HumanityCritic, a 32 year old blogger hailing from Virginia beach Virginia, was once as excited as Courtney Love in a poppy field when Christmas came around. Now he is a bitter and angry young man, who spits in the face of anything that remotely reminds him of December 25th.(No really, he actually spat on a Department store Santa and his elves a few days back) On this particular day we find him continuously saying "Fuck you" to every cashier that wishes him a "Merry Christmas", him telling a woman on the phone who is interested in spending some quality time with him that "If we ain't fucking, keep your ass home!", and stealing 75 cents out of a Salvation Army Santa's basket in order to have correct change for his whiskey purchase. He then decides to head home to call it a night, this is where our story begins kiddies(Scene starts with HumanityCritic sitting on his couch with his hands down his shorts ala Al Bundy, drinking whiskey, quickly changing channels)
HumanityCritic: Fuck man! Christmas commercials, specials, movies, I can't escape!! Fuck Christmas, another reason for countless saps to empty their wallets, evil fucks to promote gross materialism, and other social ills under the guise of Love and family. Hogwash I say!!!
(HumanityCritic drops his pants, gets his best hand lotion, and pops in a porno entitled "Santa Drawls", and says..."
HumanityCritic: Time to get the good old holiday spirit all over this towel!!
(As HC beats himself like his testicles had an expiration date on them, or like his genitalia owed him money, he fell asleep right at the part of the film where Santa and the elves start to gang-bang Mrs. Claus. He looks peaceful sleeping the way he is, kind of like a Norman Rockwell painting, that's if he wasn't gripping an erect penis.)
(Minutes later, HC is awakened to a loud rumbling sound, which at first he thinks is an earthquake, but finally he comes to the conclusion that its a burglar. HC quickly wipes the lotion off of his hands, grabs the loaded 380 off of his Mahatma Gandhi nightstand, and does some investigating. When he opens up the door to pump that unfortunate burglar full of lead, he is met with a gigantic smoke cloud and notices a crusty ass dead figure emerging from it.)
HC: Lord, help me!! Awww!(fires multiple shits into object) Take that motherfucker!!
Crusty Dead object: You are just wasting your bullets..
HumanityCritic: Who are you, and what do you want??
Mr. Mercer: It's your old boss, Elliot Mercer in the flesh..
HumanityCritic: Or not in the flesh. You're dead!!
Mr. Mercer: No shit, Really?? I thought my decayed body, my breath that smells like Lil Kim's crotch, and the insects that made a permanent home in my asshole were a dead giveaway!!
HumanityCritic: OK, what in the fuck do you want with me??
Mr. Mercer: I came here to tell you something very important.
HumanityCritic: Tell me what, the benefits of being worm food?
Mr. Mercer: Still the asshole I see, I hope that's working for you. No idiot, I really came to warn you, you don't want to end up like me do you??
HC: What are you talking about Mercer? You were the fucking man, continuous ass, people were scared shitless of you.. Didn't you die fucking???
Mr. Mercer: Hee-Hee, I sure did. Critic, that pretty young thing had an ass that you could balance a glass on man!! Uh-hem, that's not the point though. I did get more ass than a toilet seat, very true, but my biggest regret was not having anyone to truly love, no wife or kids to give my heart to.
HC: Bor-ing! Does death turn everyone into Pussies, spouting off dialogue from a goddamned Lifetime movie??
Mr. Mercer: Listen Jerk-off, when I died I angered so many people and burned bridges that there were only 5 people at my funeral and one was the preacher and two worked at the graveyard!! Why weren't you there??
HC: Well, I..
Mr. Mercer: You were in an emotional tailspin weren't you, not wanting to come to grips that your mentor passed, right?
HC: Actually, I didn't want to miss the opening of "Chasing Amy" to be totally honest.
Mr. Mercer: BASTARD!!!! Anyway, tonight you will be visited by three ghosts..
HC: Ghosts!! (reloading gun) 3 more motherfuckers like you??
Mr. Mercer: No, I'm a walking rotten ant farm. The ghosts will look as human as you, pull your skirt up.
HC: What kind of ghosts?? Like Dorothy Dandridge, that would be hot. Or Marilyn Monroe, she sure had a rack on her.(begins to pitch a tent)
Mr. Mercer: Fucking perv!! Don't worry what they'll look like, it will be relative to your interests and that god forsaken blog that you have. I'm outta here!!!
