HumanityCritic: The habitual "Guy Code" breaker

My mother told me that she knew that I would always walk to the beat of a different drummer when during my 3rd birthday party, I grabbed my birthday cake and licked the entire thing so no other kids could have any. Another story she always likes to tell is the time I was sitting on a department store Santa's lap, and when he didn't immediately produce the gift I had asked for I started to continuously kick old St. Nick in his "North Pole" nuts, all the while laughing hysterically. But trying to be an individual can also lead to some foolish decisions as well, like me wearing a Peach bow-tie at my prom, coming off as an uber feminine pimp. I have also missed out on some pretty good Hip Hop, like The Beastie Boys and Wu Tang Clan, because I foolishly thought that liking these groups would lump me in with everyone else.

I have relaxed my quest for individualism quite a bit, finding nothing wrong with occasionally grazing with the other sheep, but there are some things that I will never go along with regardless how many people follow the same path. One of those things is the often talked about unwritten "guy code" that most men claim that they follow religiously. See the other day, after I witnessed a stripper named "Cadillac" skillfully pick up dollar bills with her butt-cheeks at a bachelor party I attended, I found myself having an interesting back and forth with the erotic dancer in question. I was wearing a Kobe Bryant jersey, so she leaned in and said, "Can I ask you a question?" As I pulled out some handi-wipes and cleaned off the glitter and the moldy stripper sweat that she had accidentally dripped on my body, I said "Sure, only if you back the fuck up a couple of feet first!" With a look of disgust on her face she said, "How can you like Kobe? He's an asshole!" Being a Kobe Bryan fan, I am used to hearing the most asinine and painfully uninteresting reasons to hate another human being possible, so I tried not to roll my eyes and said, "OK, why is he an asshole??"

She gave me "answer #2" in what I call "The Jackasses manual for Kobe hatred", you know, the one about Kobe "snitching on Shaq" and how he violated the "guy code". Of course I have heard this argument many times before, but this is the first time I really thought deeply about the unwritten rule, and came to the conclusion that I am a habitual breaker of said rules. Even though she quickly took her breasts out of my face and immediately went to a less germaphobic schmo after my ramblings, I had to say, "You know, I wouldn't had done that personally, but why should a person be loyal to a motherfucker that hasn't historically been loyal to you? If that's part of some unwritten code, then call my black ass a habitual code offender. *Sniff* *Sniff* Hey, is that you smelling like that??"

I don't know maybe I'm an asshole, but its my belief that if you don't fall under the category of "friend" or "family member", I don't owe you a motherfucking thing. Here are some times where I have, for all intents and purposes, proverbially wiped my ass with the flimsy document entitled the "guy code".

Cheating Boyfriend: I have a friend named Maxine that I have known since I was little, she is one of my closest friends that I would gladly lay my life on the line for. She has been supportive through the rough times, and has told me the uncut truth even when I didn't want to hear it. I have reciprocated the friendship as well, like the time I beat one of her boyfriends with a VCR after I learned that he had assaulted her(don't ask), or the time that I paid a handful of ghetto ass girls with marijuana to beat the shit out of some tramps that had previously jumped Maxine at a party. There was no question that I would always have her back, that was until she started dating a dude I was already weary of named Darryl. I mean, he was cool to me, and as long as Maxine was happy then why should I bombard her eardrums with my concerns of what kind of "douche-bag" I thought he was? That was until, on a date myself seeing a movie, I saw Darryl lip locked with a woman other than Maxine a few rows in front of me. All of that "guy code" horseshit was going through my mind, how I shouldn't tell my dear friend of her boyfriends obvious indiscretions, but in the meantime I did whatever I could to avoid him seeing me that night though.

When the movie let out wouldn't you know it, I came face to face with Darryl by the movie's restrooms. I'll give it to him, he was smooth, telling me that he "knew" that I would "uphold the guy code" and not tell Maxine. I wrestled with my decision for a long time, well, if you consider a long time being approximately 20 minutes. Some guys would look at me telling my good friend of her boyfriends cheating as some sort of "guy code violation", but to me it's more of a "human violation" to keep that information to myself and protect a motherfucker that wouldn't piss on me if I was on fire.

If that's your girl, she wasn't last night: Men, for Christs sake, if you take anything from this silly blog let it be the following: Never talk about who you are romantically involved with, to anybody!! The less people know the better, that's my motto!! Let me explain: There was this beautiful woman that works at the local gas station by my house, she is absolutely breath-taking in a "Dorothy Dandridge" sort of way, but I became tongue tied around her for some reason. Usually I have a wealth of confidence, but she was so beautiful I sincerely thought that she wasn't in my league and that she would turn me down like a kamikaze pilot, so I suffered in silence and liked her from afar. That was until I was in my local watering hole and I saw her enter the bar to pick up some food she ordered, then she briefly talked to the cook for a few minutes. I didn't know the cook for shit, and from what I had heard about him he was an asshole, but when he was on his break he sat beside me and smoked a cigarette. Me being the nosy fuck that I am, without being blatant about it and asking him if he was intimate with her, I tried to lure him in by innocently saying how "beautiful" she was. It worked because this motherfucker ran his mouth like an old lady at a tea party, he not only told me that he was "hitting it on the regular" but showed me pictures of her backside that he had secretly taken with his camera-phone when she was asleep.

Immediately my confidence went through the roof, not because I look like Denzel or anything, but because this blabbering idiot looked like a bona fide treasure troll. Imagine Danny De Vito on the show "Taxi", minus the good looks and sex appeal. The next day, armed with a confidence only rivaled by Tiger Woods when he enters the final day of a competition 10 strokes ahead, I went into that woman's place of employment like I was a Hip Hop version of Billy D. Williams.(minus the Colt 45) Granted, this is before my recent bouts with germaphobia and my fear of being "burned" like a Fireman from casual sex, but it worked, and the young lady in question soon became acquainted with my well documented 3 minutes of sexual bliss. Was what I did fucked up? Sure, but like I said, if you aren't a friend or a family member it's every man for himself. Hey, at least I didn't take her out to eat at the same restaurant that that cook works at for Christs sake!!

Criminal Minded: Let me tell you, I am the last person that you will see throwing a party for someone when they get out of jail or glamorizing criminality any way possible. It's just not me, the same way it's not in my nature to follow the "No snitching" rule that most men religiously abide by in the "guy code" handbook. Of course I wouldn't snitch if, lets say, I am part of a bank-robbing ring and I'm the only one to get caught. The fact that I was involved in said crime, I would deserve whatever I got, and wouldn't bring anyone down with me. Also, if I knew the whereabouts of a family member or close friend who was wanted for some particular crime, their secret would definitely be safe with me, I wouldn't say anything. That's it!! One time a dude who I bought weed off of once was caught up in some bullshit and the cops were questioning me as well, saying that I would do a few years because of my "supposed involvement" if I didn't tell them his whereabouts. Sure, they were just trying to lean on me a bit, and it never got to the "me snitching" stage, but if you think for one god damned minute that I would do 5 years in jail for not only a crime that I didn't commit, but a motherfucker that I hardly knew, then you have another thing coming. Shit, do you know how I spend my Sundays when I'm not downloading porn, writing raps, or throat-chopping assholes in a single bound?? I am watching "Crime Solvers", to see if I can get an easy thousand bucks for snitching on some idiotic criminal that I might know the whereabouts of. Fuck your guy code, that's good money, don't knock it until you've tried it.