So You Think I am mean....I dont give a f*+k!!! I am not mean, i am just honest...

She must have bumped her head!!

2009-07-22T08:11:00.000-07:00

The funny thing aobut my job is the immense amount of hate I get just for being me. I guess it is that whole being young and smart thing. I often don't speak unless I know what I am talking avout and when i do, well it is often wrapped in a nice little package so I get my fair share of haters. Today I met (again) with the Queen Bee of the Hate Hive, and well I had to smoke her out.

Here is the history on her. She is crazy. History lesson over. Really, in all seriousness, she is a mess. All she does is prey on the fact that if she is difficult enough to deal with people will stop talking to her and just let her slip on all her responsiilities. Uh SIKE!!! Not me, you get paid to do a job, so guess what? I am headed over index cards in hand to get a status on what? You doing your job. BOOM!!

It all started yesterday when I got wind that she had told people in her Bureau that I was 'unpolished'. Of course once I got the news I had to inquire, and this is what transpired with two of her minions:

me: uhmm, what is up with your girl?

minion 1: she did not mean anything by it... (notice i did not have to even say to what i was speaking)

me: did not mean anything by calling me unpolished?

minion 2: she is jus that way?

me: what way is that?

minion 1&2: shrug shoulders

me: i am not going to fret over her today, see you all tomorrow

Now tomorrow is here, it is...well today, and today I get an email this morning from Queen Bee adding all this shit to my agenda. Let me restate this, 'she' added 'shit' to my 'agenda', and then at the end said this 'I hope this does not mess up your well rehearsed delivery'...My thoughts were as follows... OH.(pause) HELL.(pause) NO.(pause) -- this bitch has definitely bumped her head.

Two things:

#1 - Don't hate me because I get my shit D.O.N.E.

#2 - You are not worth rehearsing, I have a gift. You better recognize!

Enter 1515 EST, Queen Bee's Makeshift Office: In attendance 3 important people, 1 really important person, Queen Bee, and me

me: here is my assessment of the information we recieved from you since the last update
Queen Bee: i will look at it later, what I want to talk about is (interrupted)

Sidebar: This is MY meeting, MY bi-weekly meeting with this bag of mess, so she does not get to dictate anything, but apparently no one had informed her that I was hip to her fiasco

me: unless what you want to talk about is this update, we will need to table it today
Queen Bee: (a little off-guard) well I just thought it would be beneficial to (interrupted again)

Sidebar: The key to knocking a raggedy bitch down is mastering the art of polite interruption.

me: let me stress this, you are behind on this project so unless what you want to talk about, which is apparently outside of these (*i hold up the agenda) agenda items, is about this project; which is what this (*cue me holding up agenda again) agenda is all about, we will need to table it

Sidebar: It took a shorter amount of time than I had thought to get to the 'witching hour' with her...'withcing hour' the time at which the true witch comes out. I felt I did not have anything to lose and well the other people in the room were eatin it up. Oh, and did I mention she has a penchant for eye/neck rolling and pointing, uh not just no. but HELL NO. She breaks.

Queen Bee: i am not behind.... in fact if we are behind it is your fault, you have not kept us abreast of deadlines... (interrupted)

me: my fault? first, when i interited this now 10 year old project you, the project manager, had no project schedule, second, you had no idea of resource burn rate or what people were working on, lastly you told me that your only concern was that you were not made to look bad. Enter me; i procured you a staff, executive support, and everything you need; and trust me you are all the better for it.

Queen Bee: that is not what i meant (rather defiant)

me: well then, what did you mean? In fact don't answer that... let's move on ...

The next 35 minutes fly by with her talking about how she cannot get this or that done because of that or this, all the while the important people and very important person in the room are just eating up the excuses and taking them in. I finally had had enough. I had to slam the book on the table and wake up the room.

me: so are you telling me that you cannot get this done, or that you are unwilling to get this done?

Queen Bee: (again disheveled) what I am saying is these are the obstacles to getting this done (interrupted)

me: are the obstacles new? are they different than when we first met, or when this started 10 years ago?

Queen Bee: no.

me: so what is the issue, there is one constant here, and that is 'you' not your team, not funding, but 'you'; so if there is an issue you must be very close to it, because, well, you have been here so long

Sidebar: When beating someone across the brow with your words you have to master the verbal filler in this case the 'well'

Queen Bee: (mad as hell) you, are not being respectful...(interrupted)

me: (with a slight smile) ma'am you are not in a position to give me advice on respect, you have continually mislead me on the progress of this project, when if fact this has gone no where, even while I have gotten you everything you requested.

Queen Bee: well what you don't understand is that when I request of you and your staff too....(interrupted)

me: excuse me, but what you don't understand is while this may be your office, and this may be your staff (*pointing around to her peeps)(interrupted)

Queen Bee: wait a minute you... (pointing at me)

Sidebar: She puts the nail in her coffin at this point, she points at me, those of you who know me know that you DO NOT point at me.

me: (interrupting her) I am not sure what you are about to say but it cannot be important enough that it allows you to point at me. furthermore, let's get something understood I don't take direction from you, in fact this relationship is quite the opposite, you are obliged to do what you are told to do, told by me. so I would suggest our next meeting be much more productive; in fact I would just be okay with it being productive.

I casually get up, say 'goodbye' and walk out, OH only after Queen Bee is forced to apologize for wasting my time... HELLO!

Piss Test... and the Snatch Up

2009-07-10T14:35:00.000-07:00

Piss..and the Snatch Up....

There comes a time in everyone’s career when you are subject to some kind of drug testing, mostly in the form of pee. So today was my day to go pee in a cup. I got off early and hopped on the interwebs to see what time the places were open until. Bam I found one 2 miles away open until 3:30PM, I thought “excellent I will leave here at 3PM. So indeed I left the house at 3PM and arrive at the piss station at 3:15.

This is what unfolded next:

Scene One: The Window

at the window:
me: ‘hello I am here for occupational drug testing’

lab worker: looks up acknowledges me, looks at the clock and looks back at her work.

me: ‘um, ma’am I am here for occupational drug testing’

lab worker: this time with a LITTLE too much sass in her mouth. ‘sir, we stop performing drug tests at 3:30PM...’

*note: this probably would not have bothered me as much if this heifer was older than 20, but nah she was like 19 sitting there texting and chatting

me: ‘oh, for real?!? that’s great because it is 3:15PM’

lab worker: very dramatically ‘fill out this form have a seat and your name will be called’

me: ‘will do’ (at this point I am working hard to shine light on this girl because she was about to lose her teeth)

Scene Two: The Lobby

in the lobby: I am the LONE customer in this place, the ONLY one. So I am like I will be in and out RIGHT? well here we go...

me:after 10 minutes of sitting ‘ma’am do you know how long it will be?’

lab worker: ‘sir, you will be called when they are ready for you’

me:at this point I am done dealing with this Lil Mama look alike ‘that’s great but that is not what I asked you, what I asked you was do you know when.... (she interrupts me)

lab worker: ‘no. i don’t’

me: I had to take a pause here (read old blogs if you do not know what a pause is) ‘oh (pause), ok (pause) I got you. (pause) when they are ready they will call me, ok i got you.

*note: when agitated or angry, you do not want me to repeat what you just said, and you REALLY don’t want me to couple it with a pause. So I was ready for this one, but I still needed to piss in the cup, and I am not trying to have them taint my piss.

Scene Three: The Piss

lab door opens and the technician yells...

lab tech: ‘mr. ward?!?’

me: i look around because I am on the person in the waiting room, i get up and i go to the door

lab tech: ‘are you mr. ward?’

me: ‘yes, yes I am’

*note: anyone who has had to have a piss test knows that uncomfy thing they do when they tell you to take everything out of your pockets, no phones, blah blah blah.. so after the instructions I get to bidness ... DONE .. right around 90 ML.

lab tech: ‘put it right there’ (with no point or anything)

me: ‘uh where is right there?’

lab tech: ‘right there where it says ‘place urine here’’

*note: this is where the wheels come off because I think of it like this, you, well you are in the business of piss collection, not high on the career ladder, and you want to shine on me? uh no... so I had to speak words without speaking words to get my message across

me: ‘uh, excuse me?’ but it was all about how I said it. I was looking dead in that bitches eyes and she knew what I was really saying was “Bitch what you just say to me?”

lab tech: ‘oh I am sorry, I mean can you put it on the counter?’

me: ‘gladly.’

lab tech: ‘thank you mr. ward, please sign out at the desk’

*note: this is what happens when you hit a bitch in the throat with your words, you get respect.

Scene Four: The Front Desk

it is now 3:46PM and Lil’ Mama is still texting an chatting when I go to sign out. i am elated to see that my piss has been inserted in that box that they cannot open so now I can run this bitch down.

me: ‘excuse me ma’am where is the sign out sheet’

lab worker: ‘right there’

me: ‘oh (pause) for real? (pause) see i don’t know ‘right there’ so I am going to ask you again, where is the sign out sheet’

lab worker: slides it to me sheepishly

me: now this part of the conversation we will call the ‘snatch-up’ you know how when kids misbehave you snatch them up by their collar, well here is my verbal snatch up....

‘uh young lady let me explain something to you and your friends here. you deal in piss. that is what you do, people come in they pee in cups and they hand it to you, or well one of your friends (.... she interrupts me ...)

lab worker: ‘i don’t do that’

me: ‘oh, you so cool,huh? you get to open the door for people to piss in a cup. wow, you real cool how you get that job? oh, and have a good weekend, and on monday don’t forget to open that door.’

*snatch up complete*

All hemmed up….

2009-07-02T12:05:00.001-07:00

Acronyms and names have been changed to protect the innocent…but there are no innocent

So yesterday 12:45PM EST came and went. I allowed for the meeting to be rescheduled to today and well it was a doozie, it went off, and well I went 'off'.

Noun

S: (n) employee (a worker who is hired to perform a job)

Noun

S: (n) contractor (someone (a person or firm) who contracts to perform a job)

Concept

S: (n) GS Pay Scale ((General Schedule)pay scale for government employees)
- Government employees are commonly referred to GS-xx (xx being their scale)

Picking up where we left off…

Employee: "i would like to apologize for yesterday"

Me: "for what?"

Employee: "yesterday, and not making sure the deliverable was in order"

Me: "oh you mean that 'mock-up'"

Employee: "yes, sir"

Me: "don't call me sir you are older than me. besides yesterday was yesterday and today, well today is today. So moving on, is <contractor> ready to meet."

Employee: "yes. i will go get him."

--- enter <employee>, <contractor>, and <contractor's boss (cb)>---

CB: "let me begin by apologizing for the confusion yesterday…." (interrupted by me)

Me: "what confusion?"

CB: "well there was a mixup on what the delivery schedule was"

Me: "oh? who was mixed up?" "me?"

CB: "i think all parties were a bit mixed up"

Note: I don't work with CB often so he does not understand how I work, so when he said this, it was almost like the street cleared before a gunfight in the Old West, I mean both <employee> and <contractor> looked at each other as though to say "OH SHIT, he don't know…"

Me: looking over my glasses at a man at least 20 years my senior… "i'm sorry?"

CB: "well it's okay…" (me Interrupting)

Me: "no, no I was not apologizing, I was clarifying, well, at least for myself, whether you were talking to me or not"

CB: "oh.." (me interrupting, again)

Me: "CB, it is CB, right?" "Let me tell you some real good stuff…there was no confusion, I was not confused, <employee> was not confused, <contractor> was not confused, and well according to this (I pull out a stack of meeting minutes and emails) you were not confused either; I mean this is you right? (I point to an email verifying the delivery schedule in which he signed off, and I point to his name(which I had already highlighted)) That is your name and your email, CB, right? Okay so you were saying…"

CB: "well what I was saying is what we have for you today is the deliverable and I think it is in perfect order for next week"

Me: "thanks, I will review with <employee> and <contractor>:

CB: "let me know if you have any questions" (hands me his card)

Me: "no need to confuse the situation I will talk to <contractor> with my questions, and oh I have your contact information, see here (I point again to his email and name), thanks"

----I wore jeans to work today, quite the stir apparently..they are well form fitting and these random people keep buzzing about my office trying not to be obvious in their staring---

Contractor: "so is all ok with the work?"

Me: "yes, it looks good, I think the (really important political official) will like what he sees"

Contractor: "shall I deliver it to print?"

Me: "yes."

Contractor: "i will drop off a copy at the (really important political official)'s office"

Me: "no you won't"

Contractor: "it will be no bother"

Me: "i don't care if it is, i will deliver it"

Contractor: "but you are in jeans and …" (interrupted by me)

Me: "and you, a tired suit, so let's err on the side of looks, I will take it, besides GS-14 doesn't like you"

Contractor: "she doesn't?"

Me: "oh you hadn't heard?"

---- <contractor> runs document off to print and comes back----

Me: "have a seat"

---- <contractor> and <employee> sit down ----

Me: "don't ever get me hemmed up in some mess like that"

Contractor: "well it was unintentional."

Me: "unintentional?"

Contractor: "well you know I did not mean to"

Me: "wait, you did not mean to not do your work, do i look that crazy to you?" "i am not sure what you are used to, but it is not this (I hold up my index finger and sorta point in a circle around my office), i don't work like that, ask around."

Contractor: ---- MORE than a bit angry and upset ---- "well ok i apologize"

Me: "ok"

Contractor: "well, i said I apologize"

Me: "listen, i said ok, and that is just about the best your are going to get; I am not accepting an apology because in my eyes apologies are for actions that result in an unintended outcome, you, well you did not do your work, and you think i will accept that? you are used to a different crowd"

Contractor: "well I understood and it was communicated to me" (interrupted by me)

Me: "communicated by who?, <employee> ? Why are you listening to him, he can barely get to work on time, you are going to get enough of that GS schedule bullshit, i am telling you now; i come to work to work, if you come to me for any other reason, it better be real compelling"

Contractor: "well let's just agree, there was some confusion on the deliverable"

Me: "look, <contractor> i am not sure who "let's" is but in this scenario it does not include me, and you know it does not include you, so do not try to get me hemmed up in that mess." "Have a good holiday" (I turn to my computer and therein lies the signal to retreat)

Contractor: "i guess I should leave"

Me: "there is no confusion there."

And that has been my day… I hope all is well…

- Him with the Asthma

At least he has a place to go…

2009-07-02T09:03:00.001-07:00

My daily exploits with the homeless border harassment but I try to be nice until they "take me there" so to speak. Here are two recent highlights…

Scene #1: A few weeks ago…

---- Coming up the McPherson Square Metro Escalator and grabbing the free newsra, and fiddling with my umbrella ----

Homeless Lady: Well sir you look nice today.

Me: Thanks.

Note: Never look the homeless in the eye nor have an extended conversation; they will steal your soul.

Homeless Lady: Are your going to read that paper?

Me: That is why I got it.

Homeless Lady: Can you spare 83 cents?

Me: 83 cents? No.

Note: everyone knows I have a 'homeless allowance', but contained therein is a variance for bullshit requests and anything too specific (e.g. 83 cents) is a bullshit request.

Homeless Lady: Oh, you think you are better than everyone else!!!

Me: No, just better than you because you are homeless.

Homeless Lady: Fuck You!!

Me: As good as story as that would be to tell, I'll pass.

Finally I got my umbrella up and walked away, amidst a random passerby who heard the exchange saying "Damn!"

Scene #2:

--- A flock of birds violently fly out of the groundcover and startle me to the point that I jump, but at least I refrain from screaming ----

Homeless Man: Ha ha, you scared of birds.

Me: Yes, they scared me.

Homeless Man: That is funny!

Note: This is where you have to be skilled in homelessness, or at least know how to fight. The homeless are crazy so you have to pick your poison, which you never know may include something communicable. This guy had a walking stick and was about 50 ft away, so I was good.

Me: Birds are nasty, filthy creatures…

Homeless Man: You just don't like birds…

Me: No, birds are fine. But I don't like you, and at least those birds have a nest to go to; you don't, because you are homeless.

Homeless Man: <silence>

Yeah, you are about as real as that bag you’re carrying…

2009-07-02T08:24:00.001-07:00

I mean really, what is the de-ga-ga with this mess? I cannot get over this mess I saw on the train this morning. I mean who does this shit? I mean you get on at Ft. Totten and you step on with all this fanfare and shit, then I see it, that fake ass Louis Vuitton bag, coupled with your M Street Stunner Shades. I have one thing to say to you; STOP IT!! Just stop, stop breathing, choke on your pride, poke your eyes out with those fake ass eye lashes you have.

Look, folks I am of the homosex, but suffice it to say I don't like most gay people. Just too much of too much. Exemplified by this scorching hot shitty mess on the train, who wears this shit? I could not get a quality photo, but what I could get at least tells part of the story. This gay, hmmm let's call him "Shay" got on the train stepped in, looked right, looked left, tossed his head back and stepped to the middle of the car. Well you know I took notice. I was like who is "Shay" think he is? Then it all started, I had to dissect a bitch , I went from the floor up and took note that he was 'tore-up'.

Here is the outfit: (Imagine this)

HOUSE OF DEREON jeans (that is right, they don't make those for men)

Old school British Knights High Tops
- Note: I had every color of British Knights, I even had the Black and Gold Hammer Edition, but you would not catch me dead in a casket with some on in 2009

A dingy(albeit white) button down colored dress shirt

A vest that looked like he got from his baby cousin, "Too Sweet"

Fake ass Stunna Shades

As if all that was not enough, a fake ass Louis Vuitton Backpack
- Note: This bag was so fake I wanted to change cars for fear the vinyl would give ME a rash

So, as the train car filled up, Shay became more and more dramatic, a loud "SIGH" here, a cursed look there, but just when I thought I had seen (and heard it all) it started. Ms. Shay turned on "she" iPod Touch and it was OVER, and when I say over I mean OVER BITCHES!!! This bitch started playing Beyonce, and not just playing it, but BLARING it. I mean I could hear it through my headphones and over my Aretha. Children, that alone was not enough; "she" decided she was not only going to 'sing', but also 'dance'; it was too much to handle and the train was too crowded for it. Then it happened, we met eyes and the judgment I was passing was evident on my face and this bitch was not having it. It was like we were having a gay "Beat It" battle scene.. (you know the one where Michael Jackson locks wrists with that other guy and the bounce around before they set it off?) But I was not having it, so I looked away in a rather dramatic fashion, because I was not going to sully my spirit with that bullshit; so I stepped off the train and gave him that over the sunglasses look that told him in no uncertain terms. "uh you ain't shit!"

Work...

2009-07-01T08:47:00.001-07:00

Noun

S: (n) employee (a worker who is hired to perform a job)

Noun

S: (n) contractor (someone (a person or firm) who contracts to perform a job)

So I have not had much to say for a few months, but today is a good day so I thought I would write a bit about the bullshit that is going on. So today I was expecting a rather large scale deliverable from some contractors that was to be presented by some (govt) employees. Guess what? That shit did not happen. This is how it went down (the names have been changed to protect the guilty):

There are 3 characters in this charade:

· Me

o I know I am hard to work for, I KNOW it. I was told after this debacle that my new name in the Office is "The Devil Wears Burberry"

· Contractor

o This POS idiot that claims to be some financial expert but so far all I have seen are spreadsheets I can do in my sleep

· Employee

o This spineless piece of mess does not do much other than exacerbate any anger or annoyance I feel about the work (or lack thereof ) that is being done by the contractor that he is supposed to direct.

Via Txt:

Me: "where are you?"

Employee: "still on train?"

Me: "why? And where?"

Employee: "there was a major delay, after my traffic jam coming in, Union Station Red Line"

Me: "if it is that bad, get out and walk, why am I here before you?"

Employee: "ok."

Me: "where are my deliverables for today?"

Employee: "<no answer>"

Me: "again, where are my deliverables for today?"

Employee: "<no answer>"

Of course my natural assumption is that EMPLOYEE had gone underground, even though I know our phones work underground, I assumed his shit was busted, my like mine. Let me say this too; I am not much for government work, government employees by and large (career ones at least) are not the most efficient people. Granted, I work hard, probably a little too hard. I am often at work before the coffee is brewed and leave after the cleaning crew is done, but I never, NEVER, NEVER miss deadlines or meetings. So I knew something was up when I got no response, twice. Now comes the second part of the madness.

Me: "lets take a look at what you have"

Contractor: "well, I have a mock up"

Me: "explain to me what that is, a mock up. I am not sure I follow"

Contractor: "well it is a detailed simulation of…" (I interrupt)

Me: "So it is not done?"

Contractor: "well, the mock up is complete"

Me: "what is this mock up you keep speaking of? no one directed you to make a mock up, you are charged with making a finish product, I don't do drafts, that is someone else's job."

At this point I pull out my note cards. People who have seen me work know that my life is ruled by an overly complex system of color coded 4x6 note cards, upon which I write almost everything I hear. Then I pull them out and review them, almost daily as though I am taking it all in again. If it were not me I would think it crazy, but I already know I am crazy. I have a rather snappy memory, so I try not to be too asshole-ish when I tell people that is not what I said.

Me: "see it says here that completed presentation delivery July 1 (today)"

Contractor: "I think that is wrong"

Me: "I KNOW you are wrong"

Contractor: "I think you had it mixed up"

Me: "listen; you are wrong, you knew you had to deliver something to me today, which is why you are in my office, in your best suit. You came here out of necessity not because you wanted to see my face – we both are far too busy for that, you came here to give me what you get paid for; finished product. furthermore, the idea that I do mock ups or drafts is simply ridiculous. who told you that?

Contractor: "<employee>."

Me: "oh for real? i need to fix that today?

At which point Contractor left my office and people came in snooping as to what was going on, I typically don't talk to people I don't like, so I look up acknowledge they said something and keep working, this has happened a lot today. Then Employee arrived….over 2 hours late.

Employee: "good morning, Ward"

Me: (completely disregarding the salutation) "let's talk about this mock up"

Employee: "let me get situated"

Me: "no, come on in just have a seat this won't take long"

Note: With me that is the kiss of death "this won't take long"…

Me: "who gave Contractor permission to miss a deadline?"

Employee: "well, the Department wanted talking points on a POC (Proof of Concept) today so I thought…" ( I jump in)

Me: "so you did? you gave permission to miss a deadline?"

Employee: "well, it is just a POC today"

Me: "for them yes, for me no; i don't have time to bullshit around with this madness, i have about 15 other things to work on. And if I have 15 then you have 30 so you should know that my deadline as set for you or ANYONE else is just that a DEADLINE."

Employee: <silence>

Me: "unless being quiet is going to get this done by 1:30PM EST, I suggest you go find someone to talk to who can get this done. now, you can go get situated."

Employee: "but, I was told by someone at the Department …" (I jump in)

Me: "that is where you messed up, you don't work for the Department you work here; that person there is GS-"who gives a damn", you, well you are just mediocre and working your way up. Let's meet at 12:45"

And that is how my day has been. Hope you all are well

- Him With the Asthma

Ugly....Part One

2009-05-15T07:59:00.000-07:00

The longer I live the more I realize I just don’t like people. Or maybe it is that I like people too much, either way the human existence just wears me down sometimes. I sometimes wish I was ugly because ugly people don’t have much to complain about, I mean when you are ugly there is not much you can do to change it, outside of call Dr. 90210 but then when you come home you will have the struggle of finding good looking friends. Agh the pressure!

The Uptown 3

2009-01-23T19:29:00.000-08:00

The Uptown 3

Two things in life that I love (not the only 2 but 2) are the NYC Subway and the feeling you get after you open up a fresh can of whoop ass on someone. So, why not combine them both? I mean you would think that would just make my damn day, right? Well, maybe.

I left a clients office today at precisely 4:30PM and I (rather than taking the car service) hopped on the Uptown 3 Express train at the Wall Street Station. Folks, I hate the Wall Street Station; the platform is skinny and small I always feel like I can fall off into the rat laden abyss that is the NYC Subway rail.

I get on the first train and it is packed like the Bush’s belongings at the White house. I had to squeeze in and be careful not to harm “the shoe”. As you all know I believe a shoe is the quickest way to measure a man, so I take pains to remind myself that “it is all about the shoe”.

That said I tried to commandeer enough space to protect the Billy Reid’s, but as we moved along the line the train got more and more packed I lost my faith in keeping the boy’s unscuffed. Anyway, the reason people take an express train is, well to get ‘there’ fast; it is also a way to avoid the riff raff, so I thought.

As we zoomed through the tunnel I was rocked in the pure bliss of the silver bullet that is the Uptown 3. Then we got to the 14th Street station and it all went to shit. All I heard was “EXCUSE ME! EXCUSE ME! Someone needs to give up their seat so the handicapped person behind me can sit down.” The message came from an obviously mentally disturbed and likely homeless person who, as it were, was talking about his ‘imaginary’ friend “Jimmy”, he again said “One of you muthafuckahs needs to get up because Jimmy needs to sit down!” No one moved. He continues to blab and blab finishing with “New Yorkers ain’t shit, no one will give up their chair, Jimmy is going to get mad” at that point I looked up at him. As our eyes met, he says to me “You look like a politician, are you a politician?”, I smiled. He then sticks his hand out for me to give him a ‘hand bump’...now I don’t really like touching people I know let alone a homeless man on a NYC Subway train....so I never raised my hand and rather just looked him in his eye and said “I’m good..” Well who knew that would set off a powder keg.

