Wow, there's a Negro choice, too?

I hate fat free pretzels.

Actually, that's utter bull poopies, cuz I just at 27 of them. Yeah, I counted the mofo's, cuz, well, I gotta do that now. In the last few months, I've seen pictures of me @ 28, 30, and 32.

I was a sexy bitch back then.

Good looking, skin wasn't looking like someone pee'd all over it, muscles were there, and I had an ass that would turn a gay preacher into a sinner (thanks for the lyric, Mr. Nelson). But now, hell, I'd wouldn't do me if I was a mobster ordered on a hit.

So diets suck butt cream.

But anywho, enough about moi.

About 4 days before this post (I think that's right; my sleep apnea has wrecked my mind so much, I couldn't name you ONE teacher or professor I had in my 16 years of schooling...wait, there was Mr. Cormincan, English professor...he looked like George Carlin (RIP) if he was a child molester smoking crack and sipping Yoo-Hoo's), I saw a news story about fellow folks of color getting shitty because on the upcoming census, one of the choices defining we dark-folks was the term "Negro." Now, this caused my eye to raise slightly, as I was on a hot streak of a rip-off pop-a-shot video game I was playing on my iPhone.

(Sadly, I am not a gamer; I'm more of a farter with rhythm, but that's another post for another day).

Anyway, all the popular so-called "leaders" (last time I checked, bout the only time black folks have exercised their right to vote was when B-Obama showed up, so I must of missed their election) of we "African-Americans" were all in an uproar, demanding that, oh, 300 million census documents have the term "Negro" removed.

Damn...that's a hell of a job @ Fed-Ex Kinkos/Office, or whatever it's called these days.

So after I finished playing my basketball game (as well as dispelling that lovely rumor that my melanin kind can actually shoot a basketball), I paid a little more attention to the story, then sat back for a moment to ponder this lovely little bit of information. It is amazing how much time you have to think when, well, you haven't collected a check for 20 out of the past 25 months or so.

(Damn it, that was about me, wasn't it? Son of a biscuit and gravy...sorry about that).

Now, I was born in 1969, right after Dr. King was "rudely dispatched", and about 2 years after interracial marriage (oh shit...I just realize my wife was white...well damn it, that explains the sunburn!) became legal in the U.S. I have been called "nigger" exactly twice...once while driving in Columbus OH, and I think one time walking in who knows where city back in my "G is a mad ho" tour of the mid 90's. Growing up in the Bronx, of course, "my nigga" was used frequently amongst my associates, and most of my life it, well, never truly bothered me. I rarely used it (actually I take that back, I never did use it, because my parents, who grew up in the Deep South during the time where hoses were used on them instead of watering yards and washing cars) would of, to quote the former wrestler Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson, "whooped my candy ass!" Now, with my just discovered her name wasn't "Carliqua"wife, and my degenerating sense of humor, I have been guilty of throwing the "n" word around in, well I admit, a poorly chosen way to be amusing at times. My wife is no racist (unless she had a "pity the dark child" moment when she married me) so she let it roll off, as if it was my right to use the word.

So, after the story, I sat down and tried to see what the relevance of this whole thing was, and why it was causing an uproar. As that I have never had a fire hose turned on me for any reason, or been beaten because I reflect light better than Caucasians, I probably didn't have as strong of a reaction as, say, my mother, father, and the rest of their generation (and the surviving generation before them, which is, sadly, dwindling) would, and bluntly, should have.

Then I thought about a post I did in 2008 about being "politically correct", and understanding that, well, words are deadly things at times, and God knows I've been cut by them more than I can count, ultimately it is up to the person that the words are being hurled towards to let them hurt you or not (unless there is truth in them, which, well, is an unavoidable pain if it is a sensitive subject).

So here I sit, divided on this word that has caused a lot of damage in this "United" States (I am sorry, we haven't been United except when we kicked the poor Indians off their own damned land), trying to see its relevance, from how this story made the news (anything that sucks always get front and center, doesn't it?) and why, ultimately, folks can't just say "screw it" and move on.

My oldest son asked me today why did people of different races had to be divided, and had to do things separately.

7 years old...didn't think I had to broach this subject this quickly.

My son is Negro (dictionary meaning: "a member of a dark-skinned group of peoples originally native to Africa south of the Sahara) and Caucasian ( often offensive of or relating to one of the traditional divisions of humankind, covering a broad group of peoples from Europe, western Asia, and parts of India and North Africa).

I tried to break it down the best way I could.

He said "that's so stupid."

Exactly...just like getting bent over a word, where, while understandably hurtful, and those who have had the power for 233 semi-odd years don't quite understand why it is, should be just let go of.

Then again, that is as likely to happen as FedEx Office finding the time to change the census forms.

Damn it, Now I gotta get a bowl of cereal...stupid deep thoughts at 1:17 in the morning.

A Quick Mention from the illest of funk

Hey y'all....

I wanted to drop a quick note (to my 1's and 1's of readers all across the world) on short, short notice about a worthy organization that I am going to hurt myself VERY BADLY for in about 19 hours or so from the time of this post.

Here's the deelio...

My youngest son, who I like to call "the child who couldn't b quiet with duct tape and crazy glue restricting his vocal orifice" was born with Down Syndrome. Now, I could be like those commercials and say crap like this...

"Hi, I am G. Eric Francis...you know me from doing big hogs like Sally Struthers and drinking the bathwater of Janet Jackson, Haley Berry, and Megan Fox. Well, today I want to bring to your attention a story about a young boy....sexy (unlike me, who's uglier than an un-made corpse) and he was born with Down Syndrome. This is a subject that is near and dear to my heart, because the judge ordered me to learn about it because of that whole "bathwater drinking/stalking" charge that I had to plea-bargain out of. I come to you to ask for your help, and your Kit-Kat bar money, and donate to Down Syndrome Indiana. I am their spokesperson (well, they were going to ask Prince to do it, but they felt that he came up, um, well, "short" of what they had in mind)...."

You get my point.

Anywho, this is a great organization, and well, tomorrow I am going to give up my only weekend day to sleep (whatever, I am unemployed, I have PLENTY of time to sleep) and drag my 264 lb tail around a 2.6 body of green sludge to raise awareness. So, I am asking the 1's and 1's of my fans for support...

...and ur friggin money.

I want you to feel good about yourself...even if you have body odor, can't get a date if you fell into a calender, or you are so geeky, Bill Gates says to you "shit, you are a friggin geek!"

These folks are called those with "special needs", but let's get real. Y'all know how I feel about "politically correct" crap like that (wait, I said "Y'all", like anyone reads my shit; that's why I write every 60 days or so lately). My soon got an extra chromosome, and he will learn slower than other kids.

But, he is still a great kid, and if ya go right HERE not only will you read about the lad, u'll think he's cute, and you'll pull out ur credit cards and make a donation...:)

Yeah, this blog is about "grub for your mind", but I'm going for your pockets today (since, well, all my ads hadn't done shit to help pay my bills...thanks a lot, cheap asses...:)

All jokes aside, perhaps I am feeding you a new meal on the menu....a meal of generosity. I hope that you like the main course with a side of please help a great organization out (it's fat free, and u'll feel good, I swear!)

