This Week on, “Ask Hottywood!” (Speed Advising)

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Kats and kittens, this week we are going to kill three birds with one stone by doing what I like to call “Speed Advising.” Today we have three questions that I’m going to try to answer in as few words as possible. I could say many, many more words but let’s be honest. It’s summer and I’m being lazy. Deal with it!

Dear Hottywood, 

My girlfriend has been acting different all week (shady and picking fights). I think she’s seeing someone else.  How do I approach this situation without starting another fight? 

Nervous Wreck

Dear Nervous Wreck,

cheating1Why don’t you try talking to her? Be open and honest with her. Use words like, “I feel,” instead of outright accusing her. If you accuse her of anything, whether you’re right or wrong, you’ll wake up the next morning with all your tires flattened and obscenities scribbled over your windshield in blood red fingernail polish. If you don’t communicate your feelings to her, then you’ll give her a reason to go out and cheat because you’d be proving to her that you’re too chicken shit to be straight up, even if you think it will hurt her feelings or yours. Don’t be a punk. Women don’t like punks, unless she’s a fag-hag. Then you’d either have nothing to worry about or a bigger problem on your hands than you think.

Dear Hottywood,

How do you reach someone that doesn’t want to be reached?

Left Alone at the NON-Alter

Dear Left Alone at the Non-Alter,

NO!You don’t reach someone that doesn’t want to be reached. You can’t (or shouldn’t) force yourself on someone after they’ve made it clear by word or by action that they don’t want a connection with you. Back off! Not doing so may lead to some harsh truths or untruths about you that you don’t want revealed or expressed in any manner. Forcing yourself on someone instantly and automatically turns you into a stalker. It makes someone fear you in a “creepy, I’m gonna get my brother and his boys to kick your ass” kind of way. It leads to restraining orders, broken windows, flattened tires, and deflated egos. If reaching someone who doesn’t want to be reached is worth all that hassle and heartache to you, then go right ahead. But if I never hear from you again, then I’ll know you were hard-headed and refused to accept the advice you asked for. I’ll in turn try my best not to say I told you so, but I can’t make any promises.

Dear Hottywood,

I’m stuck in a dead end job. What do I do?

Water Boy

Dear Water Boy,

Beat yourself in the head with a stapler. The first answer is to look for another job. DUH! You are only stuck if you refuse to do something about your situation. Staying where you are to continue doing what you’re doing while knowing you can do or deserve better is a show and tell of complacency. Stop being lazy and get off your ass to find something else if not better. I would imagine you’re looking for something ‘more/else’ (for lack of a better word), otherwise you wouldn’t have bothered asking for advice in the first place. Use that same effort that you used to reach out to me to instead reach out to some employment agencies that can help you with a fresh start.


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This Week on, “Ask Hottywood!”

Dear Hottywood,

I hate it when someone walks into my office and asks me dumb questions like, “are you busy?” Of course I’m busy. I’m at work. Is there an appropriate way to tell someone to go away and leave me the hell alone?”

There Goes My Promotion

Dear There Goes My Promotion,

BUSYI can advise you that telling someone to go away and leave you the hell alone is a sure way to not only lose a promotion but also your job in its entirety. Why don’t you try skipping deodorant for a few days or not brushing your teeth for a week? I promise you no one will want to come near you. With these actions, you won’t have to use any language prohibited in the workspace (“no,” “I can’t,” “I’m busy.”).

Unless you come right out and say you’re otherwise preoccupied by order of God, there’s no amount of acceptable deterring appropriateness that will discourage a colleague from interrupting you for any reason. In the office world, saying the word “no” to anyone or “yes, I’m busy” is laughable, ill-advised and punishable by pink slip.