Jimmy (as we will call him now) immediately flips out. The following dialogue happened on the Uptown 3 between me and Jimmy:

Jimmy: “You too good to touch me?”

Scooter: (no response)

Jimmy: “You heard me, nigguh (Strike 1), you too good to touch me”

Now, this is where we enter the ‘STRIKE ZONE’, the zone at which you have 3 times to strike this match before the starts to burn. Let me also state that as I have gotten older the use of the ‘n’ word has bothered me less and less, because at the end of the day, I know they are not talking about me; because you OBVIOUSLY don’t know me if you are calling me that, because you will get scrubbed.

Scooter: (no response)

Jimmy: “You aint shit, look at you in your fancy clothes, you a house nigguh (Strike 2), just like Barack Obama a house nigguh (strike 3)”

Scooter: ‘You cannot talk to me like that’
Jimmy: “What you gonna do?”

Scooter: (In my most calm and deliberate voice) “ I will fuck you up”

At this point the gentleman next to me who had already (pre-JImmy’s entrance) mentioned he was a cop in Boston, looked me dead in the face.

Jimmy: “You aint shit, and you aint gonna do shit”

Scooter: (Looking square in the eye) ‘Believe what you like’

Jimmy: “Why you looking at me like that?”

At this point Jimmy steps toward me (as much as he can), and I look him from head to toe in the slowest ‘I am not scared of your punk ass’ sort of way

Scooter: ‘Oh, I am just looking’

Jimmy: “I will kick your ass right here in this train”

Now people are getting more uncomfortable. Women clutching purses, moving children, etc.

Scooter: ‘No, we are not fighting on the train, but you van meet me outside the station’

Jimmy: “You scared to fight me, see you aint shit you a house nigguh (Strike 3 PLUS)”

Scooter: ‘Look..I got it. You think I am a house nigguh, like Barack Obama, I got it; and you think you can whoop my ass, I got it. But you will not get to do shit on this train for two reasons. #1 - I don’t want to beat your ass in your house and #2 it is crowded in here and I don’t want to scuff my shoes.”

At this point the train all but erupts into laughter and ‘Jimmy’ looks incredibly deflated.

Jimmy: “You know what? Fuck you. I will kick your ass.”

Scooter: ‘You just might, but you wont do it on the Uptown 3, I am not losing my train privileges over your bullshit. I need to “Get my way with MTA”.

Those of you who have not lived in NYC do not know that used to be the tag line for the NYC Subway and Bus System, again there is laughter on the train.

Jimmy: (no response)

Scooter: ‘I am getting off at 42nd street. I can meet you outside the station’

Well, 42nd Street came and I got off and Jimmy, well, Jimmy kept his punk ass on the train. Which goes to prove my theory “big talk = small walk” -- the more shit you talk the less you can do. Don’t fear the loud mouth, fear the quiet man in the corner.

Now had he gotten off, I would have beat his ass. Trust me. I am an environmental fighter. I will hit you with whatever is close or use whatever is close to give you a beat down. Just saying.

Memory Monday... Continuation of the Roommate Story ... Originally Aired 30-October 2001 ...Part 2 of 3... The Car

2008-11-10T16:40:00.000-08:00

The Car:

Now if you all were thinking that that was all I had to say about this guy no, no, no, no. Two more things the car and the man.

First, the car. You all know that I love my great piece of German engineering that I call my car. Even though it has crossed my mind to get rid of it since I live in a city where I do not need it, the “silver bullet” still appeals to all my senses. It’s soft leather, its great pick up, and its sexy looks all the reasons I bought the damn thing. Well you all know that I will let anyone drive my car I really don’t care that much, after all when it all is said and done it is just a car. Take heed though, I will LET anyone drive it. Which means if I do not say you can, you cannot. Reasonable I would think. I was walking home the other day from being out and I noticed my car had been moved. I was just thinking well maybe I parked there last night and did not remember. So I did not think anything of it. So then again I notice that my car is in a different spot, but same general location a few days later. So I got to Jim, “Jim, did you move my car?”, “No, why?” …by this time I knew it was Ali and I was already pissed so I said, “why, what the hell you mean why, because the muthafucka has been moved that is why, would I asked you if you moved my car if it was in the same damn spot?” So Jim, quickly assessed that I was pissed at the fact the fact the car had been moved and even moreso that is was by Ali. Granted I do not even know if Yasser (Ali’s nickname) has a green card let alone a driver’s license so I am just waiting for him to get in the door. Jim, who is trying to be the mediator keeps saying to me, “now you have to give him due process you have to evaluate why he used your car, and first assess whether or not he did.” I said, “all I am going to do is evaluate how I am gonna break my foot in his ass and then assess why he used my car.” Jim then went on to say, “well you are not sure he even did it” Now you all know how when you are mad the last thing you want is for someone to try and reason with you, so I told Jim this “if you did not drive it, and I did not drive it, then he drove it… unless the damn rats around here know how to drive or something.” Jim nodded in agreement and we sat and waited.

As soon as the door swung open and Ali arrived in the living room I lit into him, first in a rather subtle way, I said “hey uh Ali let me talk to you (waving him over to me with my index and middle fingers), have you uh moved my car or anything like that?” Thinking that he would say ‘no’, it took me by surprise when he said, ‘Oh yeah I forgot to tell you that I used it a FEW times to go to the store and run some errands.” I was taken by surprise, so much so that I could not say anything at first. I just stood there. All I can remember is seeing Jim running down the stairs like Shug Avery in the Color Purple to keep Cealie from killing Mister, and he packed up all the things in the room that could be used as weapons, the hammer, the spoon, the matches. Then he just sat down to watch, like a damn school kid. Then for what seemed like minutes but was only a few seconds I thought, ‘I know this summamabitch did not just tell me that he not only used my shit, but used my shit a FEW times.’ It was so funny to me I had to ask him again and again he answered in the affirmative with the word ‘few’. So I said, “Why?”, he said “I told you, to GO TO THE STORE AND TO RUN SOME ERRANDS” with emphasis just like that. I was pissed, so I said it again, “no, muthafucka why?, as in why in the hell did you go get my key, start my car, and drive like you own the shit” he again answers as though he has done nothing wrong, saying “I had things to do” I said, “you know what, you’s a crazy summamabitch, driving a black man’s car without permission, that is like cussing out my momma.” As I looked into his brown eyes I realized I should have been looking out of a window. He flippantly said “I am sorry, never thought it would be a big deal” I was like, “shit yeah it is a big deal you stupid bastard, this aint no damn horse and carriage like you have in Iran this is a car, with an engine and shit. The best advice I can give you to keep me from kicking your ass, is to never even look at my shit again, or I will fuck you up” He kinda waved his hand in my face and I went Jerry Springer on his ass catching his hand mid air, and kinda leaning my head to the side and raising my eyebrows in that mother kinda way, and said “I wish you would drive my car again, I invite your ass too, in fact I am going to leave my keys right here everyday, but you better have your arrangements set because I will call the police before your ass even gets home to tell them there will be a murder at 1741.” Jim then got up and played lawyer and I told him he could kiss my ass too. Well needless to say I have not opened any letters I get at the house for fear his ass is going to plant some anthrax or hemmoraghic fever spores in there.

2008-11-10T16:38:00.001-08:00

Memory Monday ... Blast from the Past ... originally aired Friday Sept 21,2001

2008-10-06T11:07:00.000-07:00

The Retarded Cousin & Bad Ass Kids -

I will finish with a kind report from my babysitting activities on Thursday September 21. I volunteered to help with the babysitting ministry at the church I belong to here in DC (Mount Pleasant Baptist -- now you know if it has Mount in the name it is a down home, shouting and dancing church -- YOU RIGHT -- and I just laugh and "breathe" my way through service). So anyway I get there yesterday and I am told that I will have 9 kids from ages 2-8 to take care of --- no bigee I think. The church has veggie tales and other videos so I should be set. SHI'D !!!(say it like you mean it) I was dead wrong. My first task is to go pick up Jamal, with the head Deacon, Deacon Barksdale. This man is old; I do not know how old, but he has seen a lot and seems very cool. So as he is telling me about when King came to town with all the people (Martin Luther King for those of you who need help), he pauses and goes "Jamal, oh yeah, Jamal is ignorant." I go "oh ok, no problem." I personally am thinking ignorant in the sense that the boy is hard headed, a bad seed, or whatever, so I am like ok no big deal, not knowing ignorant is code for "you a damn fool for volunteering for this one". Then I see Jamal. Jamal would be more aptly described as SLOW, retarded if you will. Now I do not want to offend anyone as I believe we all have the retarded cousin of friend that we know, but this is just funny to me (I mean judging by the size of my head I should not talk about anyone’s faults but I do, but I love everyone) so if you don’t like it I will send you an invitation to kiss my ass. Anyway, Jamal walks out the house with yellow soccer shorts, a Tupac t-shirt, A (A as in ONE) church sock, sandals, and a Redskin’s hat. So what do I do, I "breathe" I "breathe" so damn hard I start coughing. I look at the Deacon, then Jamal, The Deacon, then Jamal, the Deacon, and then... you get it. Until I realize that the Deacon sees no problem in this boy’s attire and all I can do is shake my head. So we pack up Jamal and we get back to church. Jamal is silent the whole trip, all I notice is that he is looking at me in the rear view and he does not blink much.

At the church I meet my other crew -- between 2-5 all of them (except for Jamal) actually the breakdown is four 2 year olds, three 3 year olds, and three and one 4 and 5 year old respectively, and Jamal 8. So I get into the room see my kids and I am ecstatic b/c they are napping. Great!!! Then the volunteer coordinator comes in accesses the situation sees that all is well and says she will check back in an hour or TWO (operative part or TWO). I did not see that heffa until I had to go. Now my group is a unique all black and one Asian (we will call her little Van) her parents run the store next to the church (go figure), Amy is her name. She is five. Sorry, I digress again. About 10 minutes after the coordinator leaves and Deacon Barksdale is gone all hell breaks loose. As I am reading and Jamal (I wanted to put a mirror under his nose to make sure he was breathing) is just standing there mute, one of the 2 year olds (shit boxes I shall call them) wakes up and come over to me and goes PEE PEE. I Go, OK!! Thinking at first it is an alphabet game and then I quickly realize that the foul odor means change me. In the course of the next 35 minutes I change 4 shitty diapers and get pissed on 2 times, clean shit off the floor, and one kid takes off his diaper and just hands it to me WET . "No problem", I think.

I can do this. Then it dawns on me why Jamal is in this room --- He shits himself. I think to myself. "I am a grown ass man, there is no way I am helping this boy clean himself", but I am in church what do you do. I will tell you what I did. I line those little bastards up and marched them down to the restroom and I help Jamal get clean, literally. No need to go there, except to say this. Jamal, at least by my own estimation, was up until this point, what Granny used to call DEEF and Dumb (she said it just like that), but oh was I in for a surprise. Just as we get him all clean and redressed Jamal begins to BEEP, not just ‘beep’ but beep like those damn red things on Sesame Street. I begin to freak out, the kids start crying, and so I begin to stop his beeping by beeping too (I mimic children's behavior when they begin to irritate me to get them to stop, it usually works), it does not work. So I stop beeping and step back, thinking "I am in church I cannot cuss this boy out, throw him at a wall, I cannot do shit to get him to stop beeping, my hands are tied", then he stops for no apparent damn reason as quickly as he started, he stopped. I move as swiftly as a fox to get these banshees back to classroom. We get there and we begin to play duck duck goose. No one really gets it but the 4 and 5 year olds but whatever; I think that it will keep them busy. SHIIIID I was wrong.

These little rats sit in the circle dodging one another so as not to be the goose; Jamal sits there mute (getting the shit smacked out of him every time someone calls him duck). I try really hard not to laugh, but I cannot hold it in, so I practically choke trying "breathe" and laugh. Then Amy does it, she gooses Jamal. As in she picks him to give chase. Nothing happens, she says "Goose!!" as she slaps him across his head again, he just sits there. I am chuckling, and just when I say new game, she kicks his mute ass and YELLS -- "GOOSE!!!" I quickly come to his rescue although I did want to see what would happen if I did not have to stop the violence. Then they begin to run, like roaches in the light, they scatter. At this point I have no idea what to do... I needed help like Whitney Houston needs rehab. SO, after I could not get the TV/VCR to work I turn on the radio, what is on you ask? "Family Affair", by Mary j Blige. Although I know it wrong for church I had to hear my song. So I turn it up a little, then Amy (like a thief in the night) steals the show. Think of this if you can a 5 year old Vietnamese girl, dancing and singing Mary J Blige, going "that's my song" in a room full of black kids (who are now back up dancers) and an astonished volunteer. I could have sold tickets, when I say she knew every word to the song and the every dance move in the video, SHE DID, and so did her backup. Well I am floored, laughing my ass off every time she sings a line in her little Asian accent, whew that was funny. So the Deacon and the volunteer lady return shortly after "the show", and just as I was about to kick them in their asses, I told them to give me a call the next time they needed some help with the older groups.

Well that is enough for now -- I have plenty more to write about and I will, next week sometime.

Peace out, God Bless, and Have a Good Weekend. What is up with you all?

T ... is for Television

2008-10-02T13:45:00.001-07:00

I sat down last night and watched two shows ‘Project Runway’ and ‘Top Design’. Quite honestly they were both just full of opportunities for ’prayer’, so I wanted to take a moment and talk about them both. Now I am not one to usually talk about people, well I take that back, it is just about a full time job for me, but I think it will be easiest to go through character by character...

Mess on the Runway

Jerrell

Who is he? Is he the black fairy from black fairy land? I mean every @me I watch he is all dressed up like Peter Pan, Tinkerbelle, or some other Sprite. Where does he find that shit? He looks like he would be a backup dancer in a video of a Celtic Remix of a Missy Elliot song. His designs, ooh wee his designs, this looks like a thrift store remix. He puts a ‘this’ with a ‘that’ and a ‘that’ with a ‘this’, couple all that with his bad skin and messed up facial hair and you have what? An opportunity for prayer. He is a grown ass man that wears sequins, I mean in every episode he has on some Liza Minnelli wardrobe castoff and a damn ghetto Robin Hood hat. See Jerrell is what I like to call a delusional gay; he thinks he is the cat’s meow, when in actuality he is closer to Meow Mix.

One last thing about Jerrell (well 2) can someone send him a Safeway Club card? The boy needs to eat. He looks like one of the Lost Boys of Sudan. Then he always wants to show that damn birdcage of a chest, I mean REALLY. That shit looks like a BIRDCAGE, I can see his damn internal organs on display in there. Every time I see that chest I want to send a check to the World Wildlife Fund, he needs to free the endangered Egret living in his chest.

Kenley

Damn it feels good to be a gangster... That is all I have to say about this bitch. She has not done shit wrong since she was born. She thought she was wrong once, but guess what? She was right. I am not sure what the hell she was making. I was sure it was the suit Darryl Hannah wore in Splash, but alas I was wrong. Now, the assignment as to make a gown, she comes out and tells Heidi she did not want it to be glamorous.

As a side note: Why were Heidi's just play peek-a-boo the who runway portion of the show?? I mean this is not Victoria's Secret...and if it was you were not keeping the secret well.

Well what the hell did you want? Some bullshit, because that is what you got. And a word to Kenley, leave Korto alone. There is a reason that sister’s name is pronounced CUT-to. Need I say more? You will mess around and be thrown off that tugboat you were raised on. Oh yeah, and that broke down, fake ass Niecy Nash hairclip you are sporting; you need to toss that too.

LeAnn

LeAnn is on “that stuff”, she seems high every episode. Just cannot string a subject and a verb together if she had to. Honestly, I think she makes those folds in her clothes because it looks like a “joint”. Who knows...

Korto

That is my girl. THAT IS MY GIRL. Korto has more ass than a pack of mules. She may not win, but she is like Miss Celie, “She made it”. She just needs to be sure she gets some better hair for the runway show, because that synthetic shit is fraying. As for her dress, she was just off, but through it all that make up HELD UP. That bitch was crying like an old black woman during Roots, but never did that make up run. That is some good shit, probably MAC.

Top Design

Truthfully I just have one thing to say about this show. What the hell is Wizit? I thought it was a Harry Potter character. Is he just a man that sings soprano? A Geisha? Emelda Marcos? A smartly accessorize Chinese socialite? I mean I am confused. Every time he talks I want to hit him in his shaved down Adam’s Apple with a bottle of testosterone. But oh well...

Wisdom Wednesday 10.01

2008-10-01T19:33:00.000-07:00

So I have to say this to all the people who are holding on to hope against hope. It is not going to happen. Not even in your wildest dreams. No, I am not talking about Cher retiring, or Michael Jackson having a comeback. I am not even talking about OJ being acquitted again, I am talking about that whispy shit on your dome. I am talking about your hair, that shit is not going to grow back. Let it go. Do like the Beatles, and let it be.

Trust me I know this is a sensitive subject for many people, even people who are close to me. I have to let you know I understand the sensitivity, but please understand this, we are sensitive, too. Sensitive to the foolish charade you are orchestrating, this craziness that you are putting yourself through, it is a shame. We are sensitive to this mess of tumbleweed that you call a head of hair, and frankly we are sensitive to the fact that you are selfish. You are just a selfish bastard; you have no consideration for those who have to put up with your bullshit foolishness in public. You need to salute us all for overlooking your comb over, staring past your widow’s peak, or wearing sunglasses to avoid the glare; you need to salute us. You need to help us help you. You -- the boss with the sweepup; you -- the friend with the faux hawk that ends in a bald spot; you -- with the George Jefferson . . . you owe us all.

I cannot trust a person who is losing his hair and does not cut it. It is like you are trying to fool me right to my face, and I am not easily fooled. To walk around with a combover, I mean to put a person through that is a shame, a pitiful shame. You need your ass kicked. Then you do the nasty, most horrible thing you can do. You TOUCH it and fiddle with it right in front us like you are running your fingers through some shit when you are just touching your frontal lobe like you have some shit going on up there. Apparently not enough because if you did you would not have that bullshit still on your head that you think is hair.

So friends tell your friends, children tell your parents, wives tell your husbands, and girlfriends dump that balding bastard (if he cared about you, his head would be right), tell them to cut that shit off. Now I am know you all may call me shallow, but all I have to say is, every one looks good bald. I started losing my hair when I was 20, and I never went looking for it, unlike these fools. People who try to hide their baldness probably cheated at hide and go seek, just stood there on the other side of the tree still. Dumb fools.

Cut your damn hair.

Good Day...

Telegram Tuesday 09.30 - Calling Card

2008-09-30T09:26:00.001-07:00

Telegram Tuesday 09.30

Well good day, it is great to be here to answer your dilemma’s yet again. I am going to dive right into it, because I am not feeling pleasantries today, here goes.

Dear Ms. Dragatha,

I love my man; he is good to me in every way, even in the bedroom. He gives me money for my needs and he has a wonderful head on his shoulders with a good job. Lately though, he has been acting strange, we get phone calls at the house (he moved in with me 2 months ago) and when I answer the person just hangs up, but when he answers he carries on a conversation in a low whisper and then says “I will call you later”. Now, I never thought anything of it until I looked through his cell phone and his cell bill and saw all these calls to the same number and some texts to a female coworker. I don’t think he is cheating on me, but how do I find out, I have met this girl and she was really cool with me and knows this is my man.

What do I do?

Lil’ Shorty

Dear Lil’,

Let me begin by saying thank you for the respect, “Ms. Dragatha” yes ma’am.

See you don’t think your man is doing what everyone knows he is doing. Let me save you a trip to NY so you don’t have to go on Maury to take a polygraph. You need to set a precedent, if not for him, for that brazen ho he works with. See I am going to tell you to go about this in a Hood Way. You need to put some fear in both of them. I think you should do this in a few easy stages.

Stage One:

You need a calling card. Not like an AT&T WorldConnect kinda shit you need to have your own signature you put on your deeds. Let me suggest one for you: a step stool. Since you call yourself Lil’ Shorty I will assume you are just a bit challenged in the height department. I think a step stool would be great for you.

Stage Two:

Leave that calling card in conspicuous places. Wait until your man goes to sleep and put it next to his side of the bed. Then when he wakes up and trips over it, and says “What is this?” you say “just a sign.” Now he may walk off thinking you are crazy, but at least you have planted a seed.

Stage Three:

Sow the seed. Girl, you need to go up to his job and perform a stakeout. You need to sit out and see what the two of them do when they leave the office. You will not need Cheaters for this, just sit and watch. When you see what car she drives you come back and what? Leave a step stool next to her driver’s side door.

At this point connections will begin to be made and you can exploit it all the way. If he is smart he will stop the foolishness and you will not need to catch a case, but if not you need to go move on to the next two stages.

Stage Four:

Feed the seed. Now I am sure you cook for your man. So the next time you cook for him you need to pull up a stool to the stove and stand on it while you are cooking. He should get that message loud and clear. If not the heavy metal poisoning will give him a signal.

Now here is a note to all you men out there:

- If you value your life you will not keep cheating on these women and eating the food they cook for you. Because if it was the Lady D I would Dixie Chick your ass and say “Goodbye Earl”. When you are ‘stepping out’ on your woman and you come home and she is cooking (in this case on a step stool) for you with a big ass smile, you had better suggest going out to eat, I mean I am just saying.

Now, if all the soft signals and the calling card fail, you need to just take it straight to some on-the-job training.

Stage Five:

Harvest the crop. You need to go pluck what has grown from your seed. You need to go up to the workplace and wait (stool in hand) and camp out on a bitch. When she pulls up you need to walk up put your stool on the ground, and when she says “hey girl what you doing?” you don’t answer you just step up on that stool. Now that you will be a good 5-6 inches taller than her you take your left hand, stretch it to the right across your body, and raise it above your head. Now this is the tricky part you have to make your arm stretch across your body far enough that when you raise your right hand you can pull that left hand even further up. Then you slap down on that bitch so hard you knock her earrings off. Then you calmly step down, pick up your stool, and go home. I bet you the calls stop, and I bet you she quits too.

Well I hope that helps.

Stay blessed and don’t forget to write in with more questions, I am here to help.

- Dragatha

SoYouThinkIamMean@gmail.com

Sneaky Bitches vol.2 (The Shoe and Pizza)

2008-09-29T09:07:00.000-07:00

Ok, so let me begin by apologizing for being away so long. I have had plenty to write about, I just hath not the time to write it I guess. But, as I am on plane not (and not asleep (SURPRISE)) I thought it necessary to write a bit. I know it is Memory Monday and I might get to that a little later, right now I need to talk about pain.

What pain, Scooter?

I am writhing with pain right now. Can I tell you this will be crass and nasty, but my bowels are a MESS!!! I blame the shit on this drink called ‘Alive’ that I drank while at my cousins house this morning. He instructed me to only mix about a table spoon with my orange juice as it is “full of vitamins”, I tell you what I put about 4 table sppons in there, and my bowels will not be full of anything by the time I land.

I tried to evacuate (that is what old people call it) at the airport, but I could barely make it happen as my extensive toilet preparation (toilet paper on the bowl, covered by one sani-guard, covered by toilet paper, covered by another sani-guard, covered by more toilet paper)and the deed itself were going to take up too much time, but alas I was able to at least assume the position. The Rule #17 was broken. Not by me but by some fools in the stalls down the row. I am “bladder (and apparently bowel) shy” so as I sat in my stall, in the position, Rule #17 was broken and I locked up like a set of cheap brakes on a Kia, I mean nothing was happening.

What is Rule #17?

Rule #17 (dont ask me the other 16) is the rule that just should not have to be discussed. It is don’t talk to people in the bathroom stalls. End of Subject.

You would that is easy enough, but not to these fools. Two West Texans (I could tell by the accent) were taking a trip to Schittsville but were chatting, rather loudly betwixt the stall to one another. I cannot really get you to visualize this so I am going to write it out as I heard it.

“Hey Dan, when you going to Mineral Wells?” (followed by loud flatulence)

“I dunno, then need to send me those numbers so I can get out there and place these caps (oil talk)” (followed by toilets flushing and more flatulence)

All the while I am sitting in my stall trying to move the Rock of Gibraltar also know as my bowels. As soon I they start talking i am done. Nothing happens. Nothing. It is like an Ass Midget has taken a key and locked up my asshole. The same ass midget who know is trying to open the flood gates. But I refused to defile a Southwest Airlines restroom in that way, it would (I am sure) get me put on a “Do not Fly” list or some shit.

Thanks for your understanding, and pray for me and well my bowels.

