I have a friend named Chris who currently is dating a woman named Pat. I feel bad because when I first met her I used to joke to Chris that she reminded me of the non gender specific character on Saturday Night Live named "Pat", where everyone was always trying to figure out whether "it" was a man or a woman. It didn't help her case that she has a deep voice, a Navy tattoo on her upper arm, and she can beat Chris in a arm wrestling match.(
I beat her though, it was a bit of a struggle, I must admit) It got so bad that when we were all out together I would ask to see her birth certificate, or stare at her throat for minutes at a time with Chris watching, Pat not knowing of my immature inside joke about me questioning her gender. Well, because Karma is a bitch, Pat turned out to be cool so all my jokes about her possibly having testicles has left me feeling rather stupid. Pat has taken a liking to me, even trying to hook me up with one of her friends. Unfortunately, through a single night, I found out that this blind date was not only a kleptomaniac(
I am missing a couple of CD's), but she is also a stalker and an all around jackass to boot. Pat felt so bad about this so she did the only thing she could think of to make up for it, she gave me a month's pass to Bally's. I thought it was a strange present at first, especially considering that I already have a membership to the YMCA, but at the end of the day I figured that I would at least have something interesting to blog about. Boy was I right. Here is my month's worth of experiences at Bally's. compressed into one day.
The Weight Room: When I first entered the weight room all I could think about is how different it was to the YMCA. At the "
Y", you have individuals who you would think would be in there, overweight people trying to shed some pounds to have a healthier life. Not at Bally's, even though there are some overweight people sprinkled here and there, it was mostly people who were there to impress the other douchebags in close proximity. The women looked like they were about to audition as a extra on the "O.C." and shit, and the men, even though they looked like they hadn't taken a healthy shit since 1997, looked like muscular ballet dancers because of the extremely too tight spandex pants they were wearing. Plus, I don't know if any of you are like me, but if the music in a establishment is shitty I can't really function properly. This one time I entered a pool tournament, and I know I played horribly because they blasted country and western music the whole time.(
I guess it didn't help matters when I said, "Can you West Virginians stop fucking your sister for one minute, and turn that shit-kicking music off") The first day I couldn't help but notice that people kept staring at me. Was it because they weren't used to a dreadlocked black man being so close to them while they worked out? Was it because my "realness" oozed out of my pours, and that mere fact threatened their silicon and "Hair club for men's" world?(
Looking down at shirt) Oh, it was because I was wearing a "
I Like Bush: The Pussy not the asshole president" t-shirt, ala the great movie "Harold and Kumar go to White castle". Shit, you red stater's can be so fucking touchy sometimes.
People in the Weightroom: Jerry is a 55 year old man who looks like he should be on the cover of a muscle magazine. The guy has a heart of gold, very nice, and he was willing to show me some work-out techniques that he uses. I told you before, for some reason I am one of those people that individuals feel that they can pour their heart out to. Jerry not only told me that he hadn't had an erection in three years(
Too much fucking information), but that his wife left him and took the kids with her. Every time he mentioned his kids he started to tear up and get a lump in his throat, prompting me to give a 55 year old muscle bound freak with spandex so tight you could see the veins in his penis a hug.(
I am such a big pussy) He also told me that he is losing his house, and a whole bunch of other depressing shit. It got so bad that I actually told him,"
Fuck Jerry, I don't know if I'm working out or watching a goddamned Lifetime movie of the week. But I know I'm not watching a Lifetime movie because I don't see a woman getting her ass beaten." , which made him laugh. Even though I only did the Bally's thing for a while, I really Hope I see Jerry again.
Mark is the walking and talking reason of why I want to get married. He is 42 but he thinks that he is still 22. For one thing all he talked about was his car and his ability to pick up women. When we were spotting each other I thought I was just going to sit back and observe him, but when he pulled that
"You are pretty cool for a black guy" shit I decided to fuck with him. When he would talk for minutes at a time about women and all the sex he has I said, "
You know Mark, the only type of guys who talk about women as much as you do are either guys who aren't getting it, or gays guys who are closeted, which one are you??" He quickly said, "
I feel the same way, guys lie all the time bro." This stupid motherfucker wasn't even aware that I was insulting him, lets try this again. Later when he was talking about his car's big engine, his big house, and his "monster" big screen TV I said, "
You know when guys obsess with big things they are either trying to overcompensate for a low I.Q., or an incredibly small penis." He laughed and said, "
Yeah, that is so true." Fuck, I would love to think he was being sarcastic and choosing not to address my insults, but he actually wasn't getting it. I walked away to go upstairs to the aerobics room.
Aerobics Room: I started off on the wrong foot with the aerobics instructor before I even set foot inside Bally's. You see, when I was walking from my car to the building, a beautiful black woman passed me with roller skates on and wearing extremely tiny shorts. I meant to only
THINK this but I actually said, "
I haven't gotten an erection from seeing a black girl wearing roller skates since seeing Tootie from "Facts of Life" and shit." She turned around and gave me a "
You're such an asshole" look, a glance that I am all but too familiar with. Anyway, that ebony goddess that invokes mass erections happened to be my aerobics instructor that day. As soon as she saw me she gave me an evil smile which scared the shit out of me. We were doing that Slide aerobic thing, which I thought was so easy I actually said, "I
am going to tear this shit up!!" Ten minutes later, the only thing I was tearing up was my will to live, as I was breathing heavier than Bill O'Reilly on the phone with a staff member. She actually came around to me, whispered in my ear and said, "
You aren't so smart now!! What's wrong pussy!? Work! Work!" I should have been embarrassed, but her putting me down actually got me excited and motivated to give it all I had.(
Hope that doesn't lead to me getting a dominatrix and being her leather clad man servant.) Minutes later that was over, let me run a few laps on the track.
The Track: Let me start by saying the track smelled like a combination of a Bum's nutsack and old cheese left out on 100 degree weather. I started off jogging at first, until this 80 year old man named Abe passed me and gave me a "
You are a pathetic black bastard" look on his face. I am a competitor, fuck that, so I pushed passed people to beat this elderly fuck. I caught up to him, smiled, and raced passed him like I was Carl Lewis in his prime.(
Minus the Jheri curl, bad national anthem singing, and ultra feminine ways) I felt good, "
I used to run track motherfucker"(albeit 1991) I thought as I kept laping the old man. After I laped him a few times I caught a leg cramp that dropped like a sack of potatoes. I limped to the side and rubbed my leg to see if I could work the cramp out, then I see the old man passing my lifeless body, waiving at me like he is in a parade. To add insult to injury, each time he passed me he would say shit like "
Get your ass up son", "
You're still down?", or my personal favorite, "
I never knew a vagina could have dreadlocks." I screamed, "
Just because you wear a adult diaper doesn't mean I won't whip your ass old man!!" Let me take my wounded ass to the Pool.
