"Burn Hollywood Burn!!": A few examples of how black folks are used in Hollywood:

One would think that my critique of how black folks have been portrayed in Hollywood comes from some sort of militant background of mine, visions of a baby HumanityCritic wearing an over-sized beret as my parents, with their matching Afro's and black Panther attire scream "Power to the People!!" as loud as humanly possible in unison. Some people think that my strong opinions come from the time I dated that black Muslim chick and had to be knowledgeable about all things black in order to feel her up under her dashiki and handle my business after I lifted up her sarong, while whispering impromptu spoken word poetry in her ear mid-coitus.

Actually you'd be surprised to learn that my militant attitudes about the portrayal of African Americans in Hollywood comes from me attending predominately white Catholic and private schools growing up, I'm not shitting you. Even though I was a kid and didn't notice how I was being used at the time, I can recall more times than not being asked by some ass-hat teacher to break-dance for them, or perform some other dance-step of the time like I was some trained seal and shit. I won't play the race card and blame my race for being the deciding factor as to why I never got the juicy roles in the school plays that I was in, but the fact that my acting resume consisted of "Robber #1", "Ned the homeless guy", "the black cloud", and a slew of other dark colored inanimate objects, you can see why I'm so critical of the roles black folks play on television and on the big screen. Granted, I was delighted when I learned that I got a lengthy role in the play "The Adventures of Tom Sawyer", but when I learned that I was playing a runaway slave, one who's broken language in the script would be funny if it wasn't so sad, you can imagine that I was none too pleased. I'm probably the only 9 year old who'd say, while holding a script, "You want me to recite gibberish?? This is so beneath me!!" moments before throwing a 40 page play in the air as high as possible.

Listen, I know that there are fine lines that black actors, directors, and writers have to maneuver based on our deplorable history in film. There is a fine line between comedy and "cooning", a fine line between gritty realness and the glorification of violence, a fine line between uplifting and being preachy, the black artist I feel has more things to consider when putting out a work than anyone else. As for the actors, I know that many of them have families and have food to put on the table, being a single guy with no children that I know of, I don't have any experience with that to be completely honest. But I still maintain that your integrity and self respect should always come before any check, something that I wish would be remembered whenever a movie like "Soul Plane" comes around again. Anyway, here are some commonly used themes that Hollywood has used for black folks that I just wish would come to an end. What do you think??

Captain "Save a Negro": There have been many white people that were instrumental in my life growing up, two in particular were my track coach who lit an eternal flame under my ass to out-work any miserable bastard in my path, and my High School History teacher that forced me to be a critical thinker and see all sides of an argument. Lord knows that I cherish those individuals, I truly do, but if Hollywood were to make a film about my life I'm sure that they would merge both influences into one person, and have that character come into my life and save me from the impending life of doom and gloom that I'm sure I would be destined for. Movies like "Dangerous Minds" and "Hardball" are just a tip of the iceberg when it comes to the shitload of Hollywood flicks that expressed the opinion that black folks need one white person to come into town and save the day.

The Magical Negro: The term "magical negro" is by no means is my creation, but it highlights a very telling motion picture device used over the years. It seems that Hollywood, when uncomfortable having a person of color seem knowledgeable and smarter than his/her white counter-parts, they suddenly give the character some sort of "powers" to explain their superiority in the I.Q department. Examples include Whoopi Goldberg in "Ghost", Will Smith in "The Legend of Bagger Vance", Don Chedle in "Family Man", and as much as I love and am a fan of Kevin Smith, Chris Rock's character in "Dogma".

The Jive, hysterical soldier: Growing up I thought that my father hated Vietnam era movies because it gave him uncomfortable memories of his time in that war, the friendships he had that were cut short because of a Vietcong grenade, or the way his own country treated him like dirt and called him a "baby killer" when he returned home. But as I really watched these movies I really understood why my father hated them so much, they did a disservice to every black man that ever fought for this country. In most of these movies, if a black soldier isn't acting like some sort of sniveling coward with his tail between his legs, he is a jive talking embarrassment who only seems good for talking shit and inventing some ultra-Hip cadence that he coerces the others to learn. Jesus fucking Christ man..

The Sassy Black friend: Not every time, but I hate the fact that they have to make a female character's black friend as sassy as they come. I mean, its as if the writer and director locked that black actress in a room for an entire weekend, and forced them to study Jackee Harry's performance on "227" and take notes the whole time. Its usually hard to take anything that these characters say seriously between the constant "OH child!!", "Oh, no he didn't", "Nah-uh, a sister don't play that!", and other incoherent drivel you would have thought were transcripts of a conversation that Lil Kim was a part of..

Show me how to be cool, black man: I think that I've been asked advice on how to pick up women and fashion advice based on this very dangerous character in Hollywood history. It never fails, from as far back as I can remember up until now, you'll see a geeky white guy ask the "coolest" black guy in school tips on women, fashion, and(holding my head) 'how to walk". What is even more painful is when the black kid specifically teaches the white kid that using broken English and calling a woman "baby" is a sure fire way to win her heart. Right wing pundits want to believe that Hollywood is a bunch of tree-hugging liberals, but based on the fact that they regurgitate this same tired stereotype, I take issue with their stance to be completely honest. Last month I was chilling with a friend and he asked me, "HumanityCritic, I don't have any game, why don't you go over to those ladies and work your magic!" I agreed, so I went over there, and like any cool black man I said, "Hey ladies, I have a crisp 20 dollar bill.. Who's trying to fuck??" I guess that showed him, huh??

Hip Hop thought of the day: "Gangsta rappers, you can do better!!"

Ever since Hip Hop started, street poets inundated us with elaborate tales of limousine rides and the ability to throw money out of car window's if they wanted, verses that we knew even back then were laced with nothing but fictitious braggadocio. That was cool. As time went on we heard microphone wielders wax poetic over a track about the trappings of being caught in the drug game, shoot outs from high powered rifles that made their victims look like JFK in the Zepruder film, and cryptic jail stories ending up with their self made shank that they spent a better part of a week sharpening in the corner of their cell after lights out penetrating the liver of a gentleman who wanted to penetrate more than just his liver. That was cool too, as long as that MC could spit so masterfully that he could make a kid from the suburbs of Virginia Beach, Virginia feel like he was a hunter in that concrete jungle, only equipped with a pistol, a hoody, and a rat pack of tyrants that would take a bullet in the face for me. Sure that wasn't the most positive music, but I never bought into the music affecting "impressionable minds", because I'll bet you dollars to donuts that if a motherfucker felt compelled to do something violent because of a Hip Hop record, chances are his glass licking ass was going to do that anyway.

But when you see a group like the Clipse, (an act that many people that I know sing the praises of along with southern acts like lil Jiggabo or Young Sambo just to show their musical diversity, and they have the audacity to collectively untuck their cocks and laughably bash Nas' album like its an affront to god), not only champion a lengthy history of drug dealing and criminality that I know for a fact is 100% sheep shit(We're from the same town), but they also lack the verbal dexterity and overall mic skills to at least make it interesting for me. Let me not just target the Clipse here, the whole landscape of "gangsta rap" has been unbearable to me, sure its negative, but mostly because the street tales coming from the rappers of today seem as imaginative as a break-dance routine choreographed by Stephen Hawking. So if I may, let me suggest some ideas that would make your bullshit at least some interesting, creative bullshit.

Getting your hands dirty: I don't know anything about the disposing of a body, so a song that gave me some blow by blow instructions would be helpful if I ever had any mishaps involving a dead hooker in my hotel room in the future. A verse detailing how your senile grandmother once mistakenly thought that the the frozen torso of one of your enemies was a side of beef, and how you were within minutes of having an Italian guy as part of your grandma's delicious gumbo. Hell, even tell me that your favorite movie is "Snatch", not because the brilliant acting of Brat Pitt, but because that was the movie that gave you the idea of disposing unwanted bodies by feeding them to hungry pigs.

Real "hood" conflict: How about the internal struggles that come from being a heartless killer? Talk about how the face of your best friends mother breaks you out in cold sweats and haunts your dreams every night, based on the fact that you were forced to kill her execution style because she was in the wrong place and witnessed you committing a murder. Even though she plead with you, begged that she wouldn't say anything to the police, and reminded you that she helped raise you as if you were one of her own, you still tearfully held that firearm to her head as you whispered "I'm so sorry about this!!" before pulling that trigger that seemed like it took a ton of force to fire. Oh yeah, I guess it would be interesting as well for you to go into how you are still best friends with her son, and every third conversation that you initiate is of the "We are going to get those bastards who killed your mother!!" variety.

