Super-Villain Style

It’s been awhile since I talked to my people. I’ve been too busy trying to pay the rent to keep shit right. And because of that, I’ve lost my voice, and my ears, and maybe my eyes.

The truth be told, I told myself that I wouldn’t post anything worthwhile to this site ever again. I figured I’d just rest off of making my pennies and dimes off of shitty ass ads. And who knows, after tonight, maybe I just will. But for the time being, for this moment, I plan to share myself with my people, if only but for one night. Because my heart is hurting, and I’m filled with fear.

See. Yesterday, as the story goes, I went to work, thinking to myself, that all I wanted to do was make it through the day without any bullshit happening. And by bullshit, I meant work related bullshit. All I wanted was to get to Friday, get my paycheck, cash it, and go home.

Sure, all the money would go to bills anyway, but shit, a bill paid is another month with a place to live, some central air in these hot, muggy days, some hot water to wash my ass up with, and some food. And if I made it to Friday without any shit happening, I’d have just that. But by the end of the day, I found out that Baby Jesus and the forces of nature had something else planned.

I came home Wednesday, got my mail and checked my calls like I normally do. And on the phone, the voice mail, the caller i.d. were phone calls from relatives, relatives, the majority I only see or hear from every blue moon. So, I knew some shit had happened.

I quickly called my mother. She didn’t answer her home phone. So, I hit her up on her cell phone. She picked up. I asked her what had happened. Instead of telling me, she said she was on the way to my place once my sister came and picked her up. And right afterwards, she hung up.

At that moment, a chill ran down my spine. The worst went through my mind. I thought my grandmother had died. But the thing is, my mother didn’t sound like her only mother had just left this earth. But by her not telling me, I knew it had to be someone in my family I really cared about. If it hadn’t, why wouldn’t she had just told me over the phone.

So, I went back to the phone and listened to all the messages. Most didn’t reveal much. Then, went through the caller i.d. again. I checked to see who had called me that seemed out of the ordinary.

And there I spotted, back to back, two cousins who I hadn’t seen in years. One of them, I used to be close to, and the other was one of those distant relatives you only see at family picnics and other weird shit like that. These two woman were sisters who really didn’t get along. This made me think that my eldest aunt had died. And to be honest, to tell the sickening truth, I was a little relieved.

Because by then, my mind had started thinking the worst. I wondered if my cousin, who’s a police officer, had been killed on the job. I wondered why my sister was picking up my mother, and from where. My mother never told me where she was at. I thought maybe my little nephew had died. And I just wanted to hit something. But then I thought, my mother would’ve sounded worser if it was her grandchild.

Then, I hoped it was just someone I didn’t really care about like, I don’t know, my crackhead uncle. I got a little sad for the moment, but soon, I felt an unexpected sense of freedom. What if he was dead? Then, a big part of my problems would die with him.

At this moment, I was really hoping it was him. And then, I thought things might not be so bad if it was my eldest aunt. Sure, I would be sad, but I saw myself getting over that grief pretty quickly. Soon after, I went through the list of distant cousins, aunts and uncles I probably wouldn’t be too fucked up over. And I could feel a calming feeling coming over me.

It was at this moment my mother came through the door. She was with my sister and a cousin I actually like. They quickly told me that another aunt had been killed. She had been hit by a car early that Wednesday morning trying to catch a bus to work.

Then, they asked if I had seen any police cars or ambulances on my bus route to work. And I told them that I had. They relayed that I had passed the scene right after the accident had occurred. And for a moment, I was stunned. The ambulance that I had glanced at on the bus probably held the body of my dead aunt.

###They stayed for awhile and told me that the family was gathering over at the dead aunt’s house. I told them that I wouldn’t be joining them. They left, and I stayed in the silence, my thoughts continuing to work through my head.

I wondered why I wasn’t as sad as I thought I should have been. The only time I felt any sense of loss was when I thought of passing the accident. And the only real thing I’ve ever felt since hearing she passed is what I feel today, anxiety and fear.

###When I opened up the door the next day after a day of bullshit work, I found my mother inside with my sister and two cousins of the male variety. They were laughing and eating, speaking positive, with joy, on memories of my late aunt. I did what I normally do, and then went to the back and took a shit/ Afterwards, I went to my room.

