One thing that women absolutely loathe but men cherish like a child awaiting Christmas, is the time honored tradition of the Bachelor Party. What better way for a man to welcome the married life than a shitload of booze, scantily clad or butt naked women, surrounded by about a dozen of his closest, most belligerent friends. Like a secret organizations, there are a few unwritten rules such as having a shitload of booze, the right "entertainment", having decent food, and never let the brides father or brother attend, they will snitch faster than Kobe in Colorado. Here are a few examples of bachelor parties that I have gone to.
Chris' Bachelor Party: Chris had just moved to Va from England, so I was like his only friend in the whole state, fuck it, the whole country. We hung out a lot, went to ball games, and I was cool with his fiancee and everything. So when Chris told me that he was getting married I just had to throw him a bachelor party, American style. I rented out a huge space, ordered enough liquor to make Courtney Love say "That's alot of booze", and rounded up some local strippers of note to make Chris' bachelor party a night to remember. Things started to go wrong when the strippers that I hired all of a sudden demanded more money. We had agreed on a price, I paid it, now they were going back on the deal and asking for more.(note to self, never pay the full price up front) I officially thought I was fucked as I was on the phone with a stripper that called herself "Destiny", trying to be the voice of reason. It looked bad until I remembered that my mother once told me that "when I get mad, I sound like a pimp".(How in the fuck does my mother know what a pimp sounds like?? Let me stop pondering that question immediately.) So, over the phone, I ranted and raved saying "You don't know who your fucking with!!" and "I know where you trollop's work at", true asshole shit that I thought wouldn't work. Apparently "Destiny" was accustomed to the fine art of "Pimpery" because she immediately said, "OK Daddy, we will be there, it's no problem." When I hung up the phone I said to myself, "Shit, I think I missed my calling!" The night of the party everything is running smoothly, all of Chris' co-workers were there, the booze was straight, food, everything looked fine. That was until the strippers came out. I guess Chris, a Caucasian male, forgot to tell his co-workers that he had a thing for black women, because when they came out looking like 100% ebony sex, you could have kicked a field goal in the mouths of the gentlemen in attendance.During the night I noticed a few things. 1.Chris is drunk off his ass, slurring his words, and he keeps rapping Biz Markie's "The Vapors", which is hilarious in an English accent. 2:The strippers that I hired are bona fide freaks, inserting things in every orifice and providing all in attendance with a special "Lesbian show" and 3. Some of the women are taking guys in the back room and charging men for their "Services". I guess they need to pay tuition or something. I'm not going to lie, I glanced at my wallet, but decided against making any "Booty transactions" based on the fact that I enjoy peeing without that burning sensation. Then, I looked over, and Chris had placed 2 folded 100 dollar bills on his penis and yells, "What naughty girl wants to earn some money!!" Now I was in sensitive spot, because I would usually let a man do whatever he wants. But the fact that I knew his fiancee and knew that he wouldn't fuck a hooker if he was sober, I felt that need to intervene, so I tried to tell Chris to chill out. One of his co-workers grabs me and says, "Don't be such a cock-block!", so I shrug him off me and continue to try to talk some good sense into my European friend. His co-orker grabs me again and says, "Hey, didn't you hear me Lennox Lewis, leave the guy alone asshole!" I turned around and calmly asked the gentleman, "Let me tell you what I'm doing, walk outside with me!" We start to walk outside and as soon as he takes one step out of the door I start punching the shit out of him. Me and this dude fight for like ten minutes, I totally forget about saving Chris from himself inside the party. When I finally get back inside I learn that not only have the strippers stolen some wallets off some of the guys, they hijacked some of the liquor, but most of all Chris had paid for a "mouth hug" that one of his co-workers had recorded on his phone that takes video. The next day, his wedding day, Chris looks like death as I see him in a beautifully laid out church. His fiancee is giving me "I should beat your black ass" looks during the entire service. Later on, after the vows were exchanged and Chris had a spare minute, he sat beside me and asked "I wasn't that bad last night was I?" Then I said, "OK, you placed 200 bucks on your dick, I beat up a guy you work with, and you paid for a blow job that might be circulated on the net being that it was recorded. How's that?" All he could do is slump over and place his face in his hands and let out a big sigh. Then I laughed and said, "Yep, we had a kick ass time!!"
Derek's Bachelor Party: I feel bad about Derek's bachelor party because I was the main reason why it was ruined. His party was within the same time span that my father died and my girlfriend of 5 years had dumped me for a guy who was a bum, actually calling him a panhandler is probably too generous. Anyway, I wasn't in the best state of mine but I wanted to help Derek in any way possible when it came to his pre-marriage titty fest. I offered my services, my ability to get quality liquor for cheap, the ability to get fine women of ill repute without going bankrupt, the ability to rent out quality spaces for bargain prices.(Shit, I feel like a superhero, "Able to leap two titty bars with a single bound). But Derek's brother, who is a bona fide douche-bag by the way, brushed away my offer by saying, "I got this, I have been doing this for years!!" So his stupid ass was solely responsible for setting everything up. I actually wished him well as I envisioned scantily clad Beyonce-esque women climbing all on me, lying to me by saying shit like, "Wow, you sure are handsome! Do you model?" In the same vision, I place my index finger over her mouth and say, "Shhh, you ruin it by talking!!"(Even in my fantasies I am an asshole.) Anyway, I get to the party and I notice a few things that have gone wrong already. 1.The Father and the Brother of the bride are there.(Ladies, if I decide to marry one of you in the future, your raggedy ass daddy and brother aren't coming! I don't care how "cool" they are, at the end of the day those fuckers are worse than the feds.) 2:The spot that was rented was ghetto and dingy as shit. 3. There was hardly any alcohol there and 4: The food consisted of chips and other foods of the horseshit variety. OK, maybe most of the money was spent on the "entertainment", lets see how the girls look.I was there an hour and still no women, within this time period I had already downed a flask of liquor that I had in my pocket, and some random beers that were available in a cooler that was there. Basically, I was drunk, and I was already talking shit. I told Derek's brother, "Look at this bullshit spread! "I got this" my ass!" He replied, "Just wait until you see the girls man!". As soon as he said that the girls walked in and, how can I say this, they were in desperate need of a sandwich. They were "Whitney Houston when she was at the height of her crack use" skinny. The guys were going crazy but I couldn't see why. Earlier, I had learned that these women were prostitutes acquired through a pimp, so I drunkenly yelled out, "Who's your pimp, Sally Struthers? hahaha.. Didn't I send you chicks 50 cent a month once!!" They were getting pissed, one of them said, "Don't let me come down there motherfucker or I'll.." "Or you'll what?", I said, "Stab my with your fucking elbows! hahaha" People there tired of me very quickly, but I felt pretty good that Derek was laughing his ass off and that's all that mattered. Later on the women started dancing on a makeshift stage with a pole that somebody had set up. For and hour guys would stand in front of the dancers and throw money at their feet, mostly 5's and 10's. I was outraged because the women, in my drunken opinion, looked like they only danced for heroin. So when I approached the stage, I pulled a sandwich out of my pocket and threw placed it in front of the dancing women, screaming "You need that more than you need money!!" That is when the stripper got "Gangsta" on me, hopped off stage onto my back, and started wailing on me as I tried to get her ass off of me. Even though I was getting punched by a stripper in the back of the head, I was so drunk I was laughing and said, "It's like I am having a fight with a bunch of brooms!!" They got her off me, and they asked me to leave. Looking back I was being an asshole, regardless of the hard time I was having at the time. I was such an asshole that I was dis-invited to the wedding, which is truly a tell tale sign of how bad I was that night.
