Don’t be a Delquon Derrick-Malik Jenkins

Kats and kittens, it’s been a while since I’ve taken some time out of my endless 15 minute coffee break to complain about anything. And by a while, I mean yesterday. But today, as I place my leftover buffalo wings on top of the office copier machine in hopes of mass-reproducing the spicy deliciousness, I am really perturbed by the smelliest smell I’ve ever smelled.

Delquon Derrick-Malik Jenkins, the blond haired, blue eyed accounting specialist down the hall, just left out of the break room with his mid-day snack. To be honest, I can’t tell you exactly what it is, but I can tell you that whatever it is, it’s loaded with onions, garlic, beans and an ADMIT ONE ticket to the bathroom. I want to say I’m offended by the smell, but I could very well be offended by the fact that ol’ Delquon didn’t offer my greedy ass any [insert PLAYA-HATEDNESS here].

Delquon isn’t the first violator of the shit you don’t eat in the office. I may be guilty of it, too, since I’m the first to warm my shrimp, crabs or collard greens in the microwave; but we aren’t talking about me because nothing I do is wrong as long as I don’t get caught doing it. Delquon’s dumb ass got caught red handed. With this said, let us be reminded that only cool people (and by cool people, I mean me) are allowed to warm up:

  • Seafood – There are enough people whose body stinks without appropriate showers.
  • Chitterlings – It’s bad enough something can smell as if it crawled up your butt and died. The last thing you should do is pull all that shit out of your insides and serve it on a plate.
  • Bean and onion burritos – GAS ASS ALERT!
  • Repurposed eggs – Don’t ask. Just don’t do it.
  • Fermented soy beans – Anything fermented is a call for disaster.
  • Steak & cheese sandwiches (but only if it comes from the deadliest carry out in the hood) – no ghetto sandwich is complete without extra onions – fried and/or raw.
  • Tortilla soup – Tortillas already smell like someone put their whole body in a bathtub EXCEPT their feet.
  • Anything where the special ingredients are monkey fur, frog hearts or the thumbs of a gorilla, for obvious reasons.

Delquon, ol’ boy, you are not me; therefore I cannot allow you to get away with disrespecting our office with that mess you call food. You call it food. I call it an edible boat anchor to hold the weight of your pot belly where it is until high cholesterol or an overdose of calories carries you to meet your maker. Until then, we are having an ice cream social in conference room 14A at 4:00pm and you are not invited.


Quote of the Week:  More people will get out of your way if you say “I’m gonna puke!” than if you say “Excuse me.”

  

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The Funk Is Not Forgiven

Do you feel ashamed every time a person, animal or plant dies whenever you walk by? Do you smell as if you’re carrying a supreme pizza inside your pocket protector? If you answer “yes” to these questions then you are one of many who suffer from a bad case of Armpiteoustinkeous, otherwise known as bad armpit odor. Ironically Armpiteoustinkeous doesn’t just come from the armpit, which only supports the theory of a wise man’s proverb that says, “sh!t doesn’t just come out of one end.”

Ordinarily I’d tell you Armpiteoustinkeous is nothing to be ashamed of, but because of a little discovery called soap, if you carry a foul odor, whether in the pits of your arms or some other place that would be offensive to some audiences, you should be ashamed of yourself because there is no reason for the funkage!

I’m not going to sit here and make fun of funky people. Some people don’t think their sh!t stinks. Understand that I’ve done my research, though. I know why a body stinks. I know about chemical imbalances and that anaerobic bacteria builds and flourishes on the skin when the body doesn’t produce enough oxygen. I know the whole process of the body doing what it does to make it do what it do; and that when metabolism is at work it creates an unpleasant smell as the body releases waste in the forms of sweat and butt burps. I get it. Stinking it natural. But if you were to hold a water gun full of prune juice to anybody’s throat and dared them to say the first word that comes to mind when they hear the words “cure for stink,” nine times out of ten the average person would say “soap!” And rightfully so.

Soap is rumored to be discovered as early back as the year 1000 B.C., by a group of Roman women who washed their garments in the river of the base of a mountain, below a higher elevation where animal sacrifice had taken place. Tales say that the animal fat when combined with the wood ashes and soils of the earth created a cleansing substance. The smartest person on the planet could whip out some proof of the Babylonian tablet that holds the formula of soap (water, alkali, and cassia oil), written somewhere along the lines of 2800 years before today. So I’ve been told, 2800 years is around the time of the beginning of the beginning. I don’t think there’s anyone alive today who can prove that theory to be wrong (except my ex girlfriend’s mother. She was born at the beginning of time and probably won’t die until she’s sucked the life out of every living creature on the planet, but that’s a story for another time). That in turn tells me that soap has been around since the beginning of time. I don’t care what came first – the chicken or the egg, soap has been around long enough for everyone to know what it does and when to go somewhere and use it.