The Pool: I go to the locker room and I feel like I'm in High School all over again. I never understood how some men feel comfortable walking around you, even having conversations with you while they are butt naked. I changed into my swimming trunks and this man named Brad approaches me, naked to the world, and says, "
Did you happen to see who won the Yankees game??" I swear, to be naked he was standing entirely too close to me. I quickly said, "
They won. 4 to 2.(Pointing my finger)
Go that way!!!" He comes closer and says, "
What's the matter?" I said, "
Man, if you don't carry your ass. Beat it! Scram! Get the Fuck on! Or like my uncle in South Carolina says, "Go'ne nah!!"(Which is actually "go on now", just country-fied) He looked confused and walked away. I went to the pool, considered swimming, but a few factors halted my progress.
1. Chlorine would absolutely do major damage to my locks.(
I think)
2:Even though I look uber sexy in my snoopy swimming trunks, I shouldn't over exert myself in one day.
3. I had a sudden germaphobe moment, and just evisioned all the dirty bastards who are currently swimming and probably pissing in this pool as we speak. So I grabbed my towel, went back in the locker room and tried to avoid "
let me talk to you naked while my penis is pointed in your direction" Brad, grabbed my shit and said to myself "
let me get my black ass out of Bally's!"
Drinking and Driving is totally stupid and I would never make light of something that has killed people, and has shattered lives. Even though I love to have a good time like the next guy, getting my drink on occasionally, I always make sure that I have a designated driver or call a cab when I have had too much to drink. I have also ruined friendships because how strict I am about it, even taking someones keys away from them when they are a few sheets to the wind. I know I act like Mother Superior now, but I wasn't always like this. There have been a few times where I could have risked my life driving drunk, but someone was kind enough to look out for me and prohibit me from doing so. This post is a tribute to them, it is also the specific stories surrounding their kindness.
The Strip: For anyone who knows anything about Virginia beach will tell you, getting drunk at the oceanfront is not the smartest move one can make. Primarily because the cops are extremely bored, so they will try to find any reason to put you in a illegal choke hold, or anally penetrate you with their nightstick. I had went to many of the overcrowded clubs at the strip, getting shitfaced and taking body shots off of miscellaneous women who didn't know how much of a asshole I was yet. A chick that I had known named Barbara who worked at another bar was there in attendance that night. As the night was coming to an end, I was the last person in the bar. She asked me, "Are you alright to drive home??" Trying to look sober I said, "I'm fine, don't worry about me!" She giggled, pointed towards the floor and said, "OK tough guy, walk that line for me then." Being the ultimate show off I said, "I'll do you one better, I will walk across the line doing a handstand while reciting O.C's verse in "Times Up"" She looked at her friends, they laughed and said, "Go ahead!" I got up on both hands, moved a couple of paces on my hands and started to recite the lyrics, "You lack the Minerals and Vitamins, Irons and the.." Bam!, suddenly my arms collapse, and I fall directly on my head, hard. Barbara laughed hysterically, as 3 of her friends(who I hadn't noticed were that fine until then) urgently helped me to my feet. Barbara tells me that her and her friends have a hotel room across the street, and confidently says that I will be staying with them that night. I accepted, not only because I was drunk and could have endangered others lives including my own, not only because it was late and I was also dead tired, but also because I had this strange porn fantasy of being smothered by 8 breasts, so pitching a tremendous tent in my pants(ok, not that tremendous)I agreed like any other deviant bastard would in my position. Apparently my porn fantasies were quickly dismissed as my miserable black ass fell asleep as soon as I reached the couch in their room. Fellas, you don't know frustration until you wake up 7 in the morning, surrounded by women sleeping in their underwear that you have no chance of getting to know "biblicly", because you decided to get shitfaced. So, Thank You Barbara, even though the image of half naked women and my botched opportunity will be etched in my mind forever.
Last Night A DJ saved my life: Around the time my father died I was on a destructive path of questionable women(not questionable as in "Are they actual women", but questionable as in "Are these women I should be having sex with".), criminal amounts of marijuana, and enough booze to put down a horse. Looking back at that time it is a miracle that I'm even alive, the way I used to drink and the amount of shit that I talked to any random stranger. One night I was in a bar that I frequented at the time, it was a pretty cool bar with a DJ there that I knew named Karen. I sat at the bar drinking my life away when this biker-type guy sits beside me and says, "Hey you black motherfucker, I bet you won't talk shit now!!", as he flashed his gun tucked in his belt. Apparently I had talked shit to him weeks before, but I was under such a alcohol induced haze at that time I couldn't remember. I remember not being scared, even though he had a firearm and two other bikers in tow. I said to him, "Dude, I don't want any trouble." He said, "Fuck that!", and shoves my drink off of the bar. I look at him and said, "This is not a good time for me man.", which he replied "It's the perfect time to kick your ass". I took a deep breath, stepped back, and hit him as hard as I could in his face. Enraged, I began to repeatedly slam his face against the bar, then I kick the first guy away who tried to come to his aid.(I felt like Jackie Chan and shit, albeit momentarily) Next thing I know I am squared up against all three of these guys, and the way they were looking around was like they were trying to decide whether to shoot me or not. I was fucked and I knew it, that is when I feel someone grab me from behind and take me through a backdoor I was standing near. When I turned around to see who it was I was relieved to see it was Karen. I guess the biker's thought that it was simply a backroom, but they had no idea that it lead outside where Karen's car was parked at. She said, "You were about to get killed, is that what you want??" That was one of the moments of clarity that I had concerning my destructive behavior as I said, "Yeah, that is actually what I wanted, I think." Besides the the fact that she saved me from getting killed, I was entirely too drunk to drive home in the first place. We get back to my house and talked, and she tells me how seeing me fight "turned her on", but before we had sex I warned her by saying: "I am going through a bad spot right now,this sex will probably be wack, I don't want a relationship, , and I probably won't call you." She laughed and said, "I know, no big deal". A few weeks later she had the nerve to get mad at me because the sex was wack, I didn't want a relationship, and I didn't call her. What the fuck! Anyway, thank you Karen for saving my life, even though you said the following statement a year ago: "I should have let those bikers kill your black ass, you miserable motherfucker." Ahh, Another satisfied customer.