(Mr. Mercer disappears out of thin air, leaving the room smelling like 1000 ass-cracks. HC spends the next few minutes vacuuming Mr. Mercer's corpse flakes out of his carpet, and proceeds to light candles and burn incense to get that "Death ass" scent out of his crib. He then falls asleep)
*knock-knock-knock*
(HC goes to see who is at the door)
HC:(Opens the door, wiping eyes): Wait a minute, what are you doing here??
Unidentified Man: You've seen enough renditions of this Charles Dickens tale to know who the fuck I am. I am the ghost of Christmas past!
HumanityCritic: Rakim?? (forcefully hugs Rakim) I'm your biggest fan man!!
Rakim: (pushing HumanityCritic off him) Let go of me you fucking stalker, you know we have a trip to take. Are you ready?HC: Yeah, but like a breast reduction, let me get something off my chest first. (Grabs a soap box, stands on it, throws an arm around Rakim, and addresses the blog readers with the following Diatribe) Ladies and gentleman, this man right here is by far the greatest rapper of all time, hands down. I love Pac and Biggie, but anyone that puts those men above Rakim should be on the business end of a public caning, thrown in a Mexican prison, or some other random form of punishment that fits the idiocy spewed out by those unenlightened individuals. I don't give a flying fuck how many tribute albums Puffy or Death Row records can regurgitate, Rakim is by far, the greatest rapper of all time. You motherfucking got that??
Rakim: Are you done?
HC: Yep.
Rakim: I appreciate the love but we gotta go!
(Suddenly a 75 pinto arrives in front of HC's house)
Rakim: You all set?
HC: Hey, I thought by the shitload of Christmas movies that I have seen in my day, that we were supposed to magically arrive and witness one of my old Christmases. What's up with the hooptie?
Rakim: The company I work for is simply out of funds dude, when we did this same thing for Dick Cheney last year it put us in the hole big time. Just get in and shut up, the ride isn't that bad. Got any gas money??
HC: Jesus, yeah..
(After a severely bumpy ride, with the vehicle being flipped in various directions, the 75 pinto arrives in Virginia Beach Virginia, 1983)
Rakim:(Stepping out of the car) We're here!
HC:(stumbling out of the car, throwing up) Blaaaaaaa..
Rakim:(Shaking his right foot) Watch the Puma's you asshat!! Take a look around, this is your old hood.
(They both walk around HC's old neighborhood)
HC:(pointing) That's my friend Bobby's house, we were tight as kids. That is Ms. Davidson's house, I remember after I cut her grass one summer she made me touch her breasts.
Rakim:(squinting) OK
HC:(pointing) Right there is Ms. Thompson's old house, she gave me 20 dollars once to wash her car with my shirt off. (pointing in a different direction) Right there is Ms. Shirley's house, she one time touched my..
Rakim: Enough with the molestation stories!! You are in therapy right?
HC: Yeah
Rakim: Good, here's your house.
(They both look into HC's old house, where they see him as a happy 10 year old opening presents amongst his family)
HC: Oh shit, I remember this Christmas, there I am getting a shitload of He-Man men!!
Rakim: I always thought He-Man played for the pink team honestly.
HC: Sure he did, the leather and skimpy outfits, but you are talking to a guy who still listens to Culture Club and digs show tunes.(Looks back in the window) There is my sister, brother, my mom, where's my pop at?
(HC's father comes in the room, pissed that he just stepped on a homoerotic action figure)
Father: Goddamn you HC, I didn't buy those toys for you to leave them lying around everywhere you stupid son of a bitch! You know what, you ain't ever going to be shit, you're worthless!! Go to your fucking room before I hit you in the face with this belt!
(Rakim and HC see the 10 year old version of HumanityCritic run off to his room)
Rakim:(Turning to HC) You ain't going to cry are you??
HC:(smirking) Of course not,(pounds chest) I'm all man baby!! (turns around and wipes a tear)
Rakim: It's OK, like a prostitute who gives Santa free blow-jobs each year for gifts, Christmas left a bad taste in your mouth. Over the years you have tried to act festive, but secretly you loathed Christmas and we have to change that. We gotta get back.
(The Pinto arrives and they head back to HC's house)
Rakim: This is where I say Goodbye, there will be two more ghosts appearing tonight so be looking out for the doorbell!!
