Friday, July 28, 2006

Some very aggressive ways to get out of a fight..

For the past few months, to get rid of an unwanted gut so my penis would appear bigger to the ladies, I have played basketball at my local YMCA at least three times a week. The dudes who I play basketball with hate to see me walk through the gym doors because of my killer defense, my ability to split double teams, my deadly three point abilities, and my pin point accuracy when it comes to dishing off the "rock". Ok, the previous sentence was a lie. Even though I am a decent player, people hate me because I told a gentleman on my team who was in his 60's "I wouldn't trust your ass with the remote, you really think you are taking the last shot gramps??", I forced a kind young gentleman on his way to the priesthood to call me a "motherfucker" once, I even made a female baller with WNBA aspirations throw a punch at me in anger after shutting her down and saying "I'll let you by me if you show me your tits!!" Suffice it to say that people at the YMCA hate my very existence, but that's fine because I think being liked is overrated any fucking way.

So you would think me, a guy with about a thousand fights under his belt, a rather casual distaste for any member of the clergy, a love for triple penetration porn and any flick where the actress gets up close and personal with a string of beads, and a guy who once called an ex girlfriends grandmother a "dirty old whore" would be anyones role model. But it's true folks, ever since the summer started I befriended a 16 year old kid named Juan, and because he looks up to me I have desperately tried to alter my behavior around him. Granted, he first started looking up to me for all the wrong reasons. Let me explain: I got into an argument with someone on the court one day, so when this person wanted to fight me outside I accepted their challenge. When we both got outside, crowd in tow, I was about to beat the shit out of this feminine ass looking dude who wanted to scrap with yours truly. In an act of silly machismo, I stuck out my chin and offered my opponent the first shot, and when he took it I said "Oh shit, you hit like a bitch.. I'm about to bury your sissy punching ass!" Thats when Juan tapped me on the shoulder and said, "HumanityCritic, you know that's a girl right??"

Manly looking lesbians who I didn't fight aside, since then I have done my best to be a responsible role model for young Juan whenever I see him. I felt like an actual adult, stressing the importance of prophylactics, to respect his mother especially since she is raising three kids on her own, how a college education is the key, real after school special shit. This is the first time I didn't mind altering my real self because it was for a good cause, the positive molding of a young mind. But I was forced to give young Juan the uncut truth like an uncircumcised porn star, when he asked me a very strange question. He asked me, "HumanityCritic, how do I avoid a fight and not look like a pussy??" Still having my "Heathcliff Huxtable-responsible negro" cap on I said "Who cares what people think?? Fighting is never the answer, and it takes a real man to walk away!!"(I actually said that with a straight face) He saw through my bullshit, and asked the question again very slowly like I was a retarded child who was hard of hearing. So I thought I would be honest with the young man, here are some examples I gave him that I hope he didn't listen to.

Get the Fuck outta Dodge: Even though fleeing from an altercation would indeed make Juan look like a euphemism for a vagina, I still thought I would keep within the "aggressive ways to avoid a fight" motif. Listen, I have rarely if ever avoided a fight in my life, something that doesn't make me particularly tough but foolish, but if telling a young cat about the age old tradition of the "retreat" saves his ass one day, then that's all that I care about. To be honest, this is going to sound silly I know, but I respect someone running more than you would think. I mean, it beats trying to act tough and you mercilessly getting your ass beat, it clearly beats trying to nervously talk your way out of an altercation THEN mercilessly getting your ass beat. But I told Juan that he should only run if he feels outnumbered, because running from one person might end up having panties stuffed in his locker for the rest of his high school career. Earlier I lied, I did run from an altercation a few years ago. I was in a bar and had an extremely heated argument with some black biker dude, something about me having my tongue down his girlfriends throat. Anyway, after noticing that he was there with about 30 of his biker brethren, all armed and all wanting a piece of me, I broke the fuck out of dodge in the most discreet way possible.(You know, knocking over waitresses, hopping over tables..) Its cowardly, I know, but like the great poet William Smith once said in the song "I Think I can Beat Mike Tyson": "A good run is better than a bad stand any day!"

Throat Chop: I know, I know, a throat-chop is a physical strike and hardly seems like the action of a person who is trying to avoid a fight. Let me explain: It is my experience, from age 2 to 32, that most people who you encounter don't really want to fight. Most of the time they just want you to back down just so they can be secure in their masculinity, something that they have probably been insecure about their entire, miserable existence. Even with those people you encounter who want to put you on the business end of a beating, the best way to get out of it I've seen is to chop someone in the throat. Besides the benefits of them dropping to their knees like Lil Kim whenever she is handed a few stray bills, and them gasping for air like David Blaine in that god forsaken fish bowl, most people are so shocked that you hit them in the throat that usually they don't want any parts of you after that. The funniest thing I ever heard, from a 6'6 corn-fed fucker I had issue with, was him clutching his neck screaming: "You bastard!! You hit me in the throat!! the THROAT!"

Break something: In my long an illustrious history of putting my shell-toe Adidas in the rectal area of your garden variety douchebag, I have a few idiosyncrasies that I do pre-fight that are pretty fucking silly. One of those, in the few moments before the confrontation commences, is me breaking something in a rage of anger. I've never been the "hit a wall" type, but I couldn't tell you how many times I have been in a bar and either threw a bottle against a wall or broke one over a bar-top before I punched someone in their face. Looking back though, more times than not, this action actually scares the fuck out of the person I was about to fight. Maybe it was the sudden crash, maybe it was the subconscious metaphor that registered in the other person's brain letting them know that I would do the same thing to their face as I did to that bottle, who knows really. But like I told Juan, this isn't a sure fire thing, because I have done the same thing before certain fights and the gentleman in question looked at me like I had just openly admitted to being a P.M Dawn fan.

Punch yourself in the face: When I used to box as a kid, before I would fight another kid, I did what I saw more experienced boxers do pre-fight and that is to punch myself in the face. Not in a reckless way to knock yourself out, but under the chin, hard enough to let the other person know that you mean business. Two decades later, if I feel myself about to smack somebody in the face, I do the same thing. Not really to scare the other person, but more of the "old habits die hard" category. But looking back at my experiences, trying to find something legitimate to tell Juan, I do remember me doing that and scaring the crap out of a few gentlemen. It's silly and most people will just think you are a douchebag, but more times than not a dude willing to punch himself in the face is someone you might not want to tangle with.

Have a great hype man: This is probably the most sure fire way to get out of fights in my opinion, and Juan knew this by my stressed tone when I addressed him. Listen, I couldn't tell you how many times I was in High School, at a party, at a bar, wherever, and I got out of the fight solely on the fact that some random onlooker said something like "Oh shit, HumanityCritic is nice yo. Homeboy is about to get his ass handed to him!!" See, when you are about to fight someone you have this naive feeling that you are the best fighter ever and the guy you are about to face is a fucking weakling. But as soon as someone verifies that person's skill in the aged-old art of fisticuffs, doubt starts to creep in and a few drops of urine might squirt out of you. Shit man, my best hype man was a puertorican chick named Rosa I used to date. She was great, could talk shit with the best of them, and whenever I was about to get in a fight she would tell the other guy "My man is about to rearranged your face, I hope you like eating through a straw for the next couple of months!!" I wasn't that nice with the hands, but it gave me the mental edge where later on that night I would be drunkenly humping Rosa with a glow of victory around me. Damn, I miss that crazy broad.

Video of the Day: Gang Starr: "DWYCK"

There are so many reasons why a chubby pre-ejaculating bastard like myself might pick this particular tune on this day. I don't know, it could be the fact that DJ Premier is the best producer of all time in my humble opinion. It could be because Guru, unlike many MC's who seem to have a shelf life, seems to be getting better with age when it comes to his rhyme skills. It could be the way I always dug the quirkiness of Greg Nice's rhyme style and the pimped out delivery of Smooth B. But most of all ladies and Gents, I picked this song because simply, this is what Hip Hop is all about. Every summer, this one included, you can see me traveling down the road with the wind separating my dreadlocks, nodding my head to this classic.

Pharrell: HP Commercial

I know that I'm probably the biggest hater on the world wide web. I mean, I'm not like some people who act like they are haters but turn around and give glowing praise to "MC butt-fuck and DJ sperm receptacle", I really do hate people because of their proverbial wackness and the gall they have to let their bowel movement called music infect my ears. But I have to give Pharrell love on this beautiful Friday afternoon. Ok, I'm not a fan of the guys music and that is my god given right, but I don't find him morally reprehensible like I do some of the other shit-stains who call themselves "artists" nowadays. But most of all I have to give the guy love because he is the only famous person, who I know of, who gives my hometown of Virginia Beach love. That I appreciate, along with his love for skateboarding. Keep representing.

Thursday, July 27, 2006

An open letter to my future wife..

