I have to admit something that will probably lose me street credibility amongst members of my fellow male species. I have to be the only straight male in existence that has dreamed about his wedding day since he was a kid, sad but true. I used to think about how beautiful the proceedings would be, my fictitious wife standing there in a pose of elegance, even making a wish-list of people who I would invite to my life altering celebration. Now that I'm older, the vision of my wedding has changed a bit, I see having a old school "hip hop" theme where you could only get in if you wear clothes from the golden era of Hip Hop.(1986-1992) But realistically I know whoever I marry won't be with that idea, so I will probably find a happy medium and start a life long habit of buckling like a belt to my wife's requests. But there are some things that I do see for my wedding undoubtedly, like having a kick ass reception, telling the DJ that if he plays one wack song that I will hit him over the head with his own equipment, and I can see myself mercilessly beating the breaks off of any ex-boyfriend of my wife's who wants to ruin the festivities by expressing his "undying love for her" and how much of an "asshole" I am.But my visions of wedded bliss are always interrupted by a splash in the face of stone cold reality, if I want to have a successful marriage there are some changes that I have to make. I'm not talking about changing any serious personality traits, just certain quirks that might have my future bride running for the hills faster than Julie Andrews in the "Sound of Music" with a crack habit.
1. My Temper: I subscribe to the school of not bragging about things that you "should" do or "shouldn't" do in the first place, but be clear that I find violence against women deplorable and a act that has never crossed my mind. Any of you that have read my blog for a few moments know that I have been seeing my therapist for my anger issues, and I really think that I am making progress. Lately I have avoided situations that usually I would have punched men for, and when I walked away from said situation I didn't regret it. I figured to myself, "If I can walk away from certain situations by myself, I can surely do so around a loved one keeping them out of harms way." Right? Wrong. I was recently somewhere with a beloved elderly family member of mine, and she accidentally bumped into a young woman while coming back from the bathroom. This family member, apologized profusely, but the chick she bumped in to called her a "old bitch" and acted like she wanted to fight this elderly member of my family. I could actually hear the young lady in question, and her chickenhead friend continuously talking shit from their table behind us. Enraged, I grabbed my pitcher of beer, walked over to their table, and poured the contents all over them screaming "Look what you dime-store whores made me do!!!!" I had totally forgotten who I was with as I demanded one of their boyfriends to "Do something!!" Yeah, I have to work on my temper before I tie that not.
2. My pornography Stash: OK, I wouldn't say that I have a criminal amount of porn, but when you open up the cabinet of DVD's exposing said porn a bright light shines through, and all you hear is loud choral music blasting. Being single for so long, pornography has unfortunately become a trusty pal, being that crutch when some hot piece of ass wants to be with me but she is probably more diseased than that monkey in outbreak.("Chasing Amy" reference) Porn to the rescue! But in all seriousness, I don't really see getting rid of my porn supply as being a problem, as long as my future wife doesn't mind laying down with a dread-locked blogger, willing to give her the most fantastic 2 minutes and 4 seconds of her life.
3: My flirting Ways: Flirting, since being a single man, has been as natural for me as breathing or hating black republicans. Being that I'm single, there isn't really any harm in it, just I know that it might be a hard habit to break once I decide to get married. Let me explain how ingrained in my DNA flirting is to me: Last week, I was sitting at a bar when this lady told me that she wanted me to be her personal "chocolate kiss" that she could "taste" whenever she wanted. This lady was old enough to be my mother, and looked like she moonlighted as a Treasure Troll, I still talked shit to her just to entertain myself.(Being a chubby kid, it is hard to deny compliments, regardless where they are coming from) I remember being at the free clinic to get a yearly Aids test when I was in college, and flirting with a woman who worked there. She gave me a "I don't know why you are here, you could have a plethora of diseases for all I know" look, but I kept on talking like I actually had a chance.
4. No more strip clubs: I know I have talked about how bad strip clubs are, a couple of times, but I have to expose my hypocrisy and admit that I secretly love them. I know that the women there will lie to me to get more tips, I know I will hear "I'm only doing this to get me through school" a million times, I know all the reasons why I should detest strip clubs. But I realized the other day that I have a 14 year old boys obsession with strip clubs, in a "look, boobies!" sort of way. It's pretty primal, but I just enjoy seeing naked women dance around within a 20 yard radius from me, sick but true. So, I'm pretty sure that whoever I plan to hand my nuts over to won't want to hear my eloquent reasons why I enjoy coming home with glitter all over my body.
5. My child rearing beliefs: I sincerely believe, because I was shown how "not to" do it, that I will be a great father. The only problem is that I know for a fact that I will think that my offspring will be the best child to have ever existed, and that any other kid will be intellectually inferior to mine. My gut feeling has me trying to meet their friends, even at a young age, and if those krumbsnatching bastards know all of the words to a Hip Hop song but can't spell their name, they aren't hanging around my blessed child. Wanting them to have an advantage ahead of all the other simpleton children, I can actually see myself teaching my child life lessons at age 3 and shit.(not to mention me wanting to play Mozart, Miles Davis, Public Enemy, Nina Simone, and Jimi Hendrix at my wife's belly while she is pregnant) OK, I'm psycho, but I would have to relax my parental techniques before I decide to spend my life with someone, but can't you just tell that some kids are going to be life long criminals or bottomfeeders? Ok, I'll stop.
