Friday, July 27, 2007

The Sopranos Ending, directed by Spike Lee

A little more than a month ago when the last episode of "The Soprano's" aired, everyone that I came in contact with were absolutely irate - many of them feeling like creator David Chase had literally dropped his dockers and showed them his ass based on an ending that didn't bring closure to anyone. Personally I dug it, sure it was as unsatisfying as getting blown by a chick with bad teeth and a gag reflex - but as a writer what else was Chase supposed to do, even the most intellectually deficient Akon fan figured that Tony was going to take a proverbial dirt-nap in the final moments of the series - why proceed with the obvious? Besides, just imagine the mass amounts of women in bars who'd be willing to resuscitate Mr. Chase's penis by him simply uttering the line "Hey baby, blow me and I'll tell you if Tony died or not!!"(From one pervert to another, pure genius sir!) The only beef I had were with all the people who knew that I was a writer, asking me how would I have ended the series if I was the main pen wielder over at HBO - inquiries that were thrown in my direction during the most inopportune moments. Whether it was my dentist after he immediately shot me up with Novocaine, this girl I was dating who included her inquiry amidst a nasty break-up email, the chick I was cheating on her with while she had a very sensitive body part of mine in her grasp - when someone asked me how I would have ended the Soprano's each time I shrugged my shoulders and said "Fuck if I know??" Here we are a month later and I still don't know, but I have a feeling how Spike Lee would have ended it..

Spike Lee directing the "Sopranos" episode "Made in America"

(The camera first focusing in on a newsstand with the caption "Impeach Bush Now!" over a picture of sobbing Hurricane Katrina victims - then panning up to see Tony walking toward the diner with loud jazz music playing in the background.)

(Tony, being played by Denzel Washington, enters the diner and takes a seat at the first booth available)

(He then flips through the jukebox to see a whole bunch of soft-rock bands that he has either never heard of in his life, or doesn't give a watery shit about.)

Tony: (talking to himself) No Wu-Tang? Miles Davis? No Fish-bone? This is some bullshit right here..(still aggressively flipping the jukebox selections)

(Camera pans to a waitress taking a couple's order, then to a couple of cooks frying up some food orders)

(Tony briefly looks up when a lady in her mid-30's who walks in the diner, she looks like a prostitute - so of course she's being played by Paula Jai Parker)

(Tony briefly looks up at a gentleman entering the diner wearing a T-shirt that on the back has an large arrow pointing downwards with the words "Exit Only!!" on it - the actor playing that role is Isaiah Washington)

(Tony then proceeds to put some change in the Juke Box and his selection begins to play as his wife Carmella enters the diner)

(Tony pulls out a menu for his wife, the camera then pans to a few teenagers in a both enjoying their meals. Not for nothing, but I think that all of those actors are currently on "The Wire")

Carmella:(being played by Angela Bassett) Hey

Tony: Hey.

(they both look at their menu's)

Carmella: What are you going to get?

Tony: I have no idea..(Looking around) Carm, I really don't think I can eat here..

Carmella:(rubbing her eyes) Why the hell not?

Tony: There are no brother's on the wall!

Carmella: There aren't any white guys on the wall either, just peaceful portraits of horses grazing and shit!! Negro, we're in Bloomfield New Jersey - this ain't Brooklyn!(now talking to herself)I can't get a decent fucking meal because your ass insists on eating at places with pictures of famous black folks hovering over us. Jesus fucking Christ!!

Tony: OK, OK.. We'll eat here!!! Where's Anthony?

Carmella: He called, he's on his way - you know how slow cabs can be!

Tony: Did he ever give you a legitimate reason why he set his car fire, then proceeded to throw a trash can at the window while screaming "Hate!!"? Jesus that boy was a waste of sperm.

Carmella: We wouldn't even be having this conversation if I wouldn't have believed your bullshit.(mocking Tony) "You can't get pregnant if you fuck in a hot tub!!"

(Tony now rubbing his eyes while shaking his head)

Tony: My bad.. Where's Meadow?

She's at the doctor getting her birth control switched..

Tony: Too much information!! Remember when she was dating that brother?

Carmella: Yes Tony, but that was three seasons ago..

(breaking the 3rd wall and looking at the camera) Even though that had to be the most emasculated, non threatening black man this side of "Leroy" from "Fame" and shit!!

(The Camera now pans to the gentlemen with the "ass arrow" T-Shirt, now seated, about to drink a cup of coffee)

Carmella: You talk to Mink?

Tony: It's Carlo, he's going to testify..

Carmella: Well look on the bright side, on one hand there is always a chance that he won't rant you out and we all live happily ever after.

Tony: ..and on the other hand?

Carmella: You spend some quality reading time in a state funded facility, then come home and suddenly prefer my asshole when we make love.

Tony: That's great Carm, just great!!

(Two men walk in, one a stranger wearing a TROOP jacket followed by Anthony jr.)

(Yes, the same actor who plays Anthony jr. in the series is the same actor here - the character who plays Meadow in the series is the same actress in this piece as well. Sure they are both white and their parents here are black, and it seems rather silly - but then again so was "Girl 6" and "Summer of Sam")

Anthony:(sitting down) Yummy, Onion-rings!!

Tony:(looking at Anthony in disgust) "Yummy"? That has to be the gayest..

Carmella: Don't start!!

Tony:(grabbing Anthony's hand in fatherly affection) Yes, "Yummy" indeed!

(The camera now pans to the man wearing the TROOP, now sitting at the bar - he briefly looks at Tony)

(Now we see Meadow outside having a rather difficult time parallel parking, which is strange because the distance between cars is a fucking city block)

(Back inside the waitress brings the Soprano family their drinks, we briefly see a young couple laughing it up in their respective booth)

(The man at the counter whose attire suggests he's stuck in an 80's era rap video, looks at Tony again)

Carmella:(to Anthony) How was work today?

Anthony: All I'm doing all day is crafting silly nonsensical rhymes for a closeted homosexual..

Carmella: But you are making contacts for the future though, that's what counts.

Tony:You are lil Wayne's ghost-writer for Christs sake, what did you think you'd be doing?? Man up already!!

Anthony: Right, sometimes you have to eat shit to get what you want..

Tony: Don't be an asshole!

Anthony: Isn't that what you said one time, sometimes you have to sift through shit to get what you want in life?

Tony: I did?

Anthony: Yeah..

Tony: Well, its true I guess..

Carmella: Actually I said that, but I was referring to your fathers love for getting his asshole licked - who knows how many millions I've gotten out of him by simply licking his "brown eye".

(Outside, meadow is still having trouble parking her car on the empty street - a few people have gathered at a window to watch, taking bets on whether she's retarded or not)

(The guy with the TROPOP jacket walks to the bathroom as Tony follows him with his eyes part of the way, then two white gentlemen stroll in played by Edward Norton and John Turturro. Meadow finally parks her car outside.)

