Wednesday, August 31, 2005

Go Critic, It's your Birthday, We're going to Party like its your Birthday!

On this day, 32 years ago on the island of Oahu, Louise and James brought a bouncing baby boy into this world. That 8 pounds 10 ounces of caramel goodness would one day become the insufferable prick that most of you know today as the HumanityCritic. How do I put this delicately? It's my motherfucking Birthday!!! Not only is this day representing my 32nd year on this earth, but it is also the one year anniversary of this blog.(The exact date is a week from now, but its still close) So before I continue on with my nonstop bullshit and incoherent rambling, let me take the time to thank all of you for checking out my blog and the kind words you have thrown my way. I appreciate every one of you, sincerely.(Just make sure you fuckers vote for me here. You can get further instructions here. OK, the pandering is over.)

To be honest with you, looking back on my life, I am happy that I made it this far but I am also surprised. Surprised because since I saw a good friend of mine get shot when I was a kid I have kind of lived life with a reckless abandon, until the past few years.(I learned that interesting tidbit during a therapy session, Tony Soprano ain't got shit on me!!) This entry is inspired by all the memorable birthdays I have had.

10 years old:(1983) Even though me and my father didn't get along much, I think we both have a twisted sense of humor. I remember the days approaching my tenth birthday he kept saying that I wasn't going to get anything if I didn't behave. I thought he was bluffing and I dismissed his pedestrian threats. The day before my birthday he said, "OK, this is your last chance to straighten up your act!". I remember nodding in agreement, but having a "Fuuuck Yooou!" look on my face as he threw idle threats my way. My birthday comes and I wait, wait, then wait some more for some gifts or something, but I didn't get anything. My dad was like, "You thought I was bullshitting, you aren't getting a motherfucking thing!!" The sickest part is that my siblings or my mother didn't intervene in this madness, showing this lunatic the error of his ways. I remember crying myself to sleep, only to be awakened by my father, with him holding a cake and my mother coming in with a plethora of gifts. It was pretty shitty, and my father knew it, because it was the only time outside his final days on his death bed where he apologized to me.

16 years old(1989): Like most teens about to turn 16, I couldn't wait to get my license and cause absolute havoc. My parents didn't want me to drive at all, not because I couldn't handle the machinery correctly, but because they knew that I was nuttier than squirrel shit and would probably end up running some poor motherfucker over on purpose. Anyway, I got my license, and was ready to drive my Hooptie(Cutlass) around town. Lets just say that my first day of legal driving was a memorable one. My cousin, my friend Keith, and myself decided to get a shitload of eggs and tattoo passers-by like we were doing a suburban drive-by. Yes it was immature, yes it was childish, and it was mean to pummel random pedestrians with eggs, but I never laughed so hard in my life. Hearing the sounds of grown men scream in fear and agony as raw eggs exploded on their person is a memory that will last forever.

21 years old(1994): Believe it or not, before the age of 21 I rarely messed with alcohol. I mean, I would occasionally get hammered over some chicks house that I wanted to get to know biblicly, but those times were few and far between. My cousin's good friend, who became my friend eventually, was in town from New York to find a apartment because he planned on relocating. The day of my birthday we hung out all day, and I remember drinking nasty ass "Zima's" with him in the parking lot of a shopping mall. I was so drunk, in broad daylight mind you, that the only thing that I recall is saying wildly inappropriate things to anyone possessing a vagina that day and making a fool out of myself. Wait a minute, I remember that night being at the Oceanfront freestyle batting random rappers, still saying wildly inappropriate things to women, and still making a fool out of myself. Seems like things haven't changed that much over the years.

22 years old(1995): A year into drinking legally, I became the wildest I have ever become in such a short time period. Alcohol made a quick tempered, abrasive asshole into a quicker tempered, more abrasive asshole with a "hit first" mentality. At this time I was in a rap group called "See no Evil" with my best friend at the time and two of his cousins. We were actually kind of good, to the point that people around town started to know us for our rapping prowess. On this day 9 years ago we had a show at this Hip Hop club that I can't remember the name of. We were on the bill with a few other acts and we happened to go last that night. Our set went well, the crowd was responsive, and at the end I felt good enough to bust a freestyle rhyme where I gave the group that preceded us some love. When we get off the stage the group that I gave a shout out to had thought, somehow, that I dissed them. I tried to explain that I was giving them love in my freestyle verse but they weren't trying to hear it. After being on the business end of a few too many "I'm going to kick your ass' rants, I walked over to the the main one talking shit and smashed him over the head with a chair. The next 15 minutes was spent not only fighting that particular group, but also the host of the night that tried to break it up, and the father of one of the men that we were fighting. The night ended with a pair of handcuffs being tightly secured around my wrists. It just goes to show you that alcohol and a innocent freestyle rhyme sometimes don't go together.

Born on this Day:
Chris Tucker
Debbie Gibson
Eldridge Cleaver
Buddy hackett
James Coburn

Virgo's of Note:
Kobe Bryant
Dave Chappelle
Michael Jackson
Salma Hayek
Stephen King
Otis Redding
Ray Charles
Branford Marsalis
Cal Ripkin Jr.
River Phoenix
Elvis Costello
Lennox Lewis
Charlie Sheen
Damon Wayans
Raquel Welch
Gloria Gaynor("I will survive")
Richard Roundtree("Shaft")
Adam Sandler
Yao Ming
Fiona Apple
Dan Marino
Oliver Stone
B.B. King
Lance Armstrong
Jada Pinkett Smith
James Gandolfini
Bill Murray
Ricki Lake
Joan Jett
Bruce Springsteen
Gene Simmons
Sean Connery
Regis Philbin
Macaulay Culkin
Mother Teresa
Pee-Wee Herman
Gloria Estefan
Dr. Phil

Happy Birthday, Humanity Critic!

Your non-posting (except for today), but totally technical contributer.
-- manjula

Tuesday, August 30, 2005

"Weird Science"

It seems like when you are younger, you have high expectations of what your future wife will be. You see her looking like a modern day Dorothy Dandrige, with the an intergalactic I.Q, and a sense of grace and style that can't be paralleled. But when you look in the mirror and see a 31 year old, single, and childless prick, the bar gets lowered somewhat. Lowered to the fact that the only qualifications for being the next Mrs. HumanityCritic would probably be having a functioning vagina, and not irritating the piss out of me on a regular basis. OK, maybe not that low, but you get the idea.

The other day the movie "Weird Science" came on, a movie where these two geeky High Schooler's create "the perfect woman" ala Frankenstein-style in their bedroom. Granted, if I was in the position of making the perfect woman when I was a teenager I would have actually had sex with her, not be like those two douche-bags and plan parties and shit, but I digress. But it got me to thinking, what if I had the ability to make the perfect woman? I mean, not based on physical appearance, but based on personality and other important aspects contributing to compatibility. That's not saying that I want a woman who looks like Biz Markie, I'm not going to bullshit you. But being that I have dated women who were gorgeous but were miserable motherfuckers on the inside, physical attributes aren't particularly high on my list. Not only that, but if I did a post based on me wanting a woman with "Jennifer Lopez' ass", and "Halle Berry's face", I feel that the women who read my blog would send me hate mail for days. Shit, women already have to deal with what "society's" perception of what beautiful is, making healthy 12 year old girls want to go on a fucking diet. That shit is nuts. Anyway, if I was constructing the perfect woman, in my eyes, these are a few of the attributes she would have.

Musical Tastes: There are certain things that I have no problem changing about myself. One day I hope to be less of an overall asshole, drink less, be less abrasive, shit like that. But one thing that I won't change is my feeling that, like John Cusack's character in "High Fidelity" says so eloquently, "Its not what you're like, it's what you like!" It might be wrong, but the certain movies and music you like says a lot about you. My future wife, whatever poor soul that may be, would hopefully like music that I like or music that I respect. For example, she doesn't have to like old school hip hop or R&B like I do, but if she preferred classical or if she was a huge jazz aficionado, that would be cool with me. But if she liked the Ying Yang Twins, thought that Jah Rule was the best rapper ever, played Toby Keith's greatest hits on a loop, or had P.Diddy on her Top Ten Greatest Rappers list, her ass who have to go. It sounds childish I know, but I'm being honest, because if I don't respect your choice in music then everything you say to me concerning music from that point forward would sound like Charlie Brown's fucking teacher."Whah-whah-Whah"

Political Views: When it comes to the political views of my future wife I'd rather her believe what I believe, or be A-political, not really caring much about politics. Some people think that two people of different political ideologies can co-exist happily, and if they can then I am truly happy for them. Not in my case, because the first time I hear my wife say some shit like, "We have to support Condi Rice" simply because she is a woman of color, hear her equate opposition to the war as "not supporting the troops" or some mindless drivel like that, I would seriously consider putting a hit out on her. Just kidding, kind of. I just feel that I am argumentative enough, I don't want our political beliefs to be another stressful situation in our marriage. Plus, I can see it now, my wife holding back sex from me simply because I said that "Bush was a goddamn idiot with the I.Q of a lawn-chair." Imagine that, me not getting Bush because of Bush.

