Constellation Boulevard
No one likes Monday. Every Monday, I challenge Monday to fight me at 3:15 behind the school, near the oak tree.
Why do more criminals wear ski masks than skiers? Ski masks should be renamed robbery masks, terrorism masks, etc.
Let the term “cowhide” be a reminder to cows to hide.
Some old dude was just sitting down on the bus. Suddenly, he jumped up and started doing pull-ups on the moving bus. Too bad he needed something to pull up his pants, for as he pulled up, his trousers slid down–and I had a front-row seat for all of this. Saggy, old man ass in your face at 8:15 in the morning is not the way to start any day.
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I can’t take credit for the next two. Saw them online somewhere:
Never argue with a fool. He will bring you down to his level, and use his experience to beat you.
KID: Why is it raining?
GUY: God’s crying.
KID: Why is God crying?
GUY: I don’t know. Maybe it’s something that you did.
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Why most black men don’t have time to abduct you and your children and take you to Disneyworld.
Not too long ago, a woman in Pennsylvania claimed that 2 black men abducted her and her little daughter. It set off a nationwide manhunt. Come to find out she had secretly taken her daughter to Disneyworld and didn’t want her husband to find out.
Last year, another woman from PA said a black man mugged her, saw that she had a McCain bumper sticker on her car, and then inexplicably scratched the letter “B” into her forehead. In the end, this woman admitted that she had made the whole thing up. And we all remember when Susan Smith said a black dude kidnapped her children; she had really put them in a car and sent it into a lake, drowning her two boys. Therefore, I’m going to take a few seconds to explain why most brothas ain’t trying to abduct you and your children from your home, Disneyworld, or anywhere else.
A) Black men don’t WANT your children. We just don’t. Some of us have children of our own. And some of us don’t even want them. Just like men of all ethnicities. We just want our occasional space. Our remote controls, our food, and our beer. That’s pretty stereotypical, but it has some truth to it. Your children aren’t special. Why only take your children? Children are children. People abduct chicken children every day and eat them in omelettes. You don’t see hens picketing in front of the Supreme Court clucking and getting pissed because we keep taking their kids. Do you?
B) Black men don’t NEED to abduct you and your children. That would only give the police more reason to harass us, nightstick us up, and as Dave Chappelle says, “sprinkle crack” on us. There is no benefit economically, socially, or any other kind of word that ends in -ly from kidnapping a white American family. A black man could kidnap the baby Jesus from the manger and would have less people hunting him down than if he kidnapped Debbie from Wichita. We’re not that suicidal. Well, some of us do like danger. Some of us just want to hang around to see if tomorrow is going to be any more messed up than today was. Phew! Because yesterday was baaaaaad.
C) Black men have no interest in Disneyworld. Well, that’s not entirely true. Many of us have been there. Been on the rides and all of that. But for the rest of us, Disneyworld just ain’t the place to be. Mickey Mouse is a black mouse with white gloves and shoes. He reminds us of blackface performer Al Jolson from “The Jazz Singer.” Pluto and Goofy are reminiscent of the police dogs that were sic’d upon crowds of black marchers and activists in the 1960s. Haha! I know I’m stretching it. But I’ll still take my chances at Busch Gardens. And people wonder why I stay on the bumper cars the entire day. That’s my alibi, in case I get accused of taking some kiddies. I’ve got at least 30 witnesses for every second of the day. Beat that. At least, I hope they’ve got my back.
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Is it just me or does anyone else notice that country singers don’t come from the country anymore?
There’s a company called Andy Gump, which manufactures porta-potties. Wouldn’t it be more appropriate to name the company Andy Dump?
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Excerpt from a conversation:
She: I’ve decided to look for a rich husband. Ta-da!
Me: Haaaaaaaa!
Me: You should become independently wealthy, too.
She: That will happen when he dies.
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Why do you need beauty sleep when you’re still ugly when you’re awake?
Saw a woman at the bus stop yelling and screaming–in a Russian/Slavic-sounding accent–at something invisible. Then, when she got on the bus, she put on her glasses and asked the bus driver for directions, while speaking in a British accent. Now, I’m down with Obama, Tiger, Vin, Rosario, and Moon Bloodgood, but maybe some people, like that woman, are taking this multicultural thing has too far.
I find it ironic that in Century City (which is part of metropolitan LA), at the intersection of Constellation Boulevard and Avenue of the Stars, you can look up in the night sky and–because of the smog–not see any stars or constellations.
Placing car insurance ads on the inside of a public transportation bus makes no sense to me…neither does having a Burger King and a McDonald’s in a hospital.
One’s reason for not joining the army: “I can’t be all that I can be if I’m not around to just be. If I get shot, then I won’t be anything.”
Am I the only one that finds it ironic that Perez Hilton got a black eye from an associate of the Black Eyed Peas?
The term “extramarital affair” needs to be reevaluated. To call an affair extramarital is to assume that one’s having sex in his or her marriage. If sex outside of the marriage does occur, it should be called something fairly random, like “fishing” or “tap dancing,” or the more direct “I’ve decided how I want to perish and my spouse will probably take me life” affair. And what’s fair about an affair? OK. I’ll quit while I’m ahead.
No, I won’t. The word “marital” is dangerously close to the word “martial.” Marital means “relating to a marriage,” while martial means “warlike.” Love IS war, right? So who’s winning?
The other night, on the bus, in the middle of a homeless woman’s frightening rendition of Beyonce’s “If I Were a Boy,” a cell phone rang. The homeless woman reached into her coat pocket, pulled out a gold, sparkly cell phone, and answered it. “Hah-lo!” Utter shock spread throughout the bus. It was so jarring and confusing that the homeless man sitting near me, looked at me, and asked, “What am I doing wrong?”