If you have a private office, you may try barricading your door so no one can get in. The problem with that is you may not be able to get out. You’ll realize how big of a problem this can be when (a) you have to use the bathroom and (b) when it’s time to leave for the day. If by some off chance you are able to keep your door closed for the day with the ability to enter and exit, you want to make sure that whenever you leave your office (bathroom break, lunch break, smoke break, etc.) you do so as clandestinely as possible. This would be a prime time to exercise your ninja stealth skills. Hide behind shadows, slither on the floor like a garden snake, or even trying emailing yourself to wherever you need to be. Be warned, though. Most officemates are nosey as hell. No matter how hard you try to be invisible there is always someone watching you. ALWAYS.

If you have a cubicle, I’m sorry to say you’re screwed. As long as your colleagues can see your face you are available to them. Period.

Your best option is to try my ‘not washing your ass’ suggestion. Good luck with that!




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This Week on, “Ask Hottywood!”

Dear Hottywood,

I think I have a crush on one of my co-workers. The head on my shoulders is telling me to avoid an office romance at all costs (things never go well when I don’t listen to my instincts) while the head in my pants is telling me the complete opposite. What do you think?

Glutton for Punishment

Dear Glutton for Punishment,

Office RomanceHere is a very simple answer to a very simple question. NO! Turn around and walk away, and by walk away I mean RUN! It is never, ever a good idea to engage in an office romance.

Before I tell you the reasons why engaging in an office romance is a bad, and I’m sure these reasons will come as no surprise to you; you should smack yourself on the forehead one good time for seemingly insisting on once again not listening to your instincts. You’re about to set yourself up for a failure intentionally. If things tend to go wrong when you refuse to listen to yourself, why in the hell would you think things will be different this go around? Oh wait . . . I know why. The head in a man’s pants usually makes clearer sense than the one on his shoulders. I get it. I’m a guy so I fully understand. Still, my friend, this has red flag written all over it.

What if your interoffice relationship goes wrong? After sharing intimate details of your life with your romanticized co-worker, all of your personal business could be published in the company newsletter. We’re talking everything from the color of your underwear to the rhythm of your stroke.

What if the results of your work suffer for any reason? There would be no doubt that upper-level management would assume you’re distracted because you brought your personal relationship to the office.

What if random women in your office building start laughing, pointing and whispering as you walk down the hall? Chances are the size of your manhood has been discussed and is in question. You don’t want to piss off the woman you’re sleeping with at the office. There’s no wrath like a woman scorned so you’ll have to become her flunky and do everything she says in order to stay in her good graces. You better be one hell of a hookup because if you’re not you are in trouble. She’ll get tired of you not being what she expects and eventually she’ll dump you anyway because you’re weak – having to do everything you’re told for the sake of your reputation. Work is the one place where no one knows the details of your after-hours life. It’s the place where you have to appear to be a lion, not a pussy. Don’t give up your power for some booty.

What if you get into an argument with your romanticized co-worker during business hours? The tires on your car could all be flattened, leaving you stranded in the parking lot. AAA may be convenient but the wait for their arrival is often times brutal.

What if while you’re making out with your romanticized co-worker on top of a copier machine after hours, all your special goods are accidentally xeroxed and later falls into the hands of the night shift cleaning crew? Your goose is cooked!  I wouldn’t trust any after-hours cleaning crew. They have keys to everything – even your doom.

What if your romanticized co-worker is best friends with your supervising manager? All hell will break loose, shit will hit the fan and your ass would be emphatically fired.

Listen, Glutton for Punishment, if you don’t listen to your own instincts at least listen to mine. Trust me. I’ve taken a cruise on this ship and it is not a trip that should be taken lightly. Stay your ass away from anyone that works in the same building as you. Say good morning and good night and staple everything else closed – your mouth, your penis, your butt – whatever. The only things you should be focused on in the workplace are a promotion and a raise. Not a rise, if you get my drift.

Good luck with that and be sure to keep me posted.



