Monday, August 31, 2009

Why We Need Government-Run Universal Socialized Health Insurance

With all the misinformation out there, and the shocking amount of drooling lunatics in this country who believe everything hamfistedly clumsy politicians named Grassley and DeMint tell them - its this writers firm belief that "School House Rock" needs to be brought back strictly for adults. Watching so many incoherent malcontents at these townhalls, its safe to say that civics was never their strongest subject in High School. Check out this illustration, a concise video that really breaks why we need Government run Health Care - its simple enough for a Jim DeMint constituent to understand.

Saturday, August 22, 2009

The Rotten Tomatoes Show

If you are as much of a movie nerd as I am, sometimes even quoting obscure movies in daily conversations and getting off on the fact that that person's mind is too feeble to ever expose you - for Christs sake check out The Rotten Tomatoes Show. Funny, informative, sarcastic - watching it is the closest you'll get to fucking Janeane Garofalo. If you have CurrentTv, it comes on every Thrursday at 10:30 PM Eastern time.

Wednesday, August 19, 2009

Nothing signals the apocalypse like me tiring of porn

For anyone whose parents talked to them about the birds and bees, I can just imagine a sweating and stammering mom or dad desperately trying to mask their frustration over the tediousness of using clinical terms when words like "cum" and "Cornhole" would have easily sufficed - I, unfortunately, never had that awkward bonding experience that scars most people for their rest of their lives. As blunt and straightforward as my mother is now, attempting to take on a topic like sex back when I was a prepubescent was the furthest thing from her mind. Ever since she caught me stroking our next door neighbor's legs when I was a toddler, a spunky pre-teen named Shelly who was whiter than a republican convention, I guess she felt that any informative sex discussion at that juncture would possibly wake some sleeping deviant inside me. My father on the other hand talked about "pussy" so often, his rhetorical flourishes about the beloved vagina would make both gynecologists and longshormen blush - he probably thought that his tales of overseas perversion served as proverbial cliffs notes to his young son ignorant in the ways of punany slaying. To be quite honest with you, I got my first introduction into the wonderful world of sex from all the 70's era porn tapes that I swindled out of my father's closet.

Because those dated tapes played the mentoring Yoda role to my shrug-worthy Padawan on a penis, I still struggle with some sexual quirks to this day. For example: 1)I sometimes don't mind a woman who can easily style her public hair. 2) I sometimes require a woman on the business end of my unimpressive penis to hold up a fist and say "Power to the people" as soon as I ejaculate. 3) I can't maintain an erection unless nondescript funk music is playing in the background. I'm dead ass serious.

To be quite honest, my lifelong affection for pornography as a whole has inspired some pretty eyebrow raising behavior in general from your favorite blogger's favorite blogger. For one thing, I know the government names of my favorite erotic actresses, which is creepy enough. Also, I keep accurate baseball card-like statistics in my head about ever seductive temptress that I've ever jerked it to: "She's real lazy, has a trick left knee and boring sex banter - but she can suck a basketball through a straw!" Lets just say that I had a serious addiction. At least that was until recently.

Maybe its just me getting older, but seeing a woman getting filled out like an application no longer has the same appeal. I don't find myself mercilessly stroking it to weird porn titles like "Dyslexic Asain Midgets" anymore. At one time I had a collection of pornographic filth so vast that when I opened up the cabinet doors an extremely bright light and a chorus of angels singing would burst through the doors. Unfortunately, those special effects started malfunctioning a while ago. Here are a few reasons why I have completely soured on porn.

The unnecessary back-stories: Granted, most storylines in your standard porn movie is of the pedestrian variety - usually having something to do with a horny gentleman equipped with a camera who happens to find a perfect stranger willing to fuck him in a van. A maid of Spanish decent who is willing to blow an occupant of the hotel she works at for a few extra greenbacks. Touching tales about a guy's best friend's mother letting him fuck her god forsaken tits off. Standard porn stuff. But I guess the writer in me finds this stuff intellectually insulting, and the raging pervert in me finds the entire charade of a storyline a considerable waste of time. That's probably why I could never be a porn director: Every scene would be purely sex, no dialogue - and if some disgruntled actress came up to me and asked for some lines to deliver, I'd give her an entire booklet with a shitload of "ooohs" and "ahhh" attributed to her name.

