I’m a hypocrite.
I’m a hypocrite.
I’ve been telling myself and others that I would not dedicate any blog space to the person that has successfully stayed in the top three of my Hate List for the past few years. Yet, here I am, about to do just that. Normally, I would hold my tongue, but this person’s latest antics have pushed me to the edge. So here goes….
Kobe Bryant, why are you still alive?
You must be purged from the earth. Your crybaby ways have made me very sick. I rather vomit in a wine glass and then chug it down again than watch your interviews. There are abandoned schools in New Orleans with more class than you. You wannabe! You wanna be Michael Jordan so badly that you can taste it like I used to taste Nutella before you endorsed it. I stopped buying it, but since they dropped you a few years ago, Nutella never tasted so goooooood! You even changed your number from 8 to 24 just so you could be “one more” than Jordan. I must be the only person in LA to buy a Clippers jersey solely on my pure hatred of you. How are you going to complain about the Lakers’ management, insult your teammates, and ask to be traded only to change your mind shortly after and act like nothing happened? Now, you want to be traded again! You made your bed, so you gotta lie in it. Ya bastard! You wanted to be the #1 man on the squad so you complained enough to drive Shaq and Phil Jackson away. Now, your team is a mere shadow of what it used to be, it loses games even when you score 80,000 points before halftime, and, not to mention, y’all suck. The Lakers organization needs to quit bending over for Kobe, grow some balls, and kick him in his. But then again, he might like that. Let’s not forget that he likes it super rough, rough in that illegal way. You shoulda gotten shut down like your album was shut down. I guess you told yourself, “Hey, I can’t rap, but I can rape.” Guess you’re living your dream now, huh? You and R. Kelly need to be locked in a room so you two can just go at it on one another, since you two deviants like raping so much.
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One day I was in a drugstore and this woman came running in, completely hysterical. She recently had plastic surgery on her face and was livid about not finding painkillers that were strong enough. This type of behavior — I have a problem with. Lady, extensive cosmetic surgery is not the way to go. If you’re that unhappy with yourself, then there are plenty of tall buildings around the city that you can jump from. Since you want to change your face structure so much, you might as well go all the way and let the pavement do it for you. Hell, your face is crooked for a reason. God made you ugly. We, ugly folks, calmly and successfully deal with it every day. Why should you get special treatment?
Usually, when someone asks me what I want for Christmas, I’ll honestly tell ’em that I don’t want anything. Can’t help it. That’s just me. Blame it on my Southern upbringing. However, this year’s gonna be different. I’m declaring what I want for Christmas 7 months early. This Christmas I don’t want anything….I want a Segway. Aaaaaah yeeeah! A Segway, you know? Those motorized, crazy-looking scooter thingamabobs. I saw an airport cop with one once and I almost knocked him off it. I want one mainly for one reason. I want to ride it down the highway. Yes, I want hundreds of cars to honk at me simultaneously as I hold up traffic. I want to challenge sports cars to all-out drag races. I want to steal some M&Ms and a Yoo Hoo from a corner store and make my getaway on a Segway. Hopefully, if you all chip in, then you can help a growing boy’s dreams come true.
Ok, if one more person farts in a department store while I’m in it, I’m going to subject you to an old school, Old Testament village stoning all by myself. I am sick and tired of walking through invisible clouds of your ass gas that make me sick and tired. It fogs up my glasses, burns my eyes, singes my nose hairs, and hurts my soul. These silent but deadly vapors of methane should be banned…intergalactically. If you have to fart in a store, keep it in. That’s right. Give your insides a taste of its own medicine. I wanna see you implode. Homeland Security’s fighting the wrong battle. Also, if you’re on a elevator with someone, don’t let one go before you get off the elevator. Not only is that foul elevator etiquette, but it f%ckin’ stanks! “Stanking” is stinking squared. You should be either arrested or shot to death for that. It all depends on whether the officer or arresting citizen pulls out handcuffs or a pistol first. In the near future, scientists will be able to extract a fart’s DNA and trace it back to you. Those offenders will soon be caught and then you’ll be skinned alive.
Note: People with no eyebrows are no fun at surprise parties.
