Happy Valenti…BLAH BLAH BLAH

Start a new life where it matters most…at McDONALD’S.

Big mac, filet-o-fish, quarter pounder, french fries, icy cold milkshake, sundaes and apple pies….!

big-spender


Happy Valentine’s Day

Advertisements

A Valentines Day Pick-Me-Up for the Single and Lonely

Valentines Day is a 50/50 split when it comes to love, romance and the acts of.  We all know what the 50% of lovers will be doing:  Fine dining at the local McDonalds; wolfing down boxes of $1 store chocolates; and admiring the beauty of last year’s plastic single CVS rose.

But what will the other 50% of Valentine rejects be doing?  They’ll most likely be searching for last minute hookups, bootycalls, dates; buying the biggest bag of popcorn they can find to go along with all of the break-up, thriller and horror movies they can get their lonely little hands on; and trying to avoid phone calls from all of their happily UNsingle friends who are dying to boast about the romantic evening they have planned with their significant others.

Why the hell didn’t anyone ever create a ‘Scrooge’ character for Valentines Day?  I guess that’s just another one of life’s mysteries that makes one go, “Hmm.”

Alas, to everyone who is lonely this year, don’t worry about it.  In fact, consider yourselves lucky.  All of those rent-a-romances who are going out of their way to make this one day magical will tirelessly spend the next 320 days trying to compete with the sparks of tonight, not realizing that those failed attempts will be even more of a let down after the single rose has dissipated, the chocolates have gone to their waistlines and their significant others have started to hit the gym for the seasonal breakups, separations and wandering eyes that the summer months bring.

How’s that for a Happy Valentines Day? …Suckers!

Resolutions Under Construction

My stomach is still full from Thanksgiving and I have yet to buy any Christmas gifts for anyone else (so far I’ve made five gift purchases and they are all TO me FROM me).  Since my timeline is all screwed up, I might as well get a jump on my New Year’s Resolutions.

This go round I’m not going to write the typical stuff like eat only two Big Macs from McDonald’s instead of three, or lose weight in my pinky toe, or speak profane language only after 5pm, or stop doing it to people with whom I have no emotional connection, because I can’t be honest with myself or you and say I’m going to stop doing any of these things.  I will however, say I’m going to try my best to do the following:

  1. Eat more stuff… Oh, I guess I should finish. …that makes me feel good (enter McDonald’s Big Macs).
  2. Poop frequently.
  3. Pick fights with shoes and pillows (because I have nothing better to do with my time).
  4. Smell things that look interesting. I’m sure this will get me into a lot of trouble, but will lead to the most interesting stories.
  5. Be less scared of telephones and strangers.
  6. Run outside and randomly yell more.
  7. Fart without shame.
  8. Worry less about things I can’t eat or play with.
  9. Lose weight. Again.
  10. Don’t get caught. Again.
  11. Spend less than $17485975662536.00 at the Dollar Store.
  12. Make better bad decisions.

Don’t worry. There’s plenty more where that came from.

Hottywood Helps Internet Logo

Twas the Night Before Christmas in the Hood

By Hottywood Helps

Twas the night before Christmas, all was said and done

Not a creature stirred, not a roach, rat or bum.

The stockings were hung on the radiator with fear

That St. Nicholas would knock it over like he did last year.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,

High from the weed that had gone to their heads.

And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,

Had just settled our skins from a long booty clap.

When out on the lawn there arose such a noise,

Someone’s car was being jacked by some random masked boys.

Away to the window I flew like a flash,

To make sure it wasn’t my car or I’d have to kick someone’s ass.

The moonlight bounced off the oil stained snow

Which pissed off the property manager and the neighborhood ho.

When what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a pimped out sleigh and mutts dressed as reindeer.

With a little old driver shifting gears on the stick,

I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.

More rapid than eagles his curse words came,

He whistled, and slurred, and called the bitches by name!

“Now Dasher! Now, Dancer! Now, Prancer and Vixen!

On, Comet! On, Cupid! On, Donner and Blitzen!

