The Traveling Traveler Vol. 1: Post #8: London

As I sat in Heathrow Airport...

and stared at the airport monitor and awaited my 10.5 hour flight back to Los Angeles, I watched my flight get delayed 12 minutes at a time and I couldn't help but wonder how I ended up here.

11:57...

12:33...

13:09...

Quite honestly, I was in no rush to get back to LA. I had bootleg BEATS headphones that I acquired in Istanbul that were sure to break at any moment. My backpack straps were on their last legs and I would have to go work the day after I landed. But all in all this trip had been a whirlwind adventure most of which I could remember.

However, this is not why I wanted to get on the plane.

I needed to get on this plane because I was drunk. Belligerently.

The details of last night were really a blur. Seriously.

It was only supposed to be a 20 hour layover in London. But then the hostile had a fully stocked bar. And after I gave up on seeing the sights at night, getting drunk seemed the next best thing. The greatest thing in fact.

The time was 20:45: Enter the Aussie.

Me and the Aussie (or the Aussie and I) met at the opposite ends of our world tours. He was just beginning as I was here to conclude. So we began to share the tales of wonder and merriment of our times traveling.

We agreed that Spain was home to some of the most beautiful women this world will ever be blessed with.

We agreed that Paris is for fags. And not cigarettes.

We also agreed that it doesn't matter if you're black or white, it's all about the love you have for the world in the things that live in it. *MESSAGE*

What I did not know was that sharing travel stories must be accompanied by drinking. Heavily. I complied.

The time was now 21:30. The Aussie and I had split about 3 rounds at this point. And then karaoke started.

A free drink was offered to anyone brave enough to participate.

Enter I.

I already being drunk decided to perform (flawlessly might I add) an ode to my current city of Los Angeles in the form of Snoop Doggy Lion's classic hit "What's My Name" to the pleasure of a cheering crowd.

And then we drank some more. 2 Shots from the DJ for my Aussie friend and I. A round of Pilsner's for my Aussie friend and I from the bartender.

The time was now 23:07. I was then presented with scotch neat from the random old white guy who was singing Etta James. This is where things get hazy. Blackout.

The time was now 23:59. My Aussie friend an I were presented 4 Rounds of shots from the random white girls from Texas who were very impressed with my comprehension of "Superman-ing that hoe".

And of course another round from my Aussie friend who by the way was just as drunk as me. Blackout.

The time now was 0:57. So I went out side to smoke a fag wit some blokes I met inside and things began to get hazier.

And then I blacked out.

The time was now 1:17. I found myself back in my 4 person room preparing my electronic devices for departure and then much to my dismay I blacked out again...I think in the middle of a conversation with someone in my room.

The time was now 9:01. I wake up to find a naked Asian girl in my room that was not there the night before. Pretty hot too.

Or was she. Fuck. I really can't remember. I just know I had to get to the airport on the tube.

Exit I. And I left the lock I just brought at the hostile for my trunk and instructed the hosts to give it to someone for free. Share the luck. Get it.

Blackout yet again.

The time was 11:57. And now I sit in Heathrow Airport a little more drunk then I was when I began writing this because of the free alcohol samples I have just consumed by walking around the terminal looking for a shoe shiner. Dumb decision. Blackout.

The time is now 13:21. And we are about to board this plane now. Its so long to Europe and one crazy ass night in London. I will miss you for now.

And hopefully I'll be able to fill in the blanks of last night after time traveling (read: stupid drunk) across the United States of these Americas.

Seriously.

I got my picture with the guard though.

Cheers.

Stay (pyramid) Schemin'

It's been a while since we last spoke hasn't it.

A lot has changed in this crazy place we called a world.

Quick recap of the important stuff:

1. Ray J remains relevant by reminding us that he did in fact fuck Kim Kardashian first. And if the nigga is dumb enough to believe that, he's probably dumb enough to do concerts in living rooms. Oh, wait....
2. Britney Griner shocked the world and revealed that she really is a woman who loves women.
3. And Big K.R.I.T. released a mixtape hotter than 80% of the rap albums in the past year. #FACT.

But alas, we are back and we do have something to say. Well, at least I do this week.

And this week we are going to talk about pyramid schemes.

That's right, pyramid schemes. Now you may think, "Ricochet, you are not a financial adviser and last I checked, you were broke taking the bus everywhere."

Well "HEY... YOU MIND YOUR GOTDAMN BUSINESS!" Is what I'll say to that.

But yes, pyramid schemes.

It has come to my attention that more and more of my brethren and sisteren, in an effort to skip over the "hard work" part of getting rich, have dabbled into these newfangled get rich quick schemes. I only know this thanks to the now hundreds of invites and messages I get from "friends" and "acquaintances" concerning all the money I can make if I just sign up.

Now, my problem is not with young brothers and sisters on their grind to a million. No, that is freaking awesome. Please, by all means proceed, my kings and queens.

My problem is the people involved in the pyramid scheme don't believe it's a pyramid scheme. Let me give you a pseudo-real life example:

Let's say there is this company called BitVentures. And BitVentures is a company for one and all to join. They sell you the dream that BitVentures offers you a chance to be your own boss, make your own hours, do whatever you want to do. But first, you need to sign up and pay a a hefty intake fee to be apart of this network. Then you find out that in order to make money, you have to go find some sucker niggas like yourself, sell them the same exact dream and get them to sign up and rinse and repeat.