The Crazier the better: I must say that the drug tales that gangsta rappers usually inundated us with are boring as hell, I have a couple of ideas for you. Talk about that time you wanted to be more proactive in your drug distribution business and decided to cut drugs with your lowly employees, a problem arose when you accidentally lacerated your hand, and the effects of the drugs in your bloodstream caused you to wig out something fierce. The next thing you know you woke up in a mound of drugs and deceased topless employees as far as the eye could see. Or you could talk about those two drug mules you used to transport drugs across the border, two women with not only digested dope in their bodies in rubber tubes, but they also had drugs crammed in a few hidden orifices as well. So when those two women are killed in a horrible bus accident, break down in rhyme form how you had to steal the bodies for the morgue, and the messiness that ensued because of the impromptu autopsy you performed and the fact that you aren't a trained professional.. See, those tales are something that I could nod my head to.

This Christmas, Justin Timberlake suggests that you give a loved one a "dick in a box"

In an age where your favorite rapper who is so opposed to "snitching" is most likely the police's top informant, I never really gave a shit about revoking Justin Timberlake's "ghetto pass". But I'll say this to all of his detractors, this video should soften your stance a bit..

HumanityCritic's message to a couple of feminists of there: "Relax Sugar-tits"

Don't get me wrong, even though I'm a typical man who loves sports, emotionless sex, and administering piss inducing right hooks in front of someones girlfriend, I love women and would go to the mat for them until the day I die. I know, feminists hate when some neanderthal, knuckle dragger of a man tries to prove their allegiance to the feminist movement by expressing their undying love for their mother, but I must say that my mother has a great deal to do with why I respect women by the way. But this post isn't really about me defending myself to thousands of women who are proud to own vagina's, I just want to express a gripe that I have.

See, it seems that every two months, like clockwork, I get a very passionate letter from some woman somewhere who proceeds to rip me a new asshole because of what she perceives to be my hatred for women. Usually a pretty scathing diatribe, dressed up in faux civility as if she really was really trying to reach out and psycho-analyze your favorite chubby pre-ejaculator when in reality her intent was to take a busy shit in my yahoo account. I guess it's not the content of the email that's disturbing, its more of the fact that it's amazingly obvious that this woman only read one of my posts and felt obligated to play an inbred version of Gloria Steinem only because she saw that I used the word "bitch" somewhere. (A word that I have only used when quoting somebody, when I've admitted my horrible use of the word, or describing a male. see "Bitch ass motherfucker!!") I also find it rather curious that you only find my supposed hatred for women objectionable, and not my hatred for the clergy, clowns, mines, Kobe haters with no argument, grown men that don't fight back, grown men that can't take a punch, black republicans, MC's who don't freestyle, DJ's who don't play the best part of a song, passive aggressive disses by vaginal bloggers, and chicks who don't buy the "Come on girl, it's protein" line when she is in the middle on a sexual act.

To be honest with you I think that this blog is suggested reading for feminists everywhere and an Al Qaeda-like training tool for turning young women into bona fide female freedom fighters. Despite the shit that I write, at the end of the day I'm a single 33 year old man with no kids, who's last meaningful relationship was with a stripper named Lexus who only redeemable qualities were her abilities to put her legs behind her head and to tie a cherry stem in a knot with her tongue, so obviously what I'm doing isn't working. When people say that I hate women I immediately think about all those ignorant fucks who constantly misinterpret the movie "Scarface", mistakenly focusing on parts of his life and not on his untimely demise. In closing, this blog is a cautionary tale, so for those few wanna-be feminists that are giving their movement a bad name, relax sugar-tits..

My daily attempt to resurrect Hip Hop: Juice Crew - The Symphony

..another example of Youtube's greatness, reason why I'll always post video's of this ilk..

Myspace find of the Week: CJ from San Andreas aka Young Maylay

I guess I'm not unlike every other blue-blooded American male out there, saying that I'm a fan of Grand Theft Auto's "San Andreas" wouldn't be the most shocking thing to ever be released out my my foul mouthed mandible. But what separates me from ever other same person on this great planet of ours, is my level of love for this game I have and how I incorporate things from the game into my every day life. I couldn't tell you how may times I fought somebody, took their chain or emptied their pockets and said "I need this more than you.. I think.." like the character of CJ in the game. Every time I see a drug dealer on a street corner I reach for my imaginary pistol, based on the fact the I kill every drug dealer that I see when I'm playing San Andreas. We won't even get into how I was telling a guy I was boxing in the gym the other day "Give up fool!!", and the paint-gun I flashed in an opponent's face as I said "Look at here, a gun.."

Suffice it to say that I was shocked that CJ, I mean the guy who voices CJ Young Maylay, has a myspace page. Even though I make it my business not to shout out up and coming rappers, I had to give the guy love because he has the San Andreas theme song on his page with some rhymes in the character of CJ accompanying the beat.

Hey Jesus, let me holler at you for a minute..

Besides the Grey hairs on my genital region that make my crotch look like an unsmoked cigar in an ashtray, a declining sexual stamina that makes 30 minutes of sex seem like "hardcore marathon fucking" to me, and an expanding ass area that makes me want to avoid the penitentiary at all costs, nothing reminds me that I'm getting old like my rapidly declining tolerance to marijuana. Years ago, when I got carded continuously and fellow skateboarders didn't refer to me as "sir", I had no problem handling the effects of that sweet, sweet cheeba. Granted, there were some mishaps, like the time I attempted to fight five men all at once and the little incident when I called a catholic priest a "dirty cocksucker" in the middle of mass one morning, but all in all I have handled my pot addiction with grace and style in my honest opinion. But now at the grizzled age of 33 I now see that I have to put space between myself and my ability to smoke weed through an apple, I have to file papers of separation to my cheech and chong bong with the visage of two of my favorite Latinos on the side, and after the divorce is finalized I know that I'm going to miss getting high and fucking some stripper ten years my junior against the side of my car as I let out child-like chuckles. I guess I could attribute it to getting older and maturity, me turning over a new leaf, but the real reason is because my marijuana induced acts of lunacy have become more frequent as I spawn more Grey pubes. Besides me having nutty outbursts like Martin Lawrence when he ran into rush hour traffic with a loaded handgun screaming "Fight the Power!!!" when I have been under the influence as of late, said outbursts tend to be of the religious variety.

Like this romantic night I spent with this chick named Marisol a few months back, she cooked mac and cheese, had a place on the beach and an ass that men around the world should make a pilgrimage and pray to at least once in their lives, and she had a sack of weed, so I just knew that I'd spend the better part of the night licking things that I would regret in the months to come. But the weed did me in, instead of me ramming my toddler penis inside this lovely Latina as I impressed her with my Spanish language skills(counting to 20 that is..), I found myself stripping butt-naked, jumping into the ocean then floating on my back with my arm stretched out, and rambling incoherently "This is what it must have felt like to be Noah and shit!!" I'll tell you, almost getting arrested and having the female officer look me up and down and say "I knew that myth was some bullshit!!!" as she pulled me out of the water was so embarrassing that I swore off weed forever, at least that's what I thought.

My most recent nut-bag outburst was a few weeks ago when I got baked before going to one of my friends' art exhibit in a very snooty part of town. Before I entered the establishment I noticed a homeless man on the corner multi-tasking like a motherfucker, asking for change, singing classic R&B songs, and claiming that he was Jesus Christ. Since I'm a guy who is always nice to homeless people because of my gut feeling that Jesus Christ himself randomly rents space in bums to see how well you treat them, add that I was higher than crackfeins on trampolines at the time, I decided to ask go up to Jesus and ask him some shit that I always wanted some answers too. Listen, I don't know if that gentleman died for our sins or not, the only thing I know is that during my intense questioning he put his hand on my head, closed his eyes, and then took off running like I had pointed a shotgun at him. Anyway, here are a few of the things that I asked him about if you were wondering..

Chicks who don't want to fuck on Sundays: I know that people collectively shake their heads in disbelief when I tell them that I believe in god, but I do, I guess I just have a huge problem with his messengers and people who rationalize their behavior in the name of religion. For example, I had a girlfriend in college that was so adamant about her religion that she didn't want to have sex on Sunday, didn't want me to play my evil Hip Hop on the lords day, she even tried her best to dissuade me from lacing her heavenly ears with the profanities that I spewed on a regular basis. I guess all of those are reasonable requests, but the fact that Monday through Saturday you could find her blasting the most deviant forms of rap imaginable, and showing a kinky-ness that induced her to request cucumbers in a couple of her orifices and using my ejaculate to blow bubbles. I mean, she didn't think that the big guy in the sky didn't notice her behavior during the week?? Hell, after we broke up I heard that she was fucking with the same frequency of a porn star and still maintaining her "strict" religious beliefs, to the point that I envision a panel of angels watching her shenanigans and one of them replying "If that girl wants to get to heaven, she better learn to put that dick down!!"