HC: OK(Throws arm around Rakim and turns to the blogging Universe) Greatest Rapper Of all Time, I don't give a fuck how many Biggie and Tupac albums come from the depths of people's ass. The best!
Rakim: Should I get a restraining order?? But thanks.(Turns to the blog world) Be looking out for my next album, I am the ghost of Christmas past but I ain't dead motherfucker!!
(After Rakim leaves, HC sits on his couch and begins to smoke a very big spliff. He figures that the whole experience will be better high. Then all of a sudden someone starts knocking on his door like they lost their motherfucking mind, screaming "Open up bitch!")
HC:(opening door) Have you lost your fucking mind,... Shit, you are the ghost of Christmas present?
End of Part 1
50 Cent: That's right, now let us in this motherfucker!
Saigon: What's up Critic, you know who the fuck I be son! (Snatches joint) Give me that motherfucking blunt!!! (Then proceeds to smoke all of HC's shit) What are you going to do about that?
Even though I have done my best to curb my violent behavior of the past few years, I still feel that some people just flat out need their ass whipped. The disgruntled guy who came to my house to tell me to stop "fucking his girlfriend" needed to desperately get his ass beat, he soon realized that a baseball bat can be used for more than bunting and grand slam home runs. The two women who thought it was hilarious that they torment a very heartbroken friend of mine, being that their home-girl left him for another man, those harlots needed their ass beaten. Granted, I'm a man and would never physically assault a woman, but they found out quickly that there isn't a rule against a man pouring the contents of two full pitchers of beer on their heads. Or like the guy who was upset at me because he didn't appreciate the way I was fouling him, getting in my face like he was going to beat my ass. Well, 2 minutes and a debilitating throat-chop later he learned that some people don't take too kindly to being threatened.
Spaghetti Westerns: A Nickname given to a specific genre of Western films around the mid-60's, named because many of these films were produced by Italian studios
HumanityCritic's Vengeance: It was a cold December night as HumanityCritic raced back to his old stomping grounds of Virginia Beach Virginia, but he was in no way going back to see family or reminisce about old times with friends. He was there to avenge a horrible act perpetrated on a woman he considered to be a "sister", a good friend named Tracy that he had known since grade-school. As he broke the speed limit racing to his destination, he noticed the goosebumps on his wrist, him not knowing if they were from the extreme cold and his malfunctioning car heater, or his anger at Tracy's boyfriend that treated her like a motherfucking punching bag. To be totally honest, HC was actually invited to Tracy's birthday party and not to defend her honor, but the constant horrific updates from her family and friends of the beat-downs Tracy was getting were as much as HumanityCritic could take.
Showdown at Karaoke: Like HumanityCritic always said, "You know a woman has a good piece of "patch" when you travel more than an hour a day to get it!!" This was the case a few years ago, when HC used to travel more than an hour on the Highway a day to be regularly and intimately acquaintanted with a beautiful caramel complected sister named Janis. With thighs like a track star, breasts that would put a homosexual in a trance, and "soup coolers" juicy enough that you would think that she had the ability to blow out like 200 birthday candles and shit. This woman was definitely out of HC's league, but like a boxer momentarily dazed by a lucky right hook, HumanityCritic planned on hitting it as much as humanly possible before she came to her senses. This woman stayed in a small town in North Carolina, where nightly she would engage in the aged old tradition of karaoke. HC despised Karaoke, but like that cereal leprechaun, there wasn't anything HC wouldn't do in order to taste those "Lucky charms" so to speak. Night after night, shot after shot, he would patiently endure horrific renditions of "It's raining men" and "Sweet Home Alabama" in order to drunkenly bump uglies later, blessing her with his beautiful pre-ejaculatory gifts.
Even though I talk more shit than a chatty proctologist concerning my current single status, there are some definite benefits to being by yourself though. Besides not having to pretend to like someones belligerent whorish girlfriends, male friends with a possible hidden agenda, or wondering if your current love is giving it away like after-party fliers at a concert, you learn a lot about yourself when you are single. Besides that, not having to worry about your garden variety sexual transmitted disease is ever so comforting to a neurotic hypochondriac bastard like myself.