(The waitress sets down a bowl full of onion rings)

Tony: I went ahead and ordered some for the table..

(each of them pop an onion-ring in their mouths)

(Then the two white dudes, the prostitute, the guy with the arrow on back of his T-Shirt, and even the teenagers who act on "The Wire" - they all join the gentleman with the Troop Jacket in the bathroom. In the restroom, remarkably, there is a white table in the middle of the floor with a shitload of artillery on it - the next 2 minutes we see each person cleaning their respective weapons, then loading them while lit cigarettes hang from their mouths. Like the scene in "Malcolm X" and shit)

(Each one of the assassins emerge from the bathroom in slow motion, with guns drawn)

(Meadow very nervously rushes towards the diner, in that classic Spike Lee dolly shot where it looks as if the actor is floating on air)

(As the would be dispatchers are about to punch Tony's time clock, Meadow screams)

Meadow: WAKE UP!! WAKE UP!!

(She walks around the diner, the assassins put down their weapons, people stop eating and stand up as if they are in a daze. hint-hint)

(looking at everyone she walks past): WAKE UP! WAKE UP!!

(she then walks past the two people at the window who wagered whether she was mentally handicapped or not)

Meadow: Fuck you, I'm not retarded!! Oh! WAKE UP!!!

(looking at the Camera)

Meadow: WAKE UP!!!

(Fade to black)

The lost "HumanityCritic chapter" in Karrine Stephans' "THE VIXEN DIARIES"(Vibe)

A couple of years ago when Karrine Stehans came out with "Confessions of a Video Vixen" I didn't think too much of it, I mean, women with questionable morals have been writing tell-all books about the famous men that have been inside them since the beginning of time. I'm sure that some of the Egyptian Hieroglyphics detail some Pharaoh's sexually inadequacies, and how during those intimate moments he needed a hunting spear rammed up his ass to achieve a proper climax. As Ms. Steffans peddled her wares on a multitude of media outlets, including Oprah, it was hard to contain the child-like chuckling as she played the victim - acting as if her penchant for blowing celebrities was a published cautionary tale for young women everywhere, an educational tool if you will, like the protractor or triple penetration pornography. But despite my skepticism about her being a reformed opportunist chicken-head, leading a feminist revolution where the motto happened to be "One burnt bra at a time!" - a small part of me(not that part asshole) wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt.

Who am I to say that a person can't change? Granted, one of my hands is noticeably more muscular than the other based how many times I've masturbated to her pornographic video as if my testicles had an expiration date on them - maybe she was really trying to deter impressionable young women from having the nuts of lackluster celebrities on their collective chins at some point in the future. I found myself feeling like one of those Barry Bonds detractors, even though a cloud of suspicion follows the slugger around the same way that dirt cloud followed around that "Peanuts" character "Pigpen" - there is no smoking gun as far as Positive drug tests go. Anyone with an I.Q above room temperature who hasn't spawned from inbreeding knew that Ms. Steffans was nothing more than a harlot with a laptop, a sister who figured out that "resident cocksucker" wasn't the kind of thing that you put on a job application - so what better way to turn a buck than pen a tell-all while claiming that she was doing so to empower young women everywhere. But there really wasn't a smoking gun, a steroids-like positive test that proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that Ms. Steffans' journey to save womankind was a watery sack of crap - until now, with her second tell all book. While her first book detailed her experiences in the Hip Hop world along with her liaison's with celebrities, "The Vixen Diaries" is supposed to be an account of everything that has happened since her first book hit the shelves - continuing to name-drop more celebs who have since attempted to puncture her small intestines mid-coitus.

I have to say, sifting through her website is an absolute joy of immense proportions - if only for the hypocritical factor alone. For one thing, you get gems like this:

"She encourages young women to speak out against abuse, to halt the cycle of it and no longer abuse themselves. Karrine uses her past as an example of what not to do and instated The Karrine Steffans Girls Club to give women of all ages a safe place to go in order to express their anxieties and support each other."

OK, that talking point might have worked with the last book, when she claimed to have stopped fucking sub-par lyricists cold-turkey - but this new book proves that she is up her her old tricks.(pun intended, her head game is strong.. I hear) But in her video diary section is where the laughs just keep a'coming, self video taped segments from her bedroom(mostly) where one day she is divulging information about herself - and the next she is saying that people need to mind their business when she hears something about herself that she doesn't like. You can't have it both ways.(or maybe she can - is there a tape of that available too?) Also in the video's it is suggested that Lil Wayne is new jackass treating her vagina like a pinata, not to mention speculation that Ne-Yo and her once bumped uglies - who knows, based on the last two choices in men I just detailed, maybe Starr Jones and Elizabeth Taylor will invite Karrine to join their exclusive "women who like to fuck gay men" club?

I bet you are asking yourself where all this venom is coming from? Why I've decided to aim my PC and shoot verbal artillery at such an easy target as Steffans? Well, let me just come clean here - the truth of the matter is that I'm a little pissed at Karrine for not mentioning me in her latest tell all. I thought the time we spent together was special, special enough to include in her precious "Vixen Diaries" - but I guess that somebody at her publishing company informed her that juicy details about a mid-level blogger just doesn't sell books. Anyway, I've obtained the lost chapter about yours truly - so without further ado, here are a few excerpts..

From the Chapter entitled "Beware!! Chubby pre ejaculating blogger!!"

page 122

"Ladies, when a man tells you that he's hung like a pre-pubescent midget and ejaculates faster than the world record 100 meter dash time - believe what he says and keep it moving. At first I thought his shtick was cute, you know, just a healthy dose of self-deprecation that he uses as a device on his blog. But the first time we were together sexually it became abundantly clear that he wasn't bullshitting, one time he mercilessly fucked my belly button while screaming "Damn girl, you are deeper than that well that baby Jessica was stuck in!!" - not the mention the vomit sounds he made while ejaculating, while I was just talking my bra off no less!!

page 124

"I've been fucked inside of porta-potty's on video sets, I've serviced men on project roof-tops - but the level of disrespect that HumanityCritic showed me during sex made my first book look like a fairytale that Amish parents tell their kids at night. First he would throw out obscure Hip Hop references while fucking me, like the time he was going down on me and said "Jesus Christ, your pubic hair is nappier than the back of the head of the chick that Ghostface was rapping to in that Ice Cream video!!" Or that one time when he was down there handling his business and he momentarily looked up and said, "I got to tell you, your vagina is grainier than the Zepruder film and rougher than that piano sample that Gangstarr used in "All for the cash!!"

page 125

"HumanityCritic was great when he was drunk, a guy who could make me laugh and then proceed to fuck the shit out of me for 3 mind-numbing minutes without a worry in the world - but when he was sober it was another thing. Based on my past he'd scrub his hands anytime I even briefly touched his, he'd vigorously scrub the toilet seats and shower after I used them - and he'd put on so many condoms before sex, his penis looked like one of those balloon animals you make for children at weddings. Not to mention any time I'd ask for a sip of his drink, or a bite of his food - even if we were in the most public of places he'd scream out "Oh hell no, you fucked Jah Rule!!!"

