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.

How I killed my uncle by playing with fire

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

"C’mon baby, lets do the hustle"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Too be continued one day perhaps

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

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

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

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

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

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

Holy Crap

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

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

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

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

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

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

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