This is embarrassing to admit, but for the longest time I thought I had psychic abilities. No, I couldn't touch a woman's hand and suddenly get a vision of her in a future drunken gangbang with three circus midgets like Anthony Michael Hall's character in "The Dead Zone". I couldn't tell you the future based on dreams that I had, like my vision's of wack artists like Young Jeezy and Rick Ross being subjected to a public caning because of their proverbial wackness. But for the longest time, based on the millions of times I would think of a specific episode of any given rerun, when it would come on television soon after I knew that I had "the gift" so to speak. Even as a kid, like receiving a transcript of a Mary J Blige interview for Christmas, I knew that my gift was indeed a shitty one. But I knew that over time, as I got older and more mature that my power would strengthen to the point that I could solve crimes, prevent deaths due to natural disasters, at best do cool shit like get rich off of lotto or remove women's panties in public with my mind. But now at the age of 32, with so many grey hairs in my pubic area that my crotch is beginning to resemble an ash tray, I have realized that I never had any powers to begin with. Now older and wiser, I realize that my ability to predict certain episodes was just the result of the monotony of local programming back then.

So recently I have been the ultimate scrooge when it comes to anybody claiming that they have Extra-sensory perception, or ESP for people who love acronyms. Like a few years ago I was dating a young lady who claimed that she had "visions" and could see the future, which I doubted from day one, but my disbelief was verified when I fucked her sister on her bed and her being unaware of it until her sister sobbingly admitted to it a couple of months later.(I remember me telling her sister as I ejaculated, "Don't worry, she "saw" this coming a long time ago! Get it? "cumming") Or this street magician I saw at the beach a while ago, a fucking David Blaine wanna be if I ever saw one. Besides decent magic tricks, some levitation, and your garden variety slight of hand magic, I was willing to just leave the guy alone and clap with the rest of the flock of sheep to his antics. But like this girl on my college's basketball team that I used to date and unsatisfied on a regular basis, lets just say that this dude fucked up in the worst way. He claimed that he could tell the future by touching people's hands, he fooled the crowd for a while, but when he touched my hand for a few moments I punched him in the face and screamed "See, if you were real you would have ducked motherfucker!!!"

My asshole tendencies aside, I met a lady over the weekend who was either the real deal, or a woman who has her motherfucking hustle game down to a Tee. I was in Downtown Norfolk working on this comic book with a friend of mine, when I noticed a small building with the words "Psychic: Palm readings and Tarot Cards" on the side. We both entered, I threw down my money, hoping that I would expose yet another fraud who claims they have the "gift". The psychic, a Spanish woman who had to be in her early 50's and quite stunning to be honest, grabbed my hand and then said "I see a lot of anger in your past, a lot of aggression." Being the consummate smart ass I said, "...and that has nothing to do with me having a "Fuck the Police' T-Shit on huh??" She smirked and then said, "Ok, your father died years ago and you foolishly blame yourself, you solve problems with your fists, you love Hip Hop, you've lost weight recently..wait, did you have sex with someone at a wake once??" I pulled my hand away quickly, amazed at what she had just told me, looking at my friend to see if I was being set up. I finally realized, unless this woman is an avid reader of my blog that she is the real deal. I began to get up when I said, "Ok, quickly tell me something else!!" She grabbed my hand and said, "Ok..Lets see..You will meet your wife off the Internet, which is quite sad really." As I was leaving I said, "Quite sad?? If you are so "good" why aren't you in a building bigger than a fucking porta pottie?? Predict these nuts why don't you!! That's sad!" Then I thought out loud, "Wait, you don't know voodoo do you??", in which she responded "I think I see a lock of your hair on my desk!!" Scared as shit, I profusely apologized and said that she was the "unadulterated shit" for the next 5 minutes because I didn't want to wake up with an orange dick.

That got me thinking, "What if I really do meet my future wife off the Internet?? What if the woman who I sexually disappoint until my last breath, the woman who finds men with mountains of porn "sexy", actually someone who currently reads my blog??" That being said, if she does read my blog, I thought I would give her some insight into some of my idiosyncrasies, insight not usually shared on the nappydiatribe. Here goes..

Dear future wife,

Let me just say that I'm glad that despite my violent outbursts, my penchant for triple penetration porn, my run-ins with local police, and the fact that I once fucked someone at a wake, that you still feel that I'm marriage material. To be totally honest, if I wasn't the man in this particular equation, I would advise you to get the fuck out of dodge as soon as possible. Since you have to be the most open minded soul in history to deal with the likes of me, it's only fair that I have the same open door policy when it comes to your past as well. If you used to be a republican, that's ok, as long as you currently feel that Ronald Reagan is the antichrist and that Condoleeza Rice is a bigger fucking sell-out than a "Nirvana" reunion tour with a resurrected Kurt Cobain. If you used to be a porn star, that's ok, as long as you have all your shots and during sex you whisper sweet lies in my ear like how I'm the "Biggest" you've ever had in your life. If you were once a fan of bad Hip Hop like Young Joc or some shit stain of that ilk, that's ok, as long know what time it is now, and every so often pray to the shrine of Rakim that I have in my house.

Listen I know that I will do some things that rub you the wrong way like a dyslexic massage therapist, I know that and hope you can handle my brand of bullshit, but let me tell you a few things that bother the piss out of me so you will know ahead of time. Snuggling, I'm not a fan and probably will never be a fan, sorry. Ok, I'm a fan of snuggling if it leads to penetration or if it is after those fleeting moments post climax where I want to let you know that I don't see you as a total fucking prostitute, but that's it. I'm not a fan of mother-in-laws who have an agenda of hate, it's one thing if I did something to make your mother hate me, but if she hates me for no reason I won't be nice to her for the sake of "taking the high road". Granted, I won't curse her out or pour beer on her, but I can't smile in the face of someone who talks more shit than colostomy bags about me. Also, if you are a nag, do your best to change that before our fateful wedding day for the love of Christ. It's one thing if I didn't do something where I need to be nagged at, but if you nag for the sake of nagging I might do what I did to a girlfriend in college when I was on the business end of a 2 hour nag-fest, and that was to put duck tape over her mouth. Yeah it was wrong, it got even worse when I pulled it off and realized that she was in desperate need of electrolysis, her ass secretly trying to grow a Tom Selleck mustache and shit.

Listen, I'm not trying to keep you barefoot and pregnant, but my goal is to have enough kids to form a basketball team, with a few bench warmers waiting in the wings. I'm not trying to make you my designated cook, because I will share in the culinary duties, but if you want to keep your future man happy I like cheese eggs, hash browns, toast, Orange juice(freshly squeezed) with my newspaper, preferably in bed sugar-tits. I will by no means treat you like a sex slave, but nothing starts my day off right like being awaken by a spirited mouth hug, preferably being done while you hum Chaka Khan "Ain't Nobody". Besides all the perks that come along with being Mrs. HumanityCritic, just imagine all the men over the decades that I will knock out in your honor, some for good reasons like them putting their hands on you, some for bad reasons like me thinking a guy is hitting on you at your family reunion.(It was your cousin)

Last but not least, if I have a blog in the years to come, just imagine how great it will be as I share our sex life with all the people who read my blog. I will tell my readers, because they are family, about that special thing you do with your tongue in bed. I will tell them about your brother's heroin habit, the habit that had him sucking dicks at the airport once. I will even tell my readers how your best friend's private area is a fucking germ farm, one that burns men like her vagina is showing the movie "Back-draft". Come on, isn't it great how I share our personal business with the public??

Anyway sugar, I can't wait until the day we walk down the isle together.

Humanity F Critic.

Video of the Day: Run DMC: "Run's House"

Even though Public Enemy is my favorite Hip Hop group of all time, Run DMC will always hold a special place in my heart. Besides them being one of the most influential acts in Hip Hop history, they ushered in a whole new style of the genre, and on a personal note, the are the sole motherfucking reason that I rock shell-toe Adidas to this day. Man, those guys were the first international rock stars of Hip Hop, telling the other facets of the music industry what I tell woman that I'm about to sleep with about my genitalia, that they are a force to be reckoned with.(Ok, maybe not my genitalia) You know what, as I watch the Mtv show "Run's House" I want to be disappointed and let down but I can't. I can't because I understand that people have to grow, mature, raise families, they can't always be that rebellious twenty something that I grew to love. I respect Run's, excuse me, Rev-Run's transition and the Cosby-like existence that he has molded himself into, I sincerely respect that. But excuse me for missing that fierce microphone wielder, the arrogant and pompous controller of crowds who felt that he could dismantle any mere mortal who had the audacity to battle him on any particular day. Run's attitude at the height of Run DMC was the epitome of swagger, look it up in Websters if you don't believe me, so excuse the fuck out of me if I'm taken aback by the kinder and gentler Joseph Simmons. That being said, I can still relive those moments via VCR, as Run violently exclaims in "KrushGroove": "This is my motherfucking house!!!"