Memory Monday 9.29 -- Sneaky Bitches 2.0 (The Shoe and Pizza)

I have spent the last 10 days in Texas, The Lone Star State, a little slice of Heaven if you will. In my travels here I was with a group of 70 folks for a retreat at Barton Creek Resort and Spa. I wined, I dined, I sang, I danced, I golfed, and I was forced to go to a University of Texas football game in full UT regalia.

It’s all about the shoe

None of this matches what happened on our 3rd night in Austin. When we left 6th Street to head back to the resort I had explained to everyone, he let’s leave early so there is no Taxi drama. No one listened to the only person (out of about 35) who had been to Austin. So, I of course feel responsible for these people and I do not want anyone getting left behind so of course when we do not leave early I explain we need to walk away from the strip and only allow the women to hail cabs. So my theory works and people get into cabs and our group dwindles down to 6. Just enough for a packed van taxi. So we keep walking and I hear sweet music to my ears, a girl fight. You bitches know I will stop anything to see a good fight. I can be on my way to the emergency room and I will stop and watch a fight, I could be in a funeral procession and stop that shit just to watch a fight, so needless to say I walked over to be close, but just close enough.

In my on sight investigation I notice these women are like street walkers fighting over something. So I stand and I watch my last crew hail and taxi right as the fight breaks up. So of course I begin to walk towards the cab, as I do one of the women in the fight darts past me, I was “ooh bitch this shit is moving to a new venue”... so I thought. Next thing I know a shoe hits me in the back of my head.

Now, let me clear some shit up. This was not a FLIP FLOP this shoe had a real heel on it. Besides I told you all it was a street walker fight, any self-respecting ho is not wearing a flip flop while try to make trade. So the long and the short of it, this bitch took off her nice black chunky heel and was throwing at the other ho, but my big ass head, well it got in the way. Now, I have never been known to hit a bitch, but I tore after that bitch like I was Pac-Man Jones, if not for one of the group tackling my ass I would be writing you a manifesto from the Ausitn Jail.

Note to the ladies: Always classy never trashy.

Throwing your shoe at a bitch is some tired ass syndicated talk show bullshit, and last I checked 6th Street is not Maury Povich and the DNA test had not come back.

What did I do with the shoe? I picked that shit up and threw it into the street where it was run over continuously.

A Gay mouth set straight...

As I always do I made my usual trip to Dallas, as I do whenever I am in Texas and as I always do, I made a trip to “the strip” to see the boys and to have a funky good time. It is common knowledge that I don’t have much to say until I am about 2 -3 drinks down and my motor is lubed. Now, on the other hand, there are those in the group who need little if anything to provoke some sort of mess. So it all really started when this blow-fart, who I later learn was named, Harley, Hunter, Gatherer, or some sort of mess, start some shit with KC’s roommate Kevin (of course after Kevin threw some drink on him). The sneaky bitch (refer to previous Sneaky Bitch blog for reference) Hunter (I think) came over and did what a Sneaky Bitch will do (break out a pen and paper)

he surveyed the group to see who he could “likely” intimidate

he started off with “let’s not let that happen again”, to which we retorted “what?”

Again, back with the surveying and figuring out he should only talk to one person in the group, so he continued with Kevin

he moved on to a “you know what..”

Note: Sneaky bitches love a pronoun, they will “you” you and “lets” you until the cows come home, but the bitches are not about shit.

Note: Let it be noted that the bitch did not say anything to me because I looked at him like I was ready to send him home. Hurt.

So that all passes and we continue to drink, and then drink some more, and witness some whoring, and drink some more. Once we shut the bar down we decided we wanted pizza, so we went to the pizza place across the street “Zini’s”. When we approach the line to Zini’s I hear again the sweet music of a raised voice and what seems to be seedlings of a fight tree. We all in unison realize it is Hunter (Gatherer or whatever the fuck his name is) but this time is has caught a case of the fool he is getting “into it” with an african american lesbian. He might as well be staring down a double barrel shotgun because this bitch is going to lose.

With a bit of instigation Sneaky Bitch hauls off and calls this girl a bitch. Now up until this point she was pretty damn composed, much more composed than I would have been. But before he even got to the “-itch” she had her finger on his face which in blesbian (black lesbian) means, “look I don’t want to fuck you up in here in front of these people”. Well you would have thought Hunter (Gatherer) had gotten clocked by Ali, this bitch flailed all over the window to the restaurant in a very Alexis vs. Crystal Carrington sorta drama, except this bitch was Linda Gray and blesbian was Shirley from What’s Happening.

When Hunter(Gatherer) came to he jumped up at ‘ol girl’. When I say she damn near snatched his ass out the sky, she did it. She put him in a headlock and was punching his punk ass in the face like she was straight up in the UFC. What people do not realize is you do not fuck with a lesbian who has a man’s haircut. That is to say that you do not mess with a manlian, that is just a lesbian that goes to the barber. Let me be real and state, there are plenty of straight sistahs that get a barber cut, I am not talking about you. I am talking about that bitch who is a mechanic, or a plumber, the female electricians of it all. That is who I am talking about.

Throughout the pummeling he took, he never hit her back. Instead when he broke lose he went after the gay who was trying to break it up. Again, showing his sneaky bitch colors. A sneaky bitch knows when they cannot win a fight so they progress to a new fight that they think they can win. Well, the fight got to be a mess, when the gay he was fighting went and tried to run this bitch over. I mean in his 1997 Lexus trying to Goodyear a bitch, that, my friends is a mess. But I still got in line, got my pizza, was harassed by an evacuee, then went on with my night.

As an aside, let me make one point. I am not a punk. I will say what I need to say to you, in your face and I will likely respect you more when you do the same. So don’t try to punk me out, or I might write you a prescription for some ‘ass whoop’ I hear it cures ‘skin conditions’.

Holla.

Memory Monday 9.15

2008-09-15T05:12:00.000-07:00

Originally Aired Monday May 27, 2002

Hey Folks.

how the hell have all of you been? i hope that you all have been well and keeping yourselves out of trouble, because i have been well but you know if there is mess to be found I will find it. So here is a brief update of the latest goins on in my life...

Bar Brawl

Now we all know that i am one to talk plenty of mess, and when it comes down to it I am not gonna fight unless i really really have to. Well my mouth finally caught up with me last week at a bar in Dallas. We all know I am a few good times down and I have made it from one Bar(JR's) to the another bar (Lime) across the street. I had some friends with me from out of town so I was trying to be a good kid and not get in any mess. So some context is needed so you all need to know this is a Sunday night and I had never been to Lime on a Sunday night. Well Sunday is “black” night I would say hip hop night, but that would not do it justice; there were 5 non-black people there and three are with me. Imagine if you will uppity black folk (mainly gay males) dancing to hip hop, with a few thugs in between. Let it be known that I do not enjoy a thug. I do not understand the whole mystique about the subculture. All I need you to do is pull your pants up and speak correctly. Most thugs are bitches in urban clothing, you slap one hard enough and a fake Louis Vuitton handbag will fall out of their cornrows.

Knowing there will be a “thug nation” here I try to convince myself that I will be fine. But, we all knew better. Well we get to the door and I begin to think, this is gonna be messy, real messy, real real messy. Me, a hispanic guy, and 2 white guys going into this bar, MESS!! Well I know just about everyone who works in this place so we head in get a drink and settle in. Well the music is BUMPIN, I mean straight from the Hip-Hop/Dance charts. It was moving.

As I surveyed the crowd I quickly realized I was far under-dressed, normally I would not care, but I was feeling froggy so I decided to jump. "Hey who wants to go change?", I asked. They all kinda looked and were like, "ok, Miss Diana Ross". So we ran back and i quickly decided that my good Italian friends (Dolce and Gabbana) would be my clothing escorts for the evening. SO, we get back to the club and the mess ensues. Granted we look like we belong in a Puff Daddy video all the designer mess we were wearing but it was all good. At any rate, we dance and we dance, we dance and we dance some more. Apparently I pissed this fool off because I was dancing too close to his man and he thought it necessary to have words with me, I was like it is crowded I am sorry. I thought that would suffice, well apparently not. He and his retinue wanted me to go outside and talk to them, I was like, "muthaF*cka fuh what? Why? I didn’t do shit to you so you need move on". Now that would have solved the problem if not for the fact that I am foolish. So as the music is bumpin' and everybody is jumpin' and i take my shirt off and spin it 'round my head like a helicopter (I was feeling cocky -- and I am a little more muscular than days gone by), so I was like I can take these fools. So I got to the restroom and when I come out I 'round the corner and the song starts ... "... move bitch, get out the way, get out the way bitch, get out the way, I said move...." any way I walk right through this little group as the chorus blared over the speakers. They were all like I know he didn't. So the ring leader goes, "look bitch we need to go outside." I said, "WE don’t need to do shit (those of you who know me know I love to stress a “WE”), but you need to go outside and b/c the stop light out front is broken (bitch had on red, yellow, and green)". This messy fool went and raised his hand up and pointed at me and before he spoke I said, "touch me and you won't last long, don't let the outfit fool you I will kick yo ass". Fool touched me and I took out the baguettes (aint nobody messing up the diamonds) and popped his bitch ass right in the eye. Now all his boys who were talking shit just stepped back and I gave them the 'what now?, what now ?', they just walked out, fucked up face in hand and I was like ya'll ready to go because they are gonna come back and shoot us. Needless to say we left and I have never been back.

Happy Birthday to Me!!!!

2008-09-11T05:15:00.000-07:00

Telegram Tuesay...

2008-09-09T21:31:00.000-07:00

Dear Dragatha Christie,

I am a young lady in my late 30's. I am a big girl, and I love it. I am curvy and buxom and womanly. Skinny bitches, step aside. Now, I have been seeing a man for a few months that I met on a big, beautiful woman online dating service. It is my first serious relationship, and I really do care for him. Recently, he has been encouraging me to gain weight. He says that he likes big women, and I am not big enough. Ideally, he would like for me to weight between 350 and 400 pounds. I told him that I was not sure - that is a big person! - but he said he would probably marry me if I got to that weight.

I am torn. What do you advise? I want to keep my man, but I don't want to kill myself with a heart attack in the process.

Sincerely,

BBW

Dear BBW –

I have too much to say to you, sort of like you have too much ass and probably everything else. You say that you are curvy and womanly, and that skinny bitches need to step aside. I read it as “I am big as a house and diabetic, and I eat food left on skinny people’s plate”. Now before I even get to this sorry ass piece of a man you have let me light in to your big ass. You need to get your ass off of BigHoes.com and get to Weight Watchers. You have let Monique warp your mind. That bitch can be fat because she is rich. You are not, you need to keep your coins all together so that you can do the things that you need to do.

As you like to say you are a big woman, no bitch… you are fat. You fat as hell. You mean to tell me this man wants you to gain 50 – 100 pounds and then he will marry you. You need to take your foot and kick your own stupid ass. Who in the hell wants you to get bigger in order to get busy. That is some kind of wild shit. I don’t know what to tell you. The Lady D is damn near at a loss. You need to take your naïve ass on to the gym and try to lose one of your asses and two of your chins. Why don’t you start there.

After you join a damn gym you need to drop this damn Hershey Squirt of a man you have. He says he likes big women and you need to gain some more weight…and you say that is a BIG PERSON!!

Who the hell do you think you are? You may think you look like Janet Jackson, but as big as you sound you look like Randy Jackson (pre-bypass).

This shit is easy. Do this self test – Stand in front of a 7 dollar full length mirror, stand with your nose on the mirror, take 2 steps back … if you cannot see your whole body in the mirror, then you are fat, if you need to take more than one step back you are big as hell.

Now back to this sorry shit of a man…girl, you need to listen to Lady DC girl, he does not love you. He wants to marry you because he wants a check, and not your paycheck. He is trying to kill you, girl, he wants some insurance money. He is going to get your stupid ass all fat and diabetic and then after you lose a foot or two you will end up 6 feet under and his ass will be riding around in a new Escalade.

What do I advise? I advise you get a damn brain and some Slim Fast, get off BigHoes.com, and drop his punk ass and slim down to a size that you will not have to wear pants with elastic on the side.

Dear Dragatha -

I have large breasts, and I sweat profusely. Not only do I get large sweat marks under my ample bosom, but often times odor results. This is a huge source of embarrassment for me, but I'm not of means to pay for a breast reduction. You sound like a heavily endowed woman, too. Do you have any suggestions or advice for someone in my cup size?

Many thanks -

Busty

Dear Busty,

You have problems, and I mean problems. Not the least of which is the fact that you think that I am heavily endowed, or a real woman. I am heavily endowed, but trust me that is all downstairs. Your problem is one that afflicts many women in that you have hyper-hydrosis and you have what I call “titty stank”. You need to call that Montel Williams Partnership for Prescription Assistance and get your sweaty ass some prescriptions strength deodorant then put that shit under your big ass titties. You may not be “of means” but you need to get a good wicking bra that can breathe and keep those midgets you call breasts dry.

Now where it gets tricky is if the deodorant does not work… Then there are 2 solid things you can do.

#1 – Swing your titties over your shoulder and tape a roll of paper towels under each breast.
- It sounds like your shit is big enough that no one will notice

#2 – Go out and buy some cheap dish sponges soak them in rubbing alcohol, tape one side to the underside of your breast and as the sweat pours in the sponge will expand.

That is really all I have for you… Let me know how it works..

Dragatha

Freedom Friday

2008-09-05T22:26:00.000-07:00

Headline: July 28 2008: Canadian woman gives birth to 18th Child…

I am taking this Freedom Friday to talk about the freedom to bear children (at least in Canada)…. This is a HOT MESS!!

What the hell? She needs to close her damn legs. Now I know Canada has free health care but DAMN, do you have to do all that. 18 kids? 18 kids? You with one man and have 18 kids? (say it again to the beat of Kanye’s Gold Digger)

Who does this shit? Why does she look like that? Lord, this is too much for me to handle. 18 kids? Lord have mercy. I bet she is in the maternity ward so much she has her own damn bed. 18? I did not read the article but I want to know what the hell he does for a living because he is working her shit on the 2nd shift that is for damn sure. They need their asses WHOOPED, how the hell you going to supply the needs of 18 kids? Why are only 13 in the picture? The other 5 are ashamed of their whore ass parents. All that screwing aint necessary, I don’t care what the Pope says you better put a barrier between your swimmers and her pool.

18? Damn, she is more fertile than the Napa Valley, I would not want to be around her ass. I can imagine just breathing in her presence and that bitch end up 2 months preggers. Who has that kind of stamina, I bet she cannot even walk. This is some nast ass shit.

I know that life is beautiful, but 18 kids? That is some medieval shit like he is waiting on a boy for the throne, but that aint it because he has about 7 round head ass boys in this picture. Maybe they are mormon, I don’t think so because they were not at any Mit Romney rallies. I don’t know what the hell their problem is, but I can tell you what I do know.

• I do know that his boys swim like Michael Phelps.
• I do know that at least 8 of these kids are genetically deficient
• I do know that that little head thing she has on is a slap mess
• I do know she looks about 30 years older than her husband

Now, all you people in relationships need to take heed because this bitch is doing something right. TO be able to convince a man that 17 is not enough, and pop out number 18, her shit must be golden. Honestly, I cannot imagine it. I would think after #5 her shit would be so lose those damn kids could just walk out. I best her labia hang down to hear knees. 18 kids?!?! Shit…

T is for Tore Up...

2008-09-04T21:10:00.000-07:00

I know that some people are never going to get it. They will never understand the importance of first impression or a proper dress code. Some may never grasp the concept of a no “suspenders and belt” theory or a “don’t wear shoes with tassels, ever” theory. Some people never get that you should not still be wearing a calculator watch or one that beeps every hour on the hour. These are simple things, simple things that I guess I have to provide guidance on from time to time. Of course when I say some people in this context I am talking about straight men….

Today I will focus on the shoe. First of all, it cannot be overstated that I love myself a shoe. I love a shoe. I love a SHOE, bitch…I mean in the past sixty days I have probably bought 5 pair of shoes, bringing my total somewhere close to 60 pair. What is important about my shoes is how I do not let them get run over. Now, one can say that I have too many to let them get run over, I disagree, some people are hard on a shoe, I am not. I treat my shoes like I would a second skin. Shoes are an outer expression of who you are (at least to me).

Many of you have seen me unabashedly look at a bitches shoe when I first meet them. It is what I do. I look at your shoes. Why? because if your shoes are run over, you are run over. Plain and simple. If I have said it once I have said it a hundred times you can fake everything, except for a shoe. So when I see a shoe that looks a hot mess. I am forced to bring awareness to it.
Here are a 3 examples of shoes that are a hot mess:

One –

I took this photo on the AirTrain at JFK airport as I was leaving the American Airlines terminal. I say these shoes and I immediately thought of Yoshi from Super Mario fame. Now my question to the audience is, what was this bitch thinking? Even on a bad day these shoes are not good. Even on a Whitney Houston/Britney Spears drug binge these shoes are not good. Look at them, close your eyes then look at them again; now tell me what is this shit?

I don’t want to go to the right of her shoes because that is a new mess all together, the “dress sock and semi-dress shoe with short combination” easily a faux paux made by someone from the former Soviet Union or an old Rotarian, either way it is so damn wrong it is unspeakable. Now, back to Yoshi. Someone send this bitch a DSW coupon. These shoes are a MESS!! Where do you buy this shit? I wonder if there were rationed out by the government in South Ossetia…Hmmm

It really does not matter because she is beyond repair look at those socks, then move up past the cankle to the capris. This whole outfit is like Steve Santorum’s Senate Campaign a TRAIN WRECK!!!

Two-

Who told this bitch she was hot? I mean I was on the Red line heading to the suburbs one day and in walks this bitch, wearing her new shoes, apparently from the Liza Minelli Collection at Saks (there is no such collection, so the gays need not go shopping). This is the kind of bullshit I hope the next President outlaws. She needs to be in prison for multiple counts of mess. I would give her 3 -5 years, because by the looks of it that was how old her face and lips were. She was obviously recovering from a chemical face peel which I think she needed her money back because she looked like a howler monkey with a case of Progeria and rosacea. Witness this mess…

My favorite part is how in the larger photo you can see my stupid ass taking the photo like I am Ansel Adams on location. But really, where do you buy some My Little Pony Glitter Girl Bullshit like this? Chicos? Coldwater Creek? White House | Black Market? Where ever she bought them and whomever sold her this Stride Rite bullshit needs to be blown up like Fallujah, this is a hot damn shame.

Three-

Last, but certainly not least there is the work shoe. Now this one is targeted squarely betwixt the eyes of you straight men who think you do not need to dress up to get your shit right. YOU ARE WRONG. You can almost wear anything from any store as long as it is a derivative product. What is a derivative product? Well it is something that is derived from and can pass for the real. Now I am not talking about jewelry so this is not Cubic Zirconia or Diamontrique; I mean khakis, white shirts, ties, and shoes stuff like that. You can get a derivative set of any of this from Target, but I would not go lower than Target, make Target your floor for clothing. Now you cannot buy a derivative shoe. PERIOD. That shit will run out faster than a Nascar tire, you just cannot do it. Buy yourself 3 quality shoes….

• Black Funeral Shoe (leather sole) - This shoe will allow you to have a shoe for church, work, and the occasional home going service at the Baptist Church
• Brown Church Shoe (leather sole) - This shoe allows you to go to church in style, work in style, and can be worn with a pair of jeans too
• DARK Brown casual shoe (rubber sole) - Get this shoe to wear on casual Friday because those runover New Balance tennis shoes are not cutting it.

Whatever you do, do not show up in some shit like this…

This is an example of a tired, tore up, messed up, jacked up, fucked up shoe. Who wears this shit to work? I sat down next to an otherwise highly intelligent man who had these shoes on. I could not function the rest of the meeting. Take a damn look… he has had the shoe so long they have a foot signature… You know what I mean, you can see each toe with distinction…

Don’t let this happen to you, or your friends ..

Wisdom Wednesday ... Beat his ass...

2008-09-03T07:24:00.000-07:00

I dont know how many of you know of the little boy in this video

here, but you need to know him. He is an example of what happens

in the absence of ass whoopins.

I just wonder how life will be when I have children because when I

get home I am exhausted. I am too tired to change my shoes, too

tired to return phone calls, too tired to start dinner. Hell!

Sometimes I'm too tired to brush my teeth. But when I tell you

that if Latarion Milton were my grandson, I would muster up just

enough strength to snatch his adam's apple out with my bare hands,

after I had bust his head open to the white meat.

I used work with children almost everyday. I love them dearly, but

I have never come across a 7-year-old who would drive his

grandmothers car. I mean I would not even sit on the good

furniture in my grandmother's house, let alone get in her car. I

remember being damn near 20 years old and still sitting at the

kids table and better yet having to sit on that damn hump seat in

the front of the Cadillac.

Now during the course of researching this little bastard I came

actross this a story that talks about how he put his hands on his

own grandmomma. Not just any ol' grandmomma either...the one whose

car he just stole the week before, and the grandmomma whom he

asked if he could take her rental for a spin, and the grandmomma

whom told him he could not have chicken wings before he ordered

them anyway, that is when he got in a PHYSICAL fight with her.

But this is obviously the grandmother who is not beating that ass.

My grandmother would whoop my ass for thinking about the wrong

shit, I cannot imagine there is anyway I would think about getting

into a fight with my grandmother vocal let alone physical. I mean

I have 12 uncles, first my grandfather would shoot me like he did

my dog that ate his chickens, then my uncles would beat my like a

runaway slave, then my great aunt would cast a Haitian spell on

me; all that is to say it would never cross my mind. Besides my

granny would have cooked me some chicken wings.

STATEMENT

You need to beat your kids.

END STATEMENT

You need to beat your kids so bad that they begin to feel that ass

whoopin whenever they think about doing wrong. See every child

needs to get to try something once. You get to talk back ONCE,

you get to curse your parents out ONCE, you get to have the school

call your parents ONCE, you get to stay out past the street lamps

coming on ONCE. Why once? Because when thety are done talking

back, cursing, skipping school, and hanging outside you take a

mallet and knock the FUCK out of them. I am convince you cannot

beat your kids like I was beat. I was beat like I was a Civil

Rights worker in Alabama. Just Beat. Today you cannot do that.

You have too many laws and shit, and phone numbers kids can call.

Also, I dont think the 25 minute ass whoopin works anymore, kids

are numb. Nintendo, PS3, Xbox all that has fucked up sensory

perception so what parents need is a weapon. Personally, I will

use a mallet. You know a good resin mallet. The kind you use in

band. I will use the same mallet all my child's life and each

child will have a mallet, until A) it has been worn to a nub B) I

have no use for it and the child sufficiently acts right or C) I

have to graduate to the pistol whipping.

Now, in the case of LaTarion you cannot tell me, from any point of

view, that this is because of the violence he's witnessed. This

has to somehow be related to the fact that no one loved him enough

to slap the shit out of him when he got out of hand. Hello

somebody! What he needs is a 'centerpoint' injury. What is that?

A 'centerpoint' injury is the kind you get that is the

'centerpoint' of every conversation that comes up after it

happens.

Example 1:

- Hoodrat Friend: "LaTarion why are your two front teeth gone?"

- LaTarion: "My grandmother hit me with a mallet in my mouth for

talking back"

Example 2:

- Hoodrat Friend: "LaTarion why are both your eyes black?"

- LaTarion: "My grandmother hit me with a mallet in my eyes

skipping school."

Example 3:

- Hoodrat Friend: "LaTarion why are both your legs broken and you

are in a wheelchair"

- LaTarion: "My grandmother ran me over for stealing her rental

car."

.... you get the point..

The point is he would never do that shit again or I would be on

death row. PERIOD. Raise your kids right....

Telegram Tuesday... vol 4

2008-09-02T09:04:00.000-07:00

Good Morning, Good Morning. We have been on vacation a few days here and Scooter drug me back out of the closet to help with your problems. Today I am focusing on 2 gay men and one on some scary gal. We will begin wih one of the gay children.

#1 Dear Draggie C,

I am a gay man, but no one would know it. I am not a queen or a boi or whatever those types are. I don't go to pride parades, and I don't drink cosmopolitans. I am straight-acting, and that's the kind of guy I want to meet. I cannot seem to meet the right guy, though. Every guy who seems like they might be right (read: straight looking and acting), when he opens his mouth a purse falls out. I want people to think that when I walk down the street with my boyfriend that we are two buddies.

What's wrong with gay guys these days? And where do people like me go to meet the right guys?

Thanks,

Straight Acting

Uh Ms. Straight Acting (yeah I sad Ms.),

Ok this one is a joke, right? I don’t know who you think you are fooling, because it is not the Lady D. Let me begin by saying, as you pulled yourself away from America’s Next Top Model to write this you should have thought this shit through. You like so many people in this world want “forbidden fruit” you are a gay man that wants a straight man. Why? I get tired of all these “I am not a queen” types running around wondering what straight celebrity is gay and missing meals to look like some damn poster. You ain’t shit. You don’t want a “queen” or a “boi”? Why? They want the same thing you do… a penis, and not their own. You just as gay as this Drag Queen, honey so you need to stop fronting.

