The Climb 1&2

For a long while I have been feeling a certain way. I felt like life wasn't worth living. A week or so ago, I attempted suicide. I drank more then a pint of vodka, and swallowed a gang of prescription pain meds. I was so woosey and delirious. For a couple hours I was fighting sleep. I don't know if I was scared, but something kept me going. I said to myself, this is NOT the way I wanted to do it. I really wanted it messy. Bloody, and full of gore. You know, like they say in movies. Full of gore.
After that, my roommate called the people with the white coats, offering to give me one of those I love me jackets to rock on the way to the hospital. They called first, and was like, "do you want to harm yourself?" And my answer was of course. I also told her how bad they fucked up when I reached out before to them. They were worthless. I mean really worthless.
A couple of days ago, I went out with my roommates friend. He came and knocked on my door, and asked if I wanted to smoke. Why the fuck not? We politicked for a while while smoking. I explained about three of my grandparents dying simotaneously at one time. And other things. Such as the disdain for his friend that doesn't seem to want to pay her share of the rent. But I should have expected that from her july 20 something birthday.
So we decide to go uptown to his spot, smoke drink and chill. His old man is a blues singer, and we went to the club in the villiage where he performed. Pops wasn't there that night, but it was cool because the music was still good.
I got home maybe around 2:45am, but the bus going to my house didn't leave until 5:30am. You do the math. Again, I wanted to die. I spent the only money in the world to chill with some dude I didn't know, with a million white people, who seemed to have more dancing rhythm than I had. It was good that I got out. But it wasn't my element.
When I got home that morning, I felt the same. I wanted to die. I wasn't happy at all. I just thought that the night was another sign that there is no reason for me to go on. I was lonley again. I didn't care about ole dude, nor did I really welcome the guys companionship. I wanted to be left alone without feeling lonley. Perhaps makes no sense to anyone, but me.

Tonight, I decided to pick myself back up. I can't feel like this anymore. I just can't. I look at my daughters pic on my device, and I just start to cry. I cry because I have never felt so selfish. I couldn't imagine not seeing her graduate, go to high school, college, marriage. All of those things run through my mind. And I cry like a baby, because I miss her at the thought of me not being able to see it.

I have to climb back up. I have too. I, on a whim said, let me go to the city. Let me get Flav back. Let me get back the person I knew I was before. Full of life, and passion, and everything I've missed as of late.

There must have been something tonight. No sooner then ten minutes, a couple started a conversation with me. They were evicted, and was asking for something, asking for help. The funny thing is that, they weren't asking for money. They asked for me to pray for them. Danny, and Kara. We talked for what seemed 20 minutes. I told them that I had to move out my place by saturday. At that point, she ran off a list of places in the city I could go for help. We, in that short time spoke on God, jobs, poverty, and other things. I am not saying this is what brought me up. It was just the beginning.
As I walked up the ave, I walked by the garden. Across the street from the garden was the hotel pennsylvania. And I couldn't help but to think that, I should have never went to that place ever. I thought that if I did not go there close to. Couple years ago, how my life, and my feelings for myself would have been different. If I knew then what I know now, I would have never shown up, changed my number, and never would have been online in any name I used before. I stood in front of the place and called it a piece of shit. Because it is. and whom I met there for the first time is as well. So be it.
So I continued walking. I walked and walked further up. I got to 42nd st and 8th ave. I worked around there in an internet cafe for a spell, trying to get people to use my company's voip phone service. It was horrid, but hell with it. Money is money. The company folded, and rightly so. My desk was no wider than 2 feet. And the office stank of cigars and drunken jewish gangsters.
I kept walking up a little, on 8th ave. Past all the peep shows, and the bars and what not. I started to recall when, ten years before that, the peep shows and the smoke shops were not on 8th ave, but on 42nd. There were all on the ave too, but 42nd was a different monster at the time.
Back in the day, it was different for me. When I got paid on a tuesday, I would go uptown. My whole thing was get some weed, bug out for a while, get lost, find my way back to midtown, go to 42nd to bug out, and go home high as shit, and do it the next day all over again.
When I went to the ave, I'd always fuck around with the hookers. Not fuck around as in "fuck" them. But fuck around as far as try to understand them. They so called pimps aint like it at first. Because they was thinkin I was some new nigga. Shit, I was in a uniform, smelling like plane fuel. Yeah, next pimp my ass. I'd ask the hoes all types of questions. Not the shit I'd ask now though. I'd ask bout why are they a hoe, do they make good money. Mostly why this and that questions, pertaining to their decision to become a hoe. Hoe once told me out there that she was a virgin still, but she sucks the best dick in the city. I cracked up because I figured the bitch took it in the ass too just to maintain that hymen. Many nights I did this. Walked around pretty much aimless, just enjoying life. For some reason, random people would come up and talk to me. There are so many countless spontaneous conversations that I had. I don't know what it was. Were they drunk. Was it that type of night? What do they see in me? That they will give me thir life stories?
It was never really a bum, or a drunk. it was always a "someone" I mean, the type of folks you knew jus plunked down a half a mil on a condo on 63rd and park or some shit. I always thought they were drunk or out of they mind to sit and talk with me. I never saw the big picture.

Tonight, I met this guy. Regular ole rich type white guy. I was on my way home to drink myself to death again. I had got hold of some more pain meds. And I put all the pills I had into one container. I was going to do it. I had the plan. Didn't eat, didn't sleep most of the day. Blood and gore is nice, but sounds painful. My luck is funny luck. Like I would be the guy that jumps off empire(was an option) and fucking survives. With no limbs, half a face and my ass would be on my chest. Not to mention a helmut.

Anyways, so I see this guy while I am walking to the train. He gives me a head nod. I nod back. I was across the street, but I crossed to see what his deal was. I go over and ask if he was okay. One part of me was concerned, the other part wanted to rob his ass.