There’s a cook named Bobby Flay on the Food Network that’s starting to annoy me. He’s a born and bred New Yorker who tries to portray this “I’m tougher than all the other cooks” attitude and image. He even named one of his shows “Throwdown.” Gimme a break. He needs a beatdown and a smackdown. What are you, a karate chef? You a martial artist? More like a martial sandwich artist. The closest thing you’ve got to any kind of martial arts is your Japanese wok. Brotha, you ain’t tough cuz you whip the hell out of some pancake batter. Unless I see you in a barbed wire, fight-to-the-death, cage match with Emeril Lagasse, Rachel Ray, or better yet, Martha Stewart, and then you go inside a mosque and convince 500 Muslims that your pork soufflé does a body good, you’re just another guy who can cook with a cooking show. You are not an Ultimate Fighter, a welterweight boxing champ, or a kung fu master. You’re a bozo whose weapon of choice is a spatula. Tough guy, my ass.
Ever wonder why you pay hundreds of dollars for a plane ticket and all you get to eat are some 50-cent cheese and crackers? Huh? I know. Can’t wrap my brain around it either, which is why I propose that we begin wrapping a more satisfying food around our famished appetites. What do y’all think about munching on flight attendants? We should give it a shot. They’ve got to be more filling than Nabisco crackers, right? Which would you rather have: treats & snacks or feet & backs? Kettle Chips or Deborah’s hips? Doritos or Dorrie’s toes? The Donner Party had to eat one another when they were stranded away from civilization for a long period of time. Hey! Sounds just like being cooped up on a plane to me! One flight attendant for every five to ten rows works perfectly, according to my calculations. Oh! And if the flight’s half empty, then your stomach won’t be half full. More food for you. Plus, I hear people taste like chicken….just in a people kind of way.
Suing the Holy Ghost — w/ Cummerbunds & Red Lobster
Why is the Holy Ghost so violent? I’ve decided to take the Holy Ghost to court, charging it with assault and battery. Hope there’s not a statue of limitations. Years ago, I was standing behind this lady in church. Wrong place, wrong time. She immediately caught the Holy Ghost and threw her arms back wildly. Her fingers penetrated the defenses of my glasses and damn near took my eye out. To this day, I have a scar just over my left eye where her 3-inch fingernails pierced my skin and tore it wide open. She never knew what she did. And that’s why I was going to let her know. I wanted to hit her with a spinning roundhouse kick to the back of her head, but that wouldn’t look good…being that she was 70. I’m older now, though. And wiser. I know the way that I wanted to retaliate was not appropriate and I have learned from my mistakes. Next time, a choke hold would be more efficient. Clean and quiet.
What’s the purpose of a cummerbund? I remember renting a tux once that came with a cummerbund. I threw it away. Not the tux. The cummerbund. It serves no purpose. The cummerbund is the appendix of clothing. You don’t need it. I did some research and discovered that the word cummerbund comes from the Hindi word “kamarband,” which means “loin band.” Why would high school kids going to their proms need these “loin bands” to cover up their loins when they’re so hellbent on trying to expose their loins that night? They should think of different ways to use cummerbunds. They should make cummerbunds out of Kevlar and other bulletproof materials. Go to war with that on ya. You may get shot up, but at least you can donate your loins to science. A cummerbund is the extra material that the mummy didn’t want. Give cummerbunds to kanagroos so that their Joeys don’t pop out. Or maybe give one to the kid with the really, really big head in karate class. Yeah, that one sitting in the corner by himself. Now, he can be part of the class since he’s got a headband now.
The next time (let’s hope there won’t be a next time) a monumental disaster like Katrina plows through this nation, I think another group of people should take the place of FEMA and handle matters that need a speedy response. Those people should be – yeah, you guessed it – taggers/graffiti artists. Them muthabastards are fast! They can tag the 10th floor of a new building while the 8th floor is still being built. And you never see them! Anybody who can spray up a complete mural on the highway sign that’s probably 50 feet in the air in the 15 minutes it takes me to pick up my omelette from IHOP at 2am Saturday morning deserves a government position. I’ve seen one tag a pedestrian from head to toe before the guy could pull out his cell phone to call the police. Fast, I tell ya!
