random ass thoughts

Isn’t it funny when you know someone that worked so hard for a very long Tim to put up a persona that was so fake and made up and had everyone fooled? And when they do something and you catch wind of it, threaten to expose them, see how desperate they get. The shit is pure comedy. Let me explain how it starts. Once you say to them, you’re an idiot, and I am going to prove you aren’t shit. They will initially come at you with insults and threats. Then they try to justify what they have done. Which is purely insane, because you are sitting there rolling your eyes like; this idiot!!!

The worse thing I have ever seen in someone is when they lie, and try to act extra, and very animated to make it seem like it wasn’t a lie to begin with. And oh my goodness, the excuses are plentiful and actually pitiful. You see, when some folks live what may seem as a perfect life, pampered, they have a feeling of invincibility. Some people have other folks telling them all the time that they are always right, that this logic sometimes gets embedded in their brain. And that cannot be good at all. Because what if one day, God forbid, a reality check hits. They find out they weren’t right about a lot of things. They are not that bright, and pretty much a moron.

Man oh man. The moronic wheels start a turning. For instance, I knew someone like this. No one in any other posts. But I guess the movie zoo Lander was on. And I mentioned something about the actress in the movie looking like Marsha Brady. I think she is Ben Stiller’s wife now. She was also in wedding singer, and doodgeball. You know, the chick that looks like Marsha Brady. So the genius says, "That is her". Immediately I though that was a joke. Laughed and said yeah right. Now this person was ready and willing to fight about this. Matter of fact. The funny thing is that she went online, looked up info on the Brady bunch and this actress, and voila!!! Dead fucking wrong.

Of course I never got an apology. The excuse was "oh, I really thought that was her” now my wheels were turning. I don’t know, maybe common sense is not a good thing to have, and ignorance truly is bliss. But, what do you expect from a person that claims to have good friends. Like for instance, she has a so called best friend back home. And whenever she mentions her, it is always something backhanded. Like how her momma a crackhead, lol or the same shit that I posted before. “I have done so much for that girl, and she has the nerve to ask me or question me about a song?!!” with friends like that, who needs enemas? Shit, because someone is straight getting fucked. I had so much soul searching to do on this person. Some people should try to hide behind long hair, and rich parents. Some people need to grow up at a point in life…..wait, I think I went off the deep end. I was having a truth moment. That doesn’t hit some people all the time. Hope her friend stays her friend. But she’ll never read this im sure.

Now, I think that TV for most folks today is common knowledge. But you mean to tell me that, a woman that clearly looks like she is in her thirties, stared on a television show forty years ago as a teenager? Get the fuck out of here. I mean common sense people. Not saying that everyone in the world needs to know as much useless information that I have stored, but shit. To have a screaming argument about that is insane. The moral of the story.

How I killed my uncle by playing with fire

Okay. So when I was 6, we were living in what was a family house. Grandmother was on the first floor, along with my uncle and my aunt. My moms and I were on the third floor, and there was a family on the second. I had a crush on the chick on the second, I used to follow her around all the time, funny, but I cannot remember her name now. Besides when I saw her years later, she wasn’t cute like back in the day, and kind of hefty.
During those few years, my uncle would terrorize me all the time. I mean, from as long as I can remember the dude used to whoop my ass constantly. It was throwing me across the rooms, chasing me with hot shit on a stick. You name it, he did it. I forgot his friends, but it was two of them, and they would crack up at the beat up flav show. They were always smoking these funny cigarettes too. But anyways, he was pretty much like the stereotypical older brother that whoops your ass. I would cry, but then find some mischievous way to get back at him. I was young, so it was never anything big, but creative for a kid. My guess is that since he was no longer the "baby" of the house, someone would have to pay.
Moving on. At the time, my mother used to drink, not much, but got a little buzz at times. I remember her listening to teddy Pendergrass and drinking millers and smoking kools. My moms back in the day, would play the music, and dance with me. She would say...

"C’mon baby, lets do the hustle"

And we would dance until I fell asleep or the phone rang, or whatever happened. One night, during the winter, my mother had went out for a while, it was Xmas time, so I think it was at this place she worked at. When she came home. Talked on the phone for a bit, listened to some music, drank a beer, read me the funny papers. I still wonder why every time she read the title of "funky winker bean" I would bust out laughing. It is a funny name to a six year old.

This one night changed everyone's lives forever. You see, I couldn’t stay asleep. Now they call it ADD, back then it was just a bad ass kid. When a village raised a kid back then, ass whoopins came from any adult on the block. I would get up, go pee and come back to the bed. There was only one bedroom; I and moms had to share it. This one night, we had the electric heater on, so I was cold and was sitting next to it for heat. And the funny papers were right there. So what does my ass do? I start ripping paper off and putting it in the heater. I would drop it and then blow it out. I thought it was super.

So I must have done this at least fifteen to twenty times. And the last time I did, the paper blew under the bed to the other side of it. It was still lit, and I was just looking at it, thinking it would go out or something. But it didn’t. The bedspread that night was the typical 70’s 80's joint; it had ruffles or whatever you call them at the end of them. One of them lit up, and in a matter of seconds my side of the bed was on fire! I started screaming to my mother for what seemed like forever. When she woke up, the only thing I feared was an ass-whooping, fuck the fire. There would be fire on my ass.

My mom who was probably still a little buzzed woke up, and started screaming. And by this time the fire had reached across the bed spread to where she was just laying down. I tried as best I could as she did to try and put it out, but it was too late by then. When I tried I kind of burned my hand or something, and my moms grabbed me and hauled ass downstairs. I don’t remember except being outside with pajamas on. Don’t know if I had shoes on or not. What I do remember is a lady down the street came out to watch and said to my moms that she better get me some shoes to wear because it was cold out. If looks could kill. My mother just said shut up bitch and kept it moving.

The fire was out, and we all ended up a few blocks away to great momma house. All of us stayed there for a long time after that. My grandmother even longer. Like the next 20 years and shit. Great momma I loved with all my heart. But there was always some hostility with the women, my grandma, moms and her. My moms for reasons I did not know until later couldn’t stand her. I couldn’t understand because everyone loves their grandma. I don’t know how my mother did it, but she was saying for the next 4 weeks, she couldn’t wait to get out of there. We finally did after a couple months, and ended up in north Newark.

