Faith Shaking

Organized religion is a farce. As much as I would like to be able to understand it, I just can’t allow myself too. There are just so many glaring inconsistencies in the bible. Things that make no sense whatsoever. I have been told that I am a devil enough times where as I can certainly be pissed off, and show my ass to the believers. It is my opinion that you have to be an absolute idiot to believe in jesus. To believe that some dude is going to come down from the clouds and wreak havoc on the wicked and bring peace to all mankind. That shit is ludicrous. As many times as there have been space missions, not once did an astronaut come back and said “I saw jesus and moses playing a holy game of spades, drinking wine spritzers made by jesus, with a little bit of seltzer water.”

Am I supposed to be wrong because I have the ability to be a free thinker? Am I wrong because I do not subscribe to absolute bullshit? There was a time when I was going to church every week. At some point I was dating a chick who would clown the whole fact that I went to church. The discussions as far as I remember did not become heated or anything, but inside I was upset with myself because I could not answer logical questions. She could not believe in anything she couldn’t feel, touch, or see. Years later I guess we are on the same level. There is nothing that any believer can say to me, or do for me to make me change my mind. I mean damn, show me a miracle. Don’t point me towards a ex pimp reverend on television who touched somebody and made them fall out, or touched them, and they were now gout free. Kiss my ass, and I don’t mean the donkey in the back yard.

You know, if you took out all of the bad things in the bible, that it would be nothing but a pamphlet. You take out all the murder, the pedophilia, the rape, the torture, the damnation, the incest, and all the other crazy shit in there, the bible would be a pure Disney movie. Because, there are unicorns in the bible, and we all love them fucking unicorns. It is just scary that people use this book to be the cornerstone of everything that is moral in this world. The book says that you should stone your kids to death, if they disobey you. I am sure glad my mom wasn’t a bible thumper. I also find it odd that jesus, in his three years of ministering, did not have ample time to write down what he would be preaching about the next day or so. No documentation on this guy. Only what people wrote of him many years later. Unless of course, God’s only begotten son was illiterate.

Anyone remember Jim Jones? Well, I hope you believers that are going to heaven can stomach a mass murderer. He is in heaven, as well as Jeffrey Dahmer, John Wayne Gacy, and others that became born again before their demise. Heaven is a place where you have eternal life, and happiness. But can you really be happy in heaven, when some of the people you love the most in life, didn’t make it? I know I would be eternally pissed. Instead of being in the afterlife with my favorite aunt playing cloud jump 2000, I’d have to endure stories from Jeff Dahmer, about how to cook human thighs, and what seasoning to use.

Bottom line, it is all bullshit. Blind faith is silly. Believing that a man died for your sins is absurd. And if that is the case, then there is nothing you have to confess too, because the dude is dead, and died for you sins, so basically, we are all in the clear anyway. Good shit, Thank Ya Horus, I mean Khrisna, I mean Diyonysis, I am missing someone I think. Deep down, most of you believers know it is bullshit too. But you don’t have the courage to stand up and say it. Because you need something to feel good about. You need someone to believe in because you don’t believe in yourself. Fundamentalists are worse than crack addicted street whores. You sell yourself, just to get high, and get high again. You wont stop, you cant stop.

The Complaint Line

384-7636

Favorite Joke of All Time

Two harelips, Willy and Joe, just finished up two hard weeks’ work on a Kansas farm. Seeing as it was payday, they got all slickered up and decided to blow some of it on a night on the town. On the way into town, Willy, the brains of the pair, began discussing plans for the night. “Lnet nit lnaid” he suggested.
“Onay,” chimed in Joe, eyes lighting up.
After a little further thought, Willy reflected, “Ya know, weewn not gunna nit no regner girwols winth these harwips. Lnets not mess arown, lnet’s nit some whors.”
“Onay,” Joe says happily.
“we better nit some wubbers. Don’ want some whors to nive us the dwip.” So Joe was dispatched into the pharmacy with fifty cents. “Huh?” said the pimpled faced teenage behind the desk in answer to the request.
“Wubbers, you know, are-you-be-be-ee-are-wes, wubbers!” said Joe.
“Gee, I’m sorry fella, I must not be hearing right’” said the clerk, and an embarrassed Joe returned empty handed to the car. “Onay,” said Willy after much thought, “you go back in there ‘n you snay weal swolly: I wnant some pwo-fil-act-wics. Snay it weal swol ‘n enpaswize eah swilable.” Off went Joe, only to return again dejected and empty-handed.
“All white Joe,” proposed Willy, “now you do exactwy what I tell you to do. You go in nere ‘n you unzwip your pnants ‘n you way fitty tents on the countner ‘n den you way your dick up nere, too, ‘n he should gnet the idea.” Joe marched into the store but burst out a few moments later, in tears and so frustrated that it took Willy nearly ten minutes to get the story out of him.
Tearfully, Joe began. “Willy, damwit, I did ex-actwy what you tol’ me to do. I walked in nere, I waid fitty tents on the counter, I waid my dick up nere too, and you know what he did?!”
“What?” asked the anxious Willy.
“Well, he unzwipped his pnants, waid his dick on the countner, ‘n said his dick was two ninches longer than my dick ‘n he took my fitty tents.”

Late night Random Thoughts....sponsored by the dime bag

This beat is just too hot, I cant stop listening to it. Damn if it doesn’t bring on rhymes. Sometimes I am up late and I write.


I see ya lookin at the pages,
the blog and the myspaces
Much as ya wan to,
ya can’t erase this this
When ya tasteless, and tell lies that so baseless
Ya’ll pulled some low cards,
But flav got these aces
talk slick still, I put them legs
in some braces
you hate this and turn red
Over things I said
hoping I would die, yup
Kill yaself instead
I can murder with these words
You aint go to feel no lead
But try me
This bird named pachita tried to buy me
But I just skeeted on her mommy
Like Segundo
He told Chris Hansen
That he was having fun though
Predator with money
Aint that shit funny?
And koon-grow he’s a dummy
Minding other’s biznesses
Don’t he know that I’m crazy
And move with no witnesses
I was cool during school
Even learned photosynthesis

Lmao

Damn, that was comical to me….
I said photosynthesis
Isn’t that where the light helps plants grow or some shit?
Damn, I need to go to junior college.
Two years max
Lemme call my mom to get my social
Hope she picks up.
Damn, damn damn.
Throws blunt down in disgust!\
Picks it back up.
Go reefer, go reefer, go reefer

Crazy midget people from California…

A long time ago, way way back in 1998, I fell in love. I mean it was the type of shit that you seen in movies. Matter of fact, you did see it in the movies. That movie was You Got Mail. It is well known that when t comes to the working world, that I do my best to be the best slacker. And what better way than to hone my skills, than using up my company’s bandwidth to be on yahoo chat for at least six hours of the workday. I still don’t think they caught on. It was a cable company, and high speed broadband was just introduced in the area. And being a sometimesy tech head, I went for the gig. With my resume, I was a shoe in.