Industry Rule #4082: Don't F*ck fans: This is kind of misleading since my band has only a couple handfuls of loyal fans anyway, but you get the picture. There are a few reasons why I told myself that I would never get intimate with anyone who frequented our shows. For one, it's kind of like that "don't shit where you eat" mantra, I wouldn't want to lose a loyal fan because things didn't work out with us, or because I gave her sex so bad that it was probably a step down from masturbation to her. But most of all, because I'm insecure, I wouldn't want any preconceived myth she has about me shattered only to learn that I am a single bastard with a love of foreign films and dialogue driven pornography. This lead me to Tonya, a woman who had expressed her affection for me many times during our shows a some years back. I told her my rule, thinking that would end it, but she said that she wanted to date me and to abide by my rule she would stop coming to our shows. I didn't think much about it at the time, but a month later when I was at a friends birthday party I noticed that Tonya was in attendance. Many laughs, dances, and drinks later, I find myself at Tonya's house where I openly spat in the face of rule #4082. 
Drinking and Cancun: When I told a female friend that my band and I were going to Cancun, she said "Isn't that a place where college kids go??", like it was a bad thing. What she failed to understand was that like Hip Hop, I will never outgrow the sight of young ass and titties congregated in one spot.(Not R Kelly young) We were there for a few days, and during those days of drinking and causing absolute ruckus, we met a woman named Renee. She was beautiful, a woman that I wouldn't mind getting to know intimately, but any chance of that happening died when she told me that she had slept with 10 guys since she arrived there. As disgusting as that thought is, we all would hang with Renee, partying with her three nights straight. Then one night when we had a party in my room, where not only did I pass out but I woke up butt naked beside her in the morning. Not remembering if we had sex or not, I looked around the room for a condom wrapper or something, a sign to let me know that if I did have sex that I didn't enter a burning building without my fireman suit. The only protection I could see was a pocketknife that I purchased a day earlier, a sudden rush of paranoia rushed over my body as I thought about the women I "probably" just slept with.
Revolving Ex: When you start a relationship, you know that your 
About 4 years ago, in the midst of the worst terrorist attack on this country's soil, my father's death by prostate cancer, my girlfriend of 5 years dropping me as if she was a one armed wide receiver, and my mother being diagnosed with breast cancer, my good friend Alex was told he only had 6 months to live. Despite the horrible state of my mental health and my outright suicidal alcoholism, I still wanted to be there for my friend as he dealt with his own more serious health problem. He liked my support, but because he knew what I was going through he tried to dissuade me from coming by, by cursing me out, lying about being moved to a different hospital, even inventing some sort of half assed back-story where he accused me of sleeping with his fiancee. None of that stuff worked and I was staying by his side no matter what, not only because that's what loyal friends do, but because he didn't know that I tried to sleep with his fiancee before they even met and that she cursed my very existence.(I think I drunkenly whipped my dick out, but that's neither here nor there)
Tell people how much I love them: My family, despite all of my bullshit, has been absolutely great. My mother is the most important woman in my life, a true Ray of light that I would gladly give my life for in a New York minute. My sister has also been supportive, looking out for her little brother because she says that I'll be a "millionaire" one day, but her undying love for me is clearly evident. My brother and I could be a lot closer than we are, but despite our differences he is a great man, and I would want him to know that I don't blame him for my father's preferential treatment before he died. My Uncle Chuck, the coolest bald bastard outside of shaft and Kojak, has been there also and I love him dearly. I went into that lengthy spiel, giving love to my family members, not only because they are important to me but because who knows how many bastard kids will mysteriously come out of the woodwork when I die and need taking care of, so I guess I should start buttering up their ass now.
Make a hitlist, and follow it: If you have read my blog for just a few minutes a few things become abundantly clear, I am a classic premature ejaculator, I hate black republicans, I love Hip Hop, but most importantly I hold grudges like a motherfucker. Like a plumber with a fecal fetish, I just find it hard to let shit go sometimes. There have been retaliations by yours truly on old bullies and any garden variety asshole who ever talked shit and never got punished for it. If I was told that I had six months to live I would make a list comprised of all my old Nemesis's, people who talked shit about me, and random jackasses that old girlfriends left me go for. Like the show "My Name Is Earl" I would make a list, but I wouldn't be trying to make amends like the character Jason Lee plays, I would be administering savage beatings in the comfort of their own homes. I know its silly, childish, and senseless, but I just find it hilarious to think of a person getting the brakes beat off of them and them not know why. Besides, I have 6 months to live, so give a guy a fucking break here.