I am ghost...I hope the world checks out this crap, and donate. The walk is on October 10th, and donations cut off at I believe 10 AM EST.

Anyway, before I go....a few passing thoughts...

1. Yo mammas r da shit...unless their, like, Eminem's mom...she sounds like a raving bitch.

2. Wrapping your penis in a garbage bag just isn't as good as latex.

3. Ellen DeGeneres is one cool lesbian.

4. If you are truly depressed and you can't decide if you wish to kill yourself, watch "Hope Floats" with Sandra Bullock and Harry Connick Jr. If you are not slicing and dicing the wrists like tomatoes doomed for a salad after it's over, it isn't too late for you.

Anyway, I'll see y'all later (and all jokes aside, I'd appreciate the support if you chose to donate).

Dizzy Funky Azz Drama Funk

Hmm. The first blog entry of my 40's....perhaps the last.

Who knows...as a person who has dreamt of making a living from my musings, it is somewhat disappointing when, well, no one reads the mofo's. There have been many days where a plethora of subjects flow through my brain like a teen aged boy's semen after 2 minutes of pumping, only to be cut off by the condom of indifference.

It's sort of a bitch, cuz, well, I do like to talk...even if it is via the written word.

However, as that I know that I am odd, tactless, crass, slightly deranged, and too blunt for my own good, methinks that I have driven away the few loyalists that I once THOUGHT I had for this blog.

The tag line for this bitch is "Grub for your mind."

I ponder if my cooking has either gotten stale, overcooked, or, wasn't very good in the first place.

This forum, one among the millions around the world, was sort of an escape for moi; somewhere where I can forget the crumbling accomplishments of what I thought were a pretty decent existence.

A great spouse...well, that is still there, but her hope dwindles like the Detroit Lion's chances of being competitive.

2 boys...a 7 year year genius in the making who I see being the scared, non-confident wuss is father once was...and at times still is. The other a 3 year old child who is developmentally delayed, but is smart as hell...except when he walks through the doors of restaurants, and becomes a psycho hose beast who can't stop screaming at the top of his lungs.

To go from being what I thought was partially successful to nearly being homeless.

Hmm....ok, I have to change this record....don't like "pity the poor Negro" album cuts...where the hell is my "Purple Rain" LP? Wait a second...gotta line the needle up just right...there we go....

"Dearly Beloved...we're gathered here to kick G. Eric in the ass...."

Whew....ok, much better.

Anywho, I wanted to make a few observations that I've noticed during the past, oh, 21 + months....if you don't care to read this, please skip down and select a musical selection in your head and ignore my rambling man-like bull jizms....

1. I've decided that today's generation of kids just don't respond well to punishment. My child, even if you take away his music player, video games, or the right to live, still finds something to do with his imagination. As that parent can no longer whup a kid's candy ass anymore w/o facing the wrath of the authorities, someone needs to come up with an invention to deter kids. I am going with a little cattle-prod for a boy's penis, where the parents keep the level of discomfort in they key fobs. For the girls, especially after the age of 12 (better know as when the bitches lose their friggin' minds) there should be something that we can implant where the parent can control the menstrual flow, and then make them wear white pants to school. Then, you hit the "overflow" button and c if they disobey you again.

2. Barack Obama is headed towards Jimmy Carter "I am going to be whupped by a Republican worse than a scene in an S&M skin flick come 2012" one term city, folks. Black folks, I, as a member, understand that y'all was happy when we finally "got one in", but, as you can read in a 2008 blog, I was concerned about the experience factor. Now, based on bad cabinet choices, a health care plan, that, while I haven't read all of it, is frankly making me nervous (how the hell are you gonna tell folks you HAVE to purchase health care? Some people can't purchase, well, shit, FOOD), I think the white folks (and the Latinos; can't say Hispanic, cuz I got corrected on that this week) are gonna say, "Hey, we gave the homeboy a chance, but now we need to put a chick in there, and c if we can policy in before those damned 28 days roll over." Just don't let it be Sarah Palin or Bobby Jindal (even tho my bet is Huckabee, for now)....now, if u could get that Lisa Ann from "Whose Naylin Paylin" chick, I might actually go vote.

(Note: You guys did read the warning before you entered the site, right?)

3. I told my son that if you are lucky to have a couple of lifelong friends, you only need to hire a few folks before you croak to carry your casket to your hole. I had an uncle who passed away last week, and due to lack of employment/funds, I couldn't go. From what I heard, it was like a rock star passed away, with standing room only at his funeral service this week. Sadly, I was almost jealous of a dead man, cuz 'bout only way I will fill a church when it's my turn to say adieu if it is in the hood and its the first of the month (get up get up get up, wake up wake up wake up....name the song!). I have plenty of associates, but very few friends who either tolerate or actually like my blunt, off kilter behind. Sort of kills the weekends, as that their hundreds of miles (and 1 kid too many to actually have a social life) away.

4. You know that old saying that opinions are like...well, that area on/in the body where the sphincter hangs out? I have come to the conclusion that none of us are ever truly right. Ain't possible (like world peace). Opinions are our life experiences, and, well, we all think we're right. I asked a few folks on Facebook about who they think is the greatest rapper/MC of all time, and the white folks (OK, ONE White Folk) came up with 2Pac. A relative mentioned Rakim from the legendary duo Eric B. & Rakim. Both valid opinions...but ultimately, no one can be right. Ultimately, being right requires facts, and, well, there's no way to truly prove who is better, or, well, if your friend tells you that the guy u're sleeping with isn't right for you, or if NY Pizza is better than Chicago pizza...

...wait, screw that, NY Pizza is better...

But that's my opinion.

Anyways, I don't know if and when I'll return with another bit of grub for your digestion...but, if you like, encouragement is a good motivator...as well as money.

Please make our your checks (or coupons for national chains of restaurants, as that I can't stand to eat anything I cook) to.....

Wishing For A Bluetooth World

Five states (California, Connecticut, New York, New Jersey, and Washington) and the District of Columbia have enacted a jurisdiction-wide ban on driving while talking on a handheld cellular phone. Washington state has also enacted a jurisdiction-wide ban on text messaging while driving.

Great law, that is.

I was driving along, getting my loud azz music thang on, when I got cut off by some fancy pants, Mercedes Boy driving middle age dude yabbing on his iPhone, not paying a damn bit of attention to what he was doing.

First of all, people with $ irritate me, cuz, well, I don't have any, and less importantly (grin) they think they can get away with anything.

Second of all, it ticks me off that folks drive around in 2009 without getting Bluetooth for their cell phones.

I remember back in the somewhat recent day that the best thing one can do when talking on the phone in the car was get one of those headsets with the "Rosemary, the operator" extensions and the big long cord that hung like an old man's penis at your side.

This qualified as technology, and at least you were able to somewhat pay attention to where you were going.

Now you have dumb asses who are texting while attempting to control anywhere from a 2500 to 4,000 lb vehicle going at anywhere between 30 and 60 miles an hour during rush hour.

What is so important to talk about via cold, impersonal words on a wireless phone that can't wait till, well, ya stop the car?

I guess I would find it hard to forgive someone who smashes into me while talking to her best friend Buffy the super skank about the latest Jonas Brothers video.

