fall asleep in front of the television, simply because of the strange fucking dreams that I tend to have because of it. I guess I had fallen asleep to a television special about slavery or something, because in my dream I led a slave insurrection where I tried to help 20 of my brothers and sisters to "freedom". Of course the dream had some improbable aspects of it like me killing 2 slave-masters with a couple of well thrown Rambo knives I kept in my backpack(see, backpack), me telling one of the slaves to "stop being a bitch" when he resisted escaping, the twin glocks that I shot members of the lynch-mob with as we made our way through a heavily wooded area, and I'm sure historians would cringe at the fact that I was wearing shell-toe Adidas while I was doing all of this. I'm not sure if I died in my dream or not, but right before I woke up I had told the others to go on. Sacrificing myself, held up in a barn armed with only a machete, surrounded by men in hooded outfits with matching white caps who didn't want to discuss the current state of Hip Hop with me.

When I woke up all I could think about how my father recounted stories of what he had to go through in South Carolina in the 40's and 50's. I never had to encounter a tenth of what he went through, but him vividly telling some of the things he witnessed, people being hung until their necked snapped, and the specific things they couldn't do because of Jim Crow, I never took anything for granted. I have issues with my old man even though he died 5 years ago, things that I have a hard time forgiving him for, but he was a tortured guy because of the overt racism he saw first hand opposed to the great white shipmates he had during his 30 years in the Navy.

I know that I should write a Black History post, probably where I quote Maya Angelou, and possibly give you some random black history fact. The hell with that I say, I reject the fact that black history has to be relegated to the shortest fucking month of the year. Sadly, I'm lying, I wish I could say that that's the reason, the real reason is because I'm an asshole and reject the idea of being told "when" to celebrate anything.(Just imagine how many pissed girlfriends I had because of the fact that they received their Christmas gifts in July) This is just a friendly post about the types of racism that I have experienced, nothing to the extent of anything my father could have articulated, but just my own experiences.

Overt Racism: When I first started thinking about writing this post last night, I openly wondered how many times someone called me the "N word". I had a really hard time, difficult in a way that I actually wondered if anyone had ever called me that word outside of the term of endearment way I've heard it from other black people, something I'm trying to get away from. I guess we put bad experiences in the back of our subconscious somewhere, because right when I was going to say that I was never called that, my brain sort of had a mental bowel movement where all these examples came over me like some sort of "racist instant replay". I guess I could tell you about a kid in my 5 grade class named Terry that called me that word, but there isn't much to tell since I hit him in the face with my cafeteria tray. I guess I could tell you about a dude named John Peters who called me that word on the bus home from junior high, but I chased him to his house where his "ultra liberal" parents let me smack him in the face for it.

One case that sticks out is being called the "N Word" simply because I accidentally bumped into a guy at a "Rage Against the Machine" Concert.(What racist goes to a fucking Rage concert anyways??) All I can recall is smashing his head against his car door post concert as his black friend, that's right, just looked on as if he was studying my racist bashing techniques. The other one, a much scarier instance, is when me and Danny were playing pool and discussing the ridiculousness of people who have confederate flags. Apparently the two gentlemen besides us didn't like the flow of our conversation, and decided to explain why it was their right as Americans to have said flags, one of them taking off their jackets and proudly showing off a shirt with that image on it. A few words were exchanged, me having the smart mouth that I have, then all of a sudden a few "go back to Africa's" and "dirty n*ggers" came out of their mouths. I was in a dilemma because Danny can't fight to save his life, and because he has kids and a wife I would never forgive myself if something happened to him.

So we calmly left, I dropped Danny off and told him that I was going to bed. He said, "You're going back up there aren't you??" I didn't answer and just drove off. When I got back there only one of the men remained, and as I cornered him about to put him on the business end of a beating my brain and hands had a very civil conversation. Brain: Is this how you want to go out, perpetuating the angry black guy stereotype?? He's a racist, fuck it, you don't want to get in trouble!! Fist: Fuck you!! Lets just say that my brain didn't have much of a say that night.

"Maybe I'm overacting" racism: I have a Chinese food restaurant that I'm loyal to, a guy that I have been going to for a few years now. Despite a better restaurant across the street, I have stayed loyal to my Asian brethren from day one. I don't know what was wrong with me, I guess I was having a bad day or something, but when I walked in and he said, "Ahhh, I bet you want the chicken don't you??!!" I snapped. "What??", I said, "Why do you think all black folks want chicken huh?? You have a side of watermelon that you can serve me, huh?? I thought we were cool Lee, how the fuck are you going to hit me with that stereotype shit??" He smiled, looked up and said, "Because you have been getting chicken and Rice for the past couple of years, you ass-rag!!" All I could say was "Oh" and "sorry", as I walked out his establishment with the same dejected feeling you had when your parents grounded you for some childhood indiscretion.

Stereotypical racism: I have heard comics from the likes of Richard Pryor to Dave Chappelle, both express how they hated it when a person of another race suddenly felt the need to "talk jive" when they address them. Case in point, I was watching a band that I love perform in a bar that I randomly frequent. I guess this dude wanted to make friends, innocent enough, but he approached me with a "Yo, yo, yo.. What's up Dawg!", accompanying it with a crazy as fuck handshake. To throw him off a bit, I started speaking with an exaggerated British accent and said, "What is this "dawg" rubbish that you speak of mate?? Is that elaborate handshake a white American tradition or something?? I just came to this country so I am naive about some of your customs." That's when he cut the bullshit and said, "No, I'm Justin.", and gave me a proper handshake. So immediately I dropped the accent and said, "I'm humanityCritic, how fucking hard was that. I might suggest you not get your image of what black people are actually like from B.E.T, you inbred jackass!!!"

Subtle Racism: I couldn't tell you how many times as I kid I saw something that I thought was my father's own conspiracy theory, actually come into fruition. He always said, "HC, if the teachers seem happy that you received a C or lower, its only their way to hold you down!!" God dammit if that man wasn't right, more times that I care to admit I noticed that I was being praised for average work but my white classmates were being encouraged to "do better" even when they got grades as high as "B's".

Nothing is more degrading than being told by someone mid-conversation, "Wow, you are a bright guy", "You are so articulate", or "You are so well spoken". Even though idiocy like that should never get a pass, but I think most of the people who actually spew that drivel out of their pie-holes don't actually realize that they are saying anything wrong.

"I hate my own people" racism: I am a big critic of some forms of Hip Hop that degrade women and depict ultra violent images. I'm not an apologist for all Hip Hip, but I know enough of the culture to understand that there are other alternatives when it comes to the music itself. I'm not even saying that if you are a rap critic or critical of a few black Americans that you are a self loathing black person per se. But when you hear black folks lump other black people using words like "them", "they", or "those people", you know that there is a deep seeded self hate there. Sure, they will act like they are trying to help the race by coming out against "filth" and the criminal element of society, but I have a sneaking suspicion that many of these individuals would have been "House Negro's" back in the day. Like Chuck D said, "Every brother ain't a brother cause of color".

Maybe not racist, but incredibly fucking stupid: It has always been my feeling that if you have to say, "I have plenty of black friends!!" to show you aren't a racist then something is seriously wrong. Listen, I can't say you are a racist if you have ever said the following things, but at least feel secure in you being a bona fide, steaming pile of shit: Anyone that aggressively argues the "reverse racism" argument, any person who wants to pull the "Hey, my family came here from Ireland!! What's the big deal?" discussion, people who want to compare the Holocaust to the slave trade, if you have ever asked a black person why there is a B.E.T and not a W.E.T, or ever openly wondered why you weren't allowed to use the "N-Word".

Wednesday, February 22, 2006

Video of the day..

Eric B. and Rakim: "Microphone Fiend"

One it comes to some of the images that are burned in my memory for an eternity, the image of Rakim in this video comes to mind. A man who I think is undoubtedly the best MC ever to hold a microphone, when I saw this video as a kid it's what made me want to be a life long devotee to Hip Hop. This is going to sound silly, but then again it might not since I have admitted to having a 2 minute sexual prowess, but every time I am in a crowded club I recite the words to this song in my head as I make my way through the crowd like he did in this video. I'm not a big Kanye West hater, or a fan, but his "arrogance" to me seems like it is a reaction to being a very weak and insecure person inside. Rakim on the other hand, his swagger has everything to do with him knowing that no one has the ability to fuck with him, or even contend with the title. That Ladies in Gentlemen, is Hip Hop..