Tithing: I have no problem with giving money to a church if my money that would otherwise be reserved for whores and porn went to a kids program, the church nursery, or even to a member of the congregation that needed a new liver because of his years of alcohol abuse. But now that I'm older and have crossed paths with preachers who use the church as their financial hustle, I've been more hesitant putting anything in that tray that they pass besides a few stray rocks and the condom that I've had in my wallet since the last episode of "21 Jump Street" aired. Whenever I've asked people if I could give 10% of myself, like feeding the homeless or volunteering in a soup kitchen instead of a monetary sum, they always stress the money part for some reason. I'm sorry, maybe my negative views on tithing might permit me from getting into heaven(along with fucking someone during a wake and pinching a nuns ass once), but I'll be damned if I support some crooked preacher by helping with his car note, contributing to him buying the solitary gold tooth in his mouth that has become his trademark, or help pay for the dinner he had with a woman that isn't his wife. Fuck that.

Gospel Mimes: I'm a guy who grew up with such a healthy fear of clowns that I have punched more men with make-up than a cross-dressing boxing champion, so suffice it to say that me and mimes get along as famously as Courtney Love and a bar of soap. That being said, what in the fuck is up with these gospel mimes that you see in a lot of the black churches nowadays? Basically its these black guys in white face, wearing white gloves, doing some sort interpretive dance that is pretty unsettling for a guy who once kicked Ronald McDonald in the nuts.(I was 28 when I did that by the way..) I first saw this a few months ago when I went to my cousin's church, the mere sight of them provoked me to grab her arm like we were watching a horror flick and say "Who the fuck are they??!!" After my fear subsided and unadulterated hatred crept in, I just ice grilled those bastards and kept saying in a subdued evil voice, "I'm going to kill every last one of those motherfuckers!!!"

Religious Hip Hop: I don't care what anyone says, but I have given religious Hip Hop more chances than I gave Common's "Electric Circus", each time hoping that I hear one redeeming quality in that genre of music. I'm sure there is going to be commenter's who will say shit like, "Nah HumanityCritic, you have to listen to MC Holy Trinity and DJ Frankincense and Burr, they are great!" I'm telling you, I've heard a shitload of gospel wordsmiths and I have yet to stop my eyes from rolling and having a Linda Blair experience where I spew profanities and a liquidy green goo out of my pie hole. I guess I wouldn't have a problem with a gospel artist that shared his or her personal struggles with their faith and the sinful world that taunts them like holding a big mac in the face of a fat kid, tales of their old life that they never want to revisit, or even getting off the whole church vibe for a second and talking about a million other topics that don't involve sin. But no, it seems that every verse is peppered with "praise" this, "worship" that, and the amount of times that these rappers name drop Jesus' and God's name, it makes "The Game's"constant mentioning of Dr. Dre seems rather tame.

My "Fuck Blockbuster!! Hello Netflix" selection of the day: "Overnight"

Despite how much we might not want to admit it but most of the time we turn our heads like the lemmings that we are and look at the end result of a car crash to see if there was any carnage, we might even want to see a bra brawl where some poor schmo is geting his ass kicked against our better judgment, well, "Overnight" is the best possible self-destruction I have ever witnessed in cinematic form. This documentary is about Troy Duffy, the dude who wrote and directed the cult classic "The Boondock Saints", and how he went from being a bartender in Los Angeles to selling his script to Miramax for three-hundred thousand bucks. Beside that, he was set to direct his flick with a 15 million dollar budget and his band, "The Brood", was to produce the soundtrack and get a contract from Maverick records for the trouble.(In the deal Harvey Weinstein, head of Miramax, was to buy the bar Duffy worked in and hire him to run it as part of the deal)

For a while everything is great, and even though Duffy comes off as an arrogant prick who is madly in love with his own voice, you can understand a person being full of themselves after pulling off such a coup. But before you know it the deal turns sour, Miramax puts the film in "turnaround", Duffy's calls are refused, and slowly what was once perceived as arrogance is now just him being an asshole who seems like he's on a suicide mission where his objective is to burn every bridge when it comes to his business relationships, friends, and family. The film is eventually made anyway, with a smaller company and for half the budget, but it eventually flops but becomes a cult classic on DVD.(Unfortunately for Duffy, he doesn't see any dough from those sales because of the deal that he signed.)

This documentary is just a cautionary tale about not pissing the wrong people off, because this footage was supposed to document the good times and the start of a brilliant career, but Duffy fucked over the two gentlemen who were filming it as well so I guess the best revenge for them was putting out one man's self destruction in DVD form. I must say, the final quote at the end of the documentary by Albert Goldman is quite fitting:

"No man is really changed by success. What happens is that success works on the man's personality like a truth drug, bringing him out of the closet and revealing...what was always inside his head."

Come on Dr. Phil, you give in-depth interviews to pedophiles and shit...

More times than not, I'd probably want to give a cinematic ass-kicking ala the beat down scene with DeNiro and Pesci in "Goodfella's", to the guy who puts out those horrible "Bum fights" DVD's, Ty Beeson. I mean, this miserable son of a bitch has made millions of dollars exploiting homeless men, making them fight each other to the point of serious injury for his retched DVD's, a despicable act that he rationalizes by lining their pockets with a crisp 20 dollar bill. Even though I'm not an activist for the homeless by any means, I'm not going to front, if I ever see this motherfucker I'm going to throat-chop his ass until he sounds like Froggy from "The Little Rascals" and go through his pockets on some high school bully shit. So as you can tell, I'm not going to be starting a Ty Beeson fanclub any time soon.

But in the "it even shines on a dog's ass some days" department, I must say that I've found myself having Mr. Beeson's back for once. Recently he was on the Dr. Phil show to discuss his controversial DVD's with Oprah's favorite bottom bitch but wouldn't you know it, after the introduction was played Dr. Phil gave an Oscar worthy performance and seemed so disgusted that he had Beeson kicked off of the set. Pure silly shit, especially since Dr. Phil was in the set-up piece that was to proceed Ty Beeson's interview in the first place, so Phil was thouroughly familiar with Bum fights at that point. Not only that but when you think about how these shows work, pitch meetings that I'm sure Phil was involved in, the hours of research that he had to do, the questions that he had to craft for the interview, probably even more meetings, for that motherfucker to suddenly be outraged seems as natural as as oral bowel movement. But you know, maybe it was Beeson's haircut, who knows??

My daily attempt to resurrect Hip Hop: The Roots "Clones"

My Headnod joint of the day: Pete Rock ft. Loose Ends - Take Your Time

My 8th Date: The impregnable chastity belt.

My friends, more accurately the wives of my friends, have made it abundantly clear that they will no longer hook me up with any of their friends as long as a heart is beating inside their chest, or as one succinctly put it "Until Hell is unseasonably cool." I don't know why they are so passionate about not introducing me to their girlfriends, I'm a pretty nice guy with a sense of humor, an appetite for life, a porn collection as extensive as the library at NFL Films, and as the years have progressed I've become more open to the idea of post-ejaculation snuggling. I really don't see why they would be so adamant about not wanting me to penetrate some of their closest female confidants? Sure, there was that time that I left one of my dates stranded two cities away after she let loose with an incoherent anti-Kobe Bryant rant, that one time that I punched one woman's 20 year old kid brother in the face repeatedly even though he was just joking with me(How else was I supposed to take, "I don't like how you're treating my sister, I'm going to kick your bitch ass!"?), and that one day I was in a bad mood and responded with "None of your fucking business, Eartha Kitt!!" when one woman's mother asked me what my mom did for a living. Come to think of it, besides the many incidents in which I've had sex with women that I was hooked up with, failed to ever call again post coitus, and acted like I didn't know who the fuck they were when I saw them again, I can completely understand why my friends wives wouldn't want their girlfriends within a 100 mile radius of my unimpressive penis.

That's why I was shocked as anyone when Marcy, the wife of my friend David, called me up and said that she had the perfect woman for me. I was paranoid man, was this a set up, would the "date" result in me being strapped to a chair with a fucking gag in my mouth, as women that I have disappointed in the past appear like the ghosts in "A Christmas Carol", all equipped with extremely sharp utensils that make me think that I'll be eligible for the Vienna's Boys Choir in no the near future. After I expressed my reservation Marcy quickly put my fears to ease, it wasn't so much the part of my future date being a "lawyer" and "smart as a whip" as Marcy put it, it was more of the fact that I heard "big titties", an "ex gymnast", and an "excellent cook" somewhere in those many sentences. Shit man, that is like the pervert tri-fecta, I just imagined her doing naked somersaults where her breasts literally giving her black eyes, pulling off a perfect 10 landing on my genitalia, and whispering sweet nothings in my ear mid-stroke like how she's going to make me cheese-eggs and hash-browns after I finish in 2 minutes. I was in love already, I kept thinking about that Ras Kass line "Dominique Dawes in drawls..", to say that I was as excited as a well behaved kid on Christmas Eve, that would be a gross understatement.