The pre-sex interview: I never found anything wrong with the pre-sex interview before now, where the cameraman asks the woman about to get stuffed like a Twinkie some pretty intimate questions. Of course I'm aware that many of the answers the woman gives are fictitious, verbal fluffery about her first sexual experience that gets the viewer even more excited about the prospect of her having fresh produce shoved up a miscellaneous orifice. But now that I'm older, interview answers about broken homes, the prostituting mother, abusive father, pre-teen sexual experiences - it just makes me extremely sad and depressed, even if the claims are fictitious. Talk about a major boner shrinker.

Three's a motherfucking crowd: The reason why I don't have any "..and then me and my homeboy started fucking the shit out that chick" stories is because when I have sex, I don't want another penis within a square mile of my own. Maybe its because I'm a germaphobe, but any time one of my friends ever invited me to consensually ravage some low self esteem having woman simultaneously I always politely declined - and then proceeded to vomit inside my own mouth. Its weird that I never felt the same way about porn until now, but I do. I'm not homophobic, but there is something inherently gay about two penises being in such close proximity - regardless if they're both inside a woman or not. Even in some cases, when the woman wants to pull off something that I call "The double Dizzy Gillespie", the two men in question actually crossing swords. Yuck.

Now if I can only stop giving preferential treatment to strippers on my backseat, or get rid of the glory hole in my house - I'll be completely cured.

Does anyone remember this picture?

As someone who still nurses two bandaged dick beaters from all the hand-wringing I was doing during the Democratic Primaries, there are two lessons that I learned about our current President. 1) Never underestimate him. 2) Media memes about him are usually dead wrong. Look, I want a robust public option as much as the next guy - but the incessant hair pulling, hand-wringing histrionics, "the sky is falling" scenarios, adrenaline fueled melodrama - all of that shit isn't helping anyone. Ed Schultz basically called Barack Obama a pussy a couple of days ago. I love Rachel Maddow, but you could lubricate a car engine with the sarcastic smarmyness that oozed out of her body as she petulantly declared the Public Option "Dead". The same clumsy kneejerk defeatism came from Keith Olbermann as well, I'm just surprised that he didn't utter his go to line: "This isn't change we can believe in"(Thanks for the restraint Keith) Don't get it twisted, we should always hold this president accountable, no one is talking about giving him a blank check like the Republicans gave Bush. But the "I'm taking my ball and going home" approach people shamelessly display every time this president does something that they disagree with exposes both their immaturity and cowardice. Yesterday on twitter I recalled a conversation that I had with my mother where I said that Barack Obama was going to get "Ty Willingham-ed" - every solitary move that the man made would be hyperventilated over by friend and foe alike.

Look, a health care bill without the public option is not reform, there is no doubt about that in my mind. But I'm not going to scream my fucking tonsils out just because people at the White House gave themselves rhetorical wiggle room like most politicians do. Oh the horror.

Indulge me for a minute: Just think about how we're(yes, I fall victim to this too) always Retweeting stories about the obstructionist language of some prominent republican, or how the insurance companies have a certain democrat in their swollen pockets. We scream to the high heavens and give the White House our best "What the fuck" look. But do you think for a minute that they're unaware of what an utter dickhead Chuck Grassley is, or how Max Baucus is bought and paid for? Come on, of course they're aware of this. For all we know their penchant for acting as if the public option is in peril could just be another case of Obama's political jiu jitsu. A coordinated effort to whip up a base that has been plagued with complacency, and rile up all of the obstinate arm folders still pissed that the President hasn't addressing their pet issue fast enough. Who knows, we'll see. Until then, chill the fuck out already!

DJ Premier vs. DJ Scratch in Red Hook (Video)

Hat-Tip to Miss Shuga for finding a better quality video.