He says to me that he needed a cigarette, and he was glad I came over. I was reluctant to give him one. I just started again after a 3 week layoff, and all I had was loosies. I gave him one. He goes into his spiel. He says that he is from wall street. He left his wallet and his laptop in a cab, and he has been up for two days, stressed out. He said all of his client information was on there and he was going to be fucked if it got into the wrong hands. I laughed at him while asking him if the laptop had a password. And then he laughed and said, "its 2007, does it even fucking matter?".

He got me there. He said he was going to jersey. He started walking the wrong way. I say;

The Path is that way.
"Fuck the path, that takes too long"
That's cool, you gonna be alright? I asked.
"Yeah, but come and walk with me"
I don't have the dough for NJ Transit right now, you just be safe, your pretty fucked up right now.
"I got you yo, cmon"

At this point, I'm like, shit. Hell, I'm game. So we start walking. He is talking the entire 20 steps we walk he is yapping. He stops to shake my hand, thank me for the port, and introduce himself.

"I'm Steve"
Flav
"Cmon, what's your real name?"

I told him while we still shook hands. I didn't get any bad vibe from this guy. It was weird. I didn't want to kill him. Lately, that's been what I wanted. My death, or someone else's combined with mine. We get across from penn station, at the pennsylvania. I'm in front of it again. He blurts out;

"Man, I have fucked a lot of broads in here bro"

That was funny. I started cracking up. He strts laughing and says;

"What's so funny (real name)?"

Nothing really, its just that as many chicks you banged in this hotel. I've met chicks and got head from them, and didn't even know their name, for three straight days. Lemme find out you was getting pussy, while I was getting bad head from the same hoes...

He started laughing and said, "Flav, I like you, your fuckin crazy".
We go down to penn station. And like I thought, the trains to jerz stopped. He says that he guess he was gonna find a nice chair for the night. I told him he could have one of my beers and we could chill for a minute. He agreed, and we left.

We walked down a block or so and saw some stairs and sat down and begin to talk, and drink. We discussed a lot of things in a short time. He told me about all the time he did in jail. About his drug abuse and all;

"I've been fucking with cocaine since 1981, I knew about coke before richard pryor did"

I asked him if he was high when he lost his stuff. He replied "most likely".
I asked was coke a wall street thing. He replied; "Everything is a wall street thing".

This guy was something else. A group of guys was walking down the street, while he was explaining how he uses the n word, and how we shouldn't be offended. That started an argument kind of. More of a heated discussion. Only he was laughing. His point was proven. The last dude that came down looked like the rapper tpain. And immediately he says "yo, are you a rapper?" I bugged the fuck out again. Then he explained stereotypes. He said all sterotypes are true. He knew this because he is irish, and loves anything involving a potato. Point proven again.

I explained what I had try to do to myself a few days before, and what I was going to do to myself later. He didn't seem concerned too much. He did apologize. And then he started. He went into a mode. I didn't know this guy from a can of paint. For the next 15 minutes, he hit the nail on the head with every fucking word;

"You aren't supposed to die now. I know what your issue is (real name). You are meant for bigger things. You are supposed to be successful. And you re going to be. We just met, and already, I see your charisma. You are personable. Understanding, and you have a pure heart, and you have a lot of pain. Your pain is because no one gets you. I can tell already how intelligent you are. Dude, you are probably a genius. but no one knows but you. You have ideas that no one has but you. You are a leader. A born one. And you want to self destruct because you let a small failure have the effect of a nuclear bomb. A pin drops to everyone else, but to you it is armageddon. The picture is big and you get it. And you're scared because you feel like no one understands you. And that's cool, because only certain people get you. And those people are successful, like you are going to be. If you did what I do for a living. You'd be the richest motherfucker that no one would ever get except ones like you. Suicide is a permanent solution for a temporary problem. You're better then that.

He said more then that probably. But I was hit like a ton of bricks. Here it was 3 in the morning damn near. But the sun was already up. For me anyways. I couldn't die. I can't. Not now. Here is is a perfect stranger not named Balki, telling me what others have said. The difference is that, this time the words were genuine and sincere. I believed them. My heart was no longer heavy. At that moment, I wiped the slate clean. I was really ready this time to start the rest of my life.

He and I chilled until 6am. Walking around. Fucking with tourists, eating authenic mexican tacos. Just living. Its what I missed so much in the last 3 or so years. I came back, but this time I was staying.

I don't know how to take this. But, after that convo, he wanted to "score". An hour before we parted, he says to me;

"Flav, after tonight messing around with you, I don't feel as though I need it right now, and maybe not tomorrow".

Wow. If you could be anything other than a broker, what would you do in life, I mean what's your passion?
I asked.

"A writer. I'm pretty fucking good too"

The sun was not only bright. It was inside me. And shining again finally.

The Climb 1&2

For a long while I have been feeling a certain way. I felt like life wasn't worth living. A week or so ago, I attempted suicide. I drank more then a pint of vodka, and swallowed a gang of prescription pain meds. I was so woosey and delirious. For a couple hours I was fighting sleep. I don't know if I was scared, but something kept me going. I said to myself, this is NOT the way I wanted to do it. I really wanted it messy. Bloody, and full of gore. You know, like they say in movies. Full of gore.
After that, my roommate called the people with the white coats, offering to give me one of those I love me jackets to rock on the way to the hospital. They called first, and was like, "do you want to harm yourself?" And my answer was of course. I also told her how bad they fucked up when I reached out before to them. They were worthless. I mean really worthless.
A couple of days ago, I went out with my roommates friend. He came and knocked on my door, and asked if I wanted to smoke. Why the fuck not? We politicked for a while while smoking. I explained about three of my grandparents dying simotaneously at one time. And other things. Such as the disdain for his friend that doesn't seem to want to pay her share of the rent. But I should have expected that from her july 20 something birthday.
So we decide to go uptown to his spot, smoke drink and chill. His old man is a blues singer, and we went to the club in the villiage where he performed. Pops wasn't there that night, but it was cool because the music was still good.
I got home maybe around 2:45am, but the bus going to my house didn't leave until 5:30am. You do the math. Again, I wanted to die. I spent the only money in the world to chill with some dude I didn't know, with a million white people, who seemed to have more dancing rhythm than I had. It was good that I got out. But it wasn't my element.
When I got home that morning, I felt the same. I wanted to die. I wasn't happy at all. I just thought that the night was another sign that there is no reason for me to go on. I was lonley again. I didn't care about ole dude, nor did I really welcome the guys companionship. I wanted to be left alone without feeling lonley. Perhaps makes no sense to anyone, but me.