Fast forward to a few years later. Moms and I had moved from 5th sty to a high rise close to downtown. Shit. Two bedrooms, 9th floor. Friends everywhere. The high life. I thought. Hell, we had an elevator, like the Jefferson’s. Shiiiiitttttt.
These days I saw my uncle less and less. I don’t know if he was doing drugs. I know that he was with some Muslim sect in town that was involved in some crimes at the time. But he was never locked up for any of that shit. What I do remember about him was that he was a great artist. Especially when it came to cars. He could draw a car just by looking at it. He was an artist and sensitive about his shit.

The last time I saw him alive, I went with my grandmother over to the old house. Now, the house at that time which was in 1984/5 I think was never repaired from the fire. I mean water damage. Electric all messed up. It was horrible. We went over; he was on the first floor on a cot like mattress. Bed sores, he smelled. He was just in terrible shape. I know there were a few times that my mom would always beg him to stay with us, or for him to let us take him to the hospital. So anyways, my grandmother, as soon as she gets in the house, just starts yelling at him, berating him, telling him all types of crap I’d hear later in life myself. They got in an argument, he asked for money, she said no and we left.

I didn’t know how to feel at that moment, or don’t remember. I just felt weird somehow. At that point I've never been close to death or a dying person. Not too long after that day, my mother gets a call from someone saying that my uncle had been locked up. now as it was told to me is that; my uncle hated the guy my grandma was dating, working for, I still don’t know what the fuck it is, but somehow grandma dissed him. And to get some type of attention he was missing since I came along, he took a brick and threw it through ole dude's window.

Don’t you know, these people pressed charges on him? It was one of those things where older folks want to teach a kid a lesson. I mean c’mon now. Your own moms sides with some swindler, to press bullshit charges over a window that’s less then a hundred bucks then? He wasn’t locked up for too long before I guess they tried to rape him in jail, and they say he bit some niggas dick off. And they put him in solitaire. When he got out being able to make phone calls, he would call us and we would chat for a hot minute. He would beg for my aunt to come home from college to see him. She was his heart. But she never came. It was too late

One morning the phone rang. I was expecting to hear from him, but as soon as my moms picked the phone up. She didn’t say a word. Or didn’t even have a particular look. For some reason, I just started bawling my eyes out. I went over to my mother and started screaming no!!! And she hadn’t even said anything yet. I don’t know how was on the other end. All I know that my uncle hung himself while in solitary. This was my first touch with death ever. And it being even more strange that it wasn’t like he died from disease, or a gun, or with anything else. He died of a broken heart.

Too be continued one day perhaps

i didnt go to college...i think that is how it is spelled

in my years i have had many types of gigs. it isnt that i am unworthy of employment. it is that they are unworthy of having me as an employee. sometimes i think and say man i wish i went to college. but then again. some grads are idiots. i thinkik and believe life lessons teach you more. i like the fact that i am adaptable to alot of things. and in all of these years i can say that i never been in a situation where i can say 'that was horrible job"

i have done alot of shit. which in my mind kind of makes me an asset to some companies. they want you to be able to handle diversity. multi task and all that good shit. hell, some of the jobs i know wouldnt help me in corporate america.

when i was younger, say 19/20. i dont think i cared to much abou working. i had jobs but id rather hustle weed and other drugs. the sad thing is that when you smoke alot of weed. dont expect to come out on top all the time in that area.

if i can name a job that was the worse. i could say that washing the exterior of airplanes was the worse. i mean shit. big ass brushes. and we sitting here wasing the belly of a 727 to get it sparkling. so many times i wondered how the fuck this is even possible. who needs a bling blinging ass plane? the sad thing is that i did this when i was like 19/20 years old. it was fun then, because i dont know if we really did sit, and i had a good old head friend that was one of the coolest niggas on the planet. and my girl at the time was working the same shift, overnight doing security. she was okay, but her girl was even better. luck of the draw i guess. now some years later when i was 29, i was hard on my luck, and i went to some agency in the hood that get you jobs at the airport.

why was my ex supervisor from the same plane washing job there. and what the fuck does she offer me? the same damned plane washing gig that i worked at nearly 10 years earlier. diff company owner. same bullshit. the difference is when you are 19 you can do this dumb shit for hours. i wasnt built for this shit at 30 years old. the supervisor was a crackhead with missing teeth. and wanted to work us like the airport ramp was a new plantaion. if you know me. you know i complained from the time i arrived that night until the next morning when it was time to go. shit, the crackhead even was upset tht i was eating an apple on what i thought was a lunch break. there wasnt one. dudes worked thru the 12 hour night, and when you workl overtime and havent ate anything. you dont look for a watch. you look for jesus.

Holy Crap

Okay. I used to install cable in homes/businesses. Every morning, I had to get coffee. When the baby's mom and I lived together we decided to get a coffee maker for the apartment. Bad fucking idea. Sometimes she would cook and leave before I woke up and left for work. Or I would eat some bacon and eggs every morning. And of course make coffee. Now being a man, why would I read directions? I figure I just pour as many grinds into the thing until I saw fit. But the issue with this is. EVERY MORNING. I had to take a monster shit. And being that my day always started early, it meant that I did not have to shit until I was in front of a customer’s house, on the pole with a heavy tool belt on. I would have some SERIOUS bubble guts. I always climbed my happy ass down the pole, and request to use the customer's bathroom. There is something about wearing a tool belt that makes you say fuck it sometimes. For every customer whose house I shit in. I am sorry. For every customer whose house I shit in and did not have toilet paper in the bathroom. Fuck you.

One time I was at a Spanish house. They literally spoke no English at all. I was mad at the fact they were getting basic cable. Wtf did that pay? Shit? Nothing. So I asked to use the bathroom. I mean, that was the type of shit you wanted to take a picture of. I really tried to mask the smell by lighting a match. No avail. I came out feeling about 10 pounds lighter. My tool belt was comfy, and I had a spring in my step. The funny thing is that my daughter's mother is from PR. so I know some Spanish words. The bad one. All I heard was CONNNNOOOOOOOO BENDITOOOOOOOOO. I was working in the barrio, its not like I would get tipped or some shit. Don’t give me no damn pesos Esmeralda. I think they had opened all the windows, and it was the dead of winter. Lol. Shitting in a customer's house does not warrant me going to hell. However.

