Disclaimer
Disclaimers usually go at the beginning. My bad, y’all. Didn’t ever think that I’d have to write this. I think that the content and nature of some of my blogs have convinced some people that I’m both insane and a threat to society. Therefore, I have to defend the person(a) my mama raised. In college, I once wrote a poem about a young guy that unknowingly gave his girlfriend HIV. In the end, his girlfriend dies and he’s left wondering if he’s gonna die next. It ended up getting published in the school’s annual literary journal/publication. Let me just say that, for the next 3 weeks, folks all over campus thought that I had AIDS. Guys were rolling up to me, talkin’ ’bout, “Yo, you alright, dawg? I didn’t know you were sick. That’s messed up.” It was nuts. The point is that sometimes people assume that you are exactly what you write. And sometimes that can be problematic.
These blogs have always ranged from records of light hearted observations of odd things that I’d encounter throughout the day to my attempts at sharply aggressive, sarcastic, biting satire. The bit about eating flight attendants doesn’t really mean that I want to consume those angels of the friendly skies (although I heard they’re not bad with a little salt and butter). It was an ode and homage to Jonathan Swift’s great 1729 satirical piece A Modest Proposal, or as I like to say (its full name) A Modest Proposal For Preventing The Children Of Poor People In Ireland Being A Burden To Their Parents Or Country, And For Making Them Beneficial To The Public. Here, he says that poor people can get out of poverty by selling their kids as food to the rich. Guess they thought he was coconuts, too. Speaking of kids, and for the record, I don’t hate kids. Not all of them. Just the bad ones. The ones that kick me in the shins when I say hey to them. That’s all. Also, to all my PETA and ASPCA supporters, I’m not an animal hater nor do I subject dogs to my vast array of wrestling moves like the choke hold, sleeper hold, or the figure four leg lock. My only beef with animals is when I’m randomly attacked or peed on. There ya go.
To answer all of the looming questions and rumors, no, I am not starting a cult. No, I am not starting a neighborhood watch program with McGillycuddy. Hell, I should. I am not going to commit suicide because your mama said she couldn’t talk to me anymore because I don’t make enough scratch for her liking and that I had extremely bad luck. Bust it. If I’m the “best guy” that she’s ever come across, then who’s the one with bad luck? Whoa!!! I got a big one! It’s lively! Keeps kicking! Hopefully, this fishing line can hold it. Gonna reel this tangent back in now.
Where was I?……
Hmmmm…don’t take the blogs so seriously, those who do. Not everyone, now. Most of y’all get it. And stop telling my people that I should be on suicide watch becuz you read that I said folks with no eyebrows can’t look surprised at surprise parties. LOL. They’re only jokes, like me playing the harmonica. Now, that last statement’s not a joke, like my demeanor when I’m bowling.
Live well, love more, and laugh harder in ’08. Happy New Year, my pretties!
Be well,
Two fingers,
Me
P.S. – I was watching boxing the other night. Of course, the commentators interviewed the boxers. When asked how he would describe his fighting style, one of the pugilists responded, “I box like a Ford Expedition.” WTF?! Yo! For real. Dinner is on me to the first person who can figure that one out.
Think Ink|Thinq Inq 