The other day, for the life of me I couldn't tell you why, I did something that I thought I would never do again. No, I haven't decided to start fucking midgets again, haven't purchased another Eminem album, and the only reason I wore that speedo last year was because the woman I was intimate with told me that seeing my derriere made her hotter than Lil Kim's crotch on African Safari. After a long absence, Humanity F Critic decided to take his black ass to church. Don't let the title of this post fool you, I do believe in a higher power, and that isn't based on some sort of blind faith either. I mean, who else could have saved me from myself, those 1000 fights I have been in, the suicidal path that I took when I tried to drink myself to death, that had to be an act of god.(I am the poster boy for the "god looks after fools and babies" term) Lastly, when my father was healthy, one of the only topics that we agreed on were the foolish actions of people who were heavily religious. We called them "nut-bags", "bible thumping freaks", and every other name under the sun. So, I couldn't ignore the irony in it all as we were both praying, with our hands clutched, as my father lay there dying on his death bed on that rainy Sunday afternoon in February 01. Weirder in fact was later that night, when I had a dream of a thin dread-locked man with a white light behind him, approaching me screaming "Oh, NOW you want to pray to me, huh?? People kill me, wait people did kill me, man I kill me sometimes. hahaha" Some truly freaky shit.So after a long layoff, I decided to take my dark complected ass to church, not only because I felt like it is something that I should be doing, but also this was the first Sunday since my mid 20's where I wasn't hung the fuck over smelling like cheap perfume and some miscellaneous woman's genitalia. Listen, I was raised Catholic, so the guilt of me not going to confession for the longest time was already there before I even stepped foot into that wooden structure that I call "God's microphone booth", I sat down in confessional, looking around in awe the same way an adult does when they have the chance to visit the childhood room that they slept in 30 years prior. Then suddenly the little door slid open, and before he could say anything I said "Forgive me father for I have sinned!" He said, "My son, how long has it been since your last confession?" I nervously racked my brain, not remembering specifically how many years it had been, so I simply said "The Clinton Administration?" I have to tell you, besides the jumper I hit yesterday to bring my team to victory at my local YMCA over a team with the combined age of like a thousand, nothing makes a person feel better than to have a priest laugh at one of your jokes.
He laughed for a good 20 seconds, which made me revise the old comedian line which I thought was fitting, "Thank you. Thank you!! My next show is 2016!" Instead of going through the regular "confessional" routine, he wanted to know why I didn't go to church regularly. Usually, I would have lied my ass off, even to a priest, about why I hadn't gone to church as regularly as most people. But since I'm an attention whore and the man had laughed at my joke for christs sake, I decided to tell him the truth that I really despised organized religion. He then said, "You aren't going to go into the "little boys" and "priests' thing are you, I'm tired of hearing that!!" That's when I told him, "Hey, I look at that the same way the Bush administration looked at Abu Graibe, 'just a few bad apples'" Again he laughed(not particularly the toughest crowd) and after the confession he pulled me aside, and wanted to know what specifically drove me away from organized religion. So, the following reasons I despise organized religion is exactly what I told the only man outside of Humanity F Critic Sr. that I have ever called "father". Of course this is the dirty version, but you understand.
Falling the fuck out: Even though I was always suspicious of celebrities who decided they wanted to "find god" all of a sudden, after they had snorted up all the coke and put their mouth on every phallus this side of the equator. I was always like, "Yeah, NOW you find religion!!" But a few years ago I was less cynical, because I had a few incidents happen to me where I had hit rock bottom and needed heavenly enlightenment, so I finally understood why after years of debauchery a person might want to be "cool with Christ". What made me want to have a chat with the big fella in his "house", simply, was because I was almost shot a few times. No, I'm not a thug, never sold weight, and I never claimed that the fictional character "Scarface" was something that I was aspiring to be. But, due to a stray shot that almost hit me at a club, a jealous ex-boyfriend who wanted my mother to only have one son, and a gentleman who wanted to forever silence my "big mouth" after a party, I knew that it was time to get reacquainted with my homeboy JC.At the time a chick I was dating, Carla, suggested that I go with her to her church. Even though I was catholic and I think she was a baptist at the time, I saw no harm going with her where she worshipped. Immediately I felt that I had stepped into the twilight-zone, I mean, at catholic churches you have speedy services, these Gregorian chant type hymns, and everyone is reserved. In this chick's church folks were convulsing in a "Pat Riley trying to dance" sort of way , and like the fictional monster "Enema Man" it was scaring the shit out of me. After a few minutes of feeling like a Frank Sinatra fan who suddenly found himself in a Wu-Tang Klan concert, I noticed that everyone formed a single file line facing the preacher. As I looked further, I noticed that the preacher was putting his hand on people, and the particular person he had his hand on would shake like Muhammad Ali break-dancing, then they would fall the fuck out. I stood in line, wondering if I would catch the holy ghost, fake it if I didn't, or be a smart ass and tell the preacher "Nothing is happening, does that mean I'm Satan??!!" But I did none of that, I got so nervous I ran out of the building and proceeded to run the 4 miles to my house. Don't ask.