Be Robin-hood: I don't know what way to start this paragraph off but to simply say that I would rob a drug-dealer that I know blind. Let me explain: I went to college with this guy named Ben who is currently a big time drug dealer, he is making serious dough right about now. Listen, I'm no Mother Theresa, so I wouldn't even think of robbing him if me and Ben were currently on good terms. We were once cool, but all that ended when I saw him at a club one night and he tried to act big and bad in front of some of his hoodlum friends, saying that he would beat my ass while flashing his gun. Being that I know Ben comes from a rich family, his parents both being lawyers, Ben never being in a fight in his life, and the fact that I have actually seen him piss himself when threatened once, I felt secure in taking the gun out of his belt and smacking the shit out of him with it. Some time has passed and I was actually willing to forgive his drunken faux paus, until I heard that he said that he would "cripple me" if he sees me. So if I had 6 months to live I would ambush him outside of his house wearing a ninja outfit(with shell-toe Adidas of course), hold him hostage for a couple of hours until he empties the contents of his safe and bank account, then knock his ass out for not only selling poison to my people but also fucking model chicks that I couldn't get to sleep with me if I had 100 dollar bills taped to my body. Then I would anonymously give 92% of it to random charities, hoping that that act of kindness would look good on my "Heaven resume". The other 8% would go to booze, weed, and whores.(Not particularly in that order)
Learn Spanish: As a black blogger who doesn't have a girlfriend to bitch about my daily blog posts, I feel confident to say that I have lost out on some premium Latina tail because of the simple fact that I don't speak Spanish. This is going to sound like some third rate UPN sitcom or something, but there have been times that I have been told that I could have experienced that delightful "Chocha"(sp?) if I indeed spoke Espanol. Granted, they could have been lying, never having the intentions of me tasting that sweet nectar anyway, but just in case I want to be prepared if it happens again. Even if I don't meet a woman over that 6 month period impressed be my newly acquired Bi-Lingual status, I do have a neighbor named Marisol who seemed thoroughly impressed when I counted to 30 in Spanish once, so imagine where I will get with her if I string one coherent sentence together?
Make a Dialogue driven Porn: I like my pornography like I like my women and Kung Fu flicks, small on the talk and quick on the action. Nothing decreases the size of a chubby fatser than a porno's attempt to have some sort of story, usually involving a pizza boy or some cliched horseshit like that. But if my dance-card was going to be punched in 6 months, I would make a feature length porn, involving intricate plot devices and spicy diologue to the point you thought Woody Allen wrote and directed it. Plus, nothing would bring a smile to my face faster than thinking about some couple watching my flick to add some spice in their relationship somewhere in the U.S, and them turning to each other and saying "This is a well written porn, who would have thought??" Besides, what better way to get the audiences mind off of my small penis, and an even smaller "performance time", than a shit load of dialogue for the actors to spew out.
Flat out tell people: My ex recently told me that I was like Paris Hilton, not because we both have an association to crappy hotels, but because we are both all out attention whores. This fact would be even more evident if I had six months to live, because I would tell anyone willing to listen. I would reiterate that fact to my close friends, so that I wouldn't have to pay for any fucking drinks, and having a shitload of parties thrown in my honor wouldn't be bad either. I would tell women that I met in bars in order to get some "pity ass", they wouldn't believe me at first, but I'm sure they would come around when I show them a doctors note and an X-Ray that I keep handy. As much as they despise me, regardless of their current romantic situation, I would sobbingly tell my ex-girlfriends of my current situation and that "I will go to my grave knowing that you are the only woman I ever loved" If that doesn't remove panties quicker than a Tom Jones performance, I don't know what will??
I always thought that the best way for me as a single individual to dispel racial stereotypes was to simply drop my trousers, nothing shatters myths faster than a chubby black blogger that's hung like a toddler. I guess there are some ounces of truth in many stereotypes, I acknowledge that, but whenever a stereotype can be thrown back in someone's face to the point that they rethink their whole ideology, it can be rather entertaining. For example, there was a guy on my High School Track team named David France, our resident pole vaulter and token white guy on our field events team. No one knew how fast he was, until I challenged him to a race one day in practice and he absolutely blew my motherfucking doors off, smirking as he passed, embarrassing the piss out of me in front of some female admirers who were there to watch me practice. The other black athletes gave me grief because I got beat by a "white boy", but they quickly turned their "disbelief" of David's speed into "acknowledgment", when he beat them even worse than he beat me.