Page 127

"Even though Kool G Rap and I had a turbulent relationship that I'd rather not discuss, HumanityCitic was absolutely fascinated by the fact that I used to be with him. It was weird. He'd sporadically grab my crotch and say shit like "One of the members of "The Juice Crew" was there!!! The author of "Road to the Riches" and "On the Run" discovered that land before I did. How cool is that!" But then it got even weirder when, during sex mind you, when I caught him mumbling Kool G Rap's verse in "The Symphony" with a shit eating grin on his face!"

My daily attempt to resurrect Hip Hop: Eric B & Rakim "Microphone Fiend"

I know that people get pissed at me when I make that "who farted" face when they proclaim that Biggie or Tupac are the greatest MC's of all time - people unfortunately take my rejection of such preposterousness as me sullying the memory of these great MC's. I respect both of those dudes, my favorite Tupac album is "Me Against the world" - and even though Biggie's "Ready to Die" is a classic, I have a special place in my heart for "Party and Bullshit". It's just, respectfully - that these fallen brothers, despite how great they were or how much they've been martyred - can't hold a candle to Rakim in my humble opinion. But the funny thing is, the "Greatest of all Time" title is obviously subjective - no matter how many Rakim lyrics I quote, the person who I'm having the argument with can simply spout something rather quotable from Biggie and Pac as well. The both of us just left standing there in a proverbial stalemate.

But I realized how I can differentiate Rakim's lyrical ability and everybody else's, simply play his lyrics acapella and it becomes abundantly clear why he is the greatest to ever grasp a microphone aparatus. Like a Miles Davis trumpet solo, the beauty of a Gregory Hines tap dance routine before he left this earth prematurely - the rhythmic verbal cadence, the metaphors and similies that you could calibrate a metronome to, you find yourself head-nodding to Rakim's 16 bar verse like a new Premo beat..

Wednesday, July 25, 2007

Hollywood Shuffle - Black Acting 101

As a black kid of the 80's who rode a skateboard and fully enunciated his curse words, I'm a grizzled old veteran when it comes to having my "blackness" continuously questioned - a ritual that began at Kempsville Jr. High School to be exact. Kids who couldn't tell you a black history fact if you held an oozy to their collective temples felt I was a race traitor because I had a penchant for kick-flip ollies and backside wall rides - my colloquialisms gave the few black kids in my school the belief that I'd be the snitch if there ever was a race war. Despite my fondness of being born with melanin, the tons of black history books that I digested with ease like they were comic books, my life-long dedication to Hip Hop, the teachers that I continuously challenged whenever they came out of their mouths sideways concerning race - not to mention all the black girls who had "first dibs" on my heart(all 7 of them). But at the end of the day, I was "trying to be white" because I rode a skateboard and pronounced the "er" at the end of the word "motherfucker".

Unfortunately, not much has changed over the last 20 years. From that white dude I met this past weekend who thought that taking on a black persona involved crotch grabbing and murdering the English language as frequent as humanly possible, the Clear-Channel minstrel show that many rap artists perform nowadays, and the mass amounts of black chicks who won't come within a square mile of my penis because I loathe Tyler Perry - if that's what it means to be "black", I think I'll pass. Remember back when shows like "In Living Color" would joke about how "white" Bryant Gumbel was simply because of how he spoke? But on B.E.T they've been setting the race back with it's deplorable broadcasts for more than a decade now. Not for nothing, but I feel that Paul Mooney should revise his Chappelle Show statement. "Reginald Hudlin and Robert Johnson make Bryant Gumbel look like Marcus Garvey!!"

My daily attempt to resurrect Hip Hop: MC Lyte "Lyte as a Rock"

Tuesday, July 24, 2007

Referencing rap lines is my "no homo"..

Even though I've stopped blaming my father for his bad genes 15 years ago the moment I realized that my insignificant cock wasn't going to grow any more, there are a slew of adult idiosyncrasies that I have to let him off the hook for as well. My first instinct is to blame my disastrous relationship history on him, my parents made a rather dysfunctional relationship seem as if the Huxtables used their marital bliss as masturbatory material as soon as Rudy fell asleep - every time a chick leaves me and claims that I'm "emotionally unavailable" I usually look at the sky while giving a rather sarcastic wink while saying "Thanks a lot pop!!" But the truth of the matter is that I've been an insufferable prick since Biz Markie's solo debut album, sure I dream about being in love - but that won't happen as long as I keep hearing Charlie Brown's teacher's voice whenever a woman that I'm dating isn't talking about Hip Hop, Kevin Smith, or showing me her tits - and my penchant for ushering women to my front door the precisely the moment after I ejaculate isn't helping matters either. My father doesn't have anything to do with that. For every black republican I've ever throat-chopped and every bloody bar brawl I've found myself on the business end of, I tend to lay the blame at his grave site as well. I was never physically abused mind you, but the man could make you feel pretty worthless, maybe my violent outbursts are just an answer to the years of verbal abuse that I've suffered? No, that's bullshit too - I distinctly remember my first physical altercation having to do with me trying to smother another toddler to death with my nap blanket in kindergarten class - shit, I still get frustrated whenever someone tries to diss Fat Albert in my presence. Even though I'm letting my old man off the hook and taking responsibility for the current asshole state that I find myself in, he is guilty of one thing though - his attempt to instill a healthy fear of homosexuals that would even make Pat Robertson weepy eyed.

Everything from childhood tears to my particular throwing motion during one of my little league baseball games were met with a bewildered "What are you, some kind of fag?" - most children are scared of miscellaneous Boogie-Men under their beds and possibly beatings, I was scared of being a homosexual before I even knew what the word "sodomy" meant. That's why my first erections weren't awkward at all, as soon as I knew that the tent that I was pitching in my Osh-Kosh's were inspired by prepubescent breasts I openly cheered as if Maury had just told me that I wasn't the father while holding a manila envelope. Since that point any homophobia that ever existed in my rather portly frame started to vanish, not because I came to my senses and realized that any kind of hatred is flat out wrong - but because my penchant for drooling whenever I see a phat ass pass by and my habit of saying "Boobies" like a 5 year old whenever some dalliance takes her shirt off, I've become pretty secure in my own sexuality.