My mother later came back to me. She said she wanted to use my copier to make out some prints of the police report. Apparently some members of my family believe the accident may have been a hit and run. Some think there might be a wrongful death suit in the works. She told me she was making copies for a cousin who might file the claim for the family. Then she whispered something I feared hearing. Apparently, one of my relatives overheard two other aunts plotting to take over the late aunt’s insurance policy and other finances.

At that moment, fear went through my body. I was expecting nothing less. Unfortunately, when it comes to money, my family is like a a group of baby rapists in a day care. And I wouldn’t doubt that any one of them would slit my throat in a minute if large amounts of cash was on the line.

My mother told me that she had slowly, overnight, set up a Coalition of the Free of family members to take on the Axis of Evil that had formed the day before. The Coalition of the Free wanted to free the Axis of Evil of any money they might try to take hold of. And at that very moment, Coalition of the Free members were at the home of the dead aunt trying to free her home of any financial papers before the Axis of Evil could get their hands on anything. The only snag, Axis of Evil members were already at the home helping to “tidy” things up. And furthermore, my mother was on her way back to the battleground to join her members-in-arms.

When she left, I noted a distinct since of disturbance within my body, as if the bile deep within my belly was about to explode upward through my mouth and nose like a great volcano. I truly needed to sit. And as I sat, I remembered a conversation I had with one of the male cousins that had visited that day.

I remember telling him that the people I feared the most were the ones closest to me, like my family. He became upset that I would think that a family member would do any other family member any real harm. And I threw at him fake facts, shit I had overheard somewhere, like the news or something. I gave him this shit all tidied with fake bullshit percentages and everything.

Like: most people are more likely to be killed by someone they know then by a stranger. And, in fact, over 40% of all murders are committed by family members towards another family member. True. That’s why when a wife goes missing, the first place the cops look is at the husband. And when a kid is killed, the first suspects are the parents, or at least the filthy fuck up the mother is shacking up with. That’s why the person you should fear the most is the person that drinks with you, and smokes with you, and shares the same DNA.

He then angrily said that our family was nothing like that. Then I brought up a fucked up, cracked out female cousin who was known to steal from relatives. I asked my cousin if he thought that was right? He responded that he didn’t think that was right. Then I brought up my cousin’s brother, who’s a known thug. I asked him if he thought it was brotherly when his brother stole his new pair of Air Force Ones. He said that it wasn’t right. So, I responded, if his brother would do something un-brotherly like steal from him, what would stop his un-brother from doing worse, like murder. And at this moment, my cousin sat still.

Because he knew the old adage, if you lie, you steal. And if you steal, what on earth would stop you from killing.

That’s why, in this world, every man should know never ever to trust no one, which probably means trust everybody but actually means, always keep your gun loaded especially when family comes-a-calling.

By the way, you can use that in the chorus of your next rap song.

P.S. If you don’t hear from me again, expect that a relative has come and killed me.

Teens Go Public With Their Pubics

One night several weeks ago — it may have been over a month or two (Who knows.) — I was awaken to the sounds of laughter coming from outside.  I went to my front room window and peaked carefully from between the blinds.  And before my eyes, I couldn’t believe what was taking place.  There were several young people, running around in the street, completely naked.  That’s right, people, completely naked.

I would have turned my gaze right then and there until I spotted several busty young females among the group.  They were running and jumping and laughing, having a grand ole time. 

I watched them attentively, catching their youth parade itself before me.  If only they were all women.  Oh, how that night might have ended.  Ummm, sock, January 2001, a vintage year.  But I digress, I watched these youngsters run about, and then I took to my bedding and slept until the morning. 

My neighbor came downstairs a little before noon the next day.  She told me that she had also took sight of the young ones parading about our city street.  She related that she had heard from several others throughout the community that this incident was not isolated. 

She told me that it had been reported to her that the young ones had been disrobing throughout the summer at an alarming rate, at least once a week, possibly two to three times a month.  Needless to say, I was shocked, and a tad bit disappointed.  If only I had known in advance, I might have had a choice in scenery, so to speak.  But, again, I digress.

Apparently, the young ones had taken to performing some form of adolescent ritual which required them to disrobe in public and run about making noise, bringing attention to themselves.  I can only assume it was some form of rite of passage, and a darn good one to boot.