Luckily, I got moved up to the good area with all the nice white folks. They always tipped. So this guy has a brand new house that he bought. He was going to rent it out and talking about things I had no interest. The thing is, I knew when I would not get tipped because the customer would always be mouthing off. Tips meant money. Money meant beer money when I finished. So this guy blah blah blah with all the jibba jabba. Guess what? I was still drinking that crazy strong super coffee I made in the mornings. Again, the bubble guts hit me as soon as I hit the pole. It was like clockwork. And I am sure the time was always around 930-945am. Then the guy starts saying shit like he doesn’t want to see any wires, his kid is going to Yale, he is going to practice yoga, so he has to go. Shut the fuck up dude. Don’t you want to see yoga on TV?

Me:” you mind if I use your bathroom?"
Ass:"sure, no prob Bud"
Me:” Call me Omar"

Now Omar was the name I used if I hooked up illegally or took an illegal shit in their crib. Again, I lit this house the fuuuucccckkkk up. And while I was on the bowl, I smoked a cigarette. Read the paper, talked on the cell. You ever just take a shit, and just chill afterwards. Clearly the bathroom is my favorite place to think. The guy was gone I thought. So I am sitting there on the bowl, thinking about life and wondering about my next job. And then I look around. This son of a bitch in theist new ass house is sending his kid to Yale, but did NOT purchase toilet paper. So I am fucked now. Who wants to walk around with shit in they ass all day. Knowing I have at least 3 hours left to work and shit. AH HAAAAAAA. I had the paper. So not only did I fuck the bathroom up. But I had to wipe my ass with the daily news. It gets better. So I wipe my ass, now I have sports prints on my ass. I try to ball the paper up. Get shit on my hands a little. Great fuckin day. So I try to flush this massive shit down. With the added sports page of the daily news, and the shit over flows. The door was closed and all. But I heard the owner come back into the area where the bathroom is at. He said what only rich white people can say

Ass:"My word Helen (some shit) what is that?

How do you explain this? I didn’t. I just asked for a plunger and some air freshener. Do you know the fool did give me a tip after all? I'm guessing it was because the quicker I go, the quicker they could niggatize the bathroom.

Where is the Verizon guy? i'm Bored as a 4 letter word

In the United States, a Social Security number (or SSN) is a 9 digit number issued to citizens, permanent residents, and temporary (working) residents under section 205(c)(2) of the Social Security Act, codified as 42 U.S.C. § 405(c)(2). The number is issued to an individual by the Social Security Administration, an agency of the federal government. Its primary purposes are to track individuals' Social Security benefits, and to track individuals for taxation purposes. In recent years the SSN has become a de facto national identification number.[citation needed] A social security number may be obtained by applying on Form SS–5, "Application for A Social Security Number Card"

Now it brings me to a very funny story. Now what I was going to do is stop all the shenanigans, however in light of new information I figure why not just write random stories. Without saying any names, I knew someone that was bored, needed something to do. Knowing me, of course I suggest getting a job. So one day this person went to a lavish place in NYC, that I bet just any woman would love to work, because of its name alone. So as the story goes. The issue is that most of these stories when they are told to me are so extra I really have to think as to whether they are true or not. Ya know? But anyways, they apparently loved her style, etc, damn near wanted the job to be hers ASAP. So in their hurried attempt to get them on board, an application was offered, and of course you fill it out. However, she did not know one important number. Not credit card, or phone number, but the social. And the genius had to leave because of course; they had to find out what the number is. Now I do not have any problem with someone being an idiot. But what I cannot stand is when someone is allllwaaayyysss claiming how smart they are, how nice they are, how pretty they are. I I I I I. damn shit. You ever get a gift or anything from someone in front of your mother, and before you can open your mouth, she says "say thank you" and your like damn ma, give me a chance will ya? Now granted, I think that at a certain age that number should be implanted in your head. Regardless if you have been to school, have worked whatever. It is a life number. Stays with you like luggage. the shit is not going anywhere. So when that happened, I think I was initially upset, because it just sounded so dumb. And then I believed I cracked up for the same reason. So what happens after that in a thinking persons mind “if you never knew it, how was you in school??” "If you never knew it, then how did you get paid for modeling or whatever?" all types of things go thru your mind. Like, this person is fake all the way thru. The stories are bogus. And what I don’t tend to do is judge folks, I do. But I don’t go out of my way to do so. Like right now on my bday of all days people want to censor this. I have not lied about anything. It is all truth. The funny thing is that why would anyone hate the truth, unless it is gruesome. This all could have been avoided, by a simple apology, and for lies not to have been told to begin with. I am not bitter today. I just feel the need to write everyday. And if something is on my mind, and I am inspired in some way, then this is what I do. Sue me

voo doo

i am reading up on it. there is no reason all this fucking hair should be in my presence. and what i am going to do what my therapists told mr to do is payback shit. well. i dont have the money. but have gifts. the baby wont miss the electronic keyboard anyways. since it was givin in bullshit i guess. what do i need a psp for? dont need the shit either. missed out on selling it due to dumb ass reasons. i guess whn you have rent to pay, tou will do anything. perhaps i am the descendant of a witch. why her spell book disappeard is beyond me. someone in the family has it. i will find the shit damnit.

Breathe I wont die, not for another 40 years I think.

so, i started something new maybe a couple months ago. of course this would leave anyone to say...

"Well, why are you posting such things in your blog?"

My answer plain and simple is because I can, and ant to. if i am bored i most definitly will> it is my nature. now anyone that knows me, personally, knows that I am a good guy. shit. even people that dont know me like that knows that. for some reason, esp at work, people always have some reason to tell me their craziest deepest darkest secrets. for some reason. the only thing is that i dont reciprocate, because when you do, and the person wasnt a friend, they will come back and throw it in your face. but i had to come to terms with my postings and writings. and i guess from the emails i recieved alot of people think it is classic/funny and want me to continue. i guess i could for the enjoyment of the people.i stopped drinking, and have also decided to stop smoking during the winter months. it is way too cold to go outside to smoke anything, including reefer. one of my biggest issues is respect, and if i feel i am not being respected, i lash out like a crazy forrest animal. that is alot of people i guess. but i cannot talk for anyone else, only for myself.

