Oh so little time... to tell it all

I would love to tell you all every bit of mess that occurred since last week but I can’t do it and keep from getting carpal tunnel. I did though pick just a few, hot fabulous messes to write about… so here we go.

Oh, let me begin by saying this, I have sent out my monthly invitation to those that can kiss my ass. So be on the lookout.

Miss Gay American Airlines

One would think that after the success I had with Miss Carlton he would have spread the word through the gay grapevine that I fly American Airlines, and I after all need to know ‘why we fly’ . Nevertheless, I did get to see my friend “Campy” in the Admirals Club in DC and he (as he always does) made me a bloody mary (for free). So moving on… I got on this Shit Ville USA American Eagle pencil dick plane with popsicle stick wings. It was all worthwhile when the flight attendant walked by. He or shall I say Shim was standing in full glory, lip gloss, foundation, eye brows arched, and wait for it….. MASCARA. I knew from this point on that Miss Fabulash was gonna be a mess. A hot CVS, makeup from aisle number 8 mess, and boy (or giiiiiiiiiiiiiirrrrrrrrrrrrrrrllllllllllllllllll) was he. Miss Gay AA swished-swished his ass up and down that little narrow as plan aisle like it was the runway at Miss Universe. If only you could have heard “please fasten your safety belts, the captain has turned on the fasten seat belt light”, I am telling you I had to duck to keep from being batted out by the Fabulash.

Dancing on the Ceiling

Most of you know I fancy myself a good dancer. Fuck fancy, I know I am a good dancer. So with that I saddled up my wagon and went to dance at a bar in Asheville, NC last week. Hot mess!! First of all, when I dance I dance serious. Like I dance like you are about to give me a government stimulus check. So since I was not in my element it took exactly one 40 oz Heineken (yes they sell them at the bar) to get me out on the floor. As I moved and grooved I had a guy come up to me and say ‘did you get off a flight from Charlotte today?’ I said ‘yeah I did’, then I hear ‘oh me and my friend saw you at the airport’. Ok, now really, this is North Muthafuckin’ Carolina I cannot be the only brotha to land all up in Asheville (at the same time as Dick Morris mind you) I mean there have to be some other brothas around. Shit North Carolina was a damn slave state after all.

So of course I keep dancing and having my ‘party of one’ and my airport friends think we are now a ‘party of three’. So I had to go let them bitches know, uh you don’t know me. It ended up with me saying, ‘well I hope the airport treats you well, but I like dancing alone, thanks’. Now it would not have been so bad if both these kats did not look like they were a dental school collage of what could go wrong in your mouth. Bitches mouths look like at set Lego Duplo blocks, just big and raggedy as hell…

Moving on…

Bad Drag…

A path was made to The Hippo in Baltimore earlier this month to see the Dragathon competition. Now you all know I love me some drag. Good drag is hard to find on the eastern seaboard, that is all I have to say. Just because you slap on your mama’s old dress from Lerner New York, put on some Pixie make up, and put on a dusty ass whig you are not a drag queen in fact you look closer to Aunt Esther from Sanford and Son than anything.

Now this Dragathon is an amateur drag competition. For those of you not fluent in drag that means Dragathon = Bullshit. These raggedy whores looked like Barbara Eden, Bea Arthur, Nell Carter, Jane Goodall, and Dixie Carter on a bad day. Then to top it off you had a bitch who did Reba. Now these ho took the cake. At the door she was smoking a Virginia Slim and talking about how some other bitch got kick out of the Reba look-a-like contest for getting arrested. HUH?!? I was like, and this bitch got in. She looks like she belongs in a paid advertisement for cleft palette surgery. I wanted to say, ooh child … Ugly looks good on you.

Rock Creek Parkway

I love the Rick Creek Parkway, I mean I love the Rock Creek Parkway; I drive it every chance I get. Even when I don’t need to. So the other day when driving to work the P0arkway was a bit congested and I was like, ok time for the daily soundtrack. So I scroll through the Ipod to the drive playlist and in the middle of Hello Brooklyn by Jay Z, I hear and feel this ‘kabammmm!!” on the side of Big Blue. (Keep in mind my car is big and wide like a Serena Williams’ ass) Turns out some piece of shit bike rider hit my mirror. He didn’t tear it off or anything he just hit it, which if you know me is just enough to piss me the f*ck off. I mean with gas being $3.89/gal I am sure that hit alone cost me $2.22 To make it worse this ignorant fool did not turn around to acknowledge my shit, he just kept going, which for his sake was probably a good decision. Of course now my mirror is all cock-eyed to the side and I am fuming. I don’t really know why I am fuming but I wanted to kill that bitch. So much so that when I rolled past his monkey ass I told him “you lucky I did not swing a jack at your ass”. Now I feel I should explain something … and I will break this explanation up into 2 pieces:

#1 – don’t be scared of any black person that yells a threat at you, people that yell threats are not about shit, they don’t have shit, and they are not going to do shit. PERIOD Now when I get quiet and just look at you, that means I am calculating bail, so be afraid. Or when you hear me calling the Police (yeah I proper nouned that shit) before I whoop yo ass, you better get to stepping, because I am gonna flash whoop your ass. That means your ass-whoopin will be so fast that you will not feel it until the Police show yo.

(now this is not a license to go talk shit, because I talk shit to everyone because I will pop a fool in that face and I have the complexion for the protection, and lastly I have bail money)

#2 – Jack Swingin’ is some old school gansta shit. Back in the day, you would swing a jack (yes a car jack) at a fool for feeling froggy. Ask my momz she will show you how.

Now I caution those of you that have to tan, don’t go using terms like swingin’ a jack and ‘you aint shit’ with people of color you don’t know REAL well. We are a volatile people and I would hate to have someone get killed over some avoidable shit, so explore your vicarious ethnicity through UrbanDictionary.com not on the urban streets.

Needless to say, I made it to work, mirror fixed. Bike rider lived to ride another day. Why? Because I yelled my threat.


You better be ready to get scrappy…

Straight men straight men. Don’t go around looking grown ass men in the eye. Today on the elevator some man was all about looking me in the eye. Now to gay men that means something altogether different, like you are interested or some shit. So, me being a person who will stare and sigh a bitch down (lessons for the stare and sigh coming soon) have had to stop looking people in the eye. Anyway, this Bilbo Baggins looking creature was all in my ocular, and not saying shit. So, you know me; I sighed and looked right back, like “and what?, and what, bitch”

This is how it works, do not look a grown ass man in the eye unless you are ready to get scrappy. I will look slap past you and be talking to you, but when I am looking you in the eye, only one of two things are happening and trust… only one has a happy ending.


Only to be fair…

Straight women Straight women. You need some advice too. Spend money on your assets, because I can tell when you don’t. If you are bottom heavy, buy good pants; if you are top heavy, buy yourself a Wacoal bra. There is nothing worse and that big assed woman in cheap pants and a big breasted woman is a raggedy ass bra. If your bra has seen more than one congressional term, do us all a favor. Send that shit on a hike.

Good Day…