6. Be nice to her friends. I have a horrible history of being an absolute shit-heel to the friends of women that I have dated. Granted, if you are cool with me I will be your friend forever, but if you ever say some slick shit about me or to me you will be on my lifelong shit list. Why is it always the women who haven't had a man since the theatrical release of "Police Academy" that want to give someone relationship advice?? Shut the fuck up!! Also, when I get mad at people I tend to let confidential information slip out when I am going completely off. Like this one time that a friend of a girlfriend said that I "wasn't shit", so I said: "That's why you went to Cancun and let 5 guys run a train on you, and your silly ass came back home and wondered why you "suddenly" had the clap". My girlfriend at the time was appalled that I let that slip, so you can imagine how pissed her friend was. But now that I'm older, I realize that I will have to make compromises with the friends of my wife, whoever that may be.
7. When I can't sleep, I drive: I have horrible sleeping habits, and many nights I find myself tossing and turning unable to fall asleep, so I hop in my car and drive around for an hour or so. This behavior might confuse women in the same way Star Jones' husband is confused about his sexuality, but it relaxes me and when I'm done I sleep like a baby. Women might feel that that habit isn't really a difficult one, but I am pretty sure you would think different if you woke up at 3 in the morning and your man was nowhere in sight. Yeah, I might have to change my habits just a bit.
The other day, as I sat in the office of a dude who has shown interest in publishing a book that I had just completed, I found myself in serious daydream mode. Even though I have had the same recurring daydreams since I was 15, either involving me scoring the winning basket of the NBA finals by dunking on someone, me rocking a stadium full of people with my "viscous rhymes", or being interviewed by Oprah as she calls me "The best actor ever", this particular daydream was a bit different. The daydream that I had this particular day, as I stared unconsciously at the legs of a miscellaneous receptionist, was one where I was stuck in a sort of "Buddy Cop movie" hell. Since I played "the black guy" in each scenario, excuse the piss poor Chis Tucker, Eddie Murphy, and Danny Glover impressions.
Movie Title: "Rush Hour 3: What is the fucking Rush anyway??"
Movie: "Lethal Weapon 5: "Passion of the Riggs"
Movie: "48 hours 3: 72 hours??"
The past few weeks I have been visiting my friend Roger in a rehabilitation program he is in for his drug and alcohol addiction. He is turning his life around and I couldn't be happier, he is a great guy and I wish him the best. I'm just glad that he isn't still mad at me for my behavior last week when I visited there. What did I do exactly? Well, for one thing while I was talking to Roger I forgot where I was exactly, and started talking about a wild night that I had where I got "drunk as fuck" and seriously contemplated going home with two Jamaican strippers. Oh Yeah, I sort of openly invited one of the counselors out for a "couple of drinks", which is bad enough based on where I was at, but she is also a recovering alcoholic. Lastly, as Roger showed me pictures of him with various other recovering alcoholics, he related a story where a woman in one of the pictures talked about how she "would have slept with a guy if he bought her a drink". Quickly I patted Roger on the back and said, "That's useful information dude! If I ever see her out and about I will buy her a few drinks and wait for those panties to drop!! hee-hee" Roger paused, shook his head and said, "That is my new girlfriend, show some bloody respect for Christs sake!" Yeah, pretty bad. But like any good friend with an asshole for a friend, he quickly forgave me and asked me to post the following rant about the "various types of drunks" there are based on a letter that I had sent him. I think that is what he requested, I could barely hear him over the chants of "You are an alcoholic!! You should be here!!" coming from the people who were pissed from hearing my stories of drunken debauchery.
The "Happy" Drunk: I would say that I definitely fall into this category, despite the many stories that I have provided on this blog to the contrary. The Happy drunk says it all, a person who gets supper giggly and exuberant when a specific amount of spirits are ingested. I don't mind these people at all, the just usually tell some inappropriate but hilarious story, and laugh at your jokes like you are the unofficial funniest motherfucker on the earth. My old man, believe it or not, was a happy drunk. For someone who was verbally abusive most of the time, when he had a few drinks in him he was the nicest dude ever, to the point that he would express his love for me and give out money and shit. I was probably the only kid on earth that openly promoted their parents alcoholism, leaving bottles of his favorite liquor on the table for him to grab when he got home.(That kind of saddens me in a way)
The "Mean" Drunk: Please stay away from these individuals because they will hurt you or get you hurt. These people usually get "liquid courage" and want to start some shit as soon as they drink, or they want to be verbally abrasive and offend anyone in earshot. My grandmother was a mean drunk, I guess stabbing a gentlemen during a card game would be evidence of this. But this one time when I was about 10 years old she was drunk, and she called herself trying to "show me how to fight". The next thing I knew she shocked me in the mouth where my lip bled for a few minutes, since then I knew that mean drunks were bad news.(I never told anyone that story, ever, my family will be very proud to know that I shared it with a few hundred strangers before them.) Roger was also a mean drunk as well, based on the fact that one night when we were hanging out in college he started talking shit to the wrong guy and he pulled a gun on Roger. Roger stood there frozen, and when the guy put the gun back in his pocket I hit the guy right in the mouth with a pool stick. When I went to see how Roger was doing, he was literally standing in a pool of his own piss. Suffice it to say, that was the last time that Roger decided to be a "mean drunk"
The "Sleepy Drunk": Since I was a kid, I realized that I could sleep absolutely anywhere when my old man took me to see a drag race(No, not cross-dressers in a 100 yard race either) and I slept through it.(Like many of you know, it is extremely loud there) For a brief time period I was the guy that would sleep when I was drunk, on the passengers side seat, while we are eating breakfast after the club, while we are in the club, it didn't matter. I really think that my friends thought I was a heroin addict because the way I would nod off on a regular basis. There has been a couple of times where being the "sleepy drunk" has been disastrous for yours truly. The first time was during sex, the second time when the cop pulled my friend over for drunk driving and I convinced the cop that I was alright to drive the rest of the way home. Apparently, during my "convincing", I fell asleep in the drivers seat while talking to the cop.