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Springtime Blues: The Same Lame Game as Last Year

Guys and gals, welcome to Spring; a change of season and a transition of a host of things that transcend from bad to worse.  Don’t get me wrong, we say goodbye to a lot of things we can do without however not without sacrifices.  After all, life is about sacrifices, right?

Strap your seat belts tight, kids ’cause this bound to be a bumpy ride.

It’s so amazing how a simple thing like warm weather can inspire foot trends. Not too long ago boots were the only thing that kept us grounded when skating on thin ice.  They were the must-have of the time!  In fact, if you weren’t wearing boots then your feet deserved to freeze.

Boots were necessary, safe and warm.  And since it looked like the snow wasn’t going to melt overnight, people were forced to adapt their own personal style to the trend and the weather.

The snow brought on, I must admit, quite a few interesting choices of onion peels for foot hidery (yeah, I made up a word).  But as chemistry, biology, or one of those “ologies” proves, fire always melts ice which all boils down to this one thing…Spring; the middle ground of fashion, where everyone is too damned confused to know what the hell to wear on their feet.  And just like that we’re stuck with socks & sandals, stupid gladiator boots and poorly maintained pedicures.

Regretfully, the buck doesn’t stop there.

If you think you were befuddled by people who put their underwear on public display now… Good gawd a’reckon!  To put it as professionally as I possibly can: “You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

Jeans, sweatpants, booty shorts, mini skirts…I don’t care how the package is wrapped, everyone is guaranteed to see the goods.  Now I won’t go into all the specifics of the number of sanitation issues, privacy act violations, suggestive and just plain ol’ T.M.I. stuff this raises.

Whatever the case, political or not, when you’re talking about people’s underwear, it’s always a big fat case of, “Oh Crap!”

…No pun intended.

What would Spring be without the hippest trend of the season, motorcycles?  It’s true you can’t wear a motorcycle, but these days it seems everyone and their grandmother has one of those artistically designed, loud and obnoxious accessories that anyone without envies. 

Let’s face it; bikes are going to be everywhere.  For guys, they are babe magnets.  And most ordinary dudes usually can’t resist a hot biker chick.  Something about her straddling the back of the bike with her arms wrapped tightly around the driver’s waist, only a slight notch away from a pornographic scene seems to get everyone all riled up.

Beware though.  Where there are bikes, bikers, and biker babes, there’s always an accident or two just waiting for its spot of 15 minutes of fame to be aired on the local news at 11 channel.

If the bike accident isn’t enough for you, if you see one too many ass cracks parlaying in the wind, you’d just might want to gouge your eyeballs out.  Either accident can be considered terrifyingly amusing to watch, not to mention news worthy.

Love it or leave…that’s just the way the cookie crumbles.

I heard someone say once, “…if you fall off a horse, you have to get back on it.” 

I wonder if the same rule applies if one survives a bike crash?

We could probably go on about the lameness of Spring that would include April showers, allergies, flip flops, shorts & jackets, skull caps & tank tops and booty shorts with stockings.  But if we keep going now, we’ll spoil all the surprises Summer has in store for us.   And if there’s one thing I hate to do, it’s a spoil a surprise.

So as I pack my bags and prepare to bid you a fond farewell until the next time we meet, I’d like to leave you with this thought:  Fashion is a form of ugliness so intolerable that we have to alter it every few months.   

Lucky for us all 90% of any effort is getting started.   

At least we know there’s one thing that’s guaranteed not to be any different from the Spring prior to this, and that’s the same lame game as last year. 

Quote of the Week:  “Fashion is something that goes in one year and out the other.”

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The World May Never Know

Door number two

I’m going to pick door number 2 for $200, Alex.

Quote of the week:  The only time to eat diet food is while you’re waiting for the steak to cook. ~Julia Child  

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Three Things Every Man Should Remember as He Grows Older

There are three things every man should remember as he grows older.

(1) Never walk by a bathroom without making a pit stop. 
(2) Never ignore an erection. 
(3) Never underestimate a fart. 

