Who Ate the Last Chicken Wing?

Guys and gals, it’s time that we sit down and have a little interrogation chat about something that’s even more important than world peace – a little matter of who the hell ate the last chicken wing?! 

Eating a man’s last chicken wing is like asking a woman about her age or weight.  You just don’t frikkin do it unless you’re trying to get your ass kicked!  It ranks up there with carjacking, lying and retail false advertisement.  Sure, a guilty culprit may lick the grease off their finger tips or wipe them clean on the fabric of their shirt or jeans, but the evidence lies in the pores of their skin and the aroma of their breath.  And a true chicken fanatic can sniff out the guilty like dogs sniff each other’s butts.

Evidence is eminent.  There is the trail of chicken crumbs; hot sauce stains; and grease-flavored belches.  There is the tummy rub; the heavy eyelids; and the smile of cured hunger satisfaction.  But the one thing that every last-chicken-wing-eating-thief fails to remember is that the last chicken wing usually has someone else’s name written all over it.  And when chicken lovers come back to the table to find that the last wing has been polished off, all hell breaks loose and no one is safe!  Especially if that last wing belongs to ME!

Women love diamonds.  Men love football.  Children love candy.  Old people love prunes.  Young people love booze.  But what about all those folks who scrape up their last dime for a single fix of a box of wings?  Popeyes, KFC, Golden Skillet, Wings & Things, House of Wings, New York Fried Chicken, Church’s Fried Chicken, and even Bojangles makes a killing off of people who are ashamed to enter a 12-step wing anonymous program, and you mean to tell me that there is someone in the world who thinks it’s okay for a greedy mofo to come along and snatch the last wing like a scavenger?  Even pigeons have more couth.

Now if you really want to piss someone off, don’t call them out of their name; don’t insult their intelligence; don’t even miscalculate their change.  Eat their last piece of chicken.  Just be prepared to run for the border because an ass whooping is on its way like a bill collector coming to collect a debt!

Actually, let me paint a more specific picture.

If you or anyone from your entourage decide to sit down for a meal with Hottywood, you can be sure there will be some deep fried chicken wings on the menu.  You can also be sure that when it comes down to the last piece, your fingers better be bound inside your pockets, ‘cause Hotty don’t play that!  Now I may have posed the question of who ate the last wing from the previous meal I shared with a few compulsive wing eaters, but trust me, that question was asked merely to warn the guilty perpetrator.  Because if there’s one thing that never lies, it’s my nose!  I can sniff out some bullsh*t and I can sniff out some chicken wings.  And I will find you!

“Watch your back ’cause I’m coming for you, sucka!”

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Quote of the week:   “A greedy father has thieves for children.”

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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 Relationship Quiz

It’s never easy to accept when a relationship is over, whether you are effected by the disruption or the cause of it.  Luckily for you,

Hottywood Helps! 

This little quiz will help you to realize how much BS you are able to endure from your mate before finally packing your overnight bag and running for the border.

Be warned that the truth hurts, but in the end hurt never felt so good.

When you are tired of hearing the sound of your mate’s voice, do you:

  1. Spend all your time in the bathroom flushing the toilet repeatedly to drown out your partner’s voice?
  2. Remove all the writing utensils from the house and then tell your partner to write down everything it is they have to say?
  3. Resort to a telephone call using sign language?
  4. Threaten to never have sex with your partner again if they don’t shut up?
  5. Suffocate them with a bunch of Safeway bags?
  6. None of the above.  No one will date me.

When you stop trusting your partner, do you:

  1. Replace every telephone number in their address book with that of the city morgue?
  2. Eat a spoonful of quick drying cement, French kiss them and become permanently joined at the lips?
  3. Cheat on your mate with as many people as you can in an effort to be an even bigger whore than you believe them to be?
  4. Put caramel in the seat of all of their underwear?
  5. Eat a bag of Funyons just before it’s time to do the grown up?
  6. None of the above.  My mate dumped me for a midget gypsy pole dancer.