Fast-forward maybe a year, and all I did was chat, there was nothing else much to do. I mean I could have easily done the help desk thing and helped paying customers. But I had a moral obligation not to sometimes. Then, day trading was at an all time high. Mix that with all time highs of outages makes for an angry day trading customer. I like foul language as much as the next guy, but direct it towards me, and you are lucky if I speak with my natural language.

I had a good friend that worked with me who introduced me to it. Everyday, she was hanging up on customers and laughing her ass off, while keeping her gig. I had to get on this program. All of in the office had instant messenger programs to chat with each other, so I wasn’t lacking the requirements. She gave me the info, and a star was born. My initial screen name was domeaflava. Derived from my AOL account, which was bigflava, which wasn’t available on yahoo. Which is fucked up. I was using bigflava since that damned web TV. Any of you remember that? It was like watching molasses. It was so slow; the TV would just be creeping, waiting for a connection. I sent the makers of it an email, requesting that perhaps it would be a grand idea to show some naked hoes on the screen shaking their ass while connecting I don’t even know if they replied. That was very marketable

So, anyhoo. Pay attention, I took it back, and then I took it back some more, and I’m taking it back to where it was where I took it back to begin with, now we are back at that point, but I will go back if I understood what I just wrote. (Long pause for me)
Oh! So, I am in this chat and that’s all some of us are doing at work like all day long. I would giggle like a bigheaded Cuban chick when I thought about getting paid for chatting and hanging up on angry customers. I mean I assisted sometimes, but that’s because a manger would let us know we’d be getting listened too. God bless that woman. About a year into the job (can you imagine???) I have met me a gang of people from all over the globe. You had an online version of everything you had in the so-called real life. Pimps, player, hoes, well turns out, most of them hoes were real life hoes. But in my mind, everyone was a poser. All the arguments were over who had this and what. Who is really balling, and etc etc. I still find it funny to this day that there is so many folks online who build up a web persona that is a 180-degree turn from what they actually are. Ma, oh man, I found out the fucking hard way.

One day I said something about st. Irish day, that would have been very offensive to the Irish, but being that I said it on st. Irish day, I am pretty sure no one read it, because most of them were drunk as shit. Hey, don’t get mad at me. If you drink green beer, you have an alcohol problem. Not to mention the leprechauns. Wait, is it even called st. Irish day?
Ahhhh, I mean st. Patrick’s Day. I am drinking a beer right now, but it isn’t green, it’s a Heineken.

So, this chick from California who I guess I can say was cool with me send me a message about how she just had to talk to me after I made that witty comment. I didn’t even find that amusing, and I don’t even remember. But that was the beginning of it all. From that point on, we spoke maybe everyday for 6 months, on the phone, online, you name the equipment, and we used it to talk on it. The thing is that I was 3,000 miles away, and I could not really be serious about this at all. Fifteen hundred miles, eh, maybe, but jersey to Cali is one hell of a fucking commute.

But I was getting antsy, I saw a few pics of her, and she of me, courtesy of Blackplanet.com. Something was off in her pics to me somehow. I am laughing out loud because I know I should have seen this coming. You see, I fall for things that others don’t, a voice used to get me, and her voice was just like nothing I ever heard before. Got my dick hard. But then again, so does a hard gust of wind, soooooooo. The pic she sent me was of her and her younger brother. The pic looked kind of dated, but still. I kept it going.

I made the decision to go out to see her. Now, this wasn’t easy, because I am very cheap. No, actually, I am always on a budget. At least that’s what close friends and exes seem to say. So, I decided to fly southwest, they had a deal. I was budgeting. No matter how much money I had in my account, I was going to make this the cheapest trip possible. But Ahhhh haaaaaaaa, there is always bullshit when you try to save. At the time southwest was not flying from Newark, I had to get to Baltimore to catch the flight. Motherfucker!!! That is $69 round trip from Newark to bmore and back. I could have changed airlines I guess. I look online, tickets are $300 more. So, budgetly speaking, the bus trip didn’t seem all that bad to me at that point. At the time I had long locs, and I went to Beautiful’s house to get them twisted up. I love that woman. But I’m telling her about my trip and we are discussing it, and I tell her that I have to get to bmore for the trip. Well, wouldn’t ya know, she was going down the same night as my flight. Gold Star information!!!! It almost seemed like fate or destiny.

Destiny my ass, something had happened with Beautiful, and she wasn’t going to be able to make the trip. I wasn’t mad, it was last minute, and we come from a place where shit happens. So, all this means is that, yes I will have to buy the tickets for the bus. Gold Star Shitformation!!!! Not only do I have to buy the tickets for the bus, but also the bus leaving Newark that night was the only one going there that night. Which mean that I would arrive in Baltimore, 6 or 7 hours before my flight took off. This shit is getting better every second. And yes ladies and germs, that’s what you call sarcasm. Fuck it, I was on a mission, I don’t know if those tickets were refundable, or I can’t remember. There were many reasons to go, I haven’t been out west for about 7 years, and it was the middle of January. So here, it was cold, as you couldn’t believe.

Shit, I just thought of something. I remember the jacket I had on for the trip, and I was wearing that jacket when I was dating a chick where I was. Damn, I think she thinks we were exclusive. Maybe we were, just not when I was in California. Now, that’s good science.

Before I even board the bus, I am at the liquor store. At that point I hadn’t flown in some years, and I was quite nervous about it. When I worked at the airport and had to go into the cockpit, there always a shit load of stickers that said “inoperable”. Here I am the guy fueling the plane, hand the slip to the captain, and all the gauges have yellow stickers on them. Damn. So I get the Hennessey from the lq, and I am off and on my way to bmore. I was excited about the trip, and I had a few swigs on the bus to calm my nerves. The cut chick next to me said I was dead wrong for drinking on the bus. I asked her how wrong would I be if I offered the driver some at the next rest stop? She buttoned her lips. That didn’t last long, because she was asking for a swig to fight off the night chill. Uh huh, playing that fake do gooder shit. She knew about the Hennessey dick. Got the number, don’t think we ever spoke again though.