R.I.P Jam Master Jay

What in the fuck happened to Harold Reynolds??

I don't claim to be the biggest baseball fan in the world. Yes I did play little league, I had a .335 average one year and was known to have absolute frozen rope-like accuracy when I threw a ball from the outfield to home plate. Yes I still play slow pitch softball, with a current average of about .445, and I still find myself posing after home-run shots and steam rolling anyone who is in my base path during flyballs. But overall, in the grand scheme of sports, I'm not that much of a baseball aficionado. Granted, in the 2k Baseball PlayStation game that I play daily the record of my New York Yankees is 59-4, with Jason Giambi having 52 home runs and 135 RBI's in the month of June for Christs sake. But again, I'm not the biggest fan of baseball.

I'm more of a casual fan, checking out the baseball highlights on ESPN whenever I'm not stroking it to Internet porn or barely nude pictures of Rosario Dawson. Most of the commentators seem a bit irritating, but the one dude I found somewhat bearable was a dude named Harold Reynolds. He never fell in line with the other sheep on the panel who wanted to regurgitate the same drivel, I remember he was the only one who didn't find the showboating of a little leaguer "Offensive", and he is the only one who didn't overreact to Alex Rodriguez' slump and said that he would "get through it".(I can respect an independent thinker.) So I was taken aback, for a guy who isn't the biggest fan of baseball I may add, when Harold Reynolds was fired from ESPN. The brass at the sports network are very cryptic about his dismissal, some say that it had something to do with an incident sexual harassment of female co-workers(an inappropriate hug apparently), some believe that it has something to do with his conflict with how the show was covering A-Rod, who knows. Here is an excerpt from this recent New York Post article:

After being accused of sexual harassment and fired by ESPN, former "Baseball Tonight" analyst Harold Reynolds said yesterday he doesn't think he did anything wrong and is still hoping to regain his job.

"This was a total misunderstanding," Reynolds told The Post. "My goal is to sit down and get back. To be honest with you, I gave a woman a hug and I felt like it was misinterpreted."

Reynolds declined to give any more details. The woman who accused Reynolds of the sexual harassment is an ESPN co-worker, according to sources.
Yesterday, ESPN confirmed The Post's report that Reynolds had been fired, but they would not comment any further.

"He no longer works here," ESPN VP Josh Krulewitz said.
Still, Reynolds is hopeful ESPN executives will change their minds. Besides being with the network for 11 years, Reynolds had just signed a new six-year contract to remain in Bristol and he recently got married.

Reynolds limited his comments, because he didn't want to go into too many details for fear of saying something that could hurt his chances of reversing ESPN's decision.

Other ESPN Scandals:

Mac Spoof: Performance

Tuesday, July 25, 2006

A Hip Hop version of "Clerks"...directed by HumanityCritic..

Based on my love for everything Kevin Smith, I'm sure that many of you figured that I would give a glowing review of his latest flick "Clerks 2". I'm pretty sure you envisioned me waxing poetic about the sequel to the movie that sparked my writing interest, me talking about the free flowing dialogue, Kevin Smith's trademark humor, you might have even expected me to verbally bitch-slap any critic who blasted the movie, like this local douche named Mal Vincent, who wouldn't know a good movie if he was on the business end of a gay three way with both Ebert and Roeper, all three of them writhing around in a sea of film while "Citizen Kane" is playing in the background. Don't get me wrong, I absolutely loved the movie, and I'm kind of sad that this post won't enable me to talk about a "Donkey Show", a vagina troll named "Pillow Pants", and the decorum concerning going "ass to mouth" with your lover. But I felt that an all out review would be as predictable a Tyler Perry play, so I thought that I would honor a great movie with my rendition of "Clerks".(Albeit an alternate universe version, where the characters are black and they love Hip Hop)

*Disclaimer: This is satire, based on the original "Clerks" movie where the character of Randal says some outlandish things, so Relax. The following piece doesn't represent my personal feelings, except for me wanting to have sex with Lisa Lisa and Sheila E.)*

(The first few shots consist of Dante opening up the convenience store, stacking papers, putting the coffee on, generally preparing for a day similar to the 1000 he's had before. The opening credits roll to Madvillain's "Great Day")

(The first scene has Dante leaning over the counter, just dreading the rest of his day, waiting for the next customer.)

Randal:(Enters the store doing the whop) "The overweight lover's in the house!!!"

Dante: You're late!!!! What's your excuse today??

Randal: Sorry man, your mother can't get enough of me!! I'll tell you what though, no matter how many times I stick my dick in that geriactric temptress that is your mother, I'll never get used to looking at your baby pictures on her dresser while I come.

Dante: You motherfucker!!

Randal: Exactly! I guess letting you smell my fingers would be out of the question huh?

Dante:(shakes head)

Next Scene:(Jay and Silent Bob dance around wildly to M.O.P's "Ground Zero")

Jay: You know what Silent Bob, the chicks of today that horny dudes drool over don't have shit on the sexy bitches that used to pitch our tents back in the day yo!

Silent Bob:(Nods head in agreement)

Jay: Man I'd give anything to have one sweaty night with Sheila E, she's s drummer yo, atomic handjobs that would rip your motherfucking cock off, in that good way of course. Lisa Lisa, remember those video's where those Latina tits would just talk to a brother? Despite them being ugly and having enough grease in their hair to keep your car's engine lubricated for a calender year, I wanted to be a member of Full Force in the worst way. How about my sweet Jody Watley?? Her sister is the porn star but she is the one I'd really like to know biblically, waxing that sweet ass while I recite that Rakim verse from the song "Friends". One day my hetero life-mate, one day..

Silent Bob:(nodding while staring into the distance daydreaming)

Next Scene:(Dante and Randal are both sitting on the freezer quizzing each other on Hip Hop)

Dante: Here you go: "I'm Hemorrhoid, I'm the leader!!"

Randal: "De La Soul is Dead", that was easy! How about this one: "40 oz dreams and watermelon wishes.."

Dante: (smirking) Ice Cube's "Death Certificate". Here's one: "Just for frontin' you got that AAAASSS whipped!!"

Randal: Jesus Christ man talk about a softball, Jeru the Damaja "Come Clean". Ok, how about this "She Swallowed it, YEAHH!!!!"

Dante: Easy.. From N.W.A's EP "100 miles and running", the song was called "Just don't bite it". And if I'm correct it was track two, which was 5 minutes and 32 seconds long.

Randal: Only you would know the intricacies surrounding a song about digesting semen! I have to keep my eye on you..

Dante. What?? I'm just a fan who knows a lot about..

Randal: ..sucking dick obviously. That explains your love for banana's and the stretch marks around your lips, stay away from me Al Reynolds. I'll be in the video store if you need me.

Next Scene:(After a few minutes at the video store, Randall quickly gets into it with a customer and her movie selections)

Lady: Excuse me, why can't you ring up my movies?? What's wrong with you??

Randal:(doing a crossword puzzle) Sorry ma'am, to square myself with the movie gods above, I can't allow you to rent those. You're welcome to get some more flicks and I'll see what I can do..

Lady: What the fuck!! Ok jackass, what is wrong with what I picked??

Randall: You have movies starring Kevin Hart, Brian Hooks, and LisaRaye..The movie poison trifecta!! Meaning this lady, whenever you see those names attached to a movie you run as fast as possible!!

Lady: Wait a minute, Kevin Hart was in "The 40 year old virgin"!!

Randal: Bit part..

Lady: Hey, I love me some LisaRaye!! Hey, she was in "Player Club", see how much you know!

Randal: Enough said, but let me know why I'm boycotting your favorite B-actress. She gets on my nerves, getting mad at people who just call her "Lisa", not knowing that the "Raye" part is attached like some miscellaneous piece of toilet paper after wiping your ass. Her ass needs to Get some acting lessons and chose better roles first, then people might get her fucking name right.

Lady: How dare you talk about one of our finest actressess like that??!! I'm never coming here again!!! (Throws movies down and runs out the store)

Next Scene: (Randal returns to the Quickshop where Dante is, reading the paper)

Randal: (walking through door) Man you missed it, I mead another customer vacated the premises while shedding tears. I love this fucking job!!

Dante: She must have been a LisaRaye fan, let it go already Randal. Oh Shit, last night Gloria came by for you but you had already went home. What's up with you and her anyways?? Are you two dating??

Randal: Oh heavens no!!

Dante: Why not?? She's pretty, nice, smart, and for some reason she likes your rude ass.. What gives??

Randal: She's white, that's what gives!!

Dante: Come on, I know you aren't racist..