You’re welcome.

Quote of the week:   “Old age isn’t so bad when you consider the alternative.” 

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Hottywood’s HORRORscopes: Week of January 31-February 6, 2016

Chuck It

Find out what your luck has in store for you this week.


Today’s HORRORscopes goes to all of the zodiac signs. You can thank me later.



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Unapologetically You

Over the last 365 days (plus six more days), I’ve observed a lot of people and the impact their behavior has had on society and the people in it.  And what I’ve learned is that no matter how questionable some people may be; no matter how clueless, careless, impulsive, uncompromising, unsympathetic, arrogant, obsessive or overly aggressive; people are the only somebodies they know how to be.  And it’s those qualities, good or bad, that makes them who they are.  Take it or leave it, babies.  Either way you’ve no right to judge.
At the end of the day we are all struggling to illustrate our own individualities in a society that’s now almost forcing us to be clones of one another.  And regardless of how we may dress it up, we are all one people fighting for a place of acceptance in this cold, cruel world.  We want to be accepted into a group, a club or a clique; or loved by someone who hasn’t quite mastered the art of loving their self first.  And to prove what to whom?  Who dictates society?  Other than the government…and the media…and our peers and neighbors, and possibly even a few coworkers.  Okay, so that probably wasn’t the best question to ask to prove a point.
The point is, regardless of where we are or with whom, we are practically in the same company we’d be in if we were alone in an empty room filled with nothing but a single mirror; looking at a reflection of a person we’re almost satisfied with (as far as satisfaction goes for an individual standard of a voice that’s lost in a sea of a song sung off key).
Whether you’re a jackass, a cheater, a liar, a hater or someone who’s outright confused about this, that or the other, be unapologetically you, because that’s what makes up your character; the character that owns his or her place in a strange land of people who are trying to be known by anyone [or everyone] simply to be accepted in a world that’s been painted by an unnamed artist.
Keep in mind that when you try too hard to be something you’re not, sometimes too much is just too much.

Being yourself is hard enough as it is so don’t get lost in everyone else’s expectations because everyone else is just as fucked up as you are and you haven’t figured out what it is you expect from yourself yet.

Quote of the week:   “Every perfect person has a flaw.  And that flaw is not accepting that nobody’s perfect.” 

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Same Sh*t, New Year: The Joy of Returning to the Office After a Long Holiday Break

Back to WorkIt doesn’t take long to get back into the swing of office hum-drum after spending days away of celebrating the Christmas/New Year holiday season. What makes me an expert in this truth is the return to the office, obviously.

As I sit at my desk sifting through piles of unfiled folders, past due email reminders, and pretending to be interested in my coworkers’ holiday fiascos, the one thing that sails the ocean of my mind is how much more of no real work I’m going to do than what I did before 2015 said goodbye for the last time.

I’m not going to return any emails today. I’m not going to check the voicemail messages that have my audix light flashing. I’m not going to contribute any comments to the first staff meeting of the year. I’m not going to file any folders. I’m not even going to pour hot coffee over the copier machine. I’m just going to sit here and continue to be paid to fill a seat behind an oak desk, the way God intended.

This list of nots is not to be confused with me not wanting to be here, because in all honesty I’m very glad to have returned. Being home on vacation doing nothing has a completely different feel than being at work doing nothing on paid time. I actually do miss my coworkers. I just don’t want to talk them. Same as last year. I also need a place to escape in order to prevent myself from drinking fully loaded alcoholic beverages for breakfast. …well I guess I can do that at work but contrary to popular belief that’s frowned upon. Same as last year. Go figure.

I guess when I think about it, my New Year attitude has only changed as it regards my personal life. For example when bill collectors call to hound me for a payment of a bill I have no intention to pay, I’m going to answer the phone and tell them I’m unavailable just like their phone number when the word unavailable pops up on the caller id.