Doesn't need a Nascar Pit Crew to get ready: Ladies, I understand that many of you need your make-up and other cosmetics to get ready. In no way am I against that in any form or fashion. What I am against, having been in the dating game for 16 years now, is women who need like five hours to get ready. While you are outside some women's bathroom door you can actually hear a pit-crew, changing tires and oiling her ass up, ala a Nascar Race. Worse than that, women who feel that they need to put on a shitload of make-up, their best Sunday dress, accompanied with the matching earrings and scarf, just to go 2 minutes down the road to the store to grab a carton of milk. What kind of shit is that?? I'm not asking you to throw on sweatpants and look like Courtney Love in the middle of a 3 day heroin binge, but give me a fucking break already!

Understands men idiosyncrasies: The first time I meet a woman who understands that me being quiet for a 5 minute time span in no way means something is wrong, I will offer them my hand in marriage. Can't a motherfucker just be silent?!! Someone who understands that I don't have to like her co-worker "Chuck" because I'm pretty sure that he secretly wants to fuck you, so excuse me if we don't hang out and throw back a few beers. I would want a woman that knows that I have every right to be an absolute asshole to her friend, especially since she tried to hook her up with her "baby daddy's" homeboy a few months back. Lastly, I know for a fact that my throat-chopping days will come to an end when I get married, I would do what I could to keep my lovely wife out of harms way. But, I hope she will understand that after I drop her off from us hanging out, that I will return to the club we were previously at and quickly beat the living shit out of the dude who disrespected her and I earlier that night. Hey, some habits are hard to break.

Keeps me in check: You can ask some of the women that I have been with, I can be somewhat of a handful. But earlier on I realized that if I had the ideal woman that one of her traits would be her ability to not let me get away with shit. Not saying that I need a babysitter(unless you wanted to role play. hee-hee) , just a woman that isn't a pushover when it comes to my daily dose of constant bullshit. From my diatribes about the declining state of Hip Hop, hatred of Black conservatives, and Kobe Bryant apologizing, the woman who has the unfortunate task of being my life-mate will have to deal with a lot.(God bless her soul)I think what I need is a woman that can tell me how full of shit I am, and even tell my black ass to "Shut the fuck up" sometimes. I kind of like a demanding woman, not in a "I'm a dominatrix and I'm about to beat your ass with this leather whip" kind of way, but in a "I am woman hear me roar" kind of way. Now that shit is sexy.

Monday, August 29, 2005

HumanityCritic on the show "Cheaters"

(Post was inspired by me sleeping while this show was airing. Now I hope you enjoy my fictitious appearance on the show "Cheaters".)

(show starts)

Corny Announcers voice: On this week's episode of "Cheaters" we have a 31 year old gentleman that goes by the name of the "HumanityCritic". He has been with his live in girlfriend named Candy for over 2 years, and even though he thinks his imagination is getting the best of him, he thinks that Candy might be cheating on him.

(camera focuses of HumanityCritic)

HumanityCritic: You know what, I probably shouldn't have ever contacted you guys, I really don't think she is cheating. I mean, I have my doubts, but at the end of the day I am probably making a big deal out of nothing.

Off-screen Interviewer: Well tell us why you started to have doubts about Candy?

HumanityCritic: For one thing she started coming home later and later, saying that she "got tied up at work".

Interviewer: She could be telling the truth about that, anything else??

HumanityCritic: She has also seemed rather distant lately, but then again she has just switched careers so that might explain that. That's about it.

Interviewer: Yeah man, you are paranoid.(turns to camera crew) Lets wrap it up guys, this was a false alarm. Take care HumanityCritic!(Starts to get up out of chair)

HumanityCritic: Oh yeah, did I tell you that one day I called her and I heard a man in the background. I asked her "who in the fuck was that?", and she said it was her cousin Jerry.

Interviewer: So?

HumanityCritic:I just thought back to when she told me that she is the only grandchild to both sets of her grandparents. Where did this new motherfucking cousin come from?

Interviewer:(sits back down) Shit, go on.

HumanityCritic: I also think she has had men in my crib when I'm not there because I found a condom wrapper laying on the floor.

Interviewer: So, it could have been yours!

HumanityCritic: Dude, it was a magnum and..(pulls down pants) Do you think that THIS can securely fit into a Magnum??

Interviewer:(Shielding eyes) Ewww, put that thing away!! That's gross!! (turns to cameraman) At least we know that the "myth" isn't true! ha ha.. OK HumanityCritic, we will see if she's cheating. I'm scared to ask this but, is there anything else??

HumanityCritic: Yeah, this one time I sent her flowers with a note saying, "From the man that is making you scream and moan as soon as you get home!"". When she got home that night with the flowers in her hand she said, "Look honey, motherfuckers at my job are still pulling practical jokes, aren't they silly giving me these flowers?"

Interviewer:(laughs alongside the camera crew): That doesn't mean that she's cheating, just that you give weak di..

HumanityCritic: What motherfucker!! Say it!!

Interviewer: Nothing, we will see what's up.

(The camera crew spends the next two weeks tailing Candy, having her under surveillance. HumanityCritic doesn't know this yet, but they have her on video with another man at dinner, at a concert, a nightclub, and at HumanityCritic's residence while he is out of town.)

(Joey Greco calls HumanityCritic)

Joey: HC, we have something, come immediately!

HumanityCritic: OK, umm, I'm kind of busy now. Can we link up later?

(sucking sounds in the background)

Joey: What is that I'm hearing in the background, are you having sex??

HumanityCritic: Of course not!! I contacted yall because I wanted to see if the love of my life was cheating on me, I am appalled that you would even come to me like that!! (speaks away from the phone) Damn baby, less teeth OK!

Joey: Oh shit, you are having sex!! I just wanted to let you know that Candy is out with a man right now!

HumanityCritic: OK, I'll be right there!

(HumanityCritic shows up 2 hours later, clothes in disarray, and lipstick all over his face)

HumanityCritic: OK, I'm here!

Joey: (wiping lipstick off of HC's face) Where in the fuck have you been?

HumanityCritic: Just show me the evidence asshole!

(Joey proceeds to show HumanityCritic surveillance video of Candy at a dance club, dancing with a man identified as Chris)

(HumanityCritic shaking head)

Joey: Are you going to be alright?

HumanityCritic: Yeah, just I'm shocked that she would cheat on me with a dude with dance moves like that! Look at those moves!! He can't fuck with this cabbage patch.(begins doing the cabbage patch and a bunch of other played out dance moves) He ain't got shit on me!!

Joey: Whatever.(shows him some more video) This was last week, Candy went out with that Chris fellow to a concert. I don't know what concert they went to, but they seem to be having a great time.

HumanityCritic: Squinting at video. (begins to cry) That's fucked up man, how could she do this to me?

Joey:(pats HC on the back)I know it hurts to have somebody cheat on you like this!

HumanityCritic: Get your goddamn hands off me!(wiping tears) Fuck the cheating, she is at a motherfucking lil John and Ying Yang Twins concert man!! I really thought I knew that girl.

Joey: (showing him more video) This last video is the both of them in your house making love. Damn, he is really "gettin' in them guts" as the brothers say! (camera crew gathers around) Look at the way he is smashing that, he has Candy folded up like origami and shit!

HumanityCritic: ahem!

Joey: Sorry dude. Lets go to where they are having dinner at.

(Next shot is HumanityCritic and Joey riding in a van in route to confront Candy)

Joey: I know that you are hurting and all, but I need you to be calm about this.

HumanityCritic: Calm? I'm going to be calm.(HC pulls out twin glock 9mm that he starts putting bullets in, and starts looking through the sights)

Joey: Whoa, we aren't going any further unless you get rid of the guns. Driver, stop this car immediately!

(Car pulls over to the side of the road)

(HumanityCritic pulls guns on the driver and Joey)

HumanityCritic: I'm not going to hurt anybody, unless you don't move this fucking car immediately.(car suddenly speeds off) Joey your ass knows better, you were already stabbed, don't make some poor doctor spend his valuable time digging bullets out of your ass!

Joey: OK, OK, whatever you say.

(HumanityCritic, Joey, and the camera crew swarm around Candy and her lover Chris as they are sitting at a park bench cuddling and shit)

HumanityCritic: A-Ha, I caught your trifling ass! Who in the fuck is this?

Chris:(stands up) Hey homey, what is this about?

HumanityCritic: Sit your bitch ass down! Candy, what do you have to say for yourself??

Candy: I'm sorry baby, you are so busy with your writing and that damn blog, I felt that I needed more attention.

HumanityCritic: I ain't talking about that, shit I knew what I was getting into when I first learned your name was "Candy" for christs sake! I'm talking about seeing you at a Ying Yang concert, how could you do that to me??

Chris: Hey, I like like Ying Yang twins, and so do my boys!(3 of his henchmen gather around) What's up homey?

Candy: You shouldn't have done that!

Joey: You shouldn't have done that!

Random guy named Brian that HC actually beat up in this post: You really shouldn't have done that!

(HumanityCritic pulls out both guns, waiving them at henchmen. They run, similar to the way George Bush ran from Vietnam service)

HumanityCritic: Bitches! It's only me and you now Chris!