Randal: Of course not, but when I weighed my options when considering dating Gloria, I just thought I'd stick to fucking black chicks who I have less in common with.

Dante:(pausing) I hate to ask, what "options" did you weigh?

Randal: First off, do you know how fucking unsettling it is to watch your own mother bask in her own hypocrisy, smiling it up with your date, even though her main mantra concerning bringing a white girl home has always been "If she can't use your comb you can't bring her home!"?

Dante: Maybe your mothers stance on interracial dating has changed, So?

Randal: How about that looks of disgust black women give you when they see you out with your lady of the Caucasian persuasion? Even though, those same women wouldn't have pissed on me if I was on fire when I was single?

Dante: Again, so fucking what? If you are happy who gives a shit what people think.

Randal: I'm saying, I just hope that people start fully embracing the true message of the Reverend Martin Luther King Jr, that's all.

Dante: You mean civil disobedience, equality for all men, that message man.

Randal: That's what the liberal media wants you to believe. Sure, he was about all those things, but MLK went through what he did, and the reason for the civil rights movement for that matter, was for the sole purpose of black guys of my generation to be able to fuck white girls comfortably without taking a lot of shit because of it.

Dante: WHAT!!!!!!

Randal: Yep, it's just a shame that people haven't fully embraced Dr. King's vision, where "little black boys" will be able to fold up "little white girls" like origami and have people not think twice about it. (looking up in the sky) MLK, we are almost there brother!!

Dante:(head in hands) So you are saying that people risked their lives andf had to go through all those years of struggle just so it would be easier for you to fuck white chicks???

Randal: Exactly, you have to respect our forefathers for that brand of sacrifice.

Dante: You're a fucking idiot..

Randal:(Realising that a customer has been waiting during his lengthy diatribe) Ok sir, that will be seven dollars.

Al Sharpton:(Grabbing groceries, walking out of the convenience store with his mouth wide open)

Fade to black

Video of the Day: The Roots feat. Roy Ayers: "Proceed 2"

The reason why I picked this particular song today is because it is the one tune that you can catch me free-styling to in my car like a bona fide madman. Blue haired old ladies, garbage men, business women, surfer girls, and your garden variety goth dude all look on in amazement as I bust my best impromptu rhyme with aggression, waving my fists like I'm trying to fight some invisible force that doesn't want me to touch my steering wheel. I know that people probably think that I'm nuttier than squirrel shit, but they would freestyle too if they had this tune blaring in their car.

Thursday, July 20, 2006

Yeah I said it, some Hip Hop fans are stupid.

Unfortunately, as spontaneous a person as I like to think I am, my Internet surfing habits are as monotonous as Bill Murray's existence in the film "Groundhog Day". I log on, check my email, check myspace messages, then the next few minutes I go through an internal battle akin to an unemployed recovering alcoholic being offered a high paying gig driving a beer truck. Despite the fact that I have a lot of writing to do, a chance to put my time to good use and be productive, I find myself wasting valuable minutes perusing Internet smut sites trying to find some lovely young lady who doesn't mind getting filled out like an application in every hole imaginable as I "rub one out" to one of her latest video classics. It's sad, I know, but when I'm not practicing celibacy accidentally, I'm putting a bunch of women that I consider "B-Teamers" on the business end of my chubby pre-ejaculatory habits. So, I justify the hair on my palms and my extremely strong grip to the fact that I haven't fucked an "All Star" since the final days of the Clinton Administration. Yesterday was different though, I mean, I still inappropriately touched myself to a particular woman's small intestines being treated like a fucking pinata, but afterwards I stumbled on something pretty intesting that inspired this very post.

After I read a post from Phonte of Little Brother, one where despite knowing that the crowd he was playing for eagerly awaited other artist's who's CD covers I personally wouldn't wipe my ass with if I was stuck in the wilderness fecally losing weight and they just happened to be there for my disposal, he still was kind of taken aback by the crowd's non response to his groups brand of music. The piece didn't particularly read like an angry diatribe, just a guy openly wondering why people wouldn't broaden their minds to something that he put his heart and soul into. Shit, even if I somehow found myself in front of a few Klan members giving a speech on Reparations, I'd still expect them to at least recognize my biting wit, exemplary word play, and the playful alliteration I used in paragraph two. Anyway, that post on Little Brother's myspace page prompted this gentleman at XXL to give his rebuttal, one where he took umbrage to Phonte, feeling that his words were a frontal assault on the intellectual capacity of certain Hip Hop fans. Regardless if this was Phonte's stance or not, I have to say while holding my nuts in my best B-Boy stance, that some Hip Hop fans are fucking idiots.

Sorry, but the ignorance in said art-form comes from all of us grading on a curve when it comes to every facet of our culture. Only in Hip Hop is the artist allowed to be ignorant, allowed to have the collective I.Q of a bag of rice, and if you attempt to speak out on it other fans and Hip Hop journalists alike will band together like some inbred version of the Justice League, join forces and say that you are "hating". If you fancied yourself a classical musician and you didn't know your Beethoven, Mozart, Haydn, or Shubert, I'm sure that someone with a funny looking white wig would come out of nowhere and beat you to death with a Stradivarius. If you fancied yourself a soul singer and was unaware of the sheer brilliance that was Sam Cook or Marvin Gaye, that particular display of ignorance would not only be frowned upon, it would possibly be capped off with an angry Aretha Franklin profanity laced email where she threatens to sit on you whenever she sees you. But in Hip Hop, when an artist abandons that toothy platinum smile for that deer in headlights look when you mention Kool G Rap or Slick Rick, people deem that "irrelevant", an accepted ignorance that trickles down to that particular artists' fan base.

Listen, some people might feel my view of modern day Hip Hop as just the ramblings of some old guy that's pissed off that Hip Hop culture left him behind, based on the fact that I feel the groups that were on the same bill as Little Brother that night(Three Six Mafia, Rick Ross, Young Dro, Young Joc, Dem Franchize Boyz) are the proverbial shit-stain on the culture. Some people might even try the condescending approach, put their arm on my shoulder, talk to me in subdued tones and say things like "Did your parents like your music? Did your grandparents like your parents music? It's a trend, just sit back and let it happen..." Let me say this delicately because I know I can be a bit abrasive, here we go: "That has to be, seriously, some of the STUPIDEST SHIT I'VE EVER HEARD IN MY LIFE!!"(Ok, a journalist said that the Clipse was "one of the best groups out". So that is up there like a motherfucker)

Hip Hop is not the pet rock, bell-bottom jeans, or some fucking Barbie Easy Bake oven that some of you ladies might have made vomit-inducing treats with as a kid. The reason that Hip Hop doesn't fall into the "changing times" argument is because Hip Hop is like basketball, because the foundation of both has always been "skill". No matter how long the players shorts get, the overall uniform changes, the varying offensive and defensive schemes, even how new dunks are invented with each passing year, one thing that hasn't changed from 1946-2006 is the skill that is needed to be a top tier NBA player. You can see Magic Johnson, Bill Russell, Earl Monroe, or Walt Frazier at a current NBA game because they respect the skill of the modern day player. Unfortunately I don't think you will ever see Rakim or KRS at a "Young Joc" show, even though our culture was based on the foundation of skill the same way Basketball was.

But you wouldn't know it by the way that artists have abandoned any resemblance of lyrical skill, just to make millions of hapless jackasses "Lean" and "Rock" to it like gepetto was your personal puppet master. You wouldn't know it based on half of these so-called "Hip Hop" journalists, incompetent scribes that might call MF DOOM "Nerd Rap", but turn around and collectively act like they are on their period and call you a "hater" when you criticize Lil John. The other half, souls I wouldn't trust like playing basketball with flip flops on(get it), do the Hip Hop equivalent to sero fiddling while Rome is burning, scoffing and disregarding what many feel is the deterioration of Hip Hop as us simply "overreacting".(Plus, many of these motherfuckers will never criticize anyone, not wanting to ruin their chance of one day interviewing Lil Flip)

We also have to abandon this "Condoleeza" way of thinking when it comes to Hip Hop, and I mean immediately. What I mean by that is, you know how you might go up to someone with a razor sharp case specifically breaking down Ms. Rice's blatant incompetence at her job, and the person ridiculously apologizes for her with that "But she is a black woman in a high position!!" nonsense like that erased what a fucking embarrassment she is. People do that with Hip Hop as well, say someone is wack and they say "But they are getting paid though!!"(So are crack dealers..), criticize another tune as being modern day black-face and people say "It's a club song so it's OK!", or the people who act like modern day Hippies, minus the birkenstocks and the tie-dye, and want to give hip hop a giant hug and accept all of it blindly like a mother would embrace all of her children despite how wack one of her kids was . Well Fuck that, if it's wack it's wack, if you don't like it I'm not hard to find.(The house on the corner with the blue trim)

Listen, if one of the groups that I named is one of your guilty pleasures, I'm definitely not trying to say that you have some sort of intellectual deficiency. Hell, I have Wham's "Careless Whisper" in my IPOD, so I have more guilty pleasures than necrophiliacs for Christs sake. But if your Hip Hop collection only has the Ying Yang Twins, Dem Franchize Boys, Young Joc, and groups of that ilk, you my friend might be a dumb-ass. Sorry, I'm only being honest because I love you, but like that single mother raising kids who finally decides to enroll herself at a local university, it is never too late to advance yourself mentally. That means turn off the radio, stop listening to these so called "journalists", recognize that an act is beneath you if you wouldn't feel comfortable asking them for directions if you ever saw them on the street based on their idiocy, and last but not least.....MEMORIZE EVERY LINE OF RAKIM'S "PAID IN FULL". Good luck!