Let me attack this in one quick way. What the fuck is a straight acting gay? You cannot get anymore “gay acting” than sleeping with another man. PERIOD. So if you want a straight acting man you need to stop dating men. Oh, and no damn body believes that is your “buddy” or your damn roommate. You are a grown ass man and you have not dated a women sing 7th grade. Stop fooling yourself and trying to fool me. Who do you think you are Ryan Seacrest?
I know you might try to punk me out and say some shit like, “that old bitch doesn’t know” , well honey trust me like you trust Tyra, I KNOW, bitch....

Oh yeah, and you asked what is wrong with gay men? The same thing that is wrong with you, you need to like who you are and take what you get.. you damn Fairy Tail... (and I do mean Tail)

And lastly I need to read your punk ass like Charlotte’s Web and let you know how to address me. It is not as Draggie C, you raggedy ass Abercrombie wearing Hollister Boy chasing bitch.

You address me by the right the next time you write to me. Damn Gays!!

#2 Dear Ms. Christie,

I am in desperate need of your advice. You are a tough woman and I know that you will have great words of wisdom for me.

I have just arrived in Washington, DC and am a little bit overwhelmed, although I don't want to admit it to my friends back home in Nebraska. I am making a very small salary and have moved into a neighborhood that, well let's just say has opened my eyes quite a bit. What are those tiny Ziploc bags on the ground? They are so cute and come in great colors. They are just so small, I can't imagine what they are used for! Anyway-- The other day something happened that I just can't shake. I was walking down the street and turned the corner and ran right into a homeless man. I apologized profusely to the man, I was really scared because he seemed quite angry and had a very nasty odor to him, but he would not give me back the bag of Oreo cookies that fell out of my grocery bag I dropped when we collided. So I looooooooooove Oreos and I have very little money to spend on groceries so those cookies were VERY important to me. I really wanted them back and reasoning with the man didn't work at all. I even offered him money or some of the other food I had just bought and he just laughed and laughed. Now on my way to and from work I have to walk by the man and he takes out one cookie from the bag and starts to eat saying how good it is and how I really must want one, etc. etc. I can't stand it any more, I just can't!!

I don't want those cookies back, but I want to know how I can get him to stop tormenting me. Now the other people that see this are starting to laugh at me too, but no more! How do I put this man in his place? Of course I would never want to physically hurt him and I understand that he doesn't have any money, but my pride and future enjoyment of Oreo cookies is on the line here. What do I do?!?!!?

Thanks so much Ms. Christie, I know I can count on you.

Sincerely,

I need my Oreos

Dear Need My,

What? He took what? Okay there is term here in the “real world” called “run him up” that is what you need to do to his homeless funky ass RUN HIM UP!!

What does that mean? You need to bust his ass. He is HOMELESS. You can run home, where the fuck is he going to go? Next time you see him, you walk right up on his punk ass, I mean right on him; get so close you can feel his breath. Then you treat him lik e a school bully. When he calls you a “bitch” you hit him dead in his Adam’s Apple as hard as you can.

Once you do this he will drop down to his knees then you take a cookie and twist it apart and stick it on his damn forehead. Then you pimp slap him and walk away. That is it. You will never have trouble out of his bitch ass again. Girl you better buck up, you are not in Nebraska anymore.

Girl that was too easy.

Much love.

D.C

Oh and those little baggies, don’t touch them I think my cousin works your route ;) -- and learn to write a shorter question.. damn..

#3 Dear Dragatha-

My boyfriend is really hot, hung, and handsome. Here’s the problem: He likes to punch me while we’re getting it on. I like it rough, but not THAT rough. I’d appreciate your wisdom.

All my best,

-What to do

Dear What to Do,

You nasty as hell. You don’t go telling your business like that but let me see what I can do. First, you need to meet your friend who wrote me earlier about wanting a straight acting man, because you are both fucked up. Anyway, I think you lying. I think your man is neither hot nor handsome. I think he is just hung and likes to hit you during sex.

The real problem is Big Dick McGee likes to beat you like Ike beat Tina during sex. Your problem is you let him come back because it was good. What does that mean? Well we have all ‘tapped a monkey’. That is to say we have all have had a one night (or 2 night) stand with an ugly motherfucker, and the ONLY reason we keep going back is that shit is better than Oprah’s Favorite Things bitch. Now my readers may think, “that bitch is off her rocker I have never “tapped a monkey”’ well bitches I am here to tell you if you have never tapped a monkey, you are the monkey that is getting tapped. So believe me when I tell you that shit happens.

If you really don’t like it. You go the way of my Oreo friend, in other words to you beat his ass. You get yourself in a position to knock the fuck out of him. I am not talking about a love tap. You need to hit is ass so hard he needs to call Dr. Sanjay Gupta. Don’t fuck around with your sexual experience, you need to get what you like.

Well I hope that helped,

The Lady D

ps – if you let him go give him my number ;)

T... is for Termination

2008-08-28T12:36:00.000-07:00

We all know the routine, you go to work you get paid; but what you dont know is why you got fired. Well I am here to tell your stupid ass a few things to watch out for.

People do some stupid stuff that gets them fired like, not coming to work, stealing, taking too long a break, cussing out your boss, you know stupid shit. So as a person who has fired many people I am going to get real with you on Termination Thursday.

Top 10 Ways to know you might get fired:

10 - You the only one in the office that punches a clock.

9 - Your job routinely involves someone asking you “can you please go get me a…”

8 - You routinely tell your friends “Fuck that job! I can get another one…”

7 - You think they REALLY need you but you went on vacation for 3 weeks, you came back and the shit was better

6 - They hire you an assistant to train but you are never busy

5 - You have been there a year and you are still a temp

4 - You are the only one in the office who’s school initials end in “-CC”

3 - You are late to work, EVERYDAY!

2 - Your school has a commercial that comes on during Judge Mathis

1 - You work in a position where you refer to your boss as “Mr./Mrs. ‘First name’…” (i.e this is my boss Miss Kathy)

Stupid people get fired, smart people get LAID OFF. Only one can you control. See I have been known to fire a bitch while I was on vacation because I am not your friend, I am your employer or an agent thereof. So in business it is a little different than that other shit, it is like … uh we work together you are not my friend... I don’t want to see your alien looking kids or hear your problems because I will tell everyone I know. I don’t mix friends and work just like I don’t mix my food when I eat, each is separate.

One way to tell you may be the one on the chopping block is spotting easy shit like this:

Worker 1: “Hey Buddy, what do you have going on this weekend?”

Worker 2: “ Oh not much just going to the beach, chores, doing some work; you?”

Worker 1: “Oh you are not going to the company party?”

Worker 2: “…..(PAUSE) what party?”

When you start not knowing office shit, start knowing a recruiter; because your days are numbered.

Men … How to keep your woman… Do what the HELL YOU need to do… Guidance from a Gay Man… vol 2

2008-08-28T09:37:00.000-07:00

This gay brother got a lot of flack for only writing to the girls last week, so I am bringing that chicken home to roost. Men, you have the same obligation as a woman does to keeping a happy home, and if you are not in a home together you are MORE obligated to keep your shit straight.

Men, you are not yarn and she is not Rumpelstiltskin so she cannot spin your sorry ass into gold. You need to “get it together” keep it straight, or whatever hood rat phrases you use. If you are Muslim get your rug out, face east and pray on it, Jewish call your homey from Temple, Christian get some olive oil and a Bible; all that to say get it right and get it tight, because you have work to do too. For some of you it may take a miracle.

There are some simple steps here that will help you in keep your shit right. There will be no mock conversations because this is YOU shit, not watch for this shit like it was for the ladies. Men are not smart enough to talk about the goodness of the candy they got at home because they don’t know what is a fake orgasm and a real one, I will tell you how to know….. And shit I am gay.

Step One: Have Gay Friends

Straight men get the hell over yourself and get some gay friends. Let me put you on notice, we don’t want you; because if we did you would know it. You aint got shit over shine-ola otherwise you would not need a Gay Man telling you how to keep your shit right.

Gay men do more straight shit than you think. We all don’t synchronized swim. What you need to do is this, show that you are comfortable around the homosex, because it will make you more appealing to women, more importantly your woman. Take it from a gay man who has satisfied many a woman, I can have her if I wanted her, and I don’t want you or her.

Besides when you have gay friends you have a built in reminder to fix your shirt, get your eyesbrows done, tell you to buy new shoes, you know some who is more than willing to tell you what not to wear.

In this case a gay man is like a puppy in the park, except we don’t need to be walked and we come with our shots. We can help you relate because, unfortunately we know women better than your stupid ass does. She needs us, but you need us more.

Step Two: Buy a DAMN CALENDAR

How hard is this? I mean really how hard is this. You are not Ronald Reagan and you don’t have as many houses as McCain so you can remember shit, so what you need to do is get a PDA or an old fashioned calendar and remember shit. Because the more you forget the less you will get, trust me. You forget the wrong shit and you will be out on the porch.

How easy is it to remember a birthday, an anniversary, a first this, a first that? Let me tell you it is a lot easier and less painful than remembering the last of anything … So go to the store and buy a damn calendar. Then when you have it use it and surprise a bitch from time to time, because like I told the women last week, “what you won’t do another muthafuckah will” and you can take that shit to the bank and you will not need the FDIC. You ain’t nothing special, every bipedal man got the same shit you do, you did not patent that shit.

Step Three: Smell Right and Get it Tight

Smell Right

Clean your nasty ass, and by ass I mean your whole being, that includes the inside of your mouth. Wash under your b-sac and your taint, because she will not be a Magellan to your Cape of Good Hope if it smells like baby vomit. Nobody wants a dirty assed, smelly bastard with stank ass breath lying all up on them.
What does that mean, get some loofa, some good lotion, a pumice stone, toe nail clippers, baby whipes, and an extra toothbrush and use them all.

Loofa – To exfoliate your crusty ass skin
Good Lotion – ALERT – white people get ashy too and it looks like brick mortar so get your ass some loation and handle up EVERYDAY before you leave the dame house
Pumice Stone – Women you need to know this too, you need to hit that crusty heel like Babe Ruth. Nothing worse than some crack ass heels rubbing some soft skin in hot moments of sin. Which leads right into…
Toe nail clippers – groom your nails it is simple… if it goes past the skin you wont win, nobody wants their Achilles cut but your razor sharp bullshit
Baby whipes – Just take care of your asshole, you wont get hemorrhoids
Extra toothbrush – Yeah, all that shit you eat all day, that is what you breathe smells like… that with a topping of baby shit
Now that you smell right, you need to get it tight.

Get it Tight

I don’t care what you look like, go to the gym. I don’t care what sport you USED to play, go to the gym . I don’t care what you USED to be able to run the 40 in, make a touchdown in, dunk the ball in, or any of that shit; you need to be in the gym. Why? Because you need to look like who she is reading about, and last I checked she is not reading about Wilford Brimley.

Look men, you are never going to look like Antonion Sabato, Jr. you may never look like Junior from the Taco Stand but you need to try, and she needs to know you are trying, why? Because the muthafuckah that steals her away, oh he is for damn sure is trying, trust me. I see him in the gym every day, why? BECAUSE I AM AT THAT BITCH!!! Like you should be.

Buy some damn clothes while you at it. CONCERT REGALIA is not, IS NOT a fashion item. Frame that shit. This goes double for shit with a Weed Flower on it (hats, shirts, etc.). No one woman wants you to meet their friends when you are dressed like you just came from a Snoop Party. While smoking weed might be cool for you all wearing the shit is cool for NO ONE!!! You a grown ass man, get yourself some “staples”, and if you don’t know your “staples”, you know me, so call and I will tell you. How is she going to introduce you to a friend at the mall and you are in a damn Toadies t-shirt? Now tell me that.

She needs you to try, because effort goes a long way with a woman… So the last thing you need to try is manscaping. Now some of you might be screaming, “oh that shit is gay”; let me think which is worse you looking like Chewbacca or you doing that gay shit and trimming your man parts, and I mean ALL OF THEM!!! If you don’t want to venture down when she looks like Don King, she damn sure does not want to get a hair pic to go through your shit that looks like Macy Gray. Not Hot…

Get that damn back waxed while you are at it, she should not think you have on a shirt when you don’t, some people are into that but if she is not, then you are not. Remember that all you need to do is try and when you try that will get you the Golden Ticket.

Step Four (yeah you need an extra step b/c men are not right): Work it like a PART TIME JOB!!

Now look this blog may not have been the funniest one of the bunch, but it was needed you boys are falling off in at least of the 3 above and if you are not you MUST be falling off in this one.
You better work that shit like a PART TIME JOB. If you cannot hit it, tap it, slap it, rub it, taste it, feel it right, guess what? You got it… another muthafuckah will. More women than men cheat ….Why? Men aint shit in bed. That is it, period; call Judge Judy.

Men you are selfish. You think when you are done she is done, well you dead wrong. As a gay man who has satisfied many women let me set you straight. I can butter that bread any way she likes it, why? Because I am good that is why. My shit is like CATNIP!!

I can hear it now, “No man my shit is the bomb, my shit is good; she is always coming to get this”; if the rest of your shit is not right, THE ONLY reason she is coming back is because she has not found anything better. Trust me. You have the same equipment as 48% of the World’s population and I seriously doubt your shit is all that you say it is if it was you would be in the circus or on the internet getting some money. Stop talking about your shit like you got an anaconda when you have a garden snake. Look be confident in what you got, don’t tell someone “I can long dick you from across the street” unless it is true. That is why I say it all the time.
You must understand this fundamental thing it is not about size it is about DELIVERY. If you can pick her olive with your toothpick, I bet you cash money she keeps bringing you back to her martini.
TRUTH: Your woman is faking the Big “O”, and by O I don’t me Oprah, I mean ORGASM. You will know when she has had an Orgasm because you will get scared. You will think she is possessed. If your woman stops talking in English and slaps you with her foot, you might be close. If she grabs you by the eyelid and tells you don’t stop, you might be close. But you know you have hit it when she can turn on electronics without a remote. But you have to find it, and that is the problem, you don’t want to explore.

If your women is tired coming home from work EVERY NIGHT – it means you cannot tap it right . You need to buy a sex book and do everything in that book like you are tracing letters in 1st grade. You need to do it so good you make her face numb, you need to do it so good she has to walk to work sideways, you need to hit it so well that she does a flip like a Chinese gymnast at the end.

Let me let you in on a little secret this is how you know you are doing your job in the sac; your women beats you to it…. And by it I mean everything. I mean she want that shit so bad she will take an unpaid sick day for it. She will skip naked in the rain to get to it. She needs to be your #1 fan, she needs to be crying at the end of that concert. If she has never met you at the door in her drawers, you aint hitting it right, if she has never cooked for you in the nude, you aint hitting it right, so let me help you…

How do you hit it right?

Last longer – if you are done in ten minutes, you better phone a friend. Get you endorphins up and do some Kaegal exercises and get your shit on the 45 minute plan, and by 45 minutes I mean AT LEAST…

Surprise a bitch – while you are at the gym you need to work on your core and leg strength because you need to pick a bitch up walk her around and toss her around a bit. She will proudly go to work with a ripened black eye if she likes the way she got it. Now if she has not hit the gym, don’t try it … Period… you will be in traction the rest of your damn life.

Lastly, you have to go downtown, and not in a punk ass way. You need to eat that shit like a Las Vegas buffet. Lick it like you are eating a Jello pudding snack without a spoon. You need toeat it so well that make her sing like Jennifer Hudson and dance like MC Hammer doing that Typewriter dance. You do that, and you have it made. Trust me!

OK I am done with you for today…. Actually I am not …

Tell her she looks nice. Women go through too much damn trouble to look good for your sorry asses for you to show up with a Triathlon free t-shirt and some Tevas on. She will always look better than you, but she AT LEAST needs to want to look at you, because while you want her to look like the girl in MAXIM, I am sure she does not want you looking like a character from Family Guy .... so get it together….

Yeah so I hit you hard… You need to be … You need to get it right…

And if you got shit to say… add a comment…

Telegram Tuesday 08.26.2008

2008-08-27T12:02:00.000-07:00

Good morning, good morning, good people, good morning. You know me, I am Dragatha and I am back, so put on your good reading glasses because the time is right. Let me first apologize for the tardiness of this post. I am on the road and the internet was acting up, but you know like they say “You can’t keep a good ho down” so I am up and running again. And to those of you who had something to say about it not being up, you can kiss my ass, I don’t see any checks with your name on them coming my way.

Holla

So let’s get this shit started. First off I need more email, hardly any of you bitches emailed me this week . EMAIL ME ...

I picked out two good questions from two raggedy assed people. But first let me give my props to MObama and HRC, them sistahs held there shit DOWN!!! The packed a bag full of mess and unfolded every piece for these bitches. Michele was like “American Dream, what?” and Hillary took it all the way to the Underground Railroad…. You don’t bring up Harriet unless you serious … WHEW it was too much for this old girl to handle…

Dear Dragatha:

My man got me a new Louis Vuitton purse for our six month anniversary. He says it is real, and I want to believe him. Now, I know these purses are expensive, and he does not have a job. He says it is not stolen or from Eastern Market or Canal Street. But how can I be sure it is real?

Very truly yours,

- Deserves a real purse for putting up with his ass for six months

Dear Deserves:

What you deserves is an ass whooping or for you to get your weave loosened. Why in the hell are you with his sorry ass if he does not have a JOB???? This story is wrong on multiple levels. Let me examine them for you.

First off if he does not have a job, he should not have you. REREAD that shit, write it on a piece of paper, and put it in your fake ass purse. Why are you with a man with no job? What is it with you women? He must do something right and since you did not mention it I am going to guess.

- He is not a cook because you did not say that he can cook, and if he could he would what? HAVE A JOB! Even if it was at the Waffle House

- He does not have a drivers’ license because if he did he could upgrade that shit and drive a bus

- He has baby mama drama. Because he would be working if he did not have to pay all that support

So since I cleared up the sideline shit, here is the real, you are with him because he can “butter yo bread” and not with money honey. He is tearing you up like a paper shredder. You in love with a raggedy ass sorry man who can tap your ass like it is a beer keg. Plain and simple. So don’t bullshit me. Shit….

Who gives a damn if he bought you a purse? Futhermore, who cares if it is real, bitch you prolly work at the phone company who you trying to fool? I see you all the time on the Red Line to Shady Grove or on the Ghost Train to Midtown; girl you are on THE TRAIN, in a UNIFORM with a 800 dollar purse, Stevie Wonder can see that shit.

Girl, you better call it like it is, your man is on the Hustle and if he will run that game for you and buy you a fake ass purse you better take it and walk that shit like it is real. Walk that shit like you are in Milan and you are coming out right behind Tyra. Now, don’t take it too far because I can spot a real purse any day; and you may want to know how do I do what I do? Well, I look all the way down a bitch’s leg and I check out the shoes. If a bitch has on some Payless BoGo shit and is carrying a Louis Vuitton, she needs to save that for Halloween, because that is the best time to parade around like you in some shit.

Bottom line, get a man with a job. I mean Mr. Louis Vuitton may be spreading you like Jif but he aint helping you with anything but your libido. While you are at work he is either out hustling or in eating your pork rinds, using your hot sauce, drink your water, sitting on your couch, what Judge Mathis on your TV. All the while you robbing Peter to pay Paul, stealing power from your neighbors meter and calling your cousin to turn your water meter back. Girl get it together.

--- p.s. when you dump the Hustler give him my number….

Your Girl,

The Drag C

Dear Dragatha:

What is the best bikini to camouflage a large FUPA (fat upper pussy area)?

Sincerely,

- Wants to have a great Labor Day weekend at the beach

Uh Wants To:

Ohh gurl. Uh, let me see, well. You should, damn. You have a what FUPA? I thought that was a Labor Union. Uh wait a minute, I am calling Dr. Oz….

Guuuuuuuuuuuuuurrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrlllllllllllllllllllllllllllll. You in trouble girl, I just saw this commercial that your polar habitat is melting. I don’t know what you SHOULD wear but a bikini is not it. It is too cold where you are from….

But if you must go, wear some drapes, or a shower curtain since it is the beach, maybe even a box, or better yet a car. How about this, you don’t go because they will call the wildlife reserve to come get you because they will think you have beached….

Holla at your girl…

Always Honest,

Always remember...

....if need advice of have a dispute and cannot find Judge Judge ... Just email me bitch .. EMAIL ME @ soyouthinkiammean@gmail.com....

Blast from the Past ... Vol 2.... Toilet Humor (Originally Aired 9/21/2001)

2008-08-25T08:10:00.000-07:00

Hey Folks,

How is everyone? I hope that all of you are fine. Since i rarely hear
from any of you I hope that you all have not fallen off the face of the
earth. I will begin by first saying that my heart goes out to all those
affected by last weeks tragedy, and i hope that we can keep in our minds
and in our hearts the meaning and expressions of peace. Okay... Now
that I did that.

Most of you know that i do not usually write these mass emails unless i
have something funny and self deprecating to say, well today is your
lucky day. Since i am still fairly new to our nations capital everyday
brings a brand new fresh set of weird funny and freaky shit to light.
So what am i to do? None other than write about it. I will preface
this all by saying if you are easily offended, do not read (i usually
wait until I can offend the largest cross section possible that way i do
not seem biased), if you do not like profane words -- move your ass on
to the next email in your box (I am trying to cut down on my profanity
in normal everyday convo, but it is just too expressive for me in email
form), lastly remember I love all of you and try to do nothing but
express to you all how screwed up my life really is, and see what you
all think about my adventures.

Toilet Humor -

Those of you who know me know that I hate public restrooms but I accept
them as a necessary evil in this complex world we live in. Well usually
if i have to potty (not pee) I will hold for as long as possible before
i will use a public restroom. Sometimes that does not work. So my
story begins, I am at Tysons Corner Mall in Virginia surveying the food
court restroom (at this point i had been to all the common area
restrooms and they were NASTY), it was very clean and had a nice piney
odor to it which i knew would help out in a minute :). So i go all the
way down to the handicapped stall (most room, you have to have room) and
begin to prepare to do my business. Before i actually begin i notice
that this toilet has a seat riser for people in wheelchairs. Rather
turned off by this I begin to look in the other stalls (all being empty)
they are not quite as clean so i suck it up and go to the wheelchair
stall. Now a few of you may know of the dilemmas i have had in public
restrooms, namely the wheelchair incident and the boss who had the
squirts and i began to laugh. Anyway, back to the toilet story. So
after preparation, i sit down on the crown and i immediately notice the
fact that I am way too high off the ground to be sitting on a toilet.

So i do what i have to do to get comfortable. As i sit there feet
swinging in the wind i finish up, and I reach over to my left to get the
TP to finish my business. As i lean over a bit the toilet riser shifts
cause the actual seat itself to fall into the bowl a bit (I am sure you
all can figure out what I am talking about). So I fall off the bowl and
in my hurry to stand up/catch myself I fall forward hitting the stall
front wall and door. Well I am sure you all know the amount of force IT
DOES NOT take to open a stall door and those little knobby locks they
have cannot even keep a 2 year old out, so the door flies open, I freak
out look around no one is out there (so I think at this point) so I have
to hold the door closed as I finish up. This is not going to work,
something is going to have to give. I cannot hold the door and pull my
pants up without letting the door go. At this point the restroom door
opens and people rush in a whole slew of them, long enough for a line . All i can think of now is staples, why can't i just fix this with staples :) (to help some of you I was known to fix my clothing with staples back in the day)

Now I am standing in the stall, holding my pants half way up with one
hand and the door with the other, thinking -- this is the most fucked up
thing in the world, WHY ME? Now i figure out that if i sit back on the
bowl i can hold the door closed with my feet, easy enough so i sit, I
grip the door with my toes and i pull up my pants as quickly as
possible. Now the moment of truth, i look back at the toilet and it
looks to be in need of some repair, so as i stand like a ice skater
using one foot to hold the door closed, i wrap my hands in TP and try to fix the
toliet seat by sitting it back up in it proper place. it does not work
(or stay for that matter) so i just perch it up there, knowing that
whomever uses it next is going to fall on their ass. Needless to say by
this point i have been talking out loud, saying things like "Oh DAMN",
"STUPID STUPID STUPID", and "This is BAD" to myself the whole time and
making the wierd noises i make when i get frustrated so it is
embarrassing when i walk out to a restroom full of old men from what
seem to be a nursing home laughing and pointing. This really does not
bother me i mean i get laughed at all the time, the pointing part sucked
but whatever -- old people do what they do. None of them catch my eye
except for one ho begins to move towards the stall as I am leaving the
restroom, the handicapped one. He has a walker, now i know he going to
need the riser. I am washing my hands as he slowly moves past behind me
in the mirror. "What do i do?", that is all i can think, "what do I
do?", so before i can even stop thinking i blurt out "Dont use that
toliet I broke it!!" and I jet out of the restroom. Now i do not know
what happened to that old man, but no worry of mine I mean i did not
mean to break the toilet.