Sister Act: A few years ago I used to date this chick named Belinda, by far one of the wildest chicks foolish enough to ever see me naked. I'm talking bar fights, smacking chicks in the face for the fuck of it, cursing out random individuals at the drop of a hat, truly a woman after my own heart. I thought I had met my soul mate, a chick that I could grow old with, a woman who would roll my blunts for me when I got older, one that would tell my kids that the only reason I was smoking weed was because of my cataracts. Yeah, we had a bright future, that was until I hung out with her on Sundays. For one thing, music that I played in my car that she usually enjoyed was all of a sudden, on Sunday's that is, "inappropriate". She would actually eject my CD's and put in some god awful gospel Hip Hop, where said MC's would ruin a perfectly good beat by talking about "giving praise", or some other nonsensical hogwash like that. This chick was like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hide, especially when it came to "bumping uglies" on what many feel is the one holy day of the weekThis one time while we were in my car, I tried to get frisky with her in my mode of transportation, her and my backseat were on a first name basis by the way. But on this particular Sunday she said, "Get off me, this is the lord's day!! I'm not engaging in sexual activities in your car!" That's when I lost in and said, "Listen, it's not like the almighty doesn't see you giving out mouth-hugs like free cheese from Monday through Saturday. Oh Yeah, by the way, you didn't have problems having sex in my car when you used my gear shift as a god damned dildo! Most of the time you are "9 1/2 weeks" but on Sunday you're "Sister Act"?? Fuck you, you Fucking hypocrite!!' Yeah, that was one of the last times I saw Belinda, even though I dearly miss her making my stick shift disappear.
The Preacher Hustle: Me and preachers go together like Melissa Etheridge and a penises, not very well. I mean, I respect the true messengers of the word, people who are totally selfless, doing whatever they can do to spread that positive message that inspires anybody within an earshot of their voice. I'm down for that, but what I'm not down with are the few "men of Christ" who I feel have abused their power the same way police officers who promises the hooker he won't arrest her if she goes down on him. I have encountered preachers who promote giving back and look down on excess, putting his congregation through a 2 hour sermon on the subject, only to drive away afterwards with a Lexus Jeep with spinners. I was once lectured about the importance of tithing and how if I did so that good things might happen for me, only to learn later that this man was fucking 3 different women in back on his church that weren't his loving wife. Or the worst at all, the black preachers who either get a huge "donation" from the republican party, or foolishly feel that abortion is the only issue out there come election time, so they betray the trust of their people and urge them to vote for some right-wing ass hat.
Tyler Perry: I'm sorry, I know that a lot of you like the material that this man puts out, but I motherfucking hate this guy. No, it's not that I just flat out think that the guy is a cluster-fuck of unadulterated unfunny. No, it's not that I feel that a lot of his humor is about a notch above traditional black-face and rappers with grills, that's not it at all. Really, my reason for hating this guy shouldn't have any reason for my hatred of organized religion, only that this girl that I would randomly show my genitalia to would play his fucking plays every Sunday morning that I was there. Fellas, it was so bad that I often considered skipping a sexual experience that I nicknamed "The late-night flesh-fest", where all my desires could be fulfilled with a woman that I just new moonlighted as a porn star. The worse feeling in the world is waking up, wanting to watch sportscenter or Ebert and Roeper in someone else's bed, having to endure some ghetto ass plays on video, plays that sounded like they were written by the same wordsmiths that brought us the gem "Kingdom Come" I know, Tyler Perry shouldn't be one of the reasons that drove me away from organized religion, I just wanted another reason to shit on him.
This excerpt is from a 
Let me explain this for a moment. For the last year and a half, something that many of you will experience possibly, I have had a handful of people plagiarize my writings on their blog and attempt to pass them off as their own. I caught one culprit by accident by simply browsing other blogs, I caught 5 other's by using the site "
Only recently, relatively late in life if you ask people who know me like my mother, have I began to see signs that I can suppress my impulses and act like a responsible adult. When an old lady honked her car at me like she had lost her god-damned mind, even though we were both sitting in rush hour traffic that was at least a mile long, I didn't flip out. Usually I would have waited to get my car besides hers at some point, and with colorful language explain to her what variety of "
For the past week or so since I saw Saxophone Willy in that shopping mall, I have called him a few times but made no real attempt to contact him. Not that I'm mad or anything, but because I'm a coward when it comes to receiving any bad news I just hope his gambling debts didn't result in him taking a very lengthy dirt nap. That being said, I really didn't know what older person I would use for this particular entry. I was going to use MR. Wilson, the father of my friend Jerry, but had to kill that idea when I realized that he was going through some black "
As long as I can remember, and being a connoisseur of hemp my recollections are a bit fuzzy, I have been obsessed with records. No, I'm not talking about the "
When I get married to my soul mate, besides the affection and attention that I will show her to prove my love, I will also have the date that we became life partners tattooed on my body. Ok, I'm lying, the real reason that I will have that specific date etched on my person is because I am forgetful as fuck when it comes to dates. Seriously, whenever I am in a relationship do you know what 6 words I dread the most? No, it's not "
I can't front, after performing with Saxophone Willy's band last week, I thought that the days of receiving insincere input from him was over. I thought, based on his childlike exuberance concerning my blog last week, that he would be more pro-active when it comes to the only weekly blog post that features him. At first, after I tried for the past few days to reach him and didn't get a response from him, my new found hope waned a bit. But then I remembered how elusive I can be when it comes to getting back with people, so at the end of the day I wasn't that worried about it. That's when I got a cryptic voice mail from Willy to meet him at one of our local malls, at a specific bench, at a specific wing of the "
Recently I have been bombarded by a slew of emails from fellow African Americans who think that I am doing a disservice to my race by the content on my blog, like a hysterectomy I kid you not. My first reaction, because of the insufferable prick that I am, was to email them a picture of my asshole to clearly indicate how I felt about their criticism. But I didn't do that, I didn't even email them back with Gandhi-esque gestures, telling detractors of my blog the standard "