The "Chatty fucking Cathy" Drunk: I hate to be talked to death when I'm sober, but I especially despise it when I have had a few too many. I have tried to be a better person over the past year, trying not to be too much of an asshole, but I don't give a fuck if I offend the shit out of someone who is literally talking my ear off. Some of the things I do when said "Chatty Cathy" comes around. 1. While they are talking, mid sentence, I don't care if they are talking about some serious problem they are having, I grab my beer and go to the other end of the bar. 2. I simply say, "No offense, but shut the fuck up! Thanks." 3. This is only reserved for people who I really don't like, I give them a open hand mush and say, "Go away!"( Mush: palming someones face and pushing it backwards in a truly Hip Hop fashion)
The "Crying" Drunk: This is where my hypocrisy exposes itself in grand fashion. I have always, as long as I remember, loathed these individuals with every fiber of my being. I am better now, being that I seem to cry more now than a character in a poorly written ghetto gospel play, but I used to feel wildly uncomfortable seeing another man cry. My cousin Roland cried when he got drunk, balling uncontrollably in public and private places how "no one really loved him". The shit was embarrassing, and at the time I wasn't exactly "Mr. Sensitivity", telling him to "stop being a bitch" and other mean things like that. Even worse, when he had a birthday party at a very ritzy club one year with about two hundred people in attendance, I presented him with a matching bra and panty set based on his penchant for shedding drunk tears. Fast forward 6 years, a couple of months ago, when I was on Danny's back deck crying like a girl with a skinned knee as I related upsetting childhood memories due to my fathers behavior. The next day Danny called me and said, "Bra and panty set!!", I deserved that.
The "Horny" Drunk: That's me, guilty as charged. But, because I am a huge germaphobe with a fear of getting burned like Richard Pryor on a cocaine binge, that has stopped me from entering every hole with a heartbeat and a skirt attached to it. That is probably why I drink less now, believe it or not, because I am single and there are only so many ways you can masturbate to Internet porn.(I even tried changing hands to change up, nothing.) But even if I had a girlfriend I'm sure she would loathe my lovemaking in the first place, add sloppy drunkenness to the mix and I'm pretty sure she would drop me like a bad habit. The weird thing is, for a guy who has as zero "game", the mouthpiece gets extra precise when I have been under the influence of a few malted beverages. Like the other night where I was trying to talk the undergarments off of a beautiful Cuban woman the other night, I knew this because she said "Whatever you want to do tonight Papi, I'm down with it!!" Knowing that my paranoia wouldn't let me get with a one night stand, I wanted to say: OK. How about after here we grab a bite to eat, and then.. and then.. and then I take you by a doctor friend of mines office and have you checked out for a plethora of diseases. We would wait for the results, staring in each others eyes, getting turned on by the second. When we find out you are disease free, I take you back to the spot and make love to you the only way that a premature ejaculator can!! But, in reality, I took her number and said that I would call her.
It occurred to me at an early age that I was never suited for a life of crime. I mean, of course I have had more handcuffs slapped on my wrists than a freaky dominatrix, but those situations usually involved fighting in some bar, that's all. When I was a kid I was never scared to get in serious trouble because I was a minor, as an adult I was never worried too much because if I happened to break some assholes jaw, it was because it was provoked. So basically one would be led to believe that I am a hell raising-rebel rousing dread-locked bastard who shuns rules whenever possible ,huh? Well, not really. People would be surprised(or maybe not) that any other form of criminality and the consequences behind it, through the tenure of my life, I have ran from like Paris Hilton runs from a steak sandwich. Here are some true life tales, albeit embarrassing, where the prospect of having my prostate checked in a correctional facility by men who aren't licensed doctors, scared the living shit out of me.