I went out the other night to some fancy-smancy club that I felt highly uncomfortable at. As I looked at all the people who thought that their shit didn't stink, I stood around and conversed with my friends as I stared at an empty dance-floor. The club was packed but no one was dancing, did Goodie Mob have it right when they said "They don't dance no more"? As soon as I thought about how sad it was that people didn't dance anymore, a young lady approached and asks me to dance. To be honest, even though I was asking myself why people didn't cut a rug like they used to, I really didn't feel like dancing. Did this new culture of "I'm too fucking cool to sweat" infect the cerebellum of the HumanityCritic as well?? I decided to dance with the young lady for a few reasons. 1: Because I hadn't danced in a long time. 2: The young lady in question looked like a young Pam Grier, and lord knows what kind of blacksploitation type role playing I might be able to get her to do in the future and 3. I haven't been asked to dance since the fucking Clinton administration. She grabbed my hand and dragged me to the dance floor where we started dancing. "Feet don't fail me now!" I thought, as I wondered if they even worked any more. I started doing the classic "2 step" which is what everyone pulls out of their bag to buy time until they can pull some real funky steps out of their arsenal. She immediately starts grinding on me when I started to immediately "Pitch a tent", "OK, I'm glad that still works", I thought as I try to be subtle about "adjusting" myself. Then I busted out a barrage of oldie but goodies that not only made the woman in her early 20's laugh, but exposed my age for anyone within a 100 foot radius. It just got me thinking to the various dance-steps throughout my life.
The 70's- When I was a kid I just remember just jumping around like I was having a seizure, delighting my parents because of how foolish I looked. Specific dance-steps of this time period escape me, except for "The Bump" where while dancing you touch asses to the beat. I remember doing this dance with one of my parents' friends when she propelled me into a table where the table broke into a million pieces. She said something like, "I guess I don't know my own strength", you know you have a humongous derriere when you propel toddlers in a single bound. But this time period is special because I recall waking up on various Saturday mornings to the sounds of Marvin Gaye, Otis Redding, Donny Hathaway, Stevie Wonder, and a plethora of other soulful masters as I went downstairs and danced with my parents. My parents didn't have the best relationship, but at a early age I realized that music, albeit momentarily, could bring people together.
The 80's- The first dance that I recall learning was "The Robot", which I was good at, but kids would clown me because that's all I would do. I even remember this girl named Brandy saying, "Here comes HumanityCritic, watch him do the robot the whole time!" She was probably jealous of how well I imatated a robot, even making robit-like sounds. (Maybe not)That's when I realized that I had to step my dance game up, then break-dancing hit the scene. I always will love and respect that art of the legendary "B-boy", but to be totally honest I was the worst break-dancer imaginable. I mean, I could pop my ass off, do the snake, the worm, but my groundwork(i.e Spinning on my back, doing the flare) was atrocious. My best break-dance move was when I would pop, bring it down where I would expose my stomach and roll my stomach downwards, then bring it to my legs then bring it back up. That move was awesome, the first thousand times I did it, but people quickly tired of my "signature move". This is embarrassing, but I even called myself the "Camouflage kid", where I would go to various dance contests wearing camouflage. I remember my boy getting all philosophical on me one day by saying, "Isn't being called that limiting, being that that's all you can wear? I mean, people would openly wonder if you even washed your clothes man!" Me, never lacking the witty comeback or clever diatribe, answered back by saying, "Fuck you Kenny!!"
The 90's- I remember, if I am correct, the dance "The Running Man" becoming popular in the early 90's. I have to tell you, nothing ruined more potential ass for me than doing this particular dance. It wasn't that I was bad at it, actually I was quite good at it, but this is a dance that you could only pull out sporadically. I couldn't tell you how many girls that thought I was an absolute "Spaz" when I would be doing "The Running Man" with the aggression of a serial killer, as she dance calmly to a mid-tempo song. Even though I would constantly get those "calm your black ass down" looks, I didn't care, I was on a mission, a dance mission if you will. That "mission" usually resulted in me going home alone and getting friendly with a bottle of lotion and whatever filth I had at the time.
2000-Present: Being that I despise most Hip Hop that comes out now, and all the ghetto dances that accompany it, I find myself just doing the old man "2 step", you can't go wrong with that. When I feel nostalgic, I will break out with "The Wop", start popping, do "The cabbage patch", or even do "The prep". I don't do those dances to teach the younger generation an integral part of Hip Hop history, or enlighten them to a more legitimate era in Hip Hop. I do those dances because I sincerely don't give a fuck. That simple.
