Friday, May 15, 2009
Ugly....Part One
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!
Friday, January 23, 2009
The Uptown 3
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.
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.
Monday, November 10, 2008
Memory Monday... Continuation of the Roommate Story ... Originally Aired 30-October 2001 ...Part 2 of 3... The Car
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.
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.
Monday, October 6, 2008
Memory Monday ... Blast from the Past ... originally aired Friday Sept 21,2001
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?
Thursday, October 2, 2008
T ... is for Television
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
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...
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Wisdom Wednesday 10.01
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...
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...
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