Gimme the Loot-Gimme the loot: When I was a teenager I had an acquaintance named Craig who was known for being a natural born bad-ass. I was known for punching some random asshole for saying some slick shit to me, Craig was known for fatally shooting people for the same reason. I wasn't particularly scared of Craig, just the trouble that surrounded his ass like the dirt cloud that surrounded that "Pigpen" character in Charlie Brown and shit. One day when I am at a traffic light I see Craig, his girlfriend, and a friend of his that looked like he should have been in a police lineup walking to some undisclosed destination. I hoped that he wouldn't see me, because the last thing I wanted to do was give these fucking deviants a ride anywhere. "Fuck!", I said loudly as Craig and his ragtag crew approached my car and asked me for a ride. I accepted, not because I was trying to help out a "friend", but because Craig was the same motherfucker who shot his cousin over a 10 dollar bet, so I was basically in survival mode. I start to take them somewhere and we are having some small talk when Craig says, "HumanityCritic, can you run us to the store before you take us home??" "No problem!", I said as we headed for the nearest 7-11. As we sit in front of 7-11 they are just sitting there motionless, staring into 7-11, not saying anything for about a whole minute. Then Craig shouts out, "Are y'all ready??! Lets go!!, then they proceed to pulls guns out and head for the store. I yell out the car, in a way that just shows that I was a novice in the age old tradition of robbery, "You motherfuckers are robbing this place!??!!" As I sit there freaked the fuck out, I start to think silly thoughts like, "Think about the street cred I will get after this!! How much respect I will get on these rough and tumble Virginia beach streets!!(Don't laugh! OK, but just a little) Then that angel appears on my shoulder once again. Angel: I know I am an Angel and shouldn't be cursing, but get your motherfucking ass out of here. You want to go to jail? because with that butt those inmate will; "fill you out like an application", do you want that?? Go! Go! GO!" He was right, so as they came out of the 7-11 I left their ass there, as they chased after my car dropping money and miscellaneous corn chips behind them. I must have driven for miles without my headlights, mainly because I didn't want anyone to see my car. Looking back I am surprised that the security camera didn't identify my car, but then we were parked on the side of the building. I kept waiting for Craig to shoot me full of holes for what I did to him, but that never happened since he pissed off the wrong guys and they treated his head like a human pinata, beating him to death.
Drug deal gone bad: When people learn that you can fight you get asked to do the silliest tasks. I was asked to be a bouncer once, but that wouldn't work because I would just be fighting everyone the whole night. I was asked to be a Bodyguard once, but couldn't really see myself taking a bullet for some untalented pop princess or some wanna-be gangsta rapper. I was asked by a bookie to do "collections" for him, but if my money isn't in jeopardy then I couldn't see myself breaking someones arm or fingers because some schmuck didn't get his. But I did agree to something that I regret, being there for a friend who was selling a "Cheech and Chong" amount of marijuana to a very shady individual. My friend informed me that he needed my help, that the guy he was dealing with had his own "muscle", and he gave me a handgun just in case something happened during the deal. The whole thing seemed like a foolish decision on my part, I have the wrong temperament, and me and handguns don't mix the same way "soap" and "Courtney Love" don't really go together. But because the guy is a friend I went against my better judgment and went along. We meet this asshole that my friend is selling a duffel-bag full of weed to and the shit seems suspect immediately. For one thing, the guy's muscle kept looking around nervously, and the guy was stalling with small talk instead of handing my friend his money quickly. Well I am a paranoid person by nature, so I tell the buyers "muscle", "Get your fucking hands out of your pocket!!" The buyer looked at my friend and said, "tell your boy to calm down!" as his muscle inches closer to me. I'm not into drug deals, I am a suburban black bastard and what I know about "street life" could fill a fucking thimble, so I just got out that gun and hit that guys "muscle" with it as hard I could. He hits the ground and I go through his pockets and grab his weapon, all this while hyperventilating because of being in a unfamiliar situation, and tell the guy "Just pay him the fucking money already!!" The guy does and me and my friend are on our way, driving off as fast as possibe. He then turns to me while we are driving off and says "It was going OK, why are you still paranoid??" Still holding the gun that he had supplied me with, I accidentally point it at him and say, "It's not like I know anything about the drug game, I'm from Virginia Beach for Christs sake, not Compton!!" He balls himself in the passenger seat because of me mistakenly pointing a loaded firearm at him, so I lower it and say "My bad" Lets just say that that was the last favor he asked of me, ever.