So, we get to Baltimore, it had to be like 2am in the morning. Still cold because it is still the east coast. What the hell was I going to do at the greyhound bus station for about 6 hours? What the hell was I going to do? Not a damn thing, that’s what!! Here it is 2am, and there are nigga lined up around the station, like a club just closed or something. I’m looking around like what the hell is this shit? When I say crowded, it was crowded, for that time of morning, in the winter, helllssss naw. This older dude comes up and asks if I need a ride. First I was like I’m cool, because who is this greasy old man, trying to give me a ride. I asked over and over was he a cab driver; he kept saying “I give rides for people”. The hell does that mean Grady? I relented, because I figured its better to be in the airport knocked out, then getting knocked out at the greyhound station. What was weird about the ride is that I never rode up front in a cab, that shit doesn’t go down here.
Get to the airport, and I am only slightly buzzed, I knock off about half of the henny and coke I had in the bottle, and laid my ass down. That was a good assed sleep. Probably the last time I slept good the rest of that week.

Yeeeeeeeeeeeeonnnnnnnnnnnnnnn. That is my impersonation of a plane taking off. I was on my way baby! This is what I learned about airplane travel. The cheaper you pay, the more stops your ass is going to make. There was this white kid on the flight. Matter of fact, he was going to Cali too. Everytime we stopped at another city, he and I were the only passengers left until the end of the trip. He and I started drinking EARLY; I guess he had the same fears. The first stop was in Chicago. I don’t know why it took that long to get there. There was a shit load of turbulence. Know what that means? You got it, more drinks. Since there was a storm or some shit, I think we had to circle around until we landed or whatever. I was a nervous drunk, man, I tell ya. By the time we landed, we were sitting there laughing at this trip we were on. There were THREE more stops until we hit California. I didn’t get it. I think you can have jet lag while in flight. I kept passing out, waking up, going back to sleep, waking up. And when I woke up, there was a drink in front of me, courtesy of my new flight white friend. The next three stops were Kansas City; I think Houston, and then phoenix. I don’t know, all I know is that I was never flying cheap again. But I do know that if I do, I’d have a drinking buddy.

So, I get there, sunny California, wait, sunny, hot, hot as shit. I have this giant assed turtleneck on, underneath, there’s a tank top, a thermal, and a sleeveless tee. I’m walking around; there are chicks in shorts and flip flaps. And here I am, long ass dreads, leather jacket, looking like shaft 2000. Hush yo mouth. I’m walking out through the airport, and as I’m walking, here she comes. She looked like the picture. Sort of. Not bad looking at all, just a tad, a smidge, uh, um, a lil bit older. But again, not bad looking at all. Soon as she sees me, she is all over me. Tongue down the throat, we ass grabbing in the airport like I just came home from the war. Fuck it; I knew what was going to happen later. You guessed it. A mess load of passionate, mind numbing, glorious, unbelievable, and diabolical….

DRAMA. And not just any regular old drama. This is 3000 miles away from home drama. This is just cant call ya boys up cause you beefing drama. This is I aint got a damn friend in the world in Cali drama. This is oh shit, I forgot about the west coast east coast drama, drama. This is cant call home to get bail posted because ya family told ya ass not to go in the first place you jackass drama.

So we are driving throughout her city, and the place is wonderful. The palm trees, the big assed streets. The weather was great. We are in her minivan(hint,hint,hint), and I am just loving it. She is asking me if I could se myself living out there, and did I realize that she could make me very happy if I stayed. I was caught up by the beaches, and some of the lights, and the port, I was just diggin it, so I was like yeah, why not. We go to her mother’s house to get her son, who was about two or three. Her mother was very nice, and had prepared a meal, or as I like to call it, horrible fucking soup. So I am sitting there trying to eat this um, creation, it was very hard to smile and look grateful while doing so. I couldn’t help but to think if they threw a net in the water by their house, and just said, “looks edible, fuck it, I name thee dinner!”. Ole girl was obviously ready to bounce out and go do something else. Her moms asked if her son could stay another night. She said sure. That was my queue to eat the soup like Jesus made it. Yum!

Off we go to her house. As soon as we get in the house it is almost like a movie, clothes are being taken off. A lot of kiss face going on. Oh yeah, it was about to happen. We went from the living room to the bedroom. But I went right back downstairs to get the rubbers. This shit was going to be on and poppin. She had that mother hearing down to a science already, for a mom of a two year old. Because she heard a key hit the door. It was funny, I heard nothing, except my dick asking “hey, where da pussy at?” Well shit, who comes in? No one but her seventeen-year-old younger brother, coming in to get his skateboard. They yell at each other for a minute, he mumbles something and bounces. She then said, she felt funny, and would like to go out to eat or something, because we had a ton of time. I agreed, but my dick kept talking “all this up and down is bad for my nerves”. Well, nerves, funny he should mention that.

So, as we get ready to go to the minivan (hintniggahinthint), a dude comes from behind the motherfucking bushes from nowhere. I mean, there was a shit load of bushes. The bushes had to be at least 5 feet. And he walked from behind them, not jumped like arrrgghhhhh! But walked calmly up to her, and just started yelling. And as if on queue, she starts going at it with him, like this was the norm. And I remember her saying, “oh boy”, like it was a regular occurrence. Well, I am about 6’1.75”. He is sizing me up, but not even menacing or anything. He just says,
“Look bro, I don’t know you, but this bitch, is no good bro, no good, I’m sorry, but she s no fucking good.

She cuts him off, as women caught in some shit tend to do when they wrong. Well, guess how wrong she is. He says to her..

“Where are my fucking kids? Are they at so and so’s house again? Where are the girls? Where are the fucking kids?”

Me, I don’t even say anything, and I wasn’t scared or anything, I was just looking around for cameras. This had to be a joke, had to be, just hadddddddd to be. If you know me, I like to observe. So I calmly lit a cigarette, leaned on the minivan(nomorehints) and smoked, and laughed my ass off. I’m sitting there thinking, “Kids, that’s plural.” He then says…

“I can’t wait to get a fucking divorce from you!!!”

“Damn, you’re married too?”

She doesn’t answer.

