Don't Drive Drunk

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 Help with Alcoholism

National Institute on Alcohol Abuse and Alcoholism
Alcohol treatment info

Sunday I went to a Old School Hip Hop Show

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.

The headliners of this concert were going to be no other than Slick Rick and Kool G Rap, two individuals who are listed on my "greatest MC's of all time" list. Being that old school shows nowadays are few and far between, I wanted to do something special. I thought about wearing a Slick Rick shirt that I had, but I remembered how corny it seemed when I saw people wearing a t-shirt of the artist that was performing. I thought about wearing the gold fronts that I had purchased a few years back, but then I thought about all the assholes I despise in current Hip Hop videos who constantly flash their teeth like modern day minstrel show performers. I thought about wearing this thick gold chain that I had, but I remembered that I only had it because I snatched it off this dude's neck who tried to steal my jacket when I was in High school. I figured wearing it would be bad karma, why in the fuck did I still have it anyway? I decided not to make a fashion statement and just go and have a good time.

When I arrive there I notice that the parking lot is full, which made me feel good that people were supporting real Hip Hop. I get to the line, which isn't moving, and there has to be like 20 bouncers outside. Apparently they were disgruntled over an incident that happened prior to my arrival, so they were hyped up. I immediately thought about a joke that comedian Ron White told where he felt that bouncers take their job too seriously, and probably masturbate to "Roadhouse" when they are in the privacy of their own home. These guys definitely fit that profile. The line wasn't moving, so I sat there listening to the asinine conversations of the bouncers and the people who were in line with me. One of the bouncers said to the other, "Kobe Bryant isn't even a top twenty player any more He sucks!! ". My dumb ass says the following, "Shovel that horseshit(Belle's saying), people hate Kobe so suddenly their sports I.Q goes in the toilet. He is still a premiere player, no matter what you personally think about him you fucking peasant!!" That proved to be a mistake on my part, because when I got to the front of the line I received one of the most aggressive frisks I have ever had. After he was done I said, "You could have at least held me after you were done. I felt like I was in a shower scene on the show "Oz".

As I enter the establishment, and pay 10 dollars more than the price was advertised at, I noticed that the place wasn't packed at all. It was actually kind of sparse, so I chalked it up to "still being early" so I went to the bar to get a drink. As I am downing my rum and coke, this guy comes up to me and says, "What's up HumanityCritic!!" I looked at him but had no fucking idea who this guy was, he had a thick beard and a few piercings in his face. He said, "It's Lonnie you asshole!!" I said, "Ohh, what's up man?? What is the deal with the piercings and the grizzly Adams beard?" He said, "People kept saying that I looked like Jude Law, so I decided I would change a bit." I almost spilled my drink in disgust and said, "You happened to look like a dude that millions of women want to fuck and you want to change how you look? What kind of asshole are you?!! If people said that I look like Denzel(which i don't), my black ass would learn to mimic how he talks and even learn dialogue from "Ricochet" or "John Q" and shit!" He gave me a weird look and said, "I never thought about that", which made me want to end that conversation immediately.

A couple of drinks and a few boring opening acts later, a girl that I have known off and on for 15 years named Christy comes up to me. Christy is fine, and usually I would want to penetrate every orifice imaginable on a woman looking that delicious, but.. Well, lets just say that Christy is sexually adventurous, fuck it she's a whore. Ladies, I know that men throw that term around loosely, misusing it and demeaning women who don't deserve that title. So I ask you, Ladies, would I be in my natural right to use that term concerning Christy due to a few factors? 1. I know at least 30 people personally that have slept with her. 2.She was in a amateur porn flick where she was with 2 guys and a girl. 3. When she was hard up for cash she called me up and offered to give me a piece of her for payment.(Which I responded, "That's like you charging for air, cats are getting that shit for free anyway.) 4. I saw her one night and she wanted to be with me and my friends, I declined but my friends didn't. They all happened to end up in the free clinic by the way. Anyway, we talked for a few minutes and then she gave me an extremely long hug. Not to be mean but I suddenly felt the urge to take a shower as I saw her walk away. You know how the Charlie Brown character "Pig Pen" always had a dirt cloud following him around? Well, I thought I saw that same cloud hovering around her crotch, but maybe that was the liquor talking.