Tonight, I decided to pick myself back up. I can't feel like this anymore. I just can't. I look at my daughters pic on my device, and I just start to cry. I cry because I have never felt so selfish. I couldn't imagine not seeing her graduate, go to high school, college, marriage. All of those things run through my mind. And I cry like a baby, because I miss her at the thought of me not being able to see it.

I have to climb back up. I have too. I, on a whim said, let me go to the city. Let me get Flav back. Let me get back the person I knew I was before. Full of life, and passion, and everything I've missed as of late.

There must have been something tonight. No sooner then ten minutes, a couple started a conversation with me. They were evicted, and was asking for something, asking for help. The funny thing is that, they weren't asking for money. They asked for me to pray for them. Danny, and Kara. We talked for what seemed 20 minutes. I told them that I had to move out my place by saturday. At that point, she ran off a list of places in the city I could go for help. We, in that short time spoke on God, jobs, poverty, and other things. I am not saying this is what brought me up. It was just the beginning.
As I walked up the ave, I walked by the garden. Across the street from the garden was the hotel pennsylvania. And I couldn't help but to think that, I should have never went to that place ever. I thought that if I did not go there close to. Couple years ago, how my life, and my feelings for myself would have been different. If I knew then what I know now, I would have never shown up, changed my number, and never would have been online in any name I used before. I stood in front of the place and called it a piece of shit. Because it is. and whom I met there for the first time is as well. So be it.
So I continued walking. I walked and walked further up. I got to 42nd st and 8th ave. I worked around there in an internet cafe for a spell, trying to get people to use my company's voip phone service. It was horrid, but hell with it. Money is money. The company folded, and rightly so. My desk was no wider than 2 feet. And the office stank of cigars and drunken jewish gangsters.
I kept walking up a little, on 8th ave. Past all the peep shows, and the bars and what not. I started to recall when, ten years before that, the peep shows and the smoke shops were not on 8th ave, but on 42nd. There were all on the ave too, but 42nd was a different monster at the time.
Back in the day, it was different for me. When I got paid on a tuesday, I would go uptown. My whole thing was get some weed, bug out for a while, get lost, find my way back to midtown, go to 42nd to bug out, and go home high as shit, and do it the next day all over again.
When I went to the ave, I'd always fuck around with the hookers. Not fuck around as in "fuck" them. But fuck around as far as try to understand them. They so called pimps aint like it at first. Because they was thinkin I was some new nigga. Shit, I was in a uniform, smelling like plane fuel. Yeah, next pimp my ass. I'd ask the hoes all types of questions. Not the shit I'd ask now though. I'd ask bout why are they a hoe, do they make good money. Mostly why this and that questions, pertaining to their decision to become a hoe. Hoe once told me out there that she was a virgin still, but she sucks the best dick in the city. I cracked up because I figured the bitch took it in the ass too just to maintain that hymen. Many nights I did this. Walked around pretty much aimless, just enjoying life. For some reason, random people would come up and talk to me. There are so many countless spontaneous conversations that I had. I don't know what it was. Were they drunk. Was it that type of night? What do they see in me? That they will give me thir life stories?
It was never really a bum, or a drunk. it was always a "someone" I mean, the type of folks you knew jus plunked down a half a mil on a condo on 63rd and park or some shit. I always thought they were drunk or out of they mind to sit and talk with me. I never saw the big picture.

Tonight, I met this guy. Regular ole rich type white guy. I was on my way home to drink myself to death again. I had got hold of some more pain meds. And I put all the pills I had into one container. I was going to do it. I had the plan. Didn't eat, didn't sleep most of the day. Blood and gore is nice, but sounds painful. My luck is funny luck. Like I would be the guy that jumps off empire(was an option) and fucking survives. With no limbs, half a face and my ass would be on my chest. Not to mention a helmut.

Anyways, so I see this guy while I am walking to the train. He gives me a head nod. I nod back. I was across the street, but I crossed to see what his deal was. I go over and ask if he was okay. One part of me was concerned, the other part wanted to rob his ass.

He says to me that he needed a cigarette, and he was glad I came over. I was reluctant to give him one. I just started again after a 3 week layoff, and all I had was loosies. I gave him one. He goes into his spiel. He says that he is from wall street. He left his wallet and his laptop in a cab, and he has been up for two days, stressed out. He said all of his client information was on there and he was going to be fucked if it got into the wrong hands. I laughed at him while asking him if the laptop had a password. And then he laughed and said, "its 2007, does it even fucking matter?".

He got me there. He said he was going to jersey. He started walking the wrong way. I say;

The Path is that way.
"Fuck the path, that takes too long"
That's cool, you gonna be alright? I asked.
"Yeah, but come and walk with me"
I don't have the dough for NJ Transit right now, you just be safe, your pretty fucked up right now.
"I got you yo, cmon"

At this point, I'm like, shit. Hell, I'm game. So we start walking. He is talking the entire 20 steps we walk he is yapping. He stops to shake my hand, thank me for the port, and introduce himself.

"I'm Steve"
Flav
"Cmon, what's your real name?"

I told him while we still shook hands. I didn't get any bad vibe from this guy. It was weird. I didn't want to kill him. Lately, that's been what I wanted. My death, or someone else's combined with mine. We get across from penn station, at the pennsylvania. I'm in front of it again. He blurts out;

"Man, I have fucked a lot of broads in here bro"

That was funny. I started cracking up. He strts laughing and says;

"What's so funny (real name)?"

Nothing really, its just that as many chicks you banged in this hotel. I've met chicks and got head from them, and didn't even know their name, for three straight days. Lemme find out you was getting pussy, while I was getting bad head from the same hoes...