I guess that's why I never quite understood people's fascination with following statements that they possibly perceive to be homosexual in nature with the "no homo" moniker - maybe I'm alone here, but if you don't have a hidden desire to get penetrated in one of the most naughty of orifices, who gives a shit?. I'm so vehemently against using the "no homo" term that I'll purposely say the most sexually questionable things imaginable, just daring the person I'm speaking with ti say something - while standing in my best B-Boy stance that is. Things like: (referencing my plumber) "He came by, pulled out his instrument, and got as deep as you can go!" - (referencing the kid who was supposed to cut my grass) "I thought he was going to really handle my back yard, but he just blew me off instead." There's no need for me ever to use the term "No homo", that hearing impaired chick that I used to have sex with simply because she never bitched about me humming the "Smurfs" theme-song while I ejaculated - that should have tipped you off that I'm not a homosexual. Me being a Fantasia fan solely for the fact that it looks like she gives the sloppiest head this side of the equator, my affection for Asian midgets, the fact that I'll spend 300 dollars getting lap-dances that I know will never lead to intercourse - my strong stance about fake titties, and my feeling that as long as I can touch them and put a nipple in my mouth then they are indeed real. All signs that I'm not a homosexual, my "hetero street cred" is well documented - that's why I refuse to be like every other lemming out there and inject the tired "no homo" to my daily vernacular.

But I can't be too hard(say something!!) on all the "no homo" sayers out there, I have verbal idiosyncrasies much more irritating than that - I tend to answer people, during the most serious conversations, in classic rap lyrics.(while citing the author of said lyric immediately afterwards) Here are some examples..

A friend of mine was inquiring about a young lady who I spent some quality time with recently, and instead on saying that her oral technique came equipped with mass amounts of saliva - I simply said, "..she thought I was a donut, and tried to glaze me!!! Rakim."

Sometimes I combine lyrics, like that time an ex came crawling back after the dude she left me for gave her a nasty STD. Not only did I claim that one of her orifices was "looser than a crack-head's hair weave..Grand Puba", I found it rather fitting to finish off my diatribe with "You shoulda put a sock on the pickle
and your pussy wouldn't be blowin smoke signals..Ice Cube
". Lets just say she wasn't a big fan of Ice Cube's "Death Certificate" album.

I went to a local rap show recently where some drunk asshole threw a bottle at one of the MC's performing, even though I saw the particular dude who threw it I remained quiet amidst the rapper's rampant request that the culprit be outed. An hour later, as I was sitting at the bar negotiating a lovely Latina's "back seat prices" - the MC had very nicely asked me if I saw who threw the bottle. At first I wasn't going to say anything, but as soon as the culprit walked up right beside us to order a drink I said the following: "Calling all cars, calling all cars...Be on the lookout for a tall light-skinned brother with dimples!!!..LL Cool J." Yes, a brawl ensued.

My mother can tell if I've gained a couple pounds or lost a few, and uncanny ability that would make her quite a bit of money amidst bearded ladies and children with lobster hands. Anyway, I went on a cruise with her and my brother last year - not the "3 day cruise, with shuffle board and gambling" variety - but the "3 hour, decent food, wack entertainment" variety. Anyway, as I was dancing with a couple of college aged girls when I decided to take my shirt off, whirl it over my head - as I prompted the two chicks who looked like they should be on "Girls Gone Wild" to rub my belly as if a very effeminate genie was going to pop out. When I got back to our table my mother said, "HumanityCritic, you're getting fat!", so I responded "Yeah, I know it looks pathetic Ali Shaheed Muhammad got me doing calisthenics!!..Phife" She shook her head, looked down, and mumbled something about missed abortion opportunities circa 1973.

Generation Chickenhawk: With The College Republicans

My daily attempt to resurrect Hip Hop: The Jungle Brothers : "I'll house you"

Thursday, July 19, 2007

My daily attempt to resurrect Hip Hop: The Pharcyde "Yo Mama"

yo mama

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I don't know where you guys grew up, I come from the rough and tumble streets of Virginia Beach Virginia myself - but I always felt that an unwritten rule of the time honored "Yo Mama" joke was that said insult had to be of the fictional variety. From the time I was a toddler until the grizzled 34 year old man that women who I crush during sex see today, if a "Mama" joke is even slightly sprinkled with a dash of truth - I'm going to try my damnedest to make that motherfucker's nose bone puncture his brain.(What can I say, I really love my mother) The hypocritical part about the whole thing is that I have routinely and blatantly wiped my ass with the aforementioned unwritten rule, time and time again. A friend of mines mother became a lesbian at the tender age of 50, so I just happened to mention during a "Yo Mama" joke session that local hospitals could give pap smears by simply scraping her tongue. A High School buddy of mine has a mother that is an alcoholic who recently crashed her car into some nearby woods - so last week when we were smoking some homegrown horticulture together and I received a phone call, I answered like this: "Yeah girl, I'm just chilling with my homeboy hitting some trees!!!(Covering the phone, looking at my boy) My bad man, no offense!!"

HumanityCritic, Scumbag behavior since 1989!(Take 1): "Wearing a wedding ring"

In the "it even shines on a dogs ass once in a while" category, believe it or not a couple of years ago I actually heard something rather profound escape 50 cent's lyrically sub-par, bullet ridden pie-hole - he basically said that dope dealers at the end of the day make less than minimum wage, when you factor in the danger of the profession and the overall chances of imprisonment. Its kind of the same way I view being single, sure it seems like the unadulterated shit to all of my married friends - them thinking that I'm having marathon fuck sessions with two Brazilian twins while my buddies are securely shackled in marital purgatory. While they are rushing from work to pick up their screaming crumb-snatchers from school, they probably envision me about to penetrate some busty woman who just happens to teach "blow-job" classes in my city - only briefly interrupting the foreplay to reach for a condom, very casually saying "Shit, I'm not trying to end up like my homeboy!!" as if that oiled up seductress of higher learning who looks like she should be in a Hype Williams video even knew who in the fuck I was referring to. But the truth of the matter is, chasing tail gets lame - its like a pornographic version of the movie "Groundhog Day", constantly trying to ignore the fact that some bimbo thinks that Lil Wayne is the new millennium version of Rakim, just so I can pelvic-ally take it out on her misinformed ass later. Having the same barroom conversation's with the same intellectually inferior person, each time feeling a little less guilty as I wish that some mysterious person would walk in an inject them with some exotic poison with no known antidote - just so I wouldn't have to hear that same fucking story again. If I was married, assuming that my wife wasn't handing out her vagina like welfare cheese that is - I wouldn't have to worry about things like venereal diseases. Not for nothing, but closely monitoring my urination for burning sensations is starting to get old - and I've been so paranoid after fucking a woman that my cock should have never been within a square mile of to begin with, trips to the free clinic are so frequent that doctors and nurses scream my name upon arrival like I'm Norm from "Cheers" and shit. "HUMANITYCRITIC!!!"