If only I was young again.

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New York City?

I was on Boing, Boing earlier reading this post on death.  Discover has this page up with 20 facts on death.  Most of the info was interesting, but one fact blew my mind.  More people commit suicide in New York City than are murdered.  And here I thought New York City was the hardest place on the planet.  Come to find out that the whole city is made up of a bunch of cowardly little pussies.

At first, I was gonna give those dudes the benefit of the doubt.  I mean, two planes were rammed into two of their buildings, and thousands of people died.  But, then I started thinking, New York City can’t be any worse than any of the other rat traps on this planet. 

I mean, I’m hit over the head with it daily about how great New York City is with it’s entertainment, and theater, and music.  I’m told over and over again that New York City is the liveliest city on the planet.  And if you make it there, you can make it anywhere.  Apparently, a nice number of New Yorkers can’t.

And it definitely can’t be as bad as living in a city in Iraq, or living in the rubble that’s the Gaza Strip.  It can’t be as bad as living in a city in Israel, not knowing when some Arabs gonna blow himself up, or launch a missile at you.  And it can’t be as bad as living in any AIDS-ridden, starvation-filled place in the Congo. 

The truth is, the world is made up of places worser.  And those people living there ain’t taking themselves out like New Yorker.  No, those foreigners take their rapes, and their mutilations, and their muderin’s like a man.  Unlike those beyotches in New York.

Apparently, even with all that the Big Apple has to offer, people would rather slit their wrists than live in that filthy, crack-filled, hellhole another second.

I would have sympathy for them and say “Who can blame them,” but the City won’t let me out of pride.

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The verse most notably distinguished from the sound of death is the one most recently spoken between thy filthy lips.  And that is also known as the sound of one hand clapping.  Also known as the droplet of blood from a vein of an innocent. 

You may ask what I state and why I print this type about this non-paper, and you will know that my heart beats no less loud as the one deep within your breast.  For this, you shall always be my greatest enemy, and my saddest friend.  Like a lonely ice sphere floating about the heavens, we as one shall always be detached and separate.  So, for true, we will never meet, and our souls to death from none be gone.

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A chapter in my life will be ending this week.  I’m moving out of my roach and rat-infested digs into a nice little three bedroom apartment by the lake.  It’s gonna cause a brother a pretty penny, but I say it’s worth it.  You have no idea how long I’ve been looking forward to this. 

All my life i’ve lived in crappy little doodie-holes, either by myself, or with one or two other nasty, filthy bastards who were as broke as I was.  Everytime I thought I was getting out, the man brought me right back in.  And by the man, I mean my wallet.  I just couldn’t afford to live large, at least not until now.  Now I’m rolling in those Hamiltons, son.  I burn Washingtons like a negro ain’t even got no sense.  And that’s because I don’t.  This brother only holds solids.  No dimes, quarters and pennies for this boss playa.

And now, for the first time in my life, I have a chance at living like a human being, or as some may say, like a actual white man.  And, oh, have I always wanted to be as my tormentor, that one day he may accept me as his equal, if not his greater.  And by letting the negro move in next to him, the white man has expressed his feelings of letting bygones be bygones.  And by golly, I’m willing to go along for the ride.  Thanks fellas.

Just to show my gratitude, recently I  registered as a Republican.  I’m planning on buying a Volvo in the next few months.  And I’m currently interviewing white woman to play the role of my, well, white woman.  If i can’t find a white woman who will degrade herself like Toastee on that Flavor of Love show, then I’m gonna have to get me a fine Latina.  In fact, much like Flav, I’m eyeing a fine-skinned Teenie right now.  You shall be mine, my brown-skinned mamacita.

And it should make her happy that I also opened up a bank account, and I put most of my dough in there.  I normally keep my stash in a hole in my mattress, but I thought, if a brother gonna start living it up now, then he better go all the way with it.  Got me some Dockers from JC Penney.  Looking for a nice pair of hush puppies for my feet.  Boy, I’mma be spaced-out victorious.  And all you lower forms will have to raise up and recognize the Super-Pimpin, White-boy.

Hee-hee.  I sure do love me some Justin Timberlake.  He’s my favorite.