Intoxicated at a Listening Party: I was invited to a listening party of a artist that my friend managed at the time. Even though I hadn't heard any material from the artist in question yet, I knew my friend and her taste in Hip Hop was pretty impeccable, so I knew he would be dope. I get there and they are providing free drinks, which gets a brother as hard as steel, or Pam Greer's scantily clad body in a black exploitation flick circa the 70's. But I did plan to pace myself, but being the drinks were strong as shit I felt tipsy damn near immediately. Around this time my friend's artist got on stage, and in the first 10 seconds it was evident that he was wack as hell. But then again, I should have known he was going to be wack when his name was announced, something like "MC Put a bullet-in-your-ass", or some shit like that. Frustrated, I went back to the bar and threw back a few more drinks. Even though I can sometimes suffer from verbal diarrhea, it was never my intent to talk bad about her artist, but when she came and asked for my honest opinion I drunkenly said the following: "I have heard better sounding bowel movements, that guy is horrible." She walked away dejected and I immediately regretted saying that to her, even though it was the truth. Fast forward to 1:55 when I am drunk off my ass, I see the ex-girlfriend of my friend Carlos, a girl named Marla. Marla is there on a date, the first one she had been on since she dropped my friend like a bad habit. She noticed that I was drunk and decided to not only drive me home, but make her date drive my car home. Apparently in the car I was singing Al Green songs, and incoherently telling Marla that I had a magical penis, but for some reason I couldn't tell Marla where I lived at. So Marla, not knowing what to do next, calls my boy Carlos to give her directions to my house. Keep in mind, she had just dumped Carlos so they were in that "I hate your fucking guts" period. Carlos ends up meeting his ex girlfriend that had just broken his heart, with her date in tow, to take my black ass home. In the morning I woke up tucked in my bed very neatly, not remembering what had happened the night before. The only reason I can tell this story is because Carlos told me what happened the next day, and that "I owed him big". So, thank you Marla, Carlos, and that miscellaneous date that was with Marla that night.
For anyone who reads this blog will quickly find out, there are a few things that become obvious immediately.. That I download a criminal amount of porn, I have a strange hatred for Shaquille O'Neal, and I will always love true Hip Hop. In my opinion, it is a extremely hard time for people who cherish the golden age of Hip Hop, which to me was from 1988-1992.(Not to say that there wasn't any quality hip hop after that time period) The miserable quality of current Hip Hop even has me questioning current acts of today that I like, openly wondering if the artist is actually "good" or if I only like them because everything else is so extremely fucking horrible. Even more troubling is watching my friends who should know better, and seeing them be slowly brainwashed by the pathetic current state of Hip Hop as one of them asked me, "Did you get that new Mike Jones Cd?? It is tight!" Frustrated I said, "What!!?? No Motherfucker, I ain't buying that garbage! You have to be an asshole to ask me some bullshit like that!!" That tirade might have been alright if we were alone, but I said those obscenities in front of my friend's parents and his god fearing fiance at his cookout. What can I say, I am passionate about Hip Hop.(Sorry mike) Right when I was about to go postal and absolutely lose my mind, my sanity was restored, albeit momentarily, when I discovered that there was going to be a old school rap concert this past Sunday.
Those covers are mine!: That's right, I am a complete cover hog. It's weird though, because when I am awake, ready to go to sleep, a share the covers and I am very gracious. But something strange happens as soon as I close my eyes, I take complete control of the covers like Linus from Charlie Brown, but on Steroids and shit. There have been many occasion where I have woken up, smothered with sheets, with the woman beside me naked for all the world to see. There was this one time where a girlfriend of mine tried for 10 minutes to pry my lifeless body out of some sheets that I had cocooned myself in. Another girlfriend that I had went as far as to get a staple gun and staple the sheets on her side to the bed so I wouldn't hijack them. Unfortunately I am a prick in my sleep as well, because when we woke up, the staples were violently ripped out.
Shut the fuck up: Did I mention that I talk in my sleep as well? Yes, guilty as charged. Usually, when I talked in my sleep it was just random words, like the time where I uttered, "Peanuts..Willie Nelson..Rental Cars." But there have been times when it got bad, like the time where I apparently went on a 5 minute freestyle rap session in my sleep. Or the time, as I am told, when I went on a verbal tirade as I told some imaginary person "Shut your bitch ass up!", repeatedly for a few minutes. The worst case by far, is when I accidentally called a woman "Missy" when her name was actually "Deidre".(The funny thing about that is I have never known anyone named Missy in my entire life. OK, if you count the time when I yelled at Missy Elliot "Your music sucks ass!!" in traffic because she gave me a nasty look as "knowing", then I guess you can count that.) But talking in my sleep is frustrating for a few reasons. 1: What if I was a secret agent and my black ass went and blabbed the top secret info in my sleep? 2: What if I ran my mouth while I was sleeping and told my wife what I was getting her for Christmas? 3: What if a brother wants to have sex with his intern "Lewinsky" style, I would totally tell on myself. That sucks.
Fight Club: Probably the most dangerous of all the sleeping habits is the fact that I have been known to throw punches in my sleep. Granted, I have never connected and hit a loved one, only hitting the headboard while having a violent dream, but it is some scary shit all the same. I couldn't tell you how many women wouldn't sleep with me again because of that violent outbursts of nocturnal aggression.(That's what I tell myself, because dealing with the fact that I throw weak "pole" is already damaging to already low self esteem) This one time I was dating this aspiring model, so in the morning when she tried to shake me in a violent manner, she was almost the recipient of a HumanityCritic 4 piece.(..and I don't mean KFC) The look of horror on her face was like she had just seen me murder a puppy or something, or vote republican, or like she had just seen one of those fucking ghetto gospel plays. It was that bad. The only way she would sleep with me again was if I would, in some way, tie my hands so they were unable to throw any punches during the night. So I did what any self respecting, proud black man would have done when faced with such a humiliating request: I tied my motherfucking hands! Shit, I wasn't denying myself from telling wildly inappropriate "I used to bang a supermodel" stories, my stocky ass isn't looking a gift horse in the mouth!