Bluetooth...think they are as low as $15 these days. Beat the crap out of $5-10K for a funeral.

But hell, then I started thinking....say we can expand Bluetooth beyond communication, music, and so forth?

I went into my "thinking room" (making sure we had Charmin; the spouse doesn't like scratchy paper on her sphincter) and came up with a few ideas if the planet went totally bluetooth...

1. The Bluetooth Prostitute - Simple, to the point, wireless, less mess. Ya connect to her via your 2in to 30 ft "man connection" (depending on if you are a white guy who ISN'T a porn star, or a big dude named Leroy), do your business, and it doesn't necessarily qualify as a bad thing (unless you get overexcited and cause a short...that would, well suck...unless having "sucking" programed is what u're into).

2. The Bluetooth Child - This would be awesome...kid becomes a pain in the ass, disconnet the little bastard/bitch, or simple don't recharge.

3. The Bluetooth Job - Now this would be an awesome idea....connect, let it go to work for you, and if it happens to get overused, just take those days off (like you weren't anyway) until it is charged up again. Companion to the "Bluetooth boss" which is all bad transmission over air anyway.

That was all I can think of, as that I had the runs, and it didn't take long before I had to leave.

But, I am open to any ideas my loyal readers (readers....hahahahahaha....that's a good one) may suggest.

In the meanwhile, I would love, in a thunderstorm, some loser who wasn't paying attention cuz he was talking to his mistress on the phone while driving home to just tilt his phone the right way and...

...well, let's just say the "disconnection" would be awesome to watch.

Yeah, I am not right.

Two-Thousand-Zero-Nine, Party Over, Ooops...never mind, here's da new year plan!

Alrighty then....

A new year has arrived...the end of the 2000's (which makes no sense, as that there are 991 years to go on that, if you truly think about it; however, there isn't anything else to call this first decade, so we move on!)

The Christmas lights have been somewhat put away (my tree is still up, but I am not as bad as some folks...I never did quite understand the supposed "White Trailer Trash Mentality" of leaving them up every year; while I get the convenience of flipping on a switch after Thanksgiving without the stress, should you advertise that you have less class than a South African School?) and I have big plans for 2009...well, not really, but I have really, really big dreams of getting rid of my lovely gut before I turn 40 in 6 months and 25 days.

My kids still haven't gotten bored with their new toys as of yet (my oldest is a video game addict, which is not abnormal for the kids of this generation; if he could apply his skills with a Wii remote to, say, the economy, we'd all be making 6 figures and getting blown (or eaten, depending on your gender) by hot looking people), and well, I avoided getting sox and Brute (by Faberge)...

...at least till next Christmas, anyway.

Anywho, I wanted to share with you my hopes and dreams for 2009, for myself as well as the world that we all live in. (Please note these thoughts and dreams are self copyright 2009 The Negro with The Ego, all rights reserved. Any use of said thoughts and dreams for your own benefit will result in me sending a bottled fart and a mini slice of my funky ass turds to your address).

Ok, here we go....

1. I hope to discover a toejam cleaner that works in the shower. It's something that I, as well as maybe 3 other people, might think about, which obviously makes it important. Sometimes I feel like there is a cotton farm between my toes by the end of the day. (Wait a minute...based on my ethnic background, let's make the cotton reference polyester, OK?)

2. That women can create a bra that is comfortable as well as sexy, no matter how big the flotation devices are. We can cure diseases, we can elect a black man as president (more on that later), and put up with Britney Spears' crap....why can't we find a bra that not only helps the ladies carry the man pillows, but makes a man wish he had a flag to put on his pole when he sees his woman in it? Just a thought.

3. The term "baby daddy" to go away, replaced with the term "father." Sigh...being out of work for the last 13 months has allowed me to "catch up" on all these "talk shows" (also known as how white trailer trash or ignorant, stereotype enhancing Negroes making the KKK's job so much easier propaganda). I truly wish that there was a test required before you dip the life-giving ice cream mix stick into the wet tunnel of baby love. Most folks would fail...hell, based on my lack of patience with my kids, I'd fail...probably on purpose. In short, if ya make it, handle it and bring up a decent human being, fellas...mamma's too, OK? Baby Daddy is one thing, Father is everything.

4. TV Stations don't really need to let us know that, well, we're watching their stations. I am watching college football here on New Year's Day, which is a typically male thing to do (but it is the only time of the year I typically watch college football; I am more of a fan of the pro game). Anyway, in the first 10 minutes of the game, I heard "ESPN" mentioned at least 4 times. If you are so f'n stupid that you need to know what station you are watching, pick up a book. Obviously, the media thinks we all have George W. Bush-level intelligence (an oxymoron in itself). Then again, I just may spend too much time paying attention to irrelevant shit.

5. For those folks whose time is up in 2009, to all die in their sleep...while dreaming of anything they were not able to do while they were here. Of course, I am praying that I am not among the ones to become worm fodder, nor do I wish anything like that to my 1 to 3 regular readers. I mean, we got cancer, strokes, heart attacks, murder, watching "American Idol" and getting shitty when people like Sanjaya sticks around and getting an aneurysm due to stress over it, etc. I say if it's your time, right before, have a drink, your favorite meal, put on your "Hannah Montana" slipper socks, and go to sleep, with your last thoughts being that country you wanted to visit, or that Xbox 360 you wanted but couldn't afford, or doing Heidi Klum (or Brad Pitt, Zach Effron, etc for the ladies). Me personally (once again, Lord, I would appreciate another 40 years of relative good health before my clock's punched) I hope to dream of my kids being men, my wife in good health (but OLD!) and me being the sex-meat of a Halle Berry and Janet Jackson sandwich (obviously, the only way the last part happens is IN A DREAM).

6. Lawyers who get on TV claiming that they have your best interests in mind. Now I know this is old hat, but it just cracks me up when you see actors who probably made $500 bucks for their appearance saying "Thanks to (put in the scumbag lawyer's name here), he made me 10's of thousands of dollars because my accident...even though my big toe is in my ass permanently, I can now buy a new wheelchair." In the meanwhile, the lawyer, whose taken about, oh, 80% of your winnings, is laughing as he drives away in his Bentley, being blown by your wife. Put that truth in a commercial...

7. Create an "Off" Button for children and people who talk too much shit. That wish is self explanatory; the person who comes up with that would have so much money, make make Warren Buffet look like he couldn't afford to live in the ghetto.

8. Another wish for an invention...the "Get Rid of The Fat Off Your Ass Without The Work" Pill. This would be awesome. I have the Wii Fit...got it for my 39th birthday. Been used like 10 times. Now when I play the Wii, it yells at me. This is not motivating me to drop the 70 lbs I need to lose. This is motivating me to find the nearest packet of Suzy-Q's and flipping off my Wii with my cream-covered finger. And this person will then become Bill Gates in terms of cash flow. Sweet.

9. For Our 44th President to not get shot. I am truly not trying to be facetious here, but let's face it...there are a lot of Yahoo's who haven't gotten over the Civil War Loss...despite that that was like, what...8 generations or so ago, and they weren't even a sperm shot in their great great great great great great granddaddy's Johnson at the time the Confederacy downfall. For the inauguration, they are talking about the heaviest security for the event in U.S. history. Sad. Last time I checked, he bleeds just like any other human being, no matter what ethnicity one is. Don't hate because he has a better tan...u have a problem, find a salon.