Good Cop-Bad Cop: Because my penchant for extremely loose women and potent marijuana, during college I used to frequent a residence that we all affectionately called "The Smoke House". "The Smoke House" was my main hangout everyday because of the women that would be there giving up their bodies like suicide bombers, and because I stopped a guy from beating up one of the drug dealing owners of the residence, it meant free marijuana. I never thought about all the people who came in and out of that place, and how "hot" it was police wise, I just knew that that place was a piece of unadulterated heaven to me. I guess the police were monitoring that place for a while, on some surveillance type shit, because the cops picked me up as I walked to class one day. They knew who I was, told me that they saw me frequenting that place regularly, and wanted to ask me some questions. I was scared shitless as I sat in the back of their cop car, but I had seen one too many cop shows to know to say, "Fuck y'all, I wanna see my lawyer!!" They ignored that, and asked me if I knew about the heroin that my friends were peddling out of there. Even though that was news to me, primarily because I just thought they served bud, but I said, "I don't know what you fuckers are talking about?" They then said that they would find something to charge me with if I don't tell them what they wanted to hear, but I knew that they were just talking shit so I giggled a little at them. Then, in a move that I have seen on shows like "Cagney and Lacey", "Hill Street Blues", and even on an episode of "21 Jump Street" once, they proceed to tell me that people that I considered friends have eluded to the fact that I am the drug dealer. They said that my friends had ratted me out and that "I would be facing major time". Even though I knew it was standard cop bullshit, I was getting scared, scared shitless actually. As they lied their ass off all I could think about is prison, and how I didn't want to go to jail for some motherfuckers that I hardly knew. On the outside I was cool as a fan, giggling like a bad-ass to the cops and their threats, inside I was about to cry like a teething child, about to sell my mother down the river if it meant avoiding the "big house". Right when I had head enough, right when I was about to give up everything from names to birthdays to Social Security number to the drug dealers "pet peeves", the cops said "Get your ass out of the car, we're done with you!" I stepped out the car and defiantly said, "Fucking pigs!! "Thinkin' every ni**a is selling narcotics!!!"(NWA reference) As soon as the cops turned the corner I dropped to my knees and began to throw up, violently, for about 15 minutes. It just seems that I am not suited for a life of crime I guess.
When it comes to my family, my therapist, and some of my close friends, an ever running motif coming from them is the phrase ,"Just let it go man", in my direction. Don't get it wrong now, if you are a friend of mine or part of my family I find it easy to let things go because of my love and respect for them. But anyone else, if they spite me in any way, I have always found it difficult to let things slide, even as a kid. I have found myself being the bigger man and walking away from an asshole who talked shit one time, only to see him a week later, mumbling to myself, "I hope that motherfucker doesn't take my kindness for a weakness. I should go over there and punch him in his face just on General Principle." Yeah, it's that bad. But recently I've discovered that "Letting shit go" isn't only exclusive to someone being disrespectful to me, sometimes its hard to let go of some embarrassing situation that I put myself in the middle of. Here are a few examples.
Watch what you say: A few months ago I wrote about a day that I had in 
Next Door Neighbor: I have been trying my hardest to mend the tension between myself and my next door neighbors. Yes they are a pain in the ass, yes they constantly cut 4-5 lines into my property, yes the wife's hairstyling salon in their garage is a goddamn nuisance, but I thought I would play nice despite that. The husband and myself have chatted a few times recently, we got back on the right foot I guess you can say. That was until the day I drove by his house and waived to him out of my car window. This motherfucker gave me a uber fast hand waive as to signify he was saying "Whatever motherfucker, beat it!" I figured maybe he was having a bad day, I wasn't getting mad yet. Later on that day I went to run some errands, came back and waived at him once again to see what he would do. This jackass did the exact same thing, only this time with more of a disgusted attitude. "That motherfucker is lucky that I don't go over there and beat him over the head with his daughters wagon!" I thought, fuming at the disrespect. The next week or so was spent feeling disrespected in the worst way, thinking spiteful shit like the 32 year old baby that I am. The other day when he approached me I gave him a "What in the fuck do you want" look on my face. I was pretty embarrassed when he said, "Sorry that I was quick with you the other day, I was in a argument with my hateful, bitter ass mother-in-law. My fault man." In a supreme act of hypocrisy, I shook his hand and said, "Man, I didn't even notice. It's OK." I am shameful.
Childhood Bully: When I was a kid, maybe 6 or 7, there was a kid that tormented me named Tyrone. He must have been 15 or so at the time, and he was extremely cruel to me, smacking me in the face and making my life a complete nightmare. Come to think about it, I honestly feel that Tyrone was the last person who I was physically afraid of. As time moved on he moved out of my neighborhood, and by the time I learned how to fight back Tyrone's whereabouts were unknown. But I have always remembered how he made me feel, and I had like a "Kung-fu movie" vow to beat his natural black ass if we ever crossed paths again. Well, we crossed paths a few months ago. I have a friend who is a real estate agent who invited me to a party she was throwing with some other people in her field.(Let me tell you, real estate agents really know how to party) Anyway, one of the guys she works with is named Tyrone who turns out to be a really nice guy. As we are chatting it up, and we figure out that we lived in the same neighborhood at the same time, I finally realize that this is the motherfucker who beat my ass as a kid. This was the imbecile who I had been thinking about all my life, the guy that I have been on a sort of a David Carradine "Kung-fu-walking the earth" type of quest trying to find. When I asked him if he remembered me, he didn't. I pressed him if he remembered bullying me, again he had no recollection. I so wanted him to be an asshole so I could lay his ass out, lay his ass out for the adult I am who has anger issues and just wanted to hit an asshole, and hit him for that scared 7 year old who was terrified on a daily basis because of his bullying tactics. But the guy was so nice and kind, my pugilistic fantasies would not see the light of day. I secretly hope I see him again and he says some slick shit, but that's just me. I know, "Just let it go man", I agree.