Debt Collector

When it comes to work though, nothing’s changed. Same work. Same shit. It’s just a new year. If my memory serves me correctly (I’ve been told I suffer from CRS (Can’t Remember Shit) syndrome), I think I said this very same thing last year. With that said I don’t see a reason for me to rock the boat especially since I can’t swim.

On that note I’m going to go now. Line 2 is ringing although I’m not going to answer it. Instead I’m going to roam the halls in the event it’s an inside caller. That way I won’t be lying when I have to tell someone I wasn’t in my office when they called – coincidentally, just like I used to do last year.

Quote of the Week:   “You should check your email more often. You may have gotten fired three weeks ago.”

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This Week on, “Ask Hottywood!”

Dear Hottywood,

I thought I met the love of my life until we broke up yesterday morning, though I expected the end of the relationship was nearing. My heart is broken and I’m having a really hard time letting go and moving on. What do I do?

Don’t Cry For Me Argentina

Dear Don’t Cry For Me Argentina,

The first thing you have to do is realize, accept and understand that you obviously didn’t meet the love of your life. If you loved them that much to give them that title and they didn’t reciprocate, then your title for them was “love of my life” while their title for you was “stalker.” The only things stalkers ever get are killed, jail time and restraining orders – not necessarily in that order.

The second thing to do is remember that your breakup was just a day ago. You need time for your heart to heal.


The third thing to do is stop harping over what was, accept what is and have faith in what will be. Your life isn’t over yet. Just don’t go out and get hit by a bus any time soon, or listen to any Aaron Neville records. That’ll sure as hell kill you.

Aaron Neville

The fourth thing you should do is eat a tub of vanilla ice cream with extra lactose, drink as much liquor as humanly possible and download a lot of porn. It may not heal your heart but your stomach, commode and private parts will thank the hell out of you!


Your pain isn’t going to go away overnight. You shouldn’t and can’t expect it to. That’s considered false advertisement. If you expected the demise of your relationship was drawing near and were still holding on, that past love didn’t break your heart. You broke your own heart. Trust the process of healing. Trust the process of porn. Trust me. I know what I’m talking about when I mention porn…I mean healing.  My grandmother always said, “This, too, shall pass.”

If this breakup or any Aaron Neville song doesn’t kill you, it’ll prepare you for the next big thing. Be patient. Get laid. And then get over it. Annie said it best when she said, “tomorrow is only a day away.”


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Dear Mrs. Cafeteria Lady, “Watch Your Back!”

Mrs. Cafeteria Lady, I’ve got a bone to pick with you.  I’ve taken your messy laziness for far too long!

On Monday you burned my toast, leaving with me with only the buttery middle of the bread, probably the size of a U.S. silver quarter.  As much as I wanted to punch you in your titty ball, I forgave you.  It was, after all, Monday.

When Tuesday rolled around, you completely said screw the toast all together.  Though your intentions were in the right place, replacing the toast with stale bagels only landed you in the number one spot on my sh!t list.  I wasn’t sure if I’d acknowledge you as a sh!t list offender or not, but after sitting in the dentist’s office for three hours waiting to have my broken tooth fixed, coming to that decision was easier than I thought.

By the time I accepted that I didn’t have anyone to hump on Wednesday, I realized my forgiving attitude would shift swiftly if you didn’t get your act together.  I’m not sure if you were pissed off with Mr. Cafeteria Lady for not putting it down the night before or if the kitchen was too hot for you to slave over a stove, but serving peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on Tuesday’s stale ass bagels was not only ghetto, but warranted me to steal one of your hairnets to give to my neighbor’s pet pit bull to sniff so he’d have your scent when I released his viciousness on you for not satisfying my hunger.  If the problem however was Mr. Cafeteria Lady, I figured it would be okay if I whooped his ass myself and told him to handle his business so you don’t have to receive any more hate mail from me or any other employee in the building.  I haven’t gotten around to fighting him yet because the dentist told me I needed seven days of rest so the antibiotics he gave me can take effect on my tooth.  Because my mouth is still sore, even if Mr. Cafeteria Lady isn’t the problem, I might kick his butt just for the hell of it.  I need to take out my frustrations some kind of way.