Politicians need to stop thinking just because they convince (or pay) some celebrity to endorse them that I’m gonna automatically vote for them. That only works when you’re trying to get the stupid vote. I personally don’t care if you have Puffy (I still call him Puffy; he’ll always be Puffy to me) or the cast of the OC standing behind you while you deliver your speech, they’re not gonna influence my vote. Just ’cause I like a celebrity, doesn’t mean that I like his or her politics. And if I hate that celebrity, chances are I hate the politician, the celebrity, and their families anyway. I’m not a swing state. I rather not vote at all than give you the satisfaction of filing me in the stupid vote category. I was in Florida back in 2000 when it was the laughingstock of the world. No longer will I be labeled “stupid by association.” Anyway, since Puffy’s standing behind you, tell him to close his mouth. Can he close his mouth? His mouth is ajar even when he’s not speaking. Mosquitoes are flying in.
What’s wrong with this nursery rhyme? “Twinkle, Twinkle, little star, how I wonder what you are?” Umm….hmmm…if you really need to ask that question, maybe you should say the beginning part of the statement all over again. But this time, read it really slowly. I mean t h i s s l o w l y.
Staying on nursery rhymes, what kind of message does “Rock-a-bye Baby” send to a child? Sure, when you’re an infant, you don’t know what it means. Of course. It just sounds really soothing after you’ve gorged yourself on Gerber apple sauce and you’ve made yourself tired by flailing your arms and legs all day although you stayed in the same spot the whole day. All that damn motion and you haven’t gone anywhere. No forward movement. Being a baby sucks. It’s only when you become older when you realize that your parent/guardian was singing you to sleep every night by threatening to put you and your cradle on top of a tree and watch you plummet to your death. “And down we come, baby, cradle and all.”
Why do some people insist that spinning rims go on beat-up hatchbacks and mini vans? That looks just a wee bit more than retarded. Spinners look hot on certain vehicles. Not that thing that you have to crank up to start, not by turning the ignition, but by pulling the cord on its lawnmower engine. If you’re riding down the street and your idea of blasting your “system” is by having damn radio static (you know…the sound that goes, “shhhhhhhhhh”) pumping with the treble all the way up, you should focus your money on other things and leave the rims in the shop.
Why isn’t R. Kelly in jail yet? I was reading somewhere that since his videotape came out of him doing a favor for a really young friend and dutifully sanitizing and cleansing her backyard with his tongue sponge, he’s released SIX top-selling albums and has had THREE domestic tours. My man still hasn’t had a trial. Swift justice at its finest. But never mind that. That’s old news. You know what he should really be thrown in prison for? Saying this dumb $hit the other day:
“I’m the Ali of today. I’m the Marvin Gaye of today. I’m the Bob Marley of today. I’m the Martin Luther King, or all the other greats that have come before us. And a lot of people are starting to realize that now.”
Oh, really? Who are these people? You fu[k^n’ diseased urethra! Marvin, Marley, and Martin are all rolling over in their graves from the mere discomfort and “wrongness” of your words and ego, and all of a sudden, Ali wants to fight you. Forget insulting just black folks, you just insulted everyone with a heartbeat and/or a navel. Watching my 12 Play CD roast in flames makes me feel like steppin’! Step to the left! Step to the right!
Why is it that the same places that have hot warning labels on their coffee and other hot drinks are the same places that turn off the hot water in their restrooms? What’s wrong gas station and fast food joint managers? Y’all don’t trust us. When I clog my arteries with the cholesterol from your triple cheese, triple bypass burgers, eat that Big Texas, Big Debbie honeybun from the 3rd aisle, or stain my teeth with your extra concentrated tar coffee, I’d like to at least have the opportunity to fully clean my hands. Gotta keep the germs away. Can’t get anything bad that might kill me on that nice, healthy food. There’s a thing that hot water does. It likes to kill (or at least drown) germs and other microscopic critters. I don’t know what cold water does in that situation. Maybe the opposite. Don’t worry, managers. We won’t sue. Turn the hot water back on. Just put a hot warning label on the faucet. That should do it.