The other day I was invited to the 21st birthday party of my friend Ron's kid brother, Michael. Michael has turned out to be quite the young man, smart as hell, responsible, great taste in Hip Hop, and on top of that he is headed to a prestigious law school pretty soon. It seems like only yesterday I was teaching him the proper way to "knock a motherfucker out", how putting visine in someones drink will get them sick as shit, and teaching him that there is nothing wrong with hitting someone with a chair if the opportunity presents himself. Then immediately I thought, "Damn, me and Ron could have really fucked this kid up. Instead of heading to law school, he could be headed to cell block D, washing the underwear of an ironically nicknamed inmate named Tiny." Thinking about the horrible things that we taught him, I started to feel like a father that abandons a child, and then that kid turns out to be a huge star despite him. Depressing the shit out of myself, I walk around the party and greet everyone, I was having a great time until I came upon Ron and Michael's mother named Jackie. Jackie says, "Who in the fuck invited you anyway?" I smile and say, "It's wonderful to see you too Ms. Smith, boy do you look lovely today!" She grimaces and says, "Fuck you HumanityCritic!!!", and walked away. What was her problem, what did I ever do to her???? Then I realized the problem could have been either one or both of the following: 1. When Ron and I were kids Ms. Smith had a boyfriend that smacked her in front of us one day. Ron and I couldn't have been 14 years old, but we jumped that guy with an anger that could only be rivaled by how one feels after viewing "Mississippi Burning". After that incident he promptly left Ms. Smith and she has blamed us for her failed relationships ever since.. or 2. When Ron and I were teenagers we beat up two individuals that had tried to sexually assault Ron's sister, Rita. They had called the cops on us, but the only guy they could identify was Ron. Even though I told Ron he could say I was with him, thus lessening his penalty, he refused to snitch on me and did a brief stint in a Boys home.(I love him for that.) OK, I can see why she hates me, I get it.
Bartenders: When it comes to bartenders of the opposite sex, view them like strippers: Don't mistake their kindness as them "liking you!" Just like a stripper, they will smile and endure your horseshit conversation just for the tips, that's all Casanova. Tipping is important, not only because that is how these individuals make the bulk of their money, but there are some selfish benefits also. Keep stiffing that bartender his/her tip and you will see your rum and coke quickly become 85 percent coke in a New York minute. Not only that, but if you continuously hook the bartender up they will throw you free drinks occasionally, or give you a sweet deal when the bill comes, or both. If you are indeed a cheapskate, I advise you buy only bottled beer because there is no way they could water down that, they will just give you shitty looks as they hand it to you, you cheap son of a bitch!
The "DJ": I believe that you treat DJ's like children, in the sense that you have to disciple them or they will run all over you. If the DJ at your local watering hole is bullshit, tell him, or that sorry motherfucker will continue playing Mike Jones records until you feel a homicide coming on, you will have that asshole thinking that the crowd is digging his musical choices. The other night the DJ was playing one of my favorite songs by Prince, "Darling Nikki", the this fool grabs the Mic and proceeds to sing along, badly. I ran up to the both and loudly yelled in his ear, "SHUT-THE-FUCK-UP!", his ass gave me a pissed off look but he got the picture. Or you have DJ's who will play a decent song but they scratch the shit out of it to the point that you can't enjoy it, so if you are a DJ who does this you might need to calm your ass down Kid Capri. Or you have what I call "cock-tease" DJ's, ones who will play a great record but refuse to play the best part of the record. Everyone knows that you play the last verse(Fatlip's verse) in the Pharcyde song "Passing me by", everyone knows you play Busta Rhymes verse in "Scenario", and everyone knows that if you play a Fugees song that not spinning a Lauryn Hill verse will get a turntable smashed over your head.
Bouncers: Even though my 
Altercations: For Michael's sake, fighting is never the way to go and it takes more of a man to walk away, just remember that. OK, now that we have that Public Service Announcement out of the way I have a few theories when it comes to bar altercations. If someone comes up in your face talking absolute shit to you, the safe bet, especially now that I am 31 and have long dreadlocks that someone could drag me around by, is to play the "I don't want to fight you, I'm scared as shit" role. Usually the other party acts one of two ways, they either back down and accept the fact that you don't want to fight, or they get overconfident and talk even more shit. If the person does the ladder, you also do one of two things. 1. Immediately try to knock him clean the fuck out, with a staggering punch or a wind taking throatchop. The logic behind this is that it's my opinion that motherfuckers watch too many movies, where both men have lengthy "macho" banter before engaging in fisticuffs. While he is trying to poetically relate how many ways he will whip your ass, interrupt him mid sentence with a punch that his momma can feel. or 2: Continue to play the "scared" role and walk away to buy you some time. The logic behind this is it gives you a chance to size up the situation, see how many guy's he has with him, then react accordingly. The smart choice, for people who aren't as stupid as myself, is gather your shit and go home. Or, you can watch him, see that he is by himself, then quickly pick up a pool stick and test its durability by smashing it over his vertebrae. (By all means people, hit him with the solid end, didn't any of you see "Roadhouse"? Jesus..)
Jealous Boyfriends: Even though I have my faults, and lord knows I have many, one thing that I am proud of is the fact that I have never been a jealous boyfriend.(I have an ex who reads this blog that would disagree with the previous sentence, but I think that any man would want to beat a dude senseless who tried to serenade his girl in front of him. His nickname is "Jedi" and you better believe that he would have "felt the force" that day.) Sorry for the rant. I never understood jealousy, especially in a club, because if a guy looks at my lady I feel good because "I" am the one who is going home with her that night, not him, so who cares. I also never understood guys who express their jealousy to you by saying, "What in the fuck are you looking at?", when their girlfriend is wearing next to nothing. I mean, his dumb ass knew that his girl is out in public showing off her best stripper uniform, either deal with it or ask her to change into something less "prostitutey". When I was staring at a woman who literally had a see-through shirt exposing her breasts, her boyfriend had the audacity to say, "What are you looking at?" I took a swig of my drink, looked at him and said, "I was staring at her tits, I thought the visible erection and me salivating like pavlov's dog was a dead giveaway. How much did that run you anyway?" Or this one time when a guy got in my face and said, "What in the fuck are you looking at??" when I was staring at his girlfriends incredibly short skirt. It was "I could basically see her asscheeks" short. I simply replied, "Judging by the length of her skirt, I'm trying to see how long it would take me to actually see her ovaries." After saying all of that, I really hope that Michael continues to not take my advice.