Nocturnal Roamer: I don't do this so much now, but in my early 20's I had a problem with sleep walking. At first it was no big deal, my girlfriend at the time would find me in the kitchen, looking in the refrigerator swaying back and forth. She would simply guide me back to the bedroom and that was that. But as time went on things got to be a bit stranger. For one thing, I would find myself in bedrooms that I would never sleep in, waking up under a desk like a fucking crackhead or something. My friends even gave ave me a "suicide intervention" one time based on the fact that my friend Calvin found me sleeping in the backseat of my car that was parked in my garage.(I still remember telling my friends, "What person who tries to commit suicide does so while sleeping in the backseat, their windows rolled up, and no key in the ignition!!") The most embarrassing sleep walking episode was when I was sleeping over a girlfriends house. I guess I thought I had opened the door to the bathroom, when in actuality I had opened her front door and started peeing on her porch. The most embarrassing part was that it was around the same time her neighbors were going to work, so apparently they got a show that morning. I don't remember any of that obviously, but I still have a scar on my arm from where the girl I was with tackled me to the ground to get my naked ass out of her doorway.
When it comes to sports, anything from basketball to badminton, I can be very competitive. I am in no way a sore loser, but I try to win every time. Example 1: When I was playing with some kids at the YMCA, showing them some basketball moves, I never took it easy on them. I didn't play them like they were grown men but I smacked their shot away, not to be a douche-bag but because I think you learn faster through adversity. Example 2: You always see romantic comedies where the man lets the woman win just to be gracious, or to get some ass later. That isn't how the HumanityCritic rolls baby! If I'm on a date, playing pool or even bowling, I try to win every time. Even though I desperately want that ass, lord knows I could use every piece of backside a brother can get, but you have to earn your wins when you are with me.(sorry, I'm just a Prick.) That being said, the following story is a true account of a day I had on the golf course, when I was asked to play with this guy who wants me to write something for his start up magazine.
Lately I have encountered people who have had a dangerous misconception concerning yours truly. People, who either meet me briefly or meet me at one of my bands shows, for some reason think that I am "cool". Let me pull back the curtain right now and say that I am "not cool", I am a huge geek and proud of it. Even though I embrace my inner nerd whenever possible, there have been times where I have done things that I am not proud of. These are instances where I royally fucked up, and wished that I could take back what I just did.
Is there a Vet in the House?: My neighbors kids had a few animals that they took care of, a couple of dogs and like three cats. I noticed how much those kids cared for those animals, constantly giving them attention whenever possible. I was also proud of the kids because like a lot of pet owners, they didn't let their animals roam free, causing havoc for their neighbors. One summer evening, I was preparing to go to a friends dinner party where this local newscaster that I had a crush on was attending. Granted, this newscaster is married, but just think if I could sway her to cheat on her husband for just one night? Watching the news would be a totally different experience for me if I accomplished that. Anyway, I was in a rush because I was running late, so I hopped in my car and started to back up. When I did I felt that I rolled over a newspaper or something, but I ignored it and went on my way. As I got down the street I noticed that I forgot my wallet so I returned back to my house. When I got to my driveway I was surprised to see a smooshed cat lying there, with blood splattered in every direction.(The shit looked like a crime scene, minus the yellow tape and police) I immediately knew I had fucked up, killing the neighbors cat. First I thought, "Shit, it is 11:30 at night, noone is looking. I can just throw that feline motherfucker in a dumpster and hose off my driveway." Then I thought, "I'll just bury that bastard, who will ever know?" But that thought was quickly dismissed being that I have seen "Pet cemetery" a shitload of times. I did what any honorable guy who just murdered the neighbors cat would do, I went over to their house with the dead cat in hand. I rang the doorbell, and when the father of the house came to the door I said, "It looks like I accidentally ran over yall's cat." The father was understanding, shit he better have been, since I could have easily told his wife about the lady he had in their crib when the wife and kids were out of the country. The father took the cat from me and the whole thing seemed like it was over. That was until the kids came down and saw what I had done. They started screaming and crying, that is when I felt like a steaming pile of shit. With all the screaming going on I thought I was in a ghetto gospel play or something, it was surreal. It got even uglier when the kids started calling me names, "You bastard!", "You black son of a bitch!" That's when I looked at the father and said, "I know your kids are like 13 and shit, but there isn't going to be too many more "son of a bitches" though." That situation was over, so I went to that dinner party and met that newscaster that I had a crush on. I guess telling a "I just ran over a cat" story isn't going to sway a woman to cheat on her husband. Damn!.
You are not Ashton Kutcher motherfucker!: I have a friend who is a amateur film maker, currently in film school. I have been in some of his short movies and he was the one that directed the skateboard video that I was in, the one that I will put on my blog next week. Apparently, for a assignment he had for school, he did a faux episode of punk'd with me being the victim. I had no idea what he was doing, so I feel a little better about my actions that night, kind of. Apparently, he had a camera set up in a car beside his, which was parked in the parking lot of a club that we were at. The plan was that during the night he would ask me to go to his car to get something for him, and when I got there, there would be a man claiming that my boy's car was his car. The plan was to capture me on tape having a hard time with the gentleman in question, I guess they thought it would be "hilarious" having me struggling with this strange man. Anyway, when I got to the car there was indeed a man sitting on my friends car. I said, "Hey man, get your ass off of my friends car asshole!" He said, "This is my car motherfucker!" Then he hops off the car gets right in my face, I guess they expected this to be the part where the man and myself argue for minutes over the true owner of the car. Instead I just hit that motherfucker, and started to hit him again when a camera man hopped out of the car beside me and said, "Stop! Stop!" Not only was I told that I was part of a bootleg version of punk'd, but the guy that I had just struck to the ground was my friends cousin. I felt bad, really bad, but they should have known how I am.
Blind Man's Bluff: I have neighbors that I am cool with, but for the most part I am anti-social as shit. A couple of years ago a new family had moved across the street, I noticed that it was a young couple, two bad ass kids, a dog, and a 30 year old hippy looking guy who was the brother of the young bride. I would come home every day and I would notice that hippy dude would be staring at me when I entered the house. I thought nothing of it at first, so I waived and said "Hello!" When he didn't respond I would say to myself, "What's his fucking problem?" Every day for a month this asshole would be watching my every move when I got out of my car, I started to get paranoid as shit. After a hard day, I came home stressed the fuck out. When I got out of my car I once again noticed the man outside, looking at me like he had a problem with me. That's when I lost it and went to the edge of my driveway and said, "Hey Buddy, what in the Fuck are you looking at??(noticing a cane behind him) What if I go over there and beat you with your....cane?" Damn, it made sense, the sun glasses, the cane, this motherfucker is blind!! On top of that he had headphones on so he didn't hear my incoherent rant, so I slowly turned around and headed to the house. Too late, the lady of the house emerged and said, "You finally figured out he was blind huh?" I responded, "Yeah, Oops, my bad!!"
