Friday, September 10, 2010

Here's a Tip


So there I am having the mandatory "black lunch" between myself and two of the only other black co-workers at my job. I reach for the ketchup to put a little extra "umph" into my already quite tasty burger and somewhere along the way I found a way to spill ketchup all over my new Obama T-shirt. And when I say all, trust me, I mean ALL.

The cap flew off the top of the bottle and landed in my glass of water. The waiter came out, and I, after cleaning half a bottle of ketchup off of myself, asked him if he could bring me another napkin. He says, "No, problem," and, as he hastily reached for the napkin the ketchup soaked cloth squished triumphantly into his delicately manicured hand. He cringes. Then he looks over at my cup, sees the bottle cap that has clearly sank to the bottom of my freshly poured glass of water, and says, "What happened... here? (incredibly vocal sigh)" Then takes my cup and walks away, almost sadly.




So this blogpost goes out to you, waiter-at-5Napkin-Burger-who-probably-thinks-I-am-a-tremendous-ass. I know you probably went back to the kitchen with that glass like "what THEE fuck KING FUCK!!!"

I mean, I admit, we were far too old to be playing around shooting bottletops into water glasses, which is why I can understand why you would walk past our out stretched hands and constant "excuse me's". Surely, people like us didn't deserve your attention. And honestly, I actually deserved to sit at the table for 43 minutes with an empty water glass. We were quite obviously too immature to be thirsty. I salute you sir for being observant enough to wait until the flies started swooping in on our empty plates to come pass and ask if we needed some help. So thank you sir, for all the good times.

Signed,

Regular 'Shoutingouthisshirt4theweekenD' Et Cetera


Thursday, September 9, 2010

Right... Oh yea, I totally believe you.

O Grandma, what big LIES you have


So, I’m thinking... I don’t know when the hell it happened but somewhere along the way, I stopped believing what you said. You, pretty girl with the pearly whites and extra tight, skirt. You, convincing voice over on any advertisement I’ve ever heard in my life. And definitely you, moving picture, with whom I share some of my most cherished loves and childhood memories: I’ve given up on you as well. All of you are liars.

Not that I have an explicit problem with liars. I mean I vote, and I date women who wear makeup and have friends say things like, “they can only fit magnums” (I said it). So, it’s not so much that I have problem with people who are disingenuous. I just like to know that when I get approached by something incredibly stinky (see bullshit), I don’t eat it like a sandwich... Just because you say so. No sir/maam, if I’m going to be eating a shit sandwich. At least it is being done with me knowing ahead of time just what kind of shit I’m going to be sinking my teeth into...

(Ok, I just edited out almost 2 paragraphs of me going on and on with that shit sandwich analogy. And let me tell you, it is quite possibly THE WORST analogy this blog has every seen. WOW proofreading just saved the hell out of you guys from that terror strike of verbs, nouns, and adjectives.... Anyway)

So, no, Tide with 4x stain-removing power, I don’t believe you’re worth the extra $2.29 markup you’ve separated yourself from the competition with. And, no I DEFINITELY don’t believe this is the dramatic/action/comedy movie of the summer (first of all what the fuck is a dramatic/action/comedy in the first place).

I have come a long way since I thought Ninja Turtles actually lived in the sewers, or James Bond really had several reasons to have a damn laser watch (seriously?) on his wrist. And I’m sorry yall, but this cold, cold world has really stripped me of my ability to easily believe anything. There is simply no way I could go to the market, and drop my hard earned cash down on your magic beans. So, hey pretty lady, good luck convincing me of anything you say. But maybe (MAYBE) after a while (probably a good long fuckin’ while), I will believe that YOU want me to believe it.

So what’s up dope fiends, how do you distribute your trust? Do you make it rain? Or is it the Drought 3 round there?


-Peace


p.s. EFF CHET & MISTY!!!

Sunday, August 29, 2010

I Got The Hook Up Unnnnnhhhh!!!!!


Dope fiends!

Whatup with ya? So recently, I went out to lunch with the homies (yes, the homies do lunch, in fact, they do the hell out of it) And it just so happens that this Italian fellow by the name of Aldo works at this restaurant. Now that actually becomes important to the story because Aldo lives in my building, so I see him all the time. A!!!!

Aldo proceeds to lay out everything for us. Drinks are pouring and specialty Italian brick-oven pizzas are coming out (as appetizers!), then came the main course AND IT WAS INSANE. Basically, we are having the lunch of the century. I mean, we were in there getting FUCKED UP, laughing making ignorant-ass toasts, singing, alla that. So a couple hours pass, Aldo comes out asking us do we want some dessert and we realize that we may have overstepped our boundaries here and actually will be paying out the ass for all this food and drinks (i mean we got 3 bottles of wine - def wilin' out). Aldo comes out again with the tab, asking us did we have a good time and good food, the yes' were resounding. The check comes out and says $41...



WHAT

THE

FUCK!!!

Ok, so maybe we were a little drunk but its four of us at the table and the tab comes out to a forty one dollar total? SHHEEEEEE-IT. We left Aldo like a 35 dollar tip. (You aint know the homies was ballin like that? Sike.) It was the least we could do, I mean we thought we were at least droppin a twenty per person. So, had to show some love back to Aldo.

But that is crazy. I mean when I worked at McDonald's I used to hook my friends up all the time... but I was eventually fired for it. And I've been back a few more times after and the hook up is still going hard. So, am I wrong for taking advantage? I mean Aldo be coming off with the mean ass tip, but I don't want to see him lose his gig. But I do like having an expensive meal in a nice restaurant and not paying like it too. What do you guys think. I come through there about once a month or so. Am I wilin'? Should I fall back? If you say yes, I have to let you know that I'm still gonna be going. What? Fuck yall! I'm definitely gonna get it while the getting is good. But still if you think i'm being a dick (which isn't hard to imagine) tell me why or why not.

Well that's all I got for now Dope Fiends, until next time, picture me rolling.


Oh and one last thing Al, Ric: FUCK YOU!

Sunday, August 22, 2010

Yea, I Said That Shit.



So, there are two other guys on this blog besides me. And seeing as this is as good a time to say it as any, I'm going to part ways with cultural precedent and show some emotion toward another man; or in this case, men.

Fuck yall.

Yup.

Troo AlQueMist FUCK YOU. And Richochet Grab It... you are an ASS.

Ha! That felt pretty good.

Ya see dope fiends, (which you really are @ this point if you are here - you definitely holding it down and still reading after that incredible unannounced hiatus this blog subjected you to) it has been almost a month since the last post was put up here. AND I KNEW THAT.