When I woke up Thursday morning, I prayed for a change of heart.  I asked the Lord for patience and understanding in the event I found another strand of your wig hair in my runny scrambled eggs or another one of your IDGAF (I don’t give a f—k) mystery meats.  But when I actually bit into the furry burger [or whatever the hell it was you served on the menu that day] and in fact almost choked to death like my cat does when he has a fur ball lodged in his throat, I drew the conclusion that I either didn’t pray hard enough or should have left out the curse words in my request for understanding.  My throat is still itching and I still want to punch you in your titty ball.

Well today is Friday.  I am completely fed up from the lousy week I’ve had, the poor breakfast and lunch you’ve dished out all week, and am tired and hung over from the party I crashed last night, not to mention sick as a dog for mixing alcohol with antibiotics.  Learning there is no damn coffee in the coffee pot this morning is the last straw!  You have had ample time to get it right and you still haven’t complied.  Enough is enough!  I would like to officially warn you to email your ass home today before you get off work, because if you don’t there will be a gang of girls waiting for you in the parking lot to beat the crap out of you, unless you have a large pizza delivered to my office with extra cheese, pepperoni AND sausage…and no hair!

I will not accept any apologies, sob stories, or any forms of bribery that does not involve mozzarella cheese or vegetable oil.

I will give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you just had a bad week, however that is not my problem and giving you the benefit of the doubt will not protect you from getting drop-kicked in the parking lot.  I am a firm believer that you must learn from your mistakes so that you won’t make them again.  And after those girls run your wig up a flag pole, perhaps then you will take your job a little more seriously and realize that employees that deal with a whole bunch of mess eight hours a day, five days a week, will not tolerate any excuses from you or anyone from the kitchen staff.  Food is our salvation and cooking is your job.  Get with the program or get lost!


Have a blessed day!

Thank you,


 Quote of the week:  “Avoid fruits and nuts. You are what you eat.”

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Honey, It’s Not You. It’s Me: The Scientific Truth Behind Morning Wood


Not TonightI’m going to do you a favor and hip you to some 411. You are not as sexy as you think you are first thing in the morning. Don’t get me wrong. Wearing over-sized pink rollers with your head wrapped in the filthiest sheer scarf you can find may turn some men on. Morning breath may turn some men on. Those men are weird. But not all men are weird…all the time. And contrary to popular belief, not all men are horny when they wake up. …well, again, not all the time.

Usually, when you ladies wake up in the morning and are stabbed in the nape of your back from your beau’s jimmie, I’m sorry to say, it has nothing to do with your unflattering scarf and crinkled neck hair.  It has everything to do with nocturnal penile tumescence, or morning wood, as some would so eloquently refer to it. Nocturnal penile tumescence is a spontaneous erection of the penis during sleep or when waking up. All men without physiological erectile dysfunction experience nocturnal penile tumescence, usually three to five times during the night. Now that I think about it, when your man goes to choke his chicken at 3am, it’s not because you’ve turned him on soooooo much with your snoring, it’s because of this spontaneous erection that he must tend to before his balls explode.

The cause of nocturnal penile tumescence is not exactly known, but it is guessed that the hormones of the part of the brainstem involved with responses to stress or panic (scientifically referred to as locus ceruleus, so I’ve been told. I was kind of known for skipping biology class in school) allows testosterone-related excitatory actions to manifest as nocturnal penile tumescence. While we’re sleeping, a little angelic devil whispers in our ear that it’s time to lay the pipe!  In other words, whether or not there’s a phat butt pressed against our “little big friend,” us men are going to wake up ready to release and there’s nothing a woman’s bad morning breath or ratty old scarf can do to stop the urge! Their phat butt is just icing on the cake (no pun intended).