Tuesday, February 21, 2006

HumanityCritic's Sports Hall of Fame

Besides the 253 dreams that I have had where I relive witnessing my fathers passing, one specific thing sticks out about that fateful February day in 2001. That was a very strange conversation that me and my mother had as I embraced her in the waiting room after my fathers final moments on this earth. So many thoughts were racing through my mind as I clinched my mother tightly, sadness, regret over me and my fathers lack of relationship, selfish feelings like anger because of him "waiting for me to get there" to die, I actually got lightheaded because of how many thoughts had infiltrated my dreadlocked skull. But one thing that sticks out was my mother's stoic nature, her strength, and the brief "get the fuck off of me" look that she gave me. Right when I was about to leave the hospital thinking that my mother was absolutely the toughest woman to ever live, she grabbed my arm and said, "HumanityCritic, sit down for a minute!!" I obliged her, looked in her eyes and said, "What is it Ma??" Expressing a nervous look that I had only previously seen when I joked about "marrying a black republican", she quickly uttered, "Talk to me about something, anything, I just don't want to be alone with my own thoughts!"

"OK", I said, "Do you want to hear about some girl I plan on getting to know 'biblicaly?" I guessed by her shoving her finger down her throat was a sign that that was out of the question. Then, for a reason that I couldn't even imagine, me and my mother talked about our favorite athletes of all time. As my father lay cold no more that 100 feet from us, my mother knowing that after 30 years of marriage that her husband was gone and me knowing that the possibility to repair the relationship with my father was indeed over, we waxed poetically about the greatness of Michael Jordan. I always have thought that our diversionary conversation is probably the same tactic that a death row inmate spouts out during his last hour, trying anything to get his mind off of his fate.

I bring this up because since that day my mother and I hadn't spoke about that conversation, that is until recently. As we chatted about sports and who our favorite athletes were the other day, my mother gave a huge belly laugh when I said, "This sure is a lot easier without a dead guy in the next room!!" This post is dedicated to my lovely mother..

Michael Jordan: OK, let me address 2 things immediately. 1) I know that most of you are surprised that my favorite basketball player isn't Kobe Bryant by the way I blog about him like I have a schoolgirl crush. and 2) I know this is an obvious choice, it's as predictable as saying "My favorite book is the bible!"(See High Fidelity) but it's just how I feel. Looking back on all the Bulls games I witnessed, the guy was an absolute assassin. You hear every player who say that they "play every game like their last", but Michael Jordan was the only player who I feel followed that line of thinking 100%. Me and Mike have a few things in common, a winning smile, a gambling problem, and the fact that I beat up a teammate once.(Granted, it was at the YMCA. I bet he won't call me a ball hog again!) The image of Jordan that is burned in my memory is that 1997 game against the Jazz where he was ravaged by the flu and still scored 38 points. Remember how Scottie Pippen had to physically prop him up as they both headed for the sidelines?? The "warrior" tag is always loosely thrown around these days, but if you were to call him one I would be the first to agree with you.

Michael Jordan moment: It happened last year matter of fact, I was playing in a YMCA pick up game where I was shooting the lights out. Granted, the guy who was guarding me was 65 with an extremely bad knee but that isn't my fault. This one play, as I intercepted a pass and streaked down the court uncontested I hear someone say "Dunk it!" Never mind the fact that I am under 6 feet, have never dunked a basketball in my life, and have only been able to simply touch the rim, I stuck my tongue out like Jordan with my eyes on the prize. As I approached the basket, I elevated like I had never before, grabbing the ball with two hands preparing to jam it in front of a couple scantily clad girls watching from the sidelines. As I rose I thought a few things like, "I'm really going to dunk it", "damn I hate black republicans", and "I hope one day I have a 'i humped a girl simply because I dunked a basketball' story." Suffice it to say that my world came crashing down when the ball collided with the rim, forcing my body backwards, and the result was me landing on my back in the midst of a thousand giggles. Damn, I was just trying to "Be like Mike"

Barry Bonds: I know that this guy is brash, cocky, arrogant, and an absolute prick. But to be totally honest those are the reasons why I like him, I find those good qualities for a ball player. Maybe its because I like the villain, I do openly hope the villains in crime shows get away with it(outside of pedophiles), which must also explain why I am a Kobe Bryant fan. But his physical dominance at the plate is undeniable, putting the fear of god in opposing pitchers, only a few moments later giving some lucky bastard in McCovey Cove a souvenir to keep. I know the steroid rumors, I know that a black cloud follows him around like the dirt that follows the "Pigpen" character, I even know that he admitted to using a form of steroids before. But my ideology is this, if you don't have a positive steroid test you really don't have a valid argument against him not going into the Baseball Hall of Fame asterisk free. He could have friends who are known Steroid dealers, you could give me a diagram on how his body mass expanded "so quickly" over the years, you could even give me a picture of Barry Bonds juggling steroids in front of the Balco laboratories, but without a positive test there is nothing much to be said. Some of the arguments against Bonds is valid, I know, but I think that sports writers loathe him because the last thing they want to see him do is surpass Babe Ruth's mark.

Barry Bonds Moment: It was a few months ago when I was at bat, playing in a local league. I walked up to the plate, gave the pitcher an intense look, and adjusted my forearm pads before stepping into the batting box. As I crowded the plate and got into my home run stance, the catcher looked up at me and said, "What is up with all the pads and crowding the plate, this is slow pitch softball you asshole!!"

Dan Marino: When I was a kid watching Dan Marino, I sure wanted to be a quarterback in the worst way. Seeing him perform last minute comebacks, throwing absolute missiles down the field so hard that it looked like he was purposely trying to throw his arm out of the socket, he was the greatest thing since internet porn in my opinion. I know, he didn't win a Superbowl so that tarnishes his career to many people, not to me, because if you know anything about those dolphin's teams you'd know that those defenses sucked worse a hooker with bad teeth. But sadly, as I watched Dan perform open heart surgey on defensive backs, I knew that I could never be like Mr. Marino. One, the whole him being white thing, and two, me throwing like a teenage girl in a blizzard.

Dan Marino moment: The one thing that has gotten better with time concerning yours truly is my arm strength. Not only that, at the ripe age of 32 I have finally mastered the art of throwing a perfect spiral. So last year, when I was playing a light game of pick up football with my ex-girlfriend, her friends and their boyfriends, I was designated all time quarterback. I must have completed my first 20 passes, I was on fire, to the point that I had a undeniable swagger about me. I don't know what came over me, but when Melissa(a girl on my team) was wide open, it was if I was locked in. As she giggled at the fun she was having, waiting for my pass on the side of the field, I planted my feet and let one go. The next thing I know I hear a *thud* as the ball ricocheted off of Melissa's chest, causing her arms to flail everywhere, and her ending up on the ground writhing in pain calling me "an asshole" repeatedly. I guess she wasn't invited to the "gun show"..

Walter Payton: I'm sorry, no disrespect to Emmit Smith, but Water Payton is still the greatest rusher of all time regardless of who holds the all time yards record. If Water had some of the same offensive lines that Emmit had, the record would be as unapproachable as Joe DiMaggio's 56 game hitting streak. As a kid, watching Walter steam roll defenders like nobodies business, the mere force of his running attack was pure poetry. I remember seeing a television segment on Payton's off season regiment of running steep hills to increase his conditioning. So, because I was an impressionable kid, I did the same during the summer months to get me in shape for the plethora of school sports that I played.(It didn't help my sports career, but I found it easier chasing down future throat-chop victims in a school hallways) I never admitted this to anyone, but I actually cried during the 85 Superbowl when Payton failed to get a touchdown.

Walter Payton moment: A Decade ago, at the height of my cannabis influenced years, I played football with some college friends of mine. I was the running back, and after a few yards I was hit so hard that it spun me around, but I shook it off and kept running. As I ran I stiff armed defenders, stepped on people, and made sure my legs kept driving as I punished anyone who dared tackle me.(I think I actually punched a few folks) The problem was, after I was hit it spun me in the wrong direction, and the people that I was "punishing" were my own teammates. Just proof that weed and playing a little pigskin don't mix.

G.I Joe had the "Kung Fu Grip", Biz Markie comes with the "Booger pickin' finger".

I really don't know what I think about this.

HumanityCritic breaks down, well, Critics..