I have been asked about how I feel about the NBA dress code for a couple of months now, but I really didn't go into any elaborate answer because I seriously didn't give a fuck. But as I heard more about it, and the reasoning behind it, I decided to make my point of view concerning this particular topic loud and crystal clear.
For the past few weeks my mother has been nagging me to death about going to church with her, so I obliged her this past Sunday even though I woke up feeling completely hung over with stripper glitter embedded in my skin. I'm not shitting you, after scrubbing myself like I had just drunkenly slept with Paris Hilton, that glitter shit was so hard to come out that I think that it's a top secret Stripper plot to sabotage relationships or something. So I put on my Sunday best, promised myself that I wouldn't embarrass my mother, and prepared myself for religious Tao-Bo.(See, for anyone who has attended a catholic service will tell you, it is akin to a work-out session. Sit, stand, hug, sit, stand, kneel..) On the way there my mother, who has changed churches because of my previous antics, told me that I needed the lord in my life in her own way, saying "HumanityCritic, you need the motherfucking lord in your life!! Tighten your shit up and get some religion." I agreed with her, feeling that her sudden need for me to become best friends with Christ was because of how into religion I was as a kid. I mean, I was a good catholic boy, knowing scriptures, being nice to strangers, I was an alter boy for Christs sake!! But as the years have gone by I have seen men of the cloth disrespect their particular title, the cult-like symptoms some loved ones had when they found religion, and the homophobia and racism that has been carried out on God's name, so that soured me on Religion a bit.
My turrets: I don't know what it is, but for as long as I can remember intimate thoughts that should have stayed inside my head tend to fly out. Like the time where I said "Because you're a whore!!" when my friends girlfriend sobbingly asked why they broke up, when I told a cop "Shut the fuck up Serpico!" as he lectured me about speeding, or when I told a young woman "Are we gonna fuck or what?" after like our 3rd assless date, I have serious problems keeping my thoughts to myself. It happened again in church this past Sunday, on a few occasions to be totally honest, embarrassing the piss out of my mother to the point where she angrily said "You were adopted motherfucker!" later that afternoon. My first outburst happened when the priest called out a young woman in the audience to join him on stage so he could tell everyone about her recent humanitarian efforts in Africa. Well, the young woman in question was sitting a few rows in front of me, and because I was sitting on the end of my particular row I could see her in her entirety as she made her way to the front of the church. I don't know what got into me, I actually thought that I was keeping it to myself, but apparently I blurted out, "Daaamn, that girl has a Phat ass!! For fucks sake!!" I was so focused in on the "wagon that she was dragging" that I didn't notice people's outrage as they angrily glared at me or my mother's embarrassment. The second outburst happened when we were all asked to Hug people around us, a common request in Catholic church services as far as I know. Anyway, the woman in front of me who gave up the first hug had cleavage that made my mouth water like Pavlov's dog or Bobby Brown when crack is dangled in front of his face, it was that intense. To make matters worse she gave me a super tight embrace, made me "pitch" a serious "tent" in the worst building imaginable to do so. As she let go and chatted with me briefly I stared at her chest and shook my head saying "Umm, umm, umm. Jesus Christ lady!"
Shock and Awe: I know I haven't been to church in a while, and I know that I have a history in this area of being a raving lunatic at times, but the last place I want to be reminded of said history is at church. Before and after church service people would come up and say shit like, "Wow, YOU'RE in church??", or "Hell has officially frozen over!", or my personal favorite, "What bet did you lose??" Usually I would have been entertained by those statements because there is definitely some truth there, the problem that I had was that those individuals didn't have the decency not to say those things in front of my mother. It's kind of like someone approaching you while you are with your current boyfriend/girlfriend, and they go on and on about how many people you fucked and the wild shit you once did, you don't want to expose them to that bullshit. Well, my mother already knows what kind of psychopath that I am, so she didn't need to be reminded of it on that particular holy day. I got kind of pissed, so when this dude named Mitch had made his 3rd wise comment I took him to the side and said, "If you say one more smart comment I'm going to bury you in this motherfucking church parking lot, if you think I'm above beating you in front of a priest you have another thing coming!!" He got the message, but then again so did my mother, since she is friends with his mother.