8th Date: "Jasmine":I was happy to learn that my date, Jasmine, wanted to go to this sushi bar that she had never been to before, sure I like sushi, but any chick willing to put raw fish in her mouth from a place that she was unfamiliar with was a soothing thought because I'm sure the suggestion of her putting other unfamiliar objects in her mouth wouldn't be roundly rejected. Anyway, we get there and she is absolutely stunning, chocolate skin, beautiful smile, hair and make-up done up like she was about to be plastered on the front of Ebony Magazine or some shit, that's when this evil thought crept in my skull: "HumanityCritic, this broad is above your pay grade like a motherfucker!!" I was kind of nervous until this older black woman started to cough really aggressively at the table right beside us, it was to the point that the whole restaurant was wondering if she was choking or not. So me, a dude who would have usually let her choke to death for the sake of entertainment, walked over to her, gently patted her on the back, and offered her my glass of water for her to drink. She thanked me for my concern but refused my glass of water, so when I went back to my table and thought about her extra long Beyonce weave that has left many a thoroughbred shivering during this cold winter, I told my date, "I guess you can lead a horse to water but you can't make her drink! Huh??" Her laughter eased my insecurity, and it also put me on the fast track to speedy penetration, or so I thought.

Come to find out, through our exhaustive conversation, it turns out that we both like the same actors, hate a few of the same ones as well, we both can quote both "Hollywood Shuffle" and "Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory" verbatim, she agrees with me that Rakim is the best rapper ever and even goes as far as to have a rather articulate argument as to the many reasons Tupac is overrated. Man, I had that warm feeling inside, maybe it was the Saki, but I was so comfortable with this chick that I found myself singing a rather feminine version of Chaka Khan's "I'm every woman" just to get a few cheap laughs. When the night winds down and I feel pretty confident that I have met the first woman ever that wouldn't mind getting fucked to Public Enemy's "Fight the Power", she utters "If I met you a couple of months ago, I would be fucking your brains out right about now!!" I asked her what she was talking about, and that's when she said the following:

"I was the biggest whore for as long as I can remember, I used to give guys that I didn't even like a courtesy blowjob, so I can just imagine what I would be doing to you right now. Matter of fact, if we had this same date a few months ago I'm certain that I would give you an oral reward as you nervously drove back to my place. Come to think about it I got off on giving oral more than any other sexual act! Some guys felt that I should enlighten the masses, teach others, and spread my infinite fellatio knowledge for the good of mankind. But based on the fact that I have recently dedicate my life to the lord, I'm not going to participate in anything sexual until I'm married."

I'm pretty sure my mouth was literally on the floor at this point. I wanted to drop on my knees and ask god why is it that I always get the whores who suddenly find religion?? I wanted to tell the woman how much I liked her, that I was a decent guy, and that I felt that marriage was like purchasing a car, let a brother kick the tires and test drive it before making such a serious commitment. Even though I have found myself counting the ceiling tiles of random women who also claimed that they had "found Jesus" and was "waiting for marriage" as well, I found her spiel as believable as the one your boy gives you when he comes out of the closet, or the one a girlfriend gives you as she admits that she is "fucking someone else." I didn't say anything, continued on the date, and later on dropped her off and received a very nice peck on the cheek. I walked away from her door defeated, only to torture myself more by turning around and asking "This is where I would have usually been trying to give you a tonsillectomy without the proper tools, huh??" She giggled, smiled through the crack of the door, and nodded a few times before shutting it.

Another thing that killed Hip Hop: A criminal history being the prerequisite to MC'ing:

The great thing about Hip Hop when I was growing up was the feeling of inclusion, the gut instinct that I could one day participate in the fine art of decapitating fellow MC's in front of a crowd of onlookers regardless what my background was. Sure New York ran Hip Hop during my formidable years, but I never felt that Virginia was excluded, I knew that we hadn't gotten our time to shine yet. I mean, if I grew up to be a criminal who's favorite pastime was throwing dudes out of windows and breaking men's noses with the same casual nature one would exhibit during a handshake, Kool G Rap provided that blueprint for a brother. If I grew up to be a lyrical assassin like Rakim, a class clown like Biz Markie it was OK, the Fat Boys showed me that if I had a problem with my thyroid and all you can eat buffets, that dangerously overweight MC's could rock the house. Public Enemy, Special Ed, Kwame, Kid N Play, artists with different backgrounds showed me that I could be myself and still be accepted in the Hip Hop community whenever I decided to throw my microphone in the ring.

Then, I guess in the mid-90's, it suddenly seemed that you had to have legitimate street cred to be taken seriously in the Hip Hop game. Sure, I understand demanding some sort of credibility from artists who brag about drug deals, busting guns, and the disposal of dead body's in the first person, a lengthy street reputation I guess can help when peddling that sort of fiction. But soon it seemed that you had to have some street credibility, regardless what the style of Hip Hop you were producing. I remember hearing Russel Simmons talk about Hip Hop artists needing a "great back-story", on some professional wrestling shit, to be successful in the rap game. A couple of weeks ago, when Young Jeezy was criticizing Nas' feeling that Hip Hop being dead, he questioned his artistic legitimacy by saying this shit: “Nas ain’t no street n*gga. He ain’t been in no street. So Nas ain’t done anything he talk about … Nas bust his guns? Nas been on the block? Do Nas have street credibility?"

"Bust his guns"? I never knew that wordsmiths with the hopes of seeing their name one day in lights had to be a card carrying member of the N.R.A. to be an MC? Maybe it would make more sense if we had motherfuckers go through some sort of Navy Seal training, so when they talk about giving a guy an emergency tracheotomy with sharpie he sounds more believable. Hey, I've seen enough "hood movies" and gang related documentaries ala "Bangin' in Little Rock", lets make it so any rapper who wants to talk about the ills of the ghetto has to be jumped in, being on the business end of many shell-toe Adidas, Nike's, and a slew of other brands. Listen, we're all grown-ups here and know that the man behind the curtain is the fact that many of these guys never did the things that they rap about, just stop acting like any sort of criminal history makes it cool for you to wax poetic about it and not others. Finally, getting shot doesn't give you a bigger soap-box to spew your lies either, it just proves that you are a slow draw and a quick healer.

My daily attempt to resurrect Hip Hop: D-Nice "25 to life"

Hey HumanityCritic, what in the fuck are you doing with this in your ipod? The Art Of Noise - "Close To The Edit"

A "Quincy"-style autopsy on Hip Hop..

**This might make more sense if you play the clip first**

Even though my mother claims to have imbibed many bottles of wine while she was pregnant with me, her way of explaining why I have always been nuttier than squirrel shit, I think that I would have been just as crazy of a kid even if I wasn't born addicted to cheap whine. You'd think that growing up a kid like me would have been knee deep in comic books, enjoyed the lessons of "Fat Albert" before I realized that he was a closeted homosexual, checked out the very entertaining "Scooby Doo" even though I was too young to understand that Scooby and Shaggy were bona fide potheads, or maybe tuned in to the heroics of the "Superfriends" despite the fact that I wanted some dastardly villain to kill the "Wonder Twins" as soon as humanly possible because of their proverbial wackness. I watched those shows sure, but my favorite show back then was "Quincy", the hour long drama where a forensic coroner in Los Angeles would gather facts about questionable deaths that everyone else thought were open and shut cases. Besides the show being a quality piece of television, something seemed appealing to me, even then, about an old man who opens up dead people for a living, lives on a house-boat and is still able to get more ass than a proverbial toilet seat whenever he likes. My poor mother, bless her heart, besides the fact that I had an inappropriate habit of fondling the legs of the two older white girls across the street, those creamy white thighs still haunt my thoughts by the way, she also had to deal with the fact that her baby boy wanted to be a person who opened up dead for a living. I really thought that I would realize my future job goal, that was until my Jr. High science class where we had to dissect a frog and I immediately threw up my chicken patty and french fries that I ate the period before right into Jane Gloss' lap. OK, that was just one incident, that didn't mean that I wasn't destined to be a coroner, me still envisioning myself performing an autopsy and giving a press conference where I try to explain as delicately as I can without laughing that the "up and coming" starlet died due to an excess amount of sperm in her stomach. Unfortunately, as I'm about to point out, there were two more incidents that occurred in the following years that tipped me off to the fact that I would never be a coroner.