Confused, here's a graphic.



It never ceases to amaze me how people want to get rich without any work at all. Sure, every once in a while you hit the lottery. And I mean literally hit the lottery for MILLIONS of dollars.

Other people have some real talent. Like real fucking talent. These people include (but definitely not limited to) athletes, dancers (and in their own category) rappers, singers, actors, etc. These people also hit the lottery in a way.

Then you have the "smart" people. The doctors, lawyers, CEO's, magicians, you know, those guys. And these guys had to develop the skills necessary, make the right connections and again, get very lucky to be in the right place at the right time to really make it big.

Or, of course, you could be born rich. And again, all luck.

But no. For some reason people seem to see beyond all these things and just see the product. And so nowadays, people don't wait to become CEO's. They just go to Vista Print and make business cards that say they are CEO's.

Now I know we all have to start somewhere, this is the truth. But my man, how you a CEO of anything and your mom is claiming you as a dependent.

Or you have the niggas who's hoops dreams have become so deflated they've decided to pick up a microphone with dreams of making NBA money through rap music. Not realizing that not even the really, really, REALLY good rappers don't even get on. And 2 Chainz... Well, you get what I'm saying.

And lastly, you have the people who try pyramid schemes. And these are all different types of people. They span all types of education, ages, races and creeds. Because the desire to possess money is realer than the pursuit of a passion for these folks.

And these folks are suckered by folks much smarter than them.

And rinse... Annnnnnnd repeat.

Whether you are trying to sell me vacation package nonsense or some form of internet currency that isn't really real, I'll pass. I learned a long time ago that when you chase money, it will always allude you. Mostly because it isn't actually real.

Now don't get me wrong, I make money. I spend money. I know how important money is. But if half the black men that wanted to be rappers had put that same dedication to bettering their communities...
Or if half the instagram models used their time to empower themselves instead of taking pictures seeking validation from people they will never meet... Well, you get what I'm saying.

But this ain't a soap box speech. This is just about pyramid schemin' mo fos who feel some type of way because I don't want to be involved in their pyramid schemes. How could I, a college educated black man, get down with your "company" when I type your company into Google and the first thing that pops up is "PYRAMID SCHEME"?

Let's say you go to a bar and you meet this girl. Her name is Tiffany. And Tiffany is hot. I mean, smoking hot. You would drink this girl's bath water hot. And you and Tiffany hit it off, but she's really gotta run tonight, her friend is drunk and she has to get her home. But your boy tells you, hey, I think that girl looks familiar. I've seen her before.

So you go home, Google this girl and the first thing that pops up is an HIV Outbreak Chart. And she is at the top of the HIV pyramid.

Are you still going to talk to this girl? Wouldn't you at least be very cautious and ask some serious questions?

Or would you ignore all the signs in front of your face and fuck her raw?

I guess the moral of the story is if you are trying to sell people pyramid schemes, you have HIV.

Wait... that's not the moral.

Anyway... you get what I'm saying right?

So, listen... Lemme tell you about this sweet business opportunity I ran across. I thought of you immediately. You know how everybody drinks coffee right? Oh... You don't drink coffee? Whatever, doesn't matter, we're gonna be RICH!

One thing though...

I just need you to find a few more people willing to invest...

We Shall Overcome? Someday?

Today I had one of those moments in life that makes you go, IRONY.

Thank you Alanis Morissette for forever associating yourself with the word ironic.
At least with me.

It was also one of those moments that led me to discuss my thoughts in blog entry.

As I wandered through the hallways of the middle school, I overheard 2 young boys having a conversation, the likes of which had no business in a school building. At least not during school hours. And as I approached the conversation I heard,

"Man, these niggas don't even know my nigga.
"Fo' sho, man, niggas be sleeping on Tyga."

Two things were happening here.

First, "niggas be sleeping on Tyga"!. This makes me hate the youth, the media aimed at youth and most of all the parents of the youth for even letting this statement be thought of and then subsequently put forth into the universe. 

Secondly, these students were using inflammatory language outright in the hallway. But being the young, hot shot counselor that I am, I was ready to just send the boys on their way back to class with a quick 

"Watch your language young men, you are in school and you know better than that. And don't do drugs."

But as luck would have it, fate intervened and in stepped Old Black Lady Security Guard. Now Old Black Lady Security Guard had been here at the school for a while and maybe had previous interactions with these students which may in turn have influenced how she responded.

I must admit, I blacked out for most of her I Have a Dream Speech but I did hear some things like,

"people died being called that word..." 

and 

"do you know that word is meant to demean people that look like us..." 

and then something about Martin Luther the King Jr. 

The way those kids walked away from that, it was is if they felt they had been the ones who filled the pool Rodney King drowned in.

Not giving a fuck.

I did feel bad for Old Black Lady Security Guard. She probably possessed so much wisdom, so much strength and all she wanted to do was impart on these young men the psychological damage they were inflicting on themselves. 

It really is a sad day when kids don't respect what their elders have to say.

And as they went their way and  I prepared to go mine, Old Black Lady Security Guard pulled me aside. I figured, 

"Here's my chance to receive some good old fashioned sassy black wisdom from Old Black Lady Security Guard."