shit. so i re-meet this girl from years ago. and as soon as we talked it was like we started right where we left off. we see each other from time to time. but the more i see her the more i have to be with her. the good thing is she accepts me for who i am. she doesnt care what i have or dont have. that i smoke or drink. or anything. the shit is true. i cannot expose her at the moment because we have very very strange situations. whats funny is that we havent seen each other for years, and from the moment that we met back up, she tells me that we should have never parted. and of course me beng me, i say 'well, your ass left" and her reply was/is "im sorry" so that shuts me up right there because how many real women apologize. the shit is refreshing. because of her own situation, she knows that if need be, i will do my thing, and she canr say anything. but let her catch me out at a club/bar dancing or flirting with some chick. i know i would hear it. evenm though she has no right to say anything. but i respect her enough to cut it out. if i could i would marry her in a heartbeat. make alot of babies, and just be happy. but at the moment it will take some time. it wouldnt be right if i meet a chick, nd say "if so and so is free, your a goner" it wouldnt be, but this is why i explain my assholism from the door. i can always go back and say "hey, i told you i was an asshole, why are you shocked?"

oh boy, i am fuking sick today. coughing, sneezing, and stuff. i hope this teraflu works. even though taking meds sucks. why did i get daytime formula? the purpose of meds is to put your ass to sleep. so i think it is imperative that i drink some liquor with this daytime formula. i have a date soon, o i need to be on my a-game today and for the next few days.

random ass real ass thoughts

this apartment is indeed too cold. wondering what i should do this evening. the birthdays just arent the same anymore. i dont expect any presents or anything. i didnt get any for the last few years, so there is no way i would care this year. anything or any present for any occasion will be returned. its not like i use shit people give me. i guess when i use hard earned money and by my self someting. i feel like i have done something with my life, and pid for what i deserve to have. this is a random ass thought, so stay with me. sighs. yahoo is going thru an upgrade of some sort. i would like to send some folks my blog or whatever. it'll be back up when i am sleep though. blah to that. and AOL just plain sux donkey balls in my opinion.

if anyone were to read these posts, they could say that i am bitter, upaset, a bitch, whatever. the funny thing is that i dont care. i am not in the world to impress anyone. the only person i need to impress is close to 4 yrs old, and they get impressed easily.

i do know now that dealing with a spoiled brat a few times in my life has affected how i want my seed to be. i want my baby to have the finer things in life. but i do not want to be a crutch, or ruin her to the point that all she will ever be is a pretty face and nothing more. and i will definitly teach her, her social security number early, and teach her what i can about credit. we will start when she starts asking for money for clothes, and phones, candy and ice cream. i dont want my baby to have to work hard. but i do want her to realize that it isnt always about looks, or what man can take care of you.

i met someone that i am forever feeling sorry for. its like they just dont get it. everyone is a yes man. or everyone is telling them they are right. they dont wish to earn a buck, just sit around playing with clothes and make-up. the world is cruel. and unforgiving. i should know. i am cruel and of this world(not really) and when they fall, it will not be pretty at all. but i am evil enough to want to see shit collapse. i get off on shit like that. what can i say?

Once, I F**ked a Midget

So one night I am getting a ride home from a chick with some great tits. And we are talking about some crazy ex of hers, and somehow the subject of midgets came up. I dont know why, but it did. So, I am saying.....

Me "yo, I would fuck a midget"
Her"You would fuck a midget"
Me"Wait, I did fuck a midget"

When I got home I immediately recollected the midget stripper I smashed in the bathroom of a now gone local bar. I dont remember her name, so she will be referred to as Midge, the vertically challened hoodrat of 1998. Now, this is nothing that I am proud of, or wish to brag about. But seriously, how many of you have fucked a real live midget? Zilch, probably. My only regret that is was not on film of some sort.Well perhaps.

My friends had just "came home" after some years, so it was basically one of the just home from prison rituals. Go to the strip club, get crazy drunk, and try to get these dudes some pussy. I mean damn man. You home for 2 months and the only ass you got was from the chick that did a bid with you? Fuck that. We going out dawg. I dont know how we even maintained jobs. We was a mainstay at the bars for 5 stright weeks. And all we ever drank was Bacardi 151. straight. No chaser. what the fuck was I thinking? These niggas was the ones who was locked up forever, not me. Shit. Forever the trooper huh, Flav?

So, one night we decide to go to the dirtiest place known to man at the time, I think it was called Lucky's Palace or some shit. Cant remember. and besides, its been torn down for a while. And for good reasons, I tell you. It is a regular weeknight, maybe a tuesday, or a wednsday or some shit. So basically, the strippers were not anything to glare at, however, after 7 shots of 151, the bitches looked like buffy the body.

That 8th shot that night changed my life.Now I need to explain. There is something about 151 that does something. If you start drinking it straight, it is imperative that, that is the only drink for the rest of the evening. I see why white boys are always getting so fucked up> They like to play around and drink different shit. But living in the hood, nigga, you better just thank God that you have enough money for shots, a cab ride home(if lucky) and enough money for condoms.
So after this 8th shot, it was pretty much apparent that I was going to get some pussy. I mean shit, I had the rubbers already. this is before magnums, so you would have to buy two 3 packs. wasnt trying to go out like willy lump lump

Where was I? Oh, 8th shot. I am invincible. Now my boys were googlin the chicks on the stage, but me I done caught a bitch eye. Now she was thick as hell. The lights were low, but on weekday smut night, you cannot expect the creme de la creme. Is that how that shit is spelled?

So, she comes over to where I am sitting, and asks for a tip. never, I'm really not into that shit. call me a cheap bastard or what have you. If you chose to show your pussy to everyone, then shit, we both are winners. because no matter where you go, there is a white or indian dude in the corner with stacks of cash looking for some brown sugar. and will pay a grip, just to catch VD, bragging rights on the golf course ya know?

Shiitttttt, boy am I drunk. But it is 151, and I am super drunk, and invincible. I cannot be stopped.
Me"Why you asking for tips? you should give me all your money after i fuck you"
Midge"Nigga, I dont be trickin' for no bullshit..."
Me"so what do you trick for?"
Midge"I dont"
Me"Oh, I cant tell, you got some nice titties"
STOP

Yeah, i have no game, but what's the use of having game if you are handsome and have a nice sized dick?" anything after that with me at that time was just a bonus. here comes the bonus.

Me"Listen, I am not into all of this club shit, I know you dont want to be doing this shit. I am not going to tip you, but I can get you a drink."
Midge"Word nigga? Game"
Me"Naw, I'm serious, I'll get you what I'm drinking"
Midge"And what's that? shit, you fucking with that 151 nigga, nawwww"
Me"You got some nice ass titties"

So, she caves in and we talk for another 8 minutes i guess. She drank like 3 shots of that shit. It was 3 dollars a shot, so the bitch just cost me 9 bucks. yeah, I'm fucking. damned that. I go to the end of the bar where my boy was at. now this dude is an ultimate hater. i know he had the rubbers and shit, but all of a sudden, this fuck says he didnt, bring any because he didnt want to disrespect his girl. NEGRO, YOU CHEAT ON HER WITH THE UGLIEST BITCH IN THE HOOD. that was my train of thought at the time. he'd rather me go raw on some useless skank, and watch me die a horrible death. Just so he could say...