Life of the party: I have to admit something, even though I say that I hate surprise parties, I actually love them. Anyway, this one year I had the same thing planned for my birthday that I have every year, alcohol and titties. My boy Ron and I went to go play pool before we went out to some club for my birthday. We shot a few games, nothing too unusual, then we went to his house since he wanted to change before we went out drinking and trying to talk to extremely loose women. I kept wanting to talk about this cute waitress at the pool-hall as we entered his house but he kept wanting to change the subject, it was weird. I was relentless, "But dude, she has a fat ass though!" Then he said, "Man, can you stop talking about that girl for at least one minute?" "Sure", I said, as he opened the door to his house. We walked down a dark hallway, quickly approaching his living room. When we almost get to his living room I blurt out, "I think I have a chance to fuck that waitress broad, what do you think?" Immediately after I say that, the lights come on and I hear about 30 people yell "Surprise!!" The problem with that is the person who had set the party up for me was my girlfriend at the time, who wasn't too pleased with my sudden admiration for the pool-hall waitress. She was pissed and embarrassed, her friends looked at me like I was scum, Ron looked at me with a "I tried to warn you" face, and the rest of my friends were laughing because they thought it was the funniest shit ever. Yep, once again I fucked up, but saying "Oops, my bad" couldn't rescue my black ass out of this predicament.
There are a few idiosyncrasies that I have that I thought that I would share with all of you. For one thing, I hate it when someone takes a drink and they let out a huge "Ahhh". I don't know what it is but that irritates the piss out of me. Secondly, people who want to talk to you while you are watching a good movie, or while a good song is on the radio. You literally want to choke the shit out of them immediately. Lastly, I have a thing where I hate to have the last conversation of the day that I have with someone be a awkward one. Let me explain. All of the people that died in my life, whether it be friends, family, or lovers, there was always a "last awkward conversation" that I had with them before they passed on.
My Father: As I have said before, in many of the posts that I have written since I started blogging in September, my relationship with my father wasn't the best. When he was in the hospital, I am ashamed to admit, I didn't see him that often because I thought any "death bed-"you ain't shit" speeches would be damaging to an already fractured individual. I saw him though, but hardly on a one on one basis. That was until one late night when I had the sudden urge to see my father. Actually, I had gone out that night and was actually shit-faced drunk when I decided to see him. When I came into his room his face had lit up like he thought he would never see me again, which made me feel like an asshole. Plus, my father was very observant, so the fact that he didn't notice that I was 2 sheets to the wind was depressing also, because I knew that he was on deaths door. We sat and talked, and for the first time ever I felt that my father wasn't judging me. We talked about sports, the women he slept with when he was stationed in Japan, his time in Long Beach, a whole bunch of shit. If that wasn't strange enough, something stranger happened. We were watching some Denzel movie on cable when he pointed to the screen and said, "You could do that! You could really do that!" "Do what?", I said. He said, "You could really be an actor! You are charismatic, funny, you have my dashing good looks! There is no reason why you couldn't be a movie star!" That was the weirdest shit he ever said to me, since he spent my entire life telling me that I "wasn't going to be shit", now he is giving me career advice? Then the nurse came in, and I grabbed one of his tubes and said, "Nurse, you might have to decrease his morphine drip! This crazy old bastard has lost it!" We all laughed, as I gave the cute nurse one of my nerdly "come hither" looks. My old man said, "Nurse, my son is a fine male specimen, he can go all night long!" That basically ruined my chances with the nurse, since she laughed, probably at the fact that I had to have a dying man set me up with somebody. A stayed a few more hours, but he was nodding in and out of sleep, so I knew I had to go. While I was leaving, astonished that I had a bonding experience with my father that I never had before, I just looked at him while he rested and he looked so peaceful. Right when I was closing the door he awoke and said, "Come back and see me son, you are always welcome. Oh yeah, and I love you! "I love you too pop.", I said as I shut the door. I did go back to see him, but he was usually knocked out while I was there. That was the last conversation that I had with him, and I will always cherish that experience.
Sheila: Sheila was one of the first women I was ever in love with. She was classy, quirky, and had a grace and style about her that is pretty much unparalleled. You know you love somebody when you fall in love with the things that pisses you off about them. I had it bad for Sheila, but there was always a ceiling for that love because she expressed to me, a plethora of times, that she didn't ever want to be married or have kids. I know they exist, but she was the first woman that I ever knew that detested the whole "marriage" thing, or "having kids" thing. But when you are in love the future is irrelevant, the only thing that matters is the present, especially when you are in love. Anyway, she was planning this cross country trip with a few of her girlfriends to California over the summer. I don't claim to be a psychic, Nostradamus, or even Ms. Cleo for that matter, but I had a bad feeling about this trip from the start. I begged her not to go, that I didn't feel good about her trip and that we could "do something else". But I think at the time Sheila brushed it off as male insecurity, she probably figured I thought she would meet someone else in Cali. But that wasn't it at all, I just had bad feelings about it. The day of the trip she said something that left my mouth wide open. This was a woman that hated the word marriage, thought kids were "crumb snatchers", so you can understand my shock when she said, "You are actually the first person that I see having a family with!". Being that she said this while looking deeply into my eyes and gently stroking my face, she was either dead serious or in desperate need of a Oscar nomination. That being said, the ceiling busted open on our relationship , and the sky was the limit. I kissed her goodbye, then I watched her get in the car with three of her friends that I wouldn't trust as far as I could throw them.(They were big girls, so just imagine how relevant that last line was) Three in the morning I was awoken by a phone call by her mother, before she could say anything I knew what had happened. I said, "Don't you fucking say it Ms. Jones! Don't you fucking dare!" The only thing she could muster out of her mouth was, "Yeah. Yeah. It was an accident, she didn't make it." I spent the next few minutes punching holes through doors, damn near breaking my hands, bleeding profusely. To make it worse, her mother sent me a note that Sheila had started writing for me while she was on her trip, proclaiming her everlasting love for me.