But I was wrong because this is what she said.

"These little niggas don't have any respect. Probably end up in jail wit the rest of them other niggas."

NIGGA WHAT?

All I could think was

"Did this nigga just yell at them little niggas for saying nigga in the hallway. This nigga can't be serious right now."

All of the wisdom Old Black Lady Security Guard once had was now reduced to some old nigga talking shit.

But I did not correct Old Black Lady Security Guard. Unlike those little niggas, I understand my place. And so I took those words of wisdom, offered a tired sigh and a smile and proceeded back to my office.

And as I strolled away humming the tune of any DMX song, all I could do was shake my head and say,

...Niggas.

Plight of the Nice Guy

We've heard it all before.

"Nice guys finish last and alone and sad and pass these traits along to their offspring."

You may have heard it differently but you get the point Nice guys usually get the raw end of the deal. But today, just for you nice guys out there, I've enlisted the help of my good friend @FollowBMarie (which you should totally do after you finishing reading this), rather, she enlisted me to spread the WORD of the nice guy.

So if you fancy yourself a nice guy or if you know someone who does, this can and will be good for you, or their simpin' asses. 

Theory of the Nice Guy (as told by @FollowBMarie)

Reason 1-Maybe it's not because you're nice. Could it be that you have some other character flaws? Maybe you're not funny. Girls love funny men. Maybe it's because you're not fun? Although staying home & cooking every night is nice, it does get old quick. Just like men need spice in their life women like spice in their relationships. The man who continuously blames his lack of lady luck on being nice is not very different from the gal who chants "niggas ain't shit" Be reflective. It's possible something else is at work here.

This reason is great. Nice is bland. Bland is boring.

Reason 2-Nice guy by day, scumbag by night? You, sir, have more in common with the bad boy than you would like to admit. You believe that you are a nice guy. And hey, there are some nice aspects. But let's face it, most people would not associate you with nice. But this doesn't make you a bad person, maybe not even a bad boy. Just a Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde type.

Also superb reasoning. Nothing is worse than a fair-weather personality. 

Reason 3-You're too nice. Ok. This is the cliche one. But it's sort of true. GIRLS WANT TO FEEL SPECIAL! But sometimes it gets confusing. If you're taking every Jane, Jen & Mary out and making them all feel like a queen for the day. Guess what, it looks like game. Furthermore no one feels special. We want to be the only one you go above and beyond for, but if you go above and beyond for everyone, I'm sorry to say this, but you may end up behind. Now I'm not saying start slamming doors and only open it for your lady. But if you go above & beyond for everyone, well go to infinity and beyond for your main squeeze.

The whole "everybody wins" argument retooled. If everyone is special, then no one is special. But the Toy Story reference is priceless.

Reason 4-Define nice. Sir, you aren't it. Not even close. I mean yes, on paper you're the shit. But how can I put this? You're an ass. You're rude. You're full of yourself. And let me guess what you want to talk about--yourself, right? Be as aggressive as you want in the conference room, boardroom, classroom, or courtroom, but if you want a lady you better soften those edges.

For me, this is the crux of the reasoning. What does nice actually mean? I'll get to this later.

Reason 5-It's not about the battle, it's the war. So you opened every door, paid for every dinner, took her on vacation, went down to her father's to ask for her hand in marriage, only to be left at the altar. I get it. It hurts, but if you were the best man that you could be, then listen. She either was not the one or doesn't deserve you. There is some nice girl out there who will cater to you just as much as you spoil her. Realize that in the first lap you may be losing, maybe even in the second & third. But it ain't over til it's over. So stay true to your nice guy ways you might just cross that finish line first, nice guy.

I'm going to let this reason slide because I love @FollowBMarie and I understand as a female, it is in her nature to give hope. You nice guys should appreciate this.

Now, my source of contention can be outlined in Reason #4. What is a nice guy? It is my belief that woman don't want a nice guy, and here's why.

Do you ever remember being told "play nice"? Of course you do. Do you remember what it meant? Probably not. Playing nice didn't mean "treat all competitors with respect, don't cheat and be a good sport". Play nice meant don't do anything that is going to mess up this game. Don't hurt people's feelings. Don't say mean things. Make sure everyone is having fun.

While it may be easy to take this "nice" attitude into arenas in which the rules and guidelines dictate our behavior we must take into account that we are talking about relationships. And there are no rules in love. Nice is vanilla. Nice is what you do when you don't know someone, a default setting. And so the nice guy who you would love on your company kickball team may not make the best choice for a mate. 

Unless what you want is a push-over because the last guy walked over you and you would like to taste that feeling for a little while, which is cool. Every girl deserves one simping ass nigga in her life to step on. 

Except ugly girls, they just deserve to breathe and hold onto the off chance of pro-creation.

I feel what women are looking for is a good man and the inability to articulate this is the reason why the good man can't be found. The good man knows all about respect and honesty. But he also knows about winning and putting personal feelings aside to accomplish the larger goal. He doesn't worry about rocking the boat because he learned how to steer in troubled waters long ago. Even Jesus got angry.