In hindsight that should’ve been the least of my concern, she denied her fucking kids. But at that time I wasn’t a father, so I guess it wasn’t that big of a deal. So then, I start asking the dude questions like, how many kids, ya’ll still fucking?, does she give head? The shit you should ask all of your new interest’s exes. He goes on to answer the most serious of the questions. Four kids, and the kid that was damn near 18 was her oldest son. My jaw dropped. I just thought it was the twilight zone. I wish there was a picture taken at that very moment, because I know the look on my face had to be something like bush would make when getting asked a touch question. You know, just confused as shit.

I could detail the rest of my trip, but I have been up all night. I have made her feel guilty enough in all the years since it happened. I will say that I did forgive her. Oh, I still smashed, don’t get it twisted. I see why that little dude was waiting behind the bushes. And she was going through something. That’s no excuse, but I’m sure she was. I met her kids, her boys, and her two girls, and I love them to death, and they still remember me as the giant with dreadlocks. They were the sweetest kids ever. All of them. I met her best friends, and her friend’s mom, as well as her friend’s boyfriends. I bonded with all of them instantly. Gang dudes at that. And they were the coolest best weed havingest in the whole wide world. I don’t know if they got the pic still. Apparently I smoked, I drank, and fell asleep on the couch with a bottle in my hand and a big assed weed grin on my face. It was the exact environment I was looking for. I was comfortable. I am still friends with them all to this day, the oldest daughter started college this year, and I stay getting pics of them, prom pics, and just regular pics. Updates on everything. I still love her despite it all. And when I got back home, and went back to work, its as it never happened. No one knew, I said nothing to anyone, she said nothing to anyone, and that’s why we remained friends. I had enough sense not to put her private family life in the ears or to the eyes of anyone. But you cannot build anything based on a lie, because it is deemed to fail when the truth comes out to rear its big assed head. And you can’t get mad when you are caught out there. Especially, in sunny California.

Poor Marvin, and these damn shoes of mine.

Poor Marvin, and these damn shoes of mine.


The more I think, the more I really believe that I was cursed at birth. Had to be, there is just no other way that I wasn’t. as ungrateful as it sounds, I luckily had the misfortune of having a couple of parents that had nothing but hate for one another. Unfortunately, all it did is put me in the middle of what I am sure were stupid kid games. For me to remember them all, I would have to be severely drunk and become severely depressed. That would force me to relive my sordid past. But on a lighter note, I really believe that there were all sorts of games being played at my expense. Let me revisit the buster brown shoe experiment.

Now there was one weekend where my pops took me shoe shopping. I was not all that excited, because its not like I ever brought any of the stuff he bought, home with me. Never anytime since I started getting that visitation crap. However, out of 3 pairs of shoes he got for me, he gave me the least favorite of hem all. I m no shoe freak or anything, but these shits were horrible. At that time I really hated the color brown. And these shoes were not only brown, but they had a hump in the front. I mean a real big assed hump in the front on the top. They looked like something that a kid with a club foot would wear.

When I wore them, I felt like I was Frankenstein or some character out of a science fiction horror romance murder novel. I mean, these shoes were so hideous, that I would have nightmare of me walking to school, and the shoes were following me, kicking me in the as while I walked to school. The hump made tem look like if I dropped food on the floor while eating, that the hump would open up, stick out a tongue and lap up the jettisoned food. These fucking shoes where like the plant, Audrey from that movie. Except, these were the “little shoes of horror.”

When I was told by the old man that I could bring these shoes home with me, I am pretty sure I said no thank you. Maybe I didn’t say anything at all for fear of getting another unexplained ass whooping. All the details are sketchy being that it was so long ago. But the hate for the kicks sill run rampant in my ever thinking mind. Before I became a parent, I didn’t know what baby daddy and momma drama was all about. But, right now, I am sure that moms complained that I had no shoes to wear, and that led to an argument, and that led to some sort of evil get back from my pops. Enter these fucking shoes.

So after the weekend, I go back home, and I showed my moms the shoes. She was happy I got them, because we didn’t have much at all in those days. The next morning, my mom picked out clothes she thought I should wear to school. Big fucking mistake that I allowed that. Because what she chose for me to wear were them shoes. Man listen, I cried like a little fat girl protesting the discontinuation of the easy bake oven.

The first day I went to school with those shoes, I did not hear the end of it. I was ridiculed like there was nothing else to do in the third grade. I mean, it isn’t like tit was an item that you could hide or flip inside out. These were shoes damnit! This was the time that I realized that a woman, when they see you will look at you a certain way. They look first at your face, and then make a b line to your shoes, and then let their eyes glide back up to your face, if the shoes were proper. In my case, I would not be dry humping Sharissa Blackwood with these shoes on. I had a better chance with flip flops on with gangrene toes, including fruit flies orbiting my feet.

I went a whole week wearing these shoes. When we went to gym, I would try to leave the shoes in my bag and rock my kangaroo sneakers back to class. My teacher, Mrs. Clark was not having it, she would direct me into the coatroom, and order me to put the shoes back on. She was my all time favorite teacher ever, but I surely will never forgive that fiasco.

I don’t know what the hell was wrong with us kids. We had an asphalt playground. The only tool for enjoyment as a kid was a sliding board. We barely used it. We used it for one game. The purpose of the game I don’t know. But it was fun for anyone that didn’t get hurt. We would play this game on the day I wear them fucking shoes. The game was simple. All we had to do was hold a kid at the bottom of the slide, and see if the kid could get away before the slider came down and knocked them the hell out. Crack had not yet reached the area, so there was no real excuse for this particular game. We always tried to play catch a girl get a girl, but the teachers aides were hip to that. I m guessing they were hip because when they were young, they were the humpee’s, thus never becoming more than a teachers’s aide, instead of a teacher.

So, it was my turn to get on the slide. There was a little Peruvian kid named Marvin. One of the few Spanish speaking kids in the school. He protested about being held at the bottom of the slide. And I was impressed with his English. “NO, NO NOOOOO”. He should haven’t been in the esl class. So, there they are holding him at the bottom, and here I come. Now, I was a little guy, so it were the shoes that catapulted me downward with a vicious force. So, there I go, just a sliding. I am sure it was quicker than I recall. In my mind it is slow motion now. So, I get to the bottom. Poor marvin had a look on his face of pure fear. We meet, or my shoes met his fingers. CRACKKKKKKK. Marvin fell down grabbing his hand, speaking the best Peruvian Spanish I ever heard. The teacher’s aide comes over to aide him.