When your partner makes goo-goo eyes at the restaurant waiter/waitress for an extra free basket of bread, do you:

  1. Get the server fired by insisting to the restaurant manager that the particular server stars in a recurring role of ‘America’s Next Top Pimp’s Bitch’?
  2. Jump in your partner’s lap and dry hump them during the dessert course?
  3. Blindfold your partner with a handful of burnt spaghetti?
  4. Openly discuss the furry mole that’s growing around your partner’s waxed nipples?
  5. Order the most expensive thing on the menu [to-go], then end the relationship dramatically while stiffing your partner for the bill.
  6. None of the above.  My partner can no longer eat solid foods because I broke his/her jaw bone the last time he/she flirted with someone else.

If your partner perceives you as a moron, is it because you:

  1. Don’t know the telephone number for 9-1-1?
  2. Own a drawer full of the same pairs of mismatched socks?
  3. April Fool’s Day jokes are played on you every day?
  4. Attempt to pay your speeding tickets with an EBT card?
  5. Can never find ‘To Wong Fu’ on the Chinese take-out menu?
  6. None of the above.  My mate is just as much of a moron as I am.

You are probably not relationship material if you:

  1. Communicate with the voices in your head more than you do with actual people.
  2. Think a third wheel in a relationship has anything to do with a tricycle.
  3. Would rather make love while watching a Dominos Pizza commercial rather than a skin flick with the words ‘Butts, Boobs and Butternut Squash’ in the title.
  4. Think Dorothy was a genius for walking into a forest full of lions, tigers and bears.
  5. Believe the shortest month of the year would not be so short if it wore high heels.
  6. None of the above.  The cleavage on my back seems to be a real turn-off to people so I already I’ll never be considered as relationship material.

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Permission to Replace Office Swivel Chair with Air Mattress

MEMO

TO:  Superior Managers of If I Told You I’d Have To Kill You (IITYIHTKY) Enterprises

FROM:  HNIC, No One Matters But Me Department

SUBJECT:  Permission to Replace Office Swivel Chair with Air Mattress

DATE:  Half Pass Right Now, 2016


This notice of memorandum serves as an official request for permission to replace [suite #211] swivel chair with a home-supplied air mattress.

Attached you will find a signed medical notice from Dr. Boo Boo McLeod, MD of the Unsanctified Round-a-Way Medical Center, requesting that human resource officials and all other appropriate personnel of IITYIHTKY Enterprises acknowledge and honor doctor’s recommendation for Hottywood Helps to permissibly replace is raggedy office swivel chair with a tricked out air mattress, in an effort to avoid any further compulsory medical treatment administered due to a rare case of coworkersannoystheshitoutofmeoxia, from which Mr. Helps suffers.

This condition causes Mr. Helps to lash out at fellow No One Matters But Me Department staff and risks interruption of interoffice departmental work progress, therefore he should be granted immediate approval to replace said furniture with a more comfortable sleep-encouraging apparatus.

Upon recent telephone conversations with Mr. Helps’ physician, Dr. Boo Boo McLeod, and in addition to research gathered from the world wide web, an air mattress would ensure Mr. Helps’ speedy recovery from coworkersannoystheshitoutofmeoxia.  Should the mattress coerce Mr. Helps into a temporary midday coma, the respite would ignite unused cells in his brain ultimately improving his work performance and allowing him to overcome the late day grogginess that so many IITYIHTKY Enterprises employees experience on a day-to-day basis (water cooler rumors have it).

I am in favor of supporting the healthiness of my entire staff and request that all official authorized superior managers do the same as long as proper documentation is supplied, not to include death threat notices.

In the event that further references are needed and/or necessary (in addition to Dr. McLeod’s recommendation), the telephone numbers of the below listed names may be provided upon request:

Please note that all below listed persons are dead so it may take a while to gather the information you seek [if applicable]. 

  • Winston Churchill
  • Napoleon Bonaparte
  • Albert Einstein
  • Leonardo Da Vinci
  • John F. Kennedy

Quote of the Week:   “A day without a nap is like a cupcake without frosting.”

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Can You Out-Snob a Snob?