And Finally....

10. The real time wishes. I'd like folks to actually try to be slightly nicer to each other. If a person is an ass, they need to be wiped like an ass. But, if someone is being a bad day, give them a break. For those who have a job that they cannot stand (and that would describe ALL of my jobs; anyone who says they LOVE their job is either getting paid at least high 6 figures, or they have nothing BETTER to do in their lives), be glad you have one, because there is no worse feeling, beyond loss of a loved one, than feeling helpless. To really learn (and this applies to me, too) patience...life's a bitch or anus (to keep things non-sexist here), and it will get to you on it's time, not yours. For all folks to appreciate this short time on this earth...if you checked out a post of mine a couple of weeks back, a former co-worker of mine and a friend passed away a couple months ago, and a former friend's dad did the same, both due to avoidable health-related issues. Pretty young, considering today's medical advancements, too. My wife told me that we were closer to these gentlemen's age than we were to being teenagers (I have to kick her for that comment). Just tells you time flies, and soon you will arrive at that final destination. Enjoy your time, even if life sucks dingleberries. And in conclusion...

...to accept that people won't listen AT ALL to No. 9. We are a flawed race...sadly, the human race never fails to disappoint me...and I to disappoint myself.

Oh well...there's always the Wii Fit...or Suzy Q's.

Tough Choice.

Happy New Year.

A Domain Xmas (more than likely without the "Christ", as that he won't approve of this stuff)

Eh yo.



I wanted to not flood your domes with too many attempts at life's lessons, as that, well, it is the holidays, and the big day is upon us. So, instead of discussing death, race relations, music, relationships, sex, or all the other things that makes up life, I have decided to, instead, put up some fluff to go along with that delicious fruit cake that I'm sure a lot of you will be using to prop up your trailers this season. Enjoy...I'm probably de-blogged till 2009....I hope you and yours enjoy the holiday season, and for those who believe...well, u know what to do...:)

Episode 1

"Twas The Bullshit Before Christmas"

Twas the bullshit before Christmas,

And all through my crib

I was trying to feed the rugrat

But couldn't find the damned bib

Now the 3 year old is bitchin'

Screaming at the top of his lungs

And I sigh to myself

Wishing the semen would of stayed in my hung

It's Christmas Eve

And the tree has been knocked over again

Because My oldest is a dumb ass

He tripped and now the stem's a-bent...in (ok, I screwed up...shut up!)

Anyway...ahem...

I Pull up "NORAD"

So the Santa Lie Can Commence

He falls for that crap

Makin' me Cool like Fiddy Cent

I tell the little half-breed

To go the hell upstairs

So the spouse and I

Can get the presents from the inner lair

The presents are stacked

And we say "Thank The Lord"

Then the nosy zebra child comes down and says

"I'm Bored"

WFT? I whispered

As I pointed towards the stairs

The 6 year old sighs

Saying "Whatever" and disappeared

Finally the kids are snoring

And I am drunk on egg nog

When I hear a loud crash

Like a trailer trash hog

I quickly grab my Glock

About to smoke the fools outside

When I see some crazy white guy

With a red suit on his hide

Thinking it's some drunk

I let off a few shots

El Caucasian Turns Around

With a bunch of drippy snot

I started to laugh

And he did too

I lowered my piece and asked

"What up, dude?"

The blanco had a bag

With Ribbons and Shit

He reached inside

And gave me more than a bit

Some Money, some toys

And a bunch of cool stuff

He winked at me

Then flashed me his muff

This dude was a gal

And and ugly chick at that

"What's the opposite of skinny?" I asked

She sighed and said "fat."

"I came because Santa

Got robbed in LA

I guess wearing red

Ticked off the wrong gang that day."

"So u're Mrs. Claus?"

I asked in amazement

She said yes, sighing

"I must be damned crazy"

So before I said a word,

She whistled real loud

And Rudolph and the others

On my lawn made a crowd

With a fart shaking her left butt cheek

She Leaped into the sleigh

And The reindeer grown

The fat chick did much weigh

As they soared into the sky

And she sailed out of sight

She Said

"This Xmas Jazz is bullshit...where's my dildo and good nite!"

Episode 2:

The Christmas Song (The Domain Version)

Your Nuts roasting, like on an open fire

Syphilis Dripping out your nose

Takings shots for the STD's you've acquired

Muttering "I shouldn't of boned those nasty Ho's"

It's the 5th disease you acquired

And now you won't get any Xmas Nite

Yuletides skanks won't ever light your fire

You won't be getting hard, tonight

You know you're desperate for a lay

The dog is looking good to do this very day

And every mother's child is gonna sigh...

Saying "Hey Momma, that guy has a nasty penis hanging out his fly"

So as you ponder this simple phrase

Since you'll won't get some even if you live to 92

Although you've tried, many drugs, many ways

Merry Syphilis, u're screwed.

Episode 3:

Rudolph Comes out The Closet

Rudolph The Rainbow Reindeer

Like Male Reindeer's Hairy Holes

Even the girls did love him

He wanted a hard thick bone

He had a secret lover

A big buck named Jerome

He took Rudolph to the forest

And took him via the chocolate road

Then one foggy Xmas Eve

Santa Caught them in the act

"Rudolph, I normally don't swing that that

But let me tap it from the back"

So now Santa's A Swinger

And Rudolph's nose is red as hell

So next Xmas eve when you see them

Their Secret to your mom you...can...tell

Finally...

Episode IV:

We Wish You A Merry...Whatever

We Wish You A Merry Christmas

You know what we want to say this

We couldn't get a crap-mas

Cuz We don't give a crap

No Xbox, No Wii

No frickin' money

Can't Find A Damn Job

Let's Shoot the Easter Bunny

(repeat chorus)

I told you mother

She is so fat

Her lunch box is a refrigerator

And I think she ate the cat

(repeat the chorus)

Hey Phil, your kids

They ain't even that cute

Oh By the way, they ain't yours

The Daddy's Name is Beirut

We Wish You A Merry Christmas

Let me bend over so you can kiss this

And go ahead and eat shit

And throw up Miller on the New Year!

Peace and good will...and lucky lottery numbers on Xmas Eve.

It's Black Thursday, didn't ya know?

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And Now, The Official "Tangent" Of The Domain...

(This one is for one of the finest writers I've encountered (hopefully she'll get the joke)...Also, check out her blogs on my 'roll..."Oh Pshaw" (originally I Put "Oh the Joys", which is good, too...screw it...let's move on!)as well as "So Not The Bradys". Good stuff, kids).