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Have you ever tried to talk to a woman and find yourself trying not to stare at her breasts? I do that shit all the time. It could be old chicks. It could be young ones. It doesn’t matter. I’ll still find myself in certain situations trying hard not to have my eyeballs drop below their necks, especially those specially well-endowed ones. Those chicks are especially hard to talk to.

And it doesn’t matter if they’re good-looking or not. I’ve had ug-mo chicks right up to my grill, chicks I wouldn’t even think about sexin’ down, old gray-haired elderly chicks, buck-toothed retarded lookin’ hoes, and I’ll still catch my eyeballs rolling downward. It’s crazy.

And it’s not like I’m a breast freak. I don’t go around just staring down chicks with big breasts. I’ve even dated women who were, sadly, on the small side, and they were still able to satisfy me. So, I’m not some big-sloppy breast slobs. I’ve been known to be fairly diplomatic when it comes to the hooties.

I mean, I like big breasts, but I can do without them. In fact, I’m not really into sloppy big-breasted women. It’s just too much all up in that neck area. And most women don’t know how to hold it right anyway. Too much fatback in the grill.

Instead, I think it’s rather safe to be born on the relative small side, that way you could use all the fake push-up mechanisms and bra pumps. Sadly, the only thing to help out a big girl is tape, to wrap those bad boys up nice and snug. Of course, a woman could also choose surgery, or some form of titty liposuction

I hear that all those choices hurt a lot. Although, if it should come to it, I’d hope a woman would choose pain over filthiness. I know my woman better.

I watched like three minutes of Oprah last night. She had people on there that were, or may still be, addicted to the crystal meth. I was amazed how effed up they got in such a short amount of time. If you thought crack’ll fuck you up, you ain’t seen no messed up methhead.

I was also amazed that crystal meth hadn’t really hit my neighborhood. I’m sure there are people who may be selling it, but it can’t be that widespread because I definitely don’t hear about people getting effed up by it. It’s gotta be lowkey, probably because urban people still think meth is this country hick type thing.

Doing that crap might be seen as similar to walking around in a cowboy hat, or listening to country music or polka, maybe eating German food, outside of the sauerkraut. Old black folks love the sauerkraut. Sauerkraut and pig’s feet. That’s some nasty ass shit right there.

I hope crystal meth never reaches the hood, because if it ever does, or I better say, when it does, civilization will be over as we know it. From what I can tell, crystal meth may be worser than crack, and I never thought anything could be worser than crack. And the fact that you can make that crap with common crap from outta a CVS or a Walgreens, means if it goes urban, you could see more people dropping from that shit than from off that bad heroin that’s been goin’ around. By the way, anybody know where I can find some of that bad heroin, for scientific purposes, of course

And I’m sure some enterprising young black or hispanic will find a way to mix that crap with crack and kool-aid. Umm-umm, I’m gettin’s effed up and having a great taste sensation in mouth all at the same time. Now that’s what I call progress, or stupidity, whatever.

I’ve been living the past couple of months like I give a shit. And you know where that has led me? To nothing, absolutely nothing. When I didn’t give a shit, I had nothing; and now that I give a shit, I still have nothing. So, I have to ask myself, what’s the deal? How come I feel like I’m no better off than I was. Except now, I’m always tired all the time. The only good thing is that I have a little bit more money to burn than before.

In fact, this past weekend, I went on the riverboat to do some gambling. I lost 70 bucks. I lost it all on blackjack. I started off with $50. Then I kept fluctuating between being $20 ahead or down. I finally hit the big score and stayed ahead by $30. I walked away and joined my friend at the craps table. I watched the dice roll for a few rounds, but all the while I was itching to get back to blackjack. I had $80 to burn, and I felt it in me that I could pull off a big score. So, after 20 minutes, I headed back.

I played a few more rounds where I ended up 10 dollars down. Within another 10 minutes, I had lost the rest of the 70 dollars. But I wasn’t done. I put up another $20, and within another 10 minutes, I was up by $5. But after 5 minutes, I had lost the whole 25 dollars. I felt like a piece of shit. I think I even wanted to cry. It was a straight pussy moment for me.

I got up and walked back over to the craps table. I stayed with skillet for another hour and a half. Homeboy broke even. So, I guess the whole night wasn’t a complete bust. Plus, just yesterday, I played the Mega Millions. I hit the big money ball (n/h?) plus one of the white ones. That means I won $3 dollars.