You know the old saying, "Opinions are like assholes, everybody has one"? Well, I want to revise it somewhat, how about "Negative Opinions are like liquor and gun stores, you tend to find them in the worst places possible." I was reminded of this when someone who possibly has the worst blog ever to grace the world wide web decided to give me writing advice. As I mulled over the idea of throwing that jackass under the proverbial bus, pointing out that the one person that does have his blog linked only did so a while ago, and many of the comments on his page seemed like he wrote them himself, my better judgement came into play and I remembered a phrase that my dear grandmother used to say. I remember it like it was yesterday, coming home crying because my painting didn't win any awards at my grade school art contest, my dear grandmother sat beside me and said something that would be my motto for the rest of my life. She sat beside me, squinted her wrinkled eyes and said, "HumanityCritic, Tell them to eat your ass if they don't like it!!"(She was such a gentle soul)

Even though its going to sound odd coming from a dude that calls himself "The HumanityCritic", I have always been suspicious of critics of any kind. If many of you are suspicious of me then good, you should be, I would hope that many of you have a free mind and would object to anything that you find on this very blog to be "bullshit" in your opinion. Lets look at a few critics shall we??

Movie Critics: Based on the many reasons that a person might like a movie, these guys are the most worthless of the bunch. I say that because there have been a smorgasbord of comedies in the past few years that movie critics find deplorable, but at the end of the day made me laugh, so it did it's job. Also, a movie can be a form of escapism from every day life, a rough day, a break up, what have you, certain flicks are enjoyed for its ability to "take you to another place". For example, I think that "Joe Dirt" is funny when the majority of movie critics blasted it. I thought that "Bamboozled" was one of Spike Lee's best flicks, even though critics world wide claimed it was a waste of 2 hours. It has gotten to the point that when a friend, or any human being that I respect, tells me "not to see" a movie ,I do the opposite. I think the best example was when a friend of mine told me how great John Travolta's "Be Cool" was, so I decided to take a date to it one night last year. Suffice it to say it was horrible, to the point that we walked out of said flick and I didn't get any "latenightwhatnot" that night. The next day I went to my friends house, and when he opened the door I went into his pockets like a High School Bully and got my fucking money back. He laughed hysterically, that was until he realized that it wasn't a joke when I drove off.

Music Critic: Just as worse as the movie critic, probably worse because there is a lot of payola and glad-handing going on so you really can't trust these guys. You guys can relate to this, reading some advertisement filled music magazine, constantly seeing good albums get sub par ratings, and horrible albums being heralded as the best album of the year. It seems in this line of work, the more good reviews you do, the more business opportunities will be opened up for you. Which is sad, because I would hate to think that a writer was giving some good reviews just for the hopes of being on an episode of "I love the 90's".

Hip Hop Critic: I understand why right wing guys like Bill O'Reilly criticize Hip Hop, because they have to find a subtle way of "sticking it to them coloreds" without seeming racist. But besides that, I have noticed that 90% of the people who criticize Hip Hop as a whole know nothing about the genre. Criticizing Hip Hop is the only time you could know jack shit about a subject, but be allowed to speak ad nauseum about it as if you had made the research on the genre your life's work. Hey, I can't defend a lot of the horrific images coming from certain artists, but I know the genre to be much broader than that to make ignorant, blanket generalizations. I guess the worst examples of criticism you get are from these self loathing black folks who want to perpetrate the concept that they are "looking out for black folks" by making it seem that all hip Hop is the downfall of civilization as we know it. Of course they can't name a rap song if you pointed a loaded handgun to their head, and they couldn't name a rap artist not featured on MTV or B.E.T if you threatened to take their black-face away, but their opinion is relevant. Right?? Right??

Blog Critic: A few months ago I had a small guide for up and coming bloggers, looking back I should have had a segment on "blog Critics" as well. I can take constructive criticism on my blog, I really can, but some people take certain pleasure in their bitter attempts to be mean. In my case, there are three types of individuals who come to my blog to talk shit. 1) Ex Girlfriends who have claimed they have "moved on", but leave nasty "your blog fucking sucks pal" comments anonymously. I just wish she would be smoother about it and stop doing so from her government job where I can trace it back, dumb ass. 2) People who have blogs, but tend to talk shit under "anonymous" because they are cowards who have some sort of gripe with me. and 3)People who talk shit because they think I undeservedly received the awards placed on top of my blog. I would understand it if the specific critic at hand had a decent blog, but it is always that motherfucker with the blog as delightful as a tonsillectomy that wants to cry sour grapes. I thought that me telling this specific individual that "taking writing advice from the likes of you seems as natural as an oral bowel movement" was a bit much, but I'm glad I said it.(People act as if one of the prizes was a date with Selma Hayek or some shit.) I recently got slammed because I always talk about my chubby statute, my throat-chop abilities, and my sexual shortcomings. Well guess what sugar tits, I'm a chubby, ultra violent pre-ejaculator, what do you expect you diseased trollop??

Fellow bloggers, moral of this story is always write for yourself, and call someone out if they step to you and are truly unworthy of challenging you for "The Belt".(Blog peasants if you will) Like my Grandmother used to say, "Tell them to eat your ass if they don't like it!!". I miss that sweet old lady dearly.

Friday, February 17, 2006

A few "Dream Jobs" of Note..

Many of you have seen me go through a period where I was trying to be a more diplomatic HumanityCritic, attempting to soften my edges and be less of an insufferable prick. Many of you have seen me try and tap into my more sensitive side, trying to be more romantic than a prison rape so I could land my future ex wife and live unhappily ever after. I don't know if I'll ever change, I really don't, but one aspect about my personality that I will always feel comfortable with is how I am an outright unapologetic snob. It's a sad thing to be proud of, a very weird trait to have for a dude that grew up painfully insecure I know, but I am just passionate about my likes and dislikes. I have been known to make masturbation hand gestures while some random republican defended Bush during a debate with me, I once talked like Charlie Brown's teacher(Whah-Whah) as this black republican that I know tried to tell me that black folks should "Embrace Condi because she is African American". Shit, I am so much of a music snob that one night a couple of months ago I had one too many drinks and felt very nauscous. I could have made it home and threw up there, but to make my point I waited until this dude I know played me a few "Young Jeezy" tracks in an attempt to prove to me that he was dope. When he said, "So HumanityCritic, what do you think??, I said, "Well, this is what I think of Young Jeezy!!(Bwaaaaaaaaarf!!)" As I vomited my guts out saying "Yep, that motherfucker is THAT wack, Wow, I forgot that I had even ate corn", the dude stormed off as if he was a pissed off prom date and said, "YOU, are an asshole!!!"

That's me, enlightening the unenlightened one parking lot vomit session at a time. I guess that is why I love the movie "High Fidelity" so much, a story of a self described "Music snob" who revisits all of his ex-girlfriends in search of a reason why he has been so historically bad at dating. Besides what I feel to be Jack Black's best performance in a movie, the phrase "It's not what you're like, it's what you like!" that I have always lived by, and the appearance of my childhood crush Lisa Bonet, the lead character does something that I have done since childhood. He makes lists. I am a list making motherfucker, as many of you have already noticed, and one list that John Cusack's character has is his ultimate dream jobs. These jobs, as he explains in the flick, could be in any genre imaginable and any time period imaginable. Here are a few gigs that I would characterize as my "dream jobs".

Radio Personality:(now) You have to understand that I would want this job under the best circumstances, not being saddled with a minstrel-esque play-list and having to kiss the asses of artists that I privately loathe. If that was the case then this would be the worst job imaginable, inciting thoughts of packing a high power firearm with my lunch, wondering who to kill first on my killing spree. But this would be my absolute dream job if I could play what I wanted, interview who I wanted, and was given free reign to openly criticize any artists who I think missed their natural calling of being a custodian. I'd be fearless too, telling Jim Jones face to face that I know a "young stutterer with down syndrome who has a better flow" than him, openly discussing the conspiracy theory with Puffy where I feel that he is responsible for Biggie's murder,and after hearing Floetry say that they support George W. Bush because of his "high minority appointments" I would openly ask them if they were a "product of inbreeding" then turn to the one that raps and say 'What in the fuck do you do again??" I know people would hate my guts, to the point that I am sure artists would threaten me with physical violence on a daily basis. It's cool though, even though you have heard about many DJ's getting beat up by some random rapper's crew over the past few years, it wouldn't go down like that with your man HumanityCritic. I can see it now, Cam'rom coming into my studio with 3 of his goons, speaking tough guy monosyllabic speak(explaining his lack of lyricism) saying, "I don't like how you dissed me, were going to take care of you right now!!" I calmly say, "I don't think so homey", as I pulled out a Louisville slugger up from under my desk and a couple of my henchmen walk through the door. "Lock the door!", I would say to one of my henchmen, "You getting shot in DC is going to seem like a fucking Swedish massage compared to this!!" OK, Scarface I'm not, but you understand that this is definitely a dream job for me under the right circumstances.