Hello...I am going to talk about stuff that happen to irrtiate me as each day happens to begin...you see, I have noticed certain things that have taken place each day I open my eyes, and continue to mount each day until it begins to itch like an unwiped butthole with hair, getting stuck together due to un-removed poop and dingleberries....first off, why do we have eye crust in the morning, glueing our eyes shut, causing us to stumble blindly into our bathrooms/outhouses/trailer crap dump areas looking for some water to wash our faces? How about that nasty ass taste in your mouth, making you wonder if this is what women in porn feel like at the end of each scene? I don't know about you, but I spend a good 10 minutes trying to get that crap off of my tongue. This is why I could never do man on man sex...and then, and this is just for the males...ball funk...you know what I am talking about...when, if you choose to hold off your shower until the next morning, your sacks smells like cat crotch and baby poop, gagging you like there's no tomorrow? Hell, you can't run away from your own testicular funky-tude. And ladies, it happens to you, too...that, well, food that spoiled at Red Lobster funk that Massengil couldn't eradicate. Just sort of sucks. So ya turn on the shower, right, to hopefully handle that bidness...in the meanwhile then, after you like scrape the nasty film from your oral cavity, soak your nuts in Dawn Dishwashing liquid so you can get it detached from your right leg (or for you ladies, dip your tampons in vinegar and hope for the best), and wash that glue that is keep your eyes shut off, you take a shower and, when done, go downstairs (or, once again, if you are a trailer dweller, you...hell, I don't know, move the tin foil walls out of the way) and go to your kitchen, where if you are employed (or trapped if you're not the boss; nobody gets rich if you work for someone else) eat stuff that is so not healthy for you (sugar cereals when you know your butt is like 50 with diabetes, or 8 pieces of bacon as you can hear your arteries cracking due to the pig ass you're eating) and the undertaker is standing over you, shaking his head at you as you consume what you KNOW isn't good for you...you then jump into your vehicle to head for work...hold on, I got more on this friggin point...when you have to really let out a helacious, kick ass, would raise the dead to start dancing to "Thriller" farts, and you're trapped in your car with it...I mean you are like in traffic, minding your business, listening to your favorite lite rock/you've lost any semblance of cool station, and "brrrrrrrip!"...you feel this really hot air escape your Hershey Highway, and you hope that it isn't followed by warm syrup topping-like poop-goo in your shorts/panties/thongs...ugh, wait, in thongs, not much "catcher's mitt" room in those...not cool...Then, after you fart and the funk has permeated your clothes, making you smell like your uncleaned port-a-toilet you call a bathroom (we all know friends that have lavatories like this in their homes), you have to spend 1/3 of your existence each day in some sort of mini Rubik's cube from hell, getting paid slave wages while you stare at a computer all day...and wouldn't you know it, you probably have a boss with afterbirth breath in your face, asking you where your assignment is...then you're watching the clock and shit, as each second feels like your eyebrows being plucked by a pitbull with a lashes fettish...and damn, it ends up being like lunch time, and you are trying to get to like Taco Bell and whatnot, even tho u melted your car seats with that ass expulsion on your way to the daily prison sentence you call a job, but u get like the nachos bellgrande with an extra side of beans, and you eat it, drowning it down with 200 empty calories (most people call it soda), and as you walk out, you lift your left butt cheek, and you let a "greatest hits" bit of flatulence out, thinking you are going to cute...and this time that syrup that you avoided earlier spatters against your undie-walls (or, if you ladies are doing the thong thing, a brown splatter pattern not seen since last week's "CSI:Compton" episode begins to be visible on those white slacks that you know that you shouldn't of worn, cuz it's like 2 months past Labor Day)...so you are making that squishy sound as you walk away, cuz you are like rushing to the bathroom to use the sink to spray off the corn chunks from your cheeks, and those groovy "Old Navy" slacks (and hell, a guy could be wearing those, since your mother gave you those pants, and she's controlled you all your life, you wear them once a week to make her feel good) that "Grissom" from Las Vegas is taking forensic evidence from the forming crust due to air-drying...and you have 10 minutes to get back to work...

Whew...thank God this isn't a long, useless point that isn't going anywhere...dude, pass me the bong, man...

(cough, cough)...damn, that's some good shit...

wow...is that Mr. Snuffleupagus over there...

Holy Crap...I think Big Bird is doing Elmo...what's in this bong, dude...

wow, ok...what was I saying...oh yeah...

So you get back into your ride, with your car now reeking like an unwashed Vegas Hooker, and you are like, so, so late...your bad breath-havin' boss is gonna yell at ya, the reports are going to be 2 days behind, and now your little soldier (or your love canal) is swinging free/taking in air, causing the odors that you had earlier this morning to return, cuz you had to dump your soiled drawers in the Taco Bell bathroom waste basket (you know, the kind with that lid that you have to step on that damned pedal to lift open)....then, like someone cuts you off, and you swerve, and you end up running over someone's dog, that sort of looks like Toto from "The Wizard of Oz"...and you are like "Ah Damn, I killed Toto!"...forgetting that you are now 45 minutes late, and your getting out of your car, right...the "Toto" look alike is all flat and stuff like a thin crust pizza from NY, and the little girl whose dog it was like is crying and stuff...and her 275 lb Dad is running towards you, looking like Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson...now you're like "Oh Poop", not cursing like an adult because you're about to get beat like a stepchild by this little girl's dad (note: if this is a female with that thong I mentioned earlier, replace "The Rock" with "Chyna")...then you get smart, run for your car, and speed off as quickly as your sticky, naked tail can take you..I hate when that happens, you know...so you get back to work (52 minutes and 30 seconds late), and your boss is in his office doing his mistress, and you take a deep breath, knowing it's a good thing the boss is being done, and you're still employed (since you were the one who wrote the memo about anyone who is more than 15 minutes late would be terminated)...then it occurs to you that since he is "occupied" (or is "occupying" his mistress), you better sneak your stank ass out of the office before someone smells what's afoot (or a-ass)...you begin sneaking down the steps, trying to get out of the building...when you slip on a used condom that your boss left the other day during the "Bang and a hot dog for 1.99" personal lunch special he had with Nadia, the 38EEE mistress on Tuesday, and now it's Wednesday...which explains where your bonus went last year...you slip, crack your head open, blood gushing everywhere, and Grissom comes up the steps and says to you...

"Wake up, you're dreaming."

The alarm rings, and as you try to look at the clock, you cannot see it, because your eyes are glued shut due to that eye-goop that formed overnight.

"Shit," you say to yourself, "where's my toothpaste?"

A Quick Cheat...

Hi kids...being slightly lazy this time...this is a quick posting of old blogs from MySpace. I plan to update with fresh material by 11/11, but since I got a couple of positive reviews from 'em, and I want y'all to hopefully dig my vibe, here we go, each dated and left uncircumcised. Peace and anal cleanings.

(Note: These Pieces of the "Ill Funk" are based on late nite irritations...sort of like hemorrhoids. As you can see in the newer ones and in the future, my tone has changed...at least slightly...:)

Happy Friggin 38th bday! (Originally Posted 7/26/07)


Alrighty then! First blog from TNWTE (The Negro with the ego). Hmm...it is my 38th birthday, and it has suck the cream of a hung horse today, let me tell ya! My youngest (who seems to have a knack for getting sick/injured/messed up on every day off I have) ended up in the hospital (just 2 days after he left the hospital for heart surgery) because his pooper wasn't being cooperative. Sigh, gives a whole new meaning to a crappy day, doesn't it?
Anyway, I guess I can't totally complain...I mean, I am alive for another year, despite my best efforts to tick the good Lord off and have him strike me down. And, as u can c, I do have 2 pretty cute kids (and no, they are not adopted; someone actually have the nerve to friggin' ask my wife if they were...I mean damn, I know I am not the sexy beast I once was, but give me a friggin' break...lol) so I guess life ain't totally skid marked like fruit of the looms, right?
Forgive my mood; just sort of been a disappointing year all around. I doubt anyone will read this mug, but if you do, let a brother know that I made ya smile, at the very least. I am out...hopefully my spouse will wake up (she has a migraine; as I said, been a hell of a day) and take me out for some steak to salvage this day. I do like to write, so hit me up if u get a chance...see ya!