He started laughing and said, "Flav, I like you, your fuckin crazy".
We go down to penn station. And like I thought, the trains to jerz stopped. He says that he guess he was gonna find a nice chair for the night. I told him he could have one of my beers and we could chill for a minute. He agreed, and we left.

We walked down a block or so and saw some stairs and sat down and begin to talk, and drink. We discussed a lot of things in a short time. He told me about all the time he did in jail. About his drug abuse and all;

"I've been fucking with cocaine since 1981, I knew about coke before richard pryor did"

I asked him if he was high when he lost his stuff. He replied "most likely".
I asked was coke a wall street thing. He replied; "Everything is a wall street thing".

This guy was something else. A group of guys was walking down the street, while he was explaining how he uses the n word, and how we shouldn't be offended. That started an argument kind of. More of a heated discussion. Only he was laughing. His point was proven. The last dude that came down looked like the rapper tpain. And immediately he says "yo, are you a rapper?" I bugged the fuck out again. Then he explained stereotypes. He said all sterotypes are true. He knew this because he is irish, and loves anything involving a potato. Point proven again.

I explained what I had try to do to myself a few days before, and what I was going to do to myself later. He didn't seem concerned too much. He did apologize. And then he started. He went into a mode. I didn't know this guy from a can of paint. For the next 15 minutes, he hit the nail on the head with every fucking word;

"You aren't supposed to die now. I know what your issue is (real name). You are meant for bigger things. You are supposed to be successful. And you re going to be. We just met, and already, I see your charisma. You are personable. Understanding, and you have a pure heart, and you have a lot of pain. Your pain is because no one gets you. I can tell already how intelligent you are. Dude, you are probably a genius. but no one knows but you. You have ideas that no one has but you. You are a leader. A born one. And you want to self destruct because you let a small failure have the effect of a nuclear bomb. A pin drops to everyone else, but to you it is armageddon. The picture is big and you get it. And you're scared because you feel like no one understands you. And that's cool, because only certain people get you. And those people are successful, like you are going to be. If you did what I do for a living. You'd be the richest motherfucker that no one would ever get except ones like you. Suicide is a permanent solution for a temporary problem. You're better then that.

He said more then that probably. But I was hit like a ton of bricks. Here it was 3 in the morning damn near. But the sun was already up. For me anyways. I couldn't die. I can't. Not now. Here is is a perfect stranger not named Balki, telling me what others have said. The difference is that, this time the words were genuine and sincere. I believed them. My heart was no longer heavy. At that moment, I wiped the slate clean. I was really ready this time to start the rest of my life.

He and I chilled until 6am. Walking around. Fucking with tourists, eating authenic mexican tacos. Just living. Its what I missed so much in the last 3 or so years. I came back, but this time I was staying.

I don't know how to take this. But, after that convo, he wanted to "score". An hour before we parted, he says to me;

"Flav, after tonight messing around with you, I don't feel as though I need it right now, and maybe not tomorrow".

Wow. If you could be anything other than a broker, what would you do in life, I mean what's your passion?
I asked.

"A writer. I'm pretty fucking good too"

The sun was not only bright. It was inside me. And shining again finally.

some reasons are good ones

For some reason I can remember everything. The sad thing is that I remember nothing but the negative. I can remember things from when I was very young. I can recall every negative thing said or done to me. I can remember every feeling I felt at any particular time. Nd in all of these recollections. I cannot recall when there was anything that was kind, that happened to be genuine. For years I've trusted no one. What's the point? Everyone seems to be manipulative and just out for themselves. Its the human way. That's why I have no faith in mankind anymore. I think if I could, I would go back and try to hurt anyone in my past that has hurt me. Of course they wouldn't know why its happening. But I'd like to torture and give them hints.
I remember my moms. Before my uncle commited suicide over a broken heart, she was the bomb. We did a lot together. Boy scouts, dancing, bowling. We did it all. After he passed that changed. I guess my mother started to look at me as the reason she had nothing in life. When I was maybe 12 or 13 my mother stabbed me in the neck, with one of those big assed kitchen forks. I remember putting a couple of band aids on my neck, and continued on to school. Later in the day, I guess moms felt some guilt. She came to the school. To get me to bring me to the ER. She went on a tirade in the room. She was telling the doctor that she didn't want me anymore. She was tired of me and that I wasn't shit and she would have rather had an abortion. The last word I had to look up at the time. And was kind of messed up about the definition at the time. I just didn't get it. I remember when I was about 5/6 and my mother was in the bedroom crying her eyes out, because she was afraid my father would try to take me away from her. I cried with her, and I remember telling her I wouldn't go. And that I loved her. I held her and we both cried. From that day, I hated my father. Because no one was to make my mother cry. Not to mention the fact he drank too much and whupped my ass for unexplainable shit. But I did hate and fear him growing up.
I don't know why my mother flipped. I'm sure it is because her little brother killed himself. Everything changed after that. I know one time when I had got a new job, and I was doing good. Going to sleep early, not smoking. Not drinking. Just working. One night while I was laying down, my mother bust in the room, and started pouring lighter fluid on the blanket. I was half sleep. But I woke up because some of the fluid got near my nose and mouth. And I woke up even more because my mother was struggling to try and light a match to set me on fire. I left that night with a duffel bag, and I spent the night in newark penn station. I chalked it up as being that, I am not worthy of life perhaps. All I am is a joke to people. Not respected or loved unconditionally. That's what we all want. And sometimes I figure that its best to just stop life. I mean, twice my own moms tried to end my life, then why would anyone else give a fuck? I don't anymore. I am insignificant. I am perhaps a bd seed that just does not belong here. I am so without feelings right now. I'm not happy or sad. I am just tired. I've said it before. But right now it is apparent that I don't have a purpose. And when you don't have one. Its best to just leave.
I remember when I was snooping around in my grandmothers house. I found my uncle's suicide letter. At least I thought it was. And I think I understnd where he was coming from at the time. He was tired. Tired of people claiming love and whatever else. And it turning out to be false. Or events happening to where you see the truth, and finally getting it. If I never knew unconditional love, then how would I ever be capable of giving it? I really do not know how long I can go on feeling like this. I aam very tired. Some people just shouldn't go on anymore. Me included.