I knew that we hadn't put up one singular syllable since right before Lebron James shot a bird at the entire city of Cleveland on live national television. I knew that and I didn't do anything. I thought to myself, "Self, don't worry about it. Troo will pick up the slack. Or if not, God save us, Grab It will take the reigns and pull this tragic horse cart out of its non-posting ditch." Perhaps that was a little bit too much metaphor in a self-thought, but I was probably drunk or getting ignored by the pretty at the bar, more than likely both (but that is another story - also, probably one that I won't tell).

So, the responsibility finds itself placed properly at my feet. I will drag this mother fucking horse to the water and, if it doesn't drink, I'm gonna drown this bastard. From this point forward, thedopestblognameever will have posts regularly and, until further notice, beef among its founding members that just started today. So Ric, I just left a burning bag of shit in front of your door after rubbing it all over your door knob. And Misty, I was gonna key your car, but since you don't have one I cut your bus pass in two. Fuck Yall. (the period should be said out loud, so it reads "FUCK YALL!!! Period." #justsayin)

"You think you can do this shit to me?!!!"






Whatsup Dope Fiends, its a new day.


Thursday, July 29, 2010

I Break Stuff

Yes, I do. And not exactly on purpose. I mean, WTF would anybody break on purpose? Can't think of anything at the moment. But, as a matter of fact, if there was even such a thing, I would find it, stand next to it and tell people, "Hey! Don't break that!" and then trip over something, knocking over something else, that eventually crashes into the thing that people break on purpose, breaking it on accident.

That's the way it works, its very difficult to quietly break shit on accident when you're like me. Nope when you're like me. If anything breaks around you, it's going to be equal parts embarrassing and intricate. You don't just trip over electrical chords. You fall over them, sending piles of electrical appliances plummeting to the earth, possibly ripping/staining an item of clothing in the process. And sadly, I know this very well because, you see, the thing is... I am a clumsy person. And although this seems to be getting increasingly popular these days (I'm serious, it seems like every bastard on 2 legs wants to claim my affliction lately. And all I'm trying to say is... "Its not cool you a-holes!!!" When you can accidentally turn a sno-cone into a car accident... And not be inside the Ford Taurus, well, then you would be more than capable of knowing my true pain. Otherwise, stop it. You clumsy posers make me sick.)

This is a real affliction people! Seriously, (mostly) growing up it hurt watching all you callous jerks laugh your asses off @ Steve Urkel as he went through his weekly social ostracization on my tv screen. Because inside (wait for it), while everyone laughed their Karl Kani and Fubu T-shirts off, I sat among them thinking "forgive them brother, they know not what they do"... Yikes, perhaps that analogy was a little to heavy handed (jeez man, I'm saying though, be easy with jc references... And of all the people to compare you choose Steve Urkel? SMH, sir - followed a by long belabored sigh) Now, (that I'm totally overusing parentheses) dear reader, you may say to urself, "self did Mr. Et Cetera really just make a christ analogy using a TGIF sitcom? And then argue about it with himself inthe third person..." Well... yes I did, actually, & hopefully you didn't really go through that much exposition contemplating it, and if you did, well consider yourself side-eyed. Weirdo.

Honestly though, I am deathly afraid of holding babies, glass objects and expensive electronics (in that order). There is honestly no thought more horrifying than someone having the totally irresponsible, brazen audacity to put one of those fragile little crumbsnatchers into my awaiting left and right arms, better known to most as death and destruction (ok, maybe not most... Ok, ok maybe only I call them that, but trust me - it's gonna catch on, possibly).


And why do babies have to be so damn small and fragile? You know baby giraffes damn near take off running after sliding outta big mama giraffes? You know what human babies do? That was a trick question, babies don't do anything. Not anything I wanna see anyway. And now you want me to hold that little vomit grenade? No thanks, I'll be late for that.
Why would someone do that to me? Because people are jerks that's why. No consideration.



Two things. When I was a kid I played little league baseball. And do you know what position I played? Of course you don't because I'm about to tell u right now. I played right field. Right field, or as my coach so cleverly named it, "go stand over there". Why was I over there? Because I couldn't catch a Effin' thing. Literally. Flying thing, falling thing, no things were getting caught, none of them. And thankfully, because I was in right field, (and because most 3rd graders have the unholy strength of a small kitten) most hits never really got any further than 1st base. So, consequently, I came to develop this odd understanding that playing outfield wasn't really done right until I had found at least 1 four-leaf clover. And of course it had to be done while singing, my then always inspirational, and somehow, seemingly endless library of cartoon theme songs. (You'd be surprised how much time can pass singing a personal, symphony-concerto rendition of Darkwing Duck) and then it happened (cue ominous music) I'll never forget it, one bright cloudless hot-ass Saturday morning, after we somehow managed to get the opposing team "out" three times, we were going into the dugout to get ready to bat. I tripped going into the dugout, falling forward (and down) onto all my teammates. Desperately trying to recapture my balance, I let go of (kinda threw) my bat and helmet to better catch myself. Before I knew what was happening, my helmet is flying through the air while my bat rolls off in front of me, nowhere to be seen. The helmet tragically hits my coach in square in the face, splitting his lip and busting his nose wide open (yea, definitely more like a throw). The hit knocks him into my next coach who tears his ACL slipping on my now easy to see rolling bat (which was crazy, I mean first of all, it would be years before I even knew what the hell an ACL was, and also what?!! Yes that really happened, and needless to say, after that, I definitely wasn't a favorite with the coaching circle anymore - sorry coach. Not like ever was anyway).


Did I do that?


And besides, really though... he really was not that good of a guy (actually, now that I think of it, Eff you coach McKullum). He was definitely a dick, I remember he used to tell us in practice, "if u boys ever wanna win anything in life, you have to work harder than a Mexican! Especially you Mexicans!" (Side note: Dear "The Great American Pass-Time" thanks for all the memories!) And Yes, in case u were wondering, we did have Mexican kids on our team (shout out to the homey Victor!!!). So yes, its a hard life when your clumsy. Apparently, you are doomed to suck at little league baseball, cripple old men, and injure small babies (not that I did, the babies part I mean, of course I didn't. Why? What have u heard?). Still, it's not that bad though, and after a while you kinda get used to your uncanny powers. I just wish there was someway to use them for good.

Anyhow, thanks for reading. Sorry about being away so long, I had to go close up an oil spill in the gulf... Perhaps you've heard of it? Anyhow, any other clumsy veterans out there? Its ok to raise your hand, your among friends. Also, one last thing before I go, I do not think I'm Big Meech, just in case you were wondering.





P.S. "Closing up a spill in the gulf" is code for "Drinking copious amounts of hard liquor while swearing to put up a post in the morning - for two weeks" (Larry Hoover).