Poor Marvin’s fingers were broke. And I was in trouble. Oh boy, was I in trouble. The next day Marvin came to school with his father with his fingers all bandaged the hell up. I thought it was fake. Besides, Marvin was Spanish speeding down the slide too. What an ass. And I am sitting there in the principal’s office while marvin’s pops goes on about how the family had a band, and that his son played the GeeTar. That is how he pronounced it. And he went on and on about how his son may never play the Geetar again. What the fuck? A family band of Peruvians? There is no damn music in Peru. “I don’t know how he can go on if he cannot play the GeeTar, the GeeTar is what his life is, what if he cannot play the Geetar again, then mi familia will never be the same, he tried to play the GeeTar lass night, and he cry because he no can play I aska him why he cry for, and he tell me that he can no longer bring joy in this country. Man, I was tired about this damn Geetar. I was wishing that while I was sliding down the slide, that I had a guitar in my hands so I could have whacked him with it, right after my shoes handled the take down. Of course the principal feeling a lawsuit coming on asks me what I had to say for myself. And I thought “Marvin played the guitar in the class play we had, it sounded like shit, maybe this is what god intended’. But all I could conjure up was a ‘I don’t know”. When you are a kid, “I don’t know” is always the way to go, even if you know. Its no surprise that I was going to be suspended for a couple days. For a little Peruvian geetar playing summabitch that couldn’t move out the way of my giant assed shoes. Well, his fingers were the fan., and these damn shoes were the shit that hit it. The dad looked at my shoes and said “AYE DIOS MIO” and snickered. That bastard. If you ask me, Marvin came out on top. He didn’t have to do school work for weeks. And I was relegated to stay my ass in the lunchroom after we ate. And you know the fuck what? Marvin’s ass was bought an ice cream sandwich by the aide that helped his ass when got hurt. And he was using the “GeetTar hand” to hold it. If I saw him today, I’d throw a sliding board at his ass this time. Fucking Geetars.

SOMETIMES I'M UP LATE...AND JUST RHYME

All the times you were gone I had rene and lisa
After a ten minute convo over grape juice and pizza
When we first met I was still fucking my ex
A virgin, come the fuck on
Its all about sex
A long line and plenty
My job had its benefits
You can ask if I cheated
My answer is a little bit
Cant forget the baby moms yo
We argue and fight
She stay born again
And the pussy still tight
I’m ill right?
Or crazy
cause I banged the chick next door
You keep leaving
I be looking for that next whore
Katrina, we banged it out in the back of her beamer
I aint looking for a dreamer
I need real, not a ninja
Ask stacy why she give dome like a head offender
And then there’s Brenda got an ass
Like Sunday dinner
Her macaroni’s better
She got some of yo cheddar
Cant forget maymay
She was calling mayday
While yo love was for play play
I say hey
I was bending over tia from liberia
At the job’s cafeteria
She took it like a champ does
Bang bang, aint no love
See you at the next break
But oh wait
I kept it real
But bitch, you was so fake
Theres no rape
Ya lie fools believe you
In the bricks we can see thru
The bullshit you speak
Is all evil
My peoples veronica
Blows dicks like harmonicas
That nice tune
That nice tune
I hear things
And your ring
Its here hoe
And waiting
You skating on thin ice
With them feet
You fall quick
I’m all this
And then some
You ever heard of ransom
Who’d pay it?
Money isn’t everything
Yo man’s a punk
You ever heard a nigga sing?
They sweet juice
and nothing
I dare a nigga
To say something
Its over
Got the addy
Call up them big caddies.

ITS MY LIFE.....YOU CAN LIVE IT TOO

A favorite question of mine is what am I so mad, and vicious, and cruel. Why am I easily hurt it may seem at times. Why do I go all out for revenge? Why am I weird? Why do I suffer from depression at times? It is simple. I have never felt the love of anyone without some type of bullshit to go along with it. This is going to be pretty much a ramble, that’s my style. Lets go back to the eighties. Maybe seventies, its not like I looked at the calendar when I was a kid. When I was maybe five, I could remember my mother’s brother watching me sometimes if she had to work, either him, my aunt, or grandma. My uncle Allan would beat on me unmercifully, al the time. I know I always fought back, but shit he had me by like 6 years or so. Now that I remember, he did it to impress his friends. I can say that I hated him then, but I loved him the same, he was my older brother basically. Being analytical, I am guessing that he was jealous. He was no longer the baby of the family. There was a new sheriff in town, and I was the dude wearing the badge. He committed suicide when he was nineteen. The day of the funeral, when everyone was ready to leave and go to the services, I couldn’t make it down the stairs. I screamed and cried and I wouldn’t allow anyone to take me. I was maybe eight or nine when that happened. I never went to the funeral. Instead, my cousin Travis stayed at the house, and chilled with me. We played video games, and ate junk food the entire day. I will always love him for that. None of that is the reason why I am who I am now. At least I wont admit it, if it were.

Let me tell you about my mom. She and I would have so much fun up until then. She was that mom that you could just be cool with forever before that happened. I mean, it was just us. She had me in the boy scouts. Went on little adventures. I remember the day Marvin Gaye died, and she pulled over to cry, after we heard it on the radio. She would throw me surprise birthday parties in the middle of the week,lol. I remember one time, she took me to see Purple Rain, thinking it was about prince and his music. I guess she didn’t know the guy was a freak. There was a purify yourself scene, and she grabbed my head and held my eyes shut. I still got a peek at Appolonia’s tits though. It was the time where you could see like four movies for four bucks. DC cab was up after that. I remember when my pops was trying o take me away from her at one point, and she sat on the bed in our apartment, and cried her eyes out. I was a little dude, and I jumped on the bed, and I hugged her and cried too, and told her I would never leave her. I don’t think this is chronological, just things that I started to remember as I write this.