Kevin Smith Unleashed: Dude, don't walk out on his flick..

Clerks II - July 21, 2006

You know what, I can't even lie any more, keeping my child-like exuberance in check has been as difficult as fighting back laughter when someone tells you that there is nothing wrong with the current state of Hip Hop. Over the past few weeks I have anxiously awaited the arrival of "Clerks 2", not only because I'm a big Kevin Smith fan, not only because I'm curious to see what fate he has for the characters of Dante and Randal, but because the original Clerks movie was one of things that inspired me to be a writer in the first place. Here was a guy, by his tale of two convenience store clerks, let people know that you can make any situation interesting if you put your personal touch on it.

That being said I went to Kevin Smiths blog and learned that he was upset that movie critic Joel Siegal walked out of a screening of his movie. I didn't see the problem, Joel Siegel, or any critic for that matter, for them to walk out is a good thing based on how monumentally unreliable those motherfuckers tend to be. As I read further, Smith was upset at "how" Mr. Siegel decided to leave, apparently the old curmudgeon fuck decided to make a spectacle of himself as he left said flick. Here is an excerpt from Smith blog:

Cardinal rule of movie-going: shut your fucking mouth while the movie's playing. They even ask you to do so in the pre-show run-up to every flick ("Cell phones and pagers off, no talking during the show"). This guy went beyond talking, even; he was making a spectacle of himself as he left. I've now spoken to three folks in attendance last night, and all have said that Siegel WANTED everyone to know how disgusted he was, and that he was leaving. If you want to share your displeasure with everyone, that's fine, dude; just do it AFTER the movie, not during. Some folks were enjoying themselves. I don't come down to your job and slap the taste out of your mouth for coming up with a line like "'Shark Tale' Is a Halibut Good Time"; so don't fuck with my stuff WHILE IT'S STILL SCREENING.
Smith Continues:

Shit, Joel, I know you like being on camera and all, but was it so difficult to not be the center of attention for 40 minutes that you just had to sparkle, Neely, sparkle-it up for your peers instead of showing them a little goddamn courtesy by leaving the theater the way most people do, either during or after the picture: quietly? What are you, a twelve year old boy, cutting loose with your pals at a Friday night screening of "Scary Movie 4" while your parents are in a theater down the hall watching "The Devil Wears Prada"? Leave the diva-like behavior and drama-queen antics to the movie stars, not the movie reviewer, ya' rude-ass prick.

It gets even funnier when Kevin was on a radio show where he confronted the fleeing critic in question, check out the audio here. So, besides the fact that I have a banner of Smith's flick even though I'm not getting a dime, I have one of his sites linked on this site, and I have him as a friend on my myspace page even though he has no idea a chubby blogger with erectile issues even exists, I'm about to do him a solid. While I'm viewing the flick tomorrow, in honor of his recent squabble with Joel Siegel, I promise to clothesline any person who attempts to leave during "Clerks 2", that's the best way I feel I can honor the guy who inspired me to bore hundreds of people a day with my ramblings.(Lets just hope that people won't find the need to use the rest room)

Video of the Day: Slick Rick "Mistakes of a Woman"

Even though Slick Rick has more notable tracks in his resume, I always liked this particular song because it is just one of the many examples in which he wasn't scared to express his innermost feelings. Besides, around the time this song came out I was dating a particular woman who I'm pretty sure was cheating on me with my college's basketball team. I couldn't be sure, but the mere fact that she blew a whistle and screamed "Foul!!" whenever I pre-ejaculated, yelled "take it to the hole" during foreplay, and wore a headband during sex were dead fucking giveaways.

Tuesday, July 18, 2006

I like myspace, but wait a minute...

Because I promised my mother that I would try to stop using a certain term of endearment, especially after I used that particular word 10 times while I was talking to her one afternoon all the while trying to hide the effects of that sweet cheeba, let me just say right now that Myspace is my "negro". The Internet, where people have a multitude of mind numbing time wasters at the click of a mouse, myspace has become one of my favorite online destinations right up there with "fat chicks with loose morals" and "beautiful women who love chubby blogging pre-ejaculators".(Ok, the last one doesn't exist.. a boy can dream can't he??) On myspace you can listen to more crappy bands in one hour than a record company A&R does in a calender year, you can reconnect with people you lost touch with or you purposely burned bridges with, find old girlfriends who dumped you years ago and giggle like a school girl on ecstasy as you read one of her blog entries that consists of the phrase "..and hopefully they will move me to the register next week!", and you can even connect with a person who you have been a fan of for the longest.

For example, I became a "friend" of a porn-star that I am familiar with, ok, I have so much of her "work" that I could dedicate a wing of my house to it. So when she sent me a message saying that she loved my blog, with me responding "Love in in a 'give an average Joe a blow-job' sort of way??", she responded "You ain't that funny motherfucker!!!"(Ahh myspace, the perfect place where fans can be the ultimate assholes!) Myspace, especially for an anti-social porn loving wanna-be scribe like myself, who has over 700 friends but only knows like 5 of them personally, has become a part of the family extended family.(..and not because I masturbate to peoples pictures on said site while saying, "Eww mommy!!" either) But we all know, at least I hope we know, that families aren't perfect. So, like a drunk uncle that you have to confront because of his alcoholism, not that him pissing on cop cars and sticking his dick in billiards holes isn't a riot and all, it's time to show my new relative some tough love. Myspace, because I love you, let me as eloquently as possible express to you that your fecal matter is just like the rest of our waste, it has a foul aroma to it as well.(The last line was an inside joke for a friend that said I'm too wordy and never get to the point..)

Sorry musicians, but I'm a dick: Because I was once a fledgling artist who was hopelessly trying to peddle my musical wears any way I possibly could, I understand the plight of the many bands who call myspace home. Even though I have been known to tell MC's, singers, or bands that they suck in person, going around and leaving random "You sound like a fucking constipated turkey when you sing" messages in people's inbox wasn't something that I planned for. I enjoy being an insufferable prick to people who deserve it, but I had no intentions on shattering someones musical dream via email, even though my black ass couldn't hold a note if you held a loaded bazooka to my head. The problem that I have, like in life, is that when people ask for my honest opinion I tend to give it to them.

The past few months when some musical act emailed me and asked me what I thought of their band, I could have lied and said, "You guys are terrific!! I mean, the way you rhymed "cat" and "bat" like that, pure genius. Oh yeah, that skit that you have where you have your own mother sucking dicks for crack money, it's like you are the Scorsese of this rap shit!" So because I didn't totally want to piss in their cheerios with blatant honesty, but at the same time not compromise my personal integrity, I'd hit them with a "it's ok" or "it's interesting". I know, I know, to bitch-slap someone with that sort of indifference is just asking for a heated rebuttal, and that's usually what I would get when they wanted me to be honest and give them constructive criticism. But because I am a sex addicted germaphobe, using "Monk" like selective-ness concerning the women I stick my penile light-saber in, you could just imagine how percise I was when getting back with them. After receiving my 8 paragraphs critiques ranging from my problem with their rhyme style, the "Casio beats" they used, the bass player who they need to let go, how "no one will buy a M.I.T graduate as having "bodies buried in three states", usually the respond by calling me a "dickhead" or implying that I was birthed out of a baboons buttcheeks. Oh Well, if you don't want scary answers don't ask scary questions I say.

A few gripes about famous folks: Because I am a geek, one who once had a chick dress up like a black "Laura Croft" on my birthday for some celebratory coitus, suffice it to say that I was excited to be one of the friends of a dude that goes by the name of Kevin Smith. Shit man, I have many famous peeps in my myspace stable, Questlove, Greg Kinnear, Heather Hunter, Common... I even have unique cats like the actual daughter of George Jung, the character Johnny Depp played in "Blow", Shorty-No-Mas of De La Soul fame, I even have the most unheralded member of A Tribe Called Quest as one of my friends, Jarobi. Granted, these people probably wouldn't piss on my natural brown ass if I was set ablaze with a million dollars strapped to my chubby body, so it just exploits the fact that I need a wife as soon as possible.

