Another Edition of "HumanityCritic's Asshole moments"

My mother, a Yoda-like presence in the physical form of a black woman in her mid 60's, dropped more jewels than a cat burglar with Parkinson's the other day, some uncut truth that made me seriously evaluate my habit of going completely bat-shit at the drop of a dime. Out of nowhere she was the one who brought up my temper and where she thought it originated from, listening to her I just knew that I'd be on the business end of another one of her lame jokes, where she claims to have imbibed gallons of wine and other alcoholic beverages while pregnant with the fetus that would later be referred to as Humanity F Critic. But as she looked me in the eye with that serious gaze that all children recognize, she went into explicit detail, pinpointing the cause of my temper being my father's verbal abuse. Even though she told me something that I already knew, that I sift through peoples words in my mind with a fine tooth comb, hoping to find an ounce of disrespect so I'd later feel justified in barraging them with either expletives or punches, her words were more powerful than those hustle-man preachers you see on Sunday mornings. The funny thing is that my mother told me not to change, that she loves me for the man that I've become, even though she did admit that I was emotionally crippled, had a hair trigger temper, that I had the attention span of a crack addicted toddler, and that most of her closest friends find me to be a rather detestable individual. When I gave her a bewildered look, slowly realizing that their wasn't a compliment to be had in her lengthy diatribe, she smiled and said "Hey, embrace being a complete cock, based on all the women out there that have dangerously low self-esteem, you'll never be dateless!!" Thanks mom!

HumanityCritic, the Snitch: It seems that I am the physical embodiment of the word "stereotype", and after three decades of fielding irritating questions as if I was a press secretary or some shit, I've had enough. Not to the point that I'd start killing people, snapping the necks of uninformed douche-bags on a daily basis just because they asked me some nugget of ridiculousness, but I'm getting pretty fed up though. I'm a black guy, so you can imagine the wealth of stupidity that I have gotten showered with for years, I have dreadlocks so people think I own a prospering marijuana business and that I'm a descendant of Pablo Escobar himself, and I could stand to lose a few pounds so people automatically think that I know secret locations that store the tastiest of treats. Anyway, I was in line at Subway to get me a tuna salad, I figure if it could work for that mobile sperm receptacle Jared, then a sexy motherfucker like myself could be the cat's pajama's in no time, and this extremely skinny white dude was staring me up and down. Usually I would have kicked this young man in the back, or possibly threatened to slice his Achilles tendon if he didn't turn around, but I just stared back at this Caucasian who dressed like Jamie Kennedy in "Malibu's most Wanted". Finally I said, "What the fuck are you looking at?? I'm not a meth lab motherfucker!!" He said, whispering, "Sorry bro, I was just going to ask you if you wanted to but some smoke??", and before I tell him that I didn't fuck with the cooked cocaine variety he said, "Weed man, strictly weed!!" Right when I was mulling it over in my mind, he says this shit while looking at my dreadlocks, "Yeah man, I know you smoke!! I can tell!!" What in the fuck does that mean? There is only one thing that upsets me more than people thinking I bathe in marijuana buds because of my hair, and that is the assumption that I have some sort of affection to Reggae, I really despise that shit.(Dance-hall that is..)

So in a very irritated tone, while paying for my salad, I said "Naw man, I'm good.(motioning him away) Get the fuck on now!" In which he replied, "Come on my nigga, what's your problem!!", as soon as those words left his mandible I had every intention to impale him with the huge statute of Jared that they had in that establishment. But a cop walked in, so cooler heads prevailed, but as I passed the cop I told the officer "Sir, that gentleman there(pointing) attempted to see me marijuana a few moments ago. Check him, he's holding!!! He's holding!!" I walked to my car not even looking back to see what damage I had done, feeling like Larry Bird at the three-point contest when he put his hand up in victory before the last shot fell. Fuck it, I'm a snitch, but anyone wearing a Dipset shirt has it coming to them one way or another.

Indian dude: There's a gas station that I go to at least a couple of times a week because they have extremely cheap gas, rumor has it that they simply have cat piss and vinegar flowing throw their gas pumps, but as long my car runs on it I'll endure the weird odor and the sudden need for Chinese food. Anyway, there are some middle eastern dudes who work there who always refer to me as "Soul Brother #1" and "Shaft", not the greatest terms of endearments to be tagged with, but since they have a limited grasp of the English language I just assumed it was there way of being friendly. That was until I slowly started peeping their game, they weren't clueless foreigners who didn't know better, I quickly realized that I was the proverbial butt of their jokes by the way they would say shit like "Soul brother, we have chicken at a good price today!", offering me grape soda and shit. That's when I decided to get even, so the other day I went there to pay for my gas and there was no one at the register. When they emerged I said, "What in the fuck are you to fuckers doing, making bombs in the back?" They bother looked at each other strangely, so I piled on, "Why don't you motherfucker be patriots to this country and just tell Homeland security where your AL Qaeda buddies are!!" One of them slammed his fist against the counter-top and said, "We are not from Afghanistan, me and my brother are from Bangladesh you son-of-bitch!" So I responded, "Bangladesh-Afghanistan, Tomato-Ta-mato, same shit, lets not split hairs here fellas!!" That's when the other one looked down, shook his head, and said "You want us to stop calling you "Soul Brother" and offering you chicken huh?"

Cat-Man-Do: I always feel bad for people who's high School experience haunts their lives decades after they've received that diploma, being made to feel like social lepers amongst a seas of insecurity and acne medication must be emotionally crippling. Every time I've seen some poor sap who was victimized during High School, I always find myself going out of my way to make them feel normal, never mentioning their hellworthy wedgies and swirlies that they were on the business end of in High School. All that changed last month when I went to this dinner party a month ago with this lawyer chick who I wanted to show my habeus corpus to in the worst way. Anyway, I'm talking to the boyfriend of one of her colleagues, this dude named Paul, and for the life of me I was trying to figure out where I knew this guy from. After I learned that we went to the same High School obviously that was a big help, but I knew him for something more noteworthy than just some ass-hat who I passed by in the Hallways. After 3 hours of racking my brain, and many drinks later, the true identity of this young man hit me like Brandy not paying attention when she's driving. "Oh Shit, that's Cat-Man-Do!!!"

Let me explain: I don't know if the story is true or not, it could be a pack of lies like that fat girl Beth having to go to the emergency room to get a frozen Hot dog removed from her snatch, but apparently Paul literally fucked a cat to death. The story around school was that he drunkenly walked around a beach party that was being thrown, with someones dead domesticated animal dangling from his cock. I always thought the story was horseshit, but if my memory serves me correctly Paul had to change school based on how many dudes wanted to introduce his skull to a tire iron. Anyway, because I was drunk and I'm already an asshole, I would litter my sentences with cat references. When talking about the Iraq war I'd say, "The whole thing, is a Cat-astrophe. A fucking Cat-astrophe I say!!", "Bush should get his head checked, I think they call that a CAT-scan!!", and when I was talking to him about some of the fine women that were there I think I actually said, "Yeah man, I'd nibble on her naughty parts like a bowl of meow mix, she'd be hooked to my chubby phallus like cat-nip baby!!" I don't know where he went, but when I came back from the restroom he was nowhere to be found.