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

Anthony Weiner takes Joe Scarborough to the woodshed

People who know me, read this blog, the women who are fortunate enough to be there as I sexually underachieve on top of them, my twitter peeps - all understand that the hatred that I have for Joe Scarborough runs deeper than Sasquatch vagina. As detestable as Joe Scarborough the man is, my main point of contention is how he has fooled shitloads of liberals into thinking that he's some sort of reasonably moderate conservative. He's not. The man is a wolf in sheep's clothing, a velvet gloved Sean Hannity, a political Eddie Haskell. See, here's the recipe that makes up the Douche Souffle that is Joe Scarborough: Step 1) Blatantly lie about all the Bush policies you opposed Step 2)Randomly insert some nonsensical story about the good old days when you were in Congress Step 3)Incessantly Toil in false equivalences. "Obama was called a nigger, a guy has a gun at an event, people are questioning his birth certificate? Hell, someone held up a Bush as Hitler sign up once!! Step 4)Agree with a progressive on a no brainer.. "I agree, Obama was right to remain silent about the Iran protests. Did I mention that I'm against puppies being tortured?" Step 5)Behave like a petulant child whenever someone calls you on your Bullshit. Stir. Let sit for 5 minutes..

That's why Anthony Weiner kicking Joe Scarborough in the teeth this morning while discussing health care was such a great thing to see. Enjoy.

D-Nice's True Hip-Hop Stories: B-Real

Monday, August 17, 2009

Just a few thoughts..

I'm kind of ashamed to admit this, especially after watching this vlog by comedian James Hannah entitled "This is what it sounds like when men cry", but sometimes I cry inappropriately when I've had too much to drink. I know, I know, I would need a super computer to calculate all the men that I've historically mocked, ridiculed, then proceeded to question their hetero street cred whenever they took it upon themselves to shed a tear in my presence. But a couple of times, not often and not recently, I've found myself sobbing like a redneck on November 5th whenever I'm with close friends and alcohol is involved. Sometimes I know exactly what causes the salty liquid to negotiate the chubby terrain that is my face, my father. But other times I have no godly idea what makes me feel the need to emotionally confide in my friends aka have them thinking I'm softer than baby shit. My mother thinks that I have too much time on my hands, and that I should be out there procreating with reckless abandon. My close friends think that its my superhero flaw: Superman had Kryptonite, WonderWoman had to endure the humiliation that comes with having to wear a hooker outfit and flying a "invisible" plane that even Stevie Wonder could see her scantily clad ass in. My tragic flaw happens to be crying like a bitch at the most inopportune moments. My therapist was absolutely no help at all, she just sarcastically said "at least you aren't physically assaulting people" then proceeded to quickly write me a prescription for something that I had never heard of.

But you want to know something? As embarrassing as weeping in front of your peers can be, I always feel like a new man afterwords - I guess engaging in an emotional vomit-fest can be quite the cathartic endeavor. But since my alcoholic outings come with enough conditions from friends: "If you're going to drink, please don't break a chair over someones back" - "Try not to tongue kiss a chick you'd usually refuse to give directions to" - "We're buying you shots tonight only because we don't trust you with bottles" - the last thing in the world I need is for my tear ducts to ruin another perfectly good time. That's why I'm trying a new tactic, getting things off my chest on this blog that have been nagging me lately - maybe addressing random issues of the day that have been consuming my brain lately might do the trick. Enjoy.

Joe Budden vs Raekwon: Ugh. Disclaimer: A few months ago, when I was still employed at Vibe, I had a blog post entitled "The Curious Case of Joe Budden" written and ready to go. The post was basically about Joe's penchant for cavalierly dissing people, playing the professional victim ala Sarah Palin when the person he disrespected voices their objection - only to draw the rightfully offended party into a rather shrug worthy rap back and forth. The piece wasn't critical of that particular tactic, it was just me acknowledging that I knew what his modus operandi was. But I eventually decided against it, because if there is one thing lamer than knowing the government names of porn stars as I do, its dedicating an entire blog post to the likes of Joe Budden. Don't get it twisted, I'm not a Joe Budden hater, he's just not my favorite MC in the world that's all. That said, I find myself siding with Joey on this one. Yes, he originally sparked off this entire clusterfuck by taking hostile exception to Method Man's ranking in a Vibe online rap bracket(a beef which was squashed by both parties by the way) - but Raekwon needing an entourage to attack Joe Budden is truly some bitch shit. I mean, Raekwon can talk as greasy as he wants, but until he fights Joe Budden straight up(as the Jersey native has suggested), I'll continue to believe that my fourth favorite Wu-Tang is the human embodiment of an orifice that produces children and bleeds every 28 days.