Freedom Friday

2008-08-22T18:49:00.000-07:00

The “free-ist” part about Friday is that I can write bout anything. But I am going to be quick today and write about one thing. Bad clothing choices. That’s it.

Project Runway

First I will begin with Project Runway. If you don’t watch that shit, find a friend who does and have them explain it to you. This week the challenge was to make clothing for Drag Queens (a challenge they should have every season if you ask me). So they drag in the best set of Drag Queens they could find in New York City. Some superstar, some just sitting around with no booking, and of course RuPaul.

Now to tell me that RuPaul is going to be on TV is like telling a child Santa Claus is coming to town, I mean I was sitting there with baited breath. Then I saw the bitch.....

Ooooh weeeeee, girl look tired!!! She looked like a cross between a swiffer duster and a black Barbie (or more like a Bratz doll). I mean, yeah she is 47 which when you have to have 2 wardrobes means you are really 84, and trust me that bitch looked every minute of it. Wearing that TIRED ass whig and face all sunken in... Ohh just sad.

I mean it looks that this tired piece of mess woke up late and forgot she had a booking. Just for a moment, pause and close your eyes and remember the Rupaul of SUPERMODEL. Now open your eyes and feast them on this tired leftover piece of something. Couple that with that Jaclyn Smith KMART shirt and jewelry and you have a South Detroit Beauty Paegant.

Just look...

Good thing you cannot cast off judges because this girl here could have used a trip to that damn Loreal Paris Hair and Make up Room. Ohhh that wig.

I would sell fire in gasoline drawers before I wore that bullshit.

TIRED BITCH, TIRED!!!

And Michael Kors knows he was wrong when he called that Tanorexic Boys outfit from a dinosaur from a Gay Jurassic Park. He was wrong because he knew that outfit belonged to RuPaul, gay ass pterodactyl just swooping down to get some nasty mess.

Witness a gay dinosaur....now really which one looks like it hails from the Jurassic Era... RU RU RU !!

JUST A HOT DAMN SHAME!!!!

What not to wear .... Trains

So I am catching the train to the office and see this trashy hot mess....

Who told this child that it was “Ranger Day on the Red Line” she needs her ass whooped, then someone needs to whoop her mommas as for letting her leave the house in that bullshit.

What not to wear ... message T’s

If I have said it once I have said it 1000 times, everyone cannot wear every thing. END OF SUBJECT -- NO DEBATE NEEDED...

Well when you see a shirt like this...

If you are me (slightly perverted) you laugh your ass off, which I did. And if you freaky (like me) you may want to know if a bitch is serious. BUT when you look at who (or what) is wearing the shirt you damn near have to buckle over in pain. She look like a naked mole rat. Just a hot mess.

First of all I would not lick that shit anymore than I would eat at a 27/7 Chinese Buffet in Compton. Some shit you don't do...

Besides someone needs sell this chick a box perm, or at least loan her a hot comb.

I mean DAMN her hair look like Kim Carnes' voice (the gay men will get it)!!!

GOOD DAY!!!

T.... Thursdays

2008-08-21T17:11:00.000-07:00

Yo!

How you all doing? I am getting by today, just getting by. Rough day..

I did thought want to hit you up with T... Thursdays. Today's 'T' is for 'talk too much'....

Greg Smith also known as Greg "The Barber" Smith is the man who knocked out Suge Knight, and Greg, well Greg talk too much. Now some of you may not know who Suge Knght is, so let me explain it. Suge Knight used to be the CEO of Death Row Records, he is suspected to have orchestrated the killing of Tupac Shakur and Notorious B.I.G. so that should tell you what crop we are talking about.

Let me start with this... If I saw Suge Knight I would not say shit. If I smelled Suge Knight I would not say shit. If Suge Knight was my cousin I WOULD NOT SAY SHIT!!!! Shit, if I was Suge Knight I would keep my mouth shut for fear I would whoop my own ass...

First of why look the Devil in the eye? And secondly when you look at his ass why you have to dance with him. Suge Knight is the Devil. That's it. Furthermore, I am not going to bullshit with a man who killed 2 men who had 10 bodyguards combined a man who goes to prison and is still having folks "offed" this brotha is the Black Al Capone. And this fool got in to brawl with him and then went all over the radio, the internet, and some tv talking about how Suge Knight ain't shit.

Uh let me clarify. Suge Knight is shit. He Big Shit, he sitting for 2 hours on the toilet shit. He is the kind of shit you tell people about when you done. Suge Knight is shit.

Knocking out Suge Knight, that is some nasty shitty mess. First of all why in the hell you fucking with Suge Knight? You need better company. I mean really if all you do is cut hair stick to fades and edge ups, leave the ass whoopin' to the professionals, not yo ass. To top that off, after all this talking Suge Knight put a 'call' on his ass. (A 'call' is when you let e'erybody know who you looking for and what you got for they ASS!! The call was so bad that LAPD went to get Greg Smith on an "outstanding warrant". I doubt it, they put him in jail strictly on 'ass whoop protection'.

Here is the reality, you remember the saying "don't write a check you ass cannot cash", see Greg wrote that check to Suge, but you know Suge is a felon and cannot get a checking account so he is coming to whoop up on that ass for not paying in CASH!!! Plain and simple. If Suge Knight was around me talking shit even if I knew I could whoop his ass, guess what? I am taking one for the team and getting my black ass whooped. I would shine his shoes and dance a soft shoe, but I will be damned if I whoop his ass and then have him hunting me down like I am the unibomber. I would say Osama Bin Laden but we stopped looking for him a long time ago. LAPD doe no need to pic me up, trust.

SHIT, YOU CRAZY. Bragging rights are not worth all that. What is the lesson? Stop talking so damn much!!

Women .. How to keep your man .. do what the hell you need to do... Guidance from a Gay Man

2008-08-20T12:40:00.000-07:00

Here it is in plain fucking English. I am tired of watching Divorce Court, Jerry, Judge Judy, Maury, or any other crazy ass show that has a “he left me for my best friend theme”. If he left you for her that is your damn fault. You have the same equipment that raggedy whore who stole your piece does so if you are not working it right that is on you. Done.

People get complacent real fast and that is the problem here, complacency. What women don’t realize is that you need to be more on your game the longer your relationship goes.

I am going to use this Wisdom Wednesday to let you know what really needs to happen to keep your man with you, and coming home to you EVERYDAY!!! In three easy steps..

Women, how to keep your MAN:

Step One:

Tell those hoes to hire a handyman. Some people would tell you to not have any attractive friends or something like that, but I have said time and time again it is not the cute ones you need to worry about. You need to face it, mediocre to ugly bitches will steal your man. Period, re-read and write down. What you need to convey to your friends is your man cannot fix SHIT, he is so bad he cannot change a light bulb, because as soon as you tell that ho that he is handy, he will be in her hand and she will have stolen your man, all under the guise of a broken door lock or a drippy faucet.

Straight women, I don’t get it. You work so damn hard to get a man and then when you’ve got him you let him roam the outward plain unsupervised. Take it from a gay man, men are dumb; they are lured in by stupid shit, like a call at 12AM that a bitch cannot unlock her door. WHAT? You need to train your man that that kind of call is intended to get him in some Kobe Bryant/Mike Tyson kind of mess. The kind of mess you may have to kill him for. Tell him and your bitch ass friends he is not Rota Rooter or Pop A Lock …

This is how it needs to play out:

Your Man: “Hello this is Larry”

Your Ho Ass Friend: “Hey, Larry this is Tish”

Your Man: “Hey Tish, what it do?”

(I will pause here, if you have a man who talks like this, you need to let your ho ass friend have his sorry ass, no man who talks like this can do shit for you long term)

Your Ho Ass Friend: “Nothing, hey Larry I know Kisha out of town but I cannot get my door unlocked and I am afraid I will break the key off in it can you come help me”

(This is where a well trained man would say, “no girl you need to call your cousin or your brother and see who can help you deal with that, it is too late for me to be out like that”)

Your Man: “Yeah, girl where you stay at?”

(His ignorant ass never saw it coming, NEVER)

Mess, mess, mess, mc mess mess. Next thing you know your hiring that show Cheaters to bust him out because he is buying new clothes and ironing and shit, but not for you. And you never expected Kisha because she has been your girl since middle school and besides she is healthy and not all that attractive and wears HO CLOTHES…. Which brings me to Step Two.

Step Two:

Ugly bitches will do anything. You can define ugly by attitude, looks, whatever; but what you need to define is your plan of attack. You need to keep your good shit as secret as a VP pick, don’t tell your girls that you man is good at shit. Remember he cannot fix shit, that part is easy the hard part is the money and the sex. You are so proud that your man is successful and can work you out better than a Wii Fit that you feel the need to tell every bitch you know.

And it goes a little something like this:

You: “Girl, Kisha, girl Larry has a good job, girl ooh and he only has to work one shift, girl. He may have a friend up at the plant that you can meet”

Your Ho Ass Friend: “Girl, I need me a man with benefits, you know little Jubari has asthma, so I need a Postman or something like that, somebody with a low copay, girl”

You: “Mmmmm but that aint it. He can work it behind the doors too…”

(this is where you made your mistake, don’t tell that single ho ass bitch your man is good in bed. Do you see how she dress, that should tell you how desperate she is and you just put your shit on MAIN STREET, you just made a pact with the Devil.)

Your Ho Ass Friend: “What? He can? Better than your ex?”

You: “Bitch, that is why he is my ex.”

Your Ho Ass Friend: “Damn you lucky, girl I need to get my front door fixed.”

You: “What?”

Your Ho Ass Friend: “Nothing just thinking to the future..."

(BOOM! That is the setup, she just set the stage for the takeover. She is Palestine and you are Israel, and you are about to fight over his silly ass like the West Bank)

Lesson here is what? Your man cannot fuck, I hate to be crude, but put that shit on the street. You can package it like you want, but you better let the word go forth, that he aint shit in bed. Best to tell all the nasty ho ass friends you have that he is bad in bed, tell them bitches ‘it hurt going in and sting coming out’. That is how you hold your shit down.. but only if you can handle Step Three too…

STEP THREE:

Work your JELLY. I mean you better work it and work it until you can’t stand up. You need to work your shit so good in bed, that you both may need to call in sick the next day. Because let me tell you this, what you won’t do some other raggedy bitch will, so if you want to keep your man you better take the plunge. It is simple, if your man wants to fold you up like a piece of Origami you better get to stretching. If he want to put on a Miner’s Hat with a light on top and explore your caverns, your better sell tickets to the tour. If he wants to put on a cape and jump through the window, you better buy a cat woman suit.

My point. Do what the fuck you need to do, because it will be that nasty, raggedy, bitch you know that steals him from you. And it won’t be who you think. Remember that. You need to keep shit right on the home front, because if you don’t someone else what? WILL!!!

Until next time, holla….

Telegram Tuesday 08.19.2008

2008-08-19T09:54:00.000-07:00

Good morning, good morning, good people, good morning.

My name is Dragatha Christie. Scooter has so graciously invited me into his world to be his advice columnist. Please know that I am not Dr. Joyce Brothers but I do like the Brothers, so keep it together and get ready for real advice on Telegram Tuesday.

When writing please refer to me as Dragatha, Ms. Christie, or Ms. Dragatha Christie; but never as Draggie, Drag C, or some mess like that. It is Dragatha Christie, or D.C. if you nasty…

Alright here is Day One of this bullshit, and remember I don’t get paid and I am not censored so when you write to me, bring me flavor because I am fancy. Remember that is fancy, not fancie, or fancee; I am a respectable Drag Queen, I may look like the preacher’s wife but I fight like Lenox Lewis, so just be ready.

Today’s entries focus on two distinct personal issues on the one hand we have appearance concerns and on the other we have relationship issues, let’s begin with the appearance concerns….

Dear Dragatha Christie:

I am 24, 5'2" weigh 265, and I am very classy. I am big busted. I have a fairly large stomach (although the breasts hide almost all of it). I also have a nice, round behind and thick thighs. Some people have told me that I resemble Beyonce. I like to dress sexy, but I also need to be professional for my job at the telemarketing agency. What sort of clothes will work best on me to help me look my best while still keeping my own personal style?

- Wants to Look Good

Dear Wants To:

Huh? You how tall? You weigh how much? You big who? Your stomach is what? Whew, girl good thing I am off that narcotic because there was a day I would have to get high to deal with a big ass girl like you; that day has long since passed and I am here to give you some advice. I have some great suggestions for you.

First off, you don’t look like Beyonce. Period. Whoever told you that is related to the person who tells me I look like Halle Barry, if anything you look like Barry White and I look like Hank Aaron, but all that aside let me help you out.

STEP ONE: Stop eating. Diet. Exercise. If you cannot do any of those, stop eating for 4 days and use the money you saved to go to some war torn West African nation and eat what they eat. You ever seen anyone fat on Save the Children, NO!!! The only fat person on there is Sally Struthers and they all look at her like she is the sacrificial cow coming to the slaughter. So I see you have a round behind, keep it. I have one word of advice, a flat assed sistah is a LONELY sistah. So if you lose some of that ass you better work on getting it back. I mean work, work that shit like a part time job.

STEP TWO: Stop dressing sexy. Some shit is better left unseen. I do not want to see your labia because your shorts are so short. Besides that I don’t think anyone needs to smell your poon. Become friends with Summer’s Eve and buy and wear bottoms that come below the knee and are not clingy. As big as your ass is the last thing you need is a yeast infection. Wear granny panties; because I don’t want you writing back telling me your thong got lost in the Netherlands of your body.

Another thing to consider if you cannot find/afford anything new to wear; get a sheet or some drapes, watch and episode of Project Runaway and “MAKE IT WORK!”. If that fails you, run down to the circus and grab that thing the drape over the elephant, that will look HOT on your big ass…

STEP THREE: As for work, you need to quit. You need to work somewhere you can move around. Try Chuckie Cheese, Barney, Sesame Street, or some shit like that. A little make up and some primary colors you would make a great stand-in.
Be Blessed,
Ms. Dragatha

And the relationship Issue….

Dear Dragatha Christie:

I recently found out that my boyfriend has a fake leg. It is only fake from the knee down. I found out it was fake because it fell off during sex (he always keeps his pants on - just the way he rolls, he told me). At first, I thought I had broken it off, so I was both relieved and disturbed to find out, no ... it was just fake. Should this be a deal breaker? He has some money, but I feel like he was not honest with me by not telling me about the fake leg. Also, it's kind of gross.

Please help.

- Needs a Leg to Stand on

Dear Needs A:

GIIIIIIIRRRRRRL, you fucked up girl. Your problem is you like thugs with a thug walk. You saw that limp and told your girlfriend with you, “girl, look at that thug walk… mmmm”; you then walked down the Subway platform and tried to hollah. See I am a truth teller, I bet you and all the other readers want to know how I know you met him on the Subway, BOOM let me tell you.

- #1 – If he had a car you would have noticed that it was handicap accessible or at least had a tag, then you would have been like, “ooh look at that walk girl” and your girl would have been like “bitch you crazy, that is limp, he handicapped”
- #2 – It is summer it is too damn hot to be standing outside, if it was the bus stop you would have noticed that fake ass foot pointed up in the air.
- #3 – Last but not least, it was not the club of the grocery store, because he could not have walked too far, and he for damn sure didn’t dance
So I got that shit on the nose. It is called deduction, bitch. This is real easy. You need to LEAVE him because he is ill equipped. Period. He has 1 ½ legs and a small Johnson. Again, deduction.

How do I know about his Johnson? I mean, who in the hell wants to be with a man that can “tap it” with his pants on. That is some freaky shit, and believe me I am all about freaky, but if you can do all you gotta do with your pants on TRUST me only one of us is leaving satisfied, AND IT AINT ME!! You need a man that when he “taps” it, needs the whole dance floor. Okay? OK. You need a man that NEEDS to pull his pants down, because you need to get to it to DO IT…

So this is what you need to do. Stay with him until the end of summer. You say he has a little piece of money so get your hair done, get your light bill covered, and maybe get some school supplies for your child (if you have one). But one thing to keep in your mind… let him down REAL easy-like because he may be a good gravy train, but to assess that you need to know if the leg is polymer plastic or wood. If it is polymer, keep him in your pocket, that means he is getting a monthly check from Uncle Sam. If wood, put a match on that ho, and let him go. Either way, when he takes it off put it under the bed so you don’t trip over it.

Love and Peace,
Dragatha

Well that is all I got today. See you next week!! And remember, always keep a combed wig on standby… you never know who is coming to the door…. and remember all questions should come to soyouthinkiammean@gmail.com....

Memory Mondays ... Blast from the Past Vol.3 The Roommate...

2008-08-18T18:16:00.001-07:00

---- Originally distributed 30 October 2001 ----

Hello,

It is good to be back in the seat writing to you all again. It took a while to write this one because of lack of material, but I think that it has all come together. In this issue we will take a look at the roommate.....

The Roommate.

The Pot:

Those of you who are new to the list do not know that I hate one of my roommates. He is not very socially acclimated and just plain pisses me off most of the time. Well it all started with raisins. He has these raisins from Iran that he eats that look like little yellow roaches. I asked him where he got them and he said “my mom sent them to me”, so I was like ok. The problem is the damn things were all in my sofa and I asked him not to eat on the sofa anymore so he has been pissed at me and Jim ever since. What bothers me about this guy is that he has a horrible voice, in fact he sounds just like Grover from Sesame Street with a slight Middle Eastern accent. I will say this much, he is scared of me after the other day. In the past few weeks he has broken a glass (no big deal), burned one of my pots blacker than James Brown, and refuses to fill the water filter jug. We will start with the pot. He cooks this Iranny shit that smells like feet and Ben Gay everyday. It really never bothered me until Jim (the cool roomie) came to me asking where his pots were. I was like, “shit I dunno, they are not my pots”. So Jim was like “I will ask Ali.”, well it goes without saying that the Mexican in Jim came out like a FOOL. Apparently, Ali threw away the pots of Jim’s after he burned them, but never said anything to Jim about it until Jim asked him. Well this is where the drama ensues. Jim started cursing in Spanish and I was sitting there on the sofa eating popcorn and watching like I was at the movies. It was okay until Jim who is about 5’4” started to push Ali who is about 6’2”, at this point I was laughing but knew I had to be the ambassador of peace in this situation. So I am standing between the two with my popcorn and laughing. So Ali knocks the popcorn out of my hand and kinda nudges me out of the way. TICK TICK BOOM!! The room fell quiet and I turned to Ali who was walking toward the kitchen and I noticed my pot on the stove. I said, “uh Ali, you cooking in my pot?” He said, “uh yeah!!” but in that kinda way like why in the hell you asking me your dumbass you can see it is your pot. So I say, “just don’t burn anything”. He say “okay” and all is well. Well about 20 minutes go by and the Iranny cuisine is burning like a the South in the Civil War. I can smell it in my room (1 floor up). As I descend down to the kitchen I see him scurrying to get the shit out of the pot, only one problem. It is burned on to my shit. Now those of you who can remember the motto that I had in college and subsequently when I lived in Dallas, “you are welcome to come over, just don’t jack with the shit is all” Well Ali had jacked with my shit and at this point I was only slightly pissed.

As I asked Ali about the pot he said, “what is the big deal it will wash out”. “True”, I said, “but you have no respect for other peoples shit so you clean it and replace Jim’s pots too.” Ali says, “you are ridiculous they are just pots YOU ALL CAN BUY NEW ONES.” Now Jim is downstairs and he is looking at me like, you gonna let him talk to you like that. Reminiscent of Sprint PCS, all I really heard was “YOU ALL” and not much else. SO, I was like (in my most ghetto sophisticated way) “you all, who the hell is you all. I aint you all, Jim aint you all. You(with finger pointing and a pause), YOU ‘you all’. We don’t eat that nasty smelling shit, ‘you all’ do. ‘You all’ the one that has got the whole damn house smelling like the damn Gaza Strip that is ‘you all’. So ‘you all’ can clean my pot, ‘you all’ can buy Jim a pot, and as far as I am concerned ‘you all' can kiss my black ass.” Well Ali kinda looked startled and stepped back. So Jim and I both thought it was about to be on, so I looked at him, like he was a visitor at church you know that --“what, what you gonna do now, what”-- look. All he said was he was going to think about it. Well that set me off again. I said, “You all don’t have much to think about” (now as I am talking he is walking over to his sofa and slams a book on the top of my tv as he is about to say something), “‘I’ do not have to buy you or Jim a damn thing”, at this point it is "Showtime at U Street" and I am ready to get with it. I said “you, you, you gonna do what?”. Now those of you who are not black or who have never been around black mothers do not quite understand the significance of the repeat. When you have something repeated to you by your mother you are in trouble, so I was hoping Ali knew the significance. Well he does not. He responded by saying, “ I said, (first mistake lies therein you never repeat to a black person what you just said by starting off “I said”, and he said it much like the 7 year old female cousin rolling her eyes) I will think about it.” Well Jim jumps in and says well you are obligated to blah blah blah, a whole bunch of lawyer yaya (Jim is an attorney). I was "Jim, like bump that shit". I don’t care what he is “obligated to do, i am telling him what he is going to do”. At this point I come to him with some ghetto reasoning. I say “Ali, this is all I have to say you don’t clean my pot and you don’t buy Jim new pots if you want to.” Now there is that phrase “if you want to” now when some tells you “if you want to” you usually don’t want to. So nonetheless, he noticed how pissed I was and he went off to his room. I told Jim that he would replace the pots and not to worry. Sure enough the next night there were new pots and he cleaned mine. Shit he does not know I will call the DOJ on his ass, and say I found some American hate letters in his room.

Kennedy Center... Sneaky Bitches...

2008-08-04T09:11:00.000-07:00

It has been a hot minute since I have written and believe me there is more than enough to write about I have just been slacking. But, I have two words from last Friday night that warrant a complete recap...

..... “Sneaky Bitches”......

So I attended a function at the Kennedy Center called Africa Rising. It is a concert to show the beauty and talent that Africa has to offer through fashion and music. The designer Momo featured her work as did Chris Aire, but most people were there for one of 3 reasons, Tyson Beckford (I’m sorry but he is still hot), John Legend, or Jay Z. Let me state that simply, fashion show --- John Legend – Jay Z. That is all most people knew. Never mind the fact that Jascylene, Alek Wek, Tyson Beckford, and other great models were there. Trust me … it was the John Legend and Jay Z show.

Well the show started out calmly enough, there was just mischief and disbelief at some of the outfits that people will come out of the house wearing. Apparently, men’s suiting with a Lawrence of Arabia scarf is the in thing (who knew?, not me because the shit looks a mess). Couple with that this chick who had on Sally Jesse glasses, thigh high red boots, and red gloves. Where in the hell was she going? Sesame Street? AND apparently you can dress like a ho and be pregnant too. I have never seen so many pregnant women, fetus damn near out, trapsing around in 4” heels … Isn’t that how you got that way to begin with? I mean, close your legs it is drafty in this bitch, and in you apparently.

Now the show took place in the concert hall of the Kennedy Center, the same Kennedy Center where The Lion King was going on in the Opera House. Now imagine this if you will, let’s call it a-third, a-third, and a-third; one third there for The Lion King, Africa Rising (Africa focus) and Africa Rising (Jay-Z focus) respectively --- so there are 3 major entrances to the Kennedy Center and when entering you can usually tell where you need to go. So imagine DC Metro suburbanites, tourists, and others trying to figure out if the Africans there for Africa Rising were there for a show or in The Lion King, and imagine if you will how those very same folks responded to the Jay Z crowd. I will leave you be with that notion.

Now once in the show started and got rolling it was great. Nice clothing great African talent, but it was not ‘set off’ until John Legend took to the stage. He is a small gay talented man who REALLY likes himself but MAN, he can SANG!!!

- When John Legend began singing the seats in front of the group I was with were empty. They were quickly filled up bytwo groups of people one that had two of the skinniest men I have seen not in a famine relief commercial and two women. The women, oh the women one had hair that looked like dried mistletoe and the other looked like the Loch Ness Monster, codename: Nessie. Now, Nessie was a Hot Trashy Mess, she smoked Clove cigarettes, had not seen a bra since Clinton was president, and sat with her legs wide open. Top that off with her revealing purple dress (that reveal her side titties) and you have a Barney stand-in. Nessie, should have photographed that bitch hi-res, I would have gotten PAID!!!

- The other group were what we will call the “Sneaky Bitches”. They were these two younger women who were sitting in the section next to us, but further back. Now they decided they would commandeer these two empty seats in front of me. NOW TAKE THIS SHIT TO HEART, understand it and absorb it; you do not steal someone’s good seats at a concert #1, and you definitely do not steal someone’s good seat at anything JAY –Z is going to be at (or where it is a majority black folks). There is a reason they had metal detectors. Herein lies the problem with these ‘Sneaky Bitches’, they think they are slick because they are thin and kinda flashy, the problem here is they were like Khadijah and Regine from Living Single, one was cute but kinda big and the other one was just a beautiful ho, we will call her a ‘Salmon’.