A member of those "Showtime" Laker teams: I wouldn't even have to be a starter, I could be some schmo that was on a month by month contract, as long as I could sit on the bench with the likes of Magic, Kareem, Worthy, and the rest of that bunch because it would be worth it. Those championship Bulls teams were great, and no one loves Jordan more than me, but no other team seemed like bona fide rocks stars in my lifetime the way those 80's Lakers team were. Besides winning championships and receiving sweet no look passes from Magic, and setting up the big fella to see him shoot his signature "sky-hook", there would be other benefits to being on that team that would be even more priceless. From joking Pat Riley about the amount of oil he has to drill each day to maintain his hairstyle, to sending strippers to A.C Green's room to drive him absolutely bat-shit(He practices celibacy), to joking Kareem about his age and asking him "How was Booker T. Washington in person?" But seriously, the main reason I would want to be on that team is the amount of ass I'm sure was thrown their way on a daily basis. Hell, even if I was the last motherfucker on the bench I'm sure the leftovers would be 10 times the quality of anything my chubby black ass could get now. I mean, how great would it be, because she was a Laker girl, to have a "I once fucked that broad from American Idol" story. Since we all know what happened to Magic, I would and not get sloppy seconds from his leftovers, and I think I would I would get a special condom made of Kevlar.

Hip Hop Journalist: Blogging over the past year and a half, and reading many blogs of the people who comment on this very blog, I realized that there are a lot of talented motherfuckers out there. I'm not just giving lip service here, but many of you have the writing chops to replace many of the worthless human beings that call themselves "Hip Hop journalists". Maybe it's because I am a hater by nature, or possiblly this blog has gone straight to my dreadlocked head, but it is my honest feeling that a great deal of Hip Hop journalists suck more than Monica Lewinsky in the oval office. You read some of their articles and it's like they were paid by their artists simply by the way they constantly co-sign on that particular artists brand of bullshit, and they are even more laughable when you see them on television saying things like, "Lil Wayne had one of the best albums this year!"(Ten words that you couldn't get me to say if you held a fucking gun to my head) I mean, I'd tone it down and respectfully critique certain artists, but journalists may I ask you, "Where are your testicles?"(Ladies, you know what I mean..) Being a paid Hip Hop journalist would be a dream job if I could profile up and coming authentic Hip Hop, be free to voice my opinion in any way I like, and have the freedom to "push buttons" journalistically. Unfortunately, I have heard many MC's that I respect(KRS, Chuck D) pretty much co-sign on the concept of journalists being beat up by disgruntled rappers, which I think is a deplorable stance. But then again there is an upside to that, me telling my grand-kids one day a very humorous "I once beat up Mike Jones with my laptop" story.

Porn Director/Script writer: I know, I know, there is no need for a script because people look at pornography simply for the deviant sex, I get it. But where is your vision people?? I feel that dialogue driven porn is a wave of the future, a new form of filth that would revolutionize the industry. OK, maybe not, but some of the ideas that I have are works of art, if not just flat out funny.(Even if I'm the only one laughing) Imagine a porn film that is the epitome of nasty, to the point that it would probably be outlawed in a few states because the deviant sex acts in said film, but there is absolutely no cursing in the film. The language is so clean that each actor refers to each others private parts with a child's vocabulary, like "stick that in my 'happy place", or, "that is sure some wee-wee you have there"(That's right, Steven Spielberg like a motherfucker!)

Besides my "avant guard fuck flicks", I would get angered if one of my actors strays from my script in any way possible. I can see it now, as some fictional porn star named "Hutch Sherlock" is pounding a sexy temptress, he says "Baby, how does it feel to get 3 hours of sexual fluis exchange from a chubby dreadlocked blogger??"(Yes, its a porn Autobiography, don't laugh) I'd immediately scream, "Cut!!!! Cut!!!", getting out of my chair and approaching the actors holding the script, saying "No, no!! You fucked up the line dumb-ass!" When the actors protests, I'd point at the script and say, "It says, 'Baby, how does it feel to get 3 MINUTES of sexual fluid exchange from a chubby dreadlocked blogger??'..Recite what's on the fucking page DeNiro, Action!!!!" Man, I would love to have that job.

Bruce, Shut the Fuck up why don't ya??

Bruce Willis' Quote: "Look at what happened to James Frey in the last two weeks. That's a great book and so is the follow-up book. And just because his publisher chose to say that these were memoirs, it took it out of being a great work of fiction... to this guy having to go be sucker punched on Oprah by one of the most powerful women in television, just to grind her own axe about it. Hey, Oprah. You had President (Bill Clinton) on your show and if this prick didn't lie about a couple of things, I'm going to set myself on fire right now. James Frey is a writer, OK? He can write about whatever he wants. It's fiction. It's just shameful how he was treated in some of these things."

Listen, if you knew my personal feelings about the woman who's most popular theatrical phrase is "You Told Harpo to beat me", you would know that I won't be signing up for Ms. Winfrey's book club any time soon. From the time she let Robin Givens weep like a 4 year old girl as she recalled tales of Mike Tyson the "monster"(something we already knew but it seemed like a publicity stunt), to the time she let Terry McMillan proclaim "he could have killed me!!" when talking about her homosexual husband,(Not pointing out to Terry that he "could have killed her" by fucking a female as well. Hey, I have a great sequel for Ms Mcmillan, how's this: "How Stella Got her makeup kit Back") Oprah's stock with me has fallen faster than a tightrope walker with epilepsy. But this time I have to defend one of the richest women in the world because Bruce is obviously being a douche-bag here, but lets break it down.

First, even though Republicans want to use Clinton as a source of blame for everything from the present economy to the disappearance of Jimmy Hoffa, what in the fuck does Clinton's interview have to do with anything. Even though I think I heard that Oprah's producers were warned about Frey's book beforehand, they endorsed a book by a man that claimed that every account of his was the absolute gospel. Because of her endorsement, the sales reached a height that it wouldn't have received if it wasn't for Winfrey's television coverage. Now we find out that James Frey is as full of shit as a constipated Grizzly Bear so she did what anyone of us would do if faced with that situation, throw that motherfucker under the busas quickly as humanly possible and save face.(Not only that, she was backing Frey even when the reports started to come in.)

So Mr. Willis, lets set the record straight. She didn't endorse Clinton's book in her "book club", Clinton's book sales weren't dependant on his appearance on her show, and.... You know what, Fuck you Bruce, how do you look like defending a proven fucking liar?? I can't wait to hear you wax poeticly about Jason Blair and Stephen Glass as well, two journalistic liars that I have't heard a celebrity like you publicly defend yet.. Shut the fuck up man, and deal with the fact that a dude who was born when you were 23 is now playing "hide the salami" with your ex and spending quality time with your kids. I guess I should really make this post seem a tad lighter based on my rant,Ok, I'll end it with a "Yipee-Kiyeah-motherfucker!!"

Wednesday, February 15, 2006

Getting to Know Humanity F. Critic

I never knew a freestyle rap battle could incite such a serious conversation, but it happened to me this past weekend. As I was in the studio with a friend of mine who was recording an album at the time, him and I got into an impromptu rap battle in front of his engineering crew and a few of his friends. It's all blur now, I pretty much stunk up the joint to be totally honest, but because he is a big WWE fan I ended my last verse with "You have to wrestle with the fact that you're wack like John Cena!!" Not a great line by any means, but that one line sparked off an unexpected debate that lasted over an hour or so. His argument was that as a friend he is an open book, secure in letting his friends know every aspect about him. He then said, "You on the other hand are more secretive, we have been friends for 20 years and I still don't feel like I know you. That's the reason why you can be so open on your blog, because in your day to day life you are as secretive as an F.B.I agent!" I didn't know how to answer that, I mean, I am a naturally introverted person who only shows extroverted tendencies because my inner asshole has turrets, but I never thought it was like that. Even when I was about to answer him seriously, I got distracted by the other people in the studio who were glued to my every breath like I was on Oprah's couch or some shit. So like the well read brother that I am, one that has the ability to eloquently discuss serious topics on a regular basis, I addressed my friend's complaint with the respect he deserved. I think I said, "Stop being a bitch!", but that's neither here nor there.