As much as some of us hate to admit it, every single one of us has a little bit of snob in us. There are the hidden snobs that prefer bottled water over tap; the snobs that prefer “loud” over “bush”; the snobs that prefer lager over malt; snobs that prefer to eat their Snickers and pizza slices with a fork rather than using their fingers; snobs that refuse to wear the same thing twice (including wearing underwear two days in a row); snobs that won’t use public restroom facilities even though their stomachs are all but imploding from bubble-gut-itis; snobs that prefer one-on-on sex over group sex; snobs that prefer 7-11 hot dogs over vendor stand hot dogs; snobs that only eat a certain kind of ketchup or mayonnaise; snobs that are too good to bag someone else’s groceries for a living or take a food order as a drive-thru clerk; snobs that won’t eat a potato chip three seconds after it’s been dropped on the floor; snobs that judge people by the color of their shoe strings; snobs that…aw hell, you get the point! There are a whole bunch of snobs in the world. If you are able to lay your eyes on any person, then you are looking at a snob. But hold up…the same rule applies if another person can lay their eyes upon your snobbish ass!

Given this truth, it is always entertaining to watch a snob out-snob a snob.

There really is no point to this post except to remind us all that no one is perfect or any better than another. Everyone has issues; everyone has baggage; everyone has flaws. But it’s the snob in us that won’t admit those issues, bags or flaws out loud. Instead we’d rather wait and take offense when another snob airs out our dirty laundry. Do you see what I’m talking about? The snob in us won’t allow us to be honest with ourselves.

Endora (from Bewitched) said it best when she chanted the spell:

“…on the count of three we will see what a snob this clod can be.”


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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.”   

Duck Sauce Bandits

Guys and gals, it’s been a short while since the last time we’ve griped about anything, so today we will join forces to take a stand against carryout associates who are stingy with their duck sauce.

What is it with these carryout places that prohibit them from giving up more than one packet of duck sauce for all those blasted noodles and rice?  Mingh Lee, Hwong Sai, Zhang Lo, and Kwei Lau Woo all have the same attitude problem when you ask them for extra duck sauce.  First, they look at you as if you’re asking for too much, and then they form their thin lips to tell you that you’re going to have to cough up an extra $.25 for an additional packet.

“Please pause with me for a moment has I clench my heart and gasp at the preposterousness of a quarter of a dollar for something you’re only going to taste once with a mouthful of spit!”

Are you friggin’ kidding me?  Are these packets of sweet heavenly goodness coming out of their paychecks?  Why the hell should the general public have to pay for extra duck sauce?  That’s like paying for the white on rice.

There can only be one of two reasons why carryout associates are ready to pull out their nunchucks at the request of any additional condiments: either (1) they are cheap as hell or (2) the price of duck sauce over in China is as steep as the price of gas is here in the states.

Well, just like Americans and illegal aliens alike have come up with innovative ways to paste pigeon feathers onto their walking shoes to avoid ridiculously scathing gas prices, greedy people who share the same carryout-consumer gripe have become more creative in getting their extra duck sauce, soy sauce and even hot mustard.  Those innovations all ironically include the use of collected fire wood, aerosol spray paint and a book of matches.  That’s right; the greedy and hungry have finally revolted against the cheap and stingy.  “Enough is enough.”

“Whatever happened to the saying, “The customer is always right.”?  Where’s the love?”

For the sake of all things fried and dipped in sesame seeds, loosen up the grip on the duck sauce, carryout associate-son!  How do you expect to come to ‘the hood,’ open up a chicken wing joint that conveniently serves all the lo mein a brutha can eat and then put a cap on the amount of condiments to be given away with each order?  Haven’t your business plans taught you that hood rats overdo everything?  We buy clothes, cars and people that are too far out of our budgets, so it’s only obvious that we’re going to want to overdo it on the fried rice and chow mein.  For you to be smart enough to fry chicken wings the way you do to the point where everyone in the neighborhood is willing to pack on a few extra summer-time pounds, you sure are stupid!  Charging us for the extra “must haves” will only lead to the undoing of your fine grease-filled establishment.

After asking, pleading, and complaining, these warnings have now turned into threats.  Give us some more damn duck sauce or else we’ll have to pull out our stun guns and candle lighters and show you that we mean business.  When it comes to food, drinks and booty calls, we don’t play!  If you think seeing a pissed off Bruce Lee is something, wait until you see a pissed off hungry hood rat!