Buddy: I have talked about Buddy many times over the past few months, He was a good friend of mine that lost his life to some coward in a club a few months back. Anyway, Buddy was a extremely bright guy but when it came to politics it went in one ear and right out the other. He had the good sense to understand that Bush is a douche-bag, but he didn't want to involve him in any political discussions. I remember one time him having to tell me, "Shut the fuck up" as I went on and on about how black republicans might as well wear black-face. I actually think that he didn't hang with me as much based on how obsessed I was with politics around election time. That being said, you could understand my shock when I got a call from Buddy when he was at a friend of ours party. See, I was invited to a friend's party, but I was home trying to figure out if I was going to a bachelor party instead. Buddy, Calvin, and his sister all told me to come to the party but for some reason that bachelor party was a priority that night. As Buddy was on the phone, urging me to come to join in on the festivities, he started talking about politics. Not only that, he was spouting off facts, figures, and statistics, what had gotten into him?? After we talked for a few minutes he said, "OK I gotta go. You should come through man, old friends together again!" That was the last time I spoke to Buddy at length, because a week later he would be gunned down point blank in some bullshit ghetto club. Also, I am mad at myself that I didn't spend that night with my friends. The mere fact that I chose to spend that night looking at some cheap, dime-store trollop's instead of hanging with my lifelong pals makes me sick to my stomach. Rest in Peace Buddy.
If being thrown out of a club was an artform then think of me as Michelangelo, and this post the equivalent to the sistine chapel.(Well, Maybe not) Actually, the fact that I have more than a few tales of being tossed from some random watering hole is rather embarrassing, but for those who read my blog know that I have no problem breaking down the most embarrassing parts of my life.
Hillary Clinton on George Bush, "I sometimes feel that Alfred E. Neuman is in charge in Washington."
For anyone who has read my blog for all of 5 minutes, or anyone that knows me personally will tell you, I have absolutely little or no patience. This is something that I have tried to work on for years, but it seems that the end result is me being an impatient bastard. I was reminded of my "weakness" as I gave a friend of mine a ride yesterday. Here are some examples: (By all means, let me know that I'm not alone with some stories of your own)
Throwing CD's for Distance: For as long as I can remember, even before Queen Latifah did it in the movie "Set it off", I would toss CD's out of the window that I didn't care for. I know what you are thinking, "But HumanityCritic, doing that is a waste of money!", and you would be correct. BUT, I also feel that you have wasted your money anyway if you keep a extremely wack CD, and who wants to have bullshit CD's in your collection anyway? Examples: A) There is a local Hip Hop group that a friend of my swears by but I always found them just "alright". He got in my car and gave me a 5 song sampler of the groups music as we sped down the highway one afternoon. About 2 songs into it I wasn't impressed, and he could see the disgust on my face and said, "Wait it gets better!" When the third song revealed itself to be wack also, I ejected the CD and threw it like a discus thrower in the Olympics. The horror on my friends face was priceless. B)Have you ever purchased a CD and you wanted to like it in the worst way? OK, that's how I was with Common's Album "Electric Circus"(His new album is cool). I must have played that CD over a six month period, trying to find some redeeming quality in it, but I couldn't. I sat at a lonely stoplight around 3 in the morning, and it hit me like the same feeling you get when you realize that your lover is never coming back, so I took the CD and flung it while screaming, "That shit is wack!!"
Supermarket Rage: I hate standing in lines with the same hatred that I hate black republicans, women who don't give head, and people who say shit like, "You are pretty cool for a black guy!" Hate, Hate, Hate. Anyway, I was standing in line with some groceries, trying to suppress my impatience by reading tabloid headlines when I noticed that the cashier was having a full blown conversation with a woman in line. I waited, thinking that the conversation would be over soon, but 2 minutes later these ladies are still chatting. Keep in mind, the line was about 6 people deep and these women are talking without a care in the world. That's when I had enough and said, "Hey "Chatty Kathy's", how about you wrap that conversation up so I can get out of here? I don't know what's worse, waiting in line, or having to wait in line and hear your asinine conversation?" The two women looked back at me, one of them saying "Oh no he didn't!" Before I could respond a elderly black woman, this biker who looked like he should be a member of the village people, a blue haired punk rocker chick, and this beautiful Latina all said, "Yes He did!!" It is good when you actually get people to drink your Kool-Aid, Jim Jones style, so I was pleased about that. When I finally got to the front of the line she gave me the ice grill, and she threw my change down in an act of defiance. I said, "Don't get mad that nobody wanted to hear, "Who you were fucking", if we stood here to hear the guys you let penetrate you, we would be here for a week!"
I'm a Big Baby: I had this girlfriend named Kianna that lived right passed the North Carolina Border. The drive was a little more than an hour away, so me "getting ass" was a prerequisite, so I thought. I drove there, about 2 in the morning by her request, trying to avoid the cops since I had a few drinks that night. Usually I would have never made that trek, but my little head was doing all the thinking that night, so off I went. I got there, we made out for a little while, but she claimed that she wasn't sure if she wanted to "do anything". Even though I came to "bum uglies", or as Rakim puts it "get soft and warm", I really could deal with her saying "No". I could deal with a "NO!", but her indecisiveness, and her randomly stooking my gentalia was too much for a brother to deal with. After two hours of her teasing, and my testicles looking like Papa Smurf's nutsack, I grabbed my shit and bounced. I know, I'm a big baby. The problem was, by that time it was 5:30 in the morning and I was dead tired. I fought sleep the whole way there, opening the widows, singing songs, trying anything to keep myself awake. I was winning the battle against sleep, until I got off on my offramp. It turns out that I had fallen asleep, and woke up when my car went onto a grassy median, almost crashing into a streetsign that eventually knocked my side view mirror off. As I rolled off of that median, glad that no cops were around to witness what I had just done, I realized that if I wasn't such a baby that I wouldn't have found myself in that current predicament and gotten some ass to boot.
Nuttier than squirrel shit: (quick one): I was on a train headed to New York a few months back. The entire train car that I was in, believe it or not, was absolutely empty. I love being alone, away from people, so I was loving it. That was until these two guys, for some reason, decided to sit right in back of me even though the entire car was empty. Them sitting behind me wasn't a problem, but their conversation sure was. They were loud and they were right-wing republicans so they had to go. That's when I acted crazy, turned around with my eyes barely peaking over my seat and said, "Hey guys, my titties are bigger than yours!" They looked at each other in absolute bewilderment. Then I said, with my eyes opened widely, "They say that eating your own feces is high in nutritional value, I tried it, and their right!!" They grabbed their bags and high-tailed it out of there, thank god because their conversation was driving me nuts.