Everyone knows that soap is the kryptonite to bacteria and people that wear their Monday tee shirts all week long; and folks that don’t wear socks with their shoes. Soap is the aspirin to those people who suffer headaches from their twelve hour deodorant that only lasts for four hours. Soap is the answer to stinky people’s problems as well as the answers to the prayers of the people who have to smell that sh!t. No matter of background – age, race, species, religion or any otherwise personal belief – soap is universal. It cleans. There is no reason why anyone’s ass or underarms should stink. Soap is a natural product that can be made. It’s insignificant enough to be borrowed and small enough to be lifted on a five-finger discount, if need be.

It’s a necessity as well as a consideration. Soap is the justice to the abomination of funk. It is a right comparable to respect and demand. It is the revelation to people that are omitted from cliques, left dateless on Friday nights, and always seem to have a seat to themselves on the metro. The “pew” face means the same thing in every language – Swahili, Bulgarian, Yiddish, Maltese, German, Spanish, English – you name it. Stink stinks and that ain’t right because that’s not the way things are meant to be. Soap, ladies and gentlemen, is the simple solution to the Armpiteoustinkeous epidemic.

Some can debate and defend why you stink and some can accept it, but most can’t forgive it.  Either way, if someone else smells you then you smell you, too.  For the love of mankind, “sticks and stones may break my bones but it’s your stench that’s killing me.”  Soap is to the body what laughter is to the soul. You can’t hit home any harder than that.  If you can’t clean ya’ ass for the sake of yourself or the people around you, then do it for the universe.  Keep the balance of nature in order or forever be cursed with a sterile social life.


Quote of the week:  “My wounds stink and are corrupt because of my foolishness.” -Psalm 38:5


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THROWBACK: A Case of the Mondays on a Tuesday

MONDAYI can’t go on a “Today is Monday” tangent, because today is not Monday but rather Tuesday. However since I didn’t get to gripe and groan about all the bullshit that usually happens on a Monday, the universe saw fit for me to get my dose of the Monday blues today.

After spending the last five days footloose and worry free on an Easter vacation, this morning I partook in a WWE wrestling match with my alarm clock. The clocked punched and kicked and pulled and pushed me until I found myself laying on the floor, covered in bruises and pillow drool. No more are my days of sleeping until high noon. No more waking up to buttered toast and cold beers. No more watching I Love Lucy and all things 80s on the Hallmark channel. Nope. After today’s royal battle, I am back to the humdrum of hating mornings, fighting with my cat over when and how much to feed him before I leave for the day, and listening to my downstairs neighbor call her husband a lazy, fat so and so because she has to get up to go to work while he continues to lay his unemployed butt around the house scratching his balls.

I’d finally mustered up enough energy to wash the last five days off of me and shaved the fur that grew on my face, when behold, there was a shocking bang on my door reminiscent of a knock just before a police swat team storms a raid bust site. To my surprise it was my downstairs neighbor, demanding (not requesting) to use my phone because she’d locked herself out of her apartment, after having put her husband out on the streets and telling him not to return without a job. I wanted to laugh in her face in an effort to say NANANABOO, as I remembered the argument we had some months ago when she waited two weeks after one of my late night trysts to complain about all the noise I made on that particular night, which in my head warranted me a well-deserved pat on the back and a serious high five on my part! Alas, at 6:45am, after having lost a wrestling match with my alarm clock, laughing was the last thing I wanted to do.

I finally made it to work, and of course, was greeted by an empty coffee pot. Next to the pot was an ice bucket full of coffee creamers. It was a double slap in the face because there was no coffee and also I’m allergic to dairy. Could this morning get any worse? I thought to myself.  Of course I asked that question moments before booting up my computer only to find I had no access to email, the internet or any shared network drives. In addition to having no technology access, I have a major report due tomorrow. It probably would have made sense if I’d have started working on the report three weeks ago when I was first made aware of it, but like every man on the planet, procrastination got the best of me. I figured I could get the report done in less than 8 hours. …Technically 5 ½ hours now.

No Monday-like Tuesday would be complete without forgetting my wallet. Since begging is not in my vocabulary, lunch will be particularly interesting today. I did grab a few packs of soy sauce from the cafeteria. Perhaps when my blood pressure rises above the norm, the near death experience will help me to forget just how hungry I am. This wouldn’t have been a problem if one of the cleaning staff hadn’t stolen the baked chicken that I forgot to take home with me last week from out of the refrigerator.

On a good note, not many people are in the office today. That translates into not many people will see my new outfit. You know. The one I wore to church on Easter Sunday. The good news about that is I’ll know exactly what I’m going to wear two days from today, and I won’t even have to iron!