Nice guy's don't finish last because they are trying to win. Nice guys finish last because winning was never the goal. The goal was to make sure the race was run fairly, that everybody had a shot, that the rules were followed. And while undoubtedly admiral, being selfless and concerned with the wellness of others will ensure that others will always finish the race before you.

And thanks to that guy, I get the girl. Every time. Half the time.

More Fired

So this morning, on my way to the gym, I heard a rumor. It was about Carmelo Anthony and how he was ready to leave my beloved New York Knicks. What? Well, like I said, it was a rumor... Which destroyed me. All destruction aside though, it did get me to thinking.

You see, in this rumor, it seems Carmelo Anthony is not particularly a big fan of his coach (he also might not particularly like the way that right after he got off the injured reserve list, the Knicks were in STRUGGLE MODE and how that just might have been all his fault).

Anyway, that got me to thinking about my job (yours too), and how many of his suffer under incompetent bosses/leaders/managers/directors/supervisors. Now in professional sports, when someone is in charge of talent and they don't properly take advantage of it, they are swiflty escorted to the unemployment line. As far as my worldly travels have taken me, I have yet to see things operate that way in any of my lines of employment.

Work ecosystems are incredibly fragile. So, you better hope your boss is not fucking up, because if they are... YOU. ARE. FIRED. Yep, totally fired... and for a few reasons really, none of them better than the other. All of which will have your ass cruising Linkedin.com.

                                

Let's run through a few of them.

The Underwear Fire - I know it's got a funny name, but trust me, it's one of the most egregious. This one happens when you get fired so that someone else can cover their ass.

The Ahhyaw Fire - isn't as popular as the underwear fire but living in the here and now u do run into these from time to time. This one happens when your company loses it's contract, goes bankrupt, or just straight goes outta business, and when then that happens ahhhhyaw getting fired.

The Vacation Fire - is kinda funny until it happens to you. This one happens when you get fired on your day off. I don't know how it happened, but when it does - you'll very shortly find yourself hanging out with your childhood friend Smoky cuz it's Friday.. and you aint got shit else to do.

Ok, there's a dude sitting next to me... Gotta be about 26-27 years old... And he is straight up sucking his thumb! And rubbing his ear.. I'm trying not to stare but this is just fucking strange... I mean, this is a grown ass man in baby mode over here. I feel like I'm getting pranked, this can't be real life... And why is he looking at me? Anyways.. What was I saying? Oh yea...

The "But I Thought You Liked Me" Fire - yup. In the workplace, you better make good and damn sure somebody likes you before you start flirting. Cuz all it takes is one unwanted lingering shoulder rub or titty graze (the thing you ladies do where you pretend like we don't know you're rubbing your tits all over somebody's arm when you're showing them something - yall aint slick) and your ass will be on the streets faster than Aladdin and Abu.

                                                   R.I.P. Bob's Career

Also, stop walking around the office with your got damn shoes off. I don't know if that's a fireable offense but it should be. Aint NOBODY trying to see those corn muffin toes of yours.

Ok, I'm done ranting for now. I wish y'all success in all your professional endeavors. Thanks for reading the dopest blog...

-Excelsior!

When Crazy Goes Right...Then Left

Follow me on a journey of love…or something kinda similar to the idea of love.

In a world long ago in a galaxy close, close by…

I had a girlfriend. She was crazy. I mean, certifiable. The type of chick that threatened to cut my penis off if she even smelt another females scent on me…then showed me the knife she would do it with. But, I loved this girl. Something about the crazy ones makes for a great time. It also makes for a passionate time which then makes for a fiery blast of a time that eventually ends in a nuclear reaction of break ups. And so it came to pass that my relationship ended in a blaze of fire and glory and confusion similar to the Rodney King riots.

But alas, if there is one thing I really miss about this girl it is…the sex. And so I thought about getting back with my crazy ass ex simply for the sex.

If you ain’t never had sex with someone you were seconds away from killing, you are missing out. Sex so good make you want to wear church shoes with jeans. Sex so good you travel across the country. That kind of sex.

But with her, words could not describe the passion between us. It was like two stars fighting for control of the galaxy and each eventually gives way to the other creating something more beautiful than either one could have imagined. With her, it wasn’t sex it was love and we didn’t make it…we became it.

We would lose ourselves in each other’s caress. Lose words to heavy breathing, lose thought to feeling. Lose control to chaos and let lust reign over us.

And even though after that night, I had to call the cops on her to get her out of my house, it was the best sex I ever had. 

And now that I am single I’m thinking…maybe we should give it another try?

Maybe we should’ve never broken up?

Maybe we should’ve seen the Avengers together?

Maybe we should ride a tandem bicycle to the beach for ice cream?

Maybe this is all we need to rediscover our love?

Or maybe I’m crazy?

Possibly.

You Sir are F$%&#@! UP

Since the inception of this thing we call time...


People have been fucking up.


And these fuck ups have only grown in scope as the world has been introduced to new technologies like books, telephones, and most namely THE INTERNETS (that 's' is not there by accident).


But no matter how much, you or I (but especially you) have fucked up, no one can quite do it like celebrities. Let me explain. You see, it so happens that some of us are privileged to a tiny little thing called fame. And with fame comes great responsibility.


No. With fame comes the ability to fuck up greater than those without it. And although this is common knowledge, some people afflicted with fame have still found ways to fuck up. With your permission, I'd like to discuss three of the greatest celebrity fuck ups in our recent world history.