"You know, they was in my back pocket, my bad yo, can you sign this?"

So, now my invincible drunk ass is out the door on the way to the 24 hour bodega. 5 blocks down the fucking road, in the middle of january, with a triple fat goose that was apparently on a diet. There were feathers flying out of the jacket every step i ran. Just to what? Buy Rubbers. Saftey first kids. Dinosaurs didnt die because of a meteor, they died because they had no rubbers. that is science.Long Story Short...HAHAHAH....SHORT....I kill me.

I get back, sweating in the winter. Almost died due to running on ice patches, and damn near breaking my head open. i get back inside, and I am greeted at the bar, by Midge, and a double shot of 151. I was so drunk, I'd figured the chick would be the one, for the night. Now, I know this bar, and what happened in the back at times. Now was mine time. Fuck it, my boys still watching, and aint doing nothing. What was I? 22 at the time. i think. I dont even say anything, this chick is like her set was finished soon, and she wanted to talk to me where it was less noise. BINGO. so the rendevous is set up. Her shit is through, and she casually walks to the back. and I am not really paying any mind, just telling my boys that "i'll be back". i said it with invincibility. 151 invincible man. They was fucked up too, but pussyless. i win.

so, I go to this back room. why was this bitch like every bit of 4 feet? why was her head shaped like that? what the fuck was wrong with the lights in the front?!!! why the fuck was my dick still hard? the walk had to have sobered me up a little bit, because this is not the same chick i spent 9 bucks for some shots, subtract the shot she got me, which makes it 6, but still and all, she was behind the bar, and if she wanted to impress me, just give me the 3 bucks back, and i can get my own shot, thank you. thats a rent is due tomorrow rant. so i am like.....

Me"Yo, how tall are you?"
Midge"I dont know, maybe 4 feet 1 or some shit"
Me"what the fuck? This some weird shit, are you a.....?
Midge"everyone in my family is short like me"
Me"Was your family in the circus or some shit?"

she still had nice titties though....

Yeah, I fucked the shit out of her. You see, there is some things that you can do with midgets. i was even thinking of getting her number. i really wanted her to sit indian style on my dick and spin her around like a top, while she screamed 'wheeee" i know. I am a sick bastard. but from what I hear, they serve 151 in hell. so I may be okay.

FOUND IT....but where the eff is the rest????? grumble grumble

Rambunctious. If someone asked me to give them one word that describes me as a youth, that would be the word. And, speaking of the word, word. Thank God for Microsoft word, because I did not know how to spell that shit. As a kid, I remember being called wild, amongst other things that would fall from my mother's mouth, but I am trying to make a G rated book. I am not too concerned with her finding out about me divulging all of this. She only reads books of substance. This is indeed not in this category.

When I was about 7, I lived on 5thstreet, in the hood of the brick city. I cant remember all the details, I just remember there were a lot of Puerto Ricans. The apartments were next to a softball field and behind the field was the city subway line. I had two best friends at the time named Willie and Paul. We did everything together, we were in the same second grade class. Our teacher I believe her name was Mrs. Huganin, or some shit. I will call her Ms. H, because I am not about to type that name, and I am sure even Microsoft cant even spell check that shit. What I remember of her is that she was a black woman, kind of heavyset. All adults were heavyset as far as I was concerned though. This class was the most wild class I could imagine being in. I don't not recall ever doing class work or anything, we just ran around yelling and screaming and throwing shit. Now that I think about it, Ms H smoked cigarettes in the class, and spent most of the day with her head down. As I write this I am becoming nervous, because what if this was a fucking "special education" classroom? And also while I am writing this, I remember the teacher that put me in this mess to begin with.

Miss Fucking Green, my 1st grade teacher from another school. This chick had me kicked out of the school in the month of May because we moved to another town. I mean there was a fire in our house in the middle of a school year for goodness sakes. Now that I think about it, she was one of those unfortunate adults who saw the genius that was me, and was immediately disappointed in her own short comings. This woman was just mean. I do not know why or how or what I ever did to her. Was it my slight case of tourettes? Or was it that I was late getting to school in the Salvation Army clothes that we can only afford with the whopping 80 bucks a month I got for child support? Which by the way, I recall her pointing out to the rest of the class a few times. Did I say she was mean by the way ? I specifically remember when my pencil broke and she told me to just use the damn "pencil point". Every time I see the original wizard of oz movie, I think of her as the witch. Thanks to her I ended up in the retard class, which is probably the best, for I do not wish to be put upon the pedestal that I deserve to be on. I like the common folk.

All I remember about that summer was the rubber band. When I was kid, I don't think I was afraid of anything more then I was of getting popped with a rubber band. Especially the fat ones. Yeah, I'd pop you with one, but don't come towards me with that crap. There's going to be some consequences. The consequence was me ending up in the hospital for a week or so. Me and this chubby Puerto Rican kid named angel were laying cops and robbers or something, and we used rubber bands to shoot at one another like guns. For some reason, I was the robber, and fat angel was chasing me with the rubber band. We ran all through the field, there was no way to catch me, I was a genius, and he was chubby, there is no way I was getting locked up. No way at all. So in my criminal mind, so fresh with ideas at the ripe age of 8, I decided to climb up the softball fence, and shoot rubber bands from above. Damn right, that was a good idea. Superb comes to mind when describing it really. Now the top of the fence was a local hang out of most of the kids during the summer, we would jump on it, roll around, do whatever we pleased. So I was very comfortable. Chubby angel would not be climbing his robust behind up here and I was a sure winner in this battle of the minds.