Now the only thing I need to do is drink enough soy sauce packets until my head starts to spin, much like it does when I’ve been slipped a mickey at any given party on a Friday night. That might motivate me to start on this report and at noon, stand in front of the cafeteria like a panhandler when the rest of the building staff bombards the lunch line for today’s spaghetti and meatballs. I said begging is not in my vocabulary. I didn’t say I didn’t know how to do it. Hopefully I can get about twenty people to give me $.25 each.

Until then, people. On this Tuesday, I’d like to say to you all, HAPPY MONDAY or some shit like that!


Quote of the Week:  “The golden rule of work is that the boss’ jokes are ALWAYS funny.”   

Don’t Pay Money for an Undone Do: That’s a Major DON’T

Admit it – you’re guilty of chuckling once or twice at a woman (or a man) whose wig is less than attractive.  But to you, it’s nothing more than an unkempt hair piece.  However, before you move on to the next humorous sighting of the day, what do you know about wigs, other than what you’ve been taught to believe?  If you know nothing about it, let me school you a little bit.  You’re probably asking yourself what it is I could possibly know about wigs.  The answer is simple.  Hottywood Helps for a damn reason so you’d be surprised at some of the things I know.  I’ve seen a lot in my walk of life and I’ve met a lot of people – good and bad – with good and bad hair to match!   Now sit down, shut the hell up and listen for a spell.  You just might learn something.

First of all let’s begin by learning what a wig is.  A wig is a head of hair made from a variety of sources.   Contrary to popular belief, wigs don’t just come from horses.  I know…I said the same thing.  Wigs also are made from human hair, buffalo hair, wool, feathers, and other synthetic materials.  Believe it or not though, the industry choice of a wig’s source is yak hair!   I love that word, “yak.”  Yak hair is not only inexpensive but it’s also the closest in consistency and appearance to human hair.  Tell that to Bomquisha the next time she wears her rat fur wig on her next cigarette run to the corner store.

The word wig is short for periwig and first appeared in the English language some time around 1675.  That’s a little before everyone’s time, except the mean old nun who always ducks behind the bush when she sees me coming.  I don’t know what that’s all about but we’ll save that for another story.

Though most people wear wigs to cover up the fact they are bald as hell or are just too damn lazy to get up and do something creative, or even simple for that matter, to their hair, actors wear them to better portray characters on film.  So it’s also a prop; a money maker; a way to be someone else.  An essential for people with split personalities.  Uh oh.  This has the potential to take a turn for the worst.

Side note:  Watch how many lazy people are going to use this excuse to get away with not doing their hair.   

Anyway, moving on.  Wigs are essentially a Western form of dress.  In the Far East, they are rarely worn except in the traditional theatre of China and Japan.  The ancient Egyptians wore them to shield their shaved, hairless heads from the sun.  After the fall of the Roman Empire, the fad of wigs kind of died off.  I guess being bald was more popular and acceptable then, that is until the 16th century-fashionistas revived the trend, when going bald lost its appeal once again.  I guess it’s true what they say: Fashion repeats itself just like a person with a small wardrobe does.  But get this, and hold on to your britches:  They also served a practical purpose: the unhygienic conditions of the time meant that hair attracted head lice, a problem that could be much reduced if natural hair were shaved and replaced with an artificial hair piece. Fur hoods were also used in a similar preventative fashion.

[Random Thought]  I wonder what the case was in Alaska?  Let me get Sarah Palin on the line!  She’ll probably know more about this than she knew about running for Vice President, but you didn’t hear that from me. 

With the inception of this wiggy trend, popular people embraced the style and really made it a royal sweep.  We’re talking great celebrities who’ve made a mark on this world as we know it!  NO, I’m not talking about Wendy Williams.  I’m referring to celebrities who may have been just a tad bit more influential, like Queen Elizabeth I of England, Marie Antoinette, King Louis the XIII and King Louis XIV of France, who by the way introduced wig-wearing to men in the early 1600s.  I bet you didn’t know that men found wigs to be intriguing too — even back then.  In fact in the 18th century, men’s wigs were powdered in order to give them their distinctive white or off-white color.  I guess you can say men came up with the first cheap way of dying their hair.  Na na na boo boo ladies, you are copy cats!  Women in the 18th century did not wear wigs, but wore a coiffure supplemented by artificial hair, or hair from other sources.  So that was around the time when tracks, aka hair weaves, became popular, however we’ll save those details for another class session.  Wigs even became an essential for full dress occasions and continued in use until almost the end of the 18th century.