Toe Jams are not Groceries (Originally Posted 7/28/07)

It's good to get the creative juices flowing once again...even if the audience for this dribbling of funk from my cranium consists only of myself, a good tune, and the spinning sounds of my ceiling fan to the right and above from my sloppy armoire.
Anyway, not much to write about...came back from Louisville, KY, using my 10th and final day off for the year. Yeah, it is only July, but I won't bore you w/the details with how the year's gone so far for moi and the fam. Besides, don't u hate mofo's who actually bore you w/the details of their mundane existence, considering that more than likely your life is either...
1. Much better than theirs, so u don't friggin' care;
2. Your life is worse, so u really don't friggin' care;
3. If u actually do care, it shows, so that person keeps talking, which makes u end up not caring and u tell them to "expletive" off, which ends up hurting the person's feelings, ruining your day, AND even making you even care less the next time they come to you...whew!
So, I won't go there for those who actually may read this blog...say, in the next 6 months to a year, when I probably won't care to write again...:)
Anyway, good weekend to all ( unless u r in Australia, which means it's already Sunday and their weekend's about shot...:)


Let me tell you about kids... (Originally Published 8/21/07)

'sup dark ones and those who have all the paper! (that would be the white folks...lol). Kidding, of course...as that I am married to one of the poor white folks (I know, shocking...not like the kids weren't a dead giveaway..:)) Anyway, as that no one reads these things, I am gonna be brief this time. As you can see, I have 2 kids....one of them special needs. However, both of them...well...are sort of like an anal scratch...u'd love to get rid of it, but the consequences may not be ones u want to pay...LOL Don't get me wrong...love my boys...damned proud of them too, especially the little one and his multitude of healt problems. But don't you wish you had an "off" button for kids? I mean, y ou'd be richer than Bill Gates OVERNIGHT...:) My oldest, and I think this must be a 5 year old thing, will not shut the (*@(*@ up! I am going to find the Kaluhua fo' real on this one, just so I am too blitzed to feel the pain! If I could resign from this job, I would...LOL

Anyway, enough of that...peace and fatback, y'all.


Grits ain’t toothpaste (Originally Published 12/1/07)

Morning (or evening, depending on how you look at it). As that I was about to go to bed (sad as it is, as that 10 years ago I was just headed to my next club on a Saturday night/Sunday evening), but decided to stop on myspace to see if anyone cared to drop me a note.
Shockingly, I got 2...as if I should be surprised, since, well, I ain't as sexy as I once was...:) But, to the one or 2 people who wanted to get their annual charity out of the way and be nice to me, thank you, and I'll send you that $9.99 payoff in the mail shortly.
Anyway, let me see what I wish to talk about...not much has happened since I last posted to this site...the kids are still trying to make me, well, die from frustration and stress (and sadly, the little one has become, well, a part time A**hole; love him to death, but the terrible 2's are comin) and after hearing from the doc that I probably have diabetes, I need to haul my fat, tugboat, titanic sinkin' a** to a gym and eat celery sticks instead of pork rinds. Quick piece of advice to the few people who may read this who are about to turn 30; enjoy eating what u want; your body will say f**k u shortly.
So anyway there is an associate of mine who came by to see me on Saturday, bummed out 'cuz she cannot find love, and she always is looking for love in all the wrong places (damn it, I know that is sung by some white dude; if someone can give me the title, I'll be sure to NOT put it on my iPhone...:) Anyway, it is an old tale of a good looking female, successful, smart, etc not being to find a dude who either isn't married, gay, stupid, or friggin' emotionally confused. So, being the good friend that I am, I said to her a few things...
1. men are well, stupid. This is why Joni Mitchell wrote "Got Til It's Gone." We are about as swift as used toilet paper at times.
2. Stop trippin and cut that zero (thank you Doug E. Fresh). u can have any man u want; u have an a** that u can bounce quarters off of and come back as dollar bills.
3. Finally, God is never late.
Now, considering that I just called my adorable son an a**hole a few paragraphs ago, it is probably odd for the .5 readers of this article for me to bring religion into the conversation. But let me break it down like this. As I told a friend of mine many times, God even watches over the wicked. It is my hope, for example, that I get smart and start looking at women's breasts and say "damn, that makes me thirsty" and try to get my soul straight before I am the devil's ping-pong ball for eternity (even tho I am pretty much that way here on earth; for the agnostics in the world, well, this part won't matter, since u r convinced that u'll be just dirt and s**t when your clock is punched. However, one of us will be proven wrong; u better hope it is me...lol). But, as I tried to explain to my friend, "Someday....her prince...will come!" (Disney, bit**es, c'mon now!) Love generally sucks the tastes of a dirty scrotum most of the time, but eventually, the victory will be yours. She took my advice, thanked me, and split.
Probably didn't do piss, but perhaps someone who reads this might dig it.
And oh yeah, Grits Ain't Toothpaste.
Peace and chicken grease, w/a side of fatback on the side.


Up at 2:25...i’m too old for this s**t (Originally Posted 8/3/08)