That's whats so ironic about the new tactic that I learned to obtain ass, who would have thought that after a couple of years of slowly chiseling off the remnants of my philandering ways so I would at least be marriage material to some woman out there - one of my married friends who's life I happen to envy, happens to very cavalierly hand me the skeleton key that unlocks vagina's everywhere. Here is the story..

Operation Wedding Ring: This past Friday night started off like the 400 or so that had preceded it, hanging with one of my married friends - about to frequent a few watering holes where beer, jaeger bombs, and the shattered dreams of carer alcoholics awaited us. We hadn't finished our first beer before women started hitting on my boy as if he was a Caucasian Pinata, everything from sensual glances to strategic touches on his shoulder were thrown his direction like a slow pitch softball for him to smash out of the proverbial ball-park - it was so prevalent that when women tapped me on my shoulder, I immediately knew it was to ask a question about my friend. I felt that I should be jealous, but I wasn't - I just thought to myself "This is what it must have felt like to be a member of Van Halen in their prime, and not be named David Lee Roth!!" Everyone from a thick bartender who inquired about my friend's relationship status, a slew of random girls who breasts could feed empoverished countries, and a hot little number that wanted to give him a "Mic Check" in the friendly confines of her Mitsubishi Lancer - the late time I saw someone so effortless fight off unwanted advances I think I was watching "Fists of Fury".

The next morning when he called I kept referring to him as "rock star" and "Pimpalicious", acting like he didn't know what in the fuck I was talking about I quickly reminded him of the multitude of ass that was placed in his lap the night before. That's when he paused, and let out an explanation that I have now described as his "Yoda moment", he said: "HumanityCritic, nights like that never happened when I was single - now that I'm married it seems to be a common occurrence. See my friend, when a woman sees that ring on your finger she thinks, "Fuck, he's at least a decent enough a human being for someone to marry his ass!!" That's the attraction, and the only reason that last night ever happened!!!" Instead of me taking in what my good friend had to say, respected him for "dropping jewels" so to speak, what do I do? - I use his rogue-like wisdom to benefit my deviancy.

That's when I thought I'd start wearing a wedding ring to see if I could obtain more miscellaneous "provokes me to visit the free clinic more often" booty, I figured it would be at least be a very interesting experiment. The thing is, it works! Sure you have to play it up a bit, first tell the woman who is chatting you up that you're happily married, then throughout the course of the night you have to shift your language somewhat. Slowly shifting the rhetoric, "Baby, I can't do that to my wife" - "If only I wasn't married", then lastly "Let me at least take off my ring while I fuck you against my Chevy Nova!!" I mean, sure - after a while she will find out that you aren't married and stop letting you tenderly fuck her against classic muscle cars. But that's the beauty of it all the, yes its lying, yes it's still deception - but you can penetrate these chicks guilt free because at the end of the day the million dollar question still remains: "What were you doing fucking a married guy anyways!!!" Man, I haven't seen a well thought-out plan work this well since "Oceans 11" and shit.

OK, being single is still pretty cool - until this gets old I guess..

Thursday, July 12, 2007

Pretty women who dig me tend to come with cryptic side-effect warnings

Full disclosure here, I'm not exactly what you'd consider to be the most religious person in the world - despite me being a straight descendant of a long line of Catholics and Southern Baptists, probably good people who probably spent 30% of their lives hearing passionate sermons in humid churches or listening to boring as piss Gregorian chants. Sure I went to catholic school, where it most definitely shaped any theological knowledge that I still have swirling around my brain amongst the millions of deviant thoughts - but at the end of the day it did more harm than good, based my habit of making my lovers wear plaid skirts while I utter something utterly distasteful like "Take this communion honey!!" right before receiving oral. Not to mention how I've desecrated the hallowed halls of church buildings across the nation with my penchant for using them as designated "fuck spots", the clergy molestation humor I inject whenever I speak to a man of the cloth - and I can't forget about my favorite pastime, clutching a pair of rosary beads while penetrating a woman of ill repute just so my chances of catching anything that I can't get rid of dramatically decreases. But at the end of the day, despite my blasphemous nature that once provoked me to tell a nun "Its too bad you're hiding all that ass under that penguin suit sister!!" - I actually believe in god.

It has nothing to do with blind faith, I've never been clinically dead for a few minutes where I found myself being drawn to a bright white light - I'm not even being disingenuous about my belief either, simply covering my bets like most people do just in case a heaven actually exists. I believe in god based on the fact that I have a healthy liver, period. Seriously, after my father died and I went on what I like to describe as a six month bender, where I tried to basically kill myself while keeping my body heavily lubricated with 151 grain alcohol - I just knew a few years back when I went to get myself checked out that I'd have cirrhosis of the liver. Not only did I have a healthy liver, but the doctor looked at all of my tests and said "You have the liver of a person who hardly touches alcohol!!" That's divine intervention right there, right there I felt like someone was looking after me - so I celebrated by going to the nearest watering hole and getting shit-faced drunk, but I digress..

Maybe its just me, but sometimes I feel that the big guy who died for all of our sins is viewing my life like an episode of "America's funniest Home Videos". JC clutching a tub of popcorn, laughing his Birkenstock's off, and at truly unbelievable parts he screams out "Jesus Christ man!!" - only to look around at all the stunned angels to say "Relax, It's my name!! - hypersensitive winged fucks.." But as soon as a career heathen like myself starts believing in a higher power, that's when I start blaming him for all my shortcomings - like "What's up with the small cock lord, I'm scared to fuck white girls because I don't want to ruin the myth!!" or "Thanks lord, my family members are all model thin and you've given me the metabolism of a competitive eater with a thyroid problem. Thanks a lot Buddy!!" But I really get the sneaking suspicion that I'm paying for the sins of my past when it comes to my current misfortune having to do with vagina owners.

At this rate I feel as if I'm going to have to save a mentally challenged child from a burning building or some shit, donate a kidney to a dying nun - something has to reverse the curse on me from all the sisters of ex-girlfriends that I've blissfully penetrated, or the scores of women that I've deceived with reckless abandon. Listen, I'm a hit with women who look like they grew up next to nuclear reactors, the "nuttier than squirrel shit" chicks think that I'm the cat's pajama's - and I can pick a stalker like a wine connoisseur can identify a fine wine, smelling the top of her head and saying "You are the 1977, hiding in my bushes like a ninja blend." Sure, there are some ultra fine chicks that dig chubby pre-ejaculating wordsmiths - but they tend to have the most cryptic side-effect warnings.