Later that night I thought about what he said, and as I racked my brain I suddenly remembered an ex girlfriend saying that she also really "didn't know me".I felt that I had to do a random survey on some of my closest friends and loved ones to see if they also thought I was secretive and aloof. First I called my boy David and asked him if he really felt he knew me, in which he replied, "Dude, I do maintenance on your computer and have seen the filth on there. I feel like I motherfucking know too much." Moving along, I opened up my personal phone book and called an ex that I just knew didn't have any ill will toward me and asked her the same thing. Well, it seems that she had nothing but venom for me because she lit into me for 5 minutes, because her cousin's conscience got to her and recently she sobbingly admitted that Humanity F. Critic has sex with her on her bed years ago when we were dating.(Fuck, I had forgotten that I had done that)

I figured that I would talk to my mother, a woman who knows me the best and a person that I could tell anything to. As we talked she expressed that she felt that she really knew me, she said "Even though I know that when you go to the dictionary and look up the term "asshole" you are pictured with a shit eating grin, I know that you are a good man." That all changed a few minutes later when she was pushing me out of her house with a look of disgust after I told her that I "gave the 'rough and rugged' to some broad in the bathroom of a wake" once. Right then I realized that I needed a guide, a booklet if you will, that is kind of a cliff-notes guide to really understand the man who is Humanity F. Critic. This is just a rough draft, but tell me what you think.

What I really mean when I say:

"Come on girl, I'm saying..":(Translation):I would really want you, the woman of my choice this particular night, to come over for some late night intercourse. What ever you have planned can't be better then being sexually unsatisfied for a few fleeting moments, all the while being smothered with dreadlocks in your face, only to hear me scream "here comes the mother-load!" as I ejaculate. Plus you can't beat the cuisine you will be served afterwards(cereal) and the post coital affection you will get afterwards.(slap on the ass)

"I'm not trying to be a dick but.."(Translation):I'm indeed trying to be a dick, the only reason that I put that particular qualifier on it is because you usually don't say such dumb shit to me so there is no reason to outright call you an inbred piece of shit. Yet. So this time I will state my case firmly to let you know how I feel, but at the same time try not to disrespect you.

"I'll just slap her and end it!"(Translation) I have never struck a female, or even endorse hitting a female under any circumstance. This particular phrase has been used only when I have encountered females who threatened physical violence upon me(just to give them the impression that I'm nuttier than batshit, for my own safety that's all), one time it was a stabbing threat and the other time it was a girl who threatened me with a firearm. Come to think about it I use this term concerning males as well.(The line was lifted from the King Tee song "Act a Fool")

"Get the Fuck on!!"(Translation): Please remove yourself out of my general area, before I am forced to violently chop you in the trachea with the side of my hand. If you are of the female persuasion, please vacate my personal space before you get a beverage containing malted hops poured all over your person.

"Latenightwhatnot":(Translation) A late-night sexual act, "booty call" if you will, that usually ends up with guilty feelings, a perm being sweat-ed out, and the female getting cab fare home.

A "just add water" MC:(Translation) The same way any miscellaneous jackass can just add water to powdered milk, this term refers to an untalented rapper that is so pathetic that your garden variety citizen can match his "lyricism"(See Young Jeezy, Benzino, Ying Yang Twins)

"I respectfully disagree.."(Translation) The only reason that I'm not giving you a verbal reaming right now is because I actually like you as a person. But come on, you have to be a product of inbreeding to actually mean what you just said. I want to say something inappropriate like "Your mother should have swallowed you" but I won't, because we're friends.

"Blonde Chubbs"(Translation): A term that my friend Danny and I came up with, when he said "It's messed up that chicks who you find appealing in your culture HC, are considered "fat" in mine".(Disclaimer: Danny likes ass) Anyway, "Blond Chubbs" is what we call a very shapely Caucasian woman, its a compliment believe it or not.

"Iraq"(Translation): What Danny and I nicknamed my dating habits. Meaning I always go into a relationship under false pretenses, when I'm in it I realize that it's a disaster, and when it's all said and done I don't know how to get out of it.

"Old Negro Spiritual"(Translation) I love older people, I really do, the knowledge that they pass down is priceless. That being said, not every older person hands down rogue-like advice, some should be all out ignored. "Old Negro Spiritual" is any older black person who has ever given me horrible, defeatist advice like "You better cut those dreads, how else is the white man going to respect you?" Or this one time that one of my father's friends said that I should have let the police officer search my car when I got pulled over years ago. There a lot of older folks who I respect immensely, and there are others that I wouldn't trust with the fucking remote.

"Mouth-Hug"(Translation): Blow-job

"Hoover Upright":(Translation) A woman skilled in the age old art of giving "mouth-hugs"

"Sweaty Fucking Baptists"(Translation): Any black "man of god" that leads their people astray due to his greed, hypocrisy, or his own warped sense of politics.

"The Minstrel Show":(Translation): Simply put, any place where a group of black republicans gather.

"Sugar Tits"(Translation): Something that I find to be a term of endearment concerning some of the women I know, but so far every single one of them has rejected that pet name thus far.

We Interrupt Your Regularly Scheduled Program..

Because of the simple fact that certain cowards who comment on this blog won't except my challenge to the sweet science of fisticuffs, or they simply won't comply when I ask for their home address, I have to understand that they lack a functioning pair of testicles and moderate my comments on this here blog. Feel free to comment all you like, opposing opinions will not be censored, just comments of the "I'm an inbred dumb-ass who thinks me randomly saying "your blog stinks" makes me less of a pussy" variety. Thank you for your time. Now back to our regularly scheduled program.

Tuesday, February 14, 2006

Just a Standard Valentines Day Post

I could start this blog post like most bloggers, denouncing February 14th as a prime example of a marketing campaign, spreading the propaganda of "love" just to get your hard earned dollars. I could even state the case that if you are really in love with someone that one solitary day shouldn't define the passionate feelings that you have for them. I agree with both statements, I really do, but for a guy who spends 90% of his existence inappropriately touching himself to sporadic porn downloads, a brother wouldn't mind a bit of "commercialism" in his life right about now. Even though I have had my heart ripped out of my chest before, and I have heard the words "HumanityCritic, I am fucking someone else" come out of the mouths of way too many women that I care to admit to, I guess that I am still a "sucker for love ass trick" as one of my west coast friends succinctly puts it.

Me being single is a mystery, not because I'm a catch or anything, but because the bar is just so incredibly fucking low that I feel like the statue of liberty on some "Bring us your tired, your poor, your huddled masses" shit. OK, I am a germaphobe, I have anger issues, 70% of the women I have dated will probably say that I was the worst mistake of their lives, I do inappropriate things while ejaculating like humming the "Smurfs" theme song or quoting that chick from the rap group "Arrested Development" by saying "A pair of horseshoes, PAIR OF HORSESHOES!!", I get nauseous if I hear one too many "this one guy I fucked" stories from a woman that I am dating, I can be insensitive, and the mere fact that I suddenly want to add the phrase "I'm about to bust off in your face like Dick Cheney" as sexy "pillow-talk" with future girlfriends would probably explain why I am single right about now. That's not too bad, is it??

I guess by reading the last paragraph it isn't a newsflash that I'm an asshole, but like a chick in a gang-bang flick, assholes need love too.(Sorry, that was cheap) But like most assholes will tell you when they reflect back on their past encounters, it's hard to differentiate between being a prick and actually making smart decisions in the love arena. Here are a few stories that I would like your feedback on..

