Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Another Edition of "HumanityCritic's Asshole moments"
If any of you have weak constitutions, what I'm about to express to you might indeed make you sick to your stomach and curse this very blog more than many sub par wordsmiths do - but any sort of release that I feel, activities that I deem to be cathartic, I usually equate to taking a very healthy bowel movement. When some journalist emailed me a few weeks ago and asked me about my writing process, I thought about how good it felt to release the cluster-fuck happening in my brain to post form and simply told the nice young lady that "My blog is the on-line incarnation of me taking a very busy shit!". Recently, when a chick that I had blessed with my rather unimpressive penis asked me how the sex was as she gazed at me in her post coital glow - I lovingly looked her in the eyes, gently caressed her face and said, "It was good baby, like one of those post "All you can eat buffet" shits!!" I guess that's why I enjoy being an asshole as frequently as possible, it's a release of sorts - don't look at it as me being a detestable bastard, look at it more as me saving people's lives. I mean, just imagine all the carnage that would have been left in my wake if I had kept all that rage suppressed inside of me - calling a black republican a "dirty cocksucker" would be elevated to a well placed punch in the throat, passive aggressively looking at my watch while ejaculating would be replaced with me turning my bed into a god damned ejector seat for women who didn't get the "get your ass out" hint. I'm the usually the last person on the face of the earth who should be giving anyone advice -but take my advice, be an asshole - you might save a person's life.
Sal's Pizzeria: For the past few months, whether or not I'm going to the supermarket or this "massage therapist" named Rose with one hell of "grip" - I made it my business to always look towards the new restaurant in my area named "Sal's Pizzeria" and simply chuckle to myself. I mean, I'm sure that the owner of that fine establishment is probably named Sal - but they had to be movie buff's, knowing that their pizza place bares the same name as the one in the classic Spike Lee movie "Do the Right Thing". So last week, just knowing that the staff there would get a kick out of my sense of humor - I started reciting the same lines that "Buggin Out"(Giancarlo Esposito's character) did in "Do the Right Thing" immediately after I ordered my pizza. As soon as I paid for my pie that they started making by hand, I looked around like I couldn't believe my eyes and angrily asked the nice woman behind the register, "Hey, Sal, how come they ain't no brothas on the wall?!!" The lady looked at me like I had just relieved myself in the middle of her recently mopped floor and said, "Excuse me?", so I repeated my early question: "Hey, Sal, how come they ain't no brothas on the wall?" Besides the fact the walls were bare, not only didn't they have any African Americans on the wall but they were also devoid of any Italian Americans as well - she politely smiled and slowly put her hand on the phone in case she had to call the authorities. Then I said, "Relax, you've never seen "Do the Right Thing"? - This is "Sal's Pizzeria" for Christs sake!" She then informed me that her name was "Sally", that she had never seen the movie, and that she was seconds away from pulling her 22. caliber handgun out on me if I continued to be this generation's Brando. Granted, I was glad that I didn't get shot - but after I got my pizza and headed for the door I turned around, slammed my hand on her counter-top and screamed: "Yo, Sal, we're gonna boycott your fat pasta ass!!!"
An Ex with a memory lapse: The other night, as I was imbibing alcohol like a madman while text messaging women that I know with romantic "Is it alright if I make love to your tonsils" request - I noticed a woman at the bar that I once had "relations" with. I'm an asshole, but she was sitting with her boyfriend and I had no plans on speaking to her - that was until she gave me a rather long look and said, "I think I know you from somewhere!!" She knew who the fuck I was, I have trouble remembering women's names during sex and I at least knew that she was one of the many women that I scrubbed my penis because of in the sink after sex - she was just trying to play me for a sucker, possibly a retaliatory measure based on something that I had done to her. So, because she was sitting with a gentleman who could have possibly been her boyfriend - I politely said, "I think we dated once." Like a devout Christian being told that the bible is horseshit, she shook her head vigorously and stated, "No. No way, we never dated!", and turned her back to me like I had just insulted her. That's when I tapped her on the shoulder and said, "You're right, we never dated, we fucked! Matter of fact, remember how you would let me place an ashtray on your back while you went down on me?" She's looked at her male companion, shook her head and said "That never happened!" That's when I continued, "How about after I climaxed, and you would rub the substance all over your body and start singing a very spirited version of Vanity's "Pretty Mess". Remember that?" She then yelled, "I don't even know you!!", so when I said "Remember how you used to always have a straw handy, so when I came you'd always..." - that's when she said, "OK, God-dammit, we dated!!!"
Showing my computer guy that I can be racist too: If I ever started my version of the "A-Team", soldiers of fortune who clean up Hip Hop whether it be dispatching men with sub par lyrics or publicly beating the brakes off of a rapper who deserves it - not only couldn't I be B.A because he had the I.Q of a bowel movement, but I also couldn't be the Tech guy in that equation either. I can write you one snazzy paragraph, and download deviant amounts of porn that will surely keep me out of politics forever - but when it comes to computer knowledge, I sometimes feel as clueless as Lil Wayne at a Rock Steady celebration. So the past couple of weeks, because of my machine being broken like vagina's after donkey shows - I've spent so much time with my computer guy recently that I'm about to lobby my local representatives about allowing "civil unions" and shit. I guess the problem with getting to know a person better, is that they think that they can get away with shit when they can't. For example, for the sake of my computer - I let him slide when he suggested that black folks have inferior computer knowledge, when he sarcastically called me "homey" ad nauseum, but as he suggested that me paying him would put a damper on my "Cadillac payments" - I unleashed a barrage on him that virtually rendered him speechless. From that point on I kept referring to him as "Sukiyaki hot"(A Last Dragon reference), I actually made my check out to "Long Duck Dong" - and his wife and her friends that were hanging out in his living room, I referred to them as "The Joy Luck Club"