The first incident happened was in South Carolina the same summer I spent a great deal time on my great uncles farm, something that I felt would be a great experience based on the fact that he made the best moonshine and all the corn-fed women in the area who would possibly fuck me like my dick produced crude oil. Unfortunately that summer turned into a bad experience, resulting in one hand-job from a chick 20 years my senior, farm work that kept me exhausted, and the slaughtering of animals that disgusted me so much that I'm pretty sure I ate salad and bread for a year in a half. The second incident, and I'm going to try to say this as delicately as possible, is when I had sex with one of my girlfriends and we found out it was "that time of the month" by what resulted on my bedsheets. These sheets looked like I had shot a motherfucker on them so I knew I couldn't have my dear mother wash them, so I stuffed them into my car trunk to be washed at a nearby laundry-mat later. Well, I forgot about those sheets to be totally honest, so a few weeks later when I was driving my car and smelled something funny I didn't know what it was. Later, when I opened up my trunk, the funk that emerged had literally knocked me over, resulting in me taking turns violently coughing and throwing up on myself. Right then, after I realized that I would have to shit-can this car asap, I knew that being a coroner would be out of the question. I mean, if I can't take the powerful whiff of old vagina how am I going to deal with formaldehyde??

So it seems that the only autopsy's that I will be performing are ones where words are my instruments of operation, and since Hip Hop is the only lifeless corpse that I can find to do a post-Mortum on, lets get this autopsy under way. Here are what I feel are some of the causes of death when it comes to the art-form that we all know and love, Hip Hop.

Rappers who claim they don't freestyle: I respect Too Short and recognize him as a veteran in the game, but I always shake my head in disgust whenever I hear his song "Paystyle" in which he completely disregards one of the purest expressions that Hip Hop has ever known. I guess Too Short isn't the only guilty party here, ever since I first started listening to Hip Hop up I've heard rappers express their personal feeling that freestyling is irrelevant, but not only did it seem disingenuous on their part but it was a sort of a "the dog ate my homework" excuse for people who lacked the ability to string more than 2 impromptu sentences together. As time went on more and more people expressed the same sentiments, it basically lowered the bar that has resulted in this "Special Olympics" that we have found ourselves in the middle of when it comes to lyricism nowadays. Listen, I know that not everyone is blessed with a quick mind to rhyme off script in front of thousands of adoring fans, but I used to give cats credit back in the day for at least attempting to free-style. I mean, this is Hip Hop for Christs sake.

MC Hammer: People tend to give Hammer more shit than a full colostomy bag based on his artistry or lack thereof, thats not the case with me. I wasn't a fan of his music even though I did masturbate to Oaktown 357 on more than one occasion, but based on the fact that it seemed like the Oakland resident was doing what he loved gave him a pass from me, artistically that is. Doing this autopsy I've found that he is definitely one of the reasons why Hip Hop met its untimely demise, not because he wore extremely baggy pants or a speed-o in that "Pumps in a Bump" video, but because Hammer was the first rapper that proved that you could make retirement dough off of this Hip Hop shit. Sure rappers were getting paid before that, but it was basically "Benz and a little crib" money, not "summer house in San tropez and personal chef" loot, so the game changed and some say for the worst. I don't hate Hammer, but the brother did prove that you could make a shitload of dough with a limited amount of lyrical skill. The emergence of Hammer, to millions of kids who once thought that they lacked the vocabulary and the ability to craft metaphors and similes, became a god-damned inspiration.

Hip Hop Journalists Part 1: I implore all of you, any person who happens to stumble upon this post, when you read the thoughts of anybody talking about music please take their incoherent ramblings with a huge fucking grain of salt. Present company included, I'm glad that anyone reads this drivel at all, but at the end of the day trust your own instincts when it comes to what you like and not some god awful blogger that you wouldn't trust with a bag of your own god-damned laundry. That being said Hip Hop journalists have contributed to the demise of Hip Hop as well, the ones that refuse to be honest and say that a particular artist is horseshit just because said artist happens to be on the cover of said magazine that month. Maybe I'm just a romantic, but something is utterly appealing about doing a juicy interview with someone that you don't try to completely fellate, an interview where you flat out tell that artist how much of a fan you aren't of theirs, and candidly telling them that hearing one of their songs is akin to a turkey ejaculating, or a flooded car that refuses to start. But you won't hear that because they have to abide by massa's deadlines and musical sensibilities..

Hip Hop Journalists Part 2: Also you have to watch out for the plethora of wanna-be wordsmiths that want to openly rebuke the notion of Hip Hip being "dead" like the petulant children that they are. Sure they don't want to co-sign on the notion of the art-form taking it's final breaths because, dog-gonnit, they have flowery things to say about Jim Jones and claiming that Hip Hop was dead interferes with that line of thnking to be quite honest. Also, their knee-jerk reaction of 'Hip Hop not being dead" kind of makes them look like a product of inbreeding, them not understanding the hyperbole based on an art-form that we all love dearly being in complete dire straights. But its also hard to trust the opinions of many Hip Hop journalists, especially when they nitpick and slam an album of a respected artist but want to turn around and throw praise amongst praise on some down south crew named MC Chittlin and DJ Black-Face who couldn't hold the verbal jockstrap of the prior artist I mentioned. That's like you nitpicking about someones dunk-technique and turning around and giving the retarded kid a pass when he drools all over the place and double-dribbles like a motherfucker. Come on..(There are some great Hip Hop bloggers and Journalists, just the horrible ones are the fucking majority)

Southern Hip Hop: I could try to be as accommodating as possible, breaking down the slew of southern artists that I listen to just so I won't sound like I'm generalizing an entire region of folks, but fuck it, I feel that mass amounts of southern Hip Hop is straight up wack and if you don't like it I'm not exactly the hardest motherfucker to find. I'm not trying to say that if you were born below the Mason Dixon line that you are automatically a waste of rap space, but at this particular moment in time there are a shitload of southern artists that sound completely horrible. I must say though, the prominence of the south in the past couple of years has furthered contributed to the overall lowering of the bar lyrically. Simplistic beats and rhymes being photocopied out of a Dr. Seuss book that is a southern staple is the main reason why people like Jim Jones, why they give Lil Wayne props and act as if the Clipse were the second coming of A Tribe Called Quest, because the bar has been lowered so much that any old thing seems like a worthy alternative. Its like coming home from prison and chowing down on Taco Bell and fucking the ugliest girl on your block, anything is better than Prison food and a dude named "Bridgette" with his shirt tied in a knot in the front.

Materialism being the norm: I know, I know, Hip Hop has always had a hint of materialism to it, you got me there. I feel you, bitching about the rampant materialism of current artists is a rather silly endeavor when you think about all the rope chains Slick Rick used to wear and the snazzy suits and jewelery that Big Daddy Kane wore, I hear you. I guess I was cool with the materialism of the rappers of the past for 2 reasons. 1) They could spit.. Seriously, as many rope chains and cars that they talked about, it was easier to deal with because most of those brothers were lyrically sound.. and 2)Back in the day there was much more of a counterbalance. I mean, you could bitch about the materialism of Slick Rick and the violence of N.W.A, but there were so many artists to choose from with completely different approaches that you didn't seem to mind.


...to be continued.

My daily attempt to resurrect Hip Hop: Bahamadia "Total Wreck

Scene from "High Fidelity"

..one of my favorite movies..

I'm guilty of easing the racial fears of some white people, and that stops now..

As you have noticed by now, every blogger and newspaper person with a personal computer that they randomly use for downloading midget porn and other deviant sex acts, has waxed poetic about Michael Richards' use of the "N-Word". Personally I didn't think it was a big deal, not when we have real problems in the world like the spread of AIDS in the black community and our own government pulling out their collective cocks and taking an R. Kelly-style piss all over our constitution. It also wasn't a big deal to me because sure I feel that Richards is a racist, but that was more of a guy that didn't have the mental capacity to produce a significant enough of a retort, so he went to what he knew worked when attacking black folks. Its like this white guy that I knew in college named Jesse, a tree-hugger of a fellow that was on a mission to save the planet, equipped with blond dreadlocks, a nap-sack full of books that you could randomly find him reading, an a knowledge of The Black Panthers that would put most black folks to shame. This is the type of melanin-challenged individual who I thought, if born 30 years earlier, would have marched with Dr. King and taken rocks to the head while walking with the other protesters, arm and arm, while singing some soulful church hymn with a smile on his face. I thought that Jesse was down with the brothers, that was until his girlfriend got assaulted and robbed by a couple of black teens, an act that resulted in a group of my friends overhearing Jesse use so many racial slurs and epithets that it would have made the guy who wrote the script for "Mississippi Burning" cringe in disgust. A few days later Jesse approached me with a sort of embarrassing half grin on his face, the type of facial gesture that a friend would give you the day after he got shitfaced and tried to drunkenly sodomize your dog, he said "I guess you heard what I said huh?? Dude, I'm sorry, I was just mad that my girl got mugged!! (now smiling) Come on bro, what other white dude in the world knows as much about the COINTELPRO as I do??" I think I just looked him in the eyes, shook my head, and simply said something like "Smoke and Mirrors man.. smoke and fucking mirrors!", and walked away with his hand still out-stretched awaiting a hand shake that would never be reciprocated. For the next couple of years after that I was battling the good that I felt people had in them versus my father's sentiments that "All white people are racist!!".