A Tale of 2 Blog Trolls: I was telling 
Believe it or not, I have no problem admitting when I'm wrong. When my ex-girlfriend played a then Unknown sample tape in my car of a new artist named "Eminem", I went into immediate "hate" mode because the impression of white rapers that Vanilla Ice had imprinted on my misguided brain. After hearing a few bars of the Michigan MC, I had to turn my frown upside down and admit that the rapper in question had undeniable skill. My bad. When a friend of mine suggested that I see the Rockafella produced "Paid in Full" I openly scoffed, telling them that any bastard that put out a monstrosity like "State Property" can never make a decent movie. When I saw it I was surprised, it was a pretty decent flick. My bad. So when I heard that The Source magazine had given Lil Kim's new album, "Naked Truth" 5 mics I knew that either it was a typo, or Lil Kim must have given that reviewer one hell of a hummer.(..and I don't mean the vehicle either)
It seems that Rosario forgot about my innocent obsession with her that she described as "scary as fuck", disregarded that silly "restraining order" and decided to take my advice from my letter that a friend described as "stalkerish" and 
I don't know about any of you out there, but I have the horrible habit of falling asleep with the television blasting. Granted, I fall asleep faster when it is on because of the fact that I find noise comforting, but there are definitely negatives to leaving the T.V on when you travel to dream land. Like this one time I fell asleep watching a profile of a serial killer, I had a dream where that crazy motherfucker was chasing me around my city with a machete, I almost wet myself. This other time I guess I had dozed off watching "The Crocodile Hunter", but in my dream I just ran and screamed like a woman in a horror flick as the host shook his head in shame. The following post is a fictitious take on what it would be like to live beside a television family, based on the time I fell asleep watching "Married with Children"
The Cosby's: The family that I moved next to is pretty nice, I think the wife is a lawyer and the husband is a Doctor or some shit. All of the kids seem nice, but I have had my eye on that Denise for a while now. I know she is only in High School and all, but she looks like a bona fide freak! I almost got with her too, but for some reason she ran out of the room when I put on some Lenny Kravitz for "mood music", she is indeed a strange one. Whenever we are chatting it up on my stoop her father quickly comes and drags her ass in the house and mumbles something incoherent under his breath. Yeah, ever since he caught me smoking week in my car outside the crib he has been damn near unbearable, yelling at Theo to bring his "ignorant ass in the house" when we are throwing the football around. Dr. Cosby is a good brother and all, but he called himself giving me a lecture about "responsibility" the other day and when I mentioned that I had went to a speech about that same topic by Michael Eric Dyson he damn near lost his mind.(What's his problem anyway?) Besides that they are pretty cool neighbors, nothing really strange there, except for the fact that every time they have me over all they serve is Jello fucking pudding.
The Bundy's: Al has to be the coolest guy ever, shit, he is my partner when we go to strip clubs and harass the local women of ill repute. The problem with hanging with Al is that he is always broke, and because of his dead end profession he always smells like feet. His family is alright, Bud is my weed hook-up so I obviously don't have any problems with him but Kelly is another story. I warned my boys about Kelly's "promiscuity", but they ignored me and had sex with her anyways. Now they all have a purple and blue rashes, and even the best doctors in the country don't know what the fuck it is. Al's wife Peg is cool, but she keeps pinching my ass in front of Al and calling me her "favorite chocolate blogger".(The weirder thing is that Al gave me permission to "Hit that", as he so succinctly put it) Overall I have no major complaints about The Bundy's, even though I found it quite disturbing when I found them going through my trash for food last week.
The Ingles: What are these fuckers, Amish or something?? They don't own any cars, they have a small animal farm in their back yard, and the father of the family looks like the guy who starred in the T.V series 'Highway to Heaven" and shit. They are nice enough, but if I hear the question "What are those long black strings hanging from your scalp my negro friend?" I think I'm going to snap. I have told them that they need to get a car for better transportation, but those fuckers insist on going everywhere with a horse and carriage. Which leaves another problem because they have my yard littered with tons of horseshit, which I may add is a terrible scent when you have a lady over. Now that Mr. Ingalls' daughters are getting older, I think its time for them to ditch those long ass dresses and start wearing some skirts, or something more revealing. When I suggest this to the young women they seemed interested, but when their father got wind of my devilish plan he gathered up a witch hunt and had about 30 people outside my house holding torches. I think it's time for their ass to move.
The Adams Family: Maybe I was drunk, or smoked a bad batch of weed or something, but I could have sworn that I saw a human hand crawl inside their house last night. That family scares the shit out of me, and there are good reasons behind that. For one thing all they wear is black, in the winter or summer, black. When Gomez was working on his monstrosity of an automobile this summer, in 95 degree heat he had the nerve to turn to me and say, "Whew, it sure is hot out here, isn't it HumanityCritic?" He didn't like it when I responded, "I guess so, wearing a long black trench coat and black gloves in the dead of summer tends to make it feel that way!!" His wife, Morticia, is a hot piece of "evil ass" if I do say so myself. I always wanted to try to take her away from Gomez, but I thought against it when I saw that Gomez had a collection of heads on his wall from men who tried to "pick up" Morticia.(I'm not stupid) But I must admit, Morticia has a string of freaky goth friends that I have run through since they have lived in my neighborhood. The kids are cool, Pugsly is a nice boy, but Wednesday is one smart little girl though. Her little ass somehow created a monster marijuana crop that not only grew in a day or so, but it is also undetectable from any type of urine test. There is a catch though, she wants 60% of my profits. Shit!