My gripe is with the celebrities that either have a "private" profile or the one's that don't want to add you as a friend unless they "know you". The private profile is silly because if you are a fan of someone chances are you know their whole background, you have all their records, you are aware of that porn tape of them that was stolen from their house, you are aware of the bastard kid they had with that member of that one-hit wonder R&B group of the early 90's, you even know that their homophobia stems from an embarrassing incident they had in jail when they were on the business end of a "oops, you dropped the soap" incident. My question is, why the sudden fucking secrecy 007?? As for the artists that don't allow average Joe's to become their friends, what gives?? Excuse me, I have to sneeze.(Ahh, Ahh, chewwww-Bahamadia)

Ladies I love you, but give me a fucking break: I'm sure that women have some of the same complaints about dudes on myspace, so keep your Lane Bryant's on why don't you!! Listen, I know that this is only the Internet and to not take this shit that seriously, but some of the pages I come across just invoke such strong eye rolls that I wouldn't be surprised if my dread-locked head exploded. For one thing, I understand when women have that classic Mya Angelou poem on their page, bombard you with lengthy diatribes about them "deserving respect", them "not taking anything from a man", I'm down with all that. But doesn't the case for respect get thrown out of the window when your screen name is "sperm deposit", the song that plays on your page verbally re-enacts an orgy on a tropical beach, and you have pictures posted that would even make Larry Flynt say "Now that's some nasty shit!!"

Ladies I'm sorry, but if I hear see one more person say "They are my world and no man comes before them" concerning their kids, I'll fucking go mental and start bashing random passers-by over the head with my keyboard. Shit, I hope your kids do come first dumb-ass, anything less and I would be dry-snitching on you to your local child services office. Speaking of kids, and maybe I'm a conceited jerk who is as lecherous as they come, but if you are fine as fuck don't have one picture of yourself and like 20 of your kids crumb-snatching kids and shit. True, it's your page, but think about sexual deviants like me for Christs sake!!

Watch out, myspace might get your ass whipped: Maybe it's just me, maybe I bring out the worst in people based on my abrasiveness when it comes to me expressing my point of view, but for some reason I feel that I get more physical threats via myspace than anyone. If it's not your random "Fuck you bastard!!", "I bet I can kick your ass!", people who want to get on their soapbox and nitpick based on a piece of satire I wrote, and the brilliant Tupac fans that bombard me with entertaining death threats comprised of misspelled words usually in all caps, where they are highly offended that I didn't have their favorite rapper in my personal Top Ten. Usually I would respond to them, say something about their mother blowing guys to keep the rent paid, but then I would usually keep it moving based on the fact that its only the Internet and I don't want to take any more time away from the love letters I write to Rosario Dawson, in calligraphy, in my own blood. Anyway, things started to change when not only did someone from my own area start threatening me, but I noticed that he went to all the local events posted on myspace. Suffice it to say I went to one of the local Hip Hop shows to ambush a guy who once called me a "douche-bag", said that my blog "sucked major cock", and said that he would pummel me if he ever saw me. To make a long story short I saw the gentleman in question, but my plans were thwarted when I noticed that he was like 100 pounds soaking wet and he was with his girlfriend at the time. So I saw the Hip Hop show and when it was over and started to leave, but then I turned around, stepped to the man in question, palmed his face and proceeded to mush him into a stack of chairs. Yes it is nerdly and I'm not proud of my actions, but the fact that I stood over him and said "HumanityCritic motherfucker, you better ask somebody!!" will always bring a smile to my face.

Sidenote: Because I'm a whore when it comes to gaining new friends, here is my myspace page.

Rakim interview

This is going to sound unnecessary, but fuck it, I don't care how many dead rapper's bodies you exhume in your spare time, Rakim is by far the greatest rapper of all time. Period. I like Scarface, but when people try to roll his ass out when discussing the greatest MC of all time in a special Olympics "lets fight the east coast bias" kind of way, I laugh because he's not touching Rakim Allah. Besides Ra being the nastiest behind the mic, I kind of always viewed him as Hip Hop's version of "Sade" in a certain sense. No, don't let your mind wander, I want to fold Ms. Adu up like origami and attempt to please her in ways that would definitely land my black ass in her album liner notes, so Rakim isn't a part of that comparison. But I always respected Rakim, because like Sade he has always dropped material on some "when I fucking feel like it" shit. As a kid, and I guess now as an adult as well, I always liked how cool of a motherfucker Rakim is. He'd always talk in subdued tones, always keeping his emotions in check, I never heard him upset and I think I was in college the first time I saw the man smile. So you can imagine my amazement when I saw(and heard since there is audio) his reaction to the following question:

Halftimeonline: I was reading a couple of interviews with Freddie Foxxx and he always says when you and Eric B got together Eric was actually looking for him and he found you instead. In one interview he said he was trying to battle you and your crew back in the days but he said you didn’t want to battle. Is there any truth that Foxxx ever challenged you to a battle?

Rakim: Foxxx lived a town over from where I lived, but I NEVER fucking turned down a battle with that motherfucker! Foxxx get the fuck out of my face. You can front on the whole world but you not fronting on me nigga you never wanted it and you’ll never get it. This is what I’ve been doing from day one. Fuck that bullshit man. Back in the day we were supposed to battle but as far as I remember the story correctly they didn’t want to fuck around. They didn’t like coming to our part of the town. They didn’t even like going to the parties where we were because we drew at motherfuckers at the party. So run that shit by him. Tell him you spoke to Ra, tell him everything he’s been talking is fabricated and I never turned down a fucking battle with Freddie Foxxx. Tell him to knock it off and stop fronting. It’s Rakim Allah man he know who the fuck I am man.

When I heard this it was somewhat surprising because of the image of him that is burned in my brain of him walking nonchalantly through a crowd of people, acting cool as a motherfucker like everyone else not named Rakim were mere peasants in that "Microphone Feind" video. But then again I understand defending yourself, and your legacy, I wouldn't have expected less from the best rapper to ever grip a microphone. You can find this interview in its entirety, along with audio, here.

My "Fuck Blockbuster!! Hello Netflix" selection of the day: "Grounded for Life"

For as long as I remember, even before my life long addiction to protruding breasts and thunder thighs, I have been a bona fide movie feign. Whether it was those fantastic Bruce Lee flicks playing my defacto baby sitter as a kid, studying those John Hughes flicks as a pre-teen and Molly Ringwald becoming one of my first caucasian masturbatory thoughts, me praying to the alter of Spike Lee and his innovative vision, and now as I devour mass amounts of independent flicks that people with actual lives have never heard of. Because there is only one independent movie theater which is about 15 miles away from my house, for the past few years I was forced to peruse that cluster fuck of commercialism in the movie rental game that is "Blockbuster". Yes, the same movie rental scam of an establishment that once claimed that I owed them money for an overdue rental that I never ordered. It's true, people make mistakes, but I was so outraged when I saw what they were charging me for I screamed, "Look at this!!(shoving the receipt in the cashier's face) I would never rent a movie with Mo'nique in it!!! NEVER!!" Phantom charges aside, their horrible selection, irritating customers with their lack of film knowledge, and a staff that wouldn't know a good movie if Ebert and Roeper both put them on the business end of a sexual 3-way. So, after friends urging me to do so, I finally decided to burn my Blockbuster membership card in effigy and join Netflix.

The first thing I ordered, primarily because I'm a big fan of the show, was Season 1 of the television sitcom "Grounded for Life". GFL was a comedy that started airing on FOX, got cancelled after 2 seasons, then was picked up on the WB network and aired for 3 more seasons. The show centers around Shawn and Claudia, a couple that became parents way too young and their struggles trying to raise three kids in Staten Island. I know that I use hyperbole as often as I use my right hand during those "intimate moments" alone, but Grounded for Life is by far one of the funniest shows I have ever seen. From the father, Shawn, who in order to sell his son on the idea of seeing a Ramones show instead of doing a science project that he had due the next day, said, "The Ramones are more important than school!!" Claudia, the mother, who once bought old potato salad for her son's class, thus creating a virtual vomit-a-thon the next day throughout his catholic school. Shawn's brother Eddie, the proverbial slacker known for his shady hook-ups, who has a penchant for getting his ass kicked and shocking women that he sleeps with by wearing their blouses post coitus. Their 12 year old son Jimmy, who once got his sister's friend intoxicated so he could make out with her, the youngest child Henry who embarrassed his family when he started dancing on the street for food, and the oldest child Lilly who is the epitome of teenage angst packed into a half hour show.