The Bohemoth and the Boonanny

I don't remember when this occured in my life, but I was young. The craziest shit happens when you're just a boy, huh? My mother used to have me go to a babysitter afterschool back in the day. Short walk, moms worked 2 jobs, and I think this is before the latchkey kid era was fully in effect. And if anyone read the house on fire story, you'd send my ass away from home too.
Well, anyways, I loved going to this place, been there since I was a baby actually. This lady did it all, braided my hair to cornrows when momma aint have the time, to beatin my ass when I was out of line. Everykid in this house was bonified cousins. And that's a lot of kin because she had to have at least 25 of us in this 1 family house.
Sometimes there was new kids, and to welcome them in was to whup they ass. I mean, this ws before we knew shit about bloods and crips. We seriously jumped niggas into the babysitters house. It was a right of passage.
But, this one time, there was a muthafukka we couldn't jump. It was virtually impossible. The new girl, I forgot her name. All I recall was size aand girth. If at that time in my life, I knew what a bohemoth was, that bitch was it. It was the early 80's so I can excuse her short fro. She looked like Roj from what's happenin, little sister. Not Dee, but a shorter fatter version of Roj. No bullshit.
I'm so long winded. Anyways, the babysitter would at 3 or 4 o'clock announce snack time. And the kids in the house would go banannas, running towards the kitchen like ethiopians with air jordan sandals on to get they grub on. It was brutal at times. She hade to be a correctional officer at one point now that I think of that.
But anyways, some kids had they shit, some of us had to go to the store. I was always the store go-er. One day, the bohemeth tagged along. So, we're walking to the spot and she goes;

"Let's go back there for a few minutes"
I had to flashback in order to make some quick decisions....

This chick was on me. From day one. You know when you a kid and you like someone, so you beat them up? Yeah, I was chased around the backyard more then a few times while she was there. I missed my calling as a defensive boxer, from all the dipping and dodging her haymakers.

So anyways, back to that little corner. As always, I seem to look at my 20/20 hindsight and see clearer. Hell. We get back there, for what I didn't know, but I sure was about to find out. She pulls me back there, pulls down her pants and her panties, and directs me to put "it" in. So, at 7 years of age, I'm thinking that "it" meant an object of some sort. So, I'm scanning the ground for something to use, like a twig or a leaf. Something, it had to be something out there. Ahhh Haaa. I found a rock of some sort. And I go to grab it. Not a good look, she yoked me up and and proceeded to give instructions;

Her: "No, stupid, not that, put your thing in"
Me: "Huh?"

She yoked me up again, and demanded me to unbuckle my pinstripe lee jeans. That isn't important, but I just had to remind myself this was the 80's. Well, she did the shit for me, with my halfway help I suppose. I didn't know what the hell I was doing, apparently;

Her: "Start humping"
Me: "Hump what?!"
Her: "Me stupid"

Now what was supposed to happen is beyond my ass. What were her intentions? What 7 year old gets an erection? And if I could get one, it wouldn't have been wasted on that pussy. Bet your bottom dollar that shit there. Needless to say, with a dick with the movement of a wet egg noodle, there was noooo penetration. This was clearly molestation. If I were maybe 14 or so, its what white people call "experimentng". She kept telling me to "put it in", "put it in", but all I could manage to get in was the knuckle of my forefinger. Which seemed to have some sort of grease on it. Whatever, I had to stop this madness. I tell her; "we gonna get in trouble, we better go".
So we bounce from the spot to get our asses to the store. I told her to go ahead of me, I'd catch up. Even at the tender age I was I was a genius to realize that I should not be seen in public with the bohemeth. Again, picture Raj from what's happenin, two feet shorter, three feet wider, and her right eye clearly had its own agenda.
When we get back to the house, I was feeling some type of nervous. I was probably shaking and shit. But I beared down and just started to eat my snacks. So, I'm starting to eat my chips, and I get a whiff of my knuckle.

Me: "What the fuck?"

Well, I didn't start dropping F bombs until I was perhaps a year older. The thing was that the stench from my knuckle was something uncanny. I don't think I have smelled a funk like that up until that point. OMG. Is this something that I had to look forward too? I mean, I'm sitting at the table, and I couldn't digest my cinnamon twirls.. I kept wondering just what it was. That can do a lot of damage to such an active brain. It was the type of funk that probably would take 3 calendar years to get rid of. Perhaps even longer. Perhaps I'd have to be put in isolation, or maybe even sacrifice my finger to science. All was possible at that point. I wouldn't dare ask her about it. I didn't have the strenth to duck any haymakers at that point. I ran straight to the bathroom as soon as I could. I scrubbed and scrubbed for what seemed like a lifetime. It still had a lingering odor. I was damned near about to cry. The shit stayed on my knuckle like O.J. stayed on white women. I just knew I was in trouble. All I could think was that somehow, the babysitter or some adult would get a hold of it and beat upon my ass.
Shit, I was walking around this house with my knuckle smelling like spoiled play-doh. Indian food that was shitted out of a mexican's ass after eating bean burittos.
Seriously, for a very long time, I was a little antsy about pussy. I thought from that point that all vaginas had the same odor. When I was going thru puberty, I'd imagine getting some sex, but I was always imagining doing "it" with a clothespin on my nose.
For a long time, I'd look at chicks and say to myself "I bet her cooch stanks". Strangely enough though, its the ones that I just knew didn't, did. Sighs.
I don't know what ever happened to the bohemoth, and I don't think I want too. But in hindsight, I do understand that, even in explaining this in a somewhat comical way, there is something wrong.
Because, if I was young, so was she. That wasn't anything that she picked up by watching electric company or sesame street. This chick was molested. This girl was taken advantage of. This young girl was abused. Some cycles are indeed vicious.

Earn a Degree or End up Like Me...Smelly

My outstanding resume is something to write about I suppose. I should say my shit is pretty diverse. I think I have done it all in my short life. You see, some people go to school, study for 4, maybe 7 years in total. And then come to find out that they don’t want to be a lawyer anymore, and decide to produce porn movies, as masturbation was their first true love.