For your sake, you should be glad we’re talking about duck sauce and not chicken wings.  Otherwise there would be all kinds of hell to pay and guess who would be the leader of that pack.  I won’t call any names, but let’s just say it rhymes with Pottywood.  And I know you wouldn’t want to piss him off.  He’d get you if it was the last thing he’d do.  If but for no other reason and declaration that 90% of any effort is getting started.

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Quote of the Week:  “It’s not holding on that makes you strong; it’s letting go.”  

Keep That Selfie to Yourself

I’ve always been in favor of self-promotion and an even bigger fan of self-love. But sometimes I can’t help but wonder what people think about when they take “selfies.” Granted, half of the world is obsessed with posting pictures [on social networks] of their new weaves, and dramatic caterpillars eyelashes, or the pimple on their face that they try so desperately to convince all the rest of the world is actually a replica of Marilyn Monroe’s famous beauty mark.  I get it. You love yourself. If you don’t love yourself then how can you expect anyone else to give a damn about you?

What I don’t get are the folks that know they have no business posting pictures of themselves at all. I’m speaking specifically about the people with starched unibrows, and glass eyes, and one nose nostril with a booger hanging out, and lips so dark that their mouth almost looks invisible in night time photos; or the people with hair lines that start in the middle of their chapped head, or the folks that forget to put in their dentures before aiming the camera at their grill.

I don’t understand women that want to show the world pictures of their voluptuous implants and then tell everyone that they are respectable women with not a plastic hooker bone in their body (not that I don’t enjoy looking!), or dudes that think they are turning women on by flexing non-muscles in their bird chests. I don’t see why someone finds it so important for me to see what they’re wearing that day, especially when their outfit consists of striped chef’s pants and dusty crocs. I don’t like to see women throw up the deuce sign while their fingernails look as if they’ve been changing oil at the local mechanic shop all day. I don’t like seeing bathroom sinks or toilet bowls being used as a backdrop for a photo shoot. I know I’m not the only one that doesn’t like it so please, knock it off! I’m serious. Give me a break.

You know if someone wants to look at you OR NOT. You know when your outfit is a fail. You know that someone is going to point out all the flaws you are purposely putting on display. You know if that selfie will make it to the bottom of a trash bin for a NO WAY JOSE magazine cover. You know these things because you are no different from the people that are judging your grade F selfies. You look at other people’s photos and say, “They knew better than that,” or “What the hell?” or “Why?”

Just stop. Before you hit the upload button to Facebook, Twitter or Instagram, ask yourself if your selfie is a smart idea.

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Quote of the Week:  “I think we consider too much the good luck of the early bird and not enough the bad luck of the worm.”

How To End a Bad Date Disgracefully

Are you tired of going on one bad date after another?  Has your best friend set you up with someone who’s below your standards?  Did you finally get the telephone number of the hot chick in your church who turns out to be dumber than a door knob…or worse, a hot chick with bushy underarms? Well now’s your chance to rest easy, because you’re not alone.

It’s time to stand up for your rights and fight back with a few easy quick steps to sabotage a bad date disgracefully!   This list is very short, but also very fun!  The look on your date’s face when you purposely act like a moron [to make them uninterested in you] is priceless!

Listen carefully.  These tips take careful planning and coordination, but are worth every effort.


Conveniently leave home without any money.

Just be prepared to wash an ass-load of dishes, or make a break for it!  If you really want to make a bad impression, make a scene that you’re cheap and put the blame on your date.


Speak only in rhyme like a rap star.

Be sure to use animated sound effects and boisterous hand gestures.  Offensive language and stereotypes are a must!  This routine will be most effective if you are in a family-oriented establishment.  End each verse with, “You know what I’m sayin’ Gee?” and grab your crotch obsessively.  Make your stage-left exit before the cops arrive.



When speaking to your date, never use any direct eye contact.

In fact, just cover your eyes completely while screaming, “Medusa!”  If you really want to stir things up, toss your drink in her face.  Oh what the heck, toss everyone’s drink in her face! Then run like the wind because there’s no doubt that she’s going to fuq you up!


Each time your date attempts to speak, interrupt them with useless facts about cheese.

Be as annoying and rude as possible.  But beware, your date may just like cheese.  If so, fart loudly and fan the smell with your restaurant menu.  Do not smile when doing so.


Have your wife call during dessert. 