Kool G Rap finally comes on stage and proceeded to rip it in the same way he did when I saw him during the summer of 1989. He did "Road to the Riches", "Ill Street Blues", his verse in "The Symphony", and a few of his other hits. I felt like a kid again as I was in the front row, mouthing the words from his songs verbatim. He put on a good show, but I was disappointed in one fact though. He didn't do his song "Talk Like sex". You have to understand that I love that song, not only because it is a good song, but for one line in it that I have drunkenly repeated to a shitload of girls that I have known. The line goes, "I'll bust a nut, get up, and wipe my d*ck on your curtain!" Pure poetry, that's what I say. Plus, the pure horror on the faces of women I told that too is priceless, since they didn't know I was quoting a song.

Next up was Slick Rick, the master story-teller himself. He came on the stage with a platinum studded eye-patch, a pink shirt, and matching pink shell-toe Adidas. Of course he was wearing about 100 thousand dollars worth of platinum jewelery around his neck. One thing I noticed about him, as he rapped, was that he still had that "I'm better than you, deal with it motherfucker" swagger about him and I love that shit man. He did "Ladi-Dadi", "Children's Story", "Teenage Love", "Hey Young World", and various other classics. As I rocked out in the crowd, occasionally I would look at the people in attendance and feel good that there were actually people who liked real Hip Hop like I do. I felt good man, I felt good like a guy in the AA meeting who expresses embarrassing things that he did while he was drunk, only to find out that there are other people in that meeting who had done the same thing. I felt good like the time after I had just witnessed my father die and I went to a convenience store to buy a beer. For some reason I started sobbing while I was in line and the checkout lady came around the counter and gave me a five minute hug of consolement. It felt good like that.

As Slick Rick left the stage I was a bit disappointed that he didn't do the song "The Moment I feared", because it was the bravest song by any MC ever. Let me explain, in the song he tells a story of betrayal, drugs, and murder. At the end of the song he gets caught and says the following, "Now I'm doing life in the Pen and I'm Scared/Some kid snuffed me cold and greased me where no one dared!" What rapper do you know would talk about getting anally raped on record, albeit fictitiously? Pink shirt, Pink Adidas, getting sexually assaulted in prison, that takes a tremendous amount of sack and a guy secure in his heterosexuality in my opinion. But I guess it could be troubling that I just talked about my favorite lines being about wiping body fluids on a curtain and being man-raped. But then again, you fuckers knew what you were getting into when you read this blog!!!

After I talked to my friend Rachel, cursed out a bartender who tried to overcharge me, and tried to show love to a local DJ that I respected but probably coming off as a dude who had a man crush, I left and headed to my car. I must have looked drunk because a cop in the parking lot said, "I know you aren't driving home", then I replied "Hell no Serpico!"(Al Pacino, 70's cop movie reference) and proceeded to sit at a nearby park bench for that cop to stop eyeballing me. As I sat there, I thought about a few things. 1. That I love Hip Hop 2.That Hip Hop will never die, as much as new rappers try to poison her and 3: I really need to take a shower immediately, being that "3 alarm" Christy hugged me. Yuck

Sleeping Ugly

Believe it or not, HumanityCritic has somewhat of a soft side. I can picture myself settling down, having a black picket fence, and having 2.5 kids. I can really see that, honest. But when I look deeper, and over-analyze(like I always do), I know that whoever Mrs. HumanityCritic is she will absolutely have her hands full. Granted, I would be faithful, show her the utmost respect, and never bring any other women into our bed.(Unless the woman is Rosario Dawson, she can't refuse that!) But my utter bullshit and my asinine idiosyncrasies will be tough for her to deal with, no doubt abut that. Forget my agenda of rage, my angry verbal outbursts, or how I will throat-chop a motherfucker on the drop of a dime either. I'm talking about something more close to home, literally.. My bad sleeping habits.