Disclaimer: Remember, the views expressed in this post are not necessarily those of the other contributors all though I am sure they would agree.


The first may surprise you. We call this man by many names. We call him the Pied Piper of RnB. We call him Mr. Bump and Grind but to those of us that know him, we call him Robert Kelly. Now Robert Kelly was a man from Chicago, Illinois making some of the best music of his generation. And even when he and then 16 year old Aaliyah were going together, we let it slide. But then, he fucked up.


Why Kells, why did you pee on that little girl? Were there no groupies in the vicinity? Was the toilet too far away? And why Mr. Kelly did you tape it? Admittedly, some of us have ventured in to making our own sex tapes but Mr. Kelly, why did you have to piss on her? You could have edited that part out. You could have made it into special effects so that instead of peeing on her, it would appear that you were pouring champagne from your penis. But you didn't. And all the gospel songs in the world won't save you.


And this is not the biggest fuck up of this incident, no. 


Denying it was. We know it's you Mr. Kelly. Look, THIS IS YOU! Mr. Biggs ain't do this to you. You did it to yourself. You FUCKED up dog.

Really nigga, who else could this be

This next one may not surprise you as much. His name is Isaiah Washington IV. You probably know him better as the black doctor on Grey's Anatomy, ABC's hit doctor show. Since the shows inception, it has been must watch television for viewers all over the country. What a testament to Mr. Washington as an actor that he was a leading male on this show. That was until HE FUCKED UP, big time.


Now we live in a somewhat (take "somewhat" with the LARGEST grain of salt you can find) progressive society. As such, some comments, right or wrong, will be looked at as offensive. And Mr. Washington being the astute negro that he is knows this, right? 


Wrong. And that's why at the height of his popularity on Grey's Anatomy, he said this in response to calling a co-worker a faggot. "I love gay. I wanted to be gay. Please let me be gay." As you can imagine, this didn't go over so well with the white men with money and they promptly fired his black ass.


Mr. Washington, why did you feel the need to call your fellow actor a faggot? It doesn't make any sense. You were the nigga that made it from straight-to-VHS movies with DMX all the way up to the McDreamy big time. Nigga, I can't believe you did that. Yes you, you Mr. Washington. Fucked. Up. And then they did this to you.

All the Gay press in the world won't save you
(B-dump, pishh)

The last person on this list is a white guy. If you're black like me and never watched white television growing up, you may have thought this person was Seinfeld (I did) until year later I learned that his name is Michael Richards. But for purposes of this blog let us call him Cosmo Kramer.


Now Mr. Kramer had found unbound success on the Seinfeld show as the offbeat, eccentric best friend. And as far as I've heard, he was funny, fantastic even. What I didn't know was that he also did stand up...


On that one fateful evening at the Laugh Factory while he was preforming stand-up, some African Americans in the crowd were heckling him. Why? Probably because he wasn't very funny. But no one could have predicted what happened next. Or maybe we could have. 

We all know white people say nigga in their spare time, perhaps when talking to fellow racist, perhaps when quoting their favorite rap song in the car but not like this...not like this. Mr. Richards, why did you have to say nigga so many times? Once would have sufficed for the nigga to get the point. Was there no other word that you could have used? Did you vote for Obama? Did you ask for there to be no niggas on Seinfeld? Were you upset about your less than one season failed solo sitcom venture? I don't know. But one thing is for sure, you are still saying nigga wherever it is you're at. Oh and that bullshit apology, fuck you. You wanna apologize to us niggas, send reparations. Nigga.


As Paul Mooney once said (and I paraphrase greatly) you shouldn't be surprised by racism. So if Regis Philbin stabbed you with a pencil in the eye yelling NIGGA DIE!, you should have seen it coming.



Of course there are more celebrity fuck ups that we can name, some even greater. But these two black men fucked up and didn't go to jail. And the white guy is still filthy fucking rich. So in the end, they won. I won and of course you the reader, are a winner as well.


On a personal note, FUCK Nicki Minaj and her male barbies. Something tells me she will be the next one on this list. 


You heard it here first.

Keeping it Real Vol. 1 - The 1st and 15th

HAPPY MARCH 9TH EVERYONE!


And you know what that means right...


PAY DAY IN 6 DAYS (for all my bi-monthly people)


And if you're somewhat like me, the first thing you think about when you get that check is all the new clothes and toys you can buy. All the liquor you are going to purchase while you are out this weekend and maybe, (just maybe) that new hairstyle or haircut you so badly (see: desperately) need.


But, seeing as your like me, you've probably already spent that check.


What do you mean Sir Ric the Ruler?


Well, unfortunately, I am not balling at all. Not even a little bit. It's like I keep bouncin' on that dead spot on the court. Or my ball is going flat with that slow leak. Or its got that titty on it that makes it bounce weird. On top of all that, I have a bad knee, two bad knees when it rains. Sheee-it, the D-League won't even draft my non-ballin' ass. That is how much I am NOT balling.

Well, I'm ballin' a little harder than this. And way less ashy

So, when this check on the 15th gets deposited into my account at 3:17am (6:17am EST), it is already been spent. As a matter of fact, it's BEEN spent. It was spent way back when I got my check on the first. I'm not even living pay check to pay check anymore. At this point, it's more like living dream to dream really.