Skipping ahead a few gazillion & 1 days and sailing our way over to the United States, only the first five Presidents since George Washington [until James Monroe] wore wigs.  Of course, by the time wigs migrated over to American soil, they weren’t as popular as before.  Key words here, “…not as popular…”

Today the shit is just out of control.  From colorful afros to floor-length Cher hair, most commonly seen on the stages of drag-queen night clubs, people have taken the historic head piece too damn far.  Now I’m not going to say that some people can’t get away with it.  If you have the confidence, the know-how and the balls to pull it off, then do!  Nothing speaks more volumes than that of individuality.  Just know your limits.  First and foremost, keep them up!  If you insist on wearing a nappy wig, you might as well your show your natural roots.  I can’t imagine anyone wanting to pay money for an undone do!  That’s just a simple DON’T.  Follow the footsteps of the more modernized celebrity royalty like, Beyonce, Lady Gaga, Donald Trump and once again Wendy Williams.  Come on, you gotta give it up to Wendy, the wench can rock some wigs….Donald Trump, not so much.

To sum up all this blah blah about wigs…it’s more than just a fashion statement.  It’s a part of history.  A part of history that’s just as important to know as the date of the signing of the Declaration of Independence, which was…um…um…well that’s not important right now.  Hey, most of the dudes who signed the declaration wore wigs too.  I’m not encouraging any men to go out and buy the first wig they see on a shelf, although many don’t need my encouragement for that.  Half of them are doing it anyway.  What I will say is if you’re going to wear it, have some substance behind your reason other than your kitchen beautician didn’t pay her electric bill.  Absorbing a little knowledge – even about something you may believe isn’t all that important – isn’t very hard to do.  All it takes is a little effort and 90% of any effort is getting started.


Quote of the week:   “Always forgive your enemies, or not. Who cares?”

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Summer Sizzles! Break Up to Make Out

The summer is sizzling and unfortunately, so are the tempers!  With each increasing degree of summer’s blaze, more and more clothes are peeling off, revealing to men and women alike, the glistening skin of toned upper torsos and perky ta-tas.  Tis the season to be jolly, just as long as you are single.

Smart mouths, bickering gripes, and wandering eyes are what most people have to look forward to this summer.  Short skirts and tank-tops are the season’s way of reminding bunned-up couples that it’s time to ditch their mates and flirt with every passer by who’ll look at the sweat dripping in all the right places for all the scandalously wrong reasons.

Get ready folks.  A rumblin’ is a comin’.

It’s no secret that most relationships die off around the holidays – specifically birthdays, Christmas and Valentine’s Day, so the cheap one in the relationship doesn’t have to buy the needy one a gift.  But when the summer months come around, it’s a horse of a different color!  Men workout more to lift those perfect pecks while women eat less to give their waistline the ideal measure to accentuate those perfect boobs and that chewable apple bottom.  The name of the game is to look your best and flaunt all your assets because now is the time more people are going to be interested in what you have to offer — sans conversation, intelligence. accomplishments and all that extra mumbo jumbo.

During the hot season of summer, women are less likely to roll their eyes at a man for greeting her with a false sense of intention. Seemingly, men are more on top of their “game” because the woman is often times, much easier than she’d be if the chill in the air was as rigid as the chip on her shoulder.   It’s easy pickings.  One trollop after another.  One trip to the clinic waiting to happen.  No repercussions.  No explanations.  No ifs, ands or buts.

But don’t be fooled by the nearly naked.  These skanks-in-waiting are merely on loan.  The break-ups people encounter for the summer for reckless sexual arousal are usually temporary.  You can’t place much expectation in a dry hump on a hot July night.  The hump is just a hump and it ordinarily leads to an open gate of more activity with more players to the field.  The summer is typically not the right time to try to get into a relationship.  That’s what the rest of the year is for – again, except for the above mentioned holidays – birthdays, Christmas and Valentine’s Day (for all you cheap readers out there). 

The next time your mate picks a fight with you, don’t take it personally.  It’s just a change of a season.  Well…maybe you can take it a little personally considering they’re only doing it for a free-for-all for those half dressed scoundrels who look better out of clothes than you do.  Let them go.  Like a boomerang, they’ll come back.  In the meantime, don’t feel guilty for wearing less material and showing off more of your own body parts.  Hey – if you got it, flaunt it.  You’ll appreciate the attention in the long run.  You’ll also have quite a little memory in the back of your mind when winter has returned and you and your lover aren’t speaking over some dumb argument that made no sense in the first place.  Just because you’re at the mall doesn’t mean you can’t shop…especially if there’s a return policy in effect.

This summer, go out.  Take a little off and see where, what and to whom it leads.  Stella got her groove back in the summer months.  So can you.


Quote of the week:   “Eagles may soar in the clouds, but weasels never get sucked into jet engines.”

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Don’t Mess With a One-Legged Ostrich on the Subway

This morning I got into a fight with a one-legged ostrich on the subway. I was actually winning, too, until I lost focus from laughing at the fact that there was an ostrich on the subway with only one leg, no less.

Let me warn you to never underestimate the martial arts capabilities of a single-legged ostrich. They have incredible balance. 