The past few months I have gotten several emails from people who frequent my blog. For those who had complimentary things to say, let me just say "Thank you" and the love is greatly appreciated.(Even though I miss the hate mail that I received around election time to be totally honest) But there are also a lot of emails where people ask me questions. Not just of the blog variety either, but dating tips, my opinion on pop culture, and the life in general. So here are some questions that I received since September 2004 that I will answer, even though some of the questions are strange as fuck. Here we go.
One of my favorite movies of all time is the 
Convenience Store Clerk: This is the store that I mostly get my gas at since it is usually on my way to most of the places I go. The clerk that is mostly there is Sharon, a soft spoken Latina who had a crush on me for some time. That crush quickly diminished when I did the following: 1.When I was in line behind a gentleman that tried to pick up Sharon I screamed "Hurry the fuck up Asshole!" When he tried to save face and step to me I grabbed a beer bottle and said, "Say something, I will bury this bottle in your scalp". Sharon was horrified. 2.When I was walking into the building to pay for my gas a woman damn near hit me and when I reacted she acted like it was my fault. When she walked in the store I said, "What in the fuck is your problem lady?" She then began a profanity laced tirade, I guess to punk me, but I reached back in my bag of sarcasm and began to colorfully talk about her lack of feminine hygiene habits. and 3. I got into an argument with a man that had a problem giving money to a homeless woman money by saying, "I'm not giving you money, you will probably buy drugs with it!" I said, "What do you care what she buys with it asshole? I don't care if she buys cocaine with it, SHE FUCKING LIVES ON THE STREET!! The same money you give her, you would have probably been used it to buy kiddie porn anyway, so whats the difference jackass?" The guy was so infuriated he turned bright red, even leaving his change of 10 dollars with the cashier. When the guy drove away I gave the ten dollars to the woman and said, "Buy whatever the fuck you want with this!"(She ended up buying some food with it buy the way) Anyway, because of the events that transpired, Sharon hates when I come in there. She hasn't publicly said so, but she looks at me like I'm about to rob the place whenever I come into said establishment.
Video Store Clerk A: This particular video store was my porn connection for a long time, that was until recently. There is certain "porn etiquette" that should be followed by fellow masturbaters and video store clerks alike. The rules go like this. 1. When looking at a group of porn tapes, try to stay a safe distance from one another. I don't know what it is, but having a man in close proximity of me when I look at videos that I will be masturbating to later that night is disturbing. 2.Don't fucking talk to me!! 3.If you are a video store clerk, only go back into the porn section if that shit is on fire or you must put a tape back on the rack 4. Video Store Clerks must show the proper decorum when a customer is checking out porn. OK, now that we have gone over that let me tell you about this porn Clerk named Katie. For one thing she continuously breaks rule 3, by going into the porn section for no reason but just to view deviant men looking for "stroke" material. I already feel pathetic enough renting porn, now I have to have some chick constantly reminding of that fact with her eyes. Also, she has no class when you are renting video's, thus breaking rule 4. She would say shit, out loud, like "I think you already rented "Chubby Chicks: The Sequel" already?", where I would look at her in the loudest, most embarrassed whisper that I could muster and say, "I know, I'm renting it again asshole!!" Or, when you would order something that she considered freaky, she would read the title, look up at you, and giggle. Nothing makes you feel like a loser faster than being giggled at for renting an adult movie. Fucking savage.
Comic Book Store Clerk: There has been a comic book shop that I have been going to since I was a kid. The ownership has changed hands several times, but I haven't had any problems with whoever owned the store at any particular time, that was until recently. One of the new owners also serves as their clerk, and I hate this motherfucker with a passion. For one thing, I know he doesn't know me and my history of going to the store, but he follows me around the store with his eyes like I'm about to steal something. I wanted to punch him in the mouth, but I figured that when I pull out my money(I had just got paid) and flash my "bank" then he would see that HumanityCritic is no thief. The next time I came in there, about a few days later, he actually got up and watched me this time, that motherfucker. Not only that, but I think it would be bad etiquette for a clerk of any store to blast political talk radio, Liberal or Conservative. But as you walk through the door of said comic book store you hear the disgusting drivel coming from the pie-holes of individuals like Rush Limbaugh and Michael Savage. Let me tell you, nothing ruins your comic book shopping experience like listening to a hypocrite pill popper like Limbaugh. Even when I told the clerk to "turn that shit off", or "listen to that horseshit through his headphones", he said something like "I have to get the point out there to all you braindead liberals out there that the republican way is here to stay!" That's when I responded, "Do you think I would "get the point out there" if I punched you dead in the motherfucking face and literally shove that radio into your ass??" That's when he threatened to call the cops so I left without having to manually put a radio into any hidden orifices. But fuck it, there are other comic book stores.
The other day, as I was talking shit to some old men and betting 20 Dollars a throw in a game of Horseshoes at a cook-out I was at, I realized that I am competitive. Granted, I have known this for a while, but didn't really see it as a problem until I found myself telling a older gentlemen that "he was so old that even his fucking memories are in black and white" as I tried to throw off his rhythm before he was about to throw his horseshoe. I think my competitive nature, I believe, is because it is either all or nothing with me, either I try to win by any means necessary or I am just joking around. That is the main reason I am no good at slap boxing, the age old male tradition of showing off your boxing prowess by slapping your opponent on the face. I'm no good at that because I feel either we are fighting, or we aren't. This is the same reason why I couldn't be an actor in one of those Cinemax-esque late night sex movies where the humping is simulated, because either I want to give a woman 2 beautiful minutes of sexual ecstasy or nothing. I have rambled long enough, here are some examples of how my competitive nature went a bit too far.