Also, it was only one thing... made ya' look!

Sunday, July 25, 2010

The Hardest Part of Breaking Up...

Maybe I'm love sick, maybe I'm sick of love.

Or maybe I just finished watching 500 Days of Summer and I'm feeling some sort of way right now. (If you haven't seen the movie, see it. It features Joseph Gordon-Levitt who was the shiznit in Inception).

Either way, I'm sick. And now I will infect you all. (Poor choice of words, sorry.)

It has come to my attention that the hardest part of breaking up is getting back your stuff. That is in fact a song by 2Ge+her. Actually, the hardest part of breaking up is really breaking up. Without delving into my very dark and mysterious past, I would like to outline some "break up" situations that some people you know, or maybe even you have been in.

The 1,2,3 Break Up

This is the classic break up that if you've ever been in love, you will know what I mean. It's the break up that is not really official until after the third time you break up. The first time you break up it's because of frustration, some mistake that he or she makes gets you upset that you make this rash "decision". But it's not a decision at all because 2 days later, you guys are back together. The second break up happens because you two are probably fed up with each other and have grown complacent in your fights and bickering. After this break up, the only thing that will bring you back together is the fact that you don't know what else to do. Sad truth is that your both hurt and just want to be there for each other. (This is where you go awwwww). This is the unexpected break up. The third break up is the last straw. The "damn, we can't keep breaking up and getting back together, this is ridiculous". After this one, its over, for real. If its not, then you have just entered the 'Count in Break Up" (1, 2, 3, 4..)

It's Not You, It's Me Break Up

C'mon, we've all been on one side of this break up at some point. This break up comes like the end of a bad dream. You don't really know how you got to this point but you know it's time for it to end. But, your significant other hasn't given you any reason to break up. They've been nice, caring, considerate, passionate but they are missing that one thing. The "I want to stay with you" factor. So, you say those infamous words..."it's not you babe, it's me" and boom, instant break up right...WRONG. This break up usually leaves the dumped party confused, angry and in a very bad scenarios, a stalker.

The Break

By far my least favorite of the break ups. This is more or less the pussy version of breaking up if you will for a couple of reasons. For one, what the fuck is a break? It's like the nice version of saying "I've been thinking about breaking up with you for a while. I even talked to my friends who told me I should break up with you. But I haven't found someone to replace you with yet so I need to keep you off the market while I see what's up."

Or it's saying "I'm so pissed at whatever it is you did right now that I don't want to be with you. But I'm sure I'll be over it in a couple of days so I just want to make you nervous right now."

A break is a timeout from a relationship. But when you take a timeout, you know you’re coming back, so a break would seem redundant now wouldn’t it. “Let’s break up for a couple of days and get back together.” But why the fuck would we “break” if the point was to stay together. That’s like not talking for a little while. We should just do that, stop talking. I’ve never seen the NY Football Giants take a timeout and decide “fuck this game, I’m out.”

The Fallout Break Up

This one is the simplest break up of them all. Usually, one party does something so unforgiving that…you can’t forgive them. And you both realize that you’re just hurting each other and you decide to fuck off before you both fucking kill each other.

So, the moral of the story is that we will all end up alone and die, right, NO. That is not the moral of this story. The moral is, there isn’t any moral. You will probably find yourself in one of these situations, and you will probably be hurt. I guess the moral is don’t string bad relationships along.

The problem is that great relationships and bad relationships will both have heartache and turmoil and the only way to differentiate between the two is to explore it, get your heart broken and hopefully find someone who won’t break it anymore…on purpose at least.

Break up to make up is a song, a very good song. It's only good once in a while though. Start hearing it too much and you might get sick of it...get it.

Oh, Inception was DA BOMB DIGGIDY.

Monday, July 12, 2010

WHY MONDAY WHY!!!!

***Short and DOPE POST***

So, I woke up Sunday morning with one thought...

"FUCK, its almost Monday"

This thought alone was enough for me to wake my ass up and go to church and as always, I began to think..."why does Monday get such a bad wrap?"


I mean think about it, everyone always talks about how much Mondays suck, how they hate Mondays, how Mondays are the day from hell and none of this seems exactly fair. Like, what the fuck did Monday do. I don't know about you all but going to work on Wednesday is no more fun than Monday unless of course there are cup cakes on Wednesday because then, well....Mondays would suck compared to Cup Cake Wednesdays.

So as you all embark on your Magnificent Monday journey's keep in mind that Monday can actually be the best day of the week if you let it.

Question: What's your favorite day of the week? Besides the weekends.

Tuesday, July 6, 2010

GYHAOM



As i sit here sweating profusely into my black socks and leather desk chair ( don't ask... Let's just say my furniture is less than "summer friendly" in fact, it's actually mostly "summer hot-as-fuck-ALL-THE-TIME" which was quite popular before I moved into this apartment for some reason back in DECEMBER! Here is the part where you imagine me kicking myself furiously, And. Scene) I say to myself, "Self, what will the topic be today?" Well, after receiving no reply or justification for referring to myself in the third person. I am left with the most current thought that springs to mind.

G. Y. H. A. O. M.

This one is going to be short and sweet dope fiends. The concept is not to hard to grasp, yet incredibly foreign to some of you lady types. So we will make it simple.


1. Contrary to some ill-gotten idea you dreamed up, I am not sweating underneath you because of anxiety or physical exhaustion. Listen we aren't doing anything but laying around watching tv. Sexual relations were exed out of the equation as soon as I walked into this tropical rain forest you call an apartment. So, please realize that I am only sweating because the sun has turned your apartment into a 2010 EasyBake Oven. Ma'am seriously, GET. YOUR. HOT. ASS. OFF. ME.



your apartment

2. It is 11pm and its 97 degrees outside, and 98.6 degrees IN YOUR MOUTH! Why are you all up in my face right now?


3. That fan AINT. DOING. SHIT. Seriously.

4. Did you really just get under some covers? (Sigh and a half) Maam, it is Blazing Hip Hop and R&B in here (shout out to @kamarichelsea TPG up!) you might have to let go of that "Are you afraid of the dark" sensation, and come out those covers. Unless you want to find out how it feels to have a heat stroke.

5. Is there a reason why you use your air conditioner like it's the last wish in the lamp? I'm pretty sure turning that thing on for a couple hours will not send you to the poor house. Besides it feels like Satan is tap dancing on the door knob in here.

6. I was serious about that fan (sigh).... see number 3.

And trust me, I like to snuggle up as much as the next non-snugglephobe... but this summer heat wave has quickly given me a change of heart. And, until the Fire Nation stops attacking my bedroom, you guys might as well consider me the Grinch Who Stole Snuggling. That's all I got.