The writing on this show is brilliant, and I was able to see a few episodes that I had never seen before while viewing that 3 disc package sent by Netflix. Check out the show and tell me what you think, they play 2 episodes back to back on the "Family Channel" from 4pm-5pm..

Hip Hop thought of the day: Security

You know, I have never been important enough for it to fucking matter, but my train of thought when it comes to having a bodyguard fell along the lines of that classic "Gangstarr" song. You know the one where Guru says "Fake MC's, they always act hard/ But won't walk the street without their bodyguard!!", my sentiments exactly. I mean, if I was the type of rapper that I think that I would be I wouldn't have any reason to worry about repercussions concerning my lyrics, except for maybe Mary J Blige fans and black republicans. Shit, even if I did spit lyrics rife with gun play, murder, decapitation, hand to hand street deals, and the occasional ode to my mother, I think the best way to show my lemming-like fans that I was a bona fide bad-ass would be me showing up at shows by my god damn self.(Possibly accompanied with a bullet proof vest, twin sidearms like I'm in the wild west, and snipers on the roof.)

But I realize that regardless what you talk about on records, poverty or punany, pistols or peace, there is a great chance that your popularity will be so great that you will be forced to put away the Gangstarr records and get you some fucking security. Now what I don't understand are these rappers who get an over-sized childhood friend, or some "big guy they know from their hood" to act as their personal protection. Listen, maybe I'm just too stupid to be scared or possibly I have fought enough big guys in my day to know better, but hiring some big scary looking dude just isn't enough. I couldn't tell you how many times I have seen some "Just add water thug" type of rapper at some show I was coerced to go to, looked at their security and thought to myself "I bet I could get like 20 punches in before his incompetent security guards know whats going on."

So, because there are individuals out there like myself that are officially nuttier than squirrel turds, I would have a totally different take on who I would hire to protect me. For one thing, fuck hiring "Big Ray" from up the street, I don't know about you but I wouldn't feel safe if I felt that I could beat the guy guarding me. So I would hire a "Jack Bauer" type of dude, a dude who not only used to be part of his hometown SWAT team, possibly an ex Navy Seal, possibly an ex member of the U.S Army's elite Delta Force, lets just say that he would be highly qualfied to protect your loveable chubby pre-ejaculator. I don't want being "fat", "Tall", "ugly", and "has the ability to eat a dozen hot dogs in one sitting" to be the criteria for my security guy. I'd want my security guy to not only be knowledgeable in 10 fight disciplines, be able to defuse a car bomb, kill a man with a loose-leaf binder, throw a knife accurately over 50 yards, but he'd also be able to take apart a gun with one hand like he was Jet Li in "Lethal Weapon 4" and shit. Forget about having some garden variety big guy who just becomes a 400 pound target if they are unskilled, my guy woiuld map out alternate escape routes when ducking the paparazzi, decoy cars, and his ninja training would serve him well as he secretly sneaks morally loose women into my hotel room each night.

Yes, he'd be overqualified based on the fact that he would probably find himself just shoving people out of the way because my fanbase would consist of like 20 people, but you can never be too safe I say. I can actually see that being my daily mantra, as my fans give me menacing looks as they are getting the full cavity search just to get a chance meeting with me, I'm sure I'd throw up my hands, smirk and say "Hey, You can never be too safe!!"

Video of the Day: Ras Kass "Soul on Ice" Remix

Some of my friends still scratch their head in "Why in the fuck would you buy a Clipse album?" amazement when I tell them that I am still a huge Mike Tyson fan. Despite his penchant for nibbling other men's ears, his jail time, the Jekyll and hide personally we have become accustomed to over the years, his lack luster performance in the ring the last decade, even the plethora of cringe-worthy things that have escaped his mandible, I will always root for Mike Tyson. It's not that I love supporting the bad guy or anything like that, but as anybody who saw Mike in his prime will tell you, getting prepared to see a Tyson fight filled you with such a high level of anxiety and excitement, similar to the erection I got when the woman I was about to make love to told me that she used to be a nun.(I guess she didn't appreciate me saying, "Here comes the holy water!!" during my climax) But seriously, even though I saw the pure force that was Tyson at his prime it doesn't matter that he is a shell of his former self, that people that couldn't hold his jockstrap in the late 80's now smack him around the ring like a crack whore, I still get that same level of excitement whenever that crazy Brownsville raised motherfucker is about to fight.

I went into that nonsensical diatribe because Ras Kass is also a dude that I will always root for as well. He's a dope lyricist, one of the best, but he never put out a complete album that I felt I could sink my teeth into. Maybe it was his lassie-fair attitude towards production, maybe it was his woes with whatever label he was with at the time, but each year I anticipate a great album from this guy because I know he has it in him. So yeah, even though he hasn't put out an entire album that was my specific cup of tea, I'm still optimistic in that "You used to be a nun?? Can I fuck you with your habit on?" sort of way.

Favorite lines from this song: "I Drink Listerine, Brush my teeth with amphetamines/ So I can sound fresh and say dope things in between"

Wednesday, July 12, 2006

A Very long post about a poem I don't want to recite..

Do you know what is more offensive than Lil Kim being on someones "Top 10 MC" list, a Tyler Perry play, or a girl who doesn't reciprocate after you visit that war zone she calls a vagina?? Nothing is more offensive then when a friend does something to tip you off that they don't really know you at all. For example, my friend Kenny had the nerve to pop a "Diplomats" mix-tape CD(Cam'rom, Jim Jones) into my car stereo and say with childlike exuberance, "HumanityCritic, you are going to love this!!" Even though every day I curse the very men, who impregnated the women, who gave birth to those sub par pedestrian wordsmiths that are the "Dipset", but I sat there regardless for a few moments and tried to be objective. But as soon as I heard Cam'ron say that his crew was the "06' Public Enemy", I stopped my car in the middle of traffic, yanked the CD out of my car stereo, hopped out of my car and threw it for distance like it was an Olympic fucking event. Granted, my friend was mad, and I didn't make matters any better when I said, "How much do I owe you?? Fuck it, here is 75 cents, keep the change and don't spend it all in the same place scooter!!"(Hey, he knew me better than that!!)

Then we have my friend Richard, a business executive who always has to bullshit stuffy rich fucks so he could get their particular account. Anyway, ever since I went with him to one of his dinners and made his dinner guest laugh so much that Richard eventually got that account, he has taken me along with him to "close the deal" so to speak. Since we are friends I really don't want anything in return, ok that's a lie, Richard has the undoubious task of paying for my drinks until I die and sliding me about 4 bills per acount. Anyway, a couple of months ago I went with him to this fancy-smancy restaurant in hopes of possibly charming the pants off of some geriactric fucks so they will line my boy's pockets, and in turn mine, with some good old fashioned greenbacks. For the first hour and change things were going well, the men that were hopefully going to be my friend's clients were laughing at all my potty mouth jokes, once again I had hit a proverbial home run once again. That as until the topic of "Janeane Garofalo" came up, and how she should "shut her filthy mouth and stop bad mouthing our president". Usually a sentence that I would have "open hand smacked" somebody in the mouth for, but after a few moments the conversation changed and we were on to sports. Then, in a move that shocked me like a clean pap smear from LIl Kim, my boy proved that he didn't know me at all and decided to revisit the smear-fest on Ms. Garofalo.

Some background on HumanityCritic's feeling on Janeane: I don't know what it is, but something about white ultra liberal acting chicks who piss republicans off that just gets me all warm inside. Listen, I've never dated a white chick, not because of the color of skin but because the opportunity never presented itself to me. But lets make one thing certain, my love for Ms. Garofalo is unparalleled, I don't care how many people get pissed off, if my black sisters get annoyed that I chose a woman with a lack of melanin, if I get more strange looks than Star Jones in a string bikini. I don't give a fuck. If sweet Janeane was mine I would chill with her at the B.E.T awards, take her to meet Minister Farrakhan while eating some greasy pork chops, urge black leaders that Ms. Garofalo would be an excellent choice to head up the N.A.A.C.P, even make her wear a headwrap and a dashiki at a "Roots" show. Yes, its' deep like that..

So, you can only imagine the venom I spewed while defending my favorite Indie actress, so much venom in fact that my boy never got that account and we haven't spoken much since.(Hey, he knew me better than that!!) I went through that lengthy entry because a woman that I went to college with, based on the fact that she sometimes reads my blog, wants me to do a piece at her spoken word poetry club in the upcoming weeks. The problem with that is that I have told her my feelings on spoken word poetry, I respect the real poets, but I hate the fake atmosphere consisting of a million posers and fakers.(Kind of like I believe in God, but hate church.) Not only that but I have repeated my feelings toward poetry about a million fucking times on this blog, a blog that she claims that she reads "regularly", so it is just another case of a good friend who really doesn't know me. That being said, the following is a poem that I plan to perform at my friends poetry shin-dig. Of course it's foul, rude, HumanityCritic-esque, but she should have known better than to ask me to perform a damn poem. Granted, if she reads this entry (which she should if she REALLY reads my blog) I won't perform this particular piece if she doesn't want me to. Here goes.