Republican Love: A few months ago, when the idea of going to another bar seemed boring to me, and after I had watched enough pornography to make Larry Flynt call me a "scumbag", I got an interesting call from my friend Nate. Nate, a dude that shares my warped sense of humor, had the brilliant idea of crashing a republican party being held for then candidate Jerry Kilgore. Free food, drinks, and the mere thought of me having a blog with the words "..and then I shoved a Jerry Kilgore sign in his ass" was too much to pass up to be totally honest. Let me tell you, I never got my ass kissed as much as I did that night, stuffy white men and Ann Coulter reading chicks were giddy at the thought of a dreadlocked black man, sporting a grizzly Adams beard by the way, would endorse the Republican party. Nate and I played the part too, cramming our plates with food, drinking as if we were at a high school keger, all the while occasionally rambling in cave man tones "Affirmative action-bad..!!" I thought we would be discovered when I called the democratic candidate "a fucking hand-job", but no one caught on. That was until this beautiful black woman named Teresa tapped me on the shoulder and said, "I know you two aren't republicans!!". I asked her how she could tell, and she said "You are wearing a Public Enemy T-shirt dickhead, that's why!!" Slightly impressed that she recognized the PE logo I engaged in a conversation with her that lasted most of the night. From Hip Hop, sports, our families, as she talked I watched her mouth move, looked at her hair, looked at the way she used her hands to talk, the fact that I wasn't staring at her tits was a sign that I truly liked this woman.

Then it dawned on me, like that sinking feeling you got in English class when a report was due and your simple ass forgot about it, "she's a fucking republican". As much as I tried to tell myself that it didn't matter, that two mature individuals could co-exist with different ideologies, even naming couples with different political ideologies in my head.(James Carville and Mary Matalin, Arnold and Maria) But at the end of the day I knew that it wouldn't work out, so when she said "Do you think we could hang out??" I said that we should talk politics first. As we sat on this hotel balcony talking politics, and after she said that she was a republican because the "democrats take the black vote for granted", she knew I wasn't the one for her when I answered back the following: "That has to be the stupidest shit I've ever heard in my life. Yes, the Democrats take the black vote for granted, I agree. But your ideology is like an inmate wanting to be moved because his cell mate says sexually suggestive things to him, only to be moved and be satisfied by a new roommate who ritualistically rapes him when the lights are out. That shit doesn't make sense!" Her face dropped, and before I could apologize for my heated rant, she stood up and screamed, "What, your a fucking Liberal!" for all to hear. Everybody turned around and gave Nate and I nasty looks, so instead of just laughing it off or calmly leaving, Nate and I for some reason ran out of that room like we had just stolen the fucking Hope diamond. To this day, when I think about Teresa, I wonder if I made a monumental mistake.

Similac Love: Recently I was asked if I could write a few songs for a local R&B singer that a lifelong friend of mine is managing. I guess he thought I could pull it off because he had always known me have a love for writing, but I wasn't sure he knew about the man that I had become so I directed him to my blog before he made any decisions. When he called me and said, "As long as you don't have my artist throat-chopping people, getting fucked in a bathroom during a wake, or pre-ejaculating then we are in business!", I knew that I had some writing to do. Eventually I knew I had to meet the singer in question, a woman named Neena, so I could see what she was about so it would be easier for me to write songs for her. The next few weeks we spent a considerable amount of time together, I knew I started to like her based on the fact that she didn't irritate me, and she had openly told me that she felt the same way. It never occurred to me to ask her age, I figured that she was at least in her late 20's, so when I talked about the movie "The Last Dragon" and she gave me a blank look on her face I knew I had to ask her a few questions. As I thought about how much I liked her and how disappointed I would be if she was jail-bait, I asked, "Neena, what year were you born??" She giggled, looked up at me, and I watched her lips move in slow motion as she said, "Niiiiiiineteeeen-eiiiiiiiggghty-seeeeven" As I frantically counted on my figures as if I only had a third grade education, I put my hand over my mouth like a stunned old lady and yelled, "19?? Oh heavens!!!"

She said, "Yeah, and your 32, age ain't nothing but a number!!" As I thought about me being 14 when she was born, her being 4 when I graduated high school, her being 7 when I was old enough to drink, I would have left the table screaming if it wasn't for her wearing extremely tight pants and a shirt that almost bared a nipple. Not only that, if I did engage in any form of relationship with this young woman, I wouldn't want to be the one she references back to in ten years as "the motherfucker who ruined me on men". Dating chicks my age can be done guilt free, because regardless of how bad I am, I am no match for the guy who once "fucked" their mother or beat their ass at their family reunion that one time.

I know that there are women Neena's age who read this blog who are mature and bright individuals, but I just feel that that age gap is somewhat insurmountable. I'm still writing songs for her, and she is a delightful young woman, but if she comes to my crib wearing a "catholic school" skirt like she did a few weeks back, there might be trouble.

"Dude looks like a lady" love:(Breaking a promise is a horrible thing, I know it is. But since this person has said some negative things about me recently, lets throw his black ass under the bus) Me and some friends used to frequent a very crime ridden club, yes it was dangerous, but the amount of quality ass that used to inhabit said club was almost worth catching a bullet in the ass for. One particular Saturday I found myself talking to a chick named Michelle, a nice woman, beautiful, the whole nine, but I got the sneaking suspicion that she was a man. Nothing really stuck out(pun unintended), average size hands, average voice, I just had the gut feeling that Michelle was probably a "Mike" who tucked back his jewels pre-club hopping. Even though I felt that I was probably just being paranoid, but I'd rather be paranoid and miss out then to mistakenly have a handful of testicles.(Plus, the mere fact that Michelle didn't answer me, and just laughed when I asked her if she "peed standing up" was enough for me.)

Weeks pass by and we are back at this club, but this time I see my boy Greg grinding with Michelle on the dance-floor. Maybe grinding is too tame of a word, lets call it dance floor fucking, as he looked back at me with a shit eating grin on his face. I still didn't know Michelle's gender, so when I asked the bartender and she said, "Michelle has 100%USDA beef between her legs", I felt it was my duty to tell Greg immediately. I made hand gestures from the bar to him that Michelle had a package, I told him in his ear as he danced with Michelle that "she probably had a bigger cock than you", I even tried to pull him away from her but nothing worked. I gave up, so you can imagine my surprise when he walked up to me and said that he was going to "tap that" in the parking lot. Fuck it, Greg wasn't even that good of a friend to me, plus it will be fun writing about it one day.(Exhibit A) I don't know how far they went before Greg found out Michele's true gender, but the mere fact that me and my boys were spraying him down as he was butt-naked in a car wash, as he violently threw up is some indicator at what lengths he wanted to be "cleansed" of whatever took place. I guess I wasn't much of a friend as I laughed so hard that I almost pissed myself, I guess I could have been a better friend if I didn't randomly give him dresses and other women's wear on his birthdays, I guess he should learn not to talk shit about me next time.

To the Ladies..

In a world of bitter haters and harlots of all kinds, I would like to give a special Valentines greeting to all the female readers and bloggers who haven't abandoned me, or randomly talked shit about me. Happy Valentines to the women who have continued to support this daily drivel that I call a blog, I sincerly appreciate it..

Thursday, February 09, 2006

Hip Hop, you know I Love You. Right?

Have you ever seen an ex of yours, an ex that you had a pretty tumultuous relationship with, but because a few years have past you greet each other with phony niceties? As I told her what I have been up to she smiled, but I could see her recounting me beating up her brother, our vicious arguments, me calling her mother a dime-store harlot, and a plethora of other smart ass comments playing back in her head. As she told me about her new business, I couldn't help but to think of all the glasses she threw at me, her constant insistence that I was cheating on her, and the one time she slapped the shit out of me and begged me to hit her back, playing in my head. I felt like a recovering drug addict being faced with a vile of crack cocaine, knowing what stands in front of me is harmful to my health, but also admitting that I love it at the same time. At least I thought it was love a few years ago, so much so we decided to go to "relationship counseling" even though I had just found out that she fucked a complete zero when she was on a boat trip with her girlfriends.

As we both sat in front of the therapist, her with a optimistic gleam on her face because I had chose to try and make it work, me with visions of some guy nicknamed "The Sperminator" deep dicking my girlfriend with the passion of a horny porn-star on a fucking pleasure cruise.(The person you envision your mate with is always more appealing in your head) I actually thought that if I could vent about it to a trained professional that I would feel better, so you can imagine my disappointment when the therapist asked us to "write a list of things that you like about each other". I even remember saying, "We aren't going to talk about the reason I'm going to feel funny fucking her for the next six months, when I'm positive that she won't give me what that Outbreak monkey had?? Fuck, why did I use the word "positive in that last sentence?" She told me to go ahead with the list, and as we started my then girlfriend was writing her ass off about things she liked about me. When I grabbed my pen and began to write my mind went blank, not only did we have nothing in common, but I hated all the idiosyncrasies that a mate usually loves about a person. Five minutes later, with her list full and mine just having a self drawn picture of myself holding a microphone that I had doodled, the therapist told me to read what I wrote. It was a moment of clarity as I stood up and said: "You know what? I don't like anything about her. Her family was horrible to me, she damn near abused me, I hate the way she sleeps. The way she smacks when she eats. She's hogs the fucking covers! She talks while I'm watching sports just out of spite. She always wears the most vomit inducing fragrances. She kept wanting me to cut my dreadlocks!" Then the therapist said, "Well, why did you stay around?" I thought about it, paused for a few moments and said, "I guess, for a guy on the brink of paying for it, simply put I liked having guaranteed ass.."