Dear Buddy, 
I'm not even go to lie to you, I absolutely thought I would dread watching vh1's "Hip Hop Honors" last night. It wasn't because it was cutting into my masturbation time, it was because vh1 tends to drop the ball when it comes to Hip Hop.(Actually, everyone seems to drop the ball) You think I'm being too harsh, OK, what do you think about Puff Daddy being listed ahead of greats like Rakim, Nas, KRS one and De la soul on the "Top 50 Hip Hop acts of all time" list? Yep, that's what I thought, fucking blasphemous! 
(Scene starts with HumanityCritic having many drinks with Howard Dean in a Strip Club somewhere in Virginia Beach. Both, completely shitfaced)
Last week when my therapist told me that I should stay away from violent activities I thought she was talking about not fighting or threatening anyone, not one of my favorite Sunday past-times.(I was hoping she wasn't talking about masturbation. It's not really violent but then again you have never seen me..Oh forget it) At first I nodded in agreement because it seemed like a task which was the easiest one she has asked me so far, but something told me to ask about her about football. When I hinted about Football she asked, "Do you tackle anyone?? Do you try to inflict pain on your opponent in any way, shape, or form? When I replied "yes" she said, "Then the answer would be "NO"! I tried to explain to her that Football should be an exception in this case because it is the best way for me to start off a week, and the greater good that it does to my well being. When she asked me to explain I said, "It's like if you were married and a very attractive woman makes sexual advances towards you while you are in Las Vegas with your boys." "Uh huh" my therapist said, "Go on". "Well, of course you don't have sex with the woman but you go back to your hotel room and beat off like it was an Olympic event, then that feeling of momentary naughtiness goes away. That is what football does to me, I can exercise my temper demons and be pretty well mannered the whole week." She paused, as to really think about what I just stated, and said "You almost had me there, I still don't think you should play any type of contact sport for a while ,but tell me a few memorable moments while playing football" This is what I told her, which was actually a mistake now that I think about it.
Desperate Football Wives: Whenever we play football my best friend Danny is usually on my team because he is my main boy and he has a cannon of an arm. It's weird, for a guy who never played organized sports in his life, and hated sports when we were kids, he really missed his calling because the kid can throw. Anyway, we usually play football against different groups of guys each week, it's either some of Danny's co workers, some dudes that I know, it all depends. This one week we were playing with gentlemen that had to be in their mid-40's, they were cool and all but they started making rules to where you "could" and "couldn't" tackle them. Usually I would loathe any rules like this, but since they seemed like nice guys I agreed, even saying, "I have bad knees from playing football so I would prefer no "chop-blocks". Even though right when I said that some of the guys gave me a devilish grin, I didn't think much about it at the time and was ready to throw around the pigskin a bit. After we returned the ball after the kickoff, the first play was for me, so Danny hands the ball off to me and I run 4 yards then "Bam". Not only was I tackled which wasn't a surprise, but I looked at the tackler and said "Motherfucker you chop-blocked me!" As he grinned I realized that the whole "telling people your injuries" bit was designed for my stupid ass to find out my weakness.
Some Bruce Lee Shit: This one Sunday was one to remember, because I almost got my ass handed to me quicker than someone having breakfast with Jeffrey Dahmer. The team that was supposed to play ours didn't show up, so we were forced to play with some strangers who were in the park before we got there. They seemed pretty cool, so we started to play my favorite past-time outside of masturbation and throat-chopping black republicans. The funny thing about this game, from what I remember, is that 85% of it went pretty conflict free. But around the last 5 minutes, primarily because they were up 20 points, the other team started talking shit, relentlessly. Besides that, after I was tackled a few times the person who tackled me would shove my head down before they got off of me. I warned them, even saying "You guys seem like cool young cats, shove my head down again and we are going to have problems." 
Suzy, my hero:(picture obviously not Suzy) A year ago we were playing against some guys from my friend Mike's job, and apparently my reputation preceded me. I kept getting hints from Mike that the guys from his job "had something for me". I didn't think much about it and blew it off as just macho shit talking. Sunday comes around, I meet the other guys, nothing seemed that abnormal. Thats until I noticed that they had a girl on their team, I'm all for women's rights and everything but I didn't want to hurt her. When I decided to express my concerns the lady in question said, loudly, "Shut the fuck up Pussy, I'm probably more of a man than you!" which got laughs from everyone within earshot. I quickly said, "By the stubble on your face I don't really doubt that that much." We started playing and I must admit that I still found it hard to tackle her, that was until she tackled the shit out of me. When she tackled me I looked at her, her immediate need to get a electrolysis appointment, and her shoulders as broad as Jim Brown's in his prime I immediately wanted to question her sexuality, but that would be homophobic. But I had no qualms questioning her original gender, saying "You had to be born a man, because I suddenly feel so gentle and delicate in your arms and shit"
I get emails all the time where people ask me if I have any advice for someone starting a blog. I always answer them with a, "just do what's in your heart" response, which is sincere on my part but also somewhat bland and probably not very useful. So I decided, since I have been blogging for exactly a year now, that I would provide new bloggers with some helpful advice concerning your blog and what you might encounter over the following year. Hope this helps.