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.

Just another Day at the Golf Course

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.

6:00 AM

I was awakened by the sound of my phone, nursing a serious hangover from Jack Daniels and rejection. I answer by saying, "Somebody better be dying or dead, who in the fuck is this??" The voice answers, "It's Chris, from the magazine, your future boss." I guess this is the part where he figured that I would totally change gears, but instead I said, "Oh, what in the fuck do you want?" He says, "Well, we had such a great time playing golf with you last time, my business partner and I were wondering if you would be up to playing again??" I paused, looked at the time and just thought to myself that the only time I am up this early on a Sunday is to try to score with women at Catholic Mass, or throwing up from the previous night of debauchery. Finally I said, "OK, I can play a few rounds today", and started to get ready. As I got ready I put on my normal golf attire, camouflage shorts, a Public Enemy T-shit, and some brand new golf shoes that I had just purchased. I was ready to play some golf, primarily because last time I played with these gentleman I looked like a novice, and I hate to lose something fierce. Now, through getting a golf coach, practicing at a driving range, and bullying children at my local Putt-Putt to get my game better, I have something for their ass this time.

7:00 AM

I look out the window and see Chris pull up, so I got my stuff together to go play some golf. About a few moments later he decides to honk his horn, repeatedly, about 10 times. When I get to his car I say, "What the fuck are you doing??". He started laughing, not in a "you are a joke to me" way, but in a "you are a really funny guy" kind of way, which I found rather odd at the time. As we are traveling to the golf course I decide to behave myself, since the last time we played golf I cursed a few dudes out, even though they deserved it. We arrive at a golf course that I had never been to before, and I guess people there had never seen a black face before because I felt like Jennifer Lopez' ass the way so many grown men were staring at me. Usually I would have said, "What in the fuck are you looking at jackass!!", but I only stared back and kept my mouth shut. I wasn't trying to impress the assholes that I was with, just trying to be more civil that's all.

7:25

We reach the first hole and I am ready to kick some ass. Chris drives first with his ball ending up in the woods somewhere, he then let out a big "Fuuuuck!" His friend John drove second, with his ball landing in a sand pit. Chris said, "OK HumanityCritic, go ahead!", he whispers to John, "This should be good!" Since it was a Par 3 the main objective was to get the ball on the green which was about 170 yards, so I smashed the ball and it landed a few feet from the hole. Both of them just stood there with their mouths wide open, then I said "Let's play some golf Motherfuckers!!"

8:00 AM

As I began to systematically beat them like they had owed me money, I began to see their attitude change towards me a bit. Before when we played, they laughed at all my jokes and thought I was the funniest guy in the world.(Which could have been legitimate or just a way to kiss my ass to write for their magazine) I guess I wasn't the life of the party now that I was embarrassing them in front of all their golfing pals. Something else happened while we were playing, they started talking shit. Not in a "Sportsman-like, get you out of your game" way but a "I want to get you mad by being an asshole" kind of way. First they started talking about Bush and what a great president he was amongst themselves, which I ignored because I was currently shooting for a Birdie at the time. Then they started talking about how "all Hip Hop is negative", a charge that I addressed with a simple "That's because you nothing about the culture, ignorance is bliss I guess." It started to get ugly.