So I am on the top of the fence, and I am reloading the rubber bands off of my forearm like I was Rambo. PAP, POW, PAP PAP, PAP POW. He got nothing for me. However, before I heard another PAP, I heard SNAP. The damn top of the gate gave way. I just knew that I was falling in slow motion. Slow motion in your mind doesn't mean a damn thing when in reality, you are traveling downward at a speed that would break records. BLAMMMMMMM!!!!! I hit the ground wit the same tenacity that Mike Tyson used to knock out Trevor Berbick. This would not have been so bad if this spot was used to cast away broken bottles, cans, feces, and piss. I mean this was a kid hangout during the day, but at night the freaks came out. Like fat angel's momma, angel senior. I think I laid on the ground for a good 7.6 minutes before I cried like a baby. Or should I say, screamed like I was being attacked by African killer bees. And why the expletive are they called "African"?

I immediately wanted to do some bodily harm to fat angel, because if he would have just wilted to the genius that is me, I would not be in such a situation. Yes I climbed the fence on my own free will, but why didn't he follow me? If he did, we would have fallen at the same time, and then it would be a possibility that I would land on him, thus creating a some sort of pillow or something to land on. What a selfish bastard I though to myself. He even had the ordasity to ask me for my Now & Later's candy, I guess he figured I would not be eating solids for a while, since he saw my face. He helped me up as I was screaming walked with me around to the front of the apartment building. With what I am sure was blood running down my face, I screamed all the way up the stairs to my 3rd floor apartment. The cuts in my grill were stinging in the worse way. I could feel the glass on the left side of my face, and the salty sweat just was pouring in. while banging on the door, I looked back and saw the blood trail that I left. Even though I was still crying, I couldn't help but to think how cool that shit looked. My mother finally opened the door, after finally turning down the teddy Pendergrass she played religiously. She looked at me in horror and said "what the hell were you doing?" teddy was still playing in the back softly, very soft in fact. So soft that I stopped hearing it. "KERPLUNK" is that sound that I am sure I made when I passed out. As it turns out, the long blood trail that I left apparently was not as cool as I initially thought.

So, I wake up in a bed in the children's hospital. Now that I think of it, I thought about what the possibility is that I did not pass out, but my mother knocked me out for being a stupid kid. In any event, I ended up in the place that I needed to be in. My face was still stinging, and from the bandages all around my head, I thought something went down during my nap. My mother was there, and she told me that I needed about 50 stitches or something like that. Now I was afraid of needles at the time, but to add "thread" into it the equation is just too much for me. I really didn't want my mother to leave, but she had to. That teddy Pendergrass album jut came out, and she had to give it a listen to.

After she left the boy in the next bed started asking some dumb ass questions, you know the kind, the non genius questions that I am so easily irked at. "Is that your mother?" Now, if I hadn't said "ma" I could see this as a valid question. But I said that over and over. I should have known right there that this guy would lead me into the depths of near deathism. I forgot his name, or maybe I didn't even care to ask what it was. He seemed like his nose was full of boogers, and he gargled with sand when he talked. He looked like the type of kid that would steal bubble gum out of the supermarket, and chew it feverously, and swallow it when he thought the gig was up. He just seemed so criminal to me for some reason. "Is your mommy coming back?" he asked. "No", I replied. No, no she wasn't I thought, and I immediately began to tear up a little bit. I mean damn, my mother left me alone in the hospital at night with this pre-criminal heavy breathing non common sense question asking (expletive). Instead of leaving the hospital, and running to my grandmother's house, which was only a block away, I stayed; this dude had some cookies.



"Wh, wh, why you in here" he asked, annoying me again. I guess the bandages on my face wasn't a big enough clue. "I fell through a fence", I said. "Damn!!!" he said. O.K. this nigga is nothing but trouble. That is it, he just cursed and he is not even 10 yet, the official age in the hood to use whatever foul language you can think of when not in the presence of adults. I looked to where my clothes were, but I would have bounced in the open back gown I was given to wear. This hard breathing sailor mouthed kid wouldn't be the end of me, No Sir. When trying to move, my body hurt like no one's business. I guess it wasn't just the face that was damaged, because everything seemed to be in pain. "So, how did you fall through a fence?" he asked. Shockingly, this was a valid question, and I was not going to tell him all the gritty details. "Let me get a cookie, and I will tell you what happened" I told him. Now I was going to have to get up regardless now. There wasn't any way that I was going to let him give me one of those cookies. I don't know where his hands have been. Yes, even as a kid, I was smart enough to know when not to eat something from someone else. His hands may have been boogery, so I would have to get out of the bed to get them myself. So I fashioned my self off of the bed, however I guess I didn't realize that I had a needle in my hand. The I.V. pulled out when I tried to walk over to the other bed. The IV pulled out of my hand, and the thing that held the bag fell over. This was the incident that made the nurses work feverously to get me released from the hospital. Instead of covering for me, this sob rang the nurses bell.

The way the nurse looked at me and talked to me the previous night, I was surprised I didn't wake up handcuffed to the bed. She must have known I would have escaped. So, here goes my second day in the children's hospital. My face is still hurting like no one's business. And as I look over, the cookie booger dude isn't in his bed. "Great", I thought. He must have been released before I woke up. The room, I would finally have to myself. There was a lot of ruckus in the hall, but I didn't care to much to find out what it was. Then low and behold, what do I see? The dude flies past the room riding on the I.V. stand. "WHOAAAAAAAAAAAAAA", I heard, and then a crash and boom, and then an "Oh Shit" and then it seemed like a gang of kids laughing. this dude was an idiot. to be continued....

I need a nap and some happy pills.

I am bored out of my damned mind today. The most I have done is walked around. I haven’t even drank today, I am that bored. Now, that’s saying something. I think what I am supposed to be doing is writing everyday. I heard from my ex today. We had a falling out a long time ago, but as usual. It never becomes a long lasting beef. I got my phone turned on and surprisingly, it was her. I don’t mean to gloat, but she is in an even more shittier relationship then ours was. Pretty funny stuff. Sometimes they always come back in some way. We had a discussion about my favorite subject. Relationships, and why are they even legal. If it was up to me, women and men would just sign a contract to be together for a year, and at the end of the year you can choose to extend it or not. There would be certain clauses of course. Like, felatio in the morning. No nagging as soon as I get home. When a certain look is used upon you, it is required that she shuts the fuck up. Don’t want to sound harsh, but, that’s what we are thinking half the times. So my ex says to me that she was livid after we broke up, because I jumped into something very soon after. So in her mind she figured that I was already talking to someone romantically. I could understand why she would be pissed because basically, I was, and I denied it. And she, a sag like me is crazy sensitive, and can sense things a mile away. Matter of fact, she is still mad at that. Its been over 3 years almost. She was even more upset because I kept trying to say that, that was not the case. You can just tell when someone is lying to you. At least I can. She blurts out, “so, you were already fucking her?” I wasn’t, but I know I was going too. She ended up not even being worth it. Blahhh. But I will call her on a lonely drunk ass night. I am so bored and tired. You ever meet anyone that justs over emphasizes things so that it sounds believable, to you and themselves? This was us. We always talk about making the perfect movie together, making the perfect romantic script. We are just either too lazy, or too unfocused to complete it. We have come up with a few titles though; “You lying sack of shit!!” was one, but I don’t think that people that have a problem with bowel movements would support it. Or, “Stalk the one your with”, my personal favorite. You know how many times I went to ole girl’s house, expecting some dude to be there, only to have her narcoleptic ass answer the door finally talking about, “I’m glad I know how to push your buttons”. Wait, Im going to stop writing now, call her up and curse her out. Its therapeutic.