Mad OstrichApparently my falling into his lap when the train almost jumped tracks to avoid hitting an alligator that escaped the confines of the sewer and made its way into the subway tunnels didn’t sit well with the physically challenged bird. I tried to apologize but as I looked into its eyes, all I could see was a giant chicken leg. It could be that my drooling from the thought of devouring a life-sized drum stick tipped the scale of his anger. With no warning at all, he went all Woody Wood Pecker on my forehead and Bruce Lee’d my ass all the way up and down the train car.

After the bleeding [finally] stopped and the other metro riders finished laughing at me, a small part of me (the only part of my body that didn’t get pecked and kicked) found a new respect for ostriches – as in don’t f*ck with one, especially on the subway, which in fact is the moral of the story.

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Quote of the Week:   “Speak when you are angry – and you’ll make the best speech you’ll ever regret.”

Hair Weaves and Hell Freezes Over in Washington, DC

Washington DC is experiencing frigid temperatures this week as a result of Mother Nature’s bitter wrath, leaving some with frozen water pipes and nipples and others without heat or hair dryers. Well what more can we expect? It’s winter for Christ’s sake. Hell, it was winter back when summer was packing it’s bags for the season. We just skipped over fall all together.

COLD


Personally, I rather enjoy the winter season. Granted, this cold temperature has my balls drawing up, but that’s no comparison to the dozens of women skating the streets with frozen hair weaves and limp lashes.

Cold in the City

Ladies, this cold weather can’t be doing much for your social lives. You can’t rely on your extended faux lashes or your silicone breasts and butt implants to grab the attention of some old, decrepit, deep pocketed, 40 ounce beer guzzling, gullible guy to keep you and your yak fur warm at night.


Frozen Hair 2



Frozen Eyelashes


Fret not, chicas! Soon the weather will break and the sun will shine bright enough to melt holes in the underarms of your blouses while getting you all scantily clad so you can be the skanks you were before hell froze over. That’s something to look forward to, right?


Hell Freezes Over


Shake and Bake…I Mean Wake and Bake

Have you ever sat at your desk and wondered what you were going to eat for lunch? Of course you have. Who hasn’t? But have you ever awaken from your morning slumber (I mean at home, roughly between 5:30a and 6:30a – BEFORE WORK – not “sleep-at-your-desk” slumber) and wondered what you were going to eat for breakfast, lunch, AND dinner? I can’t say everyone has done it. I mean it’s possible, but more likely if you wake up with the munchies, you stoner!

Only greedy human hoovers who’ve spent their entire night sucking up one end of a ganja stick wake up with cracker crumbs on their brains. Don’t think you’re fooling anyone. When you’re announcing to a room full of colleagues at the morning all-hands staff meeting that you’re hungry and you’ve already mapped out your dinner menu, everyone knows upfront that you are going to fail next week’s surprise drug test. Oh, and SURPRISE…it’s no surprise! So don’t be surprised when someone (or everyone) says “I told you so,” during your termination you just got canned last day of work party.

Just say NO; only never say NO to your cafeteria lady…or your weed supplier.

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Quote of the Week:  “There is a chemical in weed called “Fuck it.” If you can just get that into your system it will change your life.”

  

What if Suburbanites Took Over DC’s Green Line Metro

DC METROIf you’re a native of Washington DC, then chances are you are familiar with the shenanigans of metro’s GREEN line. For those of you that are unfamiliar with Washington’s metro system, specifically the GREEN line, it isn’t a fun place to visit and you sure as hell wouldn’t want to live there. You wouldn’t survive the wretchedness.

On a given day, you’re likely to see little urban school kids passing a blunt, while not offering any puff-puff passes to potheads they know not; women fighting and ripping weave out of each other’s eyebrows while their children throw dice from their strollers, placing bets on which one of their mothers will win the brawl (aw crap[s]); or panhandlers begging for enough pennies to buy a sandwich laced with coke. I could go on. No really. I could go on AND ON AND ON.

Metro’s GREEN line is a ratchet1 staple for the urban community – metro riders with no wings, horses, bikes, cars, or nerve to highjack anyone else for their wings, horses, bikes or cars. But what would happen if the tables were turned and the urban community metro riders felt unsafe if their suburbanite counterparts wore their asses on their sleeves?

METRO FIGHTHow would urban commuters respond if their opposites boarded a train blasting heavy metal through the speakers of a flip phone? Or drink their Starbucks coffees from an Old English beer bottle…better yet, from a 40oz Steele Reserve 211 bottle? Or cursed boisterously out loud in complete sentences, enunciating every profane word? Or sing the theme song of the Facts of Life while using intrusively dangerous hand gestures? Or board the train with their baby strollers tricked out with hydraulics? Or fling their non-weaves, or as it’s referred to in the suburbanite community – extensions – only to release dandruff flakes or other unidentified hair particles? Or throw their jogging shoes over their shoulders after running a hundred miles in the same muddy puddles puppies pee in, boarding the train with no shoes, socks or crossbows to pass out to other riders so they can bulls eye a couple of smelly toes?

