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!

Personal Space

You know, being a commuter isn't the best thing for me. There are so many people around you, coughing, sneezing, wheezing, smelling. I don't know how I get up to do each each day. When I first moved to JC, I had to get accustomed to the way of life at the bus depot. You see, when you wait, people get in line according to who got there first, second, third and so on. Took me a few weeks and a thousand dirty looks when I was the last to get there and the first to get on the bus. I mean, it was like these people didn't understand survival of the fittest and what not. Perhaps I am the ultimate bigot, so I always found a way to cut in front of an immigrant.

Green card: "Hey!!!!"
Me: "Oh, didn't realize you spoke english, with that dot on your head and all."

Yeah, yeah. I'm fucked up sometimes. But who isn't? But what really pisses me off is the invasion of personal space. Like for instance, right now, some fucker, with all the room in the world on the bus has to sit less than 10 inches from me. That is a total invasion to me. If I was already drunk, I would have faked a yawn, and caught him with surprise elbow. I doubt I'd be charged with anything, because I keep my Full bottle of anti-depressants in my bag. I would have pulled them out, showed him and said sorry. That may be a little extra, but oh well, right?

It is my belief that a person hs a certain radius. I'm guessing about five feet in diameter. Or as far as my arm can reach, depending on the situation. When the sars and the bird flu was going on, the radius was extended to about 7 to 10 feet. 15 feet when in chinatown.

When I am on an escalator, I absolutley hate when someone's face is 3 inches from my ass. Those are the times that I swish I ate bean and cabbage soup. I mean, you will learn a lesson. I'm such a proponent of personal space rules that I'd take a shit on myself right there just to educate someone. I'm all for educating people.

I have had many break ups because of my belief. There are times when I had to go against it, my own rule. I'm nicely packed but I'm unable to fuck from 5 feet away. Its a nice thought, but if I had a dick that size, the only pussy I would be getting is from elephants and sperm whales. Maybe not whales, because I'm not a great swimmer. However, I would create the worlds first pornographic circus...

"Performing Live, The Animal Fucker!!!"

I mean, call me selfish, but sometimes I just don't want anyone in my near surroundings. My ex had a huge fucking head. And sometimes, she would want to lay her head on my shoulder. Its cute at first, but then the shit starts wearing you down. When you can't lift your arm to use the remote, then there's a problem occuring. One night she was sleep on the couch and when she got up, the spot where her head was laying looked like it was hit by a comet. When I asked was she related to rocky dennis, she asked "who?" I gave her some wise chips, said nevermind and chuckled. She did look like cher kinda. Hmmmmmm.

I guess I have a mild case of claustrophobia. It may not be mild, because I don't even think I spelled it right. Another thing is that I don't really like talking up close and personal. I know I may have newport and liquor breath, but those are endearing odors. But what I don't want is someone with horrible breath tlking to me, and their stink breath bouncing off my face, and hitting them in the nose. Leading them to believe that not only am I the animal fucker, but I also perform cunnilingus on said animal. See, people with horrible breath do not realize it. I never understood why when someone tells you a secret in your ear, it travels through your head to your nose.

One time when my daughter was about two, an oodle of noodle got stuck in her nose. Couldn't have been on my watch, because I don't eat them, nor fed them to her. But man oh man. That shit was a horrible smell. I thought it was from her sucking her fingers. The whole time it was a noodle. I felt bad because, I was nervous that maybe she would have that forever. I yelled at her mother all the time and asked if she had food, then why was she feeding the baby bowls of shit. I love when my daughter gave me hugs and kisses, but its messed up when you have to brace yourself for close contact with your offspring. Thank goodness we took her to the doctor who found the noodle. Now I give her kishes wishes all the time. That's my stinkamuffin. I have got to work on appropiaye segways.

I won't even start on the use of elevators.

Like A Brick

During high school, I didn't know what direction I was headed for. I sent my SAT scores to scores of schools, and I'm sure I was accepted to a few. The ones that stood out were norfolk state, tuskeegee and the fake HU.

I really wasn't that supported by both of my parents as far as school. My grades were the type of grades that would only get me a scholarship at hair school, and that's even pushing it. I never really cared about anything in high school except maybe perforing. I was good at it. And I got a shitload of trophies for doing so. If I knew then what I knew now, I would have used that for my advantage to go somewhere. Unfortunately, my drama coach had only one prize student, and it damn sure wasn't me.
A friend from my block joined the navy the year before me.
One day he came to the school recruting. Unhappy with my home life, it seemed like a go. I could get money for college, travel the world, and most important; learn how to swim.
Long story short, I signed up. Since I wasn't a stellar student, I went to summer school. For the subject that I was the best at; history.
The thing was that, I was very good in history. I would cut 3 days of the week, come in the day before the test, and then come in the next day, and ace the test. The whole year I did that. Attendance meant nothing to me. Besides, I'm a fucking genius. And why would a genius have to live by the standards of everyone else? Damned that.
Anyways, that didn't make my recruiter that happy. The military always needs new blood. After summer school, I got a job at the most local mall. The job was okay. My cousin was a manager, and I thought I'd have it easy. Nope, he would be one of the first asshole bosses in my life. I worked there for about 6 months. I kept pushing back the date when I was to be shipped off. Bad move.
D-day finally came. The recruiter came to pick me up. He talked most of the time. He had stories about all the women he slept with over the world, and that he never got burnt. Great, I could play craps with my dick. What more could a 17 year old ask
for?

As we made the trip to the MEPS, I started to cry a little. I don't know why. I guess I just needed to let some things out. At the time, my girlfriend Ifa was preggo, not my kid though. I promised to take care of her and the baby. The dad was a deadbeat apparently. I remember her moms boyfriend at the time took me around, and made me an honorary q dawg so that I could get out the commitment before I left.

So anyways, we get to the brooklyn MEPS center. We take our oaths and all the basic bullshit. I can't remember too much of what went on there. I'm sure there was a lot of paperworks signing and what have you.
Queens Blvd, is where I would wind up that night. I think the place was the pan america, hotel or some shit. What I do remember is that where we were there was hella chinese folks around. Every corner seemed to have some chinese writing.

Its my type of personality to mesh with people right away. I got cool with this white kid from brooklyn. I forgot his name, but it don't matter. He called me Jerz all night, and I called the dude new yawk.

We was kickin it and we discussed how much of it was a mistake it was to join the navy.
We both had a sure fire way to get out of it. About 12 of us decided to walk around where we were and get drunk and smoke as much weed as we could consume.

In those days I didn't drink much, so it wasn't hard for me to get shit faced quickly. We must have pooled together and bought at least 8 fourty ounces, and a few fifths of I think brass monkey. They should have called it brass knuckles, because I got knocked the fuck out that night.

In our drunkeness, New Yawk and me started to reconsider our decision to try and get kicked out. I shouldn't say we, more like He. He started crying and shit, talking about how he wanted to do good, and show his pops he was worth something. Blah blah blah. It was touching, it touched me that I ran to the bathroom and threw up. I was regretting the decision to drink the old english mixed with hawaiian punch, and brass knuckles.

After getting close with the toilet, I went back into the room, and new yawk was mixing up something else for us to drink. I got on the floor and tried to turn it back the right way. I had a feeling I was on the top of a bottle cap and a giant person was tring to twist it off. That was my exact thought at that time. Yawk was mixing up something called the flush. He told me to drink it to clean my system. I was assuming that it would just make me un-drunk. I gulped the drink down, followed by the last of the brass knuckles. Smart, after that, the little man came behind me and flipped the switch to off. Goodnight.

To be continued.