Based on the fact that one of my fantasies is to fill Janeane Garofalo out like an application is proof that good prevailed over evil, but hearing someone expose their racism not only isn't shocking to me, but who fucking cares anyway?? I mean, when somebody like Richards spews some sort of racial epithet people want him to apologize on every television show in existence, take sensitivity classes, say 40 Hail Mary's, learn "Welcome to the Terrordome" verbatim, masturbate to an issue of "Black Tail", or some other form of PR rehabilitation that isn't needed because at the end of the day I'm glad that he said it because now I know where he stands and not to fuck with him.

I feel that there are more important matters anyway, like the stereotypes that people live their life by and the racial fears that they have held close to their chests for as far back as they can remember. Hell, people who would never dare say the dreaded N-Word still might clutch their purse when a black male walks by, think that all Hip Hop songs advocate the killing of police officers, and that the black male is intellectually inferior and lazy, these widely held beliefs by people are far more dangerous and destructive than a racial epithet that someone with a lack of vocabulary spits out moments before they are spitting out teeth. Therein lies my dilemma, I noticed the other day that instead of blasting people for their fears and stereotypes, even going against my better judgment and schooling them on black folks, I have eased their racially fears even by the subtlest of actions. Let me break it those examples down.

I recently flashed a smile at an old lady: A few weeks ago I found myself in this fancy-shmancy hotel in downtown Norfolk, trying to get some late-night ass from this woman from California that I had drunkenly wooed in a bar a few nights earlier. Yes, I'm a germaphobe who fears nothing more than casual sex that results in me washing my balls in the sink immediately after the act and a few nervous visits to the clinic in the months to following, but I distinctly remember the woman saying how much she loved giving "mouth-hugs" so I knew that there was a good chance that I could get serviced without having to reciprocate, or even have to part a set of roast-beef flaps that I was unfamiliar with. She was on the 20th floor so I approached the elevator and catch the doors before they close, noticing an elderly woman in her 70's standing in the corner of said elevator. After I punch the 20 button on the elevator I lean back against the other side of the elevator, wondering how this chick is going to react after I attempt to bounce after leaving her with a mouth full of monkey spit, then I look over and notice that the woman is not only clutching her purse but she is gently shaking. I mean, I am a chubby black guy with extremely long-dreadlocks and a grizzly Adams beard, sort of looking like a black Jesus with a thyroid problem, but I don't think I'm that scary. Anyway, I found myself flashing the woman a welcoming smile and hitting her with some small talk to ease her fears, and act that I immediately became ashamed of. I mean, why should I try to ease the racial fears of this dusty broad anyway?? Looking back, I should have gone on and on about my recent acquittal, and how stupid the D.A was because of his failure to pin those decapitated heads of all those elderly white women I had in my freezer on me. But I didn't, I just farted silently before I got off the elevator and laughed at the thought of her dying at my digested steak and eggs "Denny's" breakfast, and as the door closed I kept screaming "Do you smell that racism!!! Do you smell it!!!" Yes, I'm immature.

I moved to the other side of the lane one dark night: I have no idea why I was in that soulless monument of consumerism that is "Wal-Mart", but I was there for some reason late one night. As I walked to my car on the left side of one parking lot lane I saw a small white woman approaching the store on that same side. I saw her body clinch up, her eyes widen, and she acted as if she was about to be abducted by aliens and get the business end of an anal probe. Do you know what my dumb ass does, I switched to the other side of the lane to put this fucking broad at ease. What kind of mind-fuck is that exactly, what in the fuck is wrong with me?? I guess I could be less upset with myself if I consciously said, "OK, I'm going to make this Caucasian woman feel comfortable!!", no, I did it unconsciously the same way boxers have that muscle memory and know without thinking to throw that right hook as soon as his opponent throws his left jab. Looking back, I thought that I should have just stayed in that lane, and when I got beside her screamed "Boo!!" or some shit, but her heart might have exploded out of her chest.

I went on and on about politics, haiku poems, even transcendentalism: I went to this trendy bar with an artist friend of mine last week, a watering hole where failed poets, wanna-be intellectuals, and people of that ilk can be found ruining their livers. As me and my boy were chatting it up, some of his friends come to our table and started talking about politics and other issues of the day, I just sat there quiet and listened because I was trying to get drunk and me talking about the incompetence of Bush would have slowed that agenda down. Then, all of a sudden, one of them looks to me and says "OK, we are excluding this gentleman from the conversation.. Lets change topics, so, what do you think of the new jay-Z album??" in the most condescending way. My boy gave me a "please don't beat his ass" look, so instead of socking the guy I somehow felt the need to show these gentleman how much smarter I was than them, talking about everything from politics, haiku poems, even transcendentalism.. Looking back, I had nothing to prove to these ass-hats, I shouldn't have to enlighten every Caucasian person in the world like its my birthright to do so. So as me and my boy smoked a cigarette outside, as he praised me for my restraint, one of the guys that I was speaking with earlier walks up to me and says, "You know, you are a pretty smart fella. I just wanted to tell you how much of an honor it was.." *Whap* That's when I hit that motherfucker mid sentence, him falling on the ground, with me bending over and whispering in his ear "If you ever talk down to me again I'll fucking kill ya, I'll fucking kill ya!!" That's when me and my friend walked off, me turning to him and saying "I just dispelled one stereotype and perpetuated another on, Shit!!"

My daily attempt to resurrect Hip Hop: Akinyele - ak ha ha

A Teenage Love.."Dont, Don't, Don't hurt me again.."

Getting older is similar to a person trying to wean themselves away from a lengthy relationship with cooked-cocaine, it's not all its cracked up to be. So far I've been lucky to avoid the hair loss thing(I still have my mother's voice in my head, "You know your hair is getting too long when you have to adjust your dread-locked mane to wipe your ass!!"), but there are just so many negatives surrounding increasing your birthday memories. Sure the grey hairs make make me look a lot more distinguished, but the grey hairs on my crotch makes it look like I've been trying to impregnate an ashtray. I guess I've gained the whole "wisdom" thing, but as the years go on I've become an increasingly lazy lay, telling the women that I'm with "If you don't get off after 10 minutes then you are shit out of luck, if I wanted a fucking work-out I would have went to Bally's, played ball or something!" My vision is getting worse, it takes me longer to recover from hang-overs, my reflexes are far from the jedi-esque ones I had in my early 20's, and I hate to sound like a woman but everything that I eat goes straight to my ass. We won't even go into how younger women mistakenly think that an older man has some sort of Yoda-like skills with the tongue, most of them end up saying "Jesus gramps, I could have done better messing with the ass-hats at my community college!!"

But I must admit, there is definitely one benefit to getting older, and that's knowing better than to not get so emotionally invested in relationships. No, its not that I have closed the door when it comes to welcoming love in my life, but when a relationship does sour I've just become really detached, I definitely won't be the one chasing a broad screaming "Wait, lets talk about this!!!". Like a soldier who has spent 2 years in Iraq, killing insurgents, seeing innocent people killed, seeing his brothers gunned down, and when he comes back home and parties at a club with his friends the same night a man is gunned down in his presence, he is the only one that not only doesn't flinch but isn't shocked like everyone else. I'm nowhere near as brave as that soldier, but I have so many scars, bruises, and an emotional bullet still lodged in my ribcage that I still feel when I do like someone, I've stopped flinching when a chick that I care about pulls out that break-up handgun like she's a menstruating Charles Bronson or some shit.

I don't know, I think the my turbulent relationship has a lot to do with Teenage Love. No, not the Slick Rick song that invokes memories of sweet young love, Bomber Jackets, the image of Big Daddy Kane in the video getting punked by Slick Rick on the train, and me clumsily fucking the shit out a girl in my math glass named Rosie as I watched her Door-knocker ear-rings almost give her a concussion due to my pubescent thrusting. I'm talking about the mass amounts of stupid shit that I've done during my teenage years in the name of love, actions that have pretty much been the foundation on this abandoned house that I call my relationship history. Here are a couple of examples that I'm none to proud of..