Fellas, if you ask me, this is the perfect time to say to your woman, “It’s not you. It’s me.” Wait. That conversation may not end well either. You get my point.

P.S. Ladies,

You’re welcome. I think.

Quote of the Week:  “We firmly believe there is more to life than money, sex and beer (not necessarily in that order). We just don’t know what it is.”

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‘Twas the Night Before Thanksgiving

‘Twas the night before Thanksgiving and everything on the stove

Was boiling over in a mess when Mama had dozed.

The chitterlings were stinking. I think they were scorched.

My nose started bleeding so I threw them on the porch.

Mama was all comfortable, drooling on the couch

While my fast ass sister was getting dressed to sneak out.

And I in my jammies and ghetto stocking cap

Was pissed to finish cooking because mama took a nap.

When out on the lawn there arose such a noise

That scared my dog and the neighborhood boys.

Away to the window I flew like a flash

Ducking for cover from bullets through glass.

A drunk driver had crashed into the stop sign outside.

Grabbing my heart I exclaimed, “Oh my!”

On Thanksgiving Day who’d want to be

Holed up in a hospital with a bed pan to pee?

The little old driver who was tanked and high

Celebrated too soon before going out to drive.

More rapid than eagles his ass flew

As our street filled with men in blue.

I felt kind of bad as he stumbled away

But at least unshackled he’d spend Thanksgiving Day.

Unlike myself, a slave to the stench

To the burning food in the kitchen ‘cause mama dozed. The wench!

The fried chicken was crispy, black on the skin.

The yams from the can had to be baked again.

Out of my mouth curse words flew,

“Shit,” “Damn,” even a “Fuck you!”

Dad was no help outside or in here.

He was down in the basement sneaking a beer.

Had mama known she would have started bitching.

Anything to keep her out of the kitchen.

I wouldn’t have complained because she can’t cook

Not even a simple recipe out of a book.

I should be glad she slept as the crumbs I scraped

Stuck to the bottom of the baking plate.

Next year I vowed I would not be

Cooking a dinner for lazy people times three.

Cleaning up a mess that I didn’t start

Watching Thanksgiving go up in a fart.

Where is the man that crashed outside

To give me a bag of whatever got him high?

Where is my dad with the six pack

That gets him all bloated and loaded and fat?

Where is my sister with her lazy ass

To give me a hand with these scorched pans?

Where is my dog to lick the floor?

So I don’t have to sweep and mop any more.

If this were Christmas I’d run away

Hiding in the back of Santa Claus’ sleigh.

Instead it’s Thanksgiving, my favorite holiday no doubt.

But I swear next year we’re ordering take out!


This Week on, “Ask Hottywood!”

Dear Hottywood,

The relationship I’m in with my girl isn’t going quite the way I imagined it would after dating for a number of months. I still like her. I might even love her, but because we’ve faced so many exhausting challenges, I think I’d be okay whether we stayed together or broke up. This is a Catch 22. My question however isn’t about my relationship. I’m already okay with however that turns out. My question is what is a Catch 22?

Thanks in advance,

Boy Don’t Read

Dear Boy Don’t Read

Catch 22_3First of all, Boy Don’t Read, I need you to read something. It’s good for your mind. I sure as hell hope you read this because I’m a lazy mofo and today I’m in lazy mode, but my readers come before anything, even my laziness…well, except bacon…and God…and ass (not necessarily in that order). Okay, now moving on to your question.

Wait, before we begin, let me wish you luck on things with your girl. I’m a big sarcastic sap and I love love. With that said I’m hoping you two can get your shit together and remember why it is you started dating in the first place. Also, don’t lie to yourself. If you’re not happy, then move on. If you’re unsure then listen to my first suggestion and try to remember why you started dating in the first place.

Okay, NOW on to your question.