Question: Scooter, what is a Salmon? Well a salmon is the kind of “Sneaky Bitch” that will do anything including swim upstream to get a man to pay her rent, day care, car note, hair appointment, nails, you name it. What is dangerous about a Salmon is that bitch will bring her own bait if she needs to, and it usually comes in the form of a small tight dress and no underwear. She is the kind of fish that catches the fisherman, HELLO!! There were a lot of Salmon out on Friday night. Ladies: If your man tells you he is going to any hip hop event with his “boys” you better have an ambush make over and take a fishing net, because trust me he is not coming home to you with all his money if he goes alone. The DC Queen Salmon will hit that shit like Barry Bonds!!

- The last but certainly not least group are the two women who paid for the seats. Let’s call them Flo and Willona (a al Good Times), these two women were older and had more meat on their bones, but you can tell that they used to be the “Sneaky Bitches” back in their day. They noticed Khadijah and Regine in their seats and did the proper thing, got the usher and had them move. They then sat down, and Flo acted as though John Legend was just singing to her in her peach pleated muumuu, and Willona well Willona needed a new bra, or a very short person to stand under her and hold those girls up. So you would think all was ok? Right, well you would think….

So John Legend finished his set with a beautiful song called ‘Good Morning’, to which I am sure Flo wet herself, because she was just too into him, but apparently she was into Jay-Z too, because when I was asked who his band was she shifted her weight (literally) turned around and said in her best Hennessy induced drawl ‘he travels with the Delfonics, you know who the Delfonics are?’ I answered yes, to which she was elated and further explain her love for H.O.V.A!! At this point Flo and Willona get up to feed the drunken monster I am sure, and they are gone up until the Jay-Z set begins…

….all good right. OH HELL NO!!!!

The “Sneaky Bitches” broke rule #1 and rule #2 AGAIN, and what is so bad they did it with the same women. When they came back to those seats I looked over and said, those are some bold bitches, because Flo and Willona are not having this. And have it they did not. Flo and WIllona came back and were not happy to see Khadijah and Regine in their seats, again. So l looked over and said ,they are about to fight….which for me means getting my fighting mind right, because I am all about breaking up a fight.

Now, women fight dirty and black women fight dirtiest. So Willona goes to get the usher again, who again, stands in front of me us and tells the ladies they need to move. Well the “Sneaky Bitches” must have had some Popeye Spinach because the Regine (the Salmon) was talking plenty of shit, all in the name of not moving (from a seat she stole, remember).. at this point my favorite song is starting.. “And the winner is…” Now Flo is dancing in the aisle and Willona walks down my row and starts talking more shit to Regine. Next thing I know Flo is back at her seat and Willona is about to scrap with Regine ….literally. Then, BAM!!! Like a gun at T.I.’s house these bitches set it off, right there in the aisle. Remember Willona is one row behind it all. They were throwing bow, they let their hands go, they did whatever you want to call it, these heifers were FIGHTING. I jump into “stop fight” mode once I see that Flo has snatched Regines hair and she almost flies over the balcony (literally), thanks to Chad she is still in the land of the living, and Willona has fallen on my boy Matt’s leg and busted up his shit. I get down to the end of the aisle and have to tackle Willona while snatching Regine’s hand off of her hair. I then pick up Willona and stand her big ass up and sufficiently quell the madness.

Now had I taken heed earlier I would have probably stopped it before it started by letting Regine know that Willona was ready to tap that ass. I noticed that when Willona came back with the usher, she was taking off her rings and her earrings. Well, bitch that is signal #1 when a bitch starts to disrobe she is ready to kick some dust, but I just thought deep inside, no no not in the Kennedy Center … alas I was wrong. To top it off the “Sneaky Bitches” ran, they split. So when security came down, Flo and Willona had to take the rap alone. Damn Shame!!! Women, that is the lesson you need to learn about a sneaky bitch…. They know how to escape everything.

And just when I thought it was over, I look back behind me midway through the Jay Z set and the “Sneaky Bitches” are back in their original seats, just having a good time.

NOW – Take this to the grave… The loudest mutha around is the one that LOST the FIGHT!!! After the show Regine talked all the way to the door about how she had to fight them bitches off, I wanted to tell her, she got her ass beat and in lucky her hair glue held up because she would have been at GW Hospital. That’s the bullshit. This “Sneaky Bitch” did not realize what had just happened, she was SAVED, because that shit was like Tommy Hearns trying to Fight Kembo, Tommy would have been dusted up.

The biggest bullshit of it all is I got Willona's cheap Rite Aid make-up on my shirt. Here is a note to you ladies. If you plan on whooping some ass or you might get your ass whopped it would be nice if you wore some extended wear CoverGirl shit, because a gay man (like myself) might let you get your ass whooped if it means keeping his shirt clean. That shit is two-ply egyptian cotton. Take heed bitches, take heed.

All of this at the Kennedy Center… Mess!!

Riding music

2008-06-30T10:55:00.000-07:00

I have a very eclectic musical taste which most people who know me know includes hair bands, gangta rap, ballads, blues, and gospel. I think music is a good thing. When I am driving home I typically drive with my windows down and music blasting, usually singing along. So on Friday as I was driving home I was blasting my music as usual not really paying attention to what was playing but singing along.

Now I love 80s hair band music, if it is Journey, Poison, anyone like that it is me. But my iPod shuffled up some Ambrosia. It was a hot filthy mess. Me driving Big Blue down the road blasting “How Much I Feel”, which all in all is not that bad, but at Arlington Blvd and Glebe Road I was at the stop light and a little too into it at the 2:20 mark on the song I really got into it as I looked over and notice the Ethiopian cab driver was just staring at me like he was amazed. Maybe you do not think this is a big deal, but here is the song, so imaginefor yourself my black ass singing this...

Life Lesson... The Sigh and the Pause

2008-06-30T08:21:00.000-07:00

I think we all need to learn about a few things today the sigh and the pause. These are things that I have naturally employed for years, they operate as a simple warning mechanism. A warning that you are messing with a ticking time bomb, by the time I sigh, pause, AND look you up and down, it is over.

A sigh usually precedes a noun (or a pronoun) that is immediately followed by a pause then an action statement.

Ex #1:

In an argument… (we will use the last life lesson ((calling a black woman a bitch))

Foolish man: “Shut up, bitch!!”

Sistah: “What you say?!?”

Foolish man: “You heard me, BITCH!!” --- this is where it gets tangled up and is really almost a lesson in itself, when you call a woman a bitch, and she asks you what you said, you have only one chance to right this wrong, DO NOT REPEAT the word bitch, you will die. Trust me ---

Sistah: “I know you did not call me a BITCH, TWICE?!?”

--NOW IT ALL GOES AWRY –

Sistah: “(SIGH) You (PAUSE) need to (there was your action statement) get the fuck out of my face (and because you called her a bitch twice she will give you her action statement) before I slice your bitch ass”

What is integral here is that you understand the nature of the ‘Sigh, Pause, Action Statement, followed by her Action Statement/Threat’; the only important part is the threat because it is not to be taken lightly. Women are different than men in their emotions, when they say they will cut you, trust me there is a razor hidden under that track of weave.

For a perfect example of this you need to listed to the attached YouTube clip .... around the 1:18 mark you hear a great pause,the action statement comes around the 1:45 mark. The kicker is around the 2:49 mark where she sighs, tells him what to do and what the consequence will be. PERFECT example, a perfect "10". Take note of this she starts off REAL nice until you get into her wallet, once you get into a sistahs wallet and start asking for more money, oh it is over.

Now, let’s say you do not have an established relationship with the person and you say something crazy to them. We’ll say you say something to a gay man.

Ex #2:

In a discussion…

Foolish man: “ Yes ma’am I understand I can help you.”

Gay man: “I am not a ma’am I am a sir.”

Foolish man: “I am sorry sir, that will not happen again. Ok ma’am I have your order as…”

Gay man: “I just told you I was a sir, do not call me ma’am”

Foolish man: “Again I am so sorry sir. We have everything we need ma’am and we will..”

Gay man: “(Sigh) LOOK (PAUSE) I just told you that I am a sir (SECOND PAUSE) you have zero more times to call me ma’am so (ACTION STATEMENT) you need to get it together.”

Notice the distinct difference betwixt the two. The woman, a categorically undeniable threat, the gay man a veiled bullshit threat after which all that will happen is he will has to talk to your manager. Lesson here … a gay man is not going to fight you. He is not going to do a damn thing. He will just tussle around flapping his gums and nothing will happen. So note to self… that Drag Queen yelling at you in the bar all that bitch can do is call some busted ass security to haul you out. She is not going to fight because you might snatch her duct tape.

Trust me … unlike me most gays don’t like to fight.

Now this other YouTube is with gay men and a REAL sistah, she is not having it, there are a number of occassions where she sighs and pauses, but she does not let down. Why? Because there is not a gay man on earth that can kick a scorned woman's ass. PERIOD.

Enjoy...

This is the secret to the above call. You can tell by the way she answered teh phone that she is not in a playing mood. She did not recognize the number and she is not having it. At 1:17 when he makes his threat, the whole tone changes, at that point she is ready to fight. Aside from her wierd scream laugh she is serious.

You should not toy with the Sigh and the Pause because while it may be employed in similar fashion across the country the length of time before a real negative response may vary depending on where you are. A Bronx sigh and pause is nothing like a northern Virginia sigh and pause. TRUST ME!

Understanding the sigh and the pause are integral to your livelihood if they are followed with the look up and down, well that just means you are “done”. Which is typically what I do to people, sigh, pause, look them up, look them down, then walk away. Most of you have seen me do it.

Incisors

2008-06-24T07:10:00.000-07:00

Hey... I know it has been a minute and I know a lot of you want to hear about my trip and you will but there are some things that take precedent... Like this...

Incisors

Teeth are very important in fact they are second only to skin in my book. I would rather be blind and possibly deaf than to be missing my teeth or have a grill that is surprisingly jacked up. So when an associate of mine lost his incisors I did not think too much of it, I mean we have 1^st world dentistry here in the United States.

Let me set the scene, he fell coming out of a gay bar and there was blood everywhere. One piece of advice to those of you who go out with me; you get sloppy drunk and injure yourself, you are alone. I will be supply you with an ambulance and then send you on your way. What I will not do is be interviewed by the Police (proper nouned that shit) or the Press, because I am not trying to be in anyone’s public record dealing with a drunk mess.

All that taken into account. This drunk mess I know fell down the stairs and hit his face on the stair rail. He was so drunk he walked home and did not go to the hospital until he noticed his 2 front choppers were dangly jangly in his mouth when he looked in the mirror. This is when I noticed he had suspect friends; I mean I establish my rules up front, I will make sure you get medical attention beyond that no real promises, his friends on the other hand told him oh it is not that bad. Where the hell are they from, West Virginia?

Well, it is that bad… trust me he looks a slap FOOL. He looks like he just washed ashore from the LOST island or something. Just two front teeth absent. JUST GONE!!! Now here is the kicker, this happened about 6 weeks ago. Reread that – 6 WEEKS!!! Remember that 1^st World Dental Care I spoke of. Well in typical ‘run of the mill’ fucked up priority gay priority fashion he decided it was more important to go to some gay event in San Fran than to get his grille fixed. Even better he has a temporary bridge that he refuses to wear because it is uncomfortable. ---- NEWS FLASH!!! ---- It cannot be any more uncomfortable than being able to see your tonsils when your mouth is closed, trust me. It cannot be more uncomfy than looking at your mouth. Now, those of you who are gay, and even those of you who are not, I need you to weigh this for a moment…. You are not going to go out and fish with paper anymore than you are going to go to a bar and try to catch some “cookie” with no front teeth. More to the point, why in the hell are you going to be mad when people think you are on drugs? You would have to be to come out looking like THIS!!!!

See, now that is a “hot FUCKING SHITTY PISS IN YOUR PANTS kinda mess”. That is when you were not raised right, who does that shit? Not me and if you are my friend and I catch you outside with your mouth looking like a bowling split, I will shoot you. Shoot you dead, it is worth prison when in the end someone will say, isn’t that Scooter’s friend; which is the exact reason I try to make sure everyone I know looks alright… JUST MESS!!

Double click the photo to see the mess...

Tina.... Bobby.. Showers... and Ugly Bitches...

2008-06-03T08:25:00.000-07:00

New Music is Bullshit…

In a nutshell, new music is not shit. For whatever reason I cannot focus on work today J So I was just perusing YouTube and I came across of Miss Tina Turner WORKING IT !!! They just don’t do shit like that anymore. Now there are definitely people who can work it. I mean Beyonce is nice, Mary J can work, but none of them do it like Tina. Tina Turner works that shit for 8 straight minutes in Proud Mary. It is not so much the time that is the factor. It is the fact that she is singing, dancing, and most importantly keeping her wig on the whole damn time. I wanna see Rihanna do that shit.

I wanna see any of these trifling hoes do what Tina did. (Yes, I called them trifling hoes, that does not make me Don Imus) Tina was working so damn hard because she never knew when Ike was going to kill her ass. She danced the last dance EVERY night, and every night she worked that shit like the 3rd shift at Denny’s.

Now, I have to bring this up; one of my best girlfriends and her beau went to a wedding this past weekend. At the wedding there was entertainment, superstar entertainment. None other than Bobby Brown’s vocal coach. Stop and reread that shit. It makes you want to do drugs doesn’t it? Who in the hell hired this raggedy shit? Bobby Brown’s vocal coach? I never knew the muthafuckah had one. Muthafuckah for WHAT? Muthafuckah WHY?

I mean how does he introduce himself? “Hi I am Limpie McDickins, I was Bobby Brown’s vocal coach, but now I do weddings” Let me ask the audience is that a step up or a step down? I am not sure. More than that, saying you are Bobby Brown’s vocal coach is like saying you are Amy Winehouse’s Narcotics Anonymous sponsor; in other words you ‘aint done shit’ and that shit is just not cute. PERIOD.

Enjoy Miss Tina... that wig bitch!! WHAT!!!???!!!

Hygeine…

You need to shower before you roll back up in here…

Some people need to go get re-raised by my grandmother. My grandmother is the single reason I am so ashy today. My skin is so dry it doubles for the desert in feature films. She would make me shower when I thought about dirt, then after all that I had to take a bath before bed. All-in-all there were about 3-4 water sessions a day.

That said there are people who workout at lunch and do not shower before they come back. Just so you know… that is NASTY as hell. Period. No debate. You should not work out if you cannot bathe. That makes you a nasty hoe. No one wants to smell gym sweat in the middle of a damn meeting. That’s all..

The Ugly Bitch…

I am not one to follow pop culture but I love to see trash come up. For example Miss Britney Spears, ”Hottie” from Flavor of Love, and Shania Twain. Now I hope you all have heard about Shania’s man getting stolen by her best friend for many years. The problem for me was the Shania did not see it coming. The friend is ugly, that should have been the warning sign.

Here is the thing, straight girls heed this shit like a Tampax Pearl. You don’t need to worry about your best friend or your “hot” friend you need to worry about that ugly friend. That is the dangerous bitch in the crowd. Trust that bitch will be the Delilah to your man’s Sampson.

“Why watch for the ugly bitch?”, Five easy words…. SHE HAS NOTHING TO LOSE… An ugly homely bitch is ugly and homely and she know’s she is ugly and homely, so watch that hoe like you watch a skin rash because trust me she will spread her legs as fast as that rash will spread across your back.

--- DON’T BELIVE THE HYPE ----

Women are more shady than men. TRUST ME!!! I have cavorted with more partially or fully committed women than Wilt Chamberlain (and I am GAY!!). They are shady!! But their shade is often secret shade because women can keep a damn secret, men—you see men have to brag it is part of the male ego. Women, not so much. They just need the kitty to be pet occasionally and they are set.

So ladies take heed. That ugly friend you have that is tight with you and your man… spray that bitch with Deep Woods Off and give her an umbrella to let her know that you are aware of the shade she brings with her.

Trust me on that one.

Big Shirley and Captain Too Tight....

2008-06-03T04:51:00.000-07:00

There is no such thing as big boned. Pause and re-read that. I went to the BODIES exhibit 4 times and I noticed that all the skeletons were the same approximate size, none were the aforementioned, big-boned. Big-boned is some shit a teacher made up in the teacher’s lounge one day so that they would not have children with a complex. Remember that. Big –boned means you have big meat on you bones….

Within the last few days I have bore witness people with the advanced stages of “big-bonedness”, to wit I decided I must write about it. The first we will call Big Shirley. Now “who is Big Shirley?” you may ask. She is your run of the mill, man-like dyke who probably works at Jiffy Lube and gets her hair cut at her friend’s house or the men’s barber shop; either way it is a men’s haircut. The tell-tale sign of a “Big Shirley” is she is a big woman, she is the “Huge Bitch” that is referred to in the Rob Schneider movies. More often than not she wears clothes that likely come from the men’s big and tall section at your local JC Penney or something like that.

Now Big Shirley is what some say is “big for nothing”, I mean, she is just large. But at first glance you have to wonder “is that a man?” We all have seen a ‘Big Shirley’ and some of us know a ‘Big Shirley’. More importantly we know, ‘don’t piss that bit bitch off… she will go to her trunk on you…” Just beware.

Let it be said that we all suffer from something, but some larger gay men suffer from what I like to call the “too tights”. The “too-tights” is a malady that befalls us all but tragically sticks with large gay men disproportionately. When you gain 15 pounds and don’t buy new clothes then you will likely manifest the “too tights”. Now, a fair explanation of the “too tights” is, when you can see the belly button cavern. The shirt is then “too tight”. Just because your waist was a 28” when you were 21, does not mean you need to slither into that shit at 25 when you wear a 34” waist.

I am not hating, I gain and lose with the best of them, I just try hard to dress appropriately. That said, if you can see your belly button in the mirror – AND YOU HAVE ON YOUR SHIRT – that shit is too tight; I don’t care what designer it is. Get real, and get some new clothes.

-Note to the audience, just because it is designer does not mean it makes you look thin. If your shirt says Prada but the paint on the letters is spreading because the shit it too tight, put it away. If your Burberry plaid looks like a checkerboard because the cross-hatching is so far apart, put it away. When your big pony polo shirt looks like a child riding a mouse, put it away. When your clothes are so tight they are giving people an asthma attack looking at them, put them away.

So back to the “too tights” if you need to tug on it, don’t wear it. If your gut hangs out of it, don’t wear it. It is simple really. Try the belly button test. And enjoy the 2 examples provided: Big Shirley and Captain Too Tight.

Blast From the Past --- Vol.2 -- Bad Kidz and Trent Lott....

2008-05-20T12:42:00.000-07:00

This was written in like December of 2002.

Context: Trent Lott said Strom Thurmond would have made a great President and ….

But this shit is still funny…. Enjoy…

howdy folks,

it is always good to write to my friends and give them a tiny bit of a reason to laugh during their day. Today's note will focus on a few things: bad ass kids and Trent Lott.
Bad Ass Kids

SO I was asked to volunteer the other day with some underprivileged kids here in the DFW Metroplex. I was warned that they may be a little rowdy, rambunctious, and so on but I was not really too alarmed because the people who ask me to come are all rather old so I figured that if they can handle them I know I will have no problem. SO, with this mindset I pull up to the Martin Luther King Cultural Center, in Dallas and I go in register and think that I am going to just have fun time sitting with the group, OH NAW, not for Kevin Ward. I guess they saw what they thought was a spry healthy young gentleman who wanted to chase kids all day, FUH WHAT? I go into the art room, where kids are running wild, wild and free like animals on the damn Serengeti, it was pitiful. The teacher is sitting there just looking and trying to gain control, of course I was surveying the land, you know … looking for weapons and such.

Now I would have never known that I would be in the room with 5 year old celebrities (but I was) I mean there was one child in there that had more weave than should be humanly allowed, and she was 5, I called her Tweet, we had a Missy Elliot (you know a heavier than normal girl whom you will always question whether she really likes men when she gets older), a Jay-Z (damn boy look just like a turtle), and a few other stars including but not limited to Da Brat and Shakira ( you know the Messicans everywhere) (yeah I know Shakira aint messican)). Anyway judging by the way they all were dressed they had just left either the Billboard Music or the Source Awards whichever is more tacky.

To move on, so I am still in my state of, "what the hell?" and "why is the teacher not regulating?" The teacher, a 23 y/o Austin College grad (white) looked like she had been in a street fight, so I was not trying to push her too much instead, I just asked what I needed to do. She asked if I could "corral" the kids at the tables so class could start. I was like "corral" I am mad that they are a bunch of animals to her too, but ok. So I am like ok everyone sit down, and they all just keep on their little path to destruction. My thought was … "well ok", what else can I try that wont land me in jail? So I looked at the teacher again, for some reason I really think that she was praying but I passed it off as her being crazy, and I kept trying to get the kids to sit. Five minutes into it I was spent, I was running out of games to try and attempt to play the "who is sitting quietly? game". So I just whistled really loud, they all stopped moving and then I said everyone needs to sit down NOW!! Thinking I had done something I turned around to walk up to the front of the room, and when I turned back, they were all just standing there, stoic and scary. Like the Children of the Corn. Then, the one that I will call Missy E, looks to Jay Z and is like, "who the f*ck is this fool", I mean to the point that she straight up pointed at me like I was a damn side show or something. So I just stood my ground like they tell you to do when you confront animals in the wild. SHOW NO FEAR!

Now I will not lie those little bastards had me scared for a minute. I mean they did not sit down immediately, they kind of just stood there, like hoodlums, some with arms crossed, some with hands on hips, others with hand on their heads, while others were walking around talking to each other like little gangstas even with little limps and shit, talking about "I don’t know him, you know him?", "who is he". Then comes the signal, Missy E sighs and goes to a seat and they all fall in line within 5 seconds.

So it did not take a long time for me to realize that Missy E was the damn ring leader. Satisfy her and I have it made. So I thought…. After that Ms. Lisa starts her lesson, and I kind of go by the tables to observe and help as needed. Now don't get me wrong these kids were smart, too damn smart, they were just BAD!! Now at least one kid at each table would give me what I will call the L.O.D (thank you Stephannie for the V.O.D similarity), the L.O.D. would be the look of death, a look like, don’t let me catch you with your back turned, or out at your car. So no sooner than it started was the lesson over and Ms. Lisa (the teacher) was back behind her desk (I really think she was praying) sitting with a distant look in her eyes and mouthing words.

No sooner did she finish than did the group hop up, and got right back to acting 'a monkey' (as granny says). So I whistled again and told everyone to sit, I heard then a chuckle (from Ms. Lisa) I guess she knew something I did not. The kids stopped looked at me, and Tweet said just like this, ' uh Mistah, this is our free time, we don’t have to sit', now I come from a camp where if you are 5 and you talk back to anyone above 18 like that you get popped in your mouth. But I was cool, and I was like oh ok, free time. Free time for me to regulate. They were cussing each other hitting each other and everything. Now I am not going to lie, I am used to kids in the suburbs, you know they like to climb up on me and wrestle me and stuff, so I was like you all cannot fight, but who can knock me down?

Being the idiot I am, the next thing I know, oh the bastards circled me like I was wild prey and shit. I was down for the count in about three seconds, screaming' like a bitch. Jay-Z played the fool and hit me with a hammer (plastic), I told him I was going to beat his ass, and he said to me, ‘my daddy will shoot you’, I then looked to Ms. Lisa ( same distant look mouthing the same prayer). I very quickly told Jay - Z I was just kidding for fear his daddy would kill me and if not that Shakira's pops would stab me. I finally staggered to my feet and told Ms. Lisa to "Peace Out" b/c I was gone. I went to the volunteer office and told them to "Call me when they get guards because this is some bullshit.”

Trent Lott

Now c'mon, raise your hand if you were really surprised by what Trent said? I wasn't, I mean I personally thought very highly of Trent Lott and think that he is a great politician but I was not surprised. I mean I did not gasp at the shit, for some reason white folks are all in a hubbub about it. I mean damn the man is from MISSISSIPPI, that is spelled “I-LIKE-SEGREGATION-I-S-S-I-P-P-I” and if you are from the ghetto or ever played double dutch that is M-I-Crooked Letter-Crooked Letter-I-Crooked Letter- Crooked Letter-I-Hump Back-Hump Back-I. Just to ease the confusion.

But in all honesty, when was the last time you saw a happy black person in MS? I have been too many times to count, everybody is angry, for a minute I thought Tavis Smiley was from there. J/K I don't want Tavis after me, he is ANGRY!! No for real. I was saddened that T. Lott said what he said and then had the nerve to go on BET. Muthah Fuckah Fuh WHAT? Muthah Fuckah WHY? Trent we know you from MS, we know you did not know any black folks in school, but I cannot remember when (before that interview)you supported affirmative action? When? Tell me Trent!! Sorry let me get off that soap box.