Basketball: My friend Bob was throwing a birthday cook-out for his father who was turning 60 at the time. I have known Bob most of my life and I am extremely cool with their family, at least I was. Bob's father was a pretty good CBA player who had a brief stint in the NBA some years back. The whole day we had a good time, played spades, drank, talked shit, we had a ball with Bob's sister videotaping the entire thing. It was about 6p.m when Bob had asked his father, "I bet you have lost it old man, you think you can still shoot some hoops??" His father replied, "You know I can! HumanityCritic, lets go one on one for a couple of minutes." I agreed, so we went to the court they had set up in the backyard. The entire party filters out to see us play, with Bob's sister still taping us every second. I figured that the guy is 60, has extremely bad knee's, and it's his birthday so I will just half way guard him and treat it like a joke. The first few times I had the ball I didn't even drive, just settled for jump shots that I luckily made. The first time Bob's dad got the ball he not only forcefully backed me down under the basket, but he scored and started talking shit, saying "Jesus man, you guard me like we are slow dancing!" Still, I maintain my composure and still take it in as a joke. He got the ball back and this time not only was he talking a tremendous amount of shit, but he elbowed the fuck out of me in the stomach. As I hunched over I looked up and saw Bob's sister zooming in on me, laughing, actually everyone was laughing. The last thing I wanted to become was Bob's family's joke on tape, that they could show to love ones for a laugh whenever they wanted.
Paintball: Playing this game just let me now that if I ever became a hit-man, that I would shout out movie quotes from 90's "hood movies" as my signature trademark as I "offed" somebody. But I will get to that later. A few months ago my friend put together a paintball match with some of his co-workers and he invited me. I thought it might me fun, being that I had so much fun the last time I used one when I peppered a 19 year old kid with round after round, after I took it from him because he shot my house with it. Anyway, I got the gear and was supplied with the standard paint-gun that the park provides you. I put it in my belt ala "Dough boy" in "Boys in the Hood", ready to take on anyone who stood in my way. A few minutes later, after feeling ultra confident, I found myself shot the fuck up looking like a god-damn rainbow. I can take losing, but the thing that infuriated me was that the other guys on the opposing team had targeted me, so taking me out was their prime objective, not winning the game. Also, a few of Mark's co-workers, had shot me multiple times from a long distance after I was already down. Those things hurt if you don't know, and I would of punched this guy name Mike for doing what he did, but since his son was in attendance I didn't commence in whipping that ass.(See, HumanityCritic has a heart.)
Even though I have been in 
Meet the Parents: I was dating a woman named Wendy some years back and it started to get serious. You know you are falling in love with somebody when you actually want to hang out with them, their voice doesn't irritate the piss out of you, and you don't want them to leave your home immediately after you ejaculate. It got to the point that she thought it was time to meet her parents. Wendy told me that she had ultra-conservative parents, and that their approval meant a alot to her when it came to whoever she was dating. I was kind of nervous to be honest, but being that her last couple of boyfriends were a drug dealer and a dude that threatened her with physical violence, I figured the bar was set pretty low for yours truly. I was supposed to meet her parents for a dinner they were having for us so I threw on my best monkey suit and headed to the residence of Wendy's parents. As I drove there, for some reason I got extremely nervous. What if they don't like me? What if Wendy leaves me based on the opinions of her parents? What if I can't shut my mouth when her parents start with there bullshit political opinions?? Overwhelmed, I pulled over to some rat-hole bar near Wemdy's parent's house to have a drink to calm my nerves. I sat down and ordered a Rum and Coke and a shot of something too strong for me to be drinking right before I meet anyone's parents. A dude sits beside me and sparks up a conversation. Man: Hello son, why are you all dressed up? Me: I am going to meet my girlfriends parents. Man: Really, are you nervous? Me: Hell yeah, my girl really respects their opinion. Plus, they are scumbag conservatives so it will be hard for me not to tell them how full of shit they are. Man: I heard that. How do you feel about your girlfriend? Me: I really love her, plus the mere fact that her ass is juicier than a pot roast and she can suck a basketball through a straw doesn't hurt things either (The man doesn't laugh at my joke, just looks forward and says) Man: I see, well good luck young man(he gets up and stars to leave) Me: Thanks sir
I forgot to Hide my porn: Even though I know that a lot of women read this blog, and I respect all of you tremendously, but what I'm about to admit might drop my female readership a little. I am a veteran when it comes to the porn game. Meaning I have been watching women have sex on film with corny music in the background, displaying horrible acting abilities, and women with boobs so fake to even make Pamela Anderson point and say "Now that shit is ridiculous!", since I was in junior high. I wasn't into the average "Babes on Bobsleds" or "Tammy does the Pizza Guy" type of shit either, as a teen I was into more of the "Wanda does the inmates on Cell block D" variety. I have always been a pervert, there is no doubt about that. Anyway, I made a effort to hide my porn because I am sure that we all had mothers that would go in our room for some reason or another. My poor mother, she had no idea the criminal amount of pornography her baby boy had, or was watching on a daily basis. Anyway, I came home from school and the driveway was empty, I guess my pops was at work and my mother was at the store. So I figured that I had the perfect opportunity to "rub one out" in absolute privacy, so I pop in a triple X flick. I start watching it then the phone rings so I go into the kitchen, answer it, and talk to my friend for a couple of minutes. Then I think I hear footsteps upstairs, I just knew that no one was home, so I figured that I was just hearing things. I talk for a few more moments then I definitely hear footsteps upstairs, so I get off the phone and creep upstairs thinking we had a intruder or something. I go to my room and I am horrified to see my mother watching a triple penetration "love scene" that I had mistakenly left on to answer the phone. Not knowing what to do, I run over and give the VCR a flying Karate kick to the point that it shuts off immediately. I say, "I thought you were gone, where is your car!!" She said, "Your father is having my car inspected, that's why it isn't in the driveway." She looks at my collection and starts randomly picking tapes up and reading titles, "Jizz Jerking Sluts? Turner and Cooch? E.T-Extra testicle?" Embarrassed, I grab my stash from her and say, "Mom, please!!" She laughingly leaves the room as I sit there humiliated, clutching a shitload of porn tapes in the fetal position. That was so embarrassing that I couldn't get aroused to any of those specific tapes any more, so I threw them out and got a brand new collection.