As I walked out of that therapist's office, leaving them both with a "what the fuck" look on their faces, I realized right then and there that truly loving someone is about loving the little things about them. Things that most of the times go unnoticed on a regular basis if the love isn't there, but if it is there you can speak out on those things eloquently for hours. Based on the rocky road that me and Hip Hop have been on the past couple of years, and to show that I still love Hip Hop, I will attempt to save this relationship and talk about the "little things" that I love about it.(I know the "Hip Hop as a woman" has been done to death, so fucking what) So all of you are my therapists and the internet is the relationship counseling office. The little things I love about Hip Hop include:

The Helicopter sound in the beginning of EPMD's "Its my thing"

When Biz Markie says, "Reagan is the Pres but I voted for Shirley Chisholm" in the song "Nobody Beat the Biz" Also, the way that Biz screams "Whilooo!" at the end of the song.

Hearing MF Doom utter the line "same name on the titty as on the name ring,
pretty like Baby D off "all in the same gang
" in the song "Hoe Cakes" is sheer brilliance.

When Ras Kass says, "I keep the afterparty swervin', *sniffing sound* not quite like Michael Irvin" in the song "Soul on Ice"(Diamond D Remix)

The mere fact that Sir Mixalot said he was "hugging more girls than Bella Karoly", genius.(Karoly is that famous gymnastic coach)

Cringeworthy and funny at the same time, the grunting sounds Slick Rick makes implying that he was getting anally raped in the song "The Moment I feared"

De La Soul tackling such topics as child molestation in the song "Millie Pulled a Pistol On Santa"

The fact that Phatlip referred to "The Dopest Ethiopian" in the song "Passing me by".

When Q-Tip hints about his love of receiving mouth-hugs in the song "Electric Relaxation" when he says: "Shorty let me tell you about my favorite vice, it has to do with lots of lovin' and it aint nuttin' nice"

One of the best opening lines ever, when O.C said "You Lack The Minerals and Vitamins, Irons and The Niacin's" on the song "Times Up"

Big Daddy Kane's flow in "Set it off"

How the internal struggle that many of us face with using the N-Word was broken down perfectly in A Tribe Called Quest's song "Sucka N*gga"

In the Gangstarr song "Just to get a rep", hearing Greg Nice's sampled voice. "Stick up kids is out to tax!!"

How Rakim seemed like the coolest motherfucker in the world in the "Microphone Fiend" video, walking through a packed club with Fab Five Freddy.

The Drum pattern on Notorious B.I.G's "Unbelievable"

The footstep sound effects in the beginning of De La Souls "Ego Trippin'"

Saafir's awkward flow in "Light Sleeper"

The Rim-shot in MC Lyte's "Paper thin", also the way the track repeats in it's entirety without any lyrics.

The bass drop in Eric B and Rakim's "Mahogany"

The truth about how many women look to you at 2 Am ,when the "ugly lights" come on, in the Black Sheep song "Strobe-light honey"

The moaning woman that starts off, and is sprinkled throughout Chubb Rocks "Ya Bad Chubbs"

The infectious half way incoherent freestyle that Redman does at the end of the "Tonight's Da Night" Remix.

When Q-Tip says, "I know why you act that way, It usually happens on the 28th day" on the ATCQ song "The Infamous Date Rape"

DJ Premiers saying "Big L Rest in Peace" at the beginning of the Gangstarr song "Full Clip"

The way the kick-drum booms in on the twelfth bar of A Tribe Called Quest's song "Check The Rhime"

The way that you would have had to have either done time, or be iliar with the penal system to totally understand Ice Cube's "Check Yo self"

How Mos Def continues his verse even though his voice obviously cracks, in the Black Star song "Twice Inna Lifetime"

When the music drops out only leaving the beat playing, during Andree 3000's 2nd verse in "Benz or Beamer"

Quest-love's drum gymnastics at the end of The Roots' song "You got me"

I love it when Big Boi, on the song "Aquemini" where he says "Pay your fucking beeper bill bitch" with an uncaged venom. I always find that funny.

Casual's entire song entitled "I Didn't mean to", a song dedicated to having sex with girls who have boyfriends. Yes, I once had a penchant for penetrating other people's poonany's periodically.(Alliteration aside.)

The Doug E Fresh "one hand swooping around the head" dance move that I still do at parties.

Kool G rap for saying, "I'll bust a nut, get up, and wipe my dick on your curtain!" I've said that exact thing to women post-coitus since then, probably explains why I'm single.

When a fictional fight breaks out at the end of Biggie's "Party and Bullshit", and the track comes back in where he says: Can't we all just get along, so I could put hickeys on your chest like Little Shawn"

The looped horn sample at the beginning of Souls of Mischief's "That's When Ya lost"

How Chuck D mentions my hometown in the song "Welcome to the Terrordome", even if it was to outline a very racist incident. Or in the same song, when Chuck D says "Every brother ain't a brother cause of color", something I say constantly when talking about black republicans.

Wednesday, February 08, 2006

My IPOD guilty pleasures...

When I have pured beer on unruly women, started a fight in a church parking lot, had sex in the bathroom during a wake, or even cursed out a member of the clergy, I felt that if anyone didn't care what people thought then that person was me. That was until recently when my friend asked me to bring my IPOD for a party he was having, I guess since we have the same taste in music he was going to use my IPOD as a poor mans DJ if you will. Instead of making a play-list like I knew I should have, I just put it on "shuffle" so it would randomly play any song I had available. For the next hour and some change you would have thought that Kid Capri was choosing the selections, people in attendance were bopping their heads and frowning at me(You know, that hip Hop frown of approval) as artists like Slick Rick, KRS one, A Tribe called quest, and MF DOOM played in the background. I was an absolute hit at the party just because of my fucking IPOD, at one part I actually thought to myself that I might actually have a "my IPOD got me a miscellaneous piece of ass" post for you guys to read next week. As visions of wearing two condoms and entering various women of ill repute infiltrated my dread-locked skull, a few musical selections came on in a row that made the party-goers' frowns of approval into looks of absolute horror. When each selection played I didn't feel the need to change it for a couple of reasons, for one thing I wanted to give the appearance that I stood by my musical tastes and secondly, I figured that the song would be over soon and it would be followed by a Hip Hip classic. Suffice it to say, whether it was an act of god or just the luck of the songs the IPOD shuffled to, here are the songs that played in succession as I cringed, knowing that my chances of getting new ass were becoming slimmer than Kate Moss on a fucking treadmill.

"Time":(Culture Club)I have a theory about music lovers who happen to be in their late 20's to mid thirties that I would like to run by you guys if you don't mind. OK, I know that there are many people who read this blog who have musically diverse tastes, so don't take offense to what I have to say next. That being said, I believe that people around my age group(32) tend to be more musically diverse because we were the first to be exposed to a not so racially diverse MTV. Back when the only black acts you could find on MTV were Michael Jackson and Prince, a black kid like myself was exposed to artists that I wouldn't have otherwise been exposed to. The Culture Club was one of these groups, and even though I have admitted falling asleep during sex and having a relatively small penis, admitting that I dig some of their tunes has to be the bravest thing I have done on this blog. I love this song, especially since it was so poignant concerning a 5 year relationship I was in where we stayed together simply because of the time we put in. When Boy George sings, "Because time won’t give me time/
And time makes lovers feel, like they’ve got something real/ But you and me we know
They’ve got nothing but time/And time won’t give me time/ Won’t give me time
" I never knew androgynous singers from the mid 80's would have such a place in my heart.

