An open letter to my future wife..

This is embarrassing to admit, but for the longest time I thought I had psychic abilities. No, I couldn't touch a woman's hand and suddenly get a vision of her in a future drunken gangbang with three circus midgets like Anthony Michael Hall's character in "The Dead Zone". I couldn't tell you the future based on dreams that I had, like my vision's of wack artists like Young Jeezy and Rick Ross being subjected to a public caning because of their proverbial wackness. But for the longest time, based on the millions of times I would think of a specific episode of any given rerun, when it would come on television soon after I knew that I had "the gift" so to speak. Even as a kid, like receiving a transcript of a Mary J Blige interview for Christmas, I knew that my gift was indeed a shitty one. But I knew that over time, as I got older and more mature that my power would strengthen to the point that I could solve crimes, prevent deaths due to natural disasters, at best do cool shit like get rich off of lotto or remove women's panties in public with my mind. But now at the age of 32, with so many grey hairs in my pubic area that my crotch is beginning to resemble an ash tray, I have realized that I never had any powers to begin with. Now older and wiser, I realize that my ability to predict certain episodes was just the result of the monotony of local programming back then.

So recently I have been the ultimate scrooge when it comes to anybody claiming that they have Extra-sensory perception, or ESP for people who love acronyms. Like a few years ago I was dating a young lady who claimed that she had "visions" and could see the future, which I doubted from day one, but my disbelief was verified when I fucked her sister on her bed and her being unaware of it until her sister sobbingly admitted to it a couple of months later.(I remember me telling her sister as I ejaculated, "Don't worry, she "saw" this coming a long time ago! Get it? "cumming") Or this street magician I saw at the beach a while ago, a fucking David Blaine wanna be if I ever saw one. Besides decent magic tricks, some levitation, and your garden variety slight of hand magic, I was willing to just leave the guy alone and clap with the rest of the flock of sheep to his antics. But like this girl on my college's basketball team that I used to date and unsatisfied on a regular basis, lets just say that this dude fucked up in the worst way. He claimed that he could tell the future by touching people's hands, he fooled the crowd for a while, but when he touched my hand for a few moments I punched him in the face and screamed "See, if you were real you would have ducked motherfucker!!!"

My asshole tendencies aside, I met a lady over the weekend who was either the real deal, or a woman who has her motherfucking hustle game down to a Tee. I was in Downtown Norfolk working on this comic book with a friend of mine, when I noticed a small building with the words "Psychic: Palm readings and Tarot Cards" on the side. We both entered, I threw down my money, hoping that I would expose yet another fraud who claims they have the "gift". The psychic, a Spanish woman who had to be in her early 50's and quite stunning to be honest, grabbed my hand and then said "I see a lot of anger in your past, a lot of aggression." Being the consummate smart ass I said, "...and that has nothing to do with me having a "Fuck the Police' T-Shit on huh??" She smirked and then said, "Ok, your father died years ago and you foolishly blame yourself, you solve problems with your fists, you love Hip Hop, you've lost weight recently..wait, did you have sex with someone at a wake once??" I pulled my hand away quickly, amazed at what she had just told me, looking at my friend to see if I was being set up. I finally realized, unless this woman is an avid reader of my blog that she is the real deal. I began to get up when I said, "Ok, quickly tell me something else!!" She grabbed my hand and said, "Ok..Lets see..You will meet your wife off the Internet, which is quite sad really." As I was leaving I said, "Quite sad?? If you are so "good" why aren't you in a building bigger than a fucking porta pottie?? Predict these nuts why don't you!! That's sad!" Then I thought out loud, "Wait, you don't know voodoo do you??", in which she responded "I think I see a lock of your hair on my desk!!" Scared as shit, I profusely apologized and said that she was the "unadulterated shit" for the next 5 minutes because I didn't want to wake up with an orange dick.

That got me thinking, "What if I really do meet my future wife off the Internet?? What if the woman who I sexually disappoint until my last breath, the woman who finds men with mountains of porn "sexy", actually someone who currently reads my blog??" That being said, if she does read my blog, I thought I would give her some insight into some of my idiosyncrasies, insight not usually shared on the nappydiatribe. Here goes..

Dear future wife,

Let me just say that I'm glad that despite my violent outbursts, my penchant for triple penetration porn, my run-ins with local police, and the fact that I once fucked someone at a wake, that you still feel that I'm marriage material. To be totally honest, if I wasn't the man in this particular equation, I would advise you to get the fuck out of dodge as soon as possible. Since you have to be the most open minded soul in history to deal with the likes of me, it's only fair that I have the same open door policy when it comes to your past as well. If you used to be a republican, that's ok, as long as you currently feel that Ronald Reagan is the antichrist and that Condoleeza Rice is a bigger fucking sell-out than a "Nirvana" reunion tour with a resurrected Kurt Cobain. If you used to be a porn star, that's ok, as long as you have all your shots and during sex you whisper sweet lies in my ear like how I'm the "Biggest" you've ever had in your life. If you were once a fan of bad Hip Hop like Young Joc or some shit stain of that ilk, that's ok, as long know what time it is now, and every so often pray to the shrine of Rakim that I have in my house.

Listen I know that I will do some things that rub you the wrong way like a dyslexic massage therapist, I know that and hope you can handle my brand of bullshit, but let me tell you a few things that bother the piss out of me so you will know ahead of time. Snuggling, I'm not a fan and probably will never be a fan, sorry. Ok, I'm a fan of snuggling if it leads to penetration or if it is after those fleeting moments post climax where I want to let you know that I don't see you as a total fucking prostitute, but that's it. I'm not a fan of mother-in-laws who have an agenda of hate, it's one thing if I did something to make your mother hate me, but if she hates me for no reason I won't be nice to her for the sake of "taking the high road". Granted, I won't curse her out or pour beer on her, but I can't smile in the face of someone who talks more shit than colostomy bags about me. Also, if you are a nag, do your best to change that before our fateful wedding day for the love of Christ. It's one thing if I didn't do something where I need to be nagged at, but if you nag for the sake of nagging I might do what I did to a girlfriend in college when I was on the business end of a 2 hour nag-fest, and that was to put duck tape over her mouth. Yeah it was wrong, it got even worse when I pulled it off and realized that she was in desperate need of electrolysis, her ass secretly trying to grow a Tom Selleck mustache and shit.

Listen, I'm not trying to keep you barefoot and pregnant, but my goal is to have enough kids to form a basketball team, with a few bench warmers waiting in the wings. I'm not trying to make you my designated cook, because I will share in the culinary duties, but if you want to keep your future man happy I like cheese eggs, hash browns, toast, Orange juice(freshly squeezed) with my newspaper, preferably in bed sugar-tits. I will by no means treat you like a sex slave, but nothing starts my day off right like being awaken by a spirited mouth hug, preferably being done while you hum Chaka Khan "Ain't Nobody". Besides all the perks that come along with being Mrs. HumanityCritic, just imagine all the men over the decades that I will knock out in your honor, some for good reasons like them putting their hands on you, some for bad reasons like me thinking a guy is hitting on you at your family reunion.(It was your cousin)

Last but not least, if I have a blog in the years to come, just imagine how great it will be as I share our sex life with all the people who read my blog. I will tell my readers, because they are family, about that special thing you do with your tongue in bed. I will tell them about your brother's heroin habit, the habit that had him sucking dicks at the airport once. I will even tell my readers how your best friend's private area is a fucking germ farm, one that burns men like her vagina is showing the movie "Back-draft". Come on, isn't it great how I share our personal business with the public??

Anyway sugar, I can't wait until the day we walk down the isle together.

Humanity F Critic.