Forget all of that drama. I set my standards pretty low after high school. The most I wanted out of life was a chick with a phatty, and a job at the mall. I had help in that decision however. When I discussed college with my father once, he says to me;

Guy: “Why do you want to go to college?”
Me: “Why wouldn’t I?”
Him: “I didn’t go, I started working after school”
Me: “Yeah but, you been unemployed for 5 years, and I just loaned you 5 bucks”
Him: “Get the fuck out”

Thanks dad!!! Super advice. My mother was the only one in my life other then my girl at the time, that was showing interest in me going to school. However, my mother always talked about community college. I always thought she was shitting me, but uh hells naw she wasn’t. She was coming home with county college brochures that you find laying around in the welfare office. Not saying she was at the office or anything, but c’mon, community college? Shitttttttttt, I thought I was much too advanced for that crap.

Speaking of advanced. I had not one advanced class in high school. Wait, I am lying, U.S. History and English literature. Go figure. I don’t really know how advanced they were however, because I rarely went to class. I was the kid that would come to the class once or twice a week to take an exam, ace it, and be on my way. Since I’m a genius, why the fuck even bother with the everyday nuisances of class. The chairs were hard, and I’m not a big assed dude. So you do the advanced math on that one.

But, because of me and my issues with attending classes, a bombshell was dropped on me by my counselor. Now, in my HS, it seemed like the majority of it was Spanish speaking. Probably half and half, and maybe 3 white kids whose folks just didn’t want to leave the hood. My counselor, I forget her name now, but she was an ex Spanish teacher turned counselor. And my last name being what it is I was stuck with her. Every time we talked I could not understand shit she said. Broken English bitch. I know that is a harsh thing to say, but before you are put in a position like that, at least master the language, bitch. Pardon the French there. I have my reasons

Now, this lady had the audacity to tell me that I wasn’t college material. She had the nerve to assume that since I was failing all but 3 classes, and did not attend class on a regular basis during the semester, that I was not prepared for college. Shit if you asked me, I was more then prepared. That is what half of the mutherfuckers do the first year any damn ways. Have any of you seen the first season of a different World? Shit, Denise was like a role model in academics for me. But as far as this hating counselor, she must have attended community college with a major in fucked up broken English, and a minor in eating buckets of grease.

Matter of fact, I know the school system is fucked up. I know sophomore year, I was in class with a chick, and when the teacher asked her to read a passage, and she would just start laughing and stuttering and then said she didn’t feel like it. I know she was illiterate, had to be, just had to be. And what is fucked up, I never saw her in summer school. She had to be fucking a teacher, had to be. And why the hell was I always in summer school? Because, attendance policies are bullshit. I tell that to every job I’ve had. Don’t laugh, because if you knew me, you would know that I really do.

Which leads me to let you all know that from late 2004 to about fall of 2005, I went on an unprecedented 52 interviews. That’s right fifty fucking two. I would have rounded it off to the nearest whole number, but I’m am is only goods be with English really for real. I don’t even know how I even bothered to get up each day. That shit was taxing, but believe it or not, I still got high with a little help from my friends. To make some ends meet, I’d rent out the back room of my apartment to friends that were cheating on they wives or girlfriends. If I had the money, I would have set up a camera. What’s a little blackmail between friends? And how else could I afford beer and cigarettes?

Again, do the mathematics sun.

I had a few gigs in between interviews and all, but nothing that you would stay at longer than a week. I remember a telemarketing gig I had for like 7 days. They were bamboozling people in the Midwest for donations, and was sure to throw in 9/11 in the script. I had a moral obligation to leave. And besides, they blasted rock music all day, and there was no eye candy there. Sorry Charlie.

I do however end up working back in Manhattan, where I preferred to work anyways. Some telephone company doing tech shit like I know how to do. I was there to take the place of a guy who was moving down south. Soon as I came in he had the wickedest smile I ever seen. He was giggling the whole day, like there was a joke I was missing. And around 11am, the joke walked in. Barry Fickle. Yes that’s the name Barry fukkin Fickle.

Now I do not try to judge someone as soon as I look at him, and chances are, by his look, he’d probably go in his pocket and pull out the three incher and Fickle me to death. Now, since the other dude had tenure there, he was the one that was showing me the systems and this and that and introducing me around. It was somewhat a small office. And I was the new eye candy. As he told me the chicks in the office were like vultures. I was involved and it wasn’t on my agenda. But, of course I flirted for food. Shit, I was broke. And sometimes you have to put your pride in your pocket.

My manager, as I was told was the resident pimpalicious in the office. I could hear the hate in his voice sometimes when he said some shit to me. Whatever boss, there’s a new sheriff in town. But he was going to win this war. Instead of the other dude he wanted to pair me with Fickle. And his reasoning;


Boss: “I want you top train with Barry, J is cool, but he isn’t serious because he’s quitting.
Me: “No problem, I’m cool with that.
Boss: “Besides, Barry is a better guy”
Me: “Oh, Okay, thanks” (thinking, yep a fukkin hater)

So, he sits me with this dude. We begin to converse about the job. I am the type of dude that asks a lot of questions, even stupid ones. If you answer the stupid ones, then you may be more stupid than the actual question. It’s science. So as I am asking him things about this and that, I notice that I smell myself. It didn’t smell great at all. I know I had showered and all, but I didn’t remember putting on the degree. And I am getting a little bit self conscious.

A couple of the girls that came in after us exclaimed that it “stank” in there. One of the girls started spraying some perfume. Now I was really fucked up. Here I am, the first day and I smell like shit. What the fuck? Why is my luck like this I asked myself? Shit I wanted to cry. I take pride in my appearance. And I wasn’t from Pakistan or India, so what the hell is going on? I was sitting close to the dude so I can look at his screen as he did what he did as well as listen to his calls. But I was backing away so he wouldn’t get a whiff.

The boss, forever the hater must have known that I smelled like ass. So I guess to get my business put out there he told me to sit closer to the dude so that I can catch up and start working soon. Fuck!!!