1. Write for yourself: Over the past year, being that I can be somewhat crude and ultra-violent, I am surprised that any of you ready my daily drivel at all, but I am thankful and sincerely greatful. When people first started reading my blog I made the deadly mistake, one that I hope none of you make, of writing for other people. When I found myself doing that, the blog got extremely wack(It might be wack to some of you now) and it felt like work. Now I do it for 2 reasons. 1: Because it is cathartic and I really think that it has stopped me from having the bodies of some random black republican in my freezer. and 2: To get some prime choice, USDA, Internet booty. OK, #2 hasn't actually panned out yet but did I mention how cathartic it is?
2: If you get political, Watch out: If you get political, or think like I do that George W. Bush has the I.Q of a soiled diaper, be prepared for his apologists to come out of the woodwork and attack you.(But it will increase your readership though, I suggest you try it.) I had one asshole dedicate a entire blog just to "debunk me", I had one jackass create the ultra intelligent "HumanityCritic eats cock", and not to mention the numerous death threats that I got during election time. But for the most part cowardly individuals will post anonymously, not wanting to post under their own name and expose their horseshit blog, and talk just talk shit. But I never really saw the rationale of posting on someones blog that you don't agree with politically, it's not like your 3 sentence comment will change their lifelong political perspective.
3: Beware of "Biters": When I say "biters" I don't mean women who lack the ability to give a proper "mouth hug" either. Biters:(hip hop slang) Some bastardly individual, who takes it upon themselves to copy concepts from you, or just lift entire pieces from you verbatim and act like the material is theirs. Over the past few months I encountered two individuals who had taken entire blog posts of mine and tried to pass it off as their work. (Usually, if you bitch to their blog host about it they will have their nonsense erased immediately.) Some people are less abrasive about it, you begin to see certain concepts and stylistic choices that you use that begin to be used as well. But most of the time it is hard to say someone is "biting", because we all have the same experiences and I always put that in the "Great minds think alike" category. But if someone simplys says, "I got this idea from HC" that is more than OK.
4: Monday Morning Quarterback: Feedback is always good, unless it is after sex and your lover is telling you that your lovemaking is similar to a visit to the dentists office. But for the most part I am open to constructive criticism when it comes to my blog, but at the same time you have to take it with a grain of salt as well. A friend of mine recently said, "I don't really like the direction your blog is going! You seem to be "swinging from your own sack" since you won those awards and it seems angrier." Wow, "swinging from my own sack"?(If I had the ability to "swing from my own sack" my black ass wouldn't leave the house and shit.) Well, first let me say that the person in question is a ex girlfriend who might have a agenda of hate, based on my lackluster boyfriend skills, so the source must be considered first. Secondly, I don't really get the "more angrier" angle because of the constant throat-chop references, and the angry black man rants that I constantly go on. My blog is an extension of me, so if it's angry its because I'm angry, if it more political then it's because I'm getting more political, and if its more sexual it's because it is my feeble attempt to beg for sex from any woman that finds a single 32 year old skateboarding black guy attractive. 
5.Misinterpreted Work: People are complex beings, so I can see how someones writing can me misinterpreted. But be prepared, especially when you think that you are being absolutely straightforward about something, because people entirely get the wrong impression a great deal of time. You could have an entire post about "How horrible domestic abuse is", along with a few anecdotal stories and links to help hot-lines for women and whatnot. It never fails, after that post you will have someone say, "It's fucked up that you condone beating women HumanityCritic, I thought you were different!!" What the fuck??!! I also have noticed that if you have a post about "religion" or "god", people will get the wrong impression to the point that you openly wonder if they read the piece at all. For example: I had a post where I talked about feeling funny about taking advice from people who had recently "found god", because they were so foul in their previous life. In that post I talked about how it was good that they changed their life, but thinking about a woman who used to give "mouth hugs" for money for a two year time span now giving me advice on my "loose ways" was kind of troubling. Their would always people who would comment, "Damn HC, people can't change??!!" Jesus..
6: Want privacy? Get a fucking Diary!: I know that many people, because of co-workers and such, have had to stop blogging because of some things that were discovered on said blog. Some of those situations I can sympathize with, I really can. But seriously, If you want privacy then get a diary, don't have your silly ass on the Internet where any random asshole in front of a computer screen can see your innermost thoughts. My only rule is that I don't say anything about someone that I wouldn't say to their face, which means that I have the luxury to talk about whoever I like since I am more of an asshole than Kanye West. People, whether it is family members or friends have confronted me about what I have written on my blog, but I quickly put them at ease when I say, "Don't I say those things to your face though, and did that actually happen like that?" They usually nod in agreement and keep it moving. Granted, I try not to be malicious about the people I love and care about, but if some guy that I beat up in a bar is offended because the vivid imagery I used to describe that monstrous ass whipping I put him through, then that's his problem.(How would he find my blog anyway?)
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