Why wouldn’t I go stay with my pops? Because at an early age, I knew he hated me. Its odd for a kid to say that. But I really felt it times. I cant say that I remember seeing him a lot early on in life. He always would tell me that he didn’t know where I was for three years. Which I find strange, because I was in the same city, literally ten blocks away. At the same house where the photo of a newborn me was taken. With him and mom present. When he finally did come around, I was uncomfortable. Talking to his ex wife not too long ago, I found out that he hid me from her for a while into their marriage. And being the good woman she was, she told him that he needed to stand the fuck up, and be a man. I cannot honestly say that I have any great memories with him. Looking back, they are few if any at all. When I did go for the visitations, he would keep trying to get me to say that I wanted to live with him. He had a good job, and would give a lot of shit. But it seemed even at those times that, I had a price on me, that I could be bought. But the biggest reason why I wouldn’t, is because he treated me like shit in front of others. When I was young, I don’t know what age, had to be between 5 and 7 I guess, he played me royally. There was some type of family gathering, and my whole family was there at my grandma’s house. My cousins and me were running around playing. I had to take a shit something serious. Someone was in the bathroom, and I couldn’t get in. I mean the shit was coming, I was on prairie dog status, in and out. I finally got in, but it was somewhat too late. My drawers were stained a little. Shit happens, literally, right? You know this man, had me undress in front of the whole family and berated me, laughed at me, I mean point and laugh type of deal. The whole family laughed at me. Maybe some didn’t, but still, why do this? I felt so small, I wanted to die right then, and I didn’t even know what the hell death was. Fucked up shit always happened from him to me. Live with him? And go through this shit seven days a week? Damned all of that for real. I don’t know what I ever did to this dude except be born. Every other weekend when I went to his place, I went thru just the dumbest beatings ever. He would beat me because he said I didn’t wash my hair when I took a bath. I was a kid. Shit, I’m in the tub playing with g.i. joe’s and shit. But, like clockwork, he would come in there with beer. And ask if I washed my hair. And when I did, I said yes, he would call me a liar, and slap the shit out of me. But he sure one upped that. He would get big assed cups, tell me to put my head back, and throws big cups of water in my face. And if I put my head down, another slap would come. Never mind me possibly drowning or some shit. I mean this went on for years, every two weekends. I would see a grin on his face at times too. I really think this dude wanted to kill me. Its like he took out all his anger on me. And it couldn’t have happened at a worse time. Check out how mom flipped.

After her brother passed. Mom was a totally different person. She was just not the same moms as mentioned earlier. The change was like overnight. I remember when my uncle passed, and when the phone call came in. I just had a feeling. She said “oh no”, and I ran into her room crying, because of this feeling I had. She threw down the phone, and we sat there, sobbing like two old drunks. After it was all said and done, the change in mom was ridiculously crazy. She would just call me all types of shits, ugly, dumb bastards. She would tell me that I was lucky she didn’t cut me up and put me in the stove. In the morning, she would come in and spray me with water bottles. And I received a lot of ass whippings fir really, no reason at all. Which now I find funny, because I was a mischievous kid. And I got caught a lot times. These ass whippings would come from no where. I guess I was too young to know what was going on. Mom had a damned good job then and we weren’t balling, but she had enough to do what she had to do. Not even 4 months later, she quit her job, and we moved back to the house where I was born at, or raised at for the first 5 years. The same apartment that my uncle stayed in before he committed suicide. What the fuck was she thinking? I even had the same pleasure of sleeping in the same room he did. I would hear all types of shit at night. Or at least what my imagination told me I was hearing. I would put my head underneath the covers, and have my clock radio with me, so I could listen to music all night, so I wouldn’t hear things.

She was just over. Mom became someone else. She had got with an old boyfriend. Larry, I hate him to this day, and to be honest, if he is still alive, I’d kill him. That is the truth. Larry was a drug addict. He would get high, or not even be high, and beat the shit out of me. I mean seriously beat me up. Here I am, a kid, getting my ass kicked by mom, father on weekends, and some addict. I mean, just how lucky was I? One time this dude cut the cord to the television so that when I plugged it up, I might have gotten electrocuted or something. I can laugh now, but then, I was trying to see hot traxx late at night or something. Back then, I didn’t wonder, but my mom never stopped him from doing what he did to me. We had a cat named pooh, and this cat would go throughout the house, and somehow get stuck on top of the tile in the bathroom. Obviously there were holes in the walls. One day I got the cat out, and when I put the tile back, I found a needle, some steel wool, and a bottle cap. I told my mom when she got home. Guess what? Another ass whipping. And when ole boy got home, I was thrown around the house like a rag doll. I was fucked up, because who could I go to? My pops, the evil taskmaster of hair washing? Grandma, who would only call my mother to tell her what I told her leading to impending death? I had no one!

Funny, one day that dude hit my moms after he found out she got rid of a baby. She then chose to kick him out. Funny, he should have been gone after beating me down. But, what can you do, right? When your like nine years old you can only do so much. She gave him the boot. But, a few days later, he bust down the door, knocked me down, and took my moms money, and the keys to the car they bought together. He was trying to kill her or something, I don’t know. I ran to the front of the house, and got a brick, from when the steps was being re-done. I was trying to tax that ass. I must have had some look on my face. That nigga looked at me like he saw the devil himself, and started running towards the front of the house. I got a brick in each hand, and started darting themshits towards his head, all while I had tears rolling down my face. I got him in the head with one, the other I didn’t throw because he was out of my reach. Instead, I threw it at reeq from down the street, because he was shouldn’t have seen that happen. He didn’t talk to me for like a month. In kid days, it was more like 5 days. But, Larry, if you are reading this, just know, you are dead, if you aren’t already.

Back to dear old dad. There is no way anyone can convince me that this dude did not try to kill me. I don’t know what is up with this guy and his whole fascination with wate, and using it as a tool for murder. Or accidental death n this case. We al went to Virginia one summer. Me, I was bored, because there is nothing, or there wasn’t nothing for a kid my age to do there. Virginia beach is for lovers and shit, not families. I guess I got the beer trait, because he had a stash the whole time there as well. And as always I was getting an ass whipping for something I that I had no clue, what for. Here I am, a kid of seven, and this dude is throwing me in the deep part of the pool. I couldn’t swim, you would think he knew huh? I mean after all, I didn’t take too well to water being thrown down my face and nose. Was that some type of conditioning or something? But, nonetheless I survived, I guess it didn’t sit well with him. One day on the beach, on the sand, he decided to have a little “us” time. Cool, why not right? The waves that day were so fucking high. There were people moving their towels and umbrellas back, so they wouldn’t get hit, or washed out to sea. Pops grabs my had, and says lets go jump some waves. Finally, some fun, some real bonding. About time, I thought. So we go down to the edge, or to the surf or whatever the fuck you call it. He is holding my hand really tight for some reason. Like, super vise grip tight. Now, I was a little guy then, and these waves were much bigger than I was. So, here comes the wave. I mean, I was looking up at it type of big. So, here the wave comes, and crashes down on me. But before it came, my hand was let go. The shit hit me, and threw me down, and a I was being dragged a little bit. Someone grabbed me, picked me up, and put me back on the dry sand. I couldn’t even see. I grabbed the first towel I sat on, and wiped my face. And there was pops, about 15 feet away, laying on the towel, dry as hell. Laughing his sick ass off. Pointing and laughing. If there is anything good about me, its my memory. I just don’t get people sometimes. Its like they don’t know I am crazy or something. Well, they do, but….