The answers to these questions are simple. They wouldn’t do that dumb shit! And neither should anyone else, no matter what ethnicity you hail from. The metro rail system, even the ghetto GREEN line, should be a cost effective commuter rail (if you could see my face you’d see I can barely say this without bursting into laughter. There’s nothing cost effective about the Washington DC’s metro rail system) where riders can be late to work in peace and where husbands and wives can secretly meet up with their f*ck buddies for lunch time quickies or whatever you want to call it so their spouse(s) wouldn’t know any better. It’s not (or shouldn’t be) a system for inconsiderate Earthlings to impose their vices on others, yet that is exactly what it is.

Instead of closing out this post with some profound conclusion, I’m just going to say if you’re in the DC area for any reason and you need to catch the GREEN line to say, a baseball game – walk. You may get some serious blisters on your feet; they may even fall off; but it would be safer than risking your life on the GREEN line. Trust me. I know. I died a few times on that line. I’m only around to tell the story because the world isn’t ready to lose me just yet. Either that or I’m too stubborn to die.

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1 Ratchet (According to UrbanDictionary.com) – A diva, mostly from urban cities and ghettos, that has reason to believe she is every man’s eye candy. Unfortunately, she’s wrong.

Typical signs to beware of include, but are not limited to:

___BLARES anything by Drake, 2Chainz, Nicki Minaj, Gucci Mane, Waka Flocka, Lil Wayne, T-Pain, Cali Swag District, or any other garbage entertainment rapper ___rowdily quotes “lyrics” from aforementioned artists ___has a weave reminiscent of a bird’s nest after a tempest hit the tree it was in, and is dyed at least thrice ___wears torn leggings/stalkings (mostly of the fishnet variety), unpolished 8″ heels (or higher, depending on how God-awful they look), fitted jean jackets (to accent the blubber ’round their arms and stomach), and 4 layers of caked on make-up to go clubbing ___repeatedly use ludicrous terms such as “YOLO”, “swag”, “boost”, “beaking”, “doe”, “really”, “naw”, “actually”, “twerk”, “coaster”, “dagga”, etc., to make a valid statement when they speak ___have side bangs, despite having incredibly small-ass foreheads to support them ___are commonly overweight and ___are mind-numbingly stupid; a safe assumption to make would be saying they’re uneducated (as if they could pass the 4th grade)

 

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Cheat Sheet to Understanding Men: Pay Attention. You May Learn Something

MAN RULESAt last! Some genius guy has taken the time to write all this down. FINALLY the guys’ side of the story. (…and I MUST ADMIT, IT’S PRETTY GOOD.)

We always hear ‘THE RULES’ from the females’ side. Now here are the ‘THE RULES’ from the males’ side.

PLEASE NOTE: THESE ARE ALL NUMBERED #1 ON PURPOSE!

1.  MEN ARE NOT MIND READERS.

1.  LEARN TO WORK THE TOILET SEAT. YOU’RE A BIG GIRL. IF IT’S UP, PUT IT DOWN. WE NEED IT UP, YOU NEED IT DOWN. YOU DON’T HEAR US COMPLAINING ABOUT YOU LEAVING IT DOWN.

1.  CRYING IS BLACKMAIL.

1.   ASK FOR WHAT YOU WANT. LET US BE CLEAR ON THIS ONE:

SUBTLE HINTS DO NOT WORK!
STRONG HINTS DO NOT WORK!
OBVIOUS HINTS DO NOT WORK!
JUST SAY IT!

1.  YES AND NO ARE PERFECTLY ACCEPTABLE ANSWERS TO ALMOST EVERY QUESTION.

1.  COME TO US WITH A PROBLEM ONLY IF YOU WANT HELP SOLVING IT. THAT’S WHAT WE DO. SYMPATHY IS WHAT YOUR GIRLFRIENDS ARE FOR.

1.  ANYTHING WE SAID 6 MONTHS AGO IS INADMISSIBLE IN AN ARGUMENT. IN FACT, ALL COMMENTS BECOME NULL AND VOID AFTER 7 DAYS.

1.  IF YOU THINK YOU’RE FAT, YOU PROBABLY ARE. DON’T ASK US.

1.  IF SOMETHING WE SAID CAN BE INTERPRETED TWO WAYS AND ONE OF THE WAYS MAKES YOU SAD OR ANGRY, WE MEANT THE OTHER ONE.

1.  YOU CAN EITHER ASK US TO DO SOMETHING OR TELL US HOW YOU WANT IT DONE. NOT BOTH. IF YOU ALREADY KNOW BEST HOW TO DO IT, JUST DO IT YOURSELF.