Is it just me or does anyone notice that Maury Povich does nothing but have paternity tests shows? Every show has a “I’m here for the 14th time and I KNOW, this time, that he’s the daddy” theme. Poor Maury. I know he just gave up. After years of having shows about serious and somewhat serious subjects, he caved in and just started doing the same thing over and over again. I heard that clinics in Chicago don’t even supply paternity tests anymore. They just send ya on over to Maury. Well, at least, it’s better than that continuous stream of makeover shows Jenny Jones had going on. The only makeover show where all the participants came out wearing the same maroon silk blouse that Jenny’s wearing. She would always say to the newly made over guest, “You look so great!”
Runway models should have at least one Philly cheesesteak before they jump on the catwalk. Maybe that would make them happy. That way, they’ll stop looking so damn serious and stop frowning. They look like someone just told them that they look like they weigh 85 pounds. Oh, the horror! On top of that, why are you always modeling clothes that are too big for you? What was that? What did you say? You don’t like greasy meat. Well, that’s your prerogative. It’s the way that you wanna live. It’s your prerogative. You can do just what you feel. But Philly cheesesteaks are gooooooood. Your plate full of air and dust? Baaaaaaaad. Just so you know, swallowing your own spit doesn’t count as caloric intake.
Why is it that people with bad breath like to say words that start with the letter H? You know what I mean. Uh huh. We all know at least one person with breath that could cause another Chernobyl. Yeah, that nuclear meltdown, nuclear fallout breath. Watch them next time you’re around them. Especially those with that “it’s 8 in the morning and there’s no reason that your breath should be this damn bad” breath. They’ll go up to you saying something like, “HHHHi, HHHHow are you? Did you hhhhave a hhhhappy hhhhholiday? HHHHarry’s not hhhhere. HHHHe hhhhas hhhherpes.” Can you say HHHHHHalitosis?? Better yet, don’t say it. I’m sure they sell gas masks on Ebay.
Who the hell is OTIS and why is there always a 2000 pound limit on his elevators? I thought Otis made Spunkmeyer cookies.
I must have occasional (if not perpetual) bad taste in clothing. I got a shirt a couple of years ago. Back when I was in Miami, I went through a “dress like the locals” stage. I got a blue, Cuban-style guayabera shirt. It had subtle prints of tropical marine life on it. I thought it was sorta smooth. That is until strangers started coming up to me, asking me if I worked at Red Lobster. That shirt has been exiled to the back on my closet.
If you are an adult and you act AND dress exactly like your child 6 out of 7 days of the week, turn yourself into the proper authorities. You may not be aware of it yet, but you quite possibly could be a child molester. More than likely, you are. That TV crew that keeps following you around isn’t “Candid Camera” or “Punk’d.” It’s Chris Hanson and the “To Catch a Predator” guys.
If you drive while you’re talking on your cell phone or while you’re texting and you get into an accident, it is your fault. I don’t care if you get rear-ended. I don’t care if you get hit by a drunk. I don’t care if a tree uproots itself and runs out into the middle of the street and you hit it. I don’t care if a crane drops another car on top of your car while you’re at a stoplight. It’s your fault. Get a hands-free joint and stop risking all of our lives. We should track down your parents and beat the hell out of them for all the $hi+ they’ve caused.
Why do you have on a leather jacket in June? We all know that you just got that jacket on clearance and that you love it so much, you couldn’t wait to sport it. Here’s some advice. Wait, dumbass. It’s 99 degrees and you’re standing in the shade. Why? You want people to think that you’re cool, but we all know that your heart is sizzling inside your chest. You’re dying inside. I’ve heard of people dying from broken hearts, but you’ll be the first to die from a smokin’ heart. Take the jacket off. Old folks look at you in that jacket and pass out. Stop being stupid. You’re about as smart as someone going to a cannibal convention smelling like bacon bits.
By the way, please tell me why you decided to wear your sunglasses at night? Is there some kind of nocturnal sun that you can see that the rest of us mere mortals can’t see? Who are you? Cyclops from X-Men? He wears shades for a reason — he has to. You don’t have a reason. Plus, he’s make-believe. Now, guess what? You’re real. A real scrotum-head. It’s 11 pm and you wanna wear your shades like you’re important. You’re not important, but you might as well be impotent because no sensible woman’s gonna give you the time of day or, in your case, night.
Think Ink|Thinq Inq 