We've all seen those hair loss medication commercials, or those medicine advertisements for herpes or some other miscellaneous ailment - it seems like a miracle drug, until the commercial is coming to an end and you hear that subdued voice say: "Might cause anal itching, bleeding, and you may experience gremlins crawling out of your ass in the middle of the night. Don't take if you are already on other medications, because you may piss yourself like a petulant toddler, grow a pair of tits on your back - or the worst case scenario, you may spontaneously combust. There were a few cases where people who took this medication became permanently delusional, and spent their remaining days smearing their own fecal matter on their faces while continuously saying the word "Bubbles!!" Let me explain what I'm talking about:

A fine Spanish chick approached me at a bar recently and told me how much she wanted to know me in a "biblical sense", it was kind of forward of her but I was down for blessing her forehead with some "holy water" so to speak - so I put her number in my phone and continued drinking. Then out of nowhere, this kind bartender informed me that the "chick" I was talking to was a post-opt transsexual - news that I didn't particularly take so well, based on me immediately erasing "her" number out of my phone, then going home and scrubbing it with an S.O.S pad - along with my hands and my cock. Side effects: Utter embarrassment, especially since in hindsight I should have recognized the signs - big feet, a firm handshake, and "she" despised cuddling as well.(Yeah, that was a dude)

Last month a struck up a conversation with a woman who looked like a young Pam Grier - as she talked all I could think about was putting an Afro wig on her, and having her call me a "Jive Turkey" as I mercilessly fucked the blaxploitation out of her. Right when I was about to take her back to the crib and get her intimately acquainted with my "Superfriends" bed linens - a dude that I trust informed me that she was the designated "bar whore", who has burned so many dudes that her vagina could double as a barbecue during Summer holidays. Fuck! Side effects: Can cause itching, rashes, burning - women may never come within a square mile of your cock based on you fucking the Outbreak monkey.

I always said that if I ever dated a white chick, she's be a white chick, Lilly white to be exact - the last thing I need in my life is some broad who's idea of acting black is murdering the English language, gyrating her head, and criticizing me for sounding like a "white boy" just because I fully pronounce the word "motherfucker" in arguments. Anyway, besides my undying love for Janeane Garofalo, I've had a thing for Drew Barrymore as well - that's just my speed, besides, she had no problem touching E.T's glowing finger so I'm sure she'd have no problem fondling an unimpressive black phallus. That being said, a chick who resembled her aggressively talked me up at a very trendy bar a few weeks back. A very sweet girl, and lovely thoughts of me walking with her in public to the beautiful choruses of black women collectively sucking their teeth filled my mind - as well as me playfully giving her a hard time about dancing like she's a having a seizure, and asking her why she refuses to use a wash-cloth. All that came to an abrupt end later on when I was told that she was a heavy drug user, cooked cocaine to be exact - and that if I could get past her crack habit, that her kleptomania made her hands stickier than the floor at a porn theater. Man, I can't win for losing. Side effects: Mood swings, hyperactivity, a thousand yard stare - and you might wake up with your compter and television set missing.

Lets Edit These Jar-Jar Binx's Out of Hip Hop(

When it comes to the episodic science fantasy saga that is the Star Wars series, I'm probably what you'd call a mid-level fan. I've seen every movie and know all the major plot points, but I couldn't tell you what planet each character was from or what kind of fuel the Millennium Falcon ran on. True, I've caught peoples punches in mid-air during fights and screamed out "Jedi!", and women who've ever proclaimed their love for me were immediately met with an "I know!" response ala Han Solo in "The Empire Strikes Back." But if you asked me what kind of weapon Boba Fett uses, or how many people an AT-AT walker can hold - a blank stare will encompass my chubby visage as if you just asked me to recite a Lil Wayne lyric. A few chicks that I've dated have been Star War purists as well, a rather touchy bunch let me tell you - completely frowning on me making light saber sounds with each pelvic thrust, while receiving a very spirited "mouth hug" saying "The force is strong with this one," and referring to Lando Calrissian as "that 40oz drinking woman beater." Not to mention that one time I very cavalierly wiped my nether regions on a woman's "Princess Leia" throw pillows post coitus.(Read more here)

Daft Hands - Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger

Tuesday, July 10, 2007

Oh Shit, she's falling for the wrong person...

For the past few years I've actively avoided love like it gave me a sexually transmitted disease at a party once, so when I say that I've been burned by love I mean it literally as well as figuratively. See, when you are in your twenties getting your heart shattered into a million pieces is a virtual rite of passage - I'm sure if every man was forced to write their memoirs in the winter of their life, the chapter representing their 20's would be titled "I can't believe she's fucking him now!!" Suffice it to say that I'm battle-tested in matters of the heart, I've had women cheat on me with friends of mine, a chick once left me for a homeless guy, one came out of the closet and converted to lesbianism after I picked some stray hairs out of her teeth during breakfast - not to mention the plethora of men I've assaulted, solely because they were the new tenants at a property my girlfriend owned called Hotel Vagina. I'm so battle-tested that I figured that by the time I reached my 30's I'd enter relationships on some General Douglas MacArthur shit, going on dates wearing all my medals from the love wars I've been a part of - even during sex uttering sweet nothings in my lover's ear like "In war, there is no substitute for victory." and "Old soldiers never die; they just fade away." But now at the grizzled age of 33 what I realize is that what I've been through is irrelevant, even the most decorated soldier can be taken out by the most novice of snipers - that's why I've avoided love at all costs, because a 33 year old man weeping while playing George Michael's "Careless Whisper" just isn't sexy.

When I was 23 and a woman decided to rip my beating heart out of my chest I'd handle it like any other red-blooded American man would, I'd sigh continuously while watching Audrey Hepburn flicks in the dark under the covers. But now I feel that I'd handle the exact same situation by either going on a motherfucking killing spree, walking around in public with my cock tucked while barking like a cocker spaniel- or I might even go ahead and dedicate my blog to her and title it "You Dirty fucking Harlot!" So now you see why I haven't let a female within a square mile of my heart, and why most of my sexual encounters over the past 6 years have included the question - "Yo, do you have change for a 20?"

I'm not going to lie though, there have been a handful of women over the past few years that actually started to fall for me - a small part of me that is.(No, I'm not talking about my penis, asshole) See, they fell for a part of my personality that only represents a small percentage of who I am as a person - and since maintaining that facade was as emotionally draining as reviewing a Lil Wayne record, I had to let them go. Here are a few examples.