1.  WHENEVER POSSIBLE, PLEASE SAY WHATEVER YOU HAVE TO SAY DURING COMMERCIALS.

1.  CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS DID NOT NEED DIRECTIONS AND NEITHER DO WE…

1.  ALL MEN SEE IN ONLY 16 COLORS, LIKE WINDOWS DEFAULT SETTINGS. PEACH, FOR EXAMPLE, IS A FRUIT, NOT A COLOR. PUMPKIN IS ALSO A FRUIT. WE HAVE NO IDEA WHAT MAUVE IS.

1.  IF WE ASK WHAT IS WRONG AND YOU SAY ‘NOTHING,’ WE WILL ACT LIKE NOTHING’S WRONG. WE KNOW YOU ARE LYING, BUT IT IS JUST NOT WORTH THE HASSLE.

1.  IF YOU ASK A QUESTION YOU DON’T WANT AN ANSWER TO, EXPECT AN ANSWER YOU DON’T WANT TO HEAR.

1.  WHEN WE HAVE TO GO SOMEWHERE, ABSOLUTELY ANYTHING YOU WEAR IS FINE…REALLY.

1.  DON’T ASK US WHAT WE’RE THINKING ABOUT UNLESS YOU ARE PREPARED TO DISCUSS SUCH TOPICS AS FOOTBALL OR MOTOR SPORTS.

1.  YOU HAVE ENOUGH CLOTHES.

1.  YOU HAVE TOO MANY SHOES.

1.  I AM IN SHAPE. ROUND IS A SHAPE!

1.  THANK YOU FOR READING THIS. YES, I KNOW, I HAVE TO SLEEP ON THE COUCH TONIGHT. BUT DID YOU KNOW MEN REALLY DON’T MIND THAT? IT’S LIKE CAMPING.

Pass this on to as many men as you can – to give them a laugh AND SOME HOPE.

Pass this on to as many women as you can – to give them an even bigger laugh, and also because this list couldn’t be any more true!

 

Get Over Yourself

Every now and then it’s necessary for someone to knock you off your high horse and tell you to get over yourself.

Admit it. You’ve at one time or another busted out of your seams because your ass was too big for your britches. Your outfit was right. Your shoes were blindingly white. Your hair was tight. And everyone was on your jock, right? WRONG! There are only two people up your ass the way you are; you and the person you’re f*cking that week. Other than that, outside of an occasional “you look nice TODAY,” no one gives a shit about the pedestal you stand on.

___If you think any and every situation and/or conversation (to include social media posts) are about you; if you are able to turn any and every situation and/or conversation into something about you, GET OVER YOURSELF. I”ll bet you any amount of money that you are the only person as interested in you as you are. Really. No one cares. Shut up.

___If you want to brag about a new promotion you’ve just received to someone that can’t get out of the mailroom, GET OVER YOURSELF. Your bragging is merely falling on deaf ears and will almost always get your shoes stolen in a CVS parking lot (everyone knows there’s a CVS next to every person’s place of employment, even if they work in a jungle. CVS’ are like churches and liquor stores. You can find one on every corner).

___If you think your sex is the best and everyone wants to f*ck you, GET OVER YOURSELF. You are doing nothing but making yourself out to be a horny little jack rag, and the only thing that will get you is a sexually transmitted disease. #SHIELDS!

___If you think you have the answer to everybody’s problems, GET OVER YOURSELF. Nobody likes a know-it-all and you’d be surprised at the number of people who couldn’t care less about what you think.

___If you think your personality is so much of a winner that everyone flocks to you, GET OVER YOURSELF. People like you are usually the ones other people call upon as a last resort. In actuality, your personality could almost be compared to a glass of unsweetened tea.

___If you think you’re too good to return phone calls, GET OVER YOURSELF. Someone probably drunk-dialed or butt-dialed your number anyway.

___If you think you can sing or rap better than any or all other fellow artists, GET OVER YOURSELF. Everyone is their own best audience when the shower curtain is closed.

___If you think you are the world’s greatest cook, GET OVER YOURSELF. I bet there are some babies over in Africa with kwashiorkor that wouldn’t eat that mess you serve on a plate.

I’m not telling you not to be proud of yourself. I’m not saying you shouldn’t be confident and think highly of yourself. What I’m telling you is that you shouldn’t expect everyone to push you to the front of the line simply because you think that’s where you belong. Really. No disrespect. It’s just natural that not everyone cares about you as much as you do.

In a word…or three…GET OVER YOURSELF.

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Quote of the Week:  “You think I’m being a bitch? Let me check my notes to see if I care. Nope. Not at all. Have a nice day.”  