Each check I get, I like to budget. Rent, transportation, food, phone, drugs, liquor, clothes, miscellaneous purchases and all that. But after rent, food and phone and transportation... I start saying silly shit like this...


"Well, I'ma pay rent and my phone bill with this check and I'll have about $40 left from this check. I gotta save half of that because with the next check, I gotta renew my TAP Card (same as a MetroCard or a bus pass) and pay homie back for last week. Oh, and I definitely wanted to go out for (insert holiday or birthday of the month) and maybe go on a date."


Then, I've done it. I've spent an entire months pay in just 3 days. And so, consequently, I'm not even really looking forward to that next check because it's already been spent. On top of that, there is always a damn surprise expense waiting to pop up. You know, the shit that has you saying things like...


"Fuck, my phone broke."
"Fuck, my RayBan's broke."
"Fuck, gotta get that Plan B!"
"Fuck! It's too late for Plan B?"


And this is life my friends. Every month, I spend my entire months pay in 3 days. Did you notice how I didn't put "save money" or "pay loans off" up there? That's because I don't. And chances are, you don't either... and you know what? It's all good. We may not be rich, but we are nigger rich...


Well, I'm nigger rich... you're I guess whatever type of rich you desire to be. 


Now, let it be known that it takes a very skillful individual to maneuver this way. People like me know all the ways to get around late fees, find open bars, drink at happy hours, walk into clubs free, and (most importantly) eat free meals. 


It's a hustle to be broke and so, you have to respect it. When you can walk around comfortably with $0.94 in your account AND everything is paid for, be proud.

I didn't say be happy... I said be proud. 


Things will get better hopefully, and if they don't just know, at least for me they will.


Also, I'm almost certain that at this point I owe myself money from every check I've made this year. And there is absolutely no fucking way I'm paying it back. Nope. 


Fuck that guy. He'll just wait til' I get my next check.

Nightmares and Dreamscapes...

I was running as fast as I possibly could. Each stride burned more than the last, every breath seared pain into my failing lungs... If there was one thing I knew, I knew I wasn't going to make it.

The faster I ran the more narrow the gap between us became. I was beginning to realize that there was no way I could keep this pace up, and that even if I did, there was ABSOLUTELY no doubt I would soon be caught. And when that happened, well, I would definitely be too worn out from all the stupid running to do anything worth a damn.

So, that was it then... The decision was practically already made for me, I had to turn and fight.

I felt like I was ready, kinda. Once upon a time a very wise man said to me, "running from it will not save you." Why the fuck not? WHY?!! Jeez...

... Stupid wise man, stupid wisdom, stupid ellipses...

FUCK!

And so then, distracted by the wise man's ridiculous proverb and the world-deafening terror slowly closing in on me, I tripped. And not one of those... "Foot-gets-caught-while-walking-look-back-like-there-was-something-crazy-on-the-ground-and-find-out-your-clumsy-ass-tripped-over-nothing" kind of trips. I'm talking a "full-on-chin-and-right-arm-skin-peeling-home-plate-stealing-slide-across-bare-cold-flesh-ripping-concrete" kind of trip.

My exciting counter-attack strategy was crushed in a mere half-moment's clumsiness. I was doomed.

As I laid there, awaiting my tragic fate under the diminishing half-moon light, my executioner sauntered into view. The weapon in her left hand now seemed more like a jagged sword than the switchblade I thought I saw earlier. And, as I watched its reflection glimmer toward me through the darkness, with nothing left inside me but fear and bad judgement, I closed my eyes.

I felt her kneel down beside me, heard her hot misty breath tumbling toward me through the cold night air. I opened my eyes.

She was beautiful.

Her hair bounced around her head in wild coiling ebony ribbons. Her smooth bronze skin shimmered invincibly under the evening stars. And her eyes... her eyes were like two glistening pools of infinity, echoing her lusty intensity at me through the soul-consuming darkness. 

She leaned even closer. Then, looked deep into my eyes... and stabbed me. And stabbed me. And stabbed me.

I tried to move, but the stabbing... It’s just really hard to move when you’re getting stabbed, trust me on that. It's the worst.

My beautiful murderer looked down at me laying there, leaking vital life essence all over the disgusting city sidewalk, parted her lips coyly and said, “Stocking up and saving more on the things my family needs. That works for me!”

*sigh*

I hate falling asleep with the TV on.

HAPPY NEW YEAR DOPE FIENDS!

I know what you’re thinking.

“Damn, these niggas ain’t post since December. They ain’t no real bloggers, they just phonies!”

And you’d be correct. We haven’t posted since December but real bloggers we are.

And that’s why our New Year’s Resolution is to write more consistently on this here old blog.

Another question may spring to mind:

“Ain’t it February niggas? Didn’t we celebrate Martin Luther The KANG Day already? Didn't Valentine's Day just pass”

And again, the answer is yes. And please stop calling us niggas. We are human beings too...damn.

As you know, most niggas make silly New Year’s Resolutions that come February, they have already
forgot about them. SO we decided to bypass that shit and just start in February. Now we only have to
keep this charade up for 11 more months, and that’s better than 12.