Useless babble.

How does someone, or how can someone tell they are being lied too? Is it a gut feeling? I happen to believe that some have been lying to themselves for so long, that they pick up on others. Make sense? Perhaps not, but that’s what I am rolling with. Dealing with someone like that is like pulling teeth. For instance, this to me is funny. You ever just heard the lamest excuse about something? And in you heart of hearts you knew there was something more. And if you are like me and happen to be overly analytical, then you will try to dissect it down to the bone. And then finally when the truth does come out, the other is mad as shit. It’s almost comical. My therapists said I should conquer pain and disgust with writing. I haven’t done that in so long. And it feels good to do it, and let it all out. The truth will set you free. But if you keep lying to yourself, and enclose yourself in a fantasy world, then when the reality hits, it will destroy your heart. I can’t deal with fantasy seekers anymore. My life is too real to think of magic all the time. My truth is my struggle, and why I continue to keep waking up everyday to change it, no matter how hard it can be. I need a fantasy, but the truth of life keeps it distant.

Hungry as Shit

I am seriously hungry as shit. What ever happened to meals on wheels? Shit, my phone is off, and I couldn’t call them if they were around. If I still was working, I’d at least be able to bum food off a co-worker. My ID badge might still work. Maybe I can infiltrate the building, and hold people hostage. My demands will be taco bell, and ribs from famous dave’s. Shiiiiiiiiiittttttt.

Full Circle of Squares

Damn it, I've been out of work for damn near a year. I firmly believe that people should get paid to look for work. I mean damn man, there is some live bullshit going on when looking for employment. I guess I have been out of the loop in job hunting as of late. There used to be things called, bear with me now, called INTERVIEWS. I know its crazy right? I mean, sitting down with your prospective employer, going over your background, your skills and such. Just an assessment of you as a potential employee.. But AH HAAAA!!! That shit has been cut out, at least 55%. And you know by what? THE SURVEY. Yes nigga yes, the SURVEY. Now you have to type SURVEY in all caps because that’s how it normally should sound. For instance, when Richard Dawson was on "family feud" he would say THE SURVEY SAYS, right? Good, I'm Glad you’re following me, because even though I am the author of this, I too can and may get lost. It’s a skill I normally leave off of my cover letter.


See, I'm lost now, just that fast. Someone called me and my train of thought went out the window. I really thought better and clearer when I was smoking plenty-o-weed. But I have not smoked in a long time, and I am thinking of a future in politics. And there isn’t anything worse then some dude who worked at Pathmark with you coming out to say "we blazed all the time" during the primaries. The person on the phone was no other then my ex. No, not the off balanced chick from the previous blog entry. But an ex from freshman year of high school. I am currently in a relationship, and she knows this, but when she calls lately she is playing or singing Mariah Carey's "we belong together". I always laugh, because it’s funny and cute, but her dumb ass phone is always on some other mess and hangs up before I can say something in response. She has a man, and two kids with him and they are happy together at least once a month. When we talk, I know what the issue is. She wants the damn engagement ring. "After eight years with this (expletive), don’t you think I should get it?” she says. I always agree, and try to apologize for the dude, but I know better then to say too much, because her mouth is still like a sailor's when she's pissed. When she does call, we normally talk about the past, when we were kids. 15 year old kids. I mean, she and I go back before bills had to be paid. We go back like African medallions, and cross color jeans and shit.

When we talk about the past, we always get into an argument about something. Who broke up with who, who lied to whom, who cheated on who, etc etc. I'm still upset that I am just finding out that what she told me her middle name was is actually some shit she made up at that moment in time. She has no middle name. Lmao. Wait, that shit ain't funny *mad face* we was each other's first or second loves, as goofy as it sounds, it was true. I was her first, ya know first to get in the pan-teeeeeez. She be killing me with the ole "you was hurting me, all you said was relax boo, relax". Being such a man, I have blocked that from my memory. In fact, being older and more sensitive, I'd say that I stopped, and I offered her some cocoa and some Twinkies. And waited for her to be ready to continue with the event. She laughs at that notion, and then I say then, "Well, after that day, you sure came to the crib and were but naked before we got to the top step". Strangely, the phone always goes dead after that comment.

Full circle. My ex shall remain nameless. I mean, she didn’t have a middle name, so she won’t have one here on the blog. Nameless, when we were together would always come down to the store that I worked at since I was maybe 12 or so. A small mom & pop business machine store. They sold, bought, and fixed typewriters, check writers, registers, shit like that. I would get there at 3 or 4 everyday, and she would show up 10 to 15 minutes later like clockwork. I know for a fact that nameless knows nothing about the internet or computers, so what I am going to say will have no backlash. How I kept that job is straight crazy because as soon as she came in, we would go to the back and kiss and fanga bang like it was the cure to the deficit. I am sure my fingers smelled like coochie for the next two years because of such actions. Ahhh, the smell of it.

Non cigarette smokers are the most hypocritical people on the face of the earth. It’ like the world is against us smokers. I know its bad for you and all, and some biased studies have even said it is bad for other people. I still refuse to believe that. But who am I? the worse hypocrites are mafuggas that smoke blunts. Arrrggghhh!!! Or anyone that uses any drugs period. I once had a mafugga in front of me shooting heroin in his arm talking about, “man, them things will kill you”. Man, shut the fuck up, didn’t you find that needle in the middle of Washington square park? Lemme take out this cancer stick out the blunt yo. Lemme take out this cancer stick out the blunt yo. Nigga, its still a tobacco leaf!!!