"Careless Whisper":(Wham!) Do you know what is more pathetic than having this song in your IPOD?? How about singing this song whenever you are drunk during Karaoke night at your local bar like I do.(I have a sneaking suspicion that me singing this song is the reason why a waitress there possibly thinks I'm gay, because she felt comfortable asking me to feel her breasts because of a recent boob job she had gotten. Shit, if her thinking I'm gay leads to me feeling her tits on a regular basis, maybe I should start coming in the with rainbow t-shirts and shit) But I have to be honest and say that similar to the feelings I have towards my right hand, me and this song had quite a history. When I was in 6th grade I was in love with a classmate named Kristen, possibly because she was nice to me, possibly because she was very pretty, probably because she had a pair of tits that should be illegal in 30 states for a 6th grader to have had at the time. Anyway, I had given her one of those "If you like me check this box" notes, hoping that we could hold hands during recess, we could share our milk, or she would possibly be nice enough to let me feel her up behind the bushes. Instead of just checking "no", or even politely telling me that she wasn't interested, she gave me a disgusted look and said "You have got to be kidding me!!" My heart was broken, and my walk to the bus taking me home felt more like a slug slithering on the ground than actual steps, finally plopping myself on the seat in the back of the bus. I remember, rather vividly to be quite honest, me putting my Walkman on and singing "Careless Whisper" as if I was singing to Kristen. It sounds sad, and somewhat corny I know, but it is an image that is seared in my mind for all eternity.(An interesting postscript to that story: I saw her seven years later at some girls party that I knew at the time. When I took her back the crib, because she suddenly found me attractive at that time, I was looking for something that I hadn't seen in years. I giggled when after a couple of minutes of lovemaking she said, "Dude, why in the fuck are you playing "Careless Whisper"??)

"Jack and Diane":(John Cougar Mellencamp)This is a perfect example of why the argument "you aren't from where they're from so you can't relate" doesn't make any fucking sense when I hear it from rabid Tupac fans or fans of the crunk music that I criticize. Last time I checked I wasn't white, raised poor, or from rural Indiana like John Cougar Mellencamp was but I related to his message just fine. Again, I guess those constant hours in front of the television watching a MTV that wasn't too racially diverse at the time is the reason that I still dig this song. I know I cringed when this song came on and I'm ashamed of myself because of it, but who can't relate to experiencing young love and not wanting to get older and face responsibility??

"Toms Diner":(Suzanne Vega) I feel that this song is in my IPOD for a few reasons to be totally honest with you. If I told you that I enjoy this song because of the many Hip Hop songs that have used this song as a sample, that would be true. If I told you that this song holds dear to my heart because I like the way she lyrically rambles on and on, as if she was free-styling the lyrics, that would be true as well. But to me more precise, and acquiesce to my lecherous sensibilities, a chick once hummed this song during one of the first memorable mouth-hugs I ever received. (If you are a new reader then just go to the archives or ask anyone who regularly reads my daily drivel, yes many of my life experience evolve around sex and violence. Get used to it.)

"Gone":(N'Sync)Yes, N'Sync is a corny group that should be publicly beaten because of the bubble gum sound they subjected our ears to. Yes, Justin DID sell Janet down the river and I swear to you, as long as my name is Humanity F. Critic, that I will throat-chop that motherfucker the same way I viciously strike spineless black republicans on a regular basis because if their coonery. That being said, that "Gone" song is my joint!!! Like Stonehenge, Crop-Circles, white women with ass, or me ruining the black "penis myth", sometimes you have to shrug your shoulders and deal with the circumstances in front of you. OK, I'm embarrassed to admit that this song is in my Ipod, but imagine how I looked when a group of young black guys pulled up beside my car witnessing me singing the words to this song with my eyes closed. I would have preferred them to laugh at me, but they looked at me like I had two heads or something, cocking their head to the side the same way your dog does when it's puzzled.

Tuesday, February 07, 2006

A Few Relationship Deal Breakers..

It's funny, 10 years ago when I thought about all the qualities that I wanted in a future wife, I have to admit that it was an embarrassing laundry list of things. Everything from college educated, fluent in a few languages, skilled with firearms, ability to perform an emergency tracheotomy, able to throw a hunting knife accurately, expertise in escaping a submerged car, well traveled, and a shitload of other things that I found important at the time. Now at the age of 32, where I realize that I'm a insufferable prick who might end up "the old man with a thousand cats" if I don't stop being such a scumbag, that list has shortened to just being a "female" and having "a pulse". Of course the bar has lowered considerably, but the only woman that fills all the requirements I had ten years ago was Laura fucking Kroft and she's a video game character.(Hell, I'm pathetic enough. I'd probably hit a new low if I start "jacking it" to PlayStation. Then again, where is my "Tomb Raider" game??) But seriously, even though being able to "kill a man with chopsticks" is no longer a requirement, hell there aren't really any requirements, but there are definite "deal breakers". Here are a few.

Hip Hop: I'm just going to be honest here, I am a bona fide snob. As much as I would like to be accepting of other peoples ideas and beliefs, there are certain things I can't be polite to and one of those things is people's love for bad Hip Hop. I'm not saying that my wife has to be a Hip Hop historian, her and I quizzing each other on "what Q-Tip said in the liner notes of The Low End Theory album", just please don't embrace bullshit. Actually, I'd rather my future wife not like Hip Hop at all, as long as she didn't play Nelly or Mike Jones in a residence that we shared. This seems like nitpicking I know, and if I was to marry Sade and she loved "The Ying Yang Twins", I would willing accept her musical choices just as long as I could clumsily pre-ejaculate my little heart away. I just know me, and the high regard I have for Hip Hop, and I wouldn't want to anger my wife by using her CD's as coasters, throwing stars, or a tool to separate my weed stash with.

Politics: Me being a very passionate and argumentative fuck, it would be in my best interest to look down the road and avoid any major conflicts that would damage a marriage. If my wife had a polar opposite political ideology than myself I think we would constantly be arguing, which some would think would lead to make up sex which it might, but the arguments would continue while I thrusted on top of her screaming "I'm screwing you like the republican party is, jackass!!" People can believe what they want, I'm not saying if you don't believe what I believe then you are evil, I just know that I lose respect for anyone that spouts out an ideology that doesn't make sense to me. Not only that, I'm pretty sure my future wife would be filing divorce papers if I was to give her a minstrel show picture as a gag gift, because of the time she angrily shouted "That's bullshit, Bush DOES care about black people!!" I'm pretty sure I would have both of our lawyers and the divorce mediators in stitches when I'd say, "I had to divorce her Aunt Tomasina ass, simply because she felt that I should support Condi because she's black, fuck that!!" Then I'm pretty sure I'd go overboard, jump on the table Tom Cruise style holding a Public Enemy album, saying "What did Chuck say, "Every brother ain't a brother cause of color" fuck Condi". Sorry about that, did I mention that me and my future wife must have similar political ideologies??

Manners: I don't particularly mean her eating with her hands or using the wrong utensils, because if she ate with her feet and looked like Rosario Dawson, that would be quite alright to me. I'm particularly talking about women who are extremely mean to the wait staff, I absolutely hate that shit. I went on a date a year ago with someone that seemed like a bona fide prospect, that was until she was rude to the waitress and acted like the woman was a mere peasant. So I did what any self respecting black man would do, I rushed over and gave the waitress 20 bucks and said "Make sure the cooks cock goes into HER food, not mine!!"(Granted, the date in question was very courteous to my "staff" later. albeit for a couple of minutes but that's neither here nor there.) I guess rude women in general are a big turnoff to me, also anyone who is mean to a person serving your food is a fucking jackass in my opinion. Plus, I knew a cook who used his "special sauce" when patrons were disrespectful and nasty.(Tip: Make sure to not order "extra Mayo")

Excessive talking: I'm not going to say "all women" because that would be generalizing, but I'll say that the women I've dated talked a lot more than I did when we were together. I have no problem with that, I appreciate a woman who can express herself especially since my vocabulary is made up of just sexual references and porn titles. I just hate when you are dating someone and they are no longer talking to convey a specific message, but to fill up space and that can be annoying to say the least. This isn't going to win me any praise amongst the women out there, but I dated a lovely woman a couple of years back. After a night of heavy drinking and probably giving her the best minute and twenty seconds of her life, I would always wake up to a shit-storm of dialogue."Get up, lets talk!!", "I hate that bitch from work", "I think I'm going to do some laundry today.", "I really prefer home mad mac and cheese", "What is the square root of the White House?", "Why do you hum the smurf theme song when you ejaculate?", "My grandfather was a juggler in the circus.." AHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!! Can't you give a brother a few minutes to gather himself, possible mull the idea over in his head of clumsily climbing on top of you and not helping you to achieve climax again??