Joey: You don't want to do this man, it's not worth it.

HumanityCritic: I would have let the guy go, but he DID have sex in my crib though. Sorry, but his ass ain't walking away from this!!

(Iselfra appears, he has been called because he is a member of B.H.A.I.L. along with HumanityCritic. The producers thought that he could talk some sense into him)

Iselra: What exactly are you doing?

HumanityCritic: What does it look like? I am going to shoot this motherfucker!

Iselfra: No your not, trust me.

HumanityCritic: Why not?

Iselfra: Because I know you and you don't have the balls man. You ain't built like that homey!

HumanityCritic: You don't think I'll do it, because I will!

Iselfra: No you won't, your heart pumps Kool-Aid son.

HumanityCritic: I won't do it huh?

Iselfra: (Starts making a clucking sound to imply cowardice)

Chris:(to Iselfra) Dude, shut the fuck up man!

HumanityCritic: Fuck it!(points guns downwards and shoots Chris in both of his feet)


Joey:(To Iselfra) You instigated the whole thing!

Iselfra: Of course I did, any man to knowingly sleep with another man's woman in HIS crib deserves some sort of punishment. Plus, HumanityCritic is my man and all, but he still succumbs to peer pressure like a highschooler.

Joey:(To HumanityCritic) I thought you were going to kill him when you said that "he ain't walking away from this."

HumanityCritic: Shit, Look at him!

(Chris crawling around on the ground)

HumanityCritic: He ain't WALKING away from this!

(HumanityCritic, Iselfra, Joey, Camera crew, cute make-up girl that I had my eye on, and even Candy erupt in laughter)

HumanityCritic:(To Candy) What in the fuck are you laughing at?? I'm not done with your ass!

Candy:(backing up) What are you going to do to me?

HumanityCritic: Me? Nothing, I don't touch women. But I know some women that do!!(Lets out a big whistle)

(Suddenly Belle, Coley, solitaire, princessdominique, Sudani72, and Sankofa appear out of nowhere. They race towards Candy and begin to systematically beat the living fuck out of her, to the point that all you see is one of those cartoon clouds, with the occasional weave or cheap earring flying into the air)

Joey: Damn, they are whipping her monkey ass!

HumanityCritic: Let's go guys, I know some women of ill repute who absolutely love this show! What do you say?

Joey:(along with crew) Hell Yeah!

Iselfra: Count me out because I am a happily married man....and my wife reads your blog, but that's beside the point.

HumanityCritic: That's cool, lets go guys, before the cops come, I have warrants!

Friday, August 26, 2005

Get your ass to Rehab already!!

The other night started off like any other, I talked to my neighbors wife about the "neighborhood" as I tried to inconspicuously look at her tits, openly wondered why any black person would support Condi "Aunt Tomasina" Rice, and went to the grocery store to grab a beer for the night. As I entered Food Lion(local grocery store) I see a guy that irritates the piss out of me whenever I see him, he's a nice fellow, just annoying as fuck. I grab my beer, pay for it, and I make a mad dash for the parking lot trying to avoid this dude like a bad case of the crabs. All of a sudden I hear, "Hey HumanityCritic!", dammit he caught me. I walk over to him and say, "Hey man, what's up?" "Nothing", he replies, "I see you are buying another beer." He then goes into a 2 minute speech, that I have heard about 49 times mind you, about how he was an alcoholic and lost his family in the process. It is really a touching diatribe, the first million times I heard it, now this shit is getting pretty fucking old. I said to him, "Listen, I am glad that you are sober and turned your life around, I really am. But don't you find it in bad taste to constantly tell me that "Lifetime" movie of the week every time I buy a beer. Cut that fucking shit out man, I'm not playing!" He smiled and said, "That's OK, I'll reach you one day!", as he walked away. I suddenly felt the sudden urge to not only curse him out, but smack the shit out of him. But, and I know I'm going to sound crazy here, what if that guy was god in the form of this grocery store employee trying to give me a powerful message? I can see it now, I accost the guy and when I die and get to the pearly gates Peter is like, "HumanityCritic, I'm looking at your sheet and it looks pretty good. I will let you in.." (God interrupts) God: Fuck that! That motherfucker once smacked the shit out of me and poured beer all over my body, and all I was trying to do was help that prick out. he ain't getting in! Delusions aside, I went back to my house and thought about the story that that grocery store employee had told me 49 times. I then reminisced about all my friends who all battled their addictions and the shitload of interventions I have been involved in.

Gambling: Jerry was a friend of mine that I used to hang with while I attended college. He was a dude that hadn't left his hometown of Little Rock Arkansas until he attended college in Virginia, so he was a bit green. Soon after his arrival I taught him how to play cards and before you know it we were frequenting every card game available in the city. I loved cards, but Jerry had an obsession with them, reading books and it quickly became the main topic of conversation whenever we hung out. He got to be good, better than me in fact, but he didn't know when to quit and that either left him dead broke, or left me having to fight dudes because they thought that Jerry cheated them. This one time he bet me that he could sleep with a particular young lady, and when he did in fact sleep with her he called me from her house and said, "I told you I'd fuck her, pay up bro!!" Crazy shit like that, and the numerous fights that I got into because of his bullshit I knew that I had to abandon this relationship because it was hazardous to my health. But because I was the one that started him gambling in the first place I thought I should be the one warn him about his destructive ways. I won't go into exactly what was said, but let's just say that if I had a dollar for the amount of times he said, "Fuck you!", I would be extremely wealthy. After that I would hear stories of him taking beatings, people looking for him, and the last straw was when I got a call from his sister saying that two big men in suits came to their parents house looking for Jerry.(I thought that shit only happened in the movies) After that I tried to reach Jerry and help him but he was too far gone, refusing my help whenever I offered it.

You know how life is, time flies and you tend to lose touch with people, that's what happened to Jerry and I. That was until I saw him in 2000, he had beaten his gambling addiction, and just got married to a lovely woman named Layla. I was glad that he was doing so well, because for the previous few years I felt that his "demise" was my fault, so his turnaround made me feel good for more reasons than one. As we all had dinner I made a wildly inappropriate toast: "This is to you Jerry, our renewed friendship, your new life, and your new wife. I BET you money that you will be together forever!!" They both gave me an irritated look, then I said, "Fuck you two, THAT shit was funny!!" OK, Maybe not.

Heroin: I realized at an early age that I would absolutely be a horrible husband. Granted, I would never cheat, I would treat my wife with love and affection, I would lose my porn collection(most of it), and I would keep my throat-chopping of black republicans to a minimum. I say that I would be a horrible husband because I am the last fucker on earth to notice any changes in a person, haircuts, new outfits, and type of shit like that. I went into that little spiel because it was also true of an old band-mate of mine named Nate that I had. He was a great guy, funny, and the best drummer that I have ever seen in my life. So it came as a surprise to me when another band-mate of mine named Glen called me and said, "HC, we need to have an intervention with Nate and get him into a rehab center." Me: Rehab center for what? (long pause) Glen: For what!!!! Are you shitting me?? For heroin you silly bastard! Me: Heroin? Naww? Seriously? Glen: You didn't find it strange that Glen would nod off mid-sentence, or fall asleep during shows? Me: I just thought he was real tired, or maybe narcoleptic Glen: Get the fuck out of here!! How about the tracks on his arm? That didn't seem weird to you? Me: Not really, he told me that he was a diabetic. Glen: With how he used to eat, you bought that bullshit?? You-are-an-asshole!

About a week later we confronted Nate at his house to do an intervention on him. It was the entire band, and his girlfriend at the time. It was awkward because every time I would add my two cents about Nate's addiction he would say some shit like, "How about your addiction to women?? How about that?" To where I would respond, "But that addiction doesn't fuck your bodily organs up, unless you don't wear protection and get a bad piece of "patch". Then he would say, "How about you and alcohol?" To where I would respond, "Yeah, yeah, my intervention is next week. This is your week motherfucker!!" We tried to get him to a rehab facility but he said that he would go in a week so he could go through the detox period in his home.(twisted logic I know) The next several days involved us baby sitting this motherfucker, watching him have the shakes, violently throw up, and turn as pale as a black man could get. I should have videotaped the process because that would have been the best anti-drug commercial for kids wanting to "experiment". Today, Nate is doing well and is a productive part of society, but it's fucked up because now he is a Vegan and gives me shit about eating "red meat". Damn, life is funny sometimes.

Cocaine: I had a lawyer friend named Steven that I used to hang out with to many swanky ass establishments around town. He was cool, he reminded me of Tom Cruise's character in "Jerry McGuire", a fast talking guy that was absolutely full of shit. During the brief tenure of our friendship we were living it up, hanging with these beautiful model chicks who looked like their main hobbies were looking pretty and vomiting. There is some truth in many stereotypes because most of those chicks dug cocaine, which I am against, but suddenly I become "for it" if it made any of those women inappropriately put their mouth on me. It threw me for a loop when I found out that Steven was also hooked on the "nose candy". The first time I saw him do it I told him that I wasn't cool with that and he assured me that he did it "once in a blue moon". But that "blue moon" shit was quickly debunked when I noticed that he always seemed hyper as fuck, and he snapped on me for no reason a couple of times to the point that I almost mauled that motherfucker. I guess the last straw is when he came to my house 4 in the morning, honking his horn 20+ times, dressed the fuck up, and when I angrily answered the door he said, "Why aren't you dressed? I thought we were going out?"(This jackass had lost all sense of time at that point) I had to let that friendship go at that point, so I grabbed a bat and said, "Get the fuck out of here before I pretend that I'm Barry Bonds with this motherfucker!!! Get some help man!" Recently I heard that he went to rehab and is living a clean lifestyle, which I am happy about. Maybe I shouldn't have threatened him with physical violence, because I sure do miss hanging with those model chicks who put their mouth on me under the influence of a drug that I hate.