There is a whole hard-to-understand definition of Catch 22 plastered all over the internet. Instead of giving you a bunch of words and rules that you’ll need a translator to comprehend, lemme break it down to you by saying “You’re damned if you do and damned if you don’t,” or “you’re screwed either way.”  That’s the simplest way of defining a Catch 22.

Catch 22 1

  • A situation where a choice comes down to two unfavorable options, and either way is not a win.
  • A situation where you have two possible choices, either of which will have negative ramifications for you.
  • A no-win dilemma or paradox.
  • A situation or predicament characterized by absurdity or senselessness.
  • Quite the predicament; where objective 1 cannot be obtained without the completion of objective 2, which cannot be obtained without objective 1, because of a set of often incoherent rules or laws.
  • Heads I win. Tails you lose.

catch 22_2

The term Catch 22 was first introduced in the 1961 novel, “Catch 22” (written by Joseph Heller) which describes absurd bureaucratic constraints on soldiers in World War II. The term, in relation to the book, invokes “Catch 22” to explain why any pilot requesting mental evaluation for insanity—hoping to be found not sane enough to fly and thereby escape dangerous missions—demonstrates his own sanity in making the request and thus cannot be declared insane. This phrase also means a dilemma or difficult circumstance from which there is no escape because of mutually conflicting or dependent conditions.

It’s been suggested that the idea of a “Catch-22” has gained popular currency because so many people in modern society are exposed to frustrating bureaucratic logic.

“Everyone, then, who deals with organizations, understands the bureaucratic logic of Catch-22. In high school or college, for example, students can participate in student government, a form of self-government and democracy that allows them to decide whatever they want, just so long as the principal or dean of students approves. This bogus democracy that can be overruled by arbitrary fiat is perhaps a citizen’s first encounter with organizations that may profess ‘open’ and libertarian values, but in fact are closed and hierarchical systems. Catch-22 is an organizational assumption, an unwritten law of informal power that accepts the organization from responsibility and accountability, and puts the individual in the absurd position of being accepted for the convenience or unknown purposes of the organization.” – James E. Combs and Dan D. Nimmo

“Damned if I do and damned if I don’t.”

“Heads I win. Tails you lose.” 


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THROWBACK: Be Careful What You Wish For

Once upon a time there was a little old man who wished for a whole bunch of shit beginning at an age when he could officially define the word “wish.”

As a young boy his wishes never turned out right. He once wished he could fly like Superman. His wish partially came true. He turned into a bird and used the flight as an opportunity to shit on the heads of all his enemies. It wasn’t long after that he was chased by a ferocious alley cat, warranting him to wish to be turned back into his old young self.

A few years later he wished he had a car so he could pick up the ladies. His wish came true. Unfortunately he never learned how to drive. So while picking up a woman on the ho stroll of 43rd and Heifer Lane, he wound up being chased by a gang of cops for reckless driving and operating a vehicle without a valid driver’s license.

He spent the next 100 hours in a jail cell with a boyfriend named Ice Pic, who incidentally was not a woman. This ended his wishing cycle for the next few turns of a pad lock.

A couple years passed with no wish from the then young boy who quickly turned into a young man/bitch/jail bait. Greed got the best of him over time. He figured with age would come better wishing decisions so he wished for more birthdays so he could have more wishes. What he got was more candles on his birthday cake and a few liver spots.

Once again his wish didn’t turn out exactly the way he’d hoped. By this point he was over it. Just as he came close to losing oxygen from blowing out the million plus candles, he spewed what he thought would be a fail-safe wish.

His wish was, “I wish I weren’t an old man.”

He was quickly running out of time and patience. In a last ditch effort for help, he turned to yours truly for a word of advice.

“Hottywood,” he said. “How can I at least turn myself back into a man without screwing up another wish?”

The question had me stumped for a minute. Then suddenly it came to me!


The moral of the story is to be careful what you wish for.