Eh yo....not like u folks read my rantings, but ya know, it's good therapy for me, especially when I can't sleep...:)Lessee...what shall I bitch about today...:). Well, beyond my lack of income these days, life isn't too shabby...it usually isn't too bad when u r not, well, dead...LOL. Just turned 39 9 days ago...had a pleasant evening with the spouse, so that's all good...I do wonder tho where time went so friggin' quickly....for one, I remember hanging out in the boogie down Bronx, being afraid of getting my ass kicked (or kicking someone's ass, as before I got 2 kegs of beer where my nice stomach once once I was a pretty strong guy) playing handball, stickball, hanging out on the "stoop" listening to rap music when you were able to play it in front of your parents. And girls...let me ask you something....is something in the water or what? When I was 13, there was one girl who had bigger than a-cups...Juana Alverez. Of course, I never had a shot with here...I was a 170 lb nerd with a head shaped like the official ball of the NFL. Today, u can't tell the 14 year olds from the 25 year olds. And I know I am getting older, cuz I am tellin' them to put their clothes on....WTF?Now don't get me wrong....I don't act my age...I think my frame of mind (and face it white folks, y'all age f**ked up; my dear wife, who I love to death, is so far avoiding looking like her mother, but check back with me in 2018...lol) keeps me young....and there are times I can actually tell what is playing on the radio. Folks at my former employer used to pick on me cuz they ASSumed that all I listened to in my car stereo was 80's era music. While I admit that about 40% of my music would fit in my genre (hell, I listen to the 80's station on XM most of the time; most of today's music is crap...and yeah, I am beginning to sound like my parents...lol)I am always on the outlook for new stuff. There's this track that my wife pointed out to me..."I Kissed a Girl" by Katy Perry....catchy as hell. There are still some musicians out there that don't rely on your basic "my wheels/my rims/my bitc*es/let me do you/let's use the same exact beat for every song I put out" mentality that permeates today's music. So if I am old in that sense, suck the flab out of my belly, ok? :)Anyway, during my time off I have come to conclude several things, which I will end this latest rant with...1. I am deathly afraid of dying (isn't it funny..."deathly" and "dying" in the same sentence, especially since well "deathly"...never mind, u figure it out!) due to my many sins, flaws, whatever you call them. I had an associate (sadly I wish I could say friend, because he is a fascinating fellow) from my former employer who is pretty much an atheist who I enjoyed bantering with. My thoughts ran across him when one of the funniest men in America, George Carlin, died last month. He didn't believe in God either. Now I am a crappy church goer, and I need to bring my kids up right...but one thing I do know is this...being out of work for 8 months and still having my home and my possessions tells me that SOMEONE is watching my ass somewhere. In short, I need to figure this thing called life and faith out before my "fear" becomes a reality. As my friend, as I am sure Mr. Carlin has found out, either Christians or he is going to be wrong.2. Getting fat is much easier than losing weight. When I was in college up till my mid 20's, I was about 180 lbs or so (maybe 190 w/muscle, but whatever...lol) When I was a male whore (hey, I admit it, while I was an honest one, I was a whore, nonetheless) I for one of the few times in my life thought I was a decent looking guy. THen I met my wife, and oh, 80 lbs later, I look like a miniature Fat Albert (if u are under 30, u won't get the comparison...google it!). I know the countdown to 40 has begun, but dayam, when u need a tank of oxygen on the top and the bottom of the steps, something is wrong. Now, my dear cousin sent me a late birthday present, and while it hasn't arrived yet, my bet it is the "Wii Fit." Hopefully the "Fit" will get the "s**t" off my my ass.3. Your mindset determines your life's outlook. Whatever faith you follow plays a major part in this as well, but as that I haven't made one red cent in 2008, and every month is a "how do I pay my friggin' mortgage" game show, I still joke, laugh, dispense advice if asked, and general act as if nothing is wrong, even tho I know everything I've worked for may take a major crappola the following month. So, I'll bid adieu by saying that the way I've survived the devil's crap throw is just trying to be the head of my family and say "hey, I won't have to sell my bootie for cash." Hey, I don't even like it when the doctor checks "up there". :)Anyways, I am out....I doubt anyone will read this, but if ya do, be kind, please rewind (yeah, maybe I am an 80's guy after all...:)

Damn, I Wish I Was As Handsome as My Sons Will Be

My sons are really, really, hot.

OK, before you start comparing me to the "Jesus Juice, Shamon!" 50 year old man-child that was once a superstar (and seems to like little sausages in his bed; wait, he was not guilty...but karma is a female canine...ask O.J.), you gotta let me lay down the framework for this latest ejaculation from my mind...

I was thinking today back about 3 years ago, when my oldest son was a curly hair top ball of cuteness. We were in a Target (I like the "Tar-Jay" pronunciation, as that it makes it sound fancy and French like a Paris Hooker), and we are like waiting in line (not sure what I was buying...tampons, gunpowder, whatever). This lady comes up behind us in line, probably in her mid 50s (the type of woman you wouldn't sleep with if you had a corpse's man member), and she says...

"My goodness, you have a handsome young man there!"

Now, as that I've heard this ever since I saw my oldest come out of my wife's woman tunnel (which, during the delivery, split like a 7.4 earthquake hit her hoo-hah) about this boy, I wasn't surprised about her compliment. He's cute, he's gonna be a lady killer, he's gonna have a big old log roll in his shorts...wait a minute, before you do a reverse look up of my IP address and call the local child protective services on me, the only reason I know this is that after he got his first "extension" in the bathtub, it was like seeing a phone pole in a river....no Jesus Juice jokes...let's move on!

Anyway, this woman is rubbing my kid's head (I cannot stand when people touch my kids; for all I know, that is your wiping hand, and you just had your fifth case of diarrhea), admiring his perfect curls. My oldest just shys away, as if he can smell that this woman didn't get to the Imodium fast enough and her pudding explosion went through the tissue paper and pasted her palm. She then reaches into her purse, and offers the kid a lolly pop. Not wanting to be rude (and wanting her scent of undigested corn hand away from my child's head), I smiled, said thank you, and accepted the gift.

The oldest, who is excited for the candy, reaches to take the gift from my hand. I, of course, told him no, which in turns causes a mini-temper tantrum. So, as that he didn't understand that you don't accept gifts from strangers, I purchase him a similar lolly pop to appease him (and truly, to get him to shut the *#(@ up).

I have 2 boys now, both of them very good looking kids, and I am sure both of them will grow up to be very good looking young men. Both are smart as a whip (and as conniving as I once was), and they will be a danger to every pair of lacy undergarment wearing females in the Midwest and abroad.

And I am more jealous of those two than an Ethiopian looking through a packed restaurant's window.

Now I can understand where they got their good looks from....their mother is a good looking woman (she was a former full figured model, and she has a simple beauty about her that I love). I, of course, ever so often wonder if she went to a sperm bank to get pregnant, and their real father is Enrique Inglesias (or some Hispanic that makes a mean pot of rice). I mean, if I stuck those boys with a Hispanic family, you'd be convinced their last name was Rodriguez.

I am sure that it sounds ridiculous that I would be jealous of my own offspring...hell, for all I know, the oldest could become a priest (nah, they boy is gonna be hung like bank robbers in the Old West, and the youngest, Down Syndrome or not, can just look at you and it would make bras snap off like broken rubber bands). It's funny, because during most of my formative years, I struck out with women...regularly...sort of like a woman's monthly cycle. I know it was a lack of confidence on my part, not necessarily my looks (I am not a super "hotttie", but I have been told I am like warm bread from time to time...hey, I was a virgin till I was 18; back then, I'd take butter on my loaf whenever I could get it, ok?) but I had no concept on how to talk to women...I was convinced I had no chance, which defeated the attempt before I even tried.

Back in my days in "Da Bronx", NY I had 3 major crushes; Cynthia R, Pamela G, and Juliet G. The first (Cyndi, an old friend now) was I guess my first "love". I chased after that girl like a stalker fresh out of prison. We "went out", for a couple of weeks back in the 7th grade, but if you call waving across the street as dating, then I might as well of made myself a eunuch from the jump. Pamela G. was very attractive, but after striking out with her (chasing her from 10th till 11th grade) all I did was cry in front of an auditorium of several hundred high schoolers as her friend, sent as a proxy, advised me "she don't want you , bitch!"

Nice.

Finally, Juliet G. Now, I love my wife, and she is my girl for life, but Juliet G. was the big f-up. Beautiful West Indian Girl, and that body....wow! She was one of the few 8th graders who actually had a good reason to wear a brassiere. I, with my football-head dimensions, had no shot in hell. 3 years later, however, we ran into each other again, and we actually dated for about 4 to 5 months. I finally got the hot girl, and she had a heart of gold.