The reason why I'm still banned from this pool:(13 years old) I think it was the summer of 86, and me and some of my Norfolk friends had always went to this one pool since we were toddlers. Before I was as dangerous as someone pointing a squirt gun at you, but now that I was 13 and felt that the thing swinging from my legs which was only used for urinating for 99% of my life was now a loaded weapon, got forbid any woman who found herself on the business end of my pubic wrath. Anyway, there was this lifeguard named Tamika who had to be like 3 years my senior, a chick with a body like Pam Grier, lips so plump and life-saving that thinking about them now brings deployed airbags to mind, and a chick so ghetto that every time I saw her walk Grandmaster Flash and The Furious Five's "The message" played in my head. She wasn't ghetto in a "she is from an ecomonically ravished area" way, but in a "I heard she once stabbed a chick, and fist fights her fair share of grown men" way, which got me hotter than fish-grease. Anyway, after years of boring her with offers of seeing my penis, she finally seemed to be coming around like climaxing with a fat chick, laughing at my jokes, and kissing me on the cheek every time that she saw me.(which was the best masturbatory material by the way) All was good in the world until this guy who should have stayed down him mother's leg named Ray came into the picture, some dude who thought his shit didn't stink because he was from Queens.

Immediately he started wooing Tamika, making her laugh like I did, her spending all of her free time with this jackass, and those kisses on the cheeks mysteriously stopped. I was crushed, but he took her fair and square, I didn't feel the need to act out until he started with the jokes. So one day, out of nowhere, not only did he verbally attack me and my friends equating us to hicks like we were "The Beverly Hillbilly's" and shit, he called us "ducks"(I guess NY terminology at the time meaning "nerd"), and openly bragged about stealing Tamika away from me. That was it, I waded over to him in the pool and began to choke the life out of him in front of about 50 screaming children. As he gasped for air, clutching my arms, looking at me in a very inquisitive look that prompted me to say "You know why I'm doing this motherfucker!!", I dunked him under the water, the only thing visible was the palmade waves in his hair. I blacked out, I just remember my friends pulling me off of him as he coughed up water in the arms of Tamika. Yeah, I'm sure that my act of aggression progressed his agenda of intimately knowing Tamika's small intestines with his cock, it wouldn't be the last time something like that happened.

The Drive-Thru incident:(16 years old) Long story short, this girl that I was dating cheated on me with this young man that worked at the golden arches. In hindsight I know that it was her fault, the guy that she decided to let make more room inside her that I was unable to was innocent, if I was mad at anyone it should have been her, right?? Wrong, and all my teenage angst was pointed at this dude name Ronald, and yes I found it ironic that that was his name and he worked at McDonald's. So, I knew he worked drive-thru so when I pulled up and he asked, "Yes sir, can I take your order?", I replied "Yes, Umm. Can I get some large fries, a big mack, and your motherfucking ass on a platter you pussy!!!" He paused and said, "Bobby?? Stop fucking around and pull up!", I guess he thought that I was one of his friends or something. When I pulled up I didn't say anything, Ronald looked pretty bewildered too, but we both acted like I didn't just call him a pussy and he reached his hand out to collect my payment. Then, in a totally unplanned act of aggression, I grabbed his hand and pulled his ass through the window and started punching him. I guess his headset was connected to the register, because as I had 65% of his body out of the window I heard a big crash, along with his screaming co-workers. Poor guy, the feminine screams of terror that he let out while I hit him with as many punches a guy could throw from the inside of a car, still keeps me up some nights.(Ok, keeps me up with laughter.) I remember pushing him half way back into the window and driving off, only to see him fall out of the window anyway when I looked back in my rear-view mirror. How I wasn't arrested is beyond me.

My daily attempt to resurrect Hip Hop: Buckshot, Masta Ace, & Special Ed - "Crooklyn Dodgers"

Even Jay and Silent Bob know that Real Hip Hop can cure about anything.

A fan of this blog told me that I'm the "wordiest motherfucker" on the web, I tend to agree with her. Because of that, on with the video's!!

Now Oprah, I thought you knew better..

Listen, I'm not one of those Oprah haters who nitpick all of her actions as some kind of covert affront to the survival of black culture as we know it. Some people say that she isn't "black enough", a charge that I would always answer with a quick retort accompanied with child-like chuckles, especially since I'm a decorated veteran of the "you talk white" charge whenever some imbecile thinks that your colloquialism equates your blackness. When people bitch about her philanthropic efforts and how she doesn't do "enough for the hood", again I defend her by saying that she does give back, that we have no idea all the charities that she gives to, and that no matter what organizations she gave to people would still find a reason to bitch like Rasheed Wallace after a hand-checking foul. Even when some rappers came out against Oprah, bitching that she didn't invite them on her show or some other type of vaginal snipping, I defended her by saying that its her show and she could invite who in the fuck she wants to invite, and usually I would end said rant with "Bitching about not being on Oprah is definitely NOT Hip Hop!!" Now granted, I don't watch her show that much at all, I think it has to do with her never having anyone of interest on and the fact that her in-studio fans go completely ape-shit like they were all elderly people and Oprah herself had that fountain of youth "Cocoon" pool backstage. OK, sometimes I do watch, when she has some fine starlet on, or if her guests happen to be some troubled slutty women who are trying to battle their sexual addiction.(Only so I can find them on myspace later, having my opening line being something enticing like "Hey baby, as I type this I have my cock out..")

Last month when I saw that she had Bill O'Reilly on I gave her a pass then as well, even though she did throw him softball questions to the point that she stopped pitching to him and placed said softball on one of those baseball Tee's for him to smack out of the park, she nodded like a bobble-head doll as he lied to her face on a slew on topics, and she allowed this house-negro friend of Bill's posing as a "random audience member" to agree with his nonsense like a broken slave who has become accustomed to the daily beatings. Yes, I forgave all that because I thought that she had to show both sides, for all I know she might have planned to have Keith Olbermann on as some sort of counter balance in the months to come. Oprah was still cool with me, I still had her back, and for all I know she might read my blog and I'm not trying to talk my way out of being the meat in that utterly delectable Oprah and Gail sex sandwich, a meal that is usually pervertedly served on a bed covered with mass amounts of money.

My dreams of turning down pictures of Stedman as I pelvically thrust with all the might a chubby blogger could muster, looking in Oprah's eyes and asking her mid ejaculation "Uhhh.. Does this mean you will feature my work on your book club?? uhhhh!!" came to an end two days ago. I guess the show that she had was about some mother who had quadruplets or some shit, and Oprah and this lady were talking about her financial hardships due to her brand spanking new crumb-snatchers. Nothing eyebrow raising there, that was until Oprah noted that Bill O'Reilly had a take on the situation, and went so far as to quote that miserable son of a bitch like that splotchy sexual harasser was Winston fucking Churchill or some shit. I forgot what the quote was to be completely honest with you, but it was some nonsense about not wanting his tax money to help take care of that lady's kids. Oprah, the mere fact that you not only quoted that FOX news talking head with a straight face but had his words plastered on your screen no less, sickened me like seeing Mary J Blige without her make up on. Lets do a brief overview on the man that you seem to think is as credible as Edward R Murrow.

Bill O'Reilly:

*He once claimed that Bush never opposed the 9/11 commission, when he did.
*Claimed that Iraq had Ricin, when it didn't.
*On more than one occasion he promoted an already debunked Iraq-Al Qaeda link..
*Trying to prove that him calling for a boycott on France was successful, he cited "The Paris Business Review" as proof. Problem with that, "The Paris Business Review" doesn't exist..
*He claimed that he was on Al Qaeda's hit list, the F.B.I quickly said that he was a liquid sack of crap.
*He claimed that all poor people in the United States were "irresponsible and lazy"
*He claimed that the U.S Troops committed the Malmedy Massacre. It was actually the German Waffen-SS troops that massacred eighty-four surrendering American soldiers.
*He claimed that the show he worked for, "Inside Edition", had won a Peabody Award. Actually the show won a "Polk Award", a year after he left the show.
*When O'Reilly was at a benefit for inner city school children and the group of child performers hadn't reached the stage yet, Bill said "Does anyone know where the Best Men are? I hope they're not in the parking lot stealing our hubcaps!!":

Oprah, the shit that I posted is just a tip of the proverbial ice berg when it comes to that slippery fuck that you chose to quote two days ago. Listen sweetie, I still love you and want nothing more than to be your love slave and to one day walk around your house half naked, wearing a toga made out of one-hundred dollar bills and shit, but if you quote this cock-sucker one more time like you're reciting a passage from the fucking bible, I'm going to keep this unimpressive penis all to myself.