Also, Airbender sucked.

-Peace

Sunday, July 4, 2010

I am not my hair, or somethin' like that

Dopes and dopettes,

I have a small, small confession to make. I am KICK-ASS!

No, I'm not KICK-ASS, although that would be fuckin' awesome. You should all probably see that movie and look out for a costumed crusader coming to a town near you!

Now, onto the topic at hand. My hair.

I got a hair cut recently and as any black man can tell you, there is no better feeling than having your ears freshly lowered. And as any black man can also attest to, theres no worse feeling than not having the aforementioned haircut. Now, I am somewhere in between the two...my haircut isn't fresh but I don't quite need a new one...I am in the "hair upkeep" stage which is why I wrote this blog in the first place.

I was thinking "Ricky (that's what I call myself when I talk to myself), are you keeping your hair natural, ARE YOU keeping it real?" And the answer is no, at least I don't think so. Rather I don't even know what natural actually is. Follow me as I venture into memories of hairs long gone...

**DISCLAIMER** I apologize for the ignorance I have in "natural" hair. If I offend you in this blog, well, oh well...

Elementary School Hair Care

Ahhhh, the good ol' days when I didn't give a damn about how I looked or smelled for that matter. I was your regular little black boy. A lil ashy around the knees and elbows and some nappy ass hair. I don't know if it was my grandmothers ignorance about male hair care products or the fact that she too didn't give a damn if my scalp was dry because all I remember is getting my hair combed, a lot...and it hurt...I hated it. I never had braids or anything like that and I got haircuts but in that mean time, in between time, the comb and I had a Ike and Tina type relationship and the comb was whoopin' my ass. Occasionally, when my grandma felt, she would through a lil' Pink Lotion into my deprived scalp but it seemed that the KKK was the only way to kill the nigger naps in my hair.

Middle School - High School Hair Care

Now, I don't know when, but at some point I became fascinated with waves. Like facial hair, I thought this would be the "thing" to separate me from the children. Waves meant I was a MAN, well at least a teenager. So, I asked my friends who in turn gave me horrible advice about how to get waves. So, I got a low hair cut, some DAX wave grease, a du-rag and a wave brush. I applied the thick wave grease to my hair evenly and began to brush my hair like Marsha from the Brady Brunch was my idol. Then I wore my du-rag......all the time......everywhere. It's almost like the waves I were cultivating were my best kept secret.

Now I know you were probably wondering as I was rambling on "Did it work?" and the answer is, kind of. I got waves...on the top and around the sides but I must admit, it was very incomplete, like Mary J Blije when she's happy. And now my hair had a thick, greasy feel. I used so much damn grease my du-rag had waves. Whenever I ran out of grease, I knew I had a weeks worth stored up in my du-rag. Needless to say, this was not the way.

I tinkered with other ways before I found the one. And the answer was right in my shower the whole time. It was in the bottle of conditioner I was using that I previously had no idea what it was made for. I was told to leave the conditioner in my hair, then brush it and put the du-rag on. This transformed my life immensely. For the first time in my life, I had let my Soul Glo. And the waves were a spinnin. And my hair was healthy and not DAXed the fuck up.


Senior Year High School Hair Care and Beyond

Problem solved right, no. Having waves took way too much fucking work. The summer going into my senior year, I was working a summer job and volunteering. And like most of my ex-girlfriends that I stopped paying attention to, they slipped. My waves quickly became mere ripples in a pond made by a 3 year old girl with a pebble. But the fight was not lost because now I had became aware of something else...my hair had natural waves..when kept up. This keep up part was the hard part. The conditioner theory worked but added another 20 minutes to a shower and then I remembered back to the early days of hair care and I thought, HAIR LOTION! But not Pink Lotion, that was old lady hair lotion, no, I needed something else and I was introduced to Hollywood Beauty Olive Oil Hair Lotion. My Lord, this stuff changed my life. It made scalp moist (funny word, moist) and made my hair shine like the suits Puffy used to wear. And from then on, this was it...this was what I was going to do. I got the process down to 5 minutes and BAM!

"So Ricky, thanks for that interesting look into your slightly girl-like love affair with your hair but what does that have to do with your hair being natural? Are YOU keeping it real?" I'm happy I asked myself that. The answer is I don't know. When I got to college, I saw a lot of girls becoming obsessed with this natural look. I was confused at first and I believe I am still confused now as to what "going natural" really means. I met a girl with extensions in her hair (bamboo earings...you know the rest) who claimed she was "natural" to which I replied "tell that to the bald horse walking around now". As far as I know now, being natural just means not getting a perm, rather not using chemicals in your hair. It's healthier and it seems to give girls an amazing feeling...when done right. When done wrong, that same Sistah Girl singin India Arie will be dancing around to Just For Me on the way to the Dominicans.


And that brings us here ladies and gents, is my hair natural. Am I selling out my beautiful black roots by trying to make my hair what it isn't. Should I just like my hair grow out into the peasy mess that the man in the sky intended? If it were the 70's, would niggas with waves be the niggas with the fliest jheri curls? Or should I get my Detroit Red conk on?

I don't know, conks sound like they hurt.

Friday, July 2, 2010

What dreams may come...

Wassup dope heads,

I don't know about y'all, but every time I call y'all "dope fiends" or "dope heads" I think about the last time the word "dope" was used in pop culture. The only thing I can think of is "Class Act" starring Kid 'n' Play... "I AM Blade Brown! The dopest, hypest brotha on the block!" lol. That's completely off subject, but this is my blog (as well as Ric and Reg's) and I can do whatever the hell I want.

On topic...

I don't know about y'all but I'm a grown ass man who still has nightmares. Sometimes they're so realistic that I'd go as far as calling them night terrors. I'm serious. I'll wake up sometimes with sweat on my forehead and my heart beating fast as hell. But remember, I said I'm a grown ass man. So... I have grown ass nightmares.

Whatchu talkin' 'bout, Willis? (RIP Garry Coleman)

Yes, I do indeed dream about the Boogeyman, Freddy Kruger or Chuckie from time to time. But those are just dreams. They don't scare me. I'm a grown ass man, dawg! I know they ain't real. A grown ass nightmare is one that could actually happen to you in real life, though how it happens in your dream is often random and absurd. Here's what I mean... The following is a brief catalog of my grown ass nightmares:

My teeth falling out. This is number one because it is the SCARIEST one I've had, and I keep having this nightmare. What's worse is that, in my nightmares, I never see it coming. Things will be going well. I can be at work, a friends house or at the beach just relaxing (but I'm always near other people). Then all of a sudden something will feel crunchy in my mouth, and it'll be a fucking tooth! Not knowing what else to do, I usually try to put that shit back in my mouth. But then all of my teeth fall out! That is scary! I mean seriously, when you're a grown ass man or woman, what would you do if all of your teeth just fell out? Hell, what would you do if just one of your teeth fell out? One of the ones in the front.