Church Speed Dating: Have I mentioned how much being single sucks? I have, OK good. I know that church is the last place a single fellow like myself should be looking for love, or at least lust where I let out ejaculatory Willy Wonka tunes where afterwords I tell her that a cab is on its way. What kind of man would I be who preyed on women, most of whom gathered in a building for the lord our savior to forgive them for their whorish ways of the previous week. Scratch that, church is better than any singles bar I ever went to. Anyway, I didn't go to church with my mother to get women, but with each conversation I had with catholics of the opposite sex that day, it kind of turned into me getting their number. I had a conversation with a Cuban woman that started off innocent enough but ended with me getting her number so we could "get drunk" later in the week. Another conversation I had with a woman started off about certain bible scriptures, but ended up with me finding out how she loved "giving head" and that she would love to see my band play because she finds dudes with bands "sexy".(Even I felt dirty when she opined about her felatial habits, which is saying a lot) Then there was a lady I was talking to who wanted to know if I had any experience hooking up stereo equipment because she needed help with hers, so when I told her that the only time I could come by would be 2 in the morning, bringing condoms, and drunk off my ass, she stormed off in disgust only to slip me her number later. As I got in the car with my mother and a few numbers fell out of my pocket she yelled, "What the fuck is this!! Could you not think with your dick one day a week??!!" I guess not.
Blatant honesty: Like people who know me will tell you, all you have to do is ask me a question enough times and all the nicety's and decorum that comes from not stirring up shit will automatically fly out of the window. Like when my mother and I was talking to this young couple and they were saying some pretty homophobic shit like "All gays are going to hell", and "I'm sure glad there aren't any fags here!!" Usually my mother would dissuade me from objectionable behavior, but this particular instance she gave me a quick head nod, telling me it was OK to rip them a new one. So I said to the couple, "I'm gay, have been "out" for 15 years actually. I'm offended, and have every right to beat you where you stand!" The look of horror on their faces was priceless, my mother got a kick out of that but she wasn't so pleased with what I would say later. Like when asked continuously by a older gentleman why I don't come to church regularly, I blurted out, "Because church cuts into my hangover rehab time, plus nothing is better than begging for a early Sunday morning "freebie" from a woman who is still on the clock." Or when the priest was nagging me about the issues I had with Catholicism and I said, "Priests touching kids and the lenient punishment of them when caught, the homophobia, and the bullshit stance that priests took against John Kerry because of his pro-choice stance. I could go on all day!" The priest in question gave me a very uncomfortable smile, a smile one would give trying to maintain a smirk while getting anally raped, and gave me a very PC answer that didn't solve any of my concerns. My mother was pissed as we drove home, but she grabbed my shoulder and said, "You know, if his ass didn't like scary answers then he shouldn't ask scary questions. Lets get something to eat."
Being that I am an all out attention whore, I was kind of excited to be interviewed by a journalist concerning this little old blog. As I got ready to meet this 20 something journalist I brushed my teeth, put every dreadlock in proper order, and looked at myself in a full body mirror and said something feminine to myself like "all my weight goes to my hips and my thighs!! Fuck!!". I raced to the coffee-shop where we were meeting and I was pretty much relaxed, until I openly wondered if she expected me to do some of the things that I talk about in my blog. I mean, I have broken someones jaw, cursed out a preacher, poured a full pitcher of beer on more ignorant females than I care to recall, and try to put a beating on David Spade, but if nothing of note happened during our conversation would she consider me a fraudulent disappointment?? I arrived on time for our scheduled noon interview, looking in the crowded coffee shop for a woman who gave a self description of herself as a "thick looking Lauryn Hill". Whenever someone says that they resemble someone famous they never end up looking anything remotely close to the celebrity in question, so I was looking for a female version of Biz Markie or Mr.T, possibly with dreadlocks.
What some people don't understand about my anger issues, and my penchant for physically trying to detach someones jaw from their goddamned body, is that said anger is only directed at people of the asshole persuasion. I said all of that to say that the biggest lesson that I have learned while on earth for the past 32 years is that it pays to be nice to people. Let me explain. I have said this before, but in High School I was popular by default, meaning that I was actually a nerd who was propelled into the stratosphere of popularity because I ran track, that simple. Even though I was accepted by the cool kids as one of their own, I always felt like a ghetto ass Cinderella, waiting for the clock to strike 12, exposing my pocket protector and my love for foreign films. But I figured that while in High School(Or the "ball" to keep up with the Cinderella analogy) I would use my new found popularity for good and not evil. I made it my personal mission to cause physical pain to any "bully" that decided to harass someone that they considered a nerd, and one of the people that I helped was a dude named Bill.