Broken Heart: I have always been the one out of my crew to have more of the "No woman can bring me down" kind of attitude. As we all know this is nothing but a big disguise for a individual that is terrified of being hurt.(That's what my therapist says) When my boy Ron got dumped by his girlfriend I told him, "Move the fuck on dude, you'll be OK. Plus, her ass had tremendously big feet. I didn't know if those were sneakers or ski's and shit." When my boy Danny was crushed by his fiancee and had a hard time getting over it I told him, "Come on Danny, you got to cheer the fuck up. Look on the bright side, her mother looks like Aunt Ester from "Sandford and Son", do you want to be laying beside that in 30 years? Her dumb ass did you a favor." Or the time that my friend Shawn was devastated by a girl he was dating and was depressed about it. I took him to a seedy lap dance place, pulled out 200 dollars and said, "This is for the first person who can make my boy smile, and I don't mean by telling jokes either. He needs to get the fuck over that skank that broke his heart, his pity party is getting a bit tired." I know, I can be a prick sometimes, but then again if you read this blog you already know this. Anyway, through all my shit talking about "getting the fuck over it" my stupid black ass ends up getting my heart broken. I'll tell you what, God has a sense of humor, because my "period of mourning" was longer than Ron, Danny, and Shawn's put together. I was pathetic, I stayed in the house under the covers watching "Leave it to Beaver" reruns like it was the thing to do. My boys came over and got me out of the house and took me to a club, but I think I just sulked the whole time. I love those guys, because even though they chuckled continuously due to my utter hypocrisy, they didn't rub it in my face like I know I would have. I think I am a better friend now to be honest, so that is definitely a positive. But Shawn got me back though when we went to go visit his grandmother in an old folks home. She was surrounded by all of her friends and Shawn pulled out a one hundred dollar bill and yelled out, "I'll give this to the first woman that can make HumanityCritic smile, and I don't mean by telling jokes either. His pity party is getting tired!" Good one Shawn, I'll give you that.
Patrick:(circa 1983) This guy was the stereotypical bully, taller than the other kids and wasn't shy about putting you on the business end of his fist. With most Bully's it is understood that if you stay under their radar and give them what they want, you won't get messed with that bad. Not Patrick, that motherfucker used to hit kids in the mouth that obeyed his unreasonable demands. I know that currently I fear no man, but back then Patrick almost made me pee myself when he confronted me on the playground one afternoon.(I'm not going to lie, a few drops of pee DID indeed come out) I knew that fighting him would be a big mistake and I didn't want any parts of Patrick. It got to the point that thinking about ways to avoid him was a constantly in my head. Shit, I used to think about this bastard on the weekends, that's when I knew he had to go. I got my opportunity when Patrick decided that he wanted to bring his dad's gun to school to show some of his buddies. So I did what any self respecting young man would have done, I snitched on his ass. As soon as I told my teacher the principle called his parents, they came and got him, and rumor had it that he was being kicked out of school. As Patrick was sobbingly led away by his parents he turned to all of us and said, "Who told on me? Who's the tattle tale?" I wasn't going to say anything, but I figured "fuck it". So I pointed to myself, gave him a parade-like waive, and gave him the finger. I felt great, until I realized that if I might have screwed myself if somehow Patrick is miraculous let back.
This post was inspired by me flipping through a old photo album, and all the different haircuts I had during the years. These are are broken down to the year I had them, and the situations surrounded around said hairstyles. The mere fact that I admit that I had a Jheri Curl has to be the bravest act of any blogger ever.
Regular haircut:(1973-1984) My father, bless his heart, fashioned himself as a expert barber. He was a lot of things, a master mechanic, a 30 year Naval Veteran, a man that could basically fix anything, but he gave the worst haircuts in the world. The fucked up part was that until 6th grade I went to catholic schools and other private schools, so the kids there didn't really know what a jacked up haircut was. It wasn't until I started hanging with some of my public school compadres that I found out, in a not too subtle way, that my hair cut looked like Stevie Wonder was the barber. I would hear things like, "Whoever cut your hair should let you in on the joke!", or "Daaamn, Look at your head!", or my favorite, "I guarantee a girl will never kiss you as long as you head looks like a baboons ass!" The day I retired my father from cutting my hair he seemed to be disappointed, which made me feel sad for a few moments until I realized that I had a better chance getting a girl to kiss me wearing a feces necklace than to keep having that monstrosity of a haircut.
Jheri Curl:(1985-1986) Yes Ladies and Gentlemen, HumanityCritic had a jheri curl. For some reason my father really wanted the both of us to get jheri curls together, I guess he felt that a perfect way for a father and son to bond is to have extremely toxic chemicals on your scalp. I remember going through the process of getting the jheri curl, the curlers, the chemicals, the hair dryer, I felt like a car in the Indy 500 pulling over for a pit crew to work on me. After the stylists were done with us, I looked like an extremely greasy preteen and my father looked like some sort of glorified country pimp. I have tried to destroy any picture of myself from this time period, and if any of you ever discover any missing pictures I will pay you handsomely for them. Anyway, my jheri curl days ended pretty quickly due to the fact that any hairstyle that requires maintenance will soon go down in flames when the person wearing said hairstyle is lazy as fuck. Let me tell you, a unkept jheri curl ends up looking like a bunch of dried up hamster turds. This disastrous hairstyle ended with my father angrily shaving my heard saying, "You lazy motherfucker, your head looks like shit!". The funny thing is that his jheri curl was drier and looked even more cracked out than mine.
Bald Fade:(1987-1994) Getting this haircut was the best thing that could have happened to my self esteem, since having uneven haircuts from my father left me emotionally scarred for years. It kept my head cool, there were no chemicals you had to deal with, the only problem is that since my hair grows faster than my "manhood" around a think pair of thighs ,I was getting haircuts like every 6 days and shit. I had one setback during this period though, I let my father cut my hair before a track-meet. I hadn't gotten the chance to go to my barber that week, and I was about to be in a track-meet including 3 other schools who had extremely hot girls who would be in attendance. I guess I had forgotten the horrible haircuts that my father had given me so I asked him to hook me up. His face lit up like a inmate who has just been told that he is being released early, and proceeded in cutting my hair. At the time I thought he had done a great job, that was until I got laughed off the track by my teammates for having the "worst haircut ever." I was embarrassed, and since they wouldn't allow me to wear a hat during my track events I figured that I just had to endure the ridicule for the next two hours. The worst thing about that day is that my boy Ron taped that track meet, and even today he plays the tape for his friends for a good laugh. The best thing about that day is I got my best time in the 100 meter dash ever, a time of 10.5, not bad for a dude under 6 foot. But that was probably due to the fact that I didn't want anyone to see my fucked up haircut. After that it was back to getting a bald fade, that was until 1994 when I decided to change hairstyles due to the fact that people kept asking me if I was in the Navy. I don't know why that irritated me so much but it did.