The un-wet dream. Wet dreams suck because they're a big tease, but at least there's a happy ending. The un-wet dream is like the wet dream in every way except you don't feel anything. Mine's usually go like this... I'm kissing a girl and it's a dry kiss. Not in the way a bad kisser would be, but it just has no feeling. Then we start to have sex but again I feel nothing. In the dream we're going through all the motions, but I might as well be standing still. This is where I start to get frustrated and start to really fuck and go at it harder but I still don't feel a thing...! And then my teeth fall out. lol. No, that only happened once. And needless to say, that was a extremely bad nightmare. But the un-wet dream usually ends with me waking up with my pillow or sheets in my clutches, and I realize that I'd been dry humping my linens the whole time. No bueno. Again, this is a grown ass nightmare. Because sex can be bad, but imagine if it's so bad that you didn't feel anything.

The dream you know is a dream. This probably sounds strange but y'all know what I'm talking about. You're asleep. Nothing scary is happening. Nothing out of the ordinary. But all of a sudden someone says or does something that tips you off that you're having a dream. But here's the kicker... you can't wake up! Things continue to go normal in your dream, but you know it's a dream and you can't wake your ass up! You scream, hit yourself, you try everything. This is scary. This is what I imagine purgatory or a coma is like. Then I start to think, "Shit! Am I in purgatory? Am I in a coma? Don't pull that fucking plug!" What's worse is if you go to sleep with your tv on and your dream starts to emulate what you're hearing on tv. For me, it's usually some wack ass infomercial. So imagine, being in purgatory or a coma, and everyone around you is talking about the Boflex.

So those are a few of my grown ass nightmares - the ones that actually scare me. But go on letting me think I'm the only one who has weird night terrors...
  1. Have you ever dreamed that your teeth feel out? What would you do if one of your front teeth fell out now?
  2. What's the scariest nightmare you've had?
  3. Are you ever too old to have a wet dream?

Monday, June 28, 2010

Ladies First



When I was a kid, my father would smack the waves off the back of my head if one of my brothers or I would go through a door without first holding it open for our mother and sisters. And I’m talking about a real slap, not any of that “pinching” or “stern talking to’s” that I see nowadays. And I remember thinking, “man, it must great to be a girl... everywhere you go, people open doors, pull out chairs and carry your stuff to any destination you’re going.”

Well, Seventh grade shows up, and along with it, puberty. And damn did it suck. Along with a newfound set of hanging balls (which were magnificent by the way) and actual muscles, also came a plague of acne, pitchy conversations, and a lifelong dependance on deodorant to avoid smelling like Swamp Thing 2 (yea I said it, THE SEQUEL). But then something else came to light, another lady “comeup” presented itself to me when I started trying to “get girls” (trying being the key term there, as it would damn near be an entire DECADE before I would begin to have close to a clue of what I was doing, but that is another story, a really long one). I soon would jealously discover, that apparently when it came to being in the lane of love, girls didn’t have to do shit... Ever.

They didn’t have to see a person they were an absolute stranger to, be all sweaty and nervous, heart pounding out of their Nautica polo shirt just to raise their hand, wave and say, “hi Sasha” as she walks right pass you, barely acknowledging you as you stand there smiling and waving like a damn fool. They didn’t have to pretend to be as cool as possible at the end of the school day, asking Sasha for her phone number in front of all your and her friends as they embarrassed the hell out of you, making sounds and talking about yall “being in love” in the background... And they certainly didn’t take the entire week just working up the nerve to ask Sasha to go to the movies with you (where you would proceed to spend up half of that new sneaker money you saved up since last month, because she wants a drink, popcorn AND candy with her greedy ass... grrrr) Faced with these new and then devastating tidbits of weak information. I was thoroughly convinced then, that women, definitely had the easy street. “Damnit man!” I exclaimed, “it must be great to be a girl.”

Well, many many years passed and, fortunately, I would come to learn a few very, VERY, enlightening things. One, never take a first date to the movies. Second, girls named Sasha are terrible human beings. And C, it actually isn’t as easy to be a woman as I once thought. In fact, there isn't really anything that easy about it at all.

Yea, surprise, surprise right? Apparently, after the doors get opened, seats get pulled out, first dates are paid for, and free entrances to your local night spot are given, the benefits of having a vulva start getting pretty slim, to the point where they damn near don’t exist.

I mean all those things are pretty sweet and sound great. But there are a whole lot more things going on in people’s lives than going to the club and paying for dates.

So, I have composed a short list of reasons why I was wrong as hell about how easy it is to be a woman starting with:


THERE ARE NO MORE FEMALE HIP HOP ARTISTS
Or at least that’s what the Grammy Award committee believes, seeing as they got rid of the female rap Grammy like 8 years ago (don’t blame them, but that’s not the point). And actually, when you think about it, most every musical category is dominated by men, if not entirely taken up by them. Most of whom, think women like them because of their personality, and have quickly jumped on board this V-neck t-shirt fad(virus/epidemic) we are all currently suffering through.

SITTING DOWN TO PEE IS ACTUALLY PRETTY DAMN INCONVENIENT
Yea, I said it. I’m pretty sure this is not a secret to any of you at this point. I mean, I can put out a small to medium small fire after a few beers or a large movie soda. But if I had to do it squatting on the side of the road while the state of Virginia passed by... Well, let's just say my aim would definitely fall very far short of legendary. And then there is signing your name in the snow thing, come on... it's pretty effing sweet.

MEN LIE, WOMEN LIE, NUMBERS DON’T
Women live longer, mature faster, and outnumber men on this planet. Yet, they still on average, get paid less to do the same job (no matter what that job may be), make up less than 1% of the world’s leaders throughout human history, and, for the most part, never get to the save the world from alien invaders, practically ever. Does that seem right to you?

THE WNBA SUCKS
Why? For a myriad of reasons, but one of the biggest is that women don’t really support it. Things that suck can still be great, as long as there is a rabid fan base behind it, trying to convince you that it is actually good, I mean popular, good is out of the question. (ie. Twilight movie series, diet coke/pepsi, holding hands etc. you get the idea...) But women don’t go to the games, no one really does. And have you ever been to a WNBA game? I have, the same size crowd can be found at a middle school chess tournament.