Violence:(Very short entry) My band-mates, because of the many assholes that I have fought at our shows, have tried to sit me down and talk to me about my temper. They try to show me the error in my ways, but when I point out the specific reasons that I fought the men I did, they are left agreeing with me that the person's in question did indeed "deserve to catch a bad one." The topic is usually dropped and we move on to something else, until the next show that we have where I try to bury my shell-toe Adidas in the sternum of some load mouth asshole. I know that I have anger issues, that is why I have a therapist..i mean..a friend to talk to.

(Random Campaign Pandering) Be sure to vote!! Check out this post to see what the deal is! Have a great weekend!)

Thursday, August 25, 2005

Cutting Class: A Cautionary Tale

Like every blogger who writes things that are highly personal knows, or they will soon learn, there is a crossroad that you eventually find yourself in the middle of. I have always said, albeit to myself, that if people that I wrote about get offended then that's their problem, because whatever I write is exactly what I would tell them to their face. So far that has held up pretty well, ex-girlfriends have told me that I have portrayed them accurately, and friends that have been involved in some of the situations that I write about say that I tell the stories just liked they happened. The biggest obstacle, however, is when my dear mother began to read my exploits that I put down in blog form. Overall she finds it entertaining, but she is mostly shocked about how I hid my mischievous ways from her as a child. She asked me, which was very sweet, "Did I do a bad job raising you??" I smiled, gave her a hug, and said "You did an excellent job, I think I was born to be an ass.., I mean a doucheba.., Jerk."

Another rite of passage that my mother didn't know that I partook in was the age old tradition of cutting class. A few months ago before the High Schools let out, I found myself playing basketball at the YMCA with a guy who looked rather young. After a few games my curiosity got the best of me, so I asked the young man, "Hey, how old are you?? I'm just curious.." He looked up and said, "I'm 16 sir!" Besides the fact that him calling me sir suddenly made my testicles sag about 2 more inches and sprout 3 Grey hairs in my beard, I looked at my watch and asked him, "Shouldn't you be in school??" He laughed and said, "Yeah, I'm skipping today. 20 years ago when you were in school didn't you skip??" I threw the ball at him and said, "How old do you think I am you little shit!! I got out of High School..(counting on fingers)..14 years ago for your information!!" He gave me a look as to say, "What's six years you Geritol popping motherfucker??!!" I wanted to tell him that I never skipped, that I was a model student, but I couldn't do that.(Immediately I realized that if I can't lie to my kids, I will be telling them tales of me getting high, beating kids up, and the absolute mayhem I was involved in. It looks like I will have a little Courtney Love if I have a girl, and a miniature Bobby Brown if I have a son. I'm officially fucked!!) Anyway, here a few stories of when I skipped school.

Scared Straight: For some reason, and I couldn't tell you why, my junior high would schedule a yearly field trip to Colonial Williamsburg. This place, for those who don't know, is where they have many plantations that are still around from that time period and they have "actors" who reenact the people of that time period.(The clothing, the colloquialism, the whole nine.) Well, it was obvious the first year that I went to this place that it wasn't for me. I quickly realized that this wasn't a place that I should be celebrating, primarily because, I don't know, WE WERE MOTHERFUCKING SLAVES THEN!! The first year I harassed the people who spoke to us, I would yell shit like "Where are all the black folks at!!", and I took it upon myself to take a 40 ounce piss on the steps of one of the plantations there. Not only that, the confederate flags that were surrounding me offended the fuck out of me.(Rant of the day: People who still carry those confederate flags around, and justify it by saying "But it's my heritage", Listen, because I say this because I want to save your life. To black people that miserable piece of cloth that I wouldn't wipe my ass with represents lynchings, slavery, and any other atrocity that you can think of. So if you find yourself being choked with said flag by a miscellaneous black person, just keep that in mind. Jackass.)

Anyway, the following year there wasn't a snowballs chance in hell that I was going back to that place so I decided to skip school with some of my friends. We all met up at Carla's house were we raided her parents fridge, smoked marijuana so weak that it was basically oregano, and dry-humped like a sexually inexperienced 8th grader is supposed to. Her dad, as far as I knew, was a prison guard who was no joke but he was supposedly out of town. We were having a good old time when the door crashes open, and all I see is a silhouette of a 6'5, 250 pound man that means business. I kept looking at the backdoor to make a break for it but the man said, in a commanding tone, "Don't you fucking thing about it!!" We were in trouble and I knew it, I just knew that Carla's dad was going to contact our parents. He gave us what seemed like 30 minute lecture, then he said that there is somewhere he wanted to take us. As we pull up to this one building Carla says, "Dad, isn't this your job??" He said, "Yes it is. I want to show you some people who made the wrong choices in life and the price they are paying for it." I guess it was his dimestore version of "Scared Straight" and shit. We went by the various cells that were holding certain men, and Carla's dad asked one of the men, "Why are you in here!!" The guy said, "I forgot to pay a shitload of parking tickets!" Carla's dad looked a little embarrassed, so he asked the next man, "Why are you in here?" The man answered, "I refused to pay alimony so I spend a few days a week in here." Still embarrassed, Carla's dad asks another man, "Why are YOU in here??" The man laughs and says, "You stupid motherfuckers have me in here for a dimebag of weed!" Carla's dad soon took all of us home without saying a single word, to his credit I was glad that he didn't tell our parents. What lesson did i learn from that?? If you are going to do the whole "Scared Straight" thing, don't go to a motherfucking City Jail!! Go to a prison for Christs sake!!

Count Crackula: The most memorable time that I cut school was when I was in High School and we all went to a girl named Christy's house. I was excited about going to Christy's house because she might as well been a pinata the way she was letting dudes "hit it", she always had a shitload of food in her fridge, and her mother was a crackhead. OK, I know the last part threw you off. It's not funny now, but back then we all found great amusement in the fact that Christy's mother was a crackhead, not because of her addiction, but because she had to be the thickest, most corn-fed crackhead ever known to man. I know Christy was embarrassed by this but I used to ask Christy, "Does your mother sprinkle the crack over her pork chops or some shit? I'm just asking because she can't be smoking it, she has thighs like Florence Griffith Joyner!!" But looking back I figure that her mom was a newbie in the crack smoking game because they still had all their furniture and the food was still in the fridge, or that they still HAD a fridge.

We all get to Christy's house about 8:30, were we proceeded to play dice and smoke some weed. Christy was already upstairs giving it up like free lunch but I guess I was a germaphobe even then, because all I kept saying to myself was, "I am not down for sloppy 6th's. Fuck that!" Around noon her mother's boyfriend, a dude who was also on crack and in desperate need of some dental work that we named "Count Crackula" busted in. He was high as hell and accused me, I don't know why he singled me out, of "fucking his girlfriend". I denied it, and told him to fuck off, then he ran over to me and put a knife to my throat. I have to admit something, I have talked a lot of shit on this blog, but I was scared as shit at that moment. I was in High School for Christs sake, having my life threatened by a man that had to be in his mid thirties. I could tell the knife was kind of dull, but it was pressed so tightly against my neck that I could feel blood tickle down my neck and land on my shirt. My boys were telling him to get off of me, while he seemed even more irrational by the moment. When Christy's mom came in the door and asked what he was doing he momentarily got off of me to explain himself, then me and my crew went to that ass something fierce. I hit that asshole with irons and Tupperware plates, whatever I could get my hands on. When we stopped beating him I calmly walked outside and into some woods, where I cried for about 2 minutes, thinking about how some dope fein almost killed me.(I was 15, cut me some slack) When I got back inside this big dude named Rudy said to me, "You were crying weren't you?" I was embarrassed, and before I could answer he said, "It's OK, I would have cried too.", which made me feel better.

About a couple hours later we decided it was time to bring out the grill and get our eat on. The only grill that Christy had was a mini grill, that came up to the middle of your thigh, but that didn't matter to the hungry bastards that we were. We ate burgers, steaks, whatever we could fit on that tiny bullshit grill. Besides almost being killed by a deranged crackhead, and if I had slept with Christy possibly becoming ill from some very questionable vagina, all in all it was a great day. It was getting late and we all had to get home to make it look like we had went to school that day. Since me and Rudy were the last ones there, Christy had asked us to put out the grill before we left. For some reason, and I couldn't tell you why, I had the bright idea of pissing on the grill to put it out. An idea that Rudy thought was ingenious, not because it was clever, but probably because we were both high as hell at the time. As soon as we started pissing on the grill something was wrong, I guess it was a mixture of the urine and the hot ashes, but this yellow dust shot back into our face. I don't know why we just didn't move out of the way, but we squinted and moved our head back in forth in avoidance, as the yellow dust caked on our face and onto our clothes. When it was all over, we were covered in this yellow caked on residue, on our clothes and especially our faces. We both walked home in disbelief, with this goo on our faces that we never tried to wipe off come to think about it, smelling like a prison urinal. I remember walking into my house and my father saying, "What in the fuck happened to you?? Did someone pour pissy chalk dust on you!!" Those were some good times!