My daily attempt to resurrect Hip Hop: The Jaz: "The Originators" feat Jay-Z

Featuring a very young Jay-Z that is..

Even an 8 year old girl can bitch-slap Bill O'Reilly..

Jim Webb like a motherfucker!! Part 2..

You know, I must say that my vote for Jim Webb has to be the best political decision that I have made at the ballot box in my 15 year voting history. I'm not going to lie to you, Harris Miller, the gentleman he ran against in the Virginia democratic primary, probably has views more similar to my own. But I knew that for a democrat to win Virginia, considering how many backwards fucks in my state long for the days of Jim Crow, I knew that our best shot was to have a more centrist democrat. Add on the fact that he is a decorated war hero, an author, Reagan's one time secretary of the Navy, and a vocal critic of the Iraq war from day one, I knew he had the best chance to take down George "Felix" Allen faster than Allen took down those confederate flags and hangman nooses that he had in his office for all those years. After he got the nomination I think most of my time was spent talking to people, mostly black folks who mistakenly felt indifferent about the election because they unfortunately didn't see the difference in the two men, about Webb's credentials and his stances on a pletora of issues. Usually I would get black folks by saying, "You know that in 1982 he led the fight for them including a black soldier on the memorial statue that graces the Vietnam Veterans memorial on the National Mall??" That usually did it, but what started with me supporting a man just because of my hatred for that fucking white robe wearing motherfucking Allen, turned into me actually being a supporter of Webb's with no ulterior motives. So I guess you can tell that I was ecstatic when the man I voted for won, but in the back of my mind I wondered if he would disappoint me like so many politicians have done before. Would my attempts to convert my friends to true believer, like I was a fucking Jehovah's witness or some shit, be for not?? By the following piece, you can tell that I'm pretty secure in the fact that Mr. Webb will represent Virginians well in the Senate. I'd just love to go drinking with this motherfucker.(Keep in mind Bush was briefed before approaching Webb and was told to be delicate when discussing Webb's son, especially since the young man had recently escaped death while serving in Iraq.)

Jim Webb Almost Beats Some Sense Into Bush

The White House invited newly elected Senate and House members to a “private reception” after the election, and George W. Bush really charmed Jim Webb. According to The Hill, Bush asked Webb how his son was doing in Iraq; Jimmy Webb Jr. is serving in the Marine Corps. Senator-elect Webb said he’d like to see his son get home safely. “I didn’t ask you that,” Bush shot back. “I asked how he’s doing.”

Sources tell The Hill that Webb was so furious he could barely keep himself from slugging Dubya in the face, but he bravely made it through the dinner without violence. Webb’s office will only say that he had a “private conversation” with Bush. There’s an even better version from the Washington Post, after the jump.
The Post says Webb refused to have his picture taken with Bush and even refused to stand in the receiving line. Here’s the paper’s version of the exchange:

“How’s your boy?” Bush asked, referring to Webb’s son, a Marine serving in Iraq.

“I’d like to get them out of Iraq, Mr. President,” Webb responded, echoing a campaign theme.

“That’s not what I asked you,” Bush said. “How’s your boy?”

“That’s between me and my boy, Mr. President,” Webb said coldly, ending the conversation on the State Floor of the East Wing of the White House.

The "Swift-Boating" of Kobe Bryant..(a rare sports post)

Swift boating: Since the 2004 election, the term "Swift Boating", or "swift-boating", is a common expression for a campaign attacking opponents by questioning their credibility. The term is most often used with the pejorative meaning of a smear campaign.

We all remember back in 2004 when John Kerry was running for president, when those douche-bags named "The swift-boat veterans of America" came forth and claimed that Kerry was lying about his medals, saying that Kerry's post Vietnam stance made him "Unfit for command". Usually, I wouldn't dare call men who served this country of ours honorably "douche-bags", but they gained that sanitary napkin status because of the rampant smears that they were producing out of the depths of their republican funded butt-cheeks. I mean, some members of this group who had said nothing but complimentary things about Kerry no less than a couple of years before the election and were now all of a sudden blasting the guy, questioning his patriotism and whatnot, but the worst of all the offenses were those commercials where some random vet would say, "I served with John Kerry, and I know for a fact that he is lying about how he got those medals!" Sure, most Americans fell for it because we live in a nation full of drooling lunatics, but if you did 2 minutes of research you would have found that when that gentleman said that he "served" with John Kerry, he wasn't in the same company as Kerry, he just happened to serve in Vietnam at the same time Kerry did. But based on an incompetent news media, and a feeble-minded American populace, I'm certain it was enough to swing an election and re-elect what is possibly the worst president since Herbert Hoover.

I know the comparison is a stretch, one being an athlete and one being what lately has become a punching bag for the right, one being a veteran of a war and one being a veteran of many hot breath ramblings via Jack Nicholson, but I kind of get the feeling that Kobe Bryant has been "swift-boated" as well. Call me a conspiracy theorist, but if I didn't know any better I would think that the smearing of Kobe Bryant has been one of the largest collaborative efforts, consisting of networks and newspapers and any other form of media that you can think of, that has ever been known to man. I know it sounds crazy, but how else do you explain the mass amount of verbal fecal matter that usually sane people feel comfortable oozing out of their nastiest orifice on their body, trying to pass said waste off like they are bringing legitimate arguments against Bryant to the table. The same way you would get a simplistic regurgitated reply like "Because he's a flip-flopper!!!" with nothing more to back that up after you ask why they hated John Kerry, you get the same child-like foolishness after you ask someone why they hate Kobe Bryant, its like the person you asked that question to is reading cue cards drawn up by a functioning illiterate retarded man who happened to be currently recovering from a stroke. That's why I say that Kobe has been swift-boated, because never have I seen so many people sheepishly spew arguments that might only seem relevant in an episode of the "Twilight Zone".

Hey, I'm not trying to tell you who to hate, for all I know you could have a book of legitimate gripes against Bryant as thick as "War and Peace". This is simply a post proving that there is a conspiracy against Bryant, by the arguments that people use to the sports commentators who push their "Anti-Bryant agenda" on all of us. Besides, you all know I'm the ultimate fan-boy, I haven't done a Kobe post in a while, and said hatred makes for some pretty interesting rants in the comment section.

When people say, "Kobe's a rapist!": Listen, I have the utmost respect for women and if Kobe did indeed rape that woman he should have his testicles on the business end of a rusty axe. That being said, I'd say that the circumstances surrounding his rape allegations are shadier than a slew of other celebs that people don't openly call a rapist. I mean, R. Kelly gets an erection in a maternity ward for Christs sake, Tupac had a sexual assault accusation against him, and I'd say a great deal of people out there feel that Mike Tyson was falsely imprisoned for the supposed rape that he went to jail for. Kobe Bryant's rape case was as flimsy as they come, but the detractors of Bryant don't preface the gentlemen that I listed with that same "rapist" tag before the utter their government name. I mean, if that is your Trump card at least have enough intellectual fortitude to be consistent.

The "he snitched on Shaq" and "but he broke up the Lakers" argument: Not for nothing, but I have never so many people who were never Lakers so concerned about the future of said team. Listen, I grew up hating the Pistons, and if there was some rift between John Salley and Isiah Thomas that caused the ligthening fast point guard to leave Detroit, I'd be happier than Mark Foley if he lived on Sesame Street. As for the "snitching", I've already made it clear that it isn't snitching if the person you told on never had your best interest at heart. Fuck Shaq.


The "Tsk, Tsk.. He cheated on his wife!!" argument: Do you know, on more than one occasion, I've heard this argument from men who have never been faithful to their wives. Besides, what kind of argument is that anyway based on the great men in our history who found comfort in visiting vagina's that weren't their wives. I'm by no means saying that Kobe is in the neighborhood of JFK, Martin Luther King, Bill Cosby, Bill Clinton, or even Michael Jordan, but you don't get the proverbial silliness in the form of "..but he cheated on his wife!!" attached to those gentlemen's name. Ok, maybe Bill Clinton.

When sportscasters leave him out of the "top 3" conversation: I know that people are allowed to have their own opinions, but I have heard Kobe Bryant left out of the "top 3" category so many times that there must be a conspiracy going on. I give props to LeBron and Dwayne Wade, two forces of nature offensively, but based on Bryant's defense, is it that much of a stretch to say that Kobe is the best player in the league based on the fact that he plays at a high level on both ends of the floor?? Again, I'm not saying that leaving Kobe out of your personal Top 3 is a hell-worthy trespass, but if you have seen sports commentators do it enough you might think there is some swift-boating is going on.