8:20 AM

Then, I guess because they read my blog, they started talking about Kobe Bryant.(Yes, I am his biggest apologist as many of you know) Chris said, "Fuck Kobe, I am a Shaq guy!" That's when I let out the following lengthy diatribe: "That's cool, even though Shaq is a 300 pound sanitary napkin who squats when he pisses, but that's just my opinion. Plus, the media has so much hatred for Kobe ingrained in their DNA that everything that Shaq says is raised to a Winston Churchill quotable. You hear announcers say, "Did you hear what Shaq said about Kobe?", in a excitable way, its pathetic. You know what I say, I heard what Shaq said and it's the same old mono-syllabic crap that he usually spews out, that Internet degree getting motherfucker!!" They both stood there, as I was currently 5 shots ahead of them, looking like they wanted to tear my head off.

8:45 AM

As they are taking me home the car is very silent, no one said a word for the first few minutes. When they pulled in my neighborhood Chris said, "I thought when we asked you to play that you would make us laugh, you were funny last time, what happened? Your blog is funny but today you were a buzz kill man". As I got out of the car I said, "What am I here to entertain you? Want me to put on some black-face and do a two-step for you motherfuckers?? Fuck the both of you,(grabbing my gear) you non golfing motherfuckers!" As I walked to my house Chris says, "I guessed you went and fucked up that writing gig, stupid motherfucker!??" I slowly turned around, pulled my driver out of my bag, and approached Chris' Mercedes. I replied, "What did you say? Get your ass out of the car, now!" That's when Chris put the peddle to the metal, with my silly ass throwing my club with all my might at his car. As my neighbors looked on, shaking their heads at my most recent act of aggression, I gathered my clubs and walked in the house. As I sat down and looked at a autographed picture of Aurthur Ashe I realized that I will never compromise who I am for any writing job, any job period for the matter.(I didn't know if I was being truthful, or I was saying that because I had a few other gigs lined up)

**Sidenote**
Because I am sure Chris will read this, let me say this in the most delicate way possible: I am nobody's boy, you are lucky that I didn't beat your ass in front of my crib, and I'd wipe my ass with your flimsy rag before I would submit anything to it. Ahh, letting out your frustrations can be so therapeutic.

Oops, My Bad

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.

Famous Last Words

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.

(I talk about Sheila and my father, albeit fictitiously, here.)

The Fine Art of Getting your ass thrown out of a Club

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.

Where:Virginia
When:Circa 1993

In the early 90's I was desperately trying to become a world famous MC, entering rap battles and doing shows with my rap group at the time. One hot summer night we were supposed to perform a few songs at some club in Downtown Norfolk. When I got there, I was met by a bouncer who looked a bit too familiar to me. See, this dude was the brother of a girl that I was "dating" and he absolutely hated my guts. I extended my hand to him but he basically pushed it away, then he told us that we could go in. The whole night I caught him giving me the evil eye, staring at me like he was crazy, so I approached him and said, "Man, I'm not a snack! What's your problem?" I guess he didn't like subtle jabs at his weight because he looked like he was about to explode. Then our group was called to the stage where we performed a few songs, but after our scheduled set we started freestyling. That's when shit went wrong, because as I remember I referenced the bouncer in question as being a "transvestite", how I "folded up his sister like origami", and how deep I would shove my foot in his hidden "orifice". Before I could even finish, the bouncer rushes to the stage and damn near picks me up over his shoulders. He then proceeded to literally throw me outside where we started to fight. He was huge, about 6'5 300 pounds, but I knew that I had speed on my side. "Whap!", I tapped him with the right jab. "Whap-Whap", I tapped him with a left/right jab combination. I thought, "This is going to be easy!" As soon as I tried to throw a solid right hook, he ducked it, and wrapped my ass up in a choke hold. I knew I was fucked, as I grasped for air thinking about what a asshole I was a cop was near-by and stopped my attempted demise. When the cop was trying to figure out what was going on and I had caught my breath, I threw a haymaker and sucker punched that bouncer motherfucker, which made the cop absolutely livid. Yeah it was a cheap shot, but I guess you have to get in where you fit in.