At age 11, things were super bad in the household. I mean I literally got beat down for nothing. Now, a lot of kids think that all beatings are for nothing, but I can guarantee this for myself. There were times, that my mother would hide things in books of mine, like a 4 month old lotto ticket, that wasn’t a winner, and then out of no where come and ask me what I did with it. When the right answer didn’t come, the broomstick did. Crack, crack crack, right upside the head. It was like clockwork, I don’t know if this had anything to do with pms or anything, but shit. It happened more than once a month. She would do things like completely destroy my room, I mean the room was already a mess, but I mean just shit all over. And the fuck me up for allowing for it to get that way. This was some new new shit. Being that I was getting older. Simple slaps, and a couple fists wouldn’t do it. Every year, it was a new weapon. I mean, I was getting hit with chairs. One time she hit me square in the nuts with a thick assed broom handle. It wasn’t one of those 99 cent store brooms. It was the official two hand using kind. I remember when I was in 8th grade. One morning, I was getting ready to go to school, and moms snapped on me about something, and so I was like like ‘what?”. That was it, that’s all I had to say. She stabbed me in the neck, with one of those big metal forks. The ones with just two prongs. Blood was gushing. I didn’t cry, because it was like, I’ve been through so much shit, that it wasn’t that surprising. I went and washed my neck, got a couple of band aides, and went my bloody neck having ass to school. I don’t know what happened, but 4 periods into school, my mom came to get me to take me to the hospital. Funny, she took me to the same hospital I was born in. while they were stitching me up, I head my mother telling the nurse that she didn’t want me. And for them to please take me away. She said I wasn’t worth anything, she hated me, and she wished I was dead. True story. Imagine your mom saying that to a nurse in a room full of people. I have had no one, ever. Basically, since her brother has passed, she hasn’t been right. I love her to death. I mean its my moms. But growing up with that, and that’s not even everything, just the stuff that stands out at this time. Some years later, while I was sleep, my mother doused me with lighter fluid, and was throwing matches at me. At that time I was grown or close to grown. I decided to leave. I still hope to get my old mom back. I miss that one. I shed a lot of tears in writing this. It has been a long time coming. A friend of mine I chat with on yahoo from time to time was the first person I told most of this stuff too. She said maybe I shouldn’t put it on the blog. But writing is my way of releasing, and I have had to let this go.

The bottom line is this. If I couldn’t depend on unconditional love from the two people that I needed it from the most. Then why do I have to subscribe to people that don’t mean what they say? Why should I surround myself with people who are only using you as an option, instead of the solution. I have a distrust of people so deep that it will take years for me to ever get past it. My need for revenge is so deep that I cannot breathe when I think of it. But the bottom line is this. If you don’t want to fuck with me. Fine. If you want to talk about me fine. If you want to be a phony with me, fine. If you want to shit on me, fine. You aren’t doing anything that hasn’t been done. I’m good, and I still love who the fuck I am.

Just the Norm

There used to be times I was the non confrontational,
Nigga that loved to laugh and joke, and inspirational
Hurtin others feelings was a thing I would frown upon
Now I’m like fuck it, knock it ya down from that cloud ya on
I got no problems with me, so what’s yo fucking issue
Born and raised in the streets, that’s my fucking issue
You people look down like ya better than Flav
But I’m better like a pistol when you come with a blade
You talk slick I say shit, all I do is observe
Catch you when you least expect it, And im killing ya nerves
Sitting there worrying, ya conscious gets the best of you
Are you really safe at all, will I show up in ya vestibule
Leave that ass a vegetable, incoherent and incapable
Watch the things you say, cause my wrath is inescapable
Never think I’m hating you, I love to give lessons
In revenge to people thinking we brethrens
You spiritually corrupt, so I speak as your Reverend....

I BELIVE WHAT I BELIEVE AND IT AINT THE USUAL BULLSHIT

Mahatma Gandhi is going to hell. Matter of fact, anyone that have done immensely good works on this earth, and happened to be non-conformist are going to hell. Wait!!!! Every other person that believes in any other religion is going right to HELL!!! I mean, If your grandma woke up early every morning, went to a food shelter, to feed the homeless and the less unfortunate, hey grandma we love you, but your ass is hell bound. And it saddens you because grandma happened to be a Buddhist. And no one that isn’t what others are going to hell, it is as simple as that. Can someone explain the meaning of life after death to me? What is it that we are missing out on? Eternal bliss after your shell is gone. Is it like that, after we have the initial death, our souls travel to another whelm where there is Poland spring water on tap, and whatever your heart desired in your waken life is just walking around? Are there harps playing, and little babies flying around with wings, to your dinner table to take your drink to you while you are at the everlasting life buffet place? There are so many people that say that heaven is great, and hell is bad, but no one can ever tell me anything other than, once place is super good, and the other is hot and scary. Ooooooh. Would it be safe to say that someone that spent the second half of their life in Antarctica, would maybe welcome that? I mean shit, after 20 years of being in below degree weather, maybe spending life in fire and brimstone may not be a bad option for them.

Do animals count in all of this? I remember the movie, that all dogs go to heaven. And that I cannot believe, because I had a couple of dogs, and they shit on my floor. That to me is a sin. And a bigger sin is that at some points, they turned around and ate it. That has got to send them to hell also. I am scared that some people may even go so far as to get their pets baptized, so that they are there with them in death as they were in life. That’s a sweet idea. But if that dog shit on their carpet, I am willing to be that the dog comes back to earth as a pit bull, and is placed in the ownership of Michael Vick. I used to get upset with super believers, I really did at one point. Now I laugh, because it is too funny to me. For months I have read the book from cover to cover, cross referenced, read ‘forbidden” books as well. A tiring thing to do when you are only slightly interested. But it becomes very interesting when you want to learn why some people behave the way they do, say the things they say, and believe what they believe. I never want to be the one to ridicule someone for what they believe in, that is their right to do so. But when it becomes arrogant, and self serving, and bigger than anything else, there is a problem with me. And so, I researched and checked. Now, I have done this before. But in 1999 as a believer, one with blind faith. I believed what was told to me. I lived like a man without the GOD given gift of reason. I am not a hater because I choose to ask questions. What type of fool does not ask questions? Especially when it comes to the cornerstone. The book, which is the cornerstone of how, we should live as a people on this planet.