The Public Option: I'm of the opinion, like many people on my side of the political aisle, that a health care bill without a robust public option really isn't health care reform. I, like many people, am extremely concerned that the final bill will be some watered down piece of legislation that wasn't worth our newly elected President spending all his political capital on. But what I won't do is engage in an activity that many progressives have been engaged in lately, incessant hand-wringing mixed with "the sky is falling" fatalism concerning the possible loss of the public option. Its too early in the game for that shit. Look, if the final bill lacks a public option I will be pissed the fuck off like everyone else. But for all we know, the hedging on the public option from the likes of Kathleen Sibelius and our President could be nothing more than political headfakes. I mean, we see how the republicans have demagogued the President's efforts at health care reform when no goddamn bill exists - just think about what they'd do if something concrete was produced. That's why the White House refusing to draw a line in the sand concerning the Public Option is an understandable headfake in my opinion. Maybe the White House is being rather Machiavellian about all this. Maybe they are publicly hedging their bets on the public option to rally the base, putting a fire under their ass so they will counter the vitriolic teabaggers we've all ben bombarded with these past weeks. Hell, there are so many disaffected progressives who have acted as if they were going to commit hari kari every time Obama doesn't grant one of their wishes - maybe they do need their motherfucking cage's rattled a little.

"Black" acting White Women: Because I'm the only one in my crew who has never known a white woman in the biblical sense, my friends think that I'm some sort of freak of nature or unexplained phenomenon - so they have taken it upon themselves to give me clever nicknames like "The Golden Child" and "Stonehenge". Sure, like everyone I have a preference and I strongly prefer black women, but that doesn't mean that I'm against interracial relationships. To the contrary. I've always contended that if I ever met my white soulmate that I'd unflinchingly snatch her up like a strong arm robbery, with the both of us blissfully living the rest our lives with a cacophony of teeth sucking sounds from black women who would never fuck me anyway serving as the soundtrack to our romance. But I fail to make the same mistakes many of my black brethren continue to make, and that is gleefully penetrating white women who look as if they grew up next to nuclear reactors. Also, to quote Comedian Paul Mooney, "I like my white people white". I don't know what it is about me, but lately I've been attracting white women who apparently feel as if being black means exaggerated arm movements and broken English. What these young women don't understand is that taking on that persona is downright insulting. No matter how much they think they are assimilating to the black culture, its nothing more than an offensive blackface routine. I like my white women "Janeane Garofalo" white, someone whose politics are so similar to mine that she feels comfortable calling a black republican a "House Negro".(see Larry Elder) "Drew Barrymore" white, "Angelina Jolie" white, you get the picture. The mere thought of one of these black acting chicks one day questioning my blackness simply because I enunciate my words scares me more than a Sarah Palin presidency. Ok, it doesn't scare me that much.

Michael Vick: I know some people can never forgive Michael Vick, and based on the heinousness of the crimes committed I can completely understand that point of view. But I'm of the firm belief that if a man pays his debt to society that he should be able to make a living. One thing that has bothered me about this whole thing is how his critics flatly disregard any argument thrown their way that cites some garden variety athlete who has killed human beings and returned to a lot less scrutiny. I guess its easy to strongly reject such arguments when you think animals are as valuable as people, which I personally disagree with. Listen, its hard to tell what's in a persons heart, that "60 Minutes" interview that he did only proved that Michale Vick is being coached better than a politician before a debate. But the man served 22 months in jail and lost 100 million dollars, if he stays out of trouble and says the right things - I'm rooting for his second chance.

