Have you seen baby strollers these days? A lot of them look like moon rovers. Like this one. Umm hmmm…

Why do dogs defecate and then turn around and kick dirt on it, when the majority of the dirt lands nowhere near it?

Many single moms look for a man who gets along really well with their kid(s). While this act definitely has sincere intentions, maybe something is being overlooked. Maybe the guy gets along with kids so well because he’s more like them than an adult…

People who come to work with wet hair…please go back home. Do us all a favor and run around the block first to air-dry that mess. You look like you just fought alongside Braveheart for 4 days straight. Or just got off a journey with the Frodo and the rest of the Fellowship.

My friend told me that her friend wanted to have her birthday party in a really trendy, swanky part of town, but she always complains about being broke. I told my friend that her girl had “champagne tastes” and “Kool-aid pockets.” My friend chuckled and said she had never heard that saying before. That surprised me, but it got me thinking about myself. I wondered whether or not I fit that description. After some considerable thought, I concluded that I’m not that type of person. I’m more of a “Kool-Aid tastes, Kool-Aid pockets” kind of guy.

Nothing worse than an old person who refuses to sit down on the bus. Elderly folks, if I offer you my seat on the bus, you should take it. The centrifugal force from the turn coming up alone is enough to send your frail body through the window and into orbit. I know you’ve been here for centuries and you feel that you can do anything, but time isn’t your friend, my friend. Neither is gravity. You should sit down. Take a load off. No one wants to see you bouncing from wall to wall and person to person, all because you feel like you can hold your own against physics and inertia. You can’t. Just sit your old ass down. When I get old and incredibly stubborn, hopefully someone will do the same for me.

The term adultery sounds like something one needs to do in order to become an adult. It almost sounds like a rite of passage…
FATHER: Son, it’s time.
SON: Is it really, Pop?
FATHER: It sure is. Time for my boy to become a man. It’s time you committed…adultery.
SON: Yay! Soon, I’ll be an adult…an adulterer! Just like you, Pop!
FATHER: Whoa! Hold your horses, son. One step at a time. Adult, first. Adultery, second. Alright?
SON: OK.

A coworker of mine just started coughing in the middle of a meeting. Said he was choking on “snack dust.”

People throw out hot coffee that has gone cold. Yet people drink iced coffee. Isn’t iced coffee colder than coffee sitting at room temperature? Hmm…

People walk over puddles so their shoes don’t get dirty. When you think about it, it sort of doesn’t make sense. The whole point of shoes is to keep your feet from getting dirty. To protect your feet from stuff on the ground that could hurt you. Right? Well, people. There’s only one solution. We need shoes that protect the shoes that protect our feet. Shoes for shoes. Sure, we’ll all look like we’re wearing Ronald McDonald-sized clown shoes, but our shoes will be safe and sound, as will our feet. Layers and layers of safety, comfort, and peace of mind for all.

I’m at my best and sharpest when I drink shitty coffee. The worse the coffee, the better my mind works. Therefore, I go around and grab cups from all types of fine establishments. Bank coffee, car shop coffee, gas station coffee, and construction site coffee are at the top of my list.

This sore throat is becoming a pain in my neck.

The new poster for the movie The November Man has it coming out in theaters August. I wonder if he knows that. Obviously, November is his month. He does all of his best stuff in that month. He’s probably just not feeling it in the other months.  Who knows what this man’s preferred method of seasonal operation is?  No one ever asked him.  August might be a little too early for him to pull off all the feats that earned him the name The November Man.

There’s a movie out now called Boyhood. It’s 3 hours long. Any boy who watches that movie will be a man by the time it’s over.

So…if your mama never gave you anything, are you still supposed to shake it?

Women who dress like baby dolls have to admit they’re displaying pedophiliac behavior. You’re 45. Why are you dressing like you’re 4 months old? Just stop it. Booties, bibs, bottles.  C’mon now.  That’s not fashion.  That’s a sickness.  Take the pacifier out of your mouth.  You wear Depends, not Huggies.

SPCA: Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. I need to start a human version of that. SPCHA…Cruelty to Humans by Animals. Why not?

“You ever think that snakes see trains and get their minds blown? ‘How did he get so big?'” –My brilliant coworker

Sometimes, I get so happy that the two halves of my brain split apart and start clapping.

Is it me, or does looking at the new Gotham commercials and billboards make you hungry too? Gotham…Gotham..Got ham…Got ham? Do you smell bacon?

I know a guy who couldn’t laugh in a masculine tone if he brushed his teeth with testosterone toothpaste.

It’s ironic how jury duty is like being in prison. You can’t move around. You’re forced to stay in one place. Lawyers ask you questions. You feel pressured to lie or tell the truth.  No one wants to be there.  There are regulated lunch breaks. Hell, that sounds like work!

The other day, I hurt my upper ankle area while walking to the gym. It hurt for a while, but when I ran on the treadmill, it felt much better. Later on that night, I put an ice pack on it so that it would keep the swelling down as a precaution. I sat down and watched TV. Two hours, I took the ice pack off. I noticed that my skin in some areas felt hot. The following day, the hot areas had developed into dark blisters. I then realized that I forgot to put the ice pack in a cloth sleeve or towel. I had applied the ice pack directly onto my skin for two hours. This was all during a heat wave, and my apartment is known to get pretty hot. Therefore, I believe I’m one of the few people to have self-inflicted frostbite in a hot apartment during a summer heat wave of 110+ degrees.

There are cars called Maxima and Optima. Clearly, there should be a car called Minima, which would have the absolute minimal features and barely even street legal. Just enough to get you from point A to point…Shit! It broke down again!