Where:Virginia(Oceanfront)
When:Circa 1994

I was in some club down at the oceanfront, and since this was the first year that I could legally drink, lets just say I was having a great time. That place was a fucking sweatbox, with all the bumping and grinding, the place having no AC, and it being damn near 80 degrees outside, it felt that I was losing weight by the second. Ever since I was a kid, whenever I get hot, I roll up my sleeves on my t-shirt. Matter of fact I still do that. Anyway, a bouncer had told me to put the sleeves down because it violate the club's "dresscode". I was cool about it and put my sleeves down, no problem. Minutes later, still burning the fuck up and forgetting what the bouncer had said, I rolled my sleeves back up. As soon as I did that, he must have been watching me or something, he yells "That's it", and grabs my arm and "escorts" me out of the club. I am pissed, yelling at the bouncer, calling him everything but the son of god. That is when he pulls out some sort of taser out of his back pocket and begs me to step to him. Usually I would have, but for some reason, on that particular night, doing so had the word "loss" written all over it. I backed down and went my way, that was until later that night when I saw him ordering food inside of McDonald's. Let me tell you , nothing scares folks more than throwing a grown man ass man into a "Grimace" statue.

Where:California
When:1998

I went to L.A to visit a friend of mine who had done a few commercials, and landed a few bit parts on some TV shows at the time. His plan was, as he so succinctly put it, was to show me "the time of my life". So we went to some club where we had a great time, getting shitfaced and talking to women that were definitely out of my league. I noticed this dude kept looking at me but I paid it no mind at first. An hour passes, and the guy is still staring at me. The woman that I was conversing with informed me that the guy in question tried to pick her up earlier, but she flatly refused him. After a few more minutes of him looking at me like I was lunch, I walk over to him and politely say, "Hey pussy, what are you gawking at?" He pushed me, and as a reflex I drew back and tried to take his head off. As the bouncer grabbed the both of us, the "boys" of the guy I just punched gather around waiting to see what was going to happen. As things are getting sorted out I notice that the guy that I punched, and his boys, were all wearing the same colors. In my head I was saying, "Fuck, I just hit a damn gang member!" I knew that my life was in danger, so I did what any guy would do in my situation, I hit the bouncer. "Whap!", the bouncer went to one knee and came back up and hit me in the stomach, hard. The reason I hit him was because I remember earlier my friend telling me that off duty police usually bounce there, so I knew a night in jail was better than the cemetery.

Where:Las Vegas
When:2002

When the new millennium came in, I made it a rule to stop fighting, seriously. I went to Vegas like any other single guy does, to watch those two lion taming guys and catch a Celine Dion show. Ok, that's a lie, I went there to drink, gamble, and talk shit to strippers. Did I mention the drinking part? Anyway, there was this club that my boys and I had went to and it was absolute debauchery. Butt naked women, great music, some celebrities, it was great. A beautiful woman comes up to me and starts talking about some random bullshit. Granted, I wasn't interested in what she was saying, just that she was talking to me and that single fact made my "soldier" stand at "attention". She kept asking if I wanted a "date", I kept saying, "Sure, a dinner and a movie?" She looked frustrated and said, "No, do you want a DATE tonight?" Wondering what the fuck she was talking about I said, "Ok, maybe dinner and a movie is a wack idea. How about a concert?" Losing all of her patience she yelled out, "Do you want to pay me to fuck you!!!" "Oh, OK", feeling like a total square. I declined her vaginal invitation, telling her that I only pay for sex from women when I am in a relationship. She was pissed and cursed me for "wasting her time", then I cursed her back referencing how I could "park a small car inside her womb", or something like that. She smacked the shit out of me, then I threw my drink in her face, which alerted the bouncers. They grabbed me up and roughly escorted me outside. This one guy cornered me, and said "Maybe we need to teach you a lesson, Boy", I tried to gather some super strength from the racial significance of the word "boy", but I couldn't since the guy was black. I handled him fine, but when 4 our his "bouncer" friends helped him, I definitely caught a bad one. For all those people who say that I never talk about getting my ass whipped on my blog, well that night I got stomped. Nothing is worse than getting beat the fuck down by 5 men with extremely tight shirts with the word "bouncer" on them.

