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 