The Emotional guy: I was briefly dating a woman who for some reason thought that I was a man truly in touch with his feelings, and I have no idea what gave her that impression? I mean, sure I started to shed a couple tears while the both of us were watching "Coolie High" together, the part where Cochise meets his untimely demise - but I thought that all black men did that? No big deal. OK, and there was that other time when we both had a little too much to drink at her house - and I started sobbing like an actress on a Spanish Soap opera while discussing my deceased father, so what! Anyway, after those two utterly embarrassing situations she took it upon herself to act as my therapist - romantic dates turned into impromptu therapy sessions where she asked me shit like "How did you feel about that exactly?" after everything I said. Jesus Christ, a guy sheds a few tears and all of a sudden she turns into Barbara Walters - those few fleeting moments of emotional vulnerability hardly define me as a person. So after I took a piss off of her balcony, punched one of her co-wokers in the face, and wiped my genitals on her curtains after sex - I proceeded to ask her, "How did you feel about that exactly?"

The Complete Savage: It has been my experience that most women absolutely loathe violence, I can't tell you how many relationships have been castrated after the words "You're ass is going to get me killed" were uttered. But this one woman named Rosa loved my penchant for handing out random beat-downs, an addiction that arose after I defended her honor by administering a throat-chop to some assholes Adam's apple. Granted, I like violence - but she got off on my physical altercations so much that she would reward me with porn-star style sex afterwards. After a while I felt like Jet-Li's character in "Unleashed", attacking random jackasses for the most asinine reasons - the collar around my neck that she unbuckled was the invitation for some rather deviant forms of sex later that night. Fighting douche-bags who deserve it is one thing, but attacking innocent parties is another - so that brief relationship ended when I "accidentally" beat up her brother at a nightclub we were at.

The Vegan: I'm probably one of the only people who enjoys their weight fluctuation, sure its unhealthy - but when I'm heavier I tell chicks "Come on baby, it'll be like fucking one of your childhood Teddy Bears!" and when I'm smaller I'll nakedly proclaim "Look, you get so much more dick when I'm this size!!" So during one of my more slimmer moments, when I was watching my weight like a fork-life operator - I swore off all meats for the sake of my own health and being able to completely see my own penis. An earthy chick that I was dating at the time noticed this and slowly tried to lure me into her world - a world that I was slowly being sucked into, akin to a girl seeking Hollywood stardom who eventually finds herself getting triple penetrated on film. First she had me learn about all the products that had animal products in them, showed me the correct way to read ingredients, and introduced me to a cook-book worth of healthy alternatives to meat. Looking back I was actually getting into it, not because it was good for me - but for the sex, she was so natural and healthy that at the time her vagina smelled as pleasant as a playful stroll through the woods.(No bullshit) But as soon as she tried to introduce me to organic toothpaste and deodorant I was out of there, that was the hypnotist's "wake up" word that reminded me that this lifestyle wasn't me. I clearly remember her breaking up with me after an innocent kiss, one in which she smelled cooked flesh accompanied with cheese, onions, and thousand island salad dressing.

"Fuck New York"

Just to put this video in the proper context, it was done by a group(counterconvention) that was against the 2004 Republican National Convention being held in New York City. Maybe I'm just late as usual and I'm the only person who hasn't seen this clip until now, but it still stands up based on the events of the day. For a guy who tucked his genitalia and ran in the other direction when Vietnam came knocking, he sure doesn't have a problem playing the bully - doing whatever the fuck he wants, saying "What?? Say Something!!" whenever anyone even mildly objects. He's been giving the American people atomic wedgies for the past 6 years, merciless toilet swirlies to the press - and all we can do is shake our collective heads as he holds our congress upside down by their ankles, completely punking them by taking their lunch money. "President, the American people completely object to this war!" Fuck you, so what? "President, your approval ratings are lower than a gang-banger's jeans or the comedic sensibilities of Tyler Perry!" Fuck you, kick rocks motherfucker!! "President, Scooter Libby is going to jail for Perjury!" No he's not!!!

Since it looks like this bully will continue to run ruff-shot over our country until the day that he cleans out his office, lets just hope that the history books will give this drooling incompetent the beat-down that he deserves.

Hillary vs. Obama

Friday, July 06, 2007

Ask HumanityCritic

A couple of years ago, when people would take it upon themselves to confide in the only blogger that lesser bloggers masturbate to - I took it as a joke at first, you know, who in their right mind would ask legitimate advice from a guy who once physically threatened a man of the cloth? I've always imagined my future kids skipping their dear old dad for some good old fashioned fatherly advice with no hesitation, and whenever I'd angrily protest said decision with the obligatory "Hey Son, why in the hell are you asking your mother about jock itch? I'm the parent with a functioning pair of testicles here!!" - my kid would slowly shake his head in disapproval, walk me over to the computer where he'd go to my blog, and then he'd very matter-of-factly say "What rational person fucks midgets and has them refer to him as "Papa Smurf"?" But I proceeded to answer every question seriously, openly wondering if the woman who asked for my advice on her cheating husband would find the irony in a career adulterer playing Dear Abby - but I figured that the questions would die down after a while, since getting sound advice from me is as akin to Stephen Hawkin performing even the most elementary of break-dance move. But surprisingly, after 3 years people keep hitting me with questions - so here are my best attempts to answer them as honest as humanly possible.

HumanityCritic, my husband has made me uncomfortable over the past few years by constantly suggesting that I lose weight. According to my doctor I'm a healthy size, what should I do? Karen

I'm no expert, but one thing that has always worked on me are veiled threats - you know, the kind that suggests that you get all three of your holes adequately filled like a bowling tournament by someone else if he continues with his incessant bitching. Unfortunately, our society has an obsession with being thin in this country - I'm sure many men have attempted to get their wives down to the size of their favorite actress, a broad who probably gets knocked down by mild winds in her spare time and shit. Also, whenever he makes one of those ultra rude requests to shed a few pounds - immediately request that he add some inches to his dick. That being said, if you ever leave him you can run into my welcoming arms baby - I love a healthy chick, one who doesn't frown upon 8 trips to the buffet line, or eating Mac and Cheese off of your buttcheek.

HumanityCritic, I'm starting to grow dreadlocks and was wondering, since you've had them for over a decade - what kind of obstacles will I face if any? Sheila

Be prepared to be asked for your marijuana prices, to have people assume that you somehow have your PHD in Reggae - and to be asked asinine questions like "Do you wash your hair?", "Isn't it heavy?", and to have people call them braids as if they just got finished masturbating to Stevie Wonder's "Talking Book" album. Not to mention the rampant tugging, petting, and stroking as if you were some sort of fucking domesticated animal - but my problem as of late, based on how long they've gotten, is adjusting them so they don't get in the way of any busy bowel movements I might have.