Wednesday, August 24, 2005

Take this Job and Shove It! Jobs I couldn't do.

A few years ago I had a friend named David who was a Repo Driver. He would tell me, on a daily basis, how much his job sucked and how dangerous it was. I figured that it was somewhat dangerous, people getting their cars taken away can't be the most calming situation in the world, but I always figured that David was making it worse than it was in reality. So one day I went with him just to see if what he said was actually true. Within the first hour I realized that his job was no joke, as a gentleman whose truck David was about to toe away threatened to get the shotgun out of his car and shoot the both of us with it. That same night I fought a man who punched me in the face through the passenger side window, was called racial slurs by a woman with exactly three teeth in her mouth(I told her that she probably flosses with her arm and shit), and squared off and almost fought a man that was probably the same age of my grandfather if he was still alive. Two things came out of my mouth continuously that night. 1. When people would bitch about their vehicle being snatched I would say, "You should pay your fucking bills then! You fucking savage! and 2: "Fuck this, I couldn't do this job." These are a few jobs I couldn't do, inspired by my night hanging with David.

Police Officer: As much of a disdain as I have for all types of authority figures, and my run-ins with officers in the past, I have a respect for the legitimate men and women who serve their community and don't throw racism and harassment in their daily crime fighting routine. I mentioned before that I have a friend who is a police officer, well, the other day I wanted to go with him and document it for my blog.(I know, I should have learned my lesson from the David incident) I had a tape recorder, notepad, I was ready to do some old school reporting. About a half hour into it I had to put everything down, just amazed at all the shit that I had seen in a short time period. As we were on patrol, I also noticed that I could never be a police officer because I would absolutely abuse my authority. For example, if I arrested a gentleman that kept saying how much he could "Beat my ass", I could see taking his cuffs off and saying, "Lets go motherfucker, you and me!", beating his ass in his front lawn. Not only that, as a person who doesn't have a uniform I always found it irritating to chase somebody for blocks that I was trying to beat the brakes off of. I think that I would have a policy that any man that made me run more than two blocks would get the business end of my night stick for a few moments.

There are also other issues that would arise from me being an officer of the law. You always see the police trying to talk to a guy with a gun, commanding him to "put the gun down", only shooting him if he raises the firearm in their direction. Not me, I would ask him once, and if he was slow about it I would turn his knee-caps into Swiss cheese as I continuously pulled the trigger of my gun like a character out of an old western.(I don't have all fucking day.) Lastly, being that women are my ultimate weakness, I could see myself letting women go for certain crimes as long as they flashed their pearly whites and had some cleavage exposed. I'm not talking about just random traffic stops either, if you looked right and pumped my ego enough I could see letting a beautiful vixen go on some murder shit. Me: Ma'am, your husband has three gunshots to the head, what happened? Woman: Well, (exposing cleavage) he would continuously beat on me and degrade me.(Rubbing the back of my neck) I had enough and shot him. Me:(adjusting growing "chubby)Well, ahem, shit maybe he deserved it. Let's say it was a suicide.(wiping the gun down and placing it in the man's hand) Woman:But there is three holes in his head, how is that going to work exactly? Me: Who fucking cares, what are you doing later? I definitely couldn't be a cop.

Porn Star: Besides the fact that I would provide America with a series of disappointing 2 minute porn videos, there are other reasons why I would be a lousy porn star. For one thing, I am a germaphobe, so even though the porn stars get tested regularly for STD's, that wouldn't be enough for me. Not only would I wear two condoms, I would probably wear rubber gloves and a surgical mask. I could even see myself scrubbing my sex partner with some wet wipes before we started having sex.(I don't know where her ass has been! What am I like guy number 50 this week, and it's only Tuesday and shit) Porn directors would hate me because mid scene I would scream shit like, "Cut! Cut! I am not putting my tongue in that particular orifice, primarily because not only have a few guys gotten to know that "hole" intimately a scene before, but you pulled so many beads out of there I thought I was back a mardi Gras. No thanks!"

I would also not be involved in any 3 way scene involving 2 men entering the various orifices of one woman. I don't know about any of the other guys out there, but I have a rule that another penis has to be at least 100 meters away from mine, that's just how it goes. Even though nothing homosexual is going on, and the two guys in a 3-way scene are there just for the woman, but if we accidentally touch "privates" I just might go on a motherfucking killing spree. Lastly, I have to admit that I get distracted when somebody talks to much during sex. I don't mean your garden variety, "Ohh. Yesss. That feels good. You will have to pay 50 bucks extra for that." I understand hearing those things during sex, but when somebody says shit like, "Hey Daddy, have I been a bad girl. Are you going to punish me, bend me over your knee??" If I heard this during a scene I would politely put my finger over her mouth and say, "Can your non acting ass shut the fuck up and enjoy the next 2 minutes, I know I will! I would enjoy it more if you shut your pie hole, you wanna-be B-Actress." That definitely is another job that I am not suited for.

Radio Personality: I feel that I could have my own show and come up with new and interesting skits on a daily basis. It would probably be fun, laughing with the co-stars of my show and taking calls from my loyal listeners. That wouldn't be the problem. The problem, being that 90% of the countries radio stations play non-stop bullshit, would be the music that I would be forced to play and the interviews that I would give. I mean, imagine if I was having a deep discussion about Hip Hop with a panel of guests, dissecting the intricacies of underground Hip Hop, and then I would be forced to say some shit like, "We will be right back, right after this new Mike Jones song!" How fucking foolish would I look, and feel for that matter. Let's say that my guest for the next day was, I don't know, the group "The Ying Yang Twins". I would spend the previous night doing research on them, coming up with a plethora of interesting questions to ask them. The next day, as they sat in front of me, I would begin the interview session: Me: So, when exactly did you..(shaking head, feeling light headed) Sorry guys, when exactly did you..(Stopped again, starts growling, displaying a nervous tick) OK, when did you guys..(asshole transformation complete) Exactly when did you guys start completely SUCKING ASS! You guys suck!! You are a disgrace to every man and women that ever held the microphone with pride, you fucking minstrel show! Ying Yang: Lets get the fuck out of here. Then I would proceed in taking the entire building hostage as I played Hip Hop from 1986-1993 for days on end, until Clear Channel got fed up and payed a sniper to take my black ass out.

Politician: Even though I publicly threw my hat in the political arena, urged on by Bill Clinton, I seriously could never be a politician. I just don't have the temperament for it. If Karl Rove or any type other political strategist tried to publicly smear an opponents family, that politician might come on a talk show and say how "dirty" the other side is. Not me, I can see going to a party in Washington where mostly politicians were in attendance. I see Karl Rove and I say, "Hey homey, can I talk to you for a minute?(moving quickly through the crowd) What did you say about my daughter again? Let's talk." Karl:(jogging away) What are you talking about? Someone call security. Security!! Then I would bring Karl down like a Pee-Wee football tackling drill, beating his ass in front of the likes of Jimmy Cater and Nelson Mandela. It wouldn't be pretty.

How about debates?? Usually, when someones opponent says something inaccurate, a politician would kindly say, "My opponent isn't being honest with you good Americans.." I couldn't be that respectful, if someone told a blatant lie I would say, "That is some bullshit! You know that is some bullshit right?? You are so full of shit! (pulling out a sheet of economic figures)Look at the economy the last few years when you were in office? (Grabbing the back of the opponents head and smashing his face into the piece of paper) Look at it?? You still want to say that same bullshit??

Also, if another country was talking shit and kept saying how they "wouldn't disarm" their nuclear weapons while I was Commander in Chief, I would do what any other Hip Hop lover would do. I would make a diss record about the dictator in question, tearing them a new asshole in rhyme form: (Diss record starts) (Me talking before I start my rap) Me: Yeaah! 2005 yall, with Pete Rock on the Help out! There is this pussy in China who is about to get his cap twisted backwards for talking shit! Drop the beat Pete!! (Then there would be a rhyme where I diss the fuck out of him and threaten to blow his country into little pieces) Obviously politics isn't in my future either.