(Want to download a podcast of this post? It's an excellent way to listen to it whenever you wanted to. Go here and check it out)

Quote of the Day..

Hillary Clinton on George Bush, "I sometimes feel that Alfred E. Neuman is in charge in Washington."

Amen!

Patience is a Virtue, but...

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!"

Supermarket Rage 2: I respect my elders, not only because I'm supposed to but because of the wisdom and knowledge you can gain from them. I was in line behind a very nice woman who asked me questions about my hair, she did it in a nice way so I answered all of her questions. She then showed me a picture of her 25 year old granddaughter, who was fine as hell, so I blurted out "I wouldn't mind getting to know her, even if it is for a few minutes!" As soon as I said it I cringed, but luckily she didn't get my joke about me wanting to penetrate her "favorite grandchild", so I was happy about that. When she got to the cashier she had about 20 dollars worth of groceries, so she reached in her purse for what I thought would be a checkbook or a charge card. She proceeded in pulling out handfuls of change that you wouldn't believe. I don't mean mostly quarters either, I'm talking about a shitload of pennies and nickels. Add to the fact that the cashier added change the same way I can ride a unicycle, not very well. After standing there about 5 minutes as this nice woman and this inept cashier try to "Forrest Gump" their way through change counting I got fed up. I grabbed all the nice ladies change, told her to keep her money, and just paid for her groceries. The lady gave me a warm hug and said that that "was the nicest thing anyone has done for her in a while", not knowing that I did it out of impatience not generosity. But, because I had just lost my father, and a hug from anyone felt extremely good, I said "Is there anything else you want?" She said "really", and I said "Go ahead", so she grabbed about 15 bucks worth of things. As she was leaving she said, "I will have my granddaughter call you, she needs a good man in her life!" For all I knew she could of just scammed me, making me the proverbial "all day sucker', but I didn't care because of her hug that momentarily jump-started my heart. The funny thing is that her granddaughter DID call me, and I DID "know" her "minutes" at a time. Being generous sure does pay off.

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.

A Quick post about my baby idiosyncrasies.

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.

Slap Happy: My mother told me that it was hard to have me around other kids, because I would end up slapping them for no reason. There was a incident where my mother had came to pick me up from the daycare center, and when she arrived I had 2 kids crying hysterically because I had just given them the business end of a 2 year olds "pimp" hand. She told me that during that time period she found herself apologizing a lot, and she told me that spankings and slaps on the hand wouldn't work because I never cried. As we sat in her living room and looked through old pictures, she said "I'm surprised that your ass didn't become a mass murderer or something like that!" Then she paused, looked at me, and said "But then again you are still young." Gee, thanks Mom.

Self Expression: Listening to my mother the other day I get the feeling that I have had issues with verbal turrets for years now. She began telling me about incidents where I would once again embarrass the shit out of her. Like this one time when I was with her in a supermarket and I pointed at a disabled kid's dome, and said loudly "Ohhh, Mama, Look at that baby's Head!!" My mother tried to politely "shush" me and I replied, "But his head is huge mama!" My poor mother. Or this one time, as I'm told, I pointed to a gentleman's glass eye and said, "What is wrong with that guy's eyeball momma?? It's pointing(motioning to the left) that-a-way!" She said that it got to the point that she would stop apologizing and just hi-tail it out of there.

Fun with Bowel movements: My mother told me that when I was in the confines of our home, I acted just fine. But apparently, whenever I had a bowel movement in a public place, I would let out a loud "Uhhhhhhhhh" when I was in the act of dropping those tiny brown nuggets. My mother didn't let her horror get the best of her, since she figured it was a one time occurrence. That was until she took me with her to lunch with a few of her friends one summer day. As I sat in a high chair, and they chatted in this ritzy restaurant on the island of Hawaii, I let out a huge "Uhhhhhhhh" as I released my bowels. What made it worse, what my mother tells me, is that my face was contorted as I let out that ungodly noise.