This will raise more questions than a little bit.  To be a top-notch jack ass, invite her along and compare your wife to your date.  Don’t compliment either your wife or your date and refer to yourself only in third person.  Once your date finishes pinching herself in disbelief, insist that she owes you money for her half of the meal and a partial payment for your wife’s meal.



Pick your nose a lot.

To ensure that no one misses what you are doing, be sure to announce each time you’ve felt a booger and show it to the disgusted audience.


Stuff all of your food into your mouth at once and whistle the theme song to the Andy Griffith Show.  

 


Compliment your date’s legs – from underneath the table.  

Be sure to pack a hockey mask as this usually ends with a swift kick to the nose.


Remove the top half of your clothes until your nipples are completely exposed.

It won’t matter if your date walks out on you because nine times out of ten you’re going to leave with someone else anyway.


Sneeze on your date’s food and then ask, “Are you gonna eat that?”

The more moist the sneeze, the better.  Oh, and don’t forget to leave your manners and Kleenex at home!


Getting someone to lose interest in you is not that difficult actually, especially if you’re still on 1st date status; that is unless your date is a psychopath, a total Grade F, or someone so desperate for attention that no matter what you do bad, it’s all good.  Even if you’ve fallen into a trap of dating one of the types listed above, it’s not impossible to come up with a quick crash and burn.  All it takes is a little more effort to be even more annoying.  And 90% of any effort is getting started.



Quote of the week:
   “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again. Then give up.  There’s no sense being a damn fool about it.”

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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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.”  

Why Sunglasses are as Important as Underwear

Over a period of history, dating back even to the 12th century (so I’ve been told. The 12th century is just a wee bit before my time), sunglasses have undergone quite a few changes in terms of functionality and appearance.

A MOMENT IN HISTORY

  • In the beginning, China witnessed the first occurrence of sunglasses, which were most commonly worn by the wealthy.
  • Later in the 18th century, sunglasses with vision correction were conceived by James Ayscough.
  • Sunglasses really took off in the 1920s, which was contributed by the prevalence of the film industry.
  • During the decades after the 1930s, sunglasses were widely accepted and has since maintained its popularity.

Traditional sunglasses were only expected to offer proper protection against UV rays and HEV radiation. Then came the innovation in sunwear style ( various shapes, sizes and colors).  Today, sunglasses have become more than just a popular accessory. They are in fact quite as important as underwear. You’re probably wondering where I’m going with this. It’s simple actually. We all wear underwear to cover our asses. That’s about the only reason I can come up with right now for wearing underwear, but when you think about it, the only reason we wear sunglasses is to cover our eyes, right? WRONG. There are actually a few more functionalities of sunglasses. They not only come in handy to protect eyes from UV rays, but they also come in handy when:


sleepy dog glassesYou’re sleepy.
Far be it from me to judge anyone that wears sunglasses indoors. Well actually not far be it from me. I’ll judge. People look crazy wearing sunglasses indoors but I never stopped to consider that maybe those crazy folks are wearing their sunglasses indoors because they were up all night doing sinful things and woke up the next morning looking like a zombie from an episode of the Walking Dead. Hell, if I looked like that I’d hide behind a pair of dark specs too. Shit. Maybe I need to put my sunglasses on because I feel like my forehead will formally and intimately introduce itself to this keyboard any minute now.

You’re hungover. You can’t tell me that you’ve never gone to work with a hangover. The lights are too loud. The fax machine is too loud. Your head is pounding too loudly. The color of your blood shot eyes are too loud. What better way to hide your disheveled face than behind a pair of your darkest lenses? Sure, everyone may still be able to smell the alcohol seeping out of your pores, but smelly pores never looked so good behind an obscure pair of specs.

You’re having a bad hair day. You have to admit that sometimes even your best outfit can’t hide those straggly strands. Your clothes are too far away from your head. It’s not enough of a distraction. And if you think your outfit won’t distract from your head, then you can forget about your shoes. Don’t waste your time on sky high heels or the whitest pair of kicks money can buy. Instead throw on the coolest shades you can find. They’re right on your face and everyone looking into your dome will be fascinated that you owned your messy look. No matter what you wear; no matter how bushy, nappy, curly or bald your hair is…whether your braids are too tight or half of your baby hair has fallen out on the bus, a nice pair of sunglasses ALWAYS looks good and pulls a look together. They make whatever style you’re rocking, good or bad, look as if you meant to do it. Your bad hair day, coupled with a nice pair of sunglasses instantly transforms your style into BAMA CHIC. Problem solved!