If you’re a man walking a dog so small and cute that it could fit in your pocket, then you need to get a new dog. Either that or the dog gets a new owner. The only way to reclaim your manhood is to get a dog that can eat a man. A big dog. A big hungry one.
Sometimes, folks preface statements with phrases like “Well, I’m not a (insert occupation) but…” and then proceed to give out advice pertaining to the very career field that they said they were not a part of. You’ve heard it before. “I’m not a nutritionist, but I would probably eat no less than 2841 calories a day because…blah, blah, blah.” And “I’m not a physician, but I would advise…” Hey Wanna-be-whatever-you’re-nots! I’ve got some advice for you. I’m not a person who gives a piss, but even if I did, I’d still tell you stop pulling advice out of your sphincter, and watch me go and ask a professional.
Speaking of professionals, these so-called expert psychologists/psychiatrists on all of these talk shows, who get paid to spit out common sense, are ridiculous. For the typical abusive relationship or cheating scenario, they always say the same thing–the same thing that anyone would say–“She should to leave him.” Oh really, genius? They actually pay you to come up with that? I see you’re wearing shoes. Did you put them on and tie them up by yourself, too? Talk shows should just hire everyday Jacks and Janes to sit on the panel and give out advice. They could hire the old men from the barber shop, the ladies from the beauty shop, and the drunk dude in front of that grocery store on Western Ave. They’re smarter than those shrinks by a long shot. Plus, it would be cheaper. Give Pops a pack of squares and he’ll be good to go.
Starbucks customer: “I want a strawberry-mango-banana shake, with no mango, no banana, and no milk.”
Barista: “So…you want a strawberry.”
Starbucks customer: “Ehhh…uhh…what?”
Recently, a store greeter said to me as I walked inside, “We have a big sale going on. The more you buy, the more you save.” Umm…not really. If I spend nothing, then I’ll save even more than I would have if I bought something now, wouldn’t I?! What’s wrong with you, store-greeter lady person? You can’t go around lying to people like that. That’s basic math. No one’s going to fall for that. (Momentary silence.) How much is that shirt over there?
Occasionally, most of the time, I love women 100% of the time. They put up with me 35% of the time. The other 65% of the time, they’re trying to remember who I am and/or calling the Disneyland police.
Here in Southern California, the word “awesome” is the most overused word in the English language. Awesome is used in just about every situation that one can imagine. The only word that comes close to its usage frequency is “smurf” from the Smurfs cartoon. To the Smurfs, everything was “smurf,” “smurfy,” or “smurfing.” It’s come to the point where I want to run into the wild and live with coyotes for the next 20 years. After that, I’ll resurface, and by then, I will have forgotten what the word “awesome” sounds like. My dislike for this word goes back to my childhood in the late 80s, when kids in school could say nothing else but “radical” and “awesome.” Now I find myself here in Awesome’s territory–enemy territory. Throwing thesauruses at folks ain’t really working. Been fighting this losing battle for some time now. Unawesome.
Why is it that some people want you to try their cooking and the first thing to come out of their mouths is, “How’d you like it?” That’s the wrong way to ask that. My answer may be, “I didn’t,” or “I didn’t like that hog feed you call food.” I may not like it. “What do you think?” is a better way to ask. Suppose if someone dropped by your spot for dinner, ate all of your food, commandeered your TV remote, and was extremely obnoxious. Would it be wise of him or her to ask you, “How did you enjoy my company?”
I got on a late-night bus. After I paid the fare, I turned to find a seat. Standing right in front of me was none other than Jesus. Or at least a man dressed like Jesus. Robe, beard, and sandals. After he let me pass, I sat down. Who knew that the bus to Heaven went through squalid ass Hollywood? I remembered that I saw him before in Mann’s Chinese Theater. He walked down the aisles in a way that made him look like he was floating. Apparently, he was on his way to turning water into wine. He got off the bus near a liquor store.
Last week, some friends and I saw a church named Bible Baptist Church. C’mon, B.B.C., I think we get it. Imagine that? A Baptist church with bibles in it. I bet y’all have a sign in the closet that reads, “Summer Bible School’s Bible study here at Bible Baptist Church.” I’m pretty sure that Liquor Store Jesus brainstormed that one up.
Certain pedestrians believe they own the street, strolling out in front of speeding bullets from Ford, Honda, and BMW. Pedestrians have the right-of-way, but car drivers can do what they want. My right-of-way can’t stop a zooming 2-ton hunk of metal on wheels. In fact, some brazen pedestrians have let their right-of-way mindset send them to the hospital, right away. But, I salute you bold walkers of city streets. I’m not on your level yet. I can’t cross a park lawn without a kid running into me with a scooter or tricycle. Baby steps, people. Baby steps.
Recently, a man died when he fell into a vat of chocolate at a chocolate factory. Although, this isn’t a humorous moment for his family, the following comment made by a friend of mine warrants to be placed in the hall of fame of sick humor:
Someone stops eating chocolate candy and says, “Whoa! That’s not the crunchy peanut center I was expecting.”
I love it when you’re having a phone conversation, and the person on the other end can’t hear you clearly and asks you to “speak into the phone.” Oh, my bad. How stupid of me! My phone is 12 miles away. Please hold on while I go across town and retrieve my phone, since you can’t hear me. OK? One second. (footsteps) Ok, I’m back. Maybe if I try putting this phone near my ear and mouth, you’ll be able to hear me. There. Now, is that better? How do I sound? Clearer? Good. OK, I’ve got to tell you something. Ready? Ok, here goes. OF COURSE, I WAS SPEAKING INTO THE PHONE! What sense does that make? You think I was sitting on it? Maybe I was talking to you while the phone was in my pocket? Boy, am I dumb! I wonder what’ll happen if I take this phone battery ou–
Think Ink|Thinq Inq 