DATING
Yes, I know that in the beginning dating was one of the reasons that confused me earlier, had me thinking the world was flat and blah blah blah. But like I said, I’ve seen a few things since Sasha ate all my Twizzlers at the AMC 24 all those years ago. Having been cursed with the lot of always being the aggressor (for the most part) when it comes to interactions with the opposite sex, at first, was pretty daunting, humiliating, and sometimes, downright infuriating. But over the years, I’ve developed quite the thick skin. So, a rejection really isn’t that big of a deal these days. And when someone isn’t interested that’s fine, I’m quite sure, I’ll go on and try and find someone who hasn’t decided that she wouldn’t fuck me “if I was the last man on earth” (not sure if people still say this, but I always thought it was silly. I mean, If I was the last man on earth, am I really that upset that I can’t get with this lady? Would I even be concerned? I’m pretty sure the answers are no... and "Fuck YOU, i'm the last man on earth. Think about that while your ovaries shrivel... ahem, NEXT!"). Ahh, but I digress.



So, basically yea, I’ve come a little ways from my HeManWomanHater roots, and yes, it did take awhile, but I mean, what do you people want from me? I took an oath dammit! Anyways, what do you guys think? Is it still ok to open the doors and pull out chairs for the ladies? Is chivalry dead? Is it an antiquated tradition based in perpetuating the idea of an innate weakness in women? Does the WNBA suck? Are all Sasha’s evil popcorn-ordering demons? Any other revelations on man/woman social structures we have been raised to adopt? Let me know.

Peace-

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

Dying to Live, yet Living to Die

Wassup, dope fiends!

I want everyone reading this blog to feel comfortable and included, which is why I'm gonna talk to you today about Jesus... Na. I'm just joking. But what I am gonna talk about may possibly make some of you feel uncomfortable. So consider this your disclaimer...

"Troo, what is this topic of which you speak?"

I'm glad you asked. The topic of the day revolves around death... Still there? Good.

The worse part about being away from home is that you leave people behind. You don't necessarily forget them, but you go on to start your own life and acquire your own problems. As well, the people back home continue to live out their natural lives; which unfortunately means that a few of them will die. Actually, they all will. And so will all of us. Death is a natural part of life, and completely inevitable... You still there? Good. Uncomfortable yet? Sorry.

Last week, someone whom I knew in my youth had their young life taken from them by a stray bullet. And it was only last month that a dear family member lost their battle with cancer. Both occurrences were very sad. As well, they both made me very angry. But naturally, I couldn't help but to turn the situation onto myself... I began to think about my own mortality.

"Don't think like that, Troo. You ain't gonna die."

Shut your dumb ass up. Yes, I am. Those days of thinking that I'm invincible/untouchable/immortal are over! Hell, anytime I take a painful dump, I pray that this isn't the end. "Not like this. Not like this." (Who peeped that Matrix reference? lol) Which brings me to my next point...

The thing that sucks most about death is that you don't know when, where or how it will occur. (Although, would you really want to know?) I've come to terms with the fact that one day we all have to go. But what I can't stand, and refuse to accept, is that the dumbest of things can take me out. For instance, I was drinking some water the other day and it went down the wrong pipe. (Scary!) I nearly drowned in dry clothes. What the fuck? How would that have looked? My ass laid out in the living room dead from a bottle of Poland Springs. (Have you seen that show "10,000 ways to die"? It can happen!)

Even more stressful than thinking about how you can die, is when and where. If I must go, I pray its not in a public restroom stall. One, that's embarrassing. And two, no one would realize I'm dead. They'd just think that I'm going to the bathroom. That's probably my biggest fear - dying and people not knowing/not knowing what happened to me.

So I've mentioned how I don't wanna go. You're probably wondering how I would like to go...

Most guys would say, "I wanna die during sex." Ill! That's disgusting. Ladies, you don't have to worry about me wanting to die during. No, ma'am... I wanna die right after. It's stupid to die during. I wanna finish up. One last shot before I go. Ideally, it would be with my wife. I'd drift off to sleep, and go with a smile on my face. I originally thought about dying while spooning after sex, but I fear that it would be traumatizing for my wife to have a corpse holding onto her when she woke up in the morning...

You still there? Well, you don't have to be. I'm done. But feel free to answer at least one of these questions:

  1. Have you seen "10,000 ways to die"? If so, what's the worse you've seen?
  2. Is there a such thing as a "cool" way to die?

RIP S.M., S.D.

MAGIC



So, I’m sitting on the train over the weekend minding my own Regular business when who should wheel their squeaky-ass shopping cart onto the A-Train with me and 40 other people? Why, none other than the (not so) world famous weird-long-haired-does-magic-on-the-train-no-matter-if-you-want-to-see-it-or-not-guy!

“HOORAY,” we (never) shouted!

“HOORAY for the (uncomfortable) magic show we are about to witness!” we (opposite of) exclaimed.

And then, on with the show. And quite a show it was, actually. He pulled some girls panties out of the bottom of her jeans (they were pink, just in case you really wanted to know), turned someone’s empty water bottle into like a hundred pennies, and then there was the finale...


He reached into a hat.


And out of the hat, he pulls out a beautiful handful of air followed by a mass of confused facial expressions. Needless to say, we were quite unimpressed. Out of nowhere, mister magician then gets angry, like really angry, (like get me outta this tight ass train angry) puts the hat back on top of the shopping cart and begins bashing the hell out of it. And he is literally now hulking out on this hat, crushing it over and over again with his closed fist. Until he stops.

He pauses to catch his breath, picks the hat back up, inspects the outside of it and, very smooth-like, reaches inside once more.


And the car goes silent...


He violently throws the hat down against the shopping cart, and to everybody’s surprise, there is now, all of sudden, a fluttering white (possibly pigeon or) dove in the air of our subway car. And the crowd goes wild... The show was simply, amazing.

At least, it should have been.

Unfortunately, I found myself totally oblivious to any type of amazement whatsoever. The entire time he was doing the trick, I was completely overcome by this one all-consuming thought, “did he really have that bird jammed up his jacket sleeve since he got on the train?” What?


Yes, that was me. I was the one standing there, after it was all over, wondering just exactly how many birds this guy smothered putting his show together. I mean come on right? He definitely had to have practiced on a few pigeons before he brought the doves out. We all know, those things don't come cheap (I didn't fact check that, but I'm pretty sure they're not the poor man's bird of choice). Now, don’t get me wrong, Mr. Et Cetera is not the all-cynical-all-the-time guy by any stretch of the term, but he certainly looked that way 14 minutes into his half-hour ride back home at the end of what was actually a decent show. And he didn’t feel any type of way about it either. I mean, if the man had a “eff Magic” t-shirt on, he couldn’t have been more transparent about the way he felt (that's it for the 3rd person narrative interlude, trust me, it hurts me more than it hurts you).