For a long time whether it came from the lips of my mother, or some funny story that some random comedian has told, I have heard that a person's kids will act worse than they ever did. I sat with my mother the other day as she skipped through a old scrapbook of my baby pictures. She told me a shitload of stories about my actions as a baby, which led me to believe that I possibly have been nuttier than squirrel shit from the womb. If what they say is true, about someone's kids being worse than them as a form of punishment, I will have my hands full whenever I plan to spread my demon seed. Here are a few stories my mother told me, as we sat and looked at some old pictures.
The other day, as I browsed Barnes and Nobles trying to find something decent to read, I bumped into a High School friend of mine named Lynn. You know how you haven't seen someone in more than a decade, but as soon as you see them you know who it is? That is what happened to us, as we caught up on some old High School memories over cups of coffee so disgusting that it could have probably been used as paint remover. As I sit there, looking at Lynn's thick thighs, trying to be inconspicuous about it since her husband is sitting with us, I realize something that hadn't occurred to me in more than a decade: I was a class clown! I mean, I remember the fights, the girls that I couldn't screw, and bad lunches, but me being a classroom disturbance hadn't crossed my mind in years. Here are some examples, that I can remember and have been reminded by Lynn, of times where I was indeed a "Class Clown". Please, feel free to share your own experiences.
Mrs. Smith: Mrs. Smith was a English teacher that I had during my sophomore year of High School. First off she was from the Caribbean, which wouldn't be a problem, but her accent was so thick that you couldn't understand her. Did I mention that she taught ENGLISH! Her thick accent aside, she was a absolute nightmare who basically had a bullying approach to teaching. I actually remember her bringing a classmate of mine to tears as she told her that her parents did a "horrible job" at parenting. I got my fair share of verbal abuse also, as she told me that she hated all athletes and that failing me would be a "pleasure". I had enough, so one day I decided to retaliate. It started by me saying, "Mrs. Smith, tell us all about Jamaica. Is it nice there?" She would basically scream, "I am not from Jamaica, I am from Trinidad!" I would smirk and say, "It's the same thing, tell us about Jamaica!"(To my Caribbean brothers and sisters, I knew the difference but I knew that it would get her mad.) So she would throw me out and send me to the office, but she looked rather stupid when she explained the reason why I was punished was because I got where she was from wrong. The following days I would say, in a real irritating tone, "Did you know Bob Marley? How about Peter Tosh?" Let's just say that our relationship was rocky that year, but she stopped bullying people though.
Assault with a Deadly Weapon: As I recall, I used to love throwing shit whenever I could. Pieces of paper, erasers, man I had pin point accuracy when it came to hitting people with miscellaneous objects. One day, the teacher had asked this guy named Harold to finish a math equation at the blackboard while she went to the bathroom. Harold was a guy that dated a friend of mine, she told me that he had sexually assaulted her so he was definitely on my shit list. As Harold stood at the blackboard without any teachers around I knew that I was about to do something blatantly evil. I sat beside a secondary blackboard at the side of the room, so I picked up a erased and stuffed it with chalk and got the entire thing dusty as hell. I stood up, took a few steps for added force, and flung that eraser directly at Harold's dome. It landed squarely in the back of his head, not only making Harold hit his head on the blackboard that he was working at, but chalk dust was everywhere for the next couple of minutes. Soon after the teacher reappeared Harold had told her that someone had hit him with a eraser. The teacher got in front of the class and asked who threw the eraser, but everyone was silent. She threatened to give us extra homework, again everyone was silent. It was like my classmates had some mob-like "anti-snitching" oath that I must say made me rather proud. Harold told the teacher that he thought that I had done it, but without any proof he didn't have a leg to stand on. Minutes later when the commotion had subsided, the teacher was called outside by a guidance counselor. I grabbed another eraser and threw it at Harold, leaving a huge eraser print on the side of his face. I said, "That's for snitching motherfucker!!"
It's the principle of it: My last year of High School I had a car, just look at the Cutlass I talked about yesterday. To park in my school's parking lot, you had to apply for a parking sticker which was like a two week process. Anyway, I got my sticker, so I was good to go. On a daily basis I took my friends home, not thinking I was doing anything wrong. Until one day the principle calls me in his office and told me I was in trouble because I had taken this guy named Lamont home one day. See, Lamont was apparently banned from that school, a fact that was unknown to me, shit I thought he still went there. The principle stood over me, saying that I ignored him when he flagged me down to stop my car. I told him that I didn't see him, so he put his finger in my face and actually said, "Bullshit!!" The next few minutes he threatened to suspend me, get me thrown off the track team, I was waiting for him to say that he planned to systematically kill my family the rate that he was going. When I left his office, I indeed felt like a 17 year old, a very small 17 year old. As I thought about when transpired I got upset, angry, downright shitty. I wasn't going to take that from anybody, especially an "interim" principle at that!! The next few months I anonymously made his life a living hell. I spread rumors about him having sex with some of the students, which caught on like wildfire. I would sneak into his office and loosen up chair nuts and bolts, causing him to bust his ass. I would put bumper stickers on his car like, "It's a Black Thing", "Once you go black you won't go back", and a great one I found saying, "I'm not gay, but my boyfriend is!" Those stayed on his car for a couple of months, which made the prank even more hilarious. The last straw, one that I kind if regret, was pouring a shitload of sugar in his gas tank. As soon as I did it I knew that I went too far, that was until the principle approached me one day. He let me know that he thought that I was responsible for some of the "Shenanigans", as he put it, that was going on. Then, he said something about seeing me in a few years and "seeing what I would do then." That motherfucker actually threatened me, but I am still hoping to beat the brakes off of that motherfucker. Granted, he has to be in his 60's by now, but I am a equal opportunity ass whipper.(**Picture is of my actual High School**)
Strip-tease: The title of this doesn't refer to that awful movie with Burt Reynolds and that chick from "Saved by the Bell". I took a Drama class my senior year which I absolutely loved, that is where I realized that I loved writing dialogue. We would do several drama-like exercises, they were kind of crazy but they were fun also. This one day Ms. Farrington(R.I.P), wanted us to get up on stage and perform a song in front of the class. This guy named Doug did that Tom Petty song "Free falling", this Girl named Julie performed that Gwen Guthrie song "Ain't nothing going on but the rent" to her ex-boyfriend juice who wasn't giving her any financial assistance for their new baby, then my black ass went up and did BBD's "Do me". As I started singing the song, I noticed that my teacher was looking downwards doing some paperwork, so I figured this was my chance. As the song horribly escaped my lips, "Girl let your hair down, touch me all over", I started to systematically disrobe. My shirt comes off, I'm still singing, my shoes come off, I'm still singing. By the time I get to the second chorus my pants are off and people are going crazy.(back then I had a six pack that you could wash clothes on, that is probably why they were screaming. Now, it would be screams of horror, but I digress.) By the time I start to tug at my boxers my teacher looks up and started screaming, "Stop!! Stop that now!!!", and rushed to the stage and actually throws her sweater over me. I didn't get in trouble, actually later in private Ms. farrington told me, "You sure have some sack son!" Which was hard to interpret, because did she mean that I had "courage" or because you could see the imprint of my "man Package" through my "tighty-whiteys" that she was actually taking about my "testicles"? Who knows, but the best part was a few months later when she met my mother for a conference and told her, "Mrs. Critic, your son is one hell of a performer!" Wow, I really think I got my Drama teacher moist! OK, that's gross.