On the ticket, it says it will triple any amount you win on the lower pots. So, I really won 9 dollars. So, instead of being 70 dollars down, I’m really only down by $62. Now I got until next payday to make up the rest.

I can’t stand hateful chicks.

I got this chick who works with me. She’s actually my boss. I might have mentioned her before. I don’t know. Anyway. We get along fine, most of the time. But every once in awhile, this chick likes to do crap that just pisses me the hell off. Take what happened just an hour ago.

Sometime ago, I put through some paper work and filed some crap. I don’t know when. It may have been over a month ago. It may have been sooner. I can’t remember.

Part of what I do is enter some crap into this file system, fax some documents over to another place, and take any existing paperwork and staple and file it with the crap I’ve just finished. There’s a “complete” file system and a “incomplete” file system. So, until I finish my crap, most of the paperwork stays in the incomplete file system. I’ve been doing this crap for over a year, so most of the time I’m on automatic. I do it without really thinking about it.

Anyway. I guess someone has been calling her about some crap the last couple of days and she couldn’t find the paperwork. She recently asked me if I knew to take the prior paperwork that’s in the incomplete file system and put it in the complete file system when I’m done. I said, “Yeah.” And everything was okay.

And then, just this morning, she called me to her office. I thought it was for something important. Instead, she proceeded to “teach” me how to do the job I’ve been doing for over the past year. Only thing is I didn’t get it. I sat there looking at her weirdly, like she was retarded.

Why?

It’s like if you give someone the wrong amount at the cashier’s station. You give them five instead of four dollars. What if the cashier took you over to the side and started counting the money, placing it down on the counter real slow, like, “One, two, three, four…” What would you think?

Beyotch, I know how to count. I don’t need you to teach me how to count. Yeah, I gave you five dollars instead of four. It was a fuckin’ mistake. I made a fuckin’ mistake. Now your retarded ass wants to reeducate me. Pleeeeaazze, Beyotch!

I sat there looking at my boss like a retard because at first I thought she was trying to tell me something I didn’t know. I knew the shit sounded familiar, but my first instinct was to believe that she was trying to tell me something I didn’t know. But unfortunately, there are still pretty petty people in this world. And the sad thing about it is that I sat there and took it.

After I figured out that she was trying to tell me how to do a job I’ve been doing for over a year, I just responded with a, “I know that.” And she proceeded to show me one set of paperwork that hadn’t completely been put in the complete file system. I had put my paperwork in there, but I must of forgot to put the older paper work in there. And instead of treating it as a mistake, this bitch decided to act like I didn’t know how to do my job.

And that’s why from now on that whore ain’t nothin’ but a bitch to me. I hold my grudges like a muthafuckin’ vise grip.

My man is leaving, and I think they want to give me his position. I don’t want it. I see that they work my man like a dog. And I doubt if they’ll pay me what they’re paying him, which is still crap.

In fact, I’m trying to get into another department. I interviewed last week for this cool ass position over there, but I won’t know if I got it for another week. I’m crossing my fingers because I can’t stay in this crap position any longer. I feel all dirty and molested on the daily.

Dudes just don’t appreciate you over here. Sure, I don’t do crap, which is a whole other problem all together, but still, I wish I was appreciated for the nothing I don’t do. When people show me love, I wanna work just that much harder for them, or work about the same with fewer errors.

In fact, they don’t even have to show me love. They just gotta pay me. And I ain’t talking about little bank. I’m talking about the the Muddy Banks of the Worchester, of the Wash-Car, of the Make-a-Wish, whatever. I need big dough, large bills, Texas gold, urine tea.

(Dun-Dun-Dun)

Come and listen to a story about a man named Doc
A poor masturbator, who loved wetting up a sock
He never had dough, always broke and outta luck
Hoping for the day when he could get a girl to…

Oil him up, Free Willy

Well the first thing you know ol’ Doc still broke as hell
Kinfolk on crack that’s why he gotta move from there
Said the psycho ward is the place you ought to be
So he washed him some drawers that were yellow with his pee

P.S. Maybe get myself a cement pond, and bring my hot cousin, Ellie, along for the ride. If lovin’ her is wrong, I don’t wanna be right…