That was on a Tuesday, this shit went on for a couple of days. And I did really not understand. I went home, I bought some febreeze, sprayed all of my shit down, even though my clothes weren’t only brand new, but I even washed the shits a couple days after I bought them. But when I went to work, I guess I was sweating on the train ride to work. I just didn’t fucking get it until Friday.

Friday was dress down day across America. And luckily my job took part in the festivities. So I am geared up, we got paid every week, so I had a check already. Things were sweet. I figured I’d get some acupuncture done during lunch to get this smell away. I came in earlier then the dude. So I was at his desk on his machine. And he comes in chipper because his direct deposit came through.

So I sit in the next chair, and a call comes right in from the NOC. I decide I am ready, so I take the call, and I dropped my pen. I had my headset in my hand, with the mic close to my mouth. So this dude is sitting next to me, and when I go down to get the pen, I fucking start gagging. I mean like I was in the gas chamber or something. The smell was horrible. It was like pure t shit. I have a 4 year old, and I have changed many a diaper in my life.

This smell superseded anything I have ever smelled before in my life. I have been in the hood where dead bodies were in buildings or on train tracks for days. No comparison. No no none at all to this shit here. “OH MY GOD!!!” I was saying when I finally caught my breath. If the floors weren’t so dirty, I would have fell out and asked for an EMT. Now I am upset, because this dude has on some cloth ass sneakers, and that’s where that particular smell was coming from. The shit was coming from his shoes. HELLS NAW!!!

The whole time it WAS him. I didn’t notice, but this dude smelled like pure t shit. He smelled like a diaper filled with cut up diseased raccoon dicks, sprinkled with curry and camel shit and then thrown into a hot pot of whiskey and rotten aborted babies. Here I am about to go get needles put all throughout my body because this fucker refuses not to sleep without his 5 dogs in the bed with him. Serious. At that moment I realized it was him, I felt like Bruce Willis in the sixth sense when he realized he was dead.

I was looking around and shit. I stood up and looked at the chick that was always spraying perfume, after yelling that it “stank” in here. I sent her and about 4 other people an email asking why I wasn’t notified of this bullshit. Here are the replies;

“Sorry, lol”
“My bad, lol”
“Glad I moved my seat, lol”
“Want to use my perfume?” and then she sends “lol”
Bitch.

Now, I would not be saying this now if the dude wasn’t an idiot. He was one of those dudes that got a little position at this company. Dude, you didn’t get a position. He was trained on networking for a bit, and now he knows it all. Irked the hell out of me. I have been in networking half of my life, and this guy is talking about configurations of modems at the nid of the gluteus maximus and what not. Ass clown. You cannot smell like described above and be arrogant at that. I guess someone sent the guy who I replaced an email. He sent me an instant message;


“Ooops, lol”

I guess in the end the Boss won hands down. I applied for the job I am at now and didn’t look back. I hang out with some of them folks from the place from time to time still. We even went into the pharmacy drunk one night. I bought a bottle of febreeze and a ribbon, and asked them to give it to him. Hey, I am a people person ya know?

Moms, Don't Let Your Kids Grow Up To Be Crackheads

I was going to update this with more stories about someone mentioned here. Believe me, I have some great material. But I am too tired for that right now. But I was made assure everything I thought was true. Some folks you just cannot trust or believe. But mooooving right along.

I have spent too many years drinking. Now only recently I have been drinking in the house more often then when I go out. I was what you would call a “binge drinker.” Meaning that, when I went out to a bar, I would get so fucking drunk, that when I woke up the next morning, I was surprised my car was in okay condition. Or that, I didn’t have a set of wings and a half of a halo over my head. I should have been dead along time ago. Seriously.

Binge drinking at bars will most definitely allow you to sleep with the boogawolf of the month member, shit, I have had occasions where as I was with the presidents. Shit. I mean, there’s a story about a midget, so why wouldn’t a boogawolf be appropriate as well?

However there are those grand moments when the boogawolf is not your only option. I’ve had many lucky nights. But stories about that don’t sell. People love pain, and I am willing and have a lot to share. I remember once while my car was in the shop, I went to a bar I would frequent after work, when I was taking the bus everyday. Not a bad spot. But, when I went back after about 6 months of being away it was turning into a Mexican bar. It was half and half before, but this time, it was wall to wall Mexicans. And when I looked at the jukebox I saw that most of the R&B songs were gone. I was relegated to listening to Selena and shit. She did have a phat ass though.

So wile I am there, a friend from a job I had years ago and his moms came in. Now the bar changed, but they didn’t. They get fucked up something serious. And when we were all together, it was shitface city. I love those people. So we are there chilling, and a couple of young ladies come in. maybe two years older then I was. One of the chicks just has the saddest face I have ever seen. I am sure when she covered her eyes she was hiding tears. I wish I could turn charisma off sometimes. But hey, the shit seems to ooze out.

So, moms tells me that I should go over to the girl and buy her a drink, and see if I can cheer her up. I do what moms says ya know. Plus I was feeling good, it was Friday, I just got paid, party jumping….
You need to realize there is a Spanish version of Johnny Kemp’s song called; Apenas Conseguido Pagado. I shit you not. Look it up, perhaps.

So, I go over to the young lady and ask her what the issue was and why she looked so sad. Bought her a couple of drinks. Now, this could have gone anyway, because she was having issues with her man or some shit. I don’t normally get involved like that. Seems kind of vulture-ish. However, I was drunk and horny, and it could have been either revenge pussy, or it could have been one of those, “I’m not ready for this yet” pussy. Every time it went the latter route:
Me: Aye barkeep, get the lady another one of them drinks with all the shit in it. Please and thank you. “I am a gentleman and shit ya know”


Bingo, that one did it. Now I had spent all of this time bullshitting, when I could have got her the all of the shit in it drink an hour earlier. I was supposed to roll with my man Rome and his moms, but chick was feeling me, and offered a ride home. Cool right? Hells naw. She had with her cousin, and her cousin’s boyfriend with them, or whatever he was to her. So the shit turned into an even longer night because she was driving, and had to taxi these two fools around town to get shit.