Joe Dirt: A couple of years ago I had one of the best times in Vegas ever, my band had just played a fantastic gig where a few ladies had pumped my ego up tremendously, I was up 4 grand from just playing blackjack, like a masturbating massage therapist I was feeling myself. One of our last nights there we were drinking, a lot, and betting like there was no tomorrow. After the croupier had dealt me my cards and I was trying to figure out whether to play them or not, I look up and who do I see siting across from me but David Spade. OK, not exactly Brad Pitt on the "celebrities you should give a shit about" list, but recognizable nonetheless. Plus, this isn't a very popular opinion, but I think the movie that he did entitled "Joe Dirt" is funny as shit. So I said, "Man, I loved Joe Dirt. That shit was funny as fuck!" Even though I said it in the most sincere way that I could while drunk, trying not to come off as sarcastic, he said "Shut the fuck up asshole!" I sat there for about 20 seconds bewildered because usually I would be pounding someone for saying that by now, but I decided to let him make amends so I said, "No I'm being serious, that was a good movie" Then he looked at me, smirked, and said "Like I care what the fuck you think, ass-bag!" OK, it was official, this motherfucker was talking shit. So I calmly said, "How would you like it if all these people in the hotel witnessed Joe Dirt getting his ass handed to him motherfucker??" Immediately, I guess playing it incognito, two of his very big bodyguards come out of nowhere, prompting this SNL reject to boldly say, "I'll kick you ass, you want some of me???", while 2 very large black men about 6'5 280 pounds stood behind him.
Mobb Deep: Even though gambling is obviously legal in Las Vegas, there are a lot of what people call "underground games", games that are pretty shady and usually you need a personal connection even to sit down at one of them. Well, Bill was my personal connect, so I attended one in a back room of a local business one hot Tuesday night. I sat at a table that I quickly named "the little U.N", because everyone who played there was of a different nationality and a different walk of life. The first few hands went horribly, me losing about 300 dollars within minutes, but my luck changed for the better for the rest of the night. I was definitely on a winning streak, bluffing the shit out of people while holding the crappiest hands possible, all the while talking more shit than a chatty proctologist. During one of the last hands of the night, a gentleman from New York had went "all in" on me, betting his entire stack trying to bluff me. I pushed all my chips in to match him, not because I was playing recklessly, but because I felt confident because I was holding a full house. When we revealed the cards I had won that hand, worth 2 thousand dollars, so obviously I was expecting to collect my money. But this motherfucker quickly grabbed his chips and said, "I'm not giving your black ass anything!!" Outraged, I grabbed him, prompting him to flash me his gun tucked ever so tightly in his belt, so I sat the fuck down still defiantly calling him a "bitch-made peasant"(I don't know why those particular words came out of my mouth)
Screaming like a bitch: Bill was kind enough to invite me and my friends to some celebrity shin-dig a while back, so because the fact that he mentioned the possibility of Rosario Dawson being there I quickly accepted. We get to Vegas and attend said party and it was off the hook, no Rosario though, but enough celebrities and high class prostitutes to make a prick like me extremely happy. Emilio Estevez isn't the celebrity he once was, but I got absolute joy when some random drunk asshole was giving him shit and I stepped in, put my fists up, and told the asshole "I'll make you famous motherfucker!!"(like Estevez' character says in "Young Guns", minus the "motherfucker" part) Anyway, I meet some extremely beautiful women who say that they want to "party" with me and my crew. I told them that the term "party" is a codeword for "vaginal entrance for currency" and that we weren't into paying for any prostitutes. They assured us that they weren't hookers, so we went back to my hotel suite and played cards with these beautiful women, with images of me putting on three condoms and spraying her with disinfectant later. We were all pretty liquored up, so for some reason one of the women asked me what name I had given my penis, saying in a very stripper-like voice "What do you call the little guy?" Smirking at her for calling it little when she hadn't had any proof of that, even though she was correct, I thought for a minute for my answer. The answer I gave has to be the corniest thing I have ever said to a person of the opposite sex, so corny that I wouldn't blame any man, woman, or child who decided to stop reading this blog because of said idiocy. OK, I said: "I nicknamed my penis "Dictionary". She asked "Why?", prompting me to say, "Because nothing I would like more than to put words in your mouth!!"(see, corny)