Know this, a few of my favorite people in government are Condi Rice and Colin Powell (I was delusional in 2002), both are just tremendous folks. Now I also like Kennedy, Rummy (Rumsfeld), and some others but they dont fit into this argument. Now today in the NY Times there is a quote from, C. Powell saying that he was not happy with what Lott said but thinks he is "sincere" in his apology. I too think that he is sincere too, I mean shit black folks run DC from the streets of the city to the kitchen of the Capitol they are in there at all levels too, the point is Trent knew he had to survive in that city. Secret Service might protect you against a terrorist or two, but let two 'bruhs from SE come up at you Trent, you will be feeling "all the trouble we are in now" when they swing some jacks (even in 2002) at yo ass.

As ignorant as that may sound, think about it really, why is he really apologizing? Why is he on BET? Because he is scared, not of getting whooped but of losing face, and losing power, in my opinion that is it. I digress, back to Colin Powell and Ms. Rice, you see Powell talks the way I talk when I don’t like someone, in polite indignation that you have to really be able to see through. C. Powell is from the GHETTO… HARLEM, I mean he was not taking to Trent Lott lightly from the onset of this whole mess.

Now Powell said this :

"I was disappointed in the senator's statement; I deplored the sentiments behind the statement," Mr. Powell said at a State Department briefing with the Danish foreign minister. "There was nothing about the 1948 election or the Dixiecrat agenda that should have been acceptable in any way to any American at that time or any American now."

But since he is a politician and cannot talk the way he would if was in Harlem with his boys I will translate for you all. Bear in mind any reference to this translation will be vehemently denied with or without proof.

What he was really saying was:

"Trent Lott better be glad I was not up in that Party, what the hell the Dixiecrats know and who the hell cares about Mississippi and what they do. Shit all you can get there anyway is good cotton and pig feet. All I gotta say to Trent Lott is this: "Yo ‘T’, say something else crazy, majority leader or not, Me and Condi will whoop yo ass, PERIOD." " -- translation with a few additions done by Kevin Ward

LATER>>>> >

I hope everyone’s Chanukah was as good as mine. BTW- My new yamulka is TIGHT, it is leather with a Louis Vuitton Monogram.

kevin "scooter" ward

Life Lesson... Crazy bitch!!

2008-05-13T12:27:00.001-07:00

So I figured out today that I have a few things that I can share with the world. So here i9s your lesson for today…. Don’t call a black woman a bitch… they will go old school crazy..

Black Women are gangsta, so don’t piss them off…. Old School Gansta kind of Crazy

Warning: This cannot be universally applied to all women.

A Crazy Bitch is different than your run of the mill 10th Street Bitch. So with that said, I remember a story from my cousin Yolanda from before she got married and shewas gangsta. She was pregnant with her first child (the wrong way) fathered by some hood rat ass man. Turns out they got in some crazy twisted argument over the phone. It just so happens I was in the “ATL” this particular weekend so my time was spent shuttling her 3rd Trimester ass all up and down Peachtree and Dunwoody looking for Hoody McHoodkins. No such luck. That night though, I figured out that Yolanda is a crazy bitch. She is Old School Crazy.

She gets a phone call on her cell phone and it is “Hoodie” they get into an argument and he calls her a “bitch” and hangs up. Here is the problem. He could have called her anything, and I mean anything. He could have called her a 22 dollar “ho” and there would have been less drama; but no, he called her a “bitch”. Absorb this shit like you are a sheet of Brawny --- You would rather slap your mama open handed with your ring turned inside than call a black woman a bitch --- Now pause and re-read that shit until you understand it.

Now that you understand that, you will see why I said that. Some black women, not all, but some have multiple personalities. I think all the women in my family do. Because when they get mad there is a scary calm that comes over them.

You want to catch Osama Bin Laden? (and you are bereft of crack heads) Tell my cousin he called her a bitch…. FOUND, $10 MM please…

Back to the story, Hoodie not only called her a bitch, he hung up in her face. Now I am not sure which is worse but when he hung up she looked at the phone like it was broken and was just mumbling “I know this muthafuckah did not hang up on me…. I know this muthafuckah did not hang up on me… I know this muthafuckah did not hang up on me” Each time gradually louder as she fiddled with the phone as though it was broken. Now when you witness some shit like this occurring don’t stare, in fact ignore it altogether until you are addressed by name, this is no time for an intervention. Remember that or there will be a trial for involuntary manslaughter and you will be the victim in question.

So after he is done mumbling she says, “Scooter we gotta make a ‘run’”, now up until then I only thought that Yo (as I call her) was hood, but when you go for a ‘run’ in a car, that is some UGK/Public Enemy s hard core Explicit Lyrics shit. Anyway, I ask no questions and I drive on this ‘run’ to Hoodies house. I drive in slilence because she begins mumbling “…. I know this muthafuckah did not hang up on me…” all over again, and me I just think it is good to live. So we get to his house, and she looks at me and says “o.k. this is how it is gonna go down, I am gonna go around back to this window and I will be back out in 5 minutes”, then I screwed up and spoke and said “uh no, I am not trying to go to jail behind some ignorant shit like you and Akbar (I call him that because he is Muslim) fighting, besides your pregnant”… Now she bypassed the more rational comment about going to jail over her and Akbar’s shit and jumped right into, “why you all in my pregnancy, you need to be supportive, you family… BLAH BLAH BLAH…” there was so much neck rolling and finger popping I just conceded and ran around back with her (like a damn fool).

It was like I was the cameraman from Cops chasing behind a crazy pregnant woman. We get around back, she sees he is on the couch playing PlayStation (not 2 or 3, just the old school white Playstation) and she walks up the window slides open that shit like she the Police. She goes in slaps him like he a punk, and then says “yo mama’s a bitch and don’t hang up on me no more”, turns around (here is the kicker) bitch climbs back out the window. THAT IS OLD SCHOOL CRAZY!!! She looks to me and says ‘let’s go’. Needless to say I was slackjawed, but I got in the car and drove back. She turns to me in the car hits me in the arm and says “why you let me do that crazy shit, I am pregnant”

She a crazy bitch. Old School Gangsta Crazy!!

Hillary is a Bitch and Obama is Muslim!!!

2008-05-12T12:41:00.000-07:00

I wish there was an easy way to talk about this but there is not. I also wish I could say it in a funny and tongue in cheek way, but I cannot. The fact is that politics is frustrating and I have never seen it as passionate as I have this time around. I have watched otherwise rational people say things that are downright offensive about Hillary Clinton and others make up lies altogether about Barack Obama. And for some strange reason I am caught in the middle. I am a Clinton supporter who happens to be Black. Weird huh? Well, apparently it is.

It is weird that I do not blithely accept that because Barack Obama is black that I should vote for him. Or because Bill Clinton states fact he is a racist. Weird huh? I mean I forgot that we Blacks are monolithic and we do everything we are told to do in our weekly black conference calls.

I think my favorite thing is that I am seen as a turncoat, an OREO, a wannabe, a this or a that. That otherwise rational educated people tell me that I am a disgrace because I am not supporting Obama. I ask them, what about him is so great? Then of course I get the boilerplate. I guess it is like when I was in high school and because I spoke the way I speak I got ridiculed or maybe it is because I am often told I am not “black-enough” by people who are apparently “black-enough” to be able to judge my relative hue. Trust me I am black enough.

· I am black enough to know that if my neighborhood or my car is a little too nice I am likely to be stopped for some BS reason, not because I am paranoid, but because it has happened multiple times.

· I am black enough to know that my work is oft times review and re-reviewed when it seems “too good”

· I am black enough to know that my community would rather turn a deaf ear or a blind eye to my sexuality than accept me with open arms

· I am black enough to know that my money is more welcome than my presence in some retailers

So maybe I am just taking it all out of context. Maybe Rev. Wright represents that monolithic Black Church, much like Pat Robertson represents the white church. Or maybe it is “out of context” when I directly quote polls that show that white voters favor Clinton over Obama, I guess then I am racist. I hate to say it but I can say many things that my white colleagues cannot. I can effortlessly use the “n” word or I can call someone racist without much thought to it; but what I cannot do is get “it”. That “it” is why not liking Obama makes me less black than the people who choose to paint me that way. I am a Blue Dog Raegan Democrat and truth be told I would vote Republican just as easily I as I would Democrat. But I vote for who can do the job, not who I like the most. I am not anyone’s cheer leader but I am this, I am a person who respects and appreciates hard work over popularity. Substance over finger pointing, I don’t care how history reads Bush-Clinton-Bush- Clinton (or Obama (or even McCain)) I just need for it to be a real history; one of work not words.

But because I am not supporter the “brother” I am not (yet again) good enough. But I was good enough when I supported a community that often shut me out or when I help Katrina victims. Honestly though, this isn’t about me. It is about us and what we allow ourselves to become. We allow ourselves to discount 30 years of civil rights work as “calculating”; we allow ourselves to over rate words and under rate experience because someone is like “us”, or we just “like” them more.

Now don’t get my words mixed up. I like Barack Obama, I just think Hillary Clinton can do a better job. Notice I did not say I liked her more. I don’t vote and/or hire people I like. I reserve that for having beers. If I cast a ballot for you I expect you to answer the hard questions and stand up for something more than a platitude. So if that makes me not black, let it be what it is. I just am tired of the ire associated with not being an Obama supporter, I mean squint and suck your teeth at someone else, we have 2 great candidates either of which will do well, but apparently it is only cool to not like one of them, never mind the fact that the real opponent is John McCain. And to those of you who do not talk to me anymore because I support Clinton, one word "REALLY?"

So I can endure the people squinting at me and sucking their teeth for a few weeks more until we have a Democratic nominee, but please stop preaching to me because I am not in the choir.

Liza with a "Z"....

2008-05-12T10:47:00.000-07:00

Last week I had the blessing (yes I said blessing) of seeing Miss Liza Minelli perform at Bass Hall in Ft. Worth, TX. It was everything I thought it would be and then some. Miss Liza ended every song with arms outstretched holding the mic in one hand the other pointed down towards the floor. I found out while in attendance at the concert that Liza automatically makes you middle-aged and gay. It is like something in the air. Gay men immediately have a yearning for patterned sweaters, khakis, and Merrell shoes.

Liza taught me a few things #1 don’t start smoking because you cannot finish a song, #2 thank the gayest man I know when I get a hip replacement, and #3 make sure no matter how much I sweat that my make-up never runs – after all I am a DIVA, right? I mean I am not a DIVA but Miss Liza most definitely is.

Miss Liza spun, jumped, twisted, kicked all in between gasps for air; and all without an intermission, I mean I was tired for this old hag. But she did it and she did it with fervor. Liza knows this secret a secret I will let my desperately single women know. Here it is: when you cannot marry them, surround yourself with them. Ladies, that is GAY MEN!! If you are a desperately single woman, surround yourself with (don’t marry) gay men. That is what keeps you looking good.

We all have those times where we sneak away from out “good” friends thinking we can be made better by new friends. WRONG!! That is the mistake that Liza made, she left the gays and was in hiding for years. Then what happens, we see her in 2001 at the Michael Jackson concert and before a worldwide audience she comes out looking like Treasure Troll. Liza looked like she had just come from a funeral march and had hat hair, FOLLISHNESS!! But alas, what happened? It took a gay to save the day.

David Gest flew in on his chiffon rug and took her off to be fixed up like only a fairy like him could do. Next thing you know we have new Liza. New hip, new knee- bitch is like Will Smith in iRobot, all new. Of course the marriage was short lived because David Gest is GAY AS HELL and I cannot imagine sex with Liza is all that great, her ovaries are tombstones and her breasts look like hot water bottles.

Now quick education. David Gest is just gay. He is so gay that show tunes play when he walks. They just come from the heavens. Just song. Now apparently the marriage fizzled because Liza would whoop up on David. All I have to say to that is, WHAT?!? She has a fake knee and a fake hip… I would run that bitch around the house until a screw fell loose, but I guarantee she would not beat my ass. Trust me on that. So alas Liza is alone again. But not really. She travels with 4 gays who are in her show, so she looks altogether grand. But just grand in the face, her outfits look like dressed up jazzercise costumes that she put on in the dark. She had on this lycra-esque pantsuit wreck with sequins at the bottom with a matching shirt jacket combo that all looked like a casual corner disaster waiting to happen. The sad part is she had that shit made. Now, when you have ugly shit made you are just flat beyond repair.

The sad part is I am scared that I would become a gay man’s biggest fear. Old and fat, why? Because that is all that was there. Old and fat, oh yeah and gay.

So what is the lesson for today? Have gay friends because they will let you know things like the following:
· Empire waists are bad (on everyone)
· Lane Bryant is a cruel cruel friend
· Heels always make women’s legs look better. PERIOD.
· Gay people don’t all know one another

I want my F&*king 10 Million, George Bush!!!

2008-04-30T08:40:00.000-07:00

I have long said that all you need is 3 crackheads and a promise of 500 dollars and you could find Osama Bin Laden. Just drop their asses in Tora Bora, tell them he has a dime bag for warm up, a jum, a base house, and will be on the corner in Kandahar cracking; on top that bring him in and you get 500 dollars. He will be found in 48 hours. no special forces needed.

Everyone must know, a crackhead measures everything in terms of crack volume and those of you who know crackheads know, "the promise of a vile will keep them busy for a while". I once had a crackhead pull a dead cat out of my car, for how much?!? 10 dollars!! In crackspeak that is 3 hours of bliss... You all can act like you don't know any crackheads, but I know better.

Anyway (back to my 10 Million) on a connection through JFK Airport I saw him. Not a crackhead, but Osama Bin Laden. Sitting in the waiting area, waiting on his flight to DC to meet with DIck Chaney. He has made a few chan

ges to his appearance and now goes by Osama Bin Rockin' but I am sure it is him.

Now I have to call off the crackheads and call George Bush.... I think I will ask for 10.2 Million dollars... shit... the dollar is DOWN!!!

Judge for yourself ... Osama Bin Rockin' --- HE WAS JAMMIN' to his iPod.. WHAT!?!

Blast From the Past, Vol. 1 -- Sh'Monica

2008-04-27T17:26:00.000-07:00

Every week I will begin including stories that have been aired in the past to people who have heard my rants. They will be sure to please. In this first edition I decided I would introduce my first muse, Sh'Monica. I met Sh'Monica under the following circumstances in 2001, it was a HOT MESS!!

Enjoy...

Cluck-U is a chicken place here in DC that is kinda like Wings to Go or WingsStop whatever you have in your area. Given that DC has it share of ghetto folks i find most of them on my visits to Cluck U. Wednesday, September 19 I am at the Cluck U close to Howard University and it is getting dark so i know it is time to get my ass out of that hood. BAM", just as i am walking out of Cluck U, it happens right in front of me, a huge 3 car pile up. I was like oh well, that sucks. i look and see that everyone is ok, and I begin to get to my car. Then I hear it, the voice. We all know the voice, the voice of that ghetto black person we know, for some of you it could be my voice or the voice of a friend from school. Imagine if you will a Ghetto Fabulous black woman, who is far too large for her Kia Rio but drives it anyway, getting out of her car yelling "Ahhhh, shit Ahhh shit, somebody is going to pay Ahhh Shit ...." Now i know a few of you know me really well and know that normally i would be on my ass laughing at this sight. Well I have instituted a new policy of "breathing" when something is really funny, the way it works (do this with me now) you fix your lips like you are puckering up and then you just blow puffs of air like you are blowing out birthday candles until you do not have to laugh anymore. What happens is I begin to focus on how much of a fool i look like that I stop thinking about what is funny. So i am "breathing" at a small rate when she gets out and starts yelling. So at this point I decide that I will sit on my trunk and watch the circus from a safe distance, just in case i need to run i leave my car running. So I am sitting, and she begins to wail on the guy who is apparently Jamaican who hit her causing her to hit the car in front of her. She calls him everything from A to Z, and i just "breathe". Then it happens, the police come to interview the people who saw the accident, so as i am eating my cheese fries and about to transition to my chicken, she ( i find out in a moment her name is Sh'Monica (just like that)) points to me and says "he saw it, him the one with the Asthma", apparently Sh'Monica had seen me watching them and gathered from the way that I was breathing that I had Asthma, little did she know that I was laughing at her ass. Nonetheless, she and the officer and the other parties walk over in my general direction, so I begin to pack up my food and turn off my car so that I can talk. I explain what happened to the officer and just when I think all is well, Sh'Monica hits me with "can I have some of yo' chicken", i cannot tell you all what it took for me not to begin laughing right then and there, but I began my "breathing" and she goes "you okay?" I just nod my head to signify that i am saying "ok" becuase i know the moment I stop is the moment when I will begin to laugh like there is no tomorrow. So imagine if you can a grown man standing in front of this woman "breathing" like a fool, that was me. Well I did give her some chicken though, but she could have done without :)

That is some nasty shit...

2008-04-24T07:06:00.001-07:00

It is too much for me to attempt to make this a nice culturally sensitive post. It is going to be far too much. But here it is. I don’t like nasty ass people. I don’t like people who don’t clean up after themselves. I don’t like people who don’t have enough control over their ‘mantool’ that they don’t piss on the floor. I just got to work and all I wanted to do was take a pee in the sweet bleach smelling serenity of the 8th floor restroom. NEGATORY. Some nasty, shifty, shady, piss pot needy no sanitary habits having, bitch pissed all over the floor like they were trying to put out a 3 alarm. Now that is some nasty repugnant shit. You a grown ass man. If you cannot handle your flow, get some damn FloMax, or stop standing to pee. Nasty MuthaFuckahs!!

What really gets me is I know who the culprits are. They are from across the hall. In Camp Polio. The office suite across the hall that has been aptly named because an usually high number of people with limps work there. Now I am very observant and aware of the physical maladies that manifest in my presence because I am not trying to catch anything. So I call the office Camp Polio, because there seem to be too many maladies to be counted.

I have thought this through and here are my internal battles:

Statement:

‘scooter, maybe they are really Polio victims!?!’

Answer:

‘they need some iodine drops, a Rotary Club, and a referral from Dr. Salk; and after all that they need to learn to piss’

Statement:

‘scooter, maybe they cannot help it ?!?’

Answer:

‘who gives a fuck? When they feel the piss on their feet they should know they did something wrong, and if they do not they need more help than I can provide”

Statement:

‘scooter, maybe it is cultural or religious?!?’

Answer:

‘huh?, to piss on the floor? I have never heard of the land of Piss-On-Tile and further more… I don’t know the church of St. Piss on the Floor either, where the hell is that?’

Statement:

‘scooter, maybe they were injured by mines and cannot stand at the urinal’

Answer:

‘what? , muthafuckah, what? Muthafuckah, why? Honestly, this may be viable and I deeply hurt in my heart for anyone injured by the injustices of global conflict …………………………… BBBBBBUUUUUUUUUTTTTTTTTT …………………………….. I cannot help it that Princess Diana did not make it to clean up said mines before she met her horrible demise, but this I can say, she would not approve of piss on the floor, and neither will I’

Conclusion:

There used to be a sign up that was fashioned by a coworker that said “please do not urinate on the floor”, and surprisingly there was no piss on the floor. What does this mean, these people know they are on notice. As they should. Given that the sign was duly taken down after about 2 weeks one would think they went to piss rehab. But you wanna know what happened? Today I go to the bathroom and it is Lake WannaPissYa all over again. I mean really, take your shaky legged, Jonas Salk Needing, Land Mine dodging ass to a stall sit the fuck down and piss.

You are nasty and your whole family has been disgraced by your actions. Nasty Raggedy Bitch…I would tell you momma but she taught you how… Nasty Bitch.

Oh so little time... to tell it all

2008-04-23T13:49:00.000-07:00

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…

THIS IS WHY I'M HOT!!!

2008-04-10T13:02:00.000-07:00

This is why I’m HOT!!!

So I was bumped off my second whirlwind flight with American because the shit was cancelled due to some safety bullshit (along with about 1700 others, you bitches have CNN right?). So you know I was HOT!! Mad like a postal worker. So I ticketed for a flight tomorrow at 1045AM out of Dulles (haven’t we been through that before?) and go in to talk to someone at the ticket desk. Now I have a bad bad shady history with the people at the AA desk at just about every US airport, I just don’t get along with them, it is like they have Scooter Repellent.

Anyway I wait in the line and I think to myself I just need to get close to Dallas... Options come to me Houston, Austin, Little Rock (yes Little Rock) just close... Alas they all fail me then I get up to the agent and I work my jelly. I should start by saying I have on a t-shirt that looks poured on (as in it shows off my body, not in a “popped-biscuit” kinda way but a ‘this is why I’m hot’ kinda way) .. So I get to the agent, a middle aged ‘gay as day’ African-American man we will call, Miss Carlton. I explain to Miss Carlton that I need to get as close to Dallas as I can, and he says “is that all?” This whole exchange occurs amidst the howling and yelling of people who have been waiting for hours and I have been in line only 35 minutes. He says “let me see what I can do”, I told him I was told there were 19 people on standby for the last direct to Dallas so I assumed there was no hope, but I would appreciate his help, and I smiled.... Then the heavens opened.

I leaned in and make conversation with him, he asked me how long I had live in the area, blah blah blah. Then I leaned in more and my chest touched the counter, as in my bare chest. I am wearing a DEEP V-neck t-shirt that leaves little to the imagination. (tell your friends) Believe me when I say I look good in it too. Everyone cannot and everyone should not wear one of these shirts. Call yo’ mama and tell her that....

Miss Carlton goes to the back room, comes out, picks up the phone calls the gate and I hear “I need a customer ticketed....” I was like, What WHAT!!! I get my ticket, get my bag tagged and as I am leaving Miss Carlton says ... “the shirt and the dimples got you that ticket, enjoy your flight!!”

This is why I’m Hot!!

WHAT WHAT!!

Dish Pan Hands....

2008-04-08T13:41:00.000-07:00

Dish Pan Hands

I am known to shy away from shaking a hand or two but you know since that is not so kosher in the business world I am often left to rub hands with the roughest hands on the eastern seaboard. Now, in my opionion there is not much worse than a hand that is ‘hard’ or a hand that is too ‘soft’. A ‘hard’ hand can be defined as a hand that is extremely dry (dry beyond ashy). A ‘soft’ hand is one that is mushy. Easy enough.

So I decide for lunch that I will find my ‘Crouching Tiger Hidden Negro’ and I go to Sushi Buffett for lunch. I was doubtful but it was quite good, no regrets. As I enter the buffet line a gentleman in front of me is ‘announcing’, now ‘announcing’ as it is stated here is the art of just talking out loud with hopes that someone will latch on a remark, then ‘BOOM’ that person is wrangled into a meaningless conversation with you about cherry blossoms, butterflies, or some other useless bullshit. So as he is ‘announcing’ things like “ooh Gen. Cho’s chicken, spider roll, etc” I am trying my hardest to not be taken in be his villainous ways. Of course he says, “how are you today”, and since I was raised right I had to say ‘fine and you?’, at that point it was over; he caught me.

“Oh do you work in the building?” he asks. “uh no I am across the street”(lying), "oh really? Do you work for …." of course at this point I have to make a calculated decision about where this convo is going. I make my decision and say “No, I do not.” “Well, good because they are in trouble.” “Well, good then” I say. Thinking this is over and pick up my sushi and trek to find a seat. Who follows me along – still ‘announcing’? You got it, ‘DIPSHIT!’!!

Now he did not sit next to me but just at the same ‘U’ – shaped table (think Benihana) and he just blabbed and blabbed and blabbed to his sidekick. This piece of shit went on and on until he struck something so hard I was like ‘excuse me what?’ What this blowhard said was, “my uncle and grandfather own a phone company” and he said it with such vigor I knew that he believed it in his spirit. The next thing I did was look at his shoes and for a wallet bulge.

Quick lesson:

Men

Point#1

you can fake everything except a shoe. PERIOD. CHEAP shoes look cheap. And old shoes look old as hell…

FYI – Kenneth Cole makes a shitty shoe, so tell your friends, tell your mama, tell your metrosexual friend who is still wearing his shiny black shoes from Kenneth Cole that that shit is wiggity whack!!! So that is why I looked at his shoes, they failed miserably. So look in your closet and check out those shoes, unless you work for the government, if you have some raggedy ass cheap shoes, light that shit aflame like Angela Basset in Stella Got Her Groove Back…

Point #2

I look to the wallet bulge because… and I hate to dog on this but it has to be said. You a grown ass man but your wallet in your ass pocket or carry it in your hand!! PERIOD!! And unless you are carrying money like Cash Money Millionaires you need to have a slim wallet. Slim Wallet = style. Fat wallet = bad credit. Just a thought… I mean do you really need to carry around your Barnes and Noble loyalty card? I mean really… This test he failed too, he had a fat wallet in his front pocket.