Oh, so you don’t believe me about my theory on New Year’s Resolutions, well isn’t that perfect. Let’s
take a look at some of the NYR’s some of you and your friends may have already failed at.

“I’m going to go to the gym 3 times a week”

Sure you went to the gym 3 times a week. And I mean that. You did go to the gym 3 times a week that
first week of the New Year. But then shit got real. Food got good. Drinks got served and by the 3rd week in Jan, you were down to once a weekend. But it’s all good. I don’t hate.
Get that summer body right in your mind.

Your mind has now shifted into the “I’ll go the gym when I’m too broke for happy hour” mood. This doesn’t last long as your gym membership expires for more happy hour money. We’ve all been here before. But fret not; come March, you’ll be right back making false promises.

“I’m going to find a new man/woman”

My favorite one of all. For a lot of you all, 2011 was a miserable year for love. You got cheated on.
The person you were talking to didn’t want to get serious. Your significant other left for inappropriate
dealings with a former flame (or at least threatened it). The point is you live alone, you die alone. And
for this set of people, dying alone is no longer an option for this year. So how’s the soulmate hunting
going? Well, after hitting the club every weekend, happy hour 3 nights a week and the bookstore you
happened to stumble into, your back at stage one. Alone. And now you’ve entered the “I’m going to tell myself I’m not going to meet anyone in hopes that my cynical approach leads someone to me” phase.

Good luck and Godspeed with that bullshit.

“I’m going to focus on getting that promotion/new job”

And so you did. That first week back to work, you stayed overtime, extra time and sacrificed a weekend. You felt fucking amazing. Then week 2 came and after a Sunday of drinking, Monday sucked and you left early. The rest of the week you were out by 4:56pm. When your supervisor asked you to work this weekend, you almost cursed them out for the audacity to ask you some crazy shit. And now we’re back to normal.

And you hate your job again. And so fuck the promotion, it's time to put in your two weeks and fly this coop. But you can't really put in your two weeks until you find that new job and in this economy and your complacency, it is going to be tough. But I admire your ability to say things and not follow through, simply amazing.

Whatever you may be, take my advice and hold off on making NYR’s at New Year’s. Besides, the Chinese think you’re stupid too. New Year’s is closer to February…or September for all my Jewish brothers out there.

SHALOM niggas.

YOU AIN'T GOT NO MOTHER FUCKING HATERS!

Seriously,

You don’t.

But I don’t blame you for thinking that people hate on you with such ferocity you feel the need to talk about them all the time. No, it is not your fault.

Like my white predecessors before me and those who will certainly come after, I blame this on rap music. Although it's my favorite genre of music, I will not excuse what it has done to an entire generation of youth.

You see, it wasn’t until the popularity of rap music became mainstream that people began to have all these mother fucking “haters”. Let me define this term for you as best I can.

HATERS: derived from the Latin for jerk. Used popularly by people who are insecure and project the hate of themselves onto others.

So these haters people speak of, who are they? Where are they? How often do you encounter them in your life that you feel the need to constantly to talk about them. I’ll tell you how often.

Never.

Never ever ever ever ever ever ever ever in the Everests of never evers do you encounter these haters.

A hater is someone who is on a mission to see your life go wrong. They want nothing more than to see you fail in all of your endeavors. In extreme cases, these haters might even enjoy seeing you dead. Yes, dead. Now, if you have these type of people in your life then (more than likely) yo' ass did something to deserve it. (Take a second and think about this before you read on. DO IT!)

This is how you look when you talk about your haters

It takes a ton of effort to go out of your way to ensure that someone is failing at life. So much effort that said hater’s only focusing on you not making it. But maybe you think highly of yourself and like to feel that you are special enough to someone that they would do this for you. But what you’re most likely encountering is this person.

Someone who disagrees with you. Someone who does not support your goals and dreams. Someone who thinks you suck at what you do and therefore offers you no support. Someone who may in fact call you names and make fun of you and crack jokes to offend you. But this certain “someone” is not a hater. No they are just someone that you don’t need in your life. But a hater they are not.

There a lot of people, places, things and ideas that I do no support. I don’t wish for their demises as much as I don’t give a fuck about what their doing.

SO for all you music artists out there, I’m not a hater because I don’t support your music. Your music sucks, and you are a complete lame... Ask yourself, who's supporting that? The answer starts with "NOT" and ends with "ME".

And for all you ladies at the club, did you ever think that girl was over there talking about you because you and your friend are talking about her? Its called reciprocity, not hating. You attract the things you project. Ergo if you are talking shit about them bitches... Then, them bitches will be talking shit about yo' ass!

And for all the people who read this entry and still have the ignorant audacity to insist that there is some "League of Evil Haters" out there absolutely bent on seeing your life spent in total misery... Well, I hope that they find a way to succeed.

Because it's clear to see that what you really want is an excuse for yourself.

Did I touch a nerve with that one?

...


With yo' hatin' ass!

What's wrong with you people?

Seriously. What the fuck are you being so mean about? I've learned that the longer I've been on this earth, the less I sweat the small stuff. Besides, whether you believe it or not, there are always people doing worse than you. So, try and have a little consideration for someone other than yourself. Just try it, you'll thank me later.