(Want to download a podcast of this post? It's an excellent way to listen to it whenever you wanted to. Go here and check it out

Class Clown

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.

A Rainbow Point of "View"

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..

My "Hooptie"

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.

Tales from the Gold Mine

During the course of writing this blog I have noticed that there is a price to pay for being open and honest about your life. Listen, when people claim that I am a chronic exaggerator, a ultra violent maniac, and even a persistent complainer(here), all I can do is respect their opinion but respectfully disagree. But one thing that I can agree with though, is that I have shown a tendency to be an outright pig sometimes. From my rules to cheating, and my sexual encounters(and here), I can see why people would think that I am the male equivalent to a farm animal. But when I look at myself seriously, I might talk a ton of shit, but I still believe in a few things. 1: Chivalry 2: Paying for dates 3: Respect(that's a two way street though) and 4: Never calling a woman out of her name.(Unless she tries to kill you, smack you, says her favorite song involving Q-Tip is "Vibrant Thing", or voted for George Bush strictly because he opposed abortion. Bitch.) One thing that has baffled me during the tenure of my dating career is the infamous "Gold digger." Here are a few personal examples when I have encountered them.

Renee: I should have known that Renee would be trouble because when I met her in a club, she looked very uncomfortable. Not in a "this club is wack" kind of way, but in a "these silly Negros are beneath me kind of way". I never thought uttering the phrase, "What stick is up your ass lady!?", would spark off a impromptu conversation that would lead to me getting her number. Flash forward about a week, and since she said she liked Sushi I took her to one of the best places in town. The whole time she complained about how the "Sushi here doesn't compare to the Sushi in Japan", which would probably be very true if the cooks names were "Billy Bob" and "John-boy". But the two chefs were straight off the "Orient Express", just got to Virginia, so when I informed her of that she acted like she didn't hear me. We get to her house and it is decked out, the best furniture, expensive rugs, chandeliers, and I can't forget the brand new Mercedes in the driveway. I asked her what she did for a living before but I think she changed the subject, so I asked her again, "What do you do?" She had stated that she was in between jobs at the moment. I asked her, "OK, what DID you do?" Her answer, still vague, was "A little bit of this, a little bit of that." What the fuck?!! I knew she wasn't into drugs because of the horrified look she gave me when I lit a joint on the way to her house. So the next couple of weeks were spent not trying to get to know her better, and build a strong foundation for a relationship, but to find out how in the fuck does she made her money!!

She was like "Tommy" from Martin's sitcom, has money but doesn't have a job to show for. Through my investigative skills, OK-my nosy ass poking and prodding, I found out that Renee hadn't had a real job since the first Clinton term. She, for lack of a better word, turned out to be a Gold Digger.

