(To my faithful readers, as much as I hate to quote an author who once introduced the world to a character named "Nigger Jim" - but "the rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated"(Hence the blog inactivity) - it would seem that a certain gelatinous chimney hopper put a girlfriend in the stocking of your favorite neighborhood pre-ejaculator. Well. sorta. I have yet to maneuver my mandible and the lips attached to it to actually form the words "Girlfriend", so right now I refer to the lady in question as "The only woman in three years that I offer post coital conversation to" - that being said, on with the show.)Historically I'm a light sleeper, a person who can be easily awakened by something as subtle as a television channel being changed or the vibrations a bed makes when a lover decides to make an early morning bathroom stop - that's why some of the harshest curse words exit my urban pie-hole whenever a person takes it upon themselves to interrupt my nocturnal emissions in a rather violent fashion. My guess is that my hatred of said practice started in the early 90's, I'd be nestled so snugly in my Michael Jordan bedsheets trying to take advantage of every ounce of sleep I could get before going through the daily minutiae of High School. My mother, a woman's who's voice was severely damaged due to a heart surgery 40 years prior - would pound on my door like she was a member of L.A.P.D's gang unit and would proceed to absolutely screech the following: "HumanityCritic!!!! Get your nappy-headed ass out of bed before I tell your friends that the mailman is your father! Just ask yourself why we get our mail before anyone else?" My "non letter carrying" father wasn't much better, his way of waking me up either had to do with him threatening me with "I'll strangle you with your small intestines motherfucker!" violence or having my face mushed into my pillow the way Ice Cube did that young woman in the "It was a Good day" video. Suffice it to say, the better part of 20 years have been spent angrily growling like a rabid dog at whoever dare wake me up with anything north of a gentle whisper or slight nudging - so lets just say that the past two weeks have prompted your favorite blogger to let out an expression of anger that only members of PETA and bestiality enthusiasts the world over could recognize.(Read more here)
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It never fails. Every time some buddy of mine waxes poetic about some new girlfriend of his, making it seem as if she utters nothing but Winston Churchill quotables, and resembles Sade back in the days when the leading men in her videos were predominately Eurotrash - what I usually find is a woman that I actually lose I.Q points just standing besides, who would be a shoe-in for the role of "Sloth" if they ever decide to make a "
Every year, specifically around the final days of December, I always find myself concocting some rather unattainable list of resolutions - lofty goals so amazingly ambitious, that following a small fraction of said resolutions would make your favorite pre ejaculating blogger qualified for sainthood. My days of thriving to be a more patient person are over, virtues of that nature are reserved for Kindergarten teachers and journalists who interview Lil Wayne - not for ornery 30-something writers whose life's blood happens to be exuding bitter hatred whenever possible and welcoming confrontations from drunk strangers. No longer will I attempt to fool myself into thinking that I will become a more considerate lover in the name of some cliched list - who am I bullshitting, timing my sexual exploits with a stopwatch as if I was a track coach then lovingly whispering into my lady's ear "