Then I got greedy, breaking things off with her and chasing another girl who ONLY SAW ME AS A FRIEND. Even at my 17th birthday party, when Juliet G. wanted me back, I blew her off.

Hello....a guy with no self confidence, this gorgeous woman is saying "hello, you can have me back, you test-tube baby!" and I blew it.

Ok, enough self healing.

If I looked like my oldest (assuming that his looks hold as he gets older; for all I know, he may end being destroyed by zits...wait, he is half black...we call 'em "blackheads"...self racism...ok, I'm done) back in the day....

I WOULDN'T OF NEEDED TO CHASE ANY OF 'EM!

Hell....what did Eddie Murphy say...I'd had kitty falling out of my pockets! I'd been laid more than Perdue Chickens! I'd of been popular, the man, the girl watcher, not the girl chaser. I would of had Juliet G. and the hot Hispanic female (who, by the way, turned out to be like a sister to me, and sadly I've lost touch with).

My life would been so much different...the women, the self confidence, the cool time in high school...the big brass ring.

Or...

I (probably)would of been...a total ass, with 14 different baby mamas, and working at a local fast food restaurant.

I wouldn't be the guy who figured out after the social disasters of high school (and college; I fell in love with a redhead who was paralyzed from the waist down, and that ended up with her decapitating the stuffed animal I gave her and nailing it to my dorm room door...that's another psychiatric session in itself), that women could actually find him interesting, went through his man-whore period, and went from meeting a girl in a club (thinking no more than a sexual encounter) to 2 great kids and a pretty good marriage.

Oh yeah, 2 mortgages and broke.

Yeah, I am a self-bummer at times.

It's funny, because my oldest, who is now 6, doesn't have that much self confidence, even though he is one of the smartest, funniest people I know, to go along with the good looks. In a lot of ways, watching him struggle (he has some anxiety issues) reminds me of...well, me. I don't know if he will grow up to be a man-whore, or just a nice kid, dating one woman at a time, maybe getting his heart broken, and perhaps coming to me for advice. And the youngest, well, due to ignorance, he may grow up "hot", but people may not give him a shot (especially the ladies), because he's different.

As I was...rather, as I am.

So, in the mornings, after I try to get my nearly 40-year old "hungry, hungry hippo" body out of bed, "make water" like Hoke in "Driving Miss Daisy" then brush my teeth (hell, don't you know that if yo don't put the lid down on the toilet, it can spray up to a 10 foot radius...geech!) I look in the mirror at my face. Sometimes I laugh, as that well, when my hair is cut and my goatee is trimmed nice and neat, I am not that bad looking of a guy. Before I "retired" (another word for marriage) for a few years there women found me interesting (probably because they thought I was funny, and I can do the alphabet blindfolded with my tongue). And I did marry my best friend, after she dated a NFL Player, who was quite handsome (yeah, I'd be his bitch in prison, and who knows, like it).

So yeah, while it would be nice to have the great curly hair, the fair skin, and the cool laugh and smile, I didn't turn out too bad...well, except that flatulence problem...I am barred from open-pit barbecues from that mess.

I hate that...I love ribs.

I've Seen The Future And It Will Be.....

The funky, funky, funky hit records have hit the needle, and I am about to spit out a few useless (well, perhaps to you, but in doing this It may make me feel better) rhymes, riddles, thoughts and piddles for folks to take with them, dust off, and maybe use in their lives to better themselves (or tell friends and loved one that some crazy black guy who lives in the midwest is bored at 1 AM in the morning, EST).

I am what you may call a "failed writer" (i.e. has more rejections than Micheal Jackson applying for a day care center job) who wanted to at least prove to himself he can be useful in a world full of folks who, well, are pissed off at one thing or another. I have just finished watching 5 innings of the 2008 World Series (which mean I am among the 8 people or so who still give a crap about America's Pastime), and while IM'ing for the first time in years with some old friends from the past, suggested after reading my ramblings on my "MySpace" page that I should start a blog, in the hopes of one day someone seeing me and being foolish enough to give me "paper" (gotta practice the Ebonics; being married to a white woman, I have to keep sharp on the assumed lingo that even in the 21st century some folks still feel tis the only way I can communicate). So, here I am, pecking away, knowing that my sleep-apnea having a** should be in bed, trying to get some sleep.

There are a few things on my mind this evening-slash-morning that I do wish to speak of to an audience of no one. One, as most folks around the world should know, in about 9 days The United States (or the Estados Unidos, as it will be known by according to my spouse, as that by 2032 or so Hispanics will be the majority....I told her to change her name to "Carlita" and she'll be safe) is about to make history by electing either its first African American President or its first female Vice President (which, in Palin's case, is sort of like getting Ms. Congeniality....useless unless the winner poses in Playboy with another chick). Now being African American/Black/A Negro/Other colorful metaphors I will leave off because kids may read this stuff, it is automatically assumed that I would be voting for Mr. Obama. Well, if it makes you feel better, I am going to be a peaceful observer and see what happens. Yeah, I am sure that a lot of people of color (which always cracks me up....Caucasians/Whites/The blue eyed Devil...u notice that they just don't have good insults like persons in my position do they?), particularly the older generation, will be ticked off because of the struggle for African Americans to vote back in the day. I do appreciate it, trust me on this one. But here's the thing (and this has ticked off my mamma several times during some spirited conversations)...a lot of black folks are voting for Mr. Obama because he, is well, black (and don't get into the 1/2 white thing...if he went to Mississippi in the backwoods, it would be "Mississippi Burning" all over again. Get over it....y'all lost the war). While I understand this to a point, especially with what all the previous generations have gone through and seeing one of their own (well, 1/2 of one of their own anyway) PROBABLY getting the job (let's face it, Mr. McCain, whose party has been jumping Obama for his lack of experience, etc., hasn't shown the best decision making themselves....Palin? Come on...she's a big time "MILF", but about as smart as Prince going into a "Big & Tall" store looking for jeans). But whomever gets the job has a cluster(expeletive) to clean up...and unless his name is Jesus Christ, the first couple of years is going to be rough. So if Barack wins, give the dude a chance, and put the long range rifles away...it's nearly 2009....wake up...we all bleed red.

The other thought before I bounce out of here is about my little boy Noah. He is the cutest bloody thing...nearly 3, and has Downs Syndrome. Now this isn't a pity party or whatever, all about the struggle of surgeries, developmental delays, and all that other jazz. There are people who would cut off your man jewels for bread and jelly cuz they can't feed their kids. Those are problems. But as that 2008 has sucked moose johnson for me and my family, the one thing that keeps me from robbing drug dealers of their stash and cash is that kid. No matter what, whether it would being in the hospital, or not feeling well, or learning to walk only a couple of months ago, he's always smiling. And it makes me think...I went from having great credit and a good job to a rat not lending me a crumb, not making a dime in 2008 outside of checking tests for the state of Indiana at $10 an hour....and at times, realizing how trivial the problems we blow up to mountains can be. A 2 year old about 34 inches tall with a big ol' scar, possibly doomed to pushing carts out of a parking lot for a living for all I know is still smiling. Shit, what do I have to complain about, right?

So, if you are having a bad day, a bad year, or a bad bowel movement, remember, you could be the other mofo who is going for that bread and jelly.

Peace and chicken gizzards.