You’re covertly checking out someone’s boobs. Men do it. Women even do it. Everyone checks out boobs. In an attempt not to single out any one group [boob lovers], sunglasses are also used to check out someone’s pecs, butt, and pants prints. Checking out these body parts is usually inappropriate, no matter what situation you’re in. Sunglasses are necessary to hide your roaming eyes so someone doesn’t accidentally roam their fist into your face.

In the end, the aesthetical progression in the sunwear industry does not conflict with sunglasses’ functional dimensions. They marry quite well, actually. In today’s world you can get a great pair of sunglasses in all shapes, sizes, and colors. And no matter how ugly the glasses are, how bad your hair is, how wrinkled your clothes are, or how disheveled your face appears, if you throw on a pair of sunglasses you instantly look cool. Sunglasses aren’t just a fashion thing. They are a necessity and should be a staple in everyone’s wardrobe.

To me, sunglasses are like potato chips – I can’t have just one!  In fact, I have a pair for each voice in my head.

 

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Quote of the Week:  “With my sunglasses on, I’m Jack Nicholson. Without them, I’m fat and 60.” –Jack Nicholson

This Week on, “Ask Hottywood!”

Dear Hottywood,

I am a compulsive internet shopper. I’m not really that ashamed of it, at least not until I’ve run out of money to cover my essential bills and have to swallow my pride to borrow [money] from whomever will loan it to me. HELP! Are there some magic words you can chant to stop me from ordering my life away through PayPal?

Poor House Diva,

Dear Poor House Diva,

I want to have sympathy for you, but I too have been known to prioritize a cool overly priced neck tie over an electric bill. I do have some magic words that will help you though:

  • BANKRUPTCY/CHAPTER 11: Hope that outfit was worth your bus fare
  • DEBT: Bill collectors only say they’re your friend to lure you into their trap
  • NEGATIVE CREDIT HISTORY: You will never get a decent gubment job with bad credit
  • EMPTY REFRIDGERATOR : Your ass might be hungry but you’ll look good in your size -0 party dress
  • NO LIGHTS: You won’t be able to see what your new outfit looks like on you
  • HOMELESS: All dressed up and nowhere to go

Now what I want you to do is put your flyest outfit next to the image of any one of the magic words listed above and think about which is more important. If you choose that new must-have outfit over your priority finances, then you admit to yourself that you will be the best dressed woman in the poor house and your name, Poor House Diva, will have lived up to its reputation. Be careful though. Anyone that lives in the poor house has nothing to lose from stealing the items you bought after you’ve given up everything to have.

On the real, you should consider the following things:

SEEK THERAPY.  You need help! Just kidding…sorta. Cognitive behavioral therapy can encourage you to understand your actions and make you aware of the longer-term consequences (refer to the list above).

LOOK AT POSSIBLE MEDICATIONS. While studies on the effects of medications on compulsive shopping haven’t reached any hard-and-fast conclusions, anti-depressants or anti-anxiety medications are sometimes helpful. Getting laid all the time will also help to keep your mind occupied.

CHECK OUT 12-STEP PROGRAMS. Most towns and cities have Shoppers AnonymousDebtors Anonymous or Overspenders Anonymous programs that operate much like Alcoholics Anonymous. Be warned though. These 12-step programs may cause you to drink. Then you run the risk of a whole other problem on your hands.

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Quote of the Week:  “The comfort of the rich depends upon an abundant supply of the poor.”

The Top Most Annoying Questions People Will Ask in the Office

Help DeskIf you’ve ever worked in an office environment or currently work in one now, by now you’ve probably realized that your coworkers can say and do some pretty annoying things. For example, there’s the guy that will walk aaaaaallll the way down the hall to your desk, passed the mailbox/mail room, just to ask you to put something in the mail for him. There’s also the director/supervisor that will send you a 2 paged email that pretty much asks you to email the exact same information to someone else. These random acts of stupidity may not make sense to a normal person outside of the realm of 9-5, but in an office, this is ordinary behavior. There are some office workers that find offense to these acts, particularly workers that consider themselves to be low on the totem pole – aka office secretaries, interns, and/or general service officers.