If we can scrutinize something as mundane as a musical artist, like a Brittany Spears, or a Beethoven, then we surely need to question a book that is the pinnacle of how life should be lived. We have wars in its name, we have mothers killing children it its name, we have laws in its name. And all of these things have happened because no one that did these things ever used their GOD given gift, to think freely, and to question the words that are held as a fourth god in the eyes of many. I think that it is a shame that I have to subscribe to something in order to have eternal life. Because, if I am not living and breathing, how can I call it life at all. That is the definition of life. To breathe, to drink, to feel, to touch, to see. Out of all the people I have known that have passed, and moved on, never came back to me and said “Yo, this is great, I am chillin right now”. I have no proof of it. Just like many of the pundits that tell you that they speak with GOD. The same pundits that say they do, have not. I am offered no proof of either a heaven or hell. I cannot subscribe to something, or a word, or a book that keeps me in fear, or makes me feel guilt, or tells me that I was born into sin, so I have to submit to a man that looks nothing like me, or like anyone else, other than the people spread these messages as truth. Just to keep me mentally, spiritually and emotionally in slavery . I cannot subscribe to a book of fables with unicorns and dragons and genocide, and rape and countless murders of men women and children. I can no longer take the hypocrisy of what some of you take as the word of GOD and twist it to further tighten your stranglehold on the hopes and dreams of humans on this earth. The GOD that I know and love does not promote such bull crap. It is an injustice to say or type or write that these are the words of GOD, when the GOD I know loves me immensely. The GOD I know wrote 10 commandments to which a lot of you do not even abide by unless it is to your benefit. THERE IS ONLY ONE GOD.

There are no intermediates, there are no middlemen. The GOD I know is not going to damn me to hell when the works that I have done in my life outweighs the bad. The GOD I know wants all of us to prosper and does not keep us in fear, but in love for one another. Some of you have got it twisted. Some of you go from church to church to church, because you are still searching, when all along, GOD was with you, in your gut, in your mind, in the stars you see at night, and the sun that you see in the morning. If my GOD was a GOD like you read about in the book, there would be no sun, there would be no plants growing, no heat to warm us, there would be nothing. My GOD brings the sun out so that we will go on. We will have food, we will harvest, and we continue to live in GOD’s glory. Not the glory of men that are fallible. Not the glory of words that were written over 50 years after the Christ departed, but in GOD’s glory. Most of you use religion as a crutch, for something to believe in. You have never believed in yourself, so you rather believe in another human being, because you are too weak minded to believe that GOD has always been there for you, and always will. But being that you choose to not look at the Creator’s creations and loving those, you would rather put a face to it so you can somehow identify. You break the commandment of idolatry. You do not know who to pray to. When you do, you say three names. Which one is the one that is going to bless you? Which one is the one that is going to answer you? I am not an atheist, I believe in GOD, and GOD only. If there is a hell, some if not most will be there, for not following the commandments as there were written.

16:16 He that believeth and is baptized shall be saved; but he that believeth not shall be damned
16:17 And these signs shall follow them that believe; In my name shall they cast out devils; they shall speak with new tongues;
16:18 They shall take up serpents; and if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them; they shall lay hands on the sick, and they shall recover..

I have ailments, I’ve had a fractured shoulder for over a year(caused by a fundamentalist, no less) I challenge anyone to heal me. Or to heal anyone. Make me a believer. Because right now, most of your credit is no good. With me, and with many others. GOD BLESS!

DONT BAG ON DA RAG

Here ye here ye. Women on the rag. Yes, I know it is a very crass way of explaining it, but what other way to explain it. Now, the thing is that it is something that we men do not necessarily appreciate it, because of the out of no where mood swings and the constant bullshit attitude that goes along with it. Its more like a gift and a curse. Because if the shit doesn't come, man we are shitting bricks, hoping that the calendar on the fridge is from last year, and there has been some sort of miscalculation. And nine months later, while you are feeling queasy, you come to terms that it really wasn't a tumor after all.


It is my belief that women should warn you when it is due for arrival, at least 2 days in advance. However that isn't enough warning, because sometimes the calm before the storm isn't calm at all. Its more like a storm cloud that scares the shit out of you. But because of impending doom, there is no transportation from the general area. In short, your fucked, regardless. Times like these make a woman that has went through menopause already extremely attractive. but, I don't know if I can do this because I don't want to get worms. Sick, yes. True, I wouldn't bet against it.


I used to keep a schedule of this phenomenon when I was in long term relationships. It takes about 6-8 months to really know for sure. I had an ex who refused to ever admit she was on the rag. One day I was cleaning up in the dining room, and found she hid a tampon in a box and threw it behind the radiator. Yes, I have dealt with many a loon boon, but that one was a doozy. Apparently, she didn't want to equate her idiotic behavior to being on the rag. So I just chalked it up to her being incredibly stupid.

My child's mom would throw things at me. Pots and pans and sharp objects. I am not the nicest guy in the world at times. I do take pride in being an asshole, I find it one of my endearing qualities. But, I just don't think that throwing at my head bode to well if you want anything to prosper. I am thankful to all of that mess, because now I can duck all types of shit, bees, flies, hell, even bullets at times. Being an asshole does have its disadvantages at times.

If I were elected into office, I would most definitely design a bill that women would be required by law to wear a color coded bracelet that will let the other sex know what the fuck is going on. Of course it would be green for "it's all good", yellow for "move cautiously", and red for "stop, turn around, holla at her in a week to ten days".

This week, and it is only Thursday where I have found myself defending some said by me that was so harmless, only to blow up to something that wasn't necessary, and wouldn't have happened if they were just wearing a color coded bracelet, and/or had a status message that read "on the rag, don't say stupid things". We do tend to say things that are normally funny 3 weeks out of the month. But that one week. It is the most vile, and insensitive shit that you have ever spew out of your mouth or fingers.

I write all this to say fellas, that we cant win. We are good for only a few things. And one of those things we think we are good at. Wait, I'm Great at it. End of rant. Ah thank you, and ah goodnight!