Nappy Afro:(1994) After the bald fade I decided to grow my hair the fuck out, and that's exactly what I did. I remember my Afro absolutely scaring the shit out of my mother to the point that she actually offered me money to cut it immediately. I quickly realized that you become more threatening to people rocking the nappy fro, equipped with the Afro pick with the black fist as the handle. I remember treating my hair like a woman(No, not throwing money on the dresser and telling her to leave immediately..) with care and the necessary attention. The weird part about my Afro is that I always kept it edged up, but I never, never, ran a pick threw it. It was like the sides were all clean but the top of my head was absolute chaos. I loved this haircut, but I had to switch up because being that I never ran a pick through it, the top started to get matted and deadlock naturally. Fuck that!
Dreadlocks(1995-present) When I first entered my cousin Roland's hair salon I knew that I wanted dreadlocks. I have to be honest though, the process of him picking through my matted mess in order to blow out my Afro was quite the experience. After it was fully blown out it, it wasn't even an Afro any more, it was more of a black cloud. He proceeded in locking my hair and I have had locks ever since. The positives to having locks: 1.Female attention 2. Not having to run to the barber shop every few days 3.Fooling people into thinking that you are "coffee-shop" just to reveal that I am as perverted and vulgar as a guy with a perm. 4.Did I mention the female attention. The negatives to having locks: 1. People randomly coming up to you and pulling your hair. 2.Dumb questions like "Do you wash your hair?" or "Are those braids?" 3. Every stoner in the world thinking that you have weed on you 4.It's harder to start fights because you are always scared that the other guy will do a bitch move and pull your hair and 5. People mistakenly thinking that you are a Rage lover. My friend thought that something I told her Saturday was the quote of the week, so here goes: "You know your hair is getting too long when you have to adjust you locks in order to wipe your ass"
The other day I was having a intense conversation with my therapist, um I mean, my buddy about something very interesting. Based on the fact that I have so many episodes of rage from the stories I talk to her about, and the fits of rage I document on my blog which she reads, she thought it would be therapeutic to talk about the things that I am scared of. At first, when she mentioned this, I couldn't think of anything I am scared of. See, like I have said before, I lack the ability to be scared of any person. Not trying to sound like a tough guy who can't be beat, I know I can get my ass kicked like anyone else, I have always lacked the ability to be scared of a person that's all. When I expressed this to her she gave me a "what are you an asshole look" look as she said, "You don't have any inanimate fears?? Come on HumanityCritic!" I got to thinking, so here are a few.
Heights: The sad thing about this fear is that it seems to be getting worse with age. Granted, if I have to get on a plane I will, I'm not that scary. But the first time I knew I had an issue with heights was in High School when I took my girlfriend to one of those local makeshift carnivals that comes to your town. Anyway, she had just seem me fight a kid in the cafeteria in her honor a few days before so in her eyes I was her "knight in shining armor" and shit. We get on this ride called "The Spider", where each compartment that you are in is suspended high off the ground, and it spins out of control. About 2 seconds into the ride I knew I was in trouble, trying to play it off as best as I can. Then I couldn't contain my fear any more, I started screaming like a woman in a slasher flick as I grasped my girlfriends arm as tightly as Lois Lane did when she flew with Superman. When the ride ended she gave me a look of disgust, as if she had just found out that I possessed female genitalia or something. 
Snakes: I think my fear of snakes was amplified when I was in grade school and a person from the local zoo brought one in. While the kids were petting this enormous snake, that reptilian motherfucker started bugging the fuck out and slithering like it was hopped up on crack or something. Most of the kids were reasonable, simply just running out of the room. Not me, I not only ran out of the room but I ran about 2 blocks down the street. To add insult to injury, I forcibly made my point known to the principle and my teacher that I wouldn't set foot back in that classroom until that animal trainer had left the premises. I was a strange kid.
Clowns: I don't know if I'm scared of clowns or just extremely irritated. It's funny, because I had a friend who was horrified by snakes and I used to give him shit about it constantly. But something funny has happened over the past 3 years, whenever I see a clown I get irritated and downright testy.
My brother's "hanging attire": My brother is 11 years my senior and I love the guy, no doubt about that. Also, what I am about to explain to you isn't exactly a "fear" but the sight of what I am about to explain to you guys actaully keeps me up some nights. My brother, whenever we stay in the same residence,(due to a family outing, etc) not only walks around with his shirt off but either walks around in his drawers, or some extremely tight short shorts. I couldn't tell you how many times I have told him, "Put some fucking clothes on before I kick you in the chest, no one wants to see that shit!!" But I would have been better off just staying silent, because he does it even more now based on me being critical of him. This one time I could have sworn that I actually saw one of his butt-cheeks because the shorts were so tight, fucking disgusting. I could understand if my brother was a flamboyant gay man, or one of Madonna's dancers or something, then maybe I could be more accepting of the fact he wears "nut huggers". I even bought him a shitload of sweat pants and baggy shorts and said, "Here, this is my gift to you. No one wants to see ANYTHING riding up your ass, do it again and I will choke-slam you motherfucker!" That's what I call brotherly love. Even typing this makes a brother nauseous, so let me stop now.
My Mother Leaving this Earth: This is extremely difficult to talk about, I would even guess that this is the hardest thing I have written about this far. My mother means the world to me and I love her so much. She not only has constantly believed in me from day one, but her advice has always been spot on. A guy couldn't have asked for a better mom, and the mere fact that she knows who De La Soul and Big Daddy Kane is should make her a candidate for mother of the century by far. When I think about the days when she won't be around any more it truly scares the shit out of me. Shit, I went on a 6 month alcohol induced suicide mission over a man that said "You ain't shit" constantly and crippled my self esteem for years to come, just imagine when I lose someone who has been an absolute Ray of light in my life. I think the reason for my bad relationships, beside me being an absolute asshole, is that my mother set the bar so high concerning women that it is hard for anyone to compare, which is unfair, I know. If you are reading this mom, I love you, I promise that I will try to walk away from fights, and the therapist you recommended me too is robbing me blind!!
