Friday, December 17, 2010


I was gonna do the figurative and literal “right thing” as far as keeping my mouth shut goes, but then I chipped my manicure and the fact that Sally Hansen stuck me for $6.36 worth of my dwindling paper for a damn “10 Day: No Chip Nail Color” topcoat that lasted for three and a half days reminded me of why I’ve been irritated lately, so we’ll see about that “right thing”. No Spike Lee. Not only that, but when I woke up a little while ago, I noticed that one of my nails had up and disappeared like Naomi Campbell’s edges socks and draws. Dammit. Why won’t they let my manicure be great, yo?
So anyway, here I am. It’s 0325 and I’m sprawled across my bed, unable to go back to sleep with iLLVibes’ “I love Hip-Hop vol. 1” podcast blaring through the speakers of my Ghetto Blaster Tote from Karmaloop and…I totally just forgot what I was about to say. Eff this. I’m going back to sleep.

Wednesday, December 15, 2010


I hate it when saints people use prayer as a saved, sanctified and filled with the Holy Ghost way of cursing at or threatening others. Hardly anything irritates me more about today’s “Christians” in fact. 
Well, there’s that whole crusade against homosexuality, but I’m choosing not to speak on that for the time being. I might find myself excommunicated from the Church of God in Christ and I personally do not want to spend an entire day in church with the Baptists. 
They do have a tendency to make it to the buffet before the Methodists though… 
There is unspeakable power in prayer and I seriously doubt that the Lord, our God appreciates you abusing that power by telling someone that you’ll pray for them when what you really mean is “Bitch, shut yo’ ass all the way up before I Spartan-kick yo’ ass down a flight of steps!” 
Yeah. Pretty sure He frowns upon that. I dunno; I could be wrong. 

Monday, December 13, 2010

“Look at your life; look at your choices”

Seems like every other week, I find out one of my friends or casual acquaintances is pregnant, getting married or both. I’m not judging. And really, I’m happy for ‘em, I am. Sure, Nana is starting to resent the fact that, at 21, I’m not married and have yet to give her any great grandchildren, but, that’s a grip for another time; back to the topic at hand.
Now, for every couple that’s engaged, married and/or pregnant for the right reasons—I deserve a cookie for for choosing to take the high road and not make a broken condom joke. Chocolate chip, please and thank you—there’s at least one simple ass person that thinks getting married or having a child is going to fix whatever’s wrong in their relationship. Giiiiirrrrrrlllllllll…
I’ve tried and failed to understand this shit. I mean, really. The pseudo-solutions that these dumbasses geniuses have come up with are going to lead to more complications, nonsense, drama and bullshit later on down the line.
If your girl is a self-centered, whiny, childish ass bitch with a flair for the dramatic and a gold medal in homie hoppin’, what makes you think that getting married is going to make the fact that three of your boys can tell you what that mouth be like okay? Cuz it won’t. Basically, all you’ve done is make her a married self-centered, whiny, childish ass bitch with a flair for the dramatic who’s smashin’ the homies on some Danger shit whenever you aren’t around.
And ladies…what makes you think for a second that having a child on some “let me trap this nigga, that’s the way to make things right” ish is the right thing to do?! Really? You think that bringing an innocent life into the world is going to suddenly make dude straighten up and fly right and stop doin’ whatever it is he’s doin’ that you have an issue with?
Girl, boo.
There’s a good to better than great chance that the only things that are going to happen* are he’ll deny the child, y’all will end up on Maury and when it comes out that little Jamaquandrell Jr. is indeed his son, dude will resent the hell out of you. Not only that, but he’ll probably end up duckin’ and dodgin’ you and your cousins to avoid paying child support for the next 18 years.
Tell me:
Do you honestly want that for yourself?