But then, the magician began shuffling around our crowded little rolling coke can of a subway car with his money pail out. And, as I tried (avoiding eye contact with the magician by) looking at some stupid ad on the other side of the train, I saw this little girl acting like she just had just seen a man walk on water. She was practically having a meltdown over there, going on and on about all the “cool stuff that guy just did!!!” She would not shut up. And, after begging her mother for what seemed like years, she got a dollar, walked over to the magician, dropped the bill inside and said, “that was amazing!” (Which basically smacked that snarky look di-rectly off of my face to a place I have yet to recover from). Then, the doors opened and we both watched him walk out of the train. And then he was gone.


So, as I stood there gripping that sticky new york city steel rail, I pensively rocked back and forth with my fellow public transpo patrons until I landed in BedStuy. And, I couldn’t help but wonder...

What the hell happened to magic?



I mean, I don’t know exactly when it happened for sure. But somewhere around puberty, after wrestling became fake, but a little ways before girls started going “all the way”, everything became a whole lot harder for me to enjoy without spoil, you know, because of that whole "thinking about all the dead birds in a jacket lining" thing.

What about you guys, when it comes to music, movies, magic, or whatever are you still excited by the “cool stuff” or are you steadily finding your self more and more these days thinking about all the dead birds?

Sunday, June 20, 2010

L is for the way you look at me...

And it makes me sick.
Either you down with the He-Man Woman Hater's Club, or your dead!

No, I'm just playing, I just really like the song from the Little Rascals. Which actually brings me to the point of this whole blog,

How cool it was (is) to be a kid.

Over the course of this past week, I got to share some good times and great drugs with some of my closest friends. Yes, the great times would have been had sans drugs but #wheretheydothatat? (not here) Anyways, I got's the thinking.."I've known this girl Natalie since the second grade and now we are doing drugs together." It's quite hilarious when you think about it.

I thought about how much fun it was to be a kid and think of the whole future you had ahead of you, how you could be a doctor, astronaut and lawyer in one afternoon and the next day forget you even had those wack ass dreams because now being a power ranger was all you were about.

Of course we all have to grow up sometimes and put our kick-ass black ranger dancing karate moves to the back (sigh) but what about those of us who never really stopped being a kid. Do we have a place in the real world. I met a girl at work who said she could never date someone like me because I was too child like. She said I didn't take life seriously enough and that she was looking for something more, mature if you will.

I replied I could never date her because she was too ugly. I also mentioned that this was not good first day at work conversation. I then told her she would probably end up with someone just as boring as her and they would have boring jobs and boring kids. Harsh, maybe but not really.

You see, I know that I am not mature for my age, I don't really mind that. What I am seeing is so many of my constituents, friends and others in my age bracket rushing to be this super adult who is so responsible, saves money, volunteers, et cetera, et cetera and I don't know who these people are. I don't see why as we get older we have to let go of our imaginations. People stop looking for their fairytale and settle for their Greek tragedies. (pun intended)


No people, I am not naive enough to believe in fairytales or that all of our dreams come true if we wish upon a star. Shit, I've been wishing for these damn super powers for my whole life now to no avail but I never lost my imagination. Part of me thinks it's television and film. They've created such great worlds of fantasy and fun that people fail to think for themselves. I saw some kind of deer at the BX Zoo the other day that looked so damn real, it looked like they could of done it in CGI. This is probably why if you were to ask any random person on the street their ideal mate was, they would probably describe some mass marketed idea that everyone has. (and I know that's none of you guys, right.)

It's a shame that people feel imagination must die to be some great adult. If you imagine great things, you'll always have a dream to chase, a goal to achieve, something to do at the very least.

I think about it this way. When I was in 5th grade, never did i IMAGINE i would be doing drugs on a daily basis. Shit, I had memorized all 10 ways to say no to the kids that would eventually try and make me do drugs. And after all that, I only needed one way to say yes. (YES). My point is, don't limit yourself based on what you can see right now because clearly things change and sometimes what you thought isn't what it is.

So, as you watch the little people around you grow, just remember that they will be doing all the dumb shit that you promised you weren't going to do at one point and time. So try not to tell yourself "I'll never, I wouldn't" or anything like that because shit, I said I'd never blog.

Food for thought:
What's something you do right now that you never saw yourself doing before?
What's something you could never see yourself doing right now?


Thursday, June 17, 2010

From Degrees to Derelicts...

Here's something most people don't see every day: A homeless Asian person.

Seeing a homeless Asian person is like seeing a unicorn or an Iota (lol). I've never seen a homeless Asian person... until recently. The city where I currently reside has a large homeless population. Very unfortunate. Very sad. There are homeless people of different ages, genders, nationalities, and mental capacities.

It makes me wonder: "How does one become homeless?"

In the movie, The Soloist (great movie!) starring Jamie Foxx and Robert Downey, Jr, Foxx's character goes crazy while he's a student at Juliart. He runs away from school and his family to live on the street. But this can't be how one becomes homeless. One, because every homeless person isn't crazy. And two, not every homeless person can play the cello. So how does it happen?

I kept asking myself that question, until one day I saw it (cue dramatic music: dum, dum, dum). I saw a homeless man wearing a shirt with Greek letters on it. Yes, indeed, this man was a member of a fraternity. It was Sigma Theta something, I believe. I don't know. All I know is that it wasn't Omega Psi Phi. I also saw another homeless person wearing a shirt from Michigan State. It dawned on me. It all became clear...

College makes people go homeless!

Think about. It happened in The Soloist and I noticed those two people on the street. Signs come in threes! As well, when you think about what college has done to all of us, it makes perfect sense...

(1) College keeps us sheltered from the real world. After graduation, we're on our own; only to discover that a lot of people don't care about how many organizations you were a part of, what your GPA was, or even that you got a degree at all. We don't know how to deal! And (2) we go broke from tuition, loans, etc. Your parents aren't gonna help you out anymore. They've been helping you for over twenty years. "Buy your own damn groceries!" We don't even have money to start our lives. And if we do, Salli Mae and her goons are at your door asking for their money back... with interest (Sounds like the mob).

My simple solution is to not go to college... Matter fact. No. Go to college. College was the best four years of my life. Learned a lot, met interesting people. No. My real advice is this... Do not become a content college student/graduate. Prepare yourself for after graduation. Network, research, save up money. Its possible. Don't set yourself up to look back on your college experience and call it a waste. Don't hold a grudge. College gives us the tools to survive the real world. It's up to us to use them wisely.