I know that I have my faults concerning phone etiquette(Not calling people back, etc.) but some things absolutely irritate me when it comes to the fine art of "reaching out and touching" somebody. Granted, I don't want to bludgeon someone with a receiver or strangle them with a phone cord or anything, these are just random things that irritate the piss out of me.
If you call, say something you savage!: Ladies and Gentlemen,(holding up a candle) my name is HumanityCritic and I am an asshole! I have admitted that fact from day one, but I cherish my friends and try to treat them with the utmost respect. Now, I have a friend named Quincy who is truly a nice guy who wouldn't hurt a fly. The problem is that when he calls me he doesn't say anything, at all. For example: (Phone rings) Me: Hello Quincy: Hey HC what's up man?? Me: Chillin', just trying to figure out if I can market my 2 minute porn flicks to the public Quincy: Cool (Then there is a extremely long, painful silence) The next few minutes is mixed with me manufacturing conversation and trying to get off the phone immediately. It's funny, I have no problem hitting some random asshole with a chair or telling some miscellaneous woman that her private area smells like roadkill after she rudely dissed my friend, but I can't bring myself to tell Quincy that his calls are as boring as a Oaktown 357 reunion album.
I don't want to talk to your fucking kid!: Ladies, I respect the fact that many of you are single mothers, holding down the fort responsibly and with grace. I also understand that your child comes before any man, and whoever you date has to understand that. That being said, I don't want to talk to your fucking kid. It always happens, while I am trying to negotiate a deal to "bump uglies" later that night, the woman goes, "Hold on HumanityCritic, my baby wants to talk to you!!" (Rolling my eyes) I say, fighting back a tone of irritation, "OK, sure" See, if the kid is a certain age then we can have a somewhat decent conversation where they could express certain things articulately, and answer certain questions that I have.(i.e How many dudes come and visit "mommy" during a 7 day period?..and, Do you usually hear moans from "mommy's" room the first time a guy visits? You know, shit like that.) But most times the child just learned to talk, so the conversation usually goes like this: Me: Hey little man, how are you doing? Kid: hello Me: How are you doing? Kid: Huh, hello Me:(frustrated) I'm going to know your mother in a "biblical" sense! Kid: Hello Me: Don't tell your mommy, but I plan on folding her up like origami. Woman's voice: I had you on the speaker phone asshole!! Don't call here again motherfucker!! Fucking kids.
Can't they see you are on the phone!: I don't know about any of you, but if someone tries to have a conversation with me while I'm on the phone, I tell the person to wait until I'm off the phone or I tell the person that I'm on the phone with that I will call them back. I can't tell you how many times I have been talking to some woman on the phone and her no good, lonely as hell, agenda of cock-blocking friend tries to talk to her about the most asinine shit while I'm on the phone with her. I dated a woman named Terry who was pretty cool, but it seemed that her friend "A Fish Called" Wanda(as I called her) would always be over her house interrupting our convo. Here is a sample conversation: Me:Isn't Bush a motherfucker Terry: He sure is, how could he appoint that asshole John Bolton. That motherfucker..hold on HC..(talking to Wanda)..yeah girl, that skirt would look so good on me, but I want it in another color though.(back on the phone with me) OK, what were we talking about? Me: John Bolton Terry: Right! He was known to throw tantrums and..hold on..(talking to Wanda) That's right girl, he ain't shit. Looks like Star Jones husband should be on Queer Eye and shit. ME: TERRY!! Doesn't that dirty peasant have a home or something?? I'll call you later. That shit is just downright frustrating, but I got Wanda back though. I saw her in a club sometime back, on the bottom of a pile consisting of a couple women stomping her like they were trying to make wine. I could have easily got the women off her, but then again I didn't want to interfere.
If you know how I am, don't have me on speakerphone Jackass: Depending on the woman, and the shit she will let me get away with, my phone greetings can be a little vulgar. I had dated a woman that wanted me to call her a "Senora blowjob" because of her prowess with the almighty "mouth hug". I did just that, I would even address her as such when I talked to her on the phone most times. So why did she get mad at me when she called me on speakerphone, with her mother in the car, and not only let me call her "Senora Blowjob" but let me go on a 30 second salvo about me physically giving her "pearl jewelery". She was pissed, and her mother grabbed the phone and gave me an impromptu lecture on how to talk to a lady. I usually respect my elders, and I should have just let her finish cursing me out, but during her diatribe she called me one too many "degenerates" for my taste. So I said, "Ma'am, ask your daughter who wanted me to call her "Senora Blowjob"? Wait a minute, isn't you daughter 27? If you haven't come to grips with the fact that your daughter is freakier than Rick James on a three day crack binge, that's on you lady!" Let's just say I never saw "Senora Blowjob" again, but her silly ass knew better than to put me on speakerphone.
Think Before you leave a message: I have been known to leave silly messages, from singing the theme song to the "Beverly Hillbilly's". or quoting a line from "Juice" where Tupac goes "Riverside Motherfucker!!" I'm not really talking about that childish behavior, something even more embarrassing. If you ever are hurt by a boyfriend or girlfriend, try to actually talk to them on the phone or face to face. The last thing you want to do is leave a seething message, or a message where you are sobbing while expressing your undying love for them. Being 31, I thought that this practice was long and gone amongst people my age, until a friend of mine played the message of her ex-boyfriend crying and saying "how sorry" he was. As she played the message of this sorry son of a bitch crying, her girlfriend's were laughing and absolutely cracking the fuck up. I usually have a sick sense of humor, but I guess being a guy who has been brutally hurt before, I didn't find anything funny about that. Later that night I went to a friends house to play pool, then he wanted to play me a message of his pissed off ex. Her message went something like this: "I know you are cheating on me, and if you are I will castrate you! I will burn your fucking house down, then I will let some guys out of prison hold you down and make you their bitch. I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HAAAAATE YOOU! AHHHHHH!!" Now that's some funny shit, I know, I'm a hypocrite.