Sunday, August 16, 2009

Helping America become post racial, one brutal beating at a time: Episode Two

Despite our tumultuous relationship, and the fact that I blame him for everything ranging from my belief that kicking a drunk asshole's teeth in should be an Olympic event to me being unable to maintain a relationship that doesn't involve receipts and glitter - for a while I really wished that my old man was around to see the election of our first black Commander in Chief. What a mental screensaver it would have been to see the pride in my father's eyes as Barack Obama was being sworn in. Someone of my generation can never grasp what it feels like use a "colored" restroom, to see friends and family members strung up from the highest tree - to finally, in the winter of my life, actually witnessing a Black man get elected to the highest office in the land. Our relationship was truly abysmal, but being that 2001 was when prostate cancer shuffled my old man loose the mortal coil, I calculate that I would have had to withstand 465 soul crushing "You are never going to be shit" screeds if he had lived to see that legendary day. To be quite candid, it definitely would have been worth it. So I thought.

Witnessing these townhalls over the last two weeks has been rough. Listen, I was never delusional, I knew that the election of our first black president wasn't going to eradicate racism. Even though on election night the country felt healed, with strange white chicks hugging me like it was the end of a catholic mass and white men uncontrollably weeping in my presence like an actress in a Spanish novella. I was still aware that America is a place rife with mouth-breathing bigots. But I guess I felt like a career carnivore who finally sees a cow slaughtered, of course they always knew that the thing they were so liberally putting steak sauce on was a murdered animal - but actually seeing a cow bleed out in front of you in a slaughterhouse is a different story entirely. I knew that they are a shitload of people who probably masturbate to "Mississippi Burning", but actually seeing them foaming at the mouth at these townhalls really jarred a brother back into reality. The "Obama as Hitler" signs. The "Death to Obama" sign. The tried and true calls of "socialism", which to me will always be the belligerent bigot's go to move now that some people frown upon those who cavalierly say the word "nigger". That miserable sack of shit who was packing a gun at an Obama townhall.(I swear to god, if I was there, I would have beaten him to fucking death with that gun) The eardrum shattering dog-whistle that is the "I want my country back" drivel that some toothless rube clumsily shouts at their state representative, which usually prefaces some debunked claim that was pulled from the dark recesses of Sarah Palin's asscrack. Not for nothing, but this racism is really going to make me hurt someone. Oops, let me try that again: This racism is really going to make me hurt more people.

The HumanityCritic Ejector Seat: Remember that old Eddie Murphy bit from "Raw", where he talks about how the movie "Rocky" makes Italians a wee bit overconfident? The fictitious "Italian Stallion" provoking them to say things to black folks that would have never escaped their mandible otherwise. Well, it seems that those contentious townhalls where people come equipped with misinformation and hateful signs has had the same affect on some of the residents of my mental Mayberry of a town. Case in point: A couple of days ago, as I sat at a traffic light pondering the meaning of life(Actually, wondering why women feel insulted every time I use two condoms) - this guy who pulled up beside me apparent saw my Obama bumper sticker and said the following: "Yo, motherfuck Obama! Fuck you for liking Obama! Someone should take that boy out, he's ruining my country!!" Usually I would have stuck the landing on some rhetorical flourish involving his mother, a gangbang, and the Taliban - but I simply smiled and waved at the irate gentleman. Not because I was doing what my mother hoped I would do, turning the other cheek, but because I had every intention on following the young man to wherever his destination was and pummeling the ever loving shit out of him.

So a few moments later, after he pulled into a grocery store parking lot and proceeded to talk on his phone - I ran up to his automobile on some "Menace to Society" shit and pulled that asshole out of his car. Before I go any further let me just say that there is an art to dragging a motherfucker out of their beloved vehicle. It should be done all in a couple of quick motions: Lunging in and stunning the prospective victim with a punch to the face, grabbing the person by the collar when said punch protracts - and at the exact same time, open the door from the inside with the other hand. (It's pretty genius if I say so myself.) Anyway, after pulling him out of his car I thought about slamming the car door on his head, but decided not to because that could quickly lead to a murder charge. So I hit him in the gut a few times, strictly on some William Zabka High school bully shit - then mercilessly choke slammed him on to the hood of his car. I punched him one more time for good measure while screaming "This ain't "Rocky" motherfucker!!" He looked at me with bewilderment, and for good reason too - how was supposed to know that I would use a "Rocky" analogy in a piece about the beating he was on the business end of a few days later?