To the top of the hood and over that wall!

Don’t piss on the roof or else I’ll slip and fall!

The bare naked trees that stood tall in the sky

Were blocking the vision of my already bad eyes.

To the roof of the projects the pimped ride flew,

With a bag of IOU’s and St. Nicholas too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof

St. Nicholas falling into a pile of dog poop.

He was wiping his butt when I turned around.

St. Nick wasn’t as jolly as you’d expect him to sound.

He was dressed all in leather, from his head to his feet,

He gave me a head nod instead of using words to speak.

He carried with him a bundle of toys

That he’d stolen from other little girls and boys.

His eyes were red from the liquor he drank.

His breath was all stinky.  Santa was tanked!

He was mad from the poop that was smeared on his clothes,

Either that or from when he accidentally rubbed his nose.

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,

The same as the crackhead’s from down the street.

He had a broad face and a little round belly,

I think he had the munchies because he asked for some jelly.

Stoned or drunk, he was a giant old midget

That was stealing, not giving, and couldn’t control his fidget.

A wink of his eye cloaked with Christmas care

Made me think I should probably be scared.

He spoke not a word, he made not a sound,

But as I predicted knocked the radiator to the ground.

When the children woke up, out of the window he flew,

Santa had done what he’d come to do.

He left us with nothing but a note under the tree

That read, “Next year Christmas is on me.”

I heard him exclaim as he drove out of sight,

“Merry Christmas next year ’cause tonight is my night!”

___________________________________________________________

 ___________________________________________________________

[REPOST] Dear Santa: Real Talk

A LETTER TO OLD ST. NICK

Dear Santa,

I’ve been thinking.  For the last couple of days I’ve had the pleasure of going all ‘Terminator’ on those barricuda Christmas shoppers at the mall.  As much as I’d love to say I enjoyed getting toys snatched out of my hands, my feet stepped on and my face scratched by some old lady because my shopping cart was blocking hers, I have to admit that this year’s Christmas shopping experience has been one great big ball of cow poo!  With that in mind, I wonder what you would do if your ass didn’t have those little brown-nosing elves to get all of your Christmas shopping out of the way, and eight reindeer to fly you over traffic jams, bird-flipping drivers and cops who are itching to give you a ticket.


I bet you wouldn’t handle it so well would you?  By the end of your experience, you’d probably be somewhere in a bar getting completely wasted.  Trust me, there are about 30 million, give or take another 30 million people – plus me, who end up in a bar fight after Christmas shopping.  If you think that’s bad, just wait until the post-Christmas sales.   I’d pay to see the look on your face if you had to deal with that.

Goodness gracious, Santa, I see why your hair is white and you’re so fat.  You are under a lot of stress.  You’re probably getting drunk all the time.  Santa, are you an alcoholic?  Is that why you have reindeer chauffeuring you around vs. you driving a big old U-Haul truck? Well, any way, what goes on in your home isn’t my business until it hits prime time news.  So enough of the drunk-Santa jokes.  Actually Santa, I kind of feel for you. While we regular Joes only have to shop for our small families, you have to shop for the entire world.  You have to be mindful of the old, the dirty, the unpleasing, the ungrateful, the arrogant, the evil and the rude.  That has to be a job in itself, attempting to satisfy those who are never satisfied at all.  Who could blame you for getting smashed?

You’re probably in cahoots with drug dealers, bank robbers and psychiatrists, because I couldn’t imagine any sane, sober person attempting to take on the challenge that you’ve committed yourself to.  And that sweet old Mrs. Claus is probably some bitter old skank who can’t count to –5- and only bakes burnt cookies to pay you back for keeping her trapped all the way in the North Pole.  She can’t even get any because you’re out shopping all year for other people.  She’s probably always PMSing because she’s too far away from civilization to have an affair; and no doubt the elves are out of the question. And in your spare time, you probably only have time to practice your aim for when you sh*t bricks down the chimneys of everyone who mocked you all year long, leaving yourself too grumpy to shut Mrs. Claus up and break her off a lil somethin’ somethin’.  Not to mention you’re probably always tired and in a grumpy mood because you’re strapped for cash, having to feed all them damn elves and those hungry ass reindeer.