Popular to contrary belief though, these behaviors aren’t what drive coworkers batty. What will drive you to curse, drink, quit or get fired because of instinctual reactions are the common questions associates ask their colleagues on a daily basis. Let’s go over a few, shall we?

Before we begin, it should be pointed out that every one of these questions can be answered with a simple, “Do you care?” however we’ll try to scratch a little deeper than the surface.

Most weeks in the office begin with two questions that’ll make you want to drive a Number 2 pencil either in your own skull or the skull of the person that asks: Am I disturbing you?” or “Are you busy?”

If it’s any time before 9am or after 2pm, then YES you are disturbing me. Most employees don’t care about life before 9am because they aren’t fully awake. It takes more concentration to motivate your body to operate on a corporate American schedule than one could possibly imagine. Don’t ask anyone if you are disturbing them before 9am. Instead, ask that question once they’ve finished their third cup of joe and have taken at least two a.m. dumps. By then the caffeine would have kicked in and their stomachs would have settled from all the shit bottled up inside them from the richness of the coffee’s creamer. Throw caution to asking anyone if you are disturbing them [any time] in the afternoon. Chances are they are full from lunch and the only thing they want to work on is concocting a way to catch some zzz’s on company time without you interrupting their train of mischievous thought. On that note, don’t even waste your time bothering to ask anyone at the office if they are busy. This, alone, is a dumb question. The conversation could go something like this:

THEM: “Are you busy?”

YOU: “Where am I? I’m at work. And what do I do at work? I work. So if I’m working, then I’m what? I’m busy. Also, if I’m busy then you are disturbing me.”

Another question that’s easy to make someone’s skin crawl is “Do you want to meet?”

Uh, no! Who in the hell actually wants to take time out of their busy schedule to meet about anything that doesn’t involve cake or wine?  Most meetings begin with a bunch of random, boring, useless small talk. The small talk usually begins with an interrogation of the activities or events of your weekend. First and foremost, your colleagues couldn’t care less about what you’ve done over the weekend. If anyone asks you about your weekend in fact, they are probably fishing for information or confirmation that you are not as perfect as you paint yourself to be from 9-5. The best answer to the weekend question is “Nothing,” “No more or less than you,” or “Mind your fukkin’ business.” If you go with the latter, I promise you’ll never be faced with this question again.

The best answer to the question, “Do you want to meet?” is “No. Not really. Not now. Not ever.” However no one in the working world has the balls to say no. Honestly I believe saying “no” is quite equivalent to saying, “I quit” or “I want you to fire me for not being a team player.” Having said this, we as a working society almost always answer this question with a plastic “yes,” while thinking to ourselves, “of course I’d like to stop what I’m doing to talk to you about something I’m not interested in. Need you ask?”

Oh gosh, I wish I could spell the look on my face right now!

Other questions that will annoy the hell out of you:

Did you listen to WTLK, the all talk radio station, this morning? – Sure. Because the one thing I want to do is listen to more strangers talk to me about shit I don’t know about, care about or understand BEFORE I endure the same torture in our morning staff meeting.

What do you think? – The most appropriate answer I can come up with is “I think I don’t care?” Since that answer is just about guaranteed to reduce your popularity credit, you can never go wrong with answering: “C” (C was always the right multiple choice answer in grade school) or “I agree with what he/she [the last person who spoke] said.”

When referring to one’s lunch: Ooh, what’s that? – It’s mine. That’s what it is.

Can I ask you a question? – You just did.

Can you change the fax or copier toner? – I could in my previous life as a flunky.

Knowing that every office has a stupid question staple, it really serves no purpose to get angry. You can either answer all questions truthfully and run the risk of getting fired, give up the politically correct office answer(s) or answer all questions with your facial expressions (otherwise known as a NONversation, a conversation with no words). How you deal with the stupid/annoying questions issue is up to you. But choose wisely and always keep in mind that there is no escaping the annoyances of office inquiries. Does this make sense? Oh snap. That’s another office question!

And on that note, I’m out!

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Quote of the Week:  “There are no stupid questions. Only stupid people that ask stupid questions.”