Tuesday, August 23, 2005

The Greatest MC's of all Time(revised)

A "version" of this entry was originally posted months ago, hence a couple of old comments. BUT, I have brought this particular piece back to life for a few reasons. 1. This past December, while under the influenced of "certain" substances, I accidentally erased my blog(losing various comments and interesting perspectives on Hip Hop) 2.I have revised it, pretty much shortened the reasons why those particular MC's were the "greatest" to a few sentences, and added pictures. and 3: In a time period where Hip Hop is as dry as a crack prostitutes genetalia, I just want some open feedback from all of you on your favorite MC's. This is a open forum for you to say how much you "agree with me", or how I am "full of shit" and should be sent to an old folks home immediately. Let your voice be heard for Christs sake, I'm definitely curious. Here, in my opinion, are the Greatest MC's of all Time

1. Rakim: The greatest M.C to ever hold a Mic, hands down. A lyricist who was truly ahead of his time, if you don't believe me just play 'Paid In Full'. Any of his early recordings stand the test of time, holding ground with any modern M.C you can name. Vivid Imagery, metaphors, versatile delivery, and all around dictionary-like command of the English language makes this individual my personal favorite. "The ghetto", "Mahogany", and "Paid in Full", and "Microphone Fiend" are four very different songs that display the range of Rakim. The Greatest of All Time.

2. KRS-One: You have to love a man that says, "I am Hip Hop". His blend of consciousness and raw lyricism has been evident from day one. The hardest thing in music to do is be entertaining and teach at the same time. People call him arrogant, but I think that if you truly think you are the best then arrogance is needed. His love for Hip Hop culture has kept him in the game for nearly 20 years. "Criminal Minded", "My Philosophy", "I'm Still #1", how he single handedly took out the Juice Crew, threw P.M Dawn off a stage, or made Nelly his bitch, the man is an Icon.

3.Big Daddy Kane: One of the first M.C's to incorporate the "player" persona and at the same time stressing the importance of lyricism. I remember when my cousin's came down from New York in August of 88' and they gave me Big Daddy Kane's first album. That was one of the best birthday presents I ever had.. His arsenal of rhyme styles from a smooth delivery to a rapid flow captivated a then 15 year old kid. Matter of fact, it still captivates a now 31 year old man.

4. Nas: I knew that he was a great M.C when I heard his verse on Main Sources "Live from the barbecue", just him saying "..kidnap the President's wife without a plan.." or "..when I was 12, I went to hell for snuffing Jesus..", get me giddy as a school girl. Illmatic is one of my favorite albums, and has to be the best debut album of any rapper ever. In a time when lyrical content seems to be irrelevant, the man continues to push the envelope and display his wide ranging lyrical strengths. I admit that his career took a wrong turn(see duet with Ginuine), but it seems that it got back on track again when Jay Z made the disastrous decision to challenge the Queensbridge M.C.

5. Kool G Rap: If you hear some of his earlier songs, he should be credited for some of the first "gangsta rap" recordings. Brilliant lyricist, with a aggressive delivery mixed with his ability to inject the vivid images of street life. With his trademark lisp, I personally feel he had the best verse on "The Symphony". As a person that is against the "bitch and hoe" content of many of the "artists" of today, or the clumsy way they tackle strong sexual content in Hip Hop, can't resist the imaginative ways he approaches those topics.

6. Slick Rick: A truly underrated lyricist, coming to us by way of England. I fell in love with "Ladi-Dadi" as soon as I heard it and it is probably the first song that I learned verbatim. Smooth delivery, with a vast vocabulary that he utilizes through his storytelling abilities. 'Treat em' like a prostitute' is one of my personal favorites, but reading my blog you could probably guess why..

7. Notorious B.I.G: Death can certainly make someone a martyr, and inflate their importance in music. Even though I think this has happened to B.I.G in some respects(especially Tupac), there is no denying the lyrical ability of this Brooklyn M.C. The first song that I heard from him happens to be my favorite, "Party and Bullshit". Awesome flow, skillful metaphor use and wordplay will keep him relevant in Hip Hop for years to come. I wasn't into the "shiny suit" era that Puffy tried to force upon us, but Biggie's lyrics make me forget about that, somewhat.

8.Chuck D: "It takes a Nation of Millions.." is by far my favorite album of all time. Chuck D is partly responsible for my current political awareness, so when I go on long diatribes about the evil that is the "black republican", you have him to blame. Like I said about KRS-One, to be able to be musically relevant and have a message at the same time is not only difficult but it takes balls. I heard a quote form Chuck D one time where he said, "I knew that we had something when women hated our music", I love that quote. Any man that calls out Elvis, the president, and talks about kidnapping the mayor of Arizona for not recognizing Martin Luther Kings birthday get my complete support.

9. Ice Cube (Circa 1992): I was a fan of Ice Cube when he was in N.W.A, but when he went solo he emerged into a deadly M.C. The Bomb Squad produced 'Amerikkka's Most Wanted' was a dazzling debut of street life and hardcore beats. My favorite Ice Cube album is 'Death Certificate", where he dealt with topics like the failing health care system, selling out, dissing his old band-mates N.W.A, the military, and venereal diseases. Yeah he fell off, and his contribution to the West Side Connection is forgettable, but his works of the early 90's are legendary.

10.LL. Cool J: Like his recent work or not, but the man was considered a legend at the age of 25. The first artist signed to Def Jam, he has proved to be the Hip Hop version of Madonna, successfully changing with the times and staying commercially relevant. I know that this choice is pretty controversial, but anyone who disses an outgoing president(Bush 1) while freestyling at a presidential inauguration(Clinton), definitely gets my motherfucking vote! He has defeated Kool Moe Dee, Ice Tee, and Cannibus, proving that he is a battle tested M.C. With 10 albums under his belt, he is the poster boy for longevity.

Friday, August 19, 2005

HumanityCritic on the Campaign Trail

(HumanityCritic fast asleep besides two butt naked women)

(phone rings)

(HumanityCritic clumsily climbs over the women to answer the phone)

HumanityCritic:(In a groggy voice) Hello

Bill Clinton: What's up HumanityCritic?!!

HumanityCritic: Who in the fuck is this? Do you know what time it is, it's..

Bill Clinton:(Interrupts) 12 noon on a motherfucking Friday, get your black ass up!

HumanityCritic: Bill?? What in the fuck do you want man?? I'm still mad at you from last time I saw you when you cock-blocked me and stole the girl that I was talking to. Speaking of that, what kind of asshole approaches a girl with the line "I'm Bill Clinton baby!"?

Bill Clinton: It worked didn't it?

HumanityCritic: You have a point, what's up?

Bill Clinton: Well I figured that since you took Bush out twice in a freestyle rap battle, that it is time that you throw your hat in the political arena. Think of all the quality tail you get!!

HumanityCritic: Like Monica? hee-hee

Bill Clinton: Fuck man, that's what I hate, intellectual laziness! Just because a guy gets caught fucking a "chubby 3rd stringer", all of a sudden people think that that is the only quality of tail he gets? Get the fuck out of here with that bullshit!! The quality of chicks I had in the White House would have made JFK say, "You're a pimp dog!!" Don't sleep motherfucker!!

HC: You sure are touchy today! Anyway, I can't run for president man, I have smoked weed
and "inhaled", plus the press would have a field day with the photographs of me kicking chicks out of the White House early every morning. Also, I won't be 35 for 3 more years asshole!

(The girls that were in HumanityCritic's bed have now gotten dressed, and are staring at him with a pissed off look on their face)

HC: Hold on Bill(puts down phone to address the two women) What's up?

Girl A: Where is our motherfucking money?

HC: Money?? I don't pay for sex, I'm the HumanityCritic Baby!!

Girl B: You are just a chubby black bastard with a blog! (Holds hand out)

HC: The money is on the table, Scram!

Girls:(In unison) Fuck you!

HC:(picks phone back up) Bill?

Bill: I told you that line only works for me with the ladies!! Anyway, I was talking about the Black Weblog Awards. They have a few awards that I thought you were qualified for, you should ask people to vote for you.

HC: I have already put the banner on my blog a couple of days ago..

Bill: Yeah, but what you need is a campaign commercial, something to show your readers "why" they should vote for you. You should give it a shot.

HC: OK, but in me doing that, wouldn't it be selfish, an act of narcissism, and the epitome of self promotion??

(Bill Clinton and HumanityCritic, in unison, turn to all the bloggers out there flashing a shit eating grin)

Bill: So it's set, I have set up a camera crew that is going to film your first campaign commercial. I have contacted the members of your world security team you are a part of, B-H.A.I.L, to be your cabinet, it's good to go.

HC: Fuck it, why not. So, how's Harlem treating you?

Bill: Bro, I can't talk right now because Hillary is in the room. But I will say one thing about the women in Harlem, and get what you want out of this..(whispers in the phone). Junk-in-the-trunk!

Hillary: Bill, you motherfucker!

Bill: Gotta go, bye

HC: Hey Bill

Bill: Yeah?

HC: Happy Birthday bitch!!

Bill: Damn man, thanks. Good luck!


(Campaign Commercial starts)

(James Brown's "Poppa Don't take no mess" comes on. The image of Iselfra, Amadeo, Luke Cage, Belle, and HumanityCritic in the middle walking in slow motion)

(Voice of HumanityCritic):Hi, I'm HumanityCritic, and I support this Message

Today, my fellow blog enthusiast, I ask for your vote. Granted, I can't address your national security concerns, making health care available for all Americans, or even making our schools better for our youth to receive a better education. I wish I could do those things for you by running for president, but I am only a single black guy in Virginia, and the mere fact that there are pictures of me smoking weed and a possible sex tape floating around, being Commander in Chief is out of the question. I ask that you vote for me at the 2005 black blogger awards website. Granted, I know that this is the epitome of shameless plugging, self promotion, and a downright pathetic practice where I will comment vague shit just for people to check out my site, but if you read my blog for 2 minutes you will see that I don't bother with trying to live up to any "moral standard."