Game Spotting Game: Key Tips for a Professional Bullsh*t Detective

Some say life is a joke.  I say it’s a game.  It’s a game where the winner is determined by how much better that winner is at bullsh*tting than his competition.  

A lot of people aren’t blessed with the natural born ability to bullsh*t.  There are some – some with great and powerful names who shall remain nameless but are often found in the world of politics, business, religion and entertainment – who use their bullsh*tting skills as a weapon.  It comes natural to them.  It’s their superpower that they only reveal when their faces are covered with masks and their backs donned with capes.  And though spotting bullsh*t is easiest to those who were born with the gift, it isn’t difficult to master the skill as long as you know what signs to watch out for.  

So here, ladies and gentlemen, is where Hottywood Helps once again.  

The first thing to understand is that there are many things one chooses to think about the art of bullsh*tting.  They think of it scandalous; brutal; shifty; sneaky, fishy; slandering and even detrimental.  But the one thing they choose not to do is respect it.  Respect it in all its glory; the good, the bad and the ugly.  Let me elaborate. 

In order to respect the game, there are a few things you have to do.  They may seem grueling at first, but once you’ve mastered the skill, it’s a breeze; a pure walk in the park.  

When coming across someone who is likely to hand you a load of crap on a silver platter, the first thing to look out for is the eyes.  

The eyes are the window to the soul.  Regardless of the words regurgitating from the mouth, the eyes will always reveal all.  That’s why it’s important to always keep eye contact no matter how ugly the person may be [inside or out].  This is your formal introduction to your opponent.  It sets the battle ground.  The eyes set the pace for all players on the field and represent power of authority; control; confidence; persuasion and conviction.  They are also the dead give away for weakness and loopholes.  No matter how much one may think otherwise, the eyes will be the downfall of the enemy.  But bare in mind that you are no different from your opposition and that your eyes may also lead to your own undoing. 

Know where you stand at all times and let your eyes be the anchor of your security.   If you must lie, lie well and if you must bullsh*t, be the best at it. 

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The second thing to be aware of when one opts to challenge you in a game of life is the grip in their handshake.   The handshake is not just customary, it’s revealing. 

The handshake appears in many forms: the hand wave; the head nod – mostly displayed in the male urban community; the secret handshake, accompanied with a manly one-armed hug – common among men all over the planet; and finally that fake ass hug women give to each other when they smell the stench of another feline invading their territory.  But for now we’ll simply discuss the greeting from any reputable form of business or professional personal ethic.  

When meeting someone for the first time, three things are told by the grip in the handshake; (1) Strength, (2) Self Assurance, and (3) Confidence.  The same rules and explanations that apply to direct eye contact also applies to the handshake, but of course, a handshake is not a window to the soul.  Whatever the case, be strong in yourself.  Be assertive.  Maintain control.  You’ll find that people will take you a little more seriously if you don’t shake their hand like a lil’ ol’ sissy being helped up or down a flight of stairs.  Even a punk has to know when to man up. 

Hold firm to that grip because that grip will represent how strong you’ll hold to your word. 

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The third and most important thing to always do is to look with your ears.  In other words, LISTEN!  

Most people will talk and talk in an effort to beat around the bush.  They will talk so much until they eventually trip and fall and land with their foot in their mouths.  You just have to know what to listen for; 

  • listen for their choice of words;
  • the rise in pitch as it relates to the choice of their words; 
  • defensiveness and offense;
  • inconsistencies; 
  • evasion tactics to questions and comments you may have for them; 
  • broken sentences; and
  • words like, “um,” “hmm,” “wow,” “oh,” and “but.”  These words are prime indicators that your opponent is trying to buy him/herself more time to cough up a good ass lie or excuse.   

If you listen carefully enough, you will be able to pinpoint all of the “one-hit-wonders” of responses a person will muster up to cover their own tracks.  They will stutter; turn a serious circumstance into a laughing matter; and will try their very best to flip the situation on you so that their contradiction becomes your fault.  

A person who is charging you with all of these forms of prevarication is either incredibly smart or incredibly stupid.  So it’s up to you to learn how to read between the lines and determine what they are saying by what they are actually not saying at all.  Decipher their motive.  Learn their hustle.  And then fight fire with fire!  

Always remember that everyone has a plan, including you.  Your competition is always sizing you up to determine how stupid you are and how much they can get away with, so step outside of the situation and consider yourself a silent third party on a 3-way telephone conversation.  You’ll hear a lot and you’ll learn a lot more.  And that will almost always put you ahead of the pack.  

If you think what you’ve learned here is a lot to digest, don’t worry.  Keep two things in mind: 

  1. Every expert begins as an amateur, and
  2. 90% of any effort is getting started. 

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Quote of the week:   “Never chase a lie. Let it alone, and it will run itself to death.”