Sandra: Just like I said in a previous post that women should believe me when I tell them that I'm an "asshole", well I should of believed her when she said that men couldn't handle her. I couldn't handle her, or shall I say her expensive tastes. The first date we went on was this snooty french restaurant where everyone there looked very uptight, or in desperate need to take a shit, regardless this wasn't my scene. The waiter was a pretentious prick named Pierre, who knew Sandra pretty well, because the whole night they were bouncing "inside jokes" off of one another. About 30 minutes into our time there she finally introduced me to Pierre, with Pierre saying "Oh, how do you do" with a "so-fucking-what" attitude. I have to say, as a man, I despise a weak ass handshake. His hand felt like a bowl of jello, or a newborn baby's ass, so to be an asshole I shook his hand with the same force you use to crush a beer can as hard as you can. To hear that jackass lightly whimper in pain gave me an enjoyment that you wouldn't believe. Anyway, when she ordered the food she asked for some old ass wine, but I was so transfixed on her breasts that she could have ordered anything. We eat our food, drink the wine, I listen to her tell me that "her body doesn't touch anything but silk when I sleep", and other booshy bullshit. I get the bill and the wine she ordered was 200 bucks! What I said next offended her, but I think that her ordering wine that expensive without checking with me was rather offensive. Anyway, I said, "I see we're fucking tonight huh?" She was "appalled" and asked me "What kind of man can't pay for $300 dollar wine?" I said, "A man who is on a first date with some broad he just met, that's who!" It was apparent that I would never see her naked, make her count the tiles on her ceilings, or give her 3 minutes of pure Ecstasy, so I started saying wildly inappropriate things to her. Like "I guess you can work off that 300 dollars in a 'I come by and hit that when I want' payment plan." Whatever I said was irrelevant though, because I still payed the bill. I sure can be a schmuck sometimes.

Marilyn: There are always signs when someone is absolutely trouble. The sign this time was when Marilyn and I went to a movie one night. After the movie, as I waited for her to get out of the bathroom, this disheveled gentlemen quickly approaches me. He informs me that he is Marilyn's ex-boyfriend and that he doesn't wish me any harm, just to warn me that she was a gold digger who is more problems than she is worth. Usually I would curse out ex-boyfriends, or simply chop them in the throat, but he had a weird sincerity in his voice which made me actually half-way listen to him. He bolted off as soon as Marilyn came out of the bathroom and I didn't think about what he said until about a week later. The first time Marilyn saw where I was living at the time, even though I had only known her briefly, she started making plans for my place of residence. She would say, "We could add a whole new wing there, a game room would look excellent there, we could really use a bar right there!" What is this "we" shit, I just planned on going on a few dates with you, leaving you unsatisfied as I tip-toe out of your house at 5 in the morning, not become roommates with benefits! As crazy as that was, I thought I could brush that off as a sporadic moment of craziness. But I knew shit was absolutely real when a guy came by to do measurements, saying that he was a carpenter who was hired by Marilyn to "make some changes". I politely told the carpenter, along with Marilyn to "Fuck off!"

Pamela: When you are in a committed relationship, there is absolutely nothing wrong with you helping your partner out financially when they are in a bind. I may be an asshole, but I'm not cheap when it comes to supporting a loved one. But if you aren't on a girlfriend status, just some miscellaneous woman that I am randomly renting my "man-hood" to, don't treat me lie a fucking ATM. Pamela was obviously used to guys giving her what she wanted because she had a big butt and a smile. Listen, a huge derriere and some pearly whites are a sight to be seen, no doubt about that, but it doesn't stop my brain from functioning either. It seems that just because we had sex she wanted me to pay her rent, seriously. There were two things that I desperately wanted to say to her but didn't have the balls to say it at that moment. 1: "Give you 800 dollars for some mediocre ass, I could have gotten that for around 100" and 2: I wanted to quote Ice Cube when he said, "Give you money why bother/Cause you know I'm looking nothing like your father!" Anyway, when I refused she acted like I wasn't deserving of the title "man", and to be honest she was rather convincing because I even considered helping her out. Right when I pulled out my ATM an image of my father appeared, like a ghetto Obi Wan! Dad: I know I taught you better than that! Don't let that girl gank you for all your cheddar son!" Me:Why are you talking like that? Dad: I've been hanging with Tupac, nice kid, kind of excitable though.

My dad, or my vision of my dad which hopefully was really him and not a schizophrenic episode, was right. It was over as soon as I realized what I had to do, along with the fact that in a hour time period she asked me to buy her mother groceries and give her little sister money for prom. Parrish Smith of EPMD was right, when he said in the song "Gold Digger": "So to fellas, who wanna keep they cash /Beware of the jack hammer and the helmet that glows/Cause she's a gold digger"