We leave the bar, go wayyyy across town to where I am from originally. Now, uh, this isn’t the type of place that your ass wants to be around at 3am. Just not a good look. So she says she had to get her phone from her sister’s house. Fair enough. I’ll wait for the pussy some more. Shit!

Now, we still have the cousin and her somewhat man riding with us. So I hear them in the back arguing, over what I didn’t know. Turns out that the dude wanted us all to come back to his crib, for some more drinks. I am no longer in shit face city, but now I am in cut a nigga township. This dude had to be like 215 lbs and had that beyonce look in his eye sort of, so wasn’t taking any chances. Looked in the bag, made sure I had my 3 incher. And on that note, I would like to thank Officer Hogan for arresting me a year earlier when his search turned up a big ass knife in my bag. He didn’t buy that whole studying to be a taxidermist bit at all.

The Fuzz: Uhhh Mr. Flav, we are going to let you leave, but you cannot be walking around with a goddamned 6 inch blade. Taxidermists my ass.
Me: Thanks officer, but tell me, just how many inches of blade can I walk around with?
The Fuzz: three inches, why?
Me: No reason, please and thank you.

So, we go into the dude’s house. And damn if it wasn’t the stereotype of the hood. He lived in his momma’s basement. Shit shit shit. I mean the guy had to have me by at least six years. I truly wanted to throw my Malcolm ten glasses on and have a heart to heart with him. But wait the fuck up. Why all dude had in the basement was a 2 inch black and white TV, hanger out the top, a weight bench and a kitchen chair, and a lazy boy with a blanket on it. Assumed that was the bed. The other part of the basement you could tell the sewage tank was probably just fixed or about to break down. What the fuck did I get myself into this time?

I am sitting talking to this chick ignoring them other two, when low and behold I start smelling some strange shit. It was making my stomach hurt it was so nasty. I turn around, and these mutherfuckers are smoking a crack pipe. A gat damned crack pipe, With Actual Crack In It. No, I mean real live crack. Not some soap chips, naw. Crackkkkkkkkkkk. I was looking at these bastards, not with disdain, but amazement. It was like a PBS special. I mean I have seen the shit in action when I was kid on the block and shit, but this was amazing. I stared at them while the transformation took effect. I swear to you, they went ape shit in 7 minutes flat. The two of them was comedy. First the crack dude takes his shirt off, lays down on the weight bench, while ole girl straddles him, and did what had to be 4896782 sets of ten in 3 minutes. And then crack dudette take HER shirt off. Titties everywhere. Just a flopping all around. Now I’m guessing that these two were fairly new to crack. Because she was thick as hell at that time. But I am sitting there in abso fukkin lute amazement. And this is not a lie. The fuckers got up, and started dancing. There was no music. There was no fucking music. There was no fucking music.

I mean, I am bugging at this point. I turn around from the crack head versions of Fredpipe Astaire, and Gingercrack Rogers to talk to ole girl. And I look at her, and I say;


Me: “Yo, do you fuck with that shit too?
Surprise: “HELLLS NAW, FUCK THAT SHIT, THEM NIGGAS CRAZY”
Me: “Oh, aight, lets leave them to this shit, and bounce out of here>
Surprise: “Okay, just give me a couple minutes”


Now, what I cannot show anyone is the look on my face that time. I wish there was a camera around, because SURPRISE!!!!! THE CHICK TAKES OUT TWO BAGS OF HEROIN AND PROCEEDS TO SNORT THE FIRST ONE. I know for a fact that my face at that moment had turned yellow, and I was looking like a yahoo “what the fuck” smiley. Man listen, I wasn’t mad at all, but I just shook my head. Looked back at her snorting the shit. And cracked the hell up. So, of course at this point, pussy is not even on the menu. Matter of fact, at that point I decided that I would jerk off for a month daily, wait. That I would ONLY jerk off for a month daily, because this shit was just too much for me.

Of course, while she snorts the shit, the two in the back of me got in a fight that rivalled Sam Jackson and Halle in jungle fever. She was mad that he kept feeling her tits, and he was mad that her tits were cold. And I think the crack had run out. Awww shit.
So, I'm asking this chick shit. Like, why you fucking with that? You sure you don’t fuck with crack? You be shooting that shit up? Is this nigga behind me going to hit me with a barbell? Does that shit impair your driving? You think she’d let me feel her titi? Can we go now?

Sighs, I put my jacket on, and I’m heading the fuck out laughing my ass off. I look back to see the chick just put her jacket on without her shirt or bra. I got a feeling this night would not be over soon still. Surprise is coming out, and look back to see the other chick, and what the fuck do ya know?! Crackhead Jackson had his pants down and was humping air. Pipealina Jackson called him ignorant, and stormed out pushing us out the way. I never knew what ironic meant in school, but I learned that night.


We finally get in the car, finally. Thank you Jesus, Moses, Muhammad, Budda, Anne frank, and foghorn leghorn. Finally out of the crackopera. Oh shit though. It aint over. LOL. The duke of crack dancing came out, and started bangin on the windows, and the nigga looked like he was crying or some shit. that fast? Shit. So ole girl peels off. We drove in a circle for maybe 10 minutes. Because ladies and gentlemen, the simple bitch was crying uncontrollably. I am trying to calm the bitch down; the chick in the back is mumbling some shit about how you shouldn’t slide down escalators with long hair. Wtf.

We end up at dunkin donuts. I had 3 dollars. I bought surprise a coffee, myself a coffee. I wasn’t going after the pussy at this point, but she deserved a reward for such entertainment in my opinion. So some sobering coffee it is. You just can’t make shit like this up. You just cannot. We get in the car; she backs up and hits this off duty cop’s car. A Lexus. She gets out, starts screaming and crying and goes into her story about her man, and shit. blah blah blah.
The cop gets out, tells her to calm down, it’s okay and for her to just leave. I get out looking at the damage. It was nothing. The cop gets out the car, Officer Hogan. I just walked away and wrote this shit the rest of that night.

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.