Fellow Internet browser, If I have your vote I will promise a few things: 1: To always do my best to write from my heart. 2: To do my best to make you laugh, even if that means embarrassing myself and exploiting my sexual shortcomings(Pun not intended dammit!) 3:I promise, as my name is HumanityCritic, that if we ever hang out, to bitch-slap any individual who gives you problems. Or give them my signature throat-chop, take your pick. and 4: To continue to be the most abrasive, direct, and lovable asshole a guy could be.

In the next month, you can vote for all those other blogs that continuously bore the piss out of you, or mine that..hopefully doesn't bore the piss out of you. You can vote for all those other blogs where all people do is talk about themselves, or you can vote for my blog where..OK, I do talk about myself a lot, but not in a "I'm so great" kind of way but in a "look at how much of a douche-bag I am, hence making your life more livable" kind of way.

I can hear some of you now saying, "Give me some proof, why I should vote for your black ass??!!" OK, even though the color of my ass is unimportant here, let me provide you with a few links. The post entitled "A Complete Idiots Guide to Having a Black Friend" I gave people who were culturally unaware a rulebook when dealing with someone of another race. The post "HumanityCritic's Tell All Autobiography(Circa 2033)" I gave a fictitious account of me in the future, as I looked back at all the celebrities I was "with". I gave the "every man" some support when I wrote a fictitious, An Episode of "Thug Eye for the Regular Guy" , which every man that doesn't want to fall under a stereotype can truly relate to. You have a true to life account of a struggle that I had entitled "Turn off that MotherF#%cking Radio!", my fictitious rap battle/debate against George W. Bush in the posts entitled "Live from the White House: Rap battle: Bush vs. Humanity Critic" and the sequel to that entitled "Bush vs. HumanityCritic: Rap Battle on the White House Lawn Pt. 2". You can't forget about my story about going to a poetry event entitled "A Fictitious Tale about a Coffee-Shop" , also a true story about me defending someone and their right to love whoever they want entitled "Somewhere Over the Rainbow". But, if those entries don't blow your skirt up just go to my site and see if you find something even mildly entertaining. If not, you have permission to call me a waste of flesh, lord knows my ex-girlfriends do.

How do you vote you ask? OK, just go to the 2005 Black Weblog Awards website, click on "Awards" and you will see eleven categories to chose from. The categories that I feel that I fall under for nomination are "Blogger of the Year", "Blog of the Year", "Best Humor Blog", and "Best Writing in a Blog". There will be two boxes where you fill out your name and your email address. Under that you type in "HumanityCritic" under "Nominee" and "" under "Nominee URL". Then simply check the category boxes below that you feel that you want to vote for me for and just click on vote. Simple, painless, easy.

Even though this message is a begging attempt to garner your vote, that doesn't mean that you have to vote for me. By all means, if you think another blogger is more deserving, then do what is in your heart and vote for them. I won't have a problem with that.(Except the fact that I might make a voodoo doll of you, so if you feel a constant shooting pain during the day just realize that you made the wrong vote!! Just kidding, Kind of.)

In closing, whether if you vote for me or not, I appreciate your support and the kindness you showed me over the past few months. Keep reading my blog, and I will keep trying to provide you with continuous laughs and utter foolishness. Email your thoughts, your reactions, or if simply want to say "I wish you were never born you bastard!" then feel free.(Lord knows I hear that enough from my mother, so I'm used to it.)

Thank You,


Paid for by the HumanityCritic "I'll Throatchop a Motherfucker" Campaign of 2005, INC.

Thursday, August 18, 2005

A Couple of Bachelor Parties of note

One thing that women absolutely loathe but men cherish like a child awaiting Christmas, is the time honored tradition of the Bachelor Party. What better way for a man to welcome the married life than a shitload of booze, scantily clad or butt naked women, surrounded by about a dozen of his closest, most belligerent friends. Like a secret organizations, there are a few unwritten rules such as having a shitload of booze, the right "entertainment", having decent food, and never let the brides father or brother attend, they will snitch faster than Kobe in Colorado. Here are a few examples of bachelor parties that I have gone to.

Chris' Bachelor Party: Chris had just moved to Va from England, so I was like his only friend in the whole state, fuck it, the whole country. We hung out a lot, went to ball games, and I was cool with his fiancee and everything. So when Chris told me that he was getting married I just had to throw him a bachelor party, American style. I rented out a huge space, ordered enough liquor to make Courtney Love say "That's alot of booze", and rounded up some local strippers of note to make Chris' bachelor party a night to remember. Things started to go wrong when the strippers that I hired all of a sudden demanded more money. We had agreed on a price, I paid it, now they were going back on the deal and asking for more.(note to self, never pay the full price up front) I officially thought I was fucked as I was on the phone with a stripper that called herself "Destiny", trying to be the voice of reason. It looked bad until I remembered that my mother once told me that "when I get mad, I sound like a pimp".(How in the fuck does my mother know what a pimp sounds like?? Let me stop pondering that question immediately.) So, over the phone, I ranted and raved saying "You don't know who your fucking with!!" and "I know where you trollop's work at", true asshole shit that I thought wouldn't work. Apparently "Destiny" was accustomed to the fine art of "Pimpery" because she immediately said, "OK Daddy, we will be there, it's no problem." When I hung up the phone I said to myself, "Shit, I think I missed my calling!" The night of the party everything is running smoothly, all of Chris' co-workers were there, the booze was straight, food, everything looked fine. That was until the strippers came out. I guess Chris, a Caucasian male, forgot to tell his co-workers that he had a thing for black women, because when they came out looking like 100% ebony sex, you could have kicked a field goal in the mouths of the gentlemen in attendance.

During the night I noticed a few things. 1.Chris is drunk off his ass, slurring his words, and he keeps rapping Biz Markie's "The Vapors", which is hilarious in an English accent. 2:The strippers that I hired are bona fide freaks, inserting things in every orifice and providing all in attendance with a special "Lesbian show" and 3. Some of the women are taking guys in the back room and charging men for their "Services". I guess they need to pay tuition or something. I'm not going to lie, I glanced at my wallet, but decided against making any "Booty transactions" based on the fact that I enjoy peeing without that burning sensation. Then, I looked over, and Chris had placed 2 folded 100 dollar bills on his penis and yells, "What naughty girl wants to earn some money!!" Now I was in sensitive spot, because I would usually let a man do whatever he wants. But the fact that I knew his fiancee and knew that he wouldn't fuck a hooker if he was sober, I felt that need to intervene, so I tried to tell Chris to chill out. One of his co-workers grabs me and says, "Don't be such a cock-block!", so I shrug him off me and continue to try to talk some good sense into my European friend. His co-orker grabs me again and says, "Hey, didn't you hear me Lennox Lewis, leave the guy alone asshole!" I turned around and calmly asked the gentleman, "Let me tell you what I'm doing, walk outside with me!" We start to walk outside and as soon as he takes one step out of the door I start punching the shit out of him. Me and this dude fight for like ten minutes, I totally forget about saving Chris from himself inside the party. When I finally get back inside I learn that not only have the strippers stolen some wallets off some of the guys, they hijacked some of the liquor, but most of all Chris had paid for a "mouth hug" that one of his co-workers had recorded on his phone that takes video. The next day, his wedding day, Chris looks like death as I see him in a beautifully laid out church. His fiancee is giving me "I should beat your black ass" looks during the entire service. Later on, after the vows were exchanged and Chris had a spare minute, he sat beside me and asked "I wasn't that bad last night was I?" Then I said, "OK, you placed 200 bucks on your dick, I beat up a guy you work with, and you paid for a blow job that might be circulated on the net being that it was recorded. How's that?" All he could do is slump over and place his face in his hands and let out a big sigh. Then I laughed and said, "Yep, we had a kick ass time!!"

Derek's Bachelor Party: I feel bad about Derek's bachelor party because I was the main reason why it was ruined. His party was within the same time span that my father died and my girlfriend of 5 years had dumped me for a guy who was a bum, actually calling him a panhandler is probably too generous. Anyway, I wasn't in the best state of mine but I wanted to help Derek in any way possible when it came to his pre-marriage titty fest. I offered my services, my ability to get quality liquor for cheap, the ability to get fine women of ill repute without going bankrupt, the ability to rent out quality spaces for bargain prices.(Shit, I feel like a superhero, "Able to leap two titty bars with a single bound). But Derek's brother, who is a bona fide douche-bag by the way, brushed away my offer by saying, "I got this, I have been doing this for years!!" So his stupid ass was solely responsible for setting everything up. I actually wished him well as I envisioned scantily clad Beyonce-esque women climbing all on me, lying to me by saying shit like, "Wow, you sure are handsome! Do you model?" In the same vision, I place my index finger over her mouth and say, "Shhh, you ruin it by talking!!"(Even in my fantasies I am an asshole.) Anyway, I get to the party and I notice a few things that have gone wrong already. 1.The Father and the Brother of the bride are there.(Ladies, if I decide to marry one of you in the future, your raggedy ass daddy and brother aren't coming! I don't care how "cool" they are, at the end of the day those fuckers are worse than the feds.) 2:The spot that was rented was ghetto and dingy as shit. 3. There was hardly any alcohol there and 4: The food consisted of chips and other foods of the horseshit variety. OK, maybe most of the money was spent on the "entertainment", lets see how the girls look.