So when I quickly surmised that this saddle bag of mess was pulling my leg (or thought he was) I was like ‘really? A phone company?” He said, ‘well not a company (as I thought, no shit) it is really a telephone co-op in Vermont’, again I sat shattered by the shear messiness of what I was hearing, I mean having spent a fair amount of time in VT in the last few months I was at a loss as to what phone co-op was. He went on to explain that he aunt is actually a llive operator who answers the phone and provides numbers and all that other operator shit, FROM THE HOUSE!!! I obviously must have looked flabbergasted because his friend who I like to think of as Piglet (work with it) was like ‘yeah she used to have a light up switch board', and of course speaking out of turn I said, “like a LIteBrite?” They just looked at me... But apparently it is true and no so uncommon in rural areas.

My grandfather and my uncle own a phone company … can you believe that shit?

It was all good until went to share Announcer and Piglet’s hands and lie to them saying “nice to meet you”. Announcer’s handshake went ok, but Piglet; Piglet’s hands were hard as bricks. Like when they touched my skin I jumped. Just hard as a damn rock (hard like he skin makes noise) and BEET red, I could not get upstairs fast enough to wash my hands with a mixture of Purell and liquid Dial. Brick Hands. Buy some Aveeno....

Wednesday... And the Bullshit Continues...

2008-04-07T13:13:00.000-07:00

The bullshit continues…

You know I try to be right, but I am sure the world is against my black ass. It aint right, I say it aint right. You know, I mean I give to charity, I patron the homeless, I make sure the crack head is heading in the right direction, I even talk to old people in Safeway; so why in the hell can I not get customer service when I need it.

Wednesday at work was fine. I mean I listened to my Miss Jones in the Morning and I went in with the previous day’s monkey on my back, but I knew I was gonna shake that bitch off because it was a new day and I was going to resolve problems not have more of them (so I thought). So I begin by calling Hertz and explaining that my car smells like it was part of a Native American Peace Pipe smoking contest, the lady tells me the only other car I can get is a (get ready) a Kia Rondo, I said ‘a who?’, I mean I don’t know Kia Rondo but I think that bitch’s sister works at a nail shop on Jefferson in Oak Cliff.

Now I will not drive a Kia Rondo, I mean I will valet a Prius at a Jay-Z party but I will not drive a Kia Rondo. I said,l simply, rather simply, Miss Irene can you find me a Ford Edge and call me back please. One down. One to go. So I called the Hilton and said “I am in a handicapped room with a wheelchair shower, and I reserved a concierge room.” After a bit of bantering, “Mr. Ward I will get you a room and you can switch this evening.” So I get back to my hotel at 7:30PM and the shit goes down. “Oh we gave your other room away”, you see this is where I go E-40 on a bitch. If you don’t know who E-40 is I am talking that, Sprinkle me shit…

Timah timah … Fortee Wida … Sprinkle me man…. Sprinkle me man…

Now if you do not know what that means ask the 3 black people you know, or email Flavor Flav, he so black he look like brake dust. (I can say that because I am dark, don’t go getting your ass kicked quoting me and trying to be fancy with a dark skinned drag queen, because a bitch will cut)

See there are moments when I catch feelings and I am ready to fight, this was one. But I held my cool with David as he tried to find me another room on the concierge level. “Mr. Ward I have you a room on the 5th floor, it is a junior suite blah blah blah…” before I knew it I snatched the keys and I was up in the room. Here’s the shit it is the same as my room on the 3rd floor, wheelchair locks and all. I just leaned up against the wall and thought, aint that a bitch. I go back down to David, explain to him that he should change my rate, and that I will be staying in the handi-room on level 3.

I sauntered away head hung low. One good thing came out of the calls, I got my Ford Edge.

I was actually really juiced for Wednesday night because it was Hip Hop Karaoke at the Knitting Factory. For those who do not know the Factory it is home to people like John Legend, Alicia Keyes, Natasha Bedengfield, etc. they all come and slum it with the regular folks, you know, people like you.

Now, Hip Hop Karaoke is a hot mess. A HOT MESS… A HOT MESS!!! People had acts. I want you to take 15 seconds and re-read that eight times. PEOPLE HAD ACTS!!! The best of which was Aaliyah. This bitch had the hair, the outfit, the dance steps, and wait a minute, the dancers. I was speechless. When I thought that was enough there was a Busta Rhymes Karaoken (not a word but I am going to noun that shit) who brought his own hype man… I was thinking who does this shit?!? Then I got the song list and realized there was no Journey so I was like fuck it, I will spectate (not a word but I will action that shit from noun to verb).

In Karaoke the way you can be a mess is sing the song of a mess. So of course why not do Mary J. Blige. Of course you have to be Mary J. Blige pre-Peace and do anything off “What’s the 411?”. The raggedy bitch got up on stage, and sang a montage from the CD. When she hit the track “I’m going down” bitch was on the floor, like she went down and never came up. Just think, Mary J. got busted in the eye over that kinda shit back then.

OH Humpday!!!

Tuesday ... Mess!!

2008-04-07T12:02:00.000-07:00

Hello Friends,

It is a beautiful day in my world, you know why? Because Oprah said so, bitch. And even Jesus consults with Oprah before making great decisions. That said I want to give you all the rundown of my ‘Week in Review’(you may not get it all today, but you will get it).

Last week all started with some mess about having to travel back out to the Middle of Long Island. Now I say the middle of Long Island because there is nothing in the middle of Long Island except the smell of hair gel and cellulite. It is much like Middle Earth where Frodo and Sam Wise Gamjee lived…

Well I went along with it, well, because daddy has to work for a living.

Tuesday 4/1/08

Not much happened on Monday so roll with me here. Tuesday afternoon Super Shuttle picks me up at the house and carts me out to Dulles Airport for yet another glorious JetBlue flight to hell. For those of you who have never been to Dulles or do not know geography this is how it works. Dulles International Airport is an exercise in inefficiency, it is not close to anything, you have to ride these mechanized roaches out to your terminals, and JetBlue makes a practice of employing punk-ass bitches.

So I get to the airport at about 5:30 PM for my 7:40 flight to JFK. Jatisha (the lady who helped me) says “sir do you know your flight is delayed until 9:10PM, I said ‘well I do now’ followed by ‘what do I get for free?’, Jatisha looks up at me trying to balance between her fake nails, fake eyelashes, and fake hair she says ‘well nothing sir the delay is weather related’ I say ‘well ok my JetBlue experience (what they call it) is jacked up because you all cannot pick me up or drop me off on time, and when you do you steal my bags’; she really was not trying to care as I was all but too distracted by her eyelashes anyway.

I get to security and begin to get naked like they make you do these days. I walk through the machine that I am sure will give me an eventual brain tumor and Tim the TSA agent wants to berate me about how I left my boarding pass in the bin. “Male assist” he yells and I go into the ‘holding area’; now I try to be real cool in airports because I know they will through my black ass out on the runway and make me catch the Soul Plane. So I stand in the holding area and I see my boarding pass on the roller and I hear, again, “Male Assist”, the man who comes to ‘assist’ me is about 490 pounds and has questionable hygiene at best. You know when someone is fat, like real fat, like trip to Zoo to visit them kinda fat, those people have what I like to call – Sanitary Marks – discolored portions of skin around the neck and underarms that look like dirt. I digress. Officer Fat Ass runs me through the mill. Spread your arms, your legs, your feet, etc. then he waves the wand, only problem is he should have waved the soap through the water and let it hit is skin. He smelled like he wore shit cologne, it was gross. After the attack on my olfactory glands I was allowed to go on though to the gate and move on.

So I get on the motor roach and trek over to Terminal B gate 60 which is right down from the Lufthansa gates. Of course I sit down and get ready to surf the web with the ‘Free Internet Access’ that JetBlue promotes, well the only problem is the shit doesn’t work. So I go up to the counter ask the guy if there is internet. He says ‘sir, the free internet does not work but you can go over to gate 62 for paid internet. ‘ Rather than get in a fight with Zubair, I moved on because he was so ugly he looked like he could cast spells. I get to the Lufthansa gate and “tada!!” I have internet, but every other word I hear over the loudspeaker is in German. Now I love Germany, in fact I kinda like German people; but the language is a mess. When speaking German one sounds like they are in the midst of taking a really rough ‘shit’. Even as pleasant as Hilda’s voice was it still sounded like she was passing a foot-long turd when speaking.

Finally my flight is moved up to 8:40 and I begin to board. The flight would have been great aside from the fact that the DirectTV in my seat did not work. Now I fly JetBlue for 3 reasons; cheap, Internet, and DirectTV. Now they have conspired to snatch 2 of those reasons from me; internet and DirectTV, so instead I sleep. I can only imagine that I was either snoring of kicking in my sleep because everyone looked at me when I woke up like “damn he is done snoring”. Whatever, they can kiss my no DirectTv having ass.

I get my bags, no problem, I ride the AirTrain to Hertz, no problem. Then the shit begins to go downhill. Did I mention it was raining. Well, it was raining. Ankle deep water.

I go into Hertz because my name is not on the board for my Gold Reservation. Now, those of you who know me know I don’t ask for much except for shit to be right if I am paying for it. I have a “fuck it up if it is free” philosophy, but if I am paying you some hard earned skrill you better come with it. So the guy at the desk, whose teeth looked like Jolly Ranchers proceeded to tell me “you are not a Gold Member”, I turned around looked behind me and looked back and slid my card over to him and said “I have a Gold Card”; ‘but the system says you are not gold’ he says. Again, trying to be a good Christian I say, ok I will fix this later. He then says “oh we gave away the car we had reserved for you”, again I turn around breathe and turn back and say “excuse me, why?”. Then there is some protracted tale about a person who wanted a different car than they reserved blah blah blah… I decide I will let this go to. Very Christian of me.

Now I have to walk through the rain to my car which is a White Hummer H3, sounds nice right? HELL NO. The car has no navigation, no keyless entry, and smells like Snoop Dogg rented it before me, but by now it was 11:20 PM and I cannot really fight the fight before my 35 minute drive. So I get to hell, also known as the Hilton Long Island and I am ready to go up to my concierge level room. But guess what, they had some shit in for me.

I check in, I get my room jacket with my room key and I headed up to room 561. I get to the room slide in my room key and I get the “red” light. Those of you who stay in hotels know the red light is not good. So I try again and again. I try until the person staying in room 561 comes to the door. I apologize and I walk away. Imagine this you are an older white man who wakes to me at your door trying to jostle it open. Well luckily he did not call the law and I was not shot 17 times. So I call downstairs and I am told – “we gave your room away you are in a Junior Suite, room 315” I get to room 315 and on first sight it is great. Cavernous and warm. Then I proceed into the restroom, the restroom is like that in a nursing home, so much so it has wheelchair locks in the shower. Question. How do you wash your ass if you sit in a wheelchair?

Fuck that. But by now I am sleepy and nothing else can really happen, so I decided I will take care of it on Wednesday. (more to come)

No Condition... H to the Izzo... What's the 411?

2008-03-28T07:40:00.000-07:00

Allow me to reintroduce myself ….

Roc Boys in the building tonight … and they are ghetto as hell, and my girl MJB she needs to stop shopping on Fulton St.

So I wiggled my way into the Jay – Z/Mary J Blige after-party last night. You know it is so true that you can take the people out of the hood but you cannot take the hood out of the people. My boy S.K. got me in at the last minute and I was pretty much made fun of all night by the likes of Miss Jones to someone who was with Ray J.

It all happened like this… The concert was last night and I was made aware that there was no way I could get a ticket where I wanted to sit, but I could have been wherever else. Those of you who know me well know, first 10 -20 or I am watching on TV, unless of course it is General Admission and I just bring it down a bit. So, at about 8PM I get the txt that I can get into the party, and every 10 minutes I get an update on where to meet or this or that. Finally I am over the Cloak and Dagger bullshit and I am like, whatever fuck it I can go to the Marcy Projects and see some fake ass Jay Z and Mary J.

Then at 10:07PM I was told to come to the Guest House on 27th, and to come around back. Now, I should tell you, I had no outfit befitting a Jay Z/ Mary J function, so I just went in my very “non-urban” outfit. I am sure the invites said dress to impress or some shit like that. I was so dressed to impress that I had on a gap polo (YELLOW), a long sleeve t (BLACK), some premium denim (don’t get it twisted), and some new balance running shoes. It sounds foolish I know but when in Long Island do as the Long Islanders do, besides I did not think I would get in. I get there I get my pass and I get looked up and down by the fat security guy, he asks me my name 3 times, laughs and gives me the pass. I then here him call S.K. and say “your friend Carlton is here” I can only assume her is talking about Carlton from Fresh Prince. I was like, ‘fuck him, he need to run a lap’.

I get into the venue and as I sift through the fog of various smoke flavors, I get to the bar and I want to order ‘1’ drink. I say ‘Makers and Coke’, she says ‘I don’t have that’, I say ‘Knob and Coke’, “we only have Champagne” she says. I was like, ‘hmmm’, she says “its free” I said “dial that shit up”. I don’t drink champagne much because it puts me in a ‘state’ and does not mix well with a contact high.

S.K. finds me rather quickly bc I stick out like a white guy in Compton. I mean these people are DECKED OUT … or as decked as you can get in the hood. It was much like a BedStuy fashion show, or a trunk show at Downtown Locker Room, I mean just hoodie-hood rat. So I am introduced to Miss Jones the NYC radio personality who I really don’t care much for but she is funny as hell. Immediately she says “oh this is Carlton??”......apparently word got out. I told her it was nice to meet her (and her weave) and I took a seat with her crew, b/c I knew there would be mess.

Outfits…

I love my people, I LOVE MY PEOPLE, did I say I LOVE MY PEOPLE?!?! But I mean really, where do we buy some of this shit. I mean yellow leather ass pants (it is 38 degrees outside and I can almost see this hoochies COOCH!!) One piece of advice, if your legs look like curdled milk, you need to let your privates live in a gated community that only opens when the lights are off.

Crackin’ on them hard…

So about 4 champagnes down, I begin to converse with the Hot 97 Mornin’ crew … Miss Jones is cracking my shit up. She says “you think I am sexy?” I said, “sexiest ever”… it got much more raunchy than that but I will spare you, but I did tell her, 'I would tap yo shit like a dance floor’ she loved it.

Lady of the Night…

Mary J needs better friends. That is all I can say.

MJB is hot, hot like a government rebate check, HOT!!! She looked great in a light blue jumpsuit with some cute jewelry (it all looked very Fulton Street, but I mean it is Mary J she is always on teh cusp of hood). She walks by and Miss Jones goes… ‘here comes her ass’ now MJB is a tiny person but her ass look like a burl on a tree. It is HUGE!! Just massive. It was a hot damn shame, but it was one of her girls that stole the show.

Apparently animal print is on the rise. Let’s just say I saw the biggest cheetah in existence. Now a cheetah has spots and this bitch was big and she had on a blue cheetah print….If I had epilepsy I would have had a petit mal seizure, the spots on her ass were hypnotic. HOT MESS!!

-- A word to MJB, don’t let a big bitch upstage you!!! You got Grammy!!!

Hoodrat of the night…

“When you need me just throw your Roc signs in the air” – blasts through the speakers and out comes HOVA… Now I am not much of a groupie for anyone but Journey, but Jay-Z is my boy, of course all the chicken heads go wild and Miss Jones (who hates Jay-Z) just turns around and says (this is the best every (if you know the Bible)) “I am gonna be like Hezekiah and turn my face towards the wall and pray that I act right”…It was hilarious. Sean Carter makes his way through the room, then proceeds to perfom “Roc Boys” live... I lost my shit and I was dancing with Miss Jones. She said “alright Carlton, you got this” ahh if she only knew. I wanted to give her a card to a dentist, her shit look like railroad ties.

Jay Z is a hoodie hood rat. He had on a full Roca outfit … just straight up Downtown Locker (yeah I know it is his company, but he is a mogul, at least wear a belt)

... and 'nem...

You all have heard the phrase -- "mama 'nem". Well I am just going to comment on the 'nem. 'Nem are the people who hang around a psuedo-celebrity but work someplace like a Verizon kiosk and just are allowed around because they are there for the fall when it all goes down. Well there were psuedo-celebs in force last night... The messiest of which was Ray J. Ray J is Brandy's hood rat ass brother who had that weak ass sex video with Kim Kardashian (actually it was pretty strong -- Go Ray J!!), anyway Ray J has an entourage of about 25 people a few of which I am sure have been on Cops. They are walking around as music is playing trying to get up to MJB and one of them looks at me and laughs (because you know my clothing did not come out of the back of a Buick on Bedford Ave). I wanted to go pop his ass, but you know how that ends up, they run to T.I.'s house come back and bust a cap in my ass... Oh well I dont work at Verizon... Fuck Ray J and 'nem

No Condition…

Needless to say I am in no condition to be in the office this morning, but I am here. And my head is heavy. I am a Black Super Hero.. That is what Hovie said…

No Condition... just wrecked ...

Bits and Pieces....

2008-03-27T13:43:00.001-07:00

My favorite part about a doctor visit is the eery conversation you have to have with the doctor as he molests your twig and berries. So I went to a new doctor on Monday because my other one was old and kept giving me medicine that made me constipated. Yes constipated. Advair anyone? So anyway, my new doc Dr. Jahns is gay. You know, like me, gay. Of course I am gay and tremendous, he is just your run of the mill across the street gay. You know the kind, with some old run over Prada shoes and an age inappropriate shirt. This is my first homo doc, I am have had an aversion to them in the past.

So he begins by saying, “ok, go ahead and strip down to your undies.” I was like, “what is in it for me?” of course I oblige and then sit on that cold ass bench for what seems to be an eternity before he comes back. Now, I know what is coming, some weird questions about my life a cold stethoscope, and the molestation, but he comes in with a flyer; a flyer that is the definition of “hot mess”. This flyer is for a female condom. So me thinking I am funny say, “brushing up?” he looks at me and says, “did you know the trannie prostitutes off 6th street stick these up their asses?” I was speechless, but I came to and said “no, no I did not know that”. I just sat there as he continued to read, and read…. Then he describes how they do it. I will leave out the specifics but there is a string on the end of this contraption that allows it to be snatched out of the snatch (or ass as it were).

Beginning to think I was gonna get a demonstration, I said “alrighty then how about my physical?”, he shuffles along and makes me inhale, exhale, look at the light, stand up/bend over (3 times – he said it was to check for scoliosis, I was like ‘do you have to stand so close to me for that?’) , then I know it is coming, the dreaded lay up here turn your head and cough action. So I hop up and I am like, ‘ok this will be over soon’. Let me preface this by saying, I am not a fan of my bits and pieces handled by someone uninvited, so physicals are VERY uncomfy for me. Ok, so I snatch down the cover ups and he snaps the gloves and goes “hmmm” I immediately think “HMMM?!?!” what the hell does that mean? I mean I self examine all the time, maybe too much – I am sure there was nothing new on the tree. But really what is “hmmm…” mean. I was like touch-n-go doc, touch-n-go.

He touches a little too much for my liking, but it is almost over. So he finishes I snap up the cover ups, and sit up. He immediately says “be right back” and leaves the room writing feverishly. Now, I was like ‘what the f&*k, is my shit about to fall off?’. So I do what any other person would do. I stand up and start looking at the bits and pieces in the full length mirror on the door. As I approach the end of my ‘self-examination’ the door opens to an audience of homo-sensationals gathered to gaggle about something, something groundbreaking like Brit being on TV that night I am sure. But there is one problem I am standing there molesting myself (or it may look that way) and they all see me holding on to the handle. I just pulled up the cover ups and turned around. Sometimes life is just too much…

FYI… I hate long island…

Intern list....

2008-03-25T06:33:00.001-07:00

While I do not have my own intern (I am a bit high maintenance at work), I make ready use of the "office" intern, which is essentially the one intern we took who we then realized has only mild cognitive ability but is really good at filing. People have made it a point to give him some "work" so that he feels needed, not me. None of you have ever seen me in the office, but I am a machine. I turn into a winner-take-all rabid dog. I take no mess, from no kinda man. Ask anyone who has ever worked with or for me. People who have visited me while I am working have found themselves the victim of a personality split that rivals Anne Heche.

So, back to the intern that should really live next door to me (inside joke). He really wants to be cool. REALLY, wants to be cool. In a effort to be cool, he asked me where I shopped .... my response? "A place that sells pants that touch my shoes." He is so smart he did not get it. Needless to say I dont give him real work, so he shadows this other 'tard in the office that wears flip flops EVERYDAY. (brb) --- Yep, he has them on right now ... and it is a balmy 42 degrees outside. I am waiting for the day he comes in and his toes are black from frost bite. I mean really, SNOW on the ground, NY Giants flip flops....torrential rains, NY Giants flip flops ... just odd. Again, back to the intern. Sorry, unlike Fox News I need to give context. The rule in my office is if my door is closed, or I dont look up I #1 am busy, #2 dont want to be bothered, #3 just dont like you. With respect to the intern or flip flop I do not allow either of them in my office, they are allowed to the doorway only. There have been more than one occassion where I have not looked up or better even gotten up and shut the door as they looked on wide-eyed.

I found out today that the "office intern" is assingned to me for today and tomorrow. When I am cajoled into working with someone like this kid, I become very Devil Wears Prada (imagine that). So I gave him this list for me today.

Office Intern (name hidden to protect the guilty) To Do List:

Research the Mini Cooper Clubman S and provide me with a list of differences from my old Cooper S
File 07 client financials (as close to real work as he gets with me)
Schedule travel for this week and next (see calendar)
Send flowers for the new baby
Find me a copy of Smash Bros for Wii (impossible)
Find another Guitar Hero Controller for Wii (even more impossible)

When you are done with this, send an email to Kate. No need to come see me, Kate has the rest of your work.

Thanks,

+kw

-- and he makes about 70k (calendarized, if that is not some bullshit!!)

Personal Trainer.....

2008-03-25T05:28:00.000-07:00

Howdy folks!! I am starting the blogging thing again. OK, now that everyone has calmed themselves down and the applause have stopped, I will state a few ground rules>>>>>

If you are easily offended, leave
If you cannot take a joke, leave now
If you cannot handle profanity, get the FUCK OUT!!
If you take offense to the mockery of any of the following: midgets, the handicapped, people with speech impediments, the fat, the thin, the black,the white, the yellow, the brown, the young, the old, the gay, the straight, the trans, the smart, the dumb, or anyone from West Virginia, LEAVE!!!
If you take anything in this blog personally, lets talk about it --- nothing is really that serious, I promise.

I cannot say that this will be a live blog, but I will add to it throughout the day as I can.

Day One, 8:34AM, My Office, Falls Church, VA

The bullshit all started when I rolled out of bed at 4:23AM and was out of the house at 4:37AM and on my way to meet with my new personal trainer. I get from my house to a private gym on King Street in Alexandria in 21 minutes flat (anyone who knows where I live and where I was going, knows that is a mess). I get to the gym at 4:58AM and no one is there. I was like "oh hell no", then at 5:01AM the trainer shows up. The following occurred from 5:01AM to 6:05AM

Part One: "Hello, I'm Marcus" "Hello Marcus, my name is 'you're late', nice to meet you" Marcus, proceeds into the gym and I trail right behind him. "Hop on this treadmill and run for 5 minutes", I hop on and begin to run it out. Then I notice, that the treamill was changing and I thought "this shit just got faster, oh the incline just changed, oh damn, this shit is hard". Five minutes later Marcus comes back with a piece of paper. It looks eerily like a resume, I was like, "why is he about to give me a resume?", well it was a resume, his "professional" resume. I read it as I was traversing the rockies, then I noticed this guy was the trainer for the Redskins for the last 3 years. Needless to say I was impressed, but not as impressed as I was about to be.
Part Two: "So the next time I am late, you will not say anything." Granted I was probably a bit of an asshole (surprised, anyone?!?), but then I was like I know Baby Einstein is not talking to me crazy (he is rather short, if I did not tell you all before). And before I could speak, he said "this will be your best workout in a year"; again I was a bit short and said "yeah ok". He then proceeded to run my black ass like I was a runaway slave. I jumped over shit, climb under shit. Pulled up, snatched down. Planked, crunched, humped (yes, humped). Ran with a sled attached and him on it (anyone seen 8 Below, I was the mean dog). All this because I talked a little shit. Needless to say, I am not accustomed to lacking control so it was an experience.
Part Three: Vomit Comet Anyone ever run lines? How about running lines, do 20 pushups, run lines then do 20 crunches? Yeah, how about that shit? I came back and yacked all over the front of the gym. Then I was like, "what's next?" Thinking I was being coy..he said "another set" I was like, 'this short stuttering mofo...'. Oh yeah, he stutters. Not like a stutter like mine, no he has a PAUSE; like I am talking -- I stopped -- I am talking again. Like his brain is on hold in between words. So after I picked 8 bushels of cotton (at least that is what it felt like), I went and took a shower and got set to come into the office. He said "when you coming back?", I said .. 'I am easily found' ... I feel we will blossom into a full fledged relationship. I mean I will at least look him in the eyes next time.

I think I may bring a tongue depresser to help with the stutter next time.....