So there you are, at a restaurant with your dreamboat or whoever and it seems that your food is taking forever to come out. You start getting frustrated that it's been almost a half hour since you ordered, your water glass is dryer than mummy scrotum, and EVERYONE around your table is toasting refilled wine glasses and gobbling down piping hot plates of decadent flavor. Now, I know what you want, you want to choke the shit outta that waiter/manager/person you're dating? but please, before you get to choking, stop... And instead don't, get to choking. 

Breathe. Collect yourself and think about what's really going on. Ok, so maybe the food and drink is not coming out as fast as you'd prefer this evening, no need for that to be the only thing you focus on. What you so easily forgot is that you're there with another person. How about you do what you came there for? Have a good time. Tell a joke. Share a story. Reminisce on good times. Do anything else, just do not waste your time focusing on negative shit. 9 times in 10, that thing that's bothering you does not have you at the forefront of its current existence. So why should you? Anyway, all I'm saying is if you focus on things that make you happy, things that make you happy will find their way around you.  And if you spend the majority of your time drowning yourself in negativity, don't act all surprised when you find out it's killing you.

It's easy to dance like this when your nipples are out

Also, yes I know this was an escape from the usual stuff I write about but hey, this is what came out when I started writing. So please, Dopefiends, just try and avoid being a dick your whole life. Just try it, see how it feels, and if it doesn't fit you can always take it back and get back to standard dickery. Well, that's all I got for now yall.

Well... It Did Start Off Like A Regular Blog Post

This morning, as I held the door for the person leaving McDonald's behind me (Why? Because I'm not a douchebag is why. Seriously, don't be a dick, hold the door for the person behind you... It makes the world a better place), I noticed how ashy my hands were. Well, not really my whole hand, just the web of skin between my thumb and forefinger and the one between my ring and pinky finger. And it made me think of THIS SONG because this is the DEFINITION of "not pimpin". And I know what you're probably saying...

So what? You're saying you didn't know you were walking around looking like the second coming of Ashy Larry? Yea, right! I bet your ashy ass looks like that all of the days.

Well, to that I say three things. First, what the hell is "All of the days?" Who talks like that?

Second, since when did my italic interrogator become such an a-hole? Jeez... That was borderline mean. And cmon son! Ashy Larry? I was not that bad... not completely anyway.

And third, I did NOT know that! Thus the whole writing about it now in dismay thing. It was shocking. Ok, maybe shocking is a little bit of overstatement, but it was definitely a little eyebrow-raising... I'm talking half-raised eyebrows here, at the least. I mean I put lotion on those two areas in copious amounts specifically to avoid such an ashy blunder, and yet... This still happens to me ALL the time. What. The. Fuck. 

And it's not like I missed my hands. They're practically the only thing I put lotion ON. It goes something like *squirt squirt* lotion hands up to elbows then face, and then I'm done. And to any ladies that might happen across this post, the answer is yes. That is fucking it. I have no idea how (or why)you guys use more lotion than that. And yet here I am walking into work with ashy ass knuckles.

I don't know what all this surprise is about, I'm not really a person you know. You write everything I say.

See that's what I'm talking about there you go again flapping your smart ass mouth.

Whatever man, all I know is you just spent an entire post talking about your stupid ashy ring fingers... This blog is ridiculous.

You're ridiculous!

*Sigh* 

Says the man having an argument with the imaginary friend he made up a few paragraphs ago?

Wait, did you just sigh? You do not sigh. I sigh... Me. And there will be no sighing from you... Got that? And we are not friends. 

Fine by me. 

*Judgmental exhale* 

...

I hate you.

Things I'm Not Good At... Vol. 1

I am not a shopper.

I say that because although I've engaged in shop-ping on many, many occasions... I have never done it in a smart way. And when I say never, I mean for it to have an "ever" right after it. I have very limited use for sales or limited time offers, seeing as I hardly ever utilize them. My shopping methods are so much more than unsophisticated, in fact, they're practically prehistoric.

This is something like what a trip to the mall feels like for me:

*Starts to walk in the store cautiously*

"Hi, Mr. Et Cetera! Thank you for visiting our store today. Looking for anything in particular?"

"Uhhh... Me like... sweaters?"

And that's when it happens, the sales reps somehow sense that I'm a lonely confused shopper (I have no idea how), and swoop in for the kill. Before I know it, I'm walking around with an embarrassing pile of argyle socks, basketball shorts, and neckties... Which is crazy, because I swear I was at Best Buy.

That's why I like to go to the store with a specific item in mind. That my friends, is when the joy comes in. That is how I have successful shopping adventures. My last one went something like this...

What do I need? An extension cord? Awesome. I know what I want, and I know where to get it. As I fly down the aisles - I imagine the soundtrack to the "Sound of Music" playing while I do Allen Iverson crossovers on sales reps, shooting majestic middle fingers at them as I glide by in slow motion whispering a most triumphant, "Fuuuuuuuuuck youuuuuuuuuuuu!!!!!!!"

Glorious.

Before I know it, I'm swiping my debit card, heading home, opening my front door, plugging in my new extension cord, and turning on my TV...

And turning on my TV...

Turning on my...

GOT DAMNIT!!!

ARRRRRRRRRRGGGGG!!!

*Deep depressing sigh of inner sadness*

I forgot to get batteries.






Fucking Best Buy.