The following post isn't a diss to homosexuality in any way, but I am sure that my gay and lesbian readers would agree that a straight black woman marrying a gay man isn't exactly a smart move. I have heard rumblings about Star Jones' husbands sexuality, but I really didn't care because who gives a fuck bout Al Reynolds, and a lot of rumors are just wrong anyway. Even though I met Star Jones, and I personally feel that being in her presence was as delightful as a prison rape, I didn't want to add on to all the rumors and innuendo. BUT, according to Patty Jackson of Philadelphia's WDAS-FM, the new couple was given a limousine to use around town as they pleased after the B.E.T Music Awards. After the show, apparently Al dropped Star off and went out to hang with some of his buddies. Problem with that, Limo drivers I think are required to log every place that they go during their time driving. Not saying that Al is gay, but the stops listed by the limo driver and given to B.E.T as part of a payment invoice, were a plethora of gay bars. Not saying that frequenting gay bars makes you a gay man, but it does make one wonder. Hmmm..
The other day, as I drove around and frequented car lots for what would be my next automobile, I got to thinking about all the "Hoopties" that I have had. What is a "Hooptie" you ask? Well, it is a car that could be described as a "rust bucket", a car that you wouldn't be entering in any car shows any time soon, a car that's repairs exceed the amount of the worth of the car. (The term was actually popularized by Sir Mix-alot in the song "My Hooptie", hence the title of this post.) Yep, that's a "Hooptie"! Here are a few that I have had in my lifetime. By all means, share some stories of "Hoopties" you have had in the comment section, feel free.(Disclaimer: The image of the cars provided don't accurately depict the condition the car was when I drove it.)
1981 Cutlass: This was my first car so it has a special place in my heart. Of course the car that I had wasn't in good as shape as the picture I provided, actually it was pretty rusted and in desperate need of a paint job. I remember being quite ashamed of it at the time, but as I look back it was a pretty kick ass car when I think about it. For one thing it was a T-top, so driving by beautiful women while blasting Biz Markie as my bald fade blew in the wind was a every day summer occurrence. Also, since my father was a master mechanic, he put a high performance engine in that rust bucket so I was able to beat all my friends who all had new cars and wanted to test my Cutlass. This was also was the first car that I eluded police in, speeding down a deserted countryside with my lights off, hoping I wouldn't meet my demise. The backseat was pretty spacious as well, so I had numerous escapades of miscellaneous sex back there. The memories are unforgettable, but this car met its untimely demise because I didn't put oil in it like I was supposed to so the engine locked up. I almost shed a tear as my father had that car hauled off to the junkyard, then he gave me an awkward look as I uttered "Goodbye old friend" under my breath.
1991 Chevrolet Spectrum: This was a very strange car because it was exactly like the Isuzu-Imark. It was a undeniable piece of crap, that gave me problems through most of my college years. For one thing, the backseat was so small that there wasn't any vehicular love going on back there. Also, the car would shut off sometimes for no reason, and it would have a mind of its own because it wouldn't start back up until a half hour later. This happened when I was on a date with this fine ass girl named Christy, you know you have a fucked up car when you have some chick giving you bullshit advice like "pour some soda on the battery!" I had to call a friend of mine to take Christy home, which he gladly did, because I am certain that he got to know Christy "biblically" because of my horseshit car. There is another interesting tidbit concerning the Spectrum. I read somewhere that the Chevy Spectrum was one of the easiest cars in the world to steal, which I found as a "fun fact" until it was stolen 3 times in the span of 4 months. This one time it was stolen, the robbers had actually attempted to steal the radio, but when they saw that it was a piece of crap they left it on the passenger seat.
1986 Cougar: Every time I see a Cougar nowadays I want to light it on fire, or roll that motherfucker in a ditch somewhere. I know that I shouldn't take my rage out of all cougars since mine was a specific piece of crap, but the issues that I had with it were many. For one thing, no matter how many times I got it fixed, it seemed to leak transmission fluid on a regular basis. The running joke with my friends at the time was, "You want to know where the HumanityCritic is going, just follow the trail!" It was embarrassing, it got even more unbearable when my car suddenly lacked the ability to go in reverse. Driving around in a parking lot for minutes, trying to find a spot that I could "pull out of" and not "back out of" was basically pathetic. Those few times that I found myself having to back out of a parking spot, or back up because I was too far into an intersection, I would throw my foot out Flinstones-style and manually back-up. Nothing says "loser" more than a man using his left foot as a reverse function.
1972 Nova: This was supposed to be my "fixer-upper", but sheer laziness set in, so this car was a rolling piece of shit the entire time I drove it. For one thing the car needed a engine badly, so anyone who dared to get behind me while I drove it found themselves in a proverbial smoke cloud.(It was funny to see people race besides me, screaming "Get your motherfucking car fixed asshole!!") I was also dating a girl who had a crazed ex-boyfriend while I drove the Nova, so when he put 6 bullet holes in the driver side door it was kind of like a badge of honor for me.(For Christs sake, if you are going to make a statement at least let me be IN the car while you are filling it full of holes. That would of gotten his message across better.) The funniest part about the whole bullet-hole thing is when my father grabbed both sides of my face, and said with a stern look on his face, "What exactly are you into son?? You can tell me." This car met its demise when it caught fire on the side of a interstate on hot summer day. Looking back the fire was pretty small and probably could have been contained. BUT, if I learned anything from watching poorly produced cop shows in the 70's and 80's, it is that you vacate the premises if your car is on fire because that fucker will blow up any second. It did blow up, but not in a Hollywood fashion though. When the fire department showed up and put out the fire, a fireman asked me, "What are these, bullet holes?? What exactly are you into?" I had to laugh at that.