So my questions for all you DopeHeads (My new nickname for the folks that read this blog) are:
  1. Have you ever seen a homeless Asian person? If so, where and when?
  2. Does college prepare you for the real worlds?
  3. Are you on the verge of becoming homeless?

Monday, June 14, 2010

Blogging is for Jerks


And now I'm a jerk too...

So, I have officially joined the Blogosphere, welcome to my world. And with said title, I find myself approaching a certain amount of self-discovery, that, while enlightening, makes me wonder, "why the hell would you make that the title of your first post?"


"Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time."(sigh)

And it did, but here I am, five sentences in, hacking away at my keyboard in a bath towel (special edition Star Wars: Return of the Jedi type, in case you were wondering... you perv). And I'm trying to figure out a way to make this interesting. Not so much interesting for you, the casual observer who may have come by this beautiful expression of words and ideas by chance, but moreso interesting to me. You see, now that I've started pushing this boulder up the mountain, I'd rather not stop (to play video games, watch movies and kiss girls - the order is of no importance) and then have to go all the way back down the mountain to start pushing the same rock again because "pushing rocks sucks". And we all know, pushing rocks CAN suck sometimes, but I think I can do it (push the rock, I mean. Hopefully, I won't suck).




Now, "why the boulder analogy?" you might ask. Well, the answer lies in my stupid compulsion to insert weak, barely-tethered analogies into conversations to distract people from the old subject while I start a new one. You know, like when you're putting on socks. It doesn't really matter if they match, as long as you keep your shoes on.

So, i'm a big fan of 75% of everything that I technically should of grown out of by now. Which basically includes cartoons, candy, my lucky Barry Sanders jersey, and the New York Knicks. I can't easily explain why I still love these things so much. Seeing as they sometimes separate me from good friends, healthy teeth, decent blood circulation, or my obvious sanity (D'Antoni why?!!!!). But, once I like something... Well, it's hard for me to let go of it. Which may also explain why I've had this ridiculous ThunderCats ringtone on my cellular device for the last six years. I know it sounds cool (to me mostly), but believe me, it can get a little awkward talking to adults with someone screaming "HOE!!!!!" outta your back pocket for a half a minute.

Well, that's all I'm going to write for now. I think that was a decent intro (90's hip-hop album quality at least). I promise in the future I'll definitely center these things around one topic, which I guess I could've done in the first place. But I didn't, and you know why I didn't? Well, I'm guessing you forgot what the title of this post was.

Saturday, June 12, 2010

Intro time...





Regular Et Cetera

About me: Well, I’m not a philosopher or a comedian, and damn sure not a (fake) revolutionary. I’m just a regular guy. I eat peanut butter jelly sandwiches and watch cartoons yall, so as far as taking advice from me... I mean, would you go listening to somebody who walks around smelling like 3rd grade lunch and Sportin’ Waves hair grease? Um yea, me neither. Good thing for you guys, I stopped using Sportin’ Waves years ago.

But yea, back to the show. So, “why write this blog?”

-"I mean everybody was doing it, and who wants to be the last guy on the block to get a pair of skinny jeans?"

LoL nope.

-"I simply love reading celebrity gossip, and I was hoping I could maybe share some of the juicy stuff with you guys."

Oh HELL no.

-"I want to enlighten the masses, so most of my posts will be centered around messages of “we gotta do better” and “fighting the system.”

Yikes... not that one either.

-“Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Yea, that last one sounds about right. So, relax. If you show up on time, you can read about the life and times of Mr. Et Cetera and his not-so-motley crew. And if you’re late, just make fun of all those jerks who showed up early. JERKS! And feel free to add some fist-shaking too, just for good measure.

That’s all I got for yall so far. Except for the other thing I wanted to say...



FAIL


LoL later yall’






Ricochet Grab It
Hey Hey, Hey Hey...smoke weed everyday!

About Me: This is more or less my disclaimer. I'm one of those people who when they say they don't give a fuck, they really don't give a fuck. But the things I do care about, I care deeply. I'm A Scorpio in case you were wondering. I'll be the one on the blog with the foul mouth. I got that Sam Jackson disease and for some reason, I can't stop cussing. But if you decide to read this dope ass blog, you'll see plenty more of that shit!


Now for the real question...why do I blog?

I blog because I'm happy...I blog because I'm free...

Now while that may be a little sac-religious, bare with me. That is not why I blog.

I had a blog when I was a teenager, back when I thought I was deep and going through some shit. But I stopped that when I realized that I had nothing to say. But now, I do, well, not really, but I've seen more shit so I can talk more shit.

I'm really doing this because like my friend Et Cetera said, it seemed like a good idea at the time. And besides it gives me the space to talk about the things I can't say in 140 characters or less (#twitterreference).

So, I must say that the ideas and views expressed in this blog do not necessarily mean anything at all, but hopefully it made you think, or at least laugh. And if not, hey, we're all gonna die eventually, right?


One more ting (Jackie Chan Uncle Voice)

Worst Fucking Movie Ever (Fuck You Terrance Howard)

Oh, lol.




TRoo AlQUEMist:

AbOWT Me: Fuck yeah, I'm a Bruh and Imma say it proud!

But don't worry, I'm not gonna spend all of my time bashing other orgs. However, that may happen from time to time (I mean what the fuck is an IOTA??? lol. jk)

My name actually says a lot about me. It has many layers. One, it says I'm creative. I mean really, Troo AlQueMist is a pretty dope ass name. Two, (obviously) it says I'm a Son of Blood and Thunder. Three, I can be a little cocky... I mean I shouted out my frat and, not only called myself an Alchemist, but a true Alchemist at that.

But what is an alchemist????

I'm glad you asked. An Alchemist is one who works at turning base metals into gold. And Alchemist weren't like wizards or magicians or anything like that. They were regular folks who dedicated their lives to perfecting their craft. Some were successful, some weren't. So essentially an Alchemist is someone who attempts to make something from nothing... A dream chaser, if you will. And that takes us to layer number Four...

Folks, I'm just a brotha who dared to be different, and chase a positive dream. Along the way I get to see some pretty fun and interesting shit and I wanna share with the world. I laugh. I love. I party. But all the while, I'm staying focused.

My homie Reg (He doesn't know it but that's what Imma be calling Regular Et Cetra... How you like the nickname, Reg??? lol) hit me up and was like, "Yo. We gotta get the band back together." No bullshit. That's what he said. Back in school, Reg, Ric (Ricochet Grab It's new nickname) and I used to chill and shoot the shit all the time. And we figure that here we can do it here and have our words transcribed.