*results are typical in a world with crappy Daytime TV

Nil Nisi Malis Terrori

“No, I ain’t bitter; I don’t give a fuck, but, I’ma tell you like this…”

As of right now, I’m still completely and really rather removed from the state of mind known as “in the mood”. So, to commemorate this momentous and wonderfully effed up occasion, I’m gonna take this time to get some ish off my chest. Y’know, address a few of the things that have been on my mind and nerves as of late…and maybe type up a few of the blogs I never got around to posting.
I, myself, don’t know exactly what I’m about to say. I haven’t thought that far in advance yet. So, as a bit of fair warning, there’s a chance that I’ll say some things that you don’t or won’t agree with. Some things that those of you with an overly inflated sense of self-importance may take to be a personal attack on you and your character or some asinine shit like that. A very real chance.
No VH1.
Any other day, I’d act like I care and apologize for what you mistakenly took to be subliminal shots being popped in your general direction while you were rooted firmly in your feelings, but, y’know what that mysterious collective of individuals known only as “they” say:
If somethin’ hits too close to home, move.”
Honestly, I’m not looking for confrontation, so, if you’re feelin’ some type-a-way about the potentially broad, far reaching and general ass statements in the following entries, it’s strongly suggested that you confront whatever’s in you that’s responsible for making that particular type-a-way before you come at me. I don’t have the time, patience or the very will necessary to deal wit’ yo’ ass. 
So, I won’t.

Friday, December 10, 2010

Furor Scribendi

This probably won’t come as a shock to many of y’all, but I’m so far removed from in the mood” right now. So. Effin’. Far.
As a matter of fact, I’m about ready to locate and choke the stuffing out of a Care Bear Cousin or two, but ya know what? While sickeningly appealing, the thought of wrapping my recently manicured hands around Brave Heart Lion’s neck and squeezing until his little plastic eyes pop off and his fluffy white brains come oozing out of his ears isn’t going to change anything. Dammit.
I’m just…I’m so…ugh right now.
My annoyance and current frustrations would be best expressed by the sounds of groans, screams and the splintering, cracking crunch that piece of plywood made as I kicked hole after hole into it. I don’t even have printable words for this shitstorm of malarkey, smh.
See, right now? I’m at a point where I want nothing more than to grab the boxcutter I keep under my pillow, the baseball bat I have stashed under my bed and the tubesock with a rock in it that I have hidden away in my drawer and go about rearranging someone’s facial landscape. But I won’t. I want to—you have no freakin’ clue how much I want to, but the fact remains that it won’t be happening. Not today at least. Maybe.
I may just have the Devil’s temper and one hell of a flair for violence and improvised weaponry, but at the same time, I still possess a bit of the good sense that the good Lord blessed me with. Besides that…
I’m too cute for jail.

Wednesday, December 1, 2010

It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmahanakwanza

It’s that time of year again, folks.
The Salvation Army has the elderly hanging around your favorite Wal*Mart with their little bells just a ring-a-ling-lingalin’ as they freeze their geriatric butts off in the name of your spare change. Cheapskate boyfriends are planning to breakup with their girlfriends to avoid buying a Christmas present or just to kick it with a no morals ho-ho-ho. All around the country, children are writing letters to Santa Claus and praying the Please, please, pleeaaassseeee let there be a snow day” prayer before falling asleep nightly as their parents look for better hiding places for the presents they maxed out their credit cards buying.
Yerp. The holidays are about to anally rape us again. Where’s the peppermint stick lube? upon us again, so you know what that means.
Snow! The horrible annual Christmas play at church! Snow! Racist, homophobic, ratchet ass Rudolph the Niggafied Reideer! Snow! Christmas carols!
…Did I forget to mention the snow?
This morning when I woke up—which, thankfully wasn’t as traumatic or painful as yesterday—I was told that Boogie had a snow day and that I would have to get out of my warm, comfortable bed to shovel the accursed snow. Which, by the way, was a lie. Yes, it snowed, but only a little bit. However, we do have to remember that I live in Michigan—we’re shaped like a frickin’ mitten, for Santa’s sake—and our bipolar weather is apt to change in the blink of an eye. Eh…
At any rate, Caramel Macchiato will be ready for her yearly showdown with that jive turkey, The White Devil soon. Now to find a decent pair of gloves.