HumanityCritic, my wife claims that I can have a "freebie"(a sexual encounter with someone else, no punishment involved) based on us being married 15 years. Should I do it? Chris

Wasn't this a storyline on "Curb your enthusiasm"? Nevertheless, don't do it dude , regardless how tempting the offer might be. I mean, what if she just wants you to fulfill your fantasy so she can go and fulfill hers? I can see myself doing that(if I was married that is) and having a rather forgettable tryst with some local chicken-head that I usually wouldn't give incorrect directions to - but with my luck my old lady would hook up some musclebound dude who looks like a walking hard-on if you squint your eyes. A dude who's job it is to have sex with pregnant women, only to make the upcoming birth a virtual breeze due to his gigantic phallus. No thanks, I'm insecure about my cock as it is, rattling around a hole like a spoon in a coffee cup isn't exactly my idea of a good time.

HumanityCritic, a lady at my job has had fun at my expense for the past several months. At first I played along but now I'm annoyed, what should I do. Rebecca

Smack the shit out of her! Next Question!! Okay, seriously - just go up to the woman and nicely tell her that you don't appreciate the jokes and that you'd like them to stop as soon as possible. See, what this does is it sets the ground-work - any joking at your expense from this point forward securely positions her in "Beat-down Territory" So if it happens again, whether she is at her desk or walking to her car after work - walk up to her and just repeatedly punch her in the face, as if her nose was a pinata and you were anxiously awaiting sugary treats to come falling out of it. Listen, I know that we are too grown to be fighting and all that jazz - but I've learned that the only thing some people understand is abrupt violence, you won't be the butt of her jokes any more with her two front teeth embedded in your fist.

HumanityCritic, has anything surprised you as of late? Ben

Yeah - I had no idea that people had such a soft spot in their hearts for Erykah Badu? Jesus fucking Christ..

HumanityCritic, what was the last concert that you went to? Kesha

A Jill Scott show a couple of weeks ago, she was great. Based on her newly single status, and seeing her sing ever so beautifully on stage with breasts so massive that titty men everywhere should at least pilgrimage to them once in their lifetime as if they were Mecca - I wanted to declare my love for her right then and there. But after some consideration I decided against it, only because I'm realistic - I know that my alcoholism and penchant for penetrating strippers wouldn't go over too well if her and I were ever together.

HumanityCritic, have you ever said anything that instantly ended a relationship? Dawn

Dude, I have a library of things that I've uttered that has assassinated relationships. Lets see: "A chick that I cheated on you with is going to call you and say that she's pregnant by me, don't worry she's lying. Unless I'm extremely bad at anatomy, and what I thought were tonsils were actually ovaries" - "Yeah, I took a shit in your trunk - but I couldn't hold it any more" - and my personal favorite "I'm not trying to ruin your day or anything, but your mother just gave me a hand-job"

HumanityCritic, what bothers you nowadays? Manny

Strippers on who act all outraged when you ask them if they whore on the side - I'm not saying that all strippers automatically take dick for cash transactions, but I think that my inquiries are absolutely legitimate. I've gotten some pretty hostile "I'm no whore!!" responses, and I respect that - but I just feel that the lap dance you just gave me where you indiscreetly beat me off through my pants suggested a penchant for getting penetrated in backseats for U.S currency. There should be outrage if the people at a blood drive all of a sudden ask you for a kidney, or if you ask some car wash workers to change your breaks - but stripping is the gateway profession paid penetration. So just say "No" if I asked for head, despite the costume it's not like I asked a nurse to go down on me.

Somebody give David Shuster his own show already!

People have been asking me over the past month or so why I've avoided politics, making it clear that they like my blog better when I mixed some current events in with me talking about my phallic "Black myth ruiner". To be completely honest with you, on a political level, this administration has made a brother feel like the human embodiment of the Washington Generals. You remember that team that was designated to play the Harlem Globetrotters each night? Yes, them. It seems that no matter how articulately you state the case that the administration wipes its ass with the Bill of Rights and takes 40 oz pisses on Habeus Corpus, write passionate editorials about what is possibly the most disastrous presidency in United States' History, and yell to the highest mountaintops all the lies that were told to get us into this clusterfuck of a war - the administration just does what it wants, throws pies in our faces, and runs the score up on us with reckless abandon.(continuing the Harlem Globetrotter metaphor) The media hasn't helped my sour mood either, talk show hosts who supposedly have no political agenda allowing their guests to lie directly in their faces - it seems that our news in the states is so inept, that I've been reduced to fucking a local political science professor while watching BBC news to get some sort of accuracy.

That being said, this is a clip where political reporter David Shuster gives the proverbial bitchslap to Tucker Carlson - the way he just cuts through that right-wing spin concerning Joesph Wilson is sort of inspiring. I know, Tucker is a pair of tits who got owned by Jon Stewart a while back - but you hardly ever see any of these talking heads getting taken to task in such a way. Shuster also, well, I don't want to say that he "owns" Ron Christie since he's white and Christie is black - even I won't go there. But in this clip he hands Mr. Christie his ass as well, systematically breaking down Dick Cheney's favorite house negro(I will go there) on the whole Scooter Libby ordeal. I say that MSNBC give Mr. Shuster his own show, who's with me?

You know what, when I was a kid I actually saw a Harlem Globetrotters game where the Washington Generals beat them by the slimest of margins. I'm sure it wasn't planned like that, and every motherfucker on that Generals team was probably replaced the next day - but if they can fight back on some "I've had enough!" shit, I guess I can do the same.

My daily attempt to resurrect Hip Hop: Lord Finesse - Strictly for the Ladies

Thursday, July 05, 2007

Rohan Marley - The New Millennium Yoko Ono(

It didn't occur to me until last week when I found myself doing what a million other owners of "The Score" do on a daily basis - fast-forwarding Wyclef's and Pras' verses in order to get to Lauryn Hill's rhymes - that Ms. Hill is the female embodiment of every girl I've ever loved throughout my entire life. First, I'm in awe of their sheer beauty, much like I was with Lauryn in the beginning - at that point not giving a slippery fuck what besides her looks she has to offer, just feeling myself being steadily pulled in her direction as if very visage was akin to an ocean's undertow. Slowly, her other qualities start battling with her beauty. When Lauryn Hill started coming into her own lyrically I admittedly felt like a school-boy with a crush as my heart went all aflutter just thinking about her - like any time I've dated a fine girl with brains behind the beauty, it was evident that she would be promoted past the "Practice Vagina" rank. Then, wouldn't you know it, as soon as she has the deed to my heart, most of my day spent fantasizing about our wedding day and the both of growing old and experimenting with Viagra together - that's when she rips said heart out of my chest. Kicking me out of the apartment that the both of us share, and informing me that she's leaving me for guy who is literally homeless!! (Sorry about that, I'm still bitter) But you get the point, as soon as I envisioned a future where her place as the "Greatest Female MC of all time" would one day transcend opinion - that's when Rohan happened, the new millennium Yoko Ono.(Read more here)

My daily attempt to resurrect Hip Hop: Boogiemonsters "Recognized Thresholds Of Negative Stress"