The worse ones are the effing idiots that have a fake ass cough when you are smoking around them. “coughcough” shut the fuck up!!! Hypocrites!!! Fuck it, I smoke. And the more people tell me I should quit, the more I light up. And besides that, I drink like a fish, so I need something to keep focused on while I am falling out of my chair. I bust my ass eventually, but you will never see that cigarette drop, nope, nada. I once dated a crazy vain chick who said to me that, she didn’t want to grow old, she wanted to die while she was still beautiful. Then here’s the hypocritical shit. She then tells me that she wants me to “prolong my life, and wants us to grow old together. You’re going to kill you and me”. I’m like what the fuck?!!! So I say, “sweety, you just said that you want to die young, well shit, I am trying to help YOUR ass out, you don’t appreciate shit, do you?!!!

The world is full of hypocrites. People that don’t eat pork, always telling me that i’m going to die eating that shit. Don’t you know the same mafugga that was shooting heroin with a dirty needle told me that, ‘that stuff will kill ya” me= screw face. Why I ought a. you know what will kill you? Stress. Stress will kill any sorry bastard. Ive been so stressed out lately. Like, I know my landlord who lives downstairs from me owns a few guns, so it is pretty stressful trying to sneak in and out the house. He smokes, and I tried to pay him with cartons. No dice.

Women stress the living hell out of me. Its like we men cannot do anything right. Always being directed. Bossed around. Lemme tell ya. Never never ever ever ever take money from your woman. She wont let you forget it boy. And if you don’t say thank you within the first 3 seconds of receiving it, be prepared for war. A woman that will help you out financially will talk down to you like you were the first born piece of shit. Like you were an ugly baby with a lisp, and a problem with loose bowels. Seriously.

I know for a fact that I have a sign on my forehead that only crazy women see. It has to read; I love crazy bitches. It just has too. Anyone here ever have an online relationship? I mean a serious online relationship. You know your up all night chatting. Sending heart smileys and shit. Your in jersey, she’s in Oklahoma. Man shit, the internet is full of liars. Do you know how many records I produced, how many books I wrote, how many planes I flew while sitting on my ass in my boxers, smoking a cigarette, only leaving the monitor because I thought the mailman was there with my unemployment check? Sheeiiiittttt. If it was up to me I would have ran a senate campaign from my studio apartment. Don’t get me wrong, I love women, its just that sometimes you all don’t know when to shut the hell up. I may go online and look for a deaf or mute chick. Man that would be fucking splendid. Maybe not deaf though, because I’m in no mood to walk around with a chalkboard all day. Bitch, this aint pictionary. No no no, that isn’t a picture of a donut, that’s your pussy.

I had sex with a deaf woman before. I have a conscious and all, but when it was time for me to go while she was sleep, I didn’t have any paper to write down that I had to go ya know, and I used up all the paper in my notebook trying to convince her to even have sex. I know the next time I saw her it wasn’t good. You have not been cursed out until you have been cursed out buy a deaf chick. Mumble mumble mumble with exclamation marks.

They say I suffer from depression. No shit I say. Have you seen my paycheck, or lack thereof? I think most of us suffer because we fucked up a lot in the past, and alllll of that comes back, and bites you in the ass.

Suicidal thoughts are a bitch. I used to smoke a lot of weed, and just dwell on shit. Then get sad and what not. But I guess it was kind of good, because weed makes you lazy as shit. And p-noid. Weed is the gateway drug. I don’t believe that shit at all. If a mafugga started smoking weed, and then elevated to some other shit. That just means it was in that bastards destiny to become a crackhead.

I am serious, that is science, scientifically studied by renowned scientists who’s job it is to practice science and come up with scientific deductions. When someone comes and tell me, “Yo man I am a recovering crack addict” I say, you shouldn’t feel bad, because that was meant for you, that shit is destiny. Ya see, me, I am very spiritual, now I am not blaming God for this, I blame the guardian angels, im sure its divided up there like republicans and democrats. If you have a democrat, chances are you gonna be fucked up in the game. It was your destiny to pick up the pipe and sell your own momma’s jewelry. Its like you should have known when you was a child and played the flute. Matter of fact, you may have even sold that very flute.

I know a lot about destiny. Like when I start a new job, I say “I know I’m going to get fired from here” you know why? Because it’s destiny man. Actually, I am tired of losing jobs because of this syndrome I have. Its called the angry black man syndrome. I thought it was a myth until I went past the funny mirrors at the company picnic and saw I was the only nigga not smiling. And I was under the impression that them shits are supposed to change the appearance. And lets not forget that I smoke, and I have to take a smoke break after everything I have done, so like if I have 10 things to do at work, that’s 10 breaks. Shit, it’s called the 8 hour science.

Do they have tests for adults that see if you are retarded or not? I want to take one man. I need an excuse for half of the shit I do. I know that I have to be, because bright lights hurt my eyes. And I be blinking and shit, twitching. Now it is either that or I’m an albino with the best tan 30 years running.

I don’t think that retard is the pc thing to say, but if the tests come back positive, I am going to protest to bring back the term. How can you ask a mentally challenged person to say mentally challenged, without spitting in someone’s eye. Man, I’m hoping hell isn’t a real place. Because I see the online congrats invitation right damned now.

I don’t like when people look directly at me. I sometimes feel violent, because I think they are trying to steal my soul or something. Like when old people look at me for too long, I think they are trying to steal my youth. I know that’s science because the next day, I don’t feel like masturbating more then once, I am watching infomercials. There are pains in my body. Places I never knew existed hurt. But when people look at me with intensity, I feel my soul leaving, it may be crazy, but I even make the noise that you hear when your soul is leaving. Orrghhhh Haaahnnn Whooaaa Arrggggghh. Bitchhhhhhhhhh fades out.

This is therapeutic.

Someone said I should slow down on m drinking. And I say, you should speed up or something. I have a problem with perfection. Actually, I think its cool to have a lot of damn problems. You know what, I do drink too much and I will admit it here tonight. After I drink a couple of more drinks, I will admit it. You know, I don’t really like to admit to my faults, that’s being a loser, and losers quit, and for me to quit drinking would be a fuckin shame.

You all know that the end of the world is in 2008 right? It’s Science.

I used to write poetry

Iused to write poetry.I was never very good at it. I recited poetry in high school and even competed for awards. However, I barely won, because I would take a poem and make it my own. I am always one for spicing it up a little bit. For example...

How much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck sux and gets fucked in the but.

Auto fukkin matically disqualified.