(I imagine me walking up to the microphone cautiously, looking nervous as hell. I'll grab the mic with my hand shaking slightly and begin my poem..)

HumanityCritic: "My name is HumanityCritic, and I fucking hate poets..."

It's always the same thing, incense, dreadlocks, and the possible dashiki/
The girl that gave that "female empowerment" poem used to get freaky with me weekly/
They used to call her "Little Oral Annie" for the tricks she used to do/
She's a "phenomenal woman" alright, but not exactly Maya Angelou/
The other guys here will lie, say things that they want you to believe/
I'm humanitycritic baby, I'll tell you up front that I want you to fuck and then to leave/
While dudes have poems about cuddling, snuggling, and positive child rearing/
I have poems about fighting and ejaculating while beating my chest like Bobby Mcferrin/
While the other dudes promote positivity, hope, and your garden variety fables/
Don't you want a guy to not satisfy you sexually, afterwards saying "Sugar-tits, your money's on the table!!"/
I'll hit on your best friend, possibly beat up your little brother/
I want you to really mean it when you call me a "motherfucker"/
I might even beat the shit out of your dad for giving me bad stock tips/
I'll even go through his elderly pockets to make sure he ain't got shit/
At least you know what you're getting, a drunk bastard who really likes boobies/
Not your stereotypical male poet, looking like an extra from that "Love Jones" movie/

If she doesn't read this poem in time, I will indeed recite it a week from tonight..

It's like finding out there isn't a Santa Claus: A Terrorism experts debunks the show "24"

The other day, bored to fucking tears as I sat in the waiting room of some dickhead who wants me to write a screenplay based a book that he had written, I rummaged through his magazines the same way a kidnapper might do who wants to find specific letters to make the ultimate untraceable ransom note. I skimmed over Oprah's "O" Magazine but I wasn't interested in anything written in said magazine, the only source of entertainment that I got reading that rag was looking at the delicious derrieres of the Lane Bryant models on page 45. Sports Illustrated, some Gardening book, I couldn't find anything remotely interesting enough to take my mind off the fact that I was actually thinking about writing a screenplay about a couple of dudes and their crosscountry adventure.(When I told him it read like a ripoff of "Roadtrip", that silly fuck took that as a compliment) That's when I picked up an old issue of Rolling Stone with Kiefer Sutherland on it, and read something that is akin to a child sneaking down early Christmas morning only to see that the fat bald fuck that he/she calls dad is actually Kris Kringle himself. What I found, in an article that accompanies the main one featuring Kiefer, breaks down each season of "24" and the response of a bona fide terrorism expert.

I mean, I figured that a lot of the scenario's in "24" were improbable, and when I would ask my friends who work in "secretive" government jobs they wouldn't tell me anything(similar to how people act when you ask them about their personal fraternity initiations), but they would give off these cryptic sinister laughs. Oh well, this is from the April issue of Rolling Stone.

Even hard-core 24 fans realize that what Jack Bauer would actually be doing between 8.A.M. and 9 A.M. is sitting in L.A Gridlock. To assess the danger, we recruited former CIA analyst and U.S State Department Office of Counter-terrorism deputy director Larry Johnson.

SEASON ONE: Balcon baddies, with the aid of a CTU mole, plot to assassinate presidential candidate David Palmer and frame Bauer, payback for a secret Congress-sanctioned assassination mission in Kosovo.

THREAT ASSESSMENT: "The motive for the terrorism is credible," Johnson says, "What is really far-fetched is that shadowy mole in CTU"

SEASON TWO: A Middle Eastern terrorist cell attempts to detonate a nuke in L.A backed by U.S greed-heads who want to spark a war and benefit from skyrocketing oil prices.

THREAT ASSESSMENT: "Detonation a nuclear bomb is very difficult. Many so-called suitcase nukes only pack enough to blow a bridge. And it's a cheap Hollywood trick that evil businessmen are always pulling the strings behind the scenes."

Terrorists threaten to release a deadly virus unless an imprisoned drug kingpin is freed.

THREAT ASSESSMENT: "The myth of the deadly virus attack ignores the reality of biology. If the virus is highly contagious, it burns out, because it kills its hosts before it spreads too far. Plus, the notion that the government could respond quickly to contain the situation is comical in light of Katrina."

SEASON FOUR: Turkish terrorists kidnap the U.S secretary of defense and bomb a commuter train to swipe a device that can melt out nuclear reactors. To cover up its complicity, a defense contractor blacks out L.A...aiding the theft of a stealth fighter....that shoots down Air Force obtain the nuclear football and launch a separately stolen warhead.

THREAT ASSESSMENT: "The only thing they left out is the alien abduction. It would be hard enough to pull off any one of those schemes, much less all of them in a twenty-four-hour period."

SEASON FIVE: Chechen rebels are trying to use nerve gas canisters to snuff hundreds of thousands of Americans.

THREAT ASSESSMENT: "For nerve gas to work, the area has to be saturated through aerial bombardment and artillery strikes, as in the Iran-Iraq war. Even if released in a mall environment, most would escape safely."

Steven Russell

Album covers that will rock your face off: A Tribe Called Quest: "Midnight Marauders"

Every week, if I'm not hung over or inundated with a smorgasbord of early twenties ass(probably just the former) I will be breaking down some of my favorite album covers. I thought about doing this recently because with the age of illegal downloading music between the deviant amounts of porn one downloads, the CD artwork doesn't get the same attention that it once got. With "Midnight Marauders" not only did we get a little more edgier tribe lyrically and beat wise, Phife stepped up to the plate showing fans that he had the abilty, at least for one album, to stand toe to tie with Q-Tip, but we also got one of the most creative album covers I had seen in a while. Besides that psychedelic lady on the front, I used to spend hour upon hour trying to figure out who all the people were that A Tribe Called Quest crammed on their album cover. Classic material.

Sidenote: Here is all the people that wikipedia claims is on that legendary album cover. Not sure that this list is entirely accurate, but here it is.(De La Soul, Souls of Mischief, The Jungle Brothers, Busta Rhymes, Del tha Funkee Homosapien, Queen Latifah, Chi-Ali, Andrew Gecaj. Monie Love, Black Sheep, The Beatnuts, The Pharcyde, Heavy D, Pete Rock and CL Smooth, MC Lyte, Chubb Rock, Daddy-O, Big Daddy Kane, Organized Konfusion, Da Youngstas, Large Professor, Das Efx, Lords of the Underground, Black Moon, Kool G Rap, Ice-T, AMG, 3rd Bass, Beatie Boys)

Adam Carolla bitchslaps Ann Coulter: Yes, he is my new homeboy..

Full disclosure here, I have said some unkind things about Mr. Carolla in the past. I have stated that I found his brand of comedy "as entertaining as an anal rape", I said that I'd rather "get an unskilled "mouth hug" from a girl with parkinson's who happened to have braces on" rather than watch the show he had on Comedy Central, and I always said that I would openly thank Kevin Smith if I ever met him to say that "the smartest thing he ever did was cutting Adam out of Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back." But, based on something he did a few days ago, I see the error in my ways and I'm willing to let bygones be bygones. Recently when that plagiarizing blond javelin of hate that is Ann Coulter was more than an hour late to Adam Carolla's radio show, he did what any self respecting person would do, he hung the fuck up on her "auditioning for the role of skeletor" ass. Check out this audio from

Here is a rough transcript: from The Great Society:

ADAM CAROLLA: Ann Coulter, who was suppose to be on the show about an hour and a half ago, is now on the phone, as well. Ann?


CAROLLA: Hi Ann. You’re late, babydoll.

COULTER: Uh, somebody gave me the wrong number.

CAROLLA: Mmm… how did you get the right number? Just dialed randomly — eventually got to our show? (Laughter in background)

COULTER: Um, no. My publicist e-mailed it to me, I guess, after checking with you.

CAROLLA: Ahh, I see.

COULTER: But I am really tight on time right now because I already had a —

CAROLLA: Alright, well, get lost.

[Crosstalk in the studio]

CAROLLA: I’m tight on time, too, and I don’t have time for bitches, so let’s move on.


[inaudible] Tight on time… Go f- yourself, you’re tight on time.

Female co-host (Teresa Strasser or Sarah Silverman?): I say this to Ann Coulter. Why the long face? (Laughter)

CAROLLA: Listen, you bitch, don’t call in an hour and a half late and tell me you’re “tight on time.” Of course you’re tight on time, you’re an hour and a half God-damn late calling into a radio show. Just take your stupid book and go pitch it to your stupid cable outlets.