Geez Santa, I was ready to rip you to shreds.  But now that I understand merely the possibilities of what you have to deal with all year long that we normal folks only have to deal with about 7-14 days out of a year, I’ll let you off the hook.  In fact, I’ll do better than that.  I’ll raise this glass to you in honor of keeping up the tradition of Christmas.  It’s because of your drunk ass that we are guaranteed to get laid on Christmas eve, and if the gift is good enough, on Christmas night too.  Thanks to you, our kids are nicer, our mother-in-laws don’t call, and our employees show up to work on time.

Kudos to you Santa!  Not for being lucky enough not to be the 100th person in the checkout line when the cash registers opens to the 3rd customer; kudos to you for only being fat after having to deal with all of that drama at home.  Just promise me one thing: That you and Mrs. Claus won’t remake any Ike/Tina or Chris/Rihanna Christmas specials.  I don’t think out networks can handle that right now, well not in the midst of our administration shift and all.

Well, that’s about it for now, Santa.  Keep your head up.

~Hottywood


Quote of the Week:    “Get your ass out of the street if you can’t see where you’re going.”

Seven of the Most Perfect Ideas to Give to Someone for Christmas (Clean…sorta, and Cheap)

FotoFlexer_PhotoUnless you were born under a rock or are a descendant of the infamous Ebenezer Scrooge, you know the Christmas season is a time for giving (for those of you that celebrate Christmas). What better time than now to think of some things to give to someone in your life that is so desperately in need? Personally, I can think of a few things to give to some people.

I’ve been writing out a list of perfect gift ideas to give to folk. For example:

Give the gift of:

A clue – Let’s be real. There are some dummies out there who couldn’t find their way out of a cardboard box, though it may be really entertaining to laugh at a nut job that can’t tell the difference between in, out, up and down (I would say left and right but I struggle with left and right myself. And if you tell me to get a clue, I’m going to give you a gift, which ironically is next on my list).

An ass – I can think of more than a few people to give an ass to kiss. Sometimes giving someone a finger (middle finger f**k you sign) isn’t enough. After telling them “f**k you!,” you want to emphasize just how much you really mean it by throwing in one final profane gesture (bending over with your butt exposed, followed by the ever popular demand, “kiss my ass!”).

A nose – All too commonly people lose their noses because they can’t stay out other people’s business. I think every person should have an extra one or simply learn how to keep their noses out of other people’s business. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you’re an expert on my life and how I should live it. Please continue while I take notes.”

A job – I’m getting real sick and tired of broke mofos (codename for motherf**ers) asking to borrow money and then not being able to afford to pay it back. Giving someone a gift of a job is a sure way to teach them how to value money, especially when they are being begged to give it away for free with no expectation of getting it back as deceitfully promised.

A life – People with no life of their own spend all their time trying to involve themselves in or control yours. In this process, they lose a nose while being so consumed with minding your business.

An assistant – I’m not going to lie, I am pretty lazy and I don’t always like to say “yes” when asked to do favors for other people. However in order for one to have an assistant, they must first have a job.

A pet goldfish – You can always tell when someone lives alone or has no real friends because all they do is talk while never really saying anything. Please shut up! If you give someone a gift of a goldfish, they can talk to it all they want. Perhaps when the fish dies, that person will attribute their endless and usually unwarranted conversation to the demise of the fish’s life. Suddenly a Run DMC song comes to mind (“You talk too much and you never shut up!”).

There’s no need to thank me for this list. Consider this my gift to you.

-Hottywood

JOY


Quote of the Week:  “I put a lot of thought into asking Siri what to get you for Christmas.”

Click HERE to see what others are asking

or dial

(302) 36HOTTY to leave your question for our Ask Hottywood advice column


TUAC Cover

Click HERE to get your copy of HottywoodHelps.com’s debut novel,

“Tracks of an Underground Advice Columnist”