I was there an hour and still no women, within this time period I had already downed a flask of liquor that I had in my pocket, and some random beers that were available in a cooler that was there. Basically, I was drunk, and I was already talking shit. I told Derek's brother, "Look at this bullshit spread! "I got this" my ass!" He replied, "Just wait until you see the girls man!". As soon as he said that the girls walked in and, how can I say this, they were in desperate need of a sandwich. They were "Whitney Houston when she was at the height of her crack use" skinny. The guys were going crazy but I couldn't see why. Earlier, I had learned that these women were prostitutes acquired through a pimp, so I drunkenly yelled out, "Who's your pimp, Sally Struthers? hahaha.. Didn't I send you chicks 50 cent a month once!!" They were getting pissed, one of them said, "Don't let me come down there motherfucker or I'll.." "Or you'll what?", I said, "Stab my with your fucking elbows! hahaha" People there tired of me very quickly, but I felt pretty good that Derek was laughing his ass off and that's all that mattered. Later on the women started dancing on a makeshift stage with a pole that somebody had set up. For and hour guys would stand in front of the dancers and throw money at their feet, mostly 5's and 10's. I was outraged because the women, in my drunken opinion, looked like they only danced for heroin. So when I approached the stage, I pulled a sandwich out of my pocket and threw placed it in front of the dancing women, screaming "You need that more than you need money!!" That is when the stripper got "Gangsta" on me, hopped off stage onto my back, and started wailing on me as I tried to get her ass off of me. Even though I was getting punched by a stripper in the back of the head, I was so drunk I was laughing and said, "It's like I am having a fight with a bunch of brooms!!" They got her off me, and they asked me to leave. Looking back I was being an asshole, regardless of the hard time I was having at the time. I was such an asshole that I was dis-invited to the wedding, which is truly a tell tale sign of how bad I was that night.

Wednesday, August 17, 2005

HumanityCritic's Dance Moves

I went out the other night to some fancy-smancy club that I felt highly uncomfortable at. As I looked at all the people who thought that their shit didn't stink, I stood around and conversed with my friends as I stared at an empty dance-floor. The club was packed but no one was dancing, did Goodie Mob have it right when they said "They don't dance no more"? As soon as I thought about how sad it was that people didn't dance anymore, a young lady approached and asks me to dance. To be honest, even though I was asking myself why people didn't cut a rug like they used to, I really didn't feel like dancing. Did this new culture of "I'm too fucking cool to sweat" infect the cerebellum of the HumanityCritic as well?? I decided to dance with the young lady for a few reasons. 1: Because I hadn't danced in a long time. 2: The young lady in question looked like a young Pam Grier, and lord knows what kind of blacksploitation type role playing I might be able to get her to do in the future and 3. I haven't been asked to dance since the fucking Clinton administration. She grabbed my hand and dragged me to the dance floor where we started dancing. "Feet don't fail me now!" I thought, as I wondered if they even worked any more. I started doing the classic "2 step" which is what everyone pulls out of their bag to buy time until they can pull some real funky steps out of their arsenal. She immediately starts grinding on me when I started to immediately "Pitch a tent", "OK, I'm glad that still works", I thought as I try to be subtle about "adjusting" myself. Then I busted out a barrage of oldie but goodies that not only made the woman in her early 20's laugh, but exposed my age for anyone within a 100 foot radius. It just got me thinking to the various dance-steps throughout my life.

The 70's- When I was a kid I just remember just jumping around like I was having a seizure, delighting my parents because of how foolish I looked. Specific dance-steps of this time period escape me, except for "The Bump" where while dancing you touch asses to the beat. I remember doing this dance with one of my parents' friends when she propelled me into a table where the table broke into a million pieces. She said something like, "I guess I don't know my own strength", you know you have a humongous derriere when you propel toddlers in a single bound. But this time period is special because I recall waking up on various Saturday mornings to the sounds of Marvin Gaye, Otis Redding, Donny Hathaway, Stevie Wonder, and a plethora of other soulful masters as I went downstairs and danced with my parents. My parents didn't have the best relationship, but at a early age I realized that music, albeit momentarily, could bring people together.

Fun HumanityCritic fact: The first record that I begged my parents for and they bought me was "Rappers Delight" by the Sugar Hill Gang in 1979, I was in kindergarten. I remember coming home, playing it, and my dad saying "The music is good but all those motherfuckers are doing is talking on it!"

The 80's- The first dance that I recall learning was "The Robot", which I was good at, but kids would clown me because that's all I would do. I even remember this girl named Brandy saying, "Here comes HumanityCritic, watch him do the robot the whole time!" She was probably jealous of how well I imatated a robot, even making robit-like sounds. (Maybe not)That's when I realized that I had to step my dance game up, then break-dancing hit the scene. I always will love and respect that art of the legendary "B-boy", but to be totally honest I was the worst break-dancer imaginable. I mean, I could pop my ass off, do the snake, the worm, but my groundwork(i.e Spinning on my back, doing the flare) was atrocious. My best break-dance move was when I would pop, bring it down where I would expose my stomach and roll my stomach downwards, then bring it to my legs then bring it back up. That move was awesome, the first thousand times I did it, but people quickly tired of my "signature move". This is embarrassing, but I even called myself the "Camouflage kid", where I would go to various dance contests wearing camouflage. I remember my boy getting all philosophical on me one day by saying, "Isn't being called that limiting, being that that's all you can wear? I mean, people would openly wonder if you even washed your clothes man!" Me, never lacking the witty comeback or clever diatribe, answered back by saying, "Fuck you Kenny!!"

Later in the decade I really hit my stride dance wise, especially when I would bust out with "the cabbage patch" in front of people. Dances like "The prep" went smoothly while Eric B and Rakim played in the background. But my dance, the one that personifies mid to late 80's Hip Hop to me personally was "The Wop". That dance is so significant to that time period that I would like to make that a new form of greeting between people who like Real Hip Hop. At that point in my life I felt like a hip of version of Gregory Hines or Fred Astaire, but in all actuality I was more like Denny Tarrio.(If you even know who that is YOUR ASS IS OLD SCHOOL!)

Fun HumanityCritic Fact: My mother always said, "Don't spin on your head, I saw on the news where a kid broke his neck!!" I always told her that those tales of kids breaking their necks were "lies" and to "not worry about it". About a week later my best friend at the time, Kenny, did indeed break his neck.

The 90's- I remember, if I am correct, the dance "The Running Man" becoming popular in the early 90's. I have to tell you, nothing ruined more potential ass for me than doing this particular dance. It wasn't that I was bad at it, actually I was quite good at it, but this is a dance that you could only pull out sporadically. I couldn't tell you how many girls that thought I was an absolute "Spaz" when I would be doing "The Running Man" with the aggression of a serial killer, as she dance calmly to a mid-tempo song. Even though I would constantly get those "calm your black ass down" looks, I didn't care, I was on a mission, a dance mission if you will. That "mission" usually resulted in me going home alone and getting friendly with a bottle of lotion and whatever filth I had at the time.

The rest of the 90's, to be totally honest, didn't have any particular dances that I recall. OK, I know that Reggae had a shitload of dances, but I hate dance-hall, and I would just go to those clubs to score women, so I would just copy whatever everyone else was doing in order to fit in. The rest of this decade just consisted of me going to clubs and dry-humping the shit out of anyone who had female genitalia, crude but true.

Fun HumanityCritic Fact: I hate the fucking "Electric Slide", I just wanted to say that!! I was at a party where I was planning on fighting a dude who had talked shit to me earlier. My friends had talked me out of it and I was relatively calm, until I saw him jump in a "Electric Slide" line, where I tackled him mid stride and started hitting him like a ghetto pinata. Nothing is funnier than seeing horrified electric sliders watching a beating.

2000-Present: Being that I despise most Hip Hop that comes out now, and all the ghetto dances that accompany it, I find myself just doing the old man "2 step", you can't go wrong with that. When I feel nostalgic, I will break out with "The Wop", start popping, do "The cabbage patch", or even do "The prep". I don't do those dances to teach the younger generation an integral part of Hip Hop history, or enlighten them to a more legitimate era in Hip Hop. I do those dances because I sincerely don't give a fuck. That simple.

But there are a few dance moves that I have invented recently, they include the "If you bump me one more time motherfucker I'm going to maul your ass on this dance-floor" two-step, you have the "damn girl you need to wash your hot spots!" shuffle, and my personal favorite the "You are fine and all, but dancing with you is horror because your breath is so bad that I can taste it!" slide. OK, those aren't dances, but Dammit they should be!!!

Fun HumanityCritic Fact: I still hate the fucking "Electric Slide"!