The term “slacks” misrepresents its purpose. You wear slacks when you want to look nice and presentable. There’s nothing slack about slacks. A lot of slackers can’t even muster up the energy to put on pants.

—-

So a crackhead sat next to me at the bus stop and smiled. Then she said, “McDonald’s!”

The rest of the conversation went like this:

“McDonald’s?”
“Yeah! McDonald’s. You said we go McDonald’s.”
“I said what?”
“McDonald’s. McDonald’s. McDonald’s!”
“OK. Burger King has crispier fries, though.”

She fell asleep immediately.

The bus pulled up, and I got on it.

FIN

Sean Bell
Oscar Grant
Yusef Hawkins
Arthur McDuffie
Timothy Stansbury
Kimani Gray
Aaron Campbell
Wendell Allen
Amadou Diallo
Patrick Dorismond
Johnny Gammage
Jonathan Ferrell
Eric Garner
Ezell Ford
John Crawford III
Michael Brown

…just to name a few.

All unarmed.

From 2006 to 2012, a cop killed a black person at least twice a week in this nation.

People talk about striving to live the American Dream all the time.  But dreams are for the hopeful.  And those who don’t have their right to live threatened daily by those who are sworn to protect the public.

Killing black people is the now the American Standard.  Desensitized to black death.  Dismissive of black life.

John Crawford III was playing with a toy gun in Walmart a few days ago when he got gunned down by Ohio cops.  I didn’t hear about one cop overreacting and unloading his clip into a crowd of those gun enthusiasts who were carrying firearms into all of those businesses a few months ago.  Not a one.

A couple of the names above were lying face down on the ground when cops shot them.  In the back.

This has gone way past ridiculous.
Folks want to rebel.
Folks want to retaliate.
Folks need to reassess.
Folks want revenge.

This is the standard here in America.  Land of the free to shoot any ol’ brother.  Home of the brave cops that fire on unarmed minorities.

This is the American Standard.  Ask Trayvon.  Ask the Central Park Five.  Ask Emmett.  Ask Medgar.  Ask the Scottsboro Boys.  Ask Louis Allen.  Ask Isaac Woodard.  Ask Ossian Sweet.  Ask the Freedom Riders.  Ask the victims of the 1920 lynchings in Duluth, MN.  You should see the postcard.

Reminds me of the Red Summer of 1919,
just spread throughout the entire year now.
The summers have been red ever since.  Really don’t care if you ain’t convinced.
There’s a plethora of evidence.

Earth, Wind, and Fire says, “That’s the way of the world.”
Singing songs to raise the spirit, as we raise spirits to our fallen’s memories.
All of this is standard.  This is what we do.

But standards are made to be broken.
And, soon, a day’s a-coming.  Like the Negro spirituals of old,

“I don’t feel no ways tired,
I’ve come too far from where I started from.
Nobody told me that the road would be easy,
I don’t believe He brought me this far to leave me.”

But that’s undated and antiquated.
An obsolete consensus not fit for today.

Folks are gettin’ tired.
Folks are gettin’ tired.
My people have been tired.
We’re all fucking tired.

I’m getting tired of talking.

This is gonna stop.
Shit’s about to pop.

Powder keg meets Molotov.
Unity at last.

Westbound on the #5 bus.
9:04 AM, Friday.
Resting my weary haunches from standing, waiting on this same vessel of human cattle to work, corporate chattel to jerk.
A woman, 50 or so, sits to my left.
A man in his 20s flanks my right side.
She performs the sign of the cross–Father, Son, Holy Spirit, Father, Son, Holy Spirit–repeatedly.
I wonder what she did last night.
The man thinks he’s slick and tries to hide his 40-ounce bottle of Steel Reserve. Dude’s got some steel nerve.
I wonder what he did last night.
The gentleman gives me a look similar to the ones the Skid Row fellas give you if you creep too close to their territory or property.
I hit him back with a face that only a motherfucker could love. A head nod. He acknowledges. His shoulders gradually slope in relaxation. He’s cool now. He knows. His secret is safe with me.
She’s been at this prayer for a whole 10 minutes now. Whatever she’s hoping for, I hope she gets it. She’s put in a lot of work.
The aisle’s clear for once. No one’s standing in the pathway, blocking others’ progression or digression. But it doesn’t matter. Everyone’s in a seat. There’s no movement here. Everyone’s happy where they are.
The wheels on the bus go round and round, while the rest of us look down at the ground or stare at our phones or just peer off into the mild blue yonder.
No one talks. We’re all just content. With whatever this is.
The driver doesn’t even stop. No frequent stops.
There’s no movement here.
There’s plenty of movement fear.
No one here realizes.
Movements have started on vehicles like this one.
Those were the days. When things were worth fighting for.
When causes were worth writing for.
When ideas were birthed, inciting war.
Too comfortable these days, no one’s inspiring more.
Everyone’s satisfied. Everyone’s satiated.
Full as ticks. Full of it. Full of shit.
That goes for me, too.
I realize that I’ve been in this seat for some time now.
Got comfortable in this thing.
It was brand new when I first sat down.
But now I can feel the springs.
We spring forward just to fall back on the past, dear.
Take a nice rest on your laurels from last year.
I want to give you change like a cashier. There’s no movement here.
So I brush the dust off my jeans. Sweep the cobwebs from my shirt.
Tighten up my bootstraps. Get ready to hit the dirt.
Stand my ass up and tug on the cord.
Screeeeeeeech! The driver flings open the door.
I step off…into the infinite.
At first, it’s scary, but so is everything worth anything.
The bus lurches forward, on the road all alone.
Ladies and gentlemen, next stop: destination unknown.
There’s no movement there.
I can’t be a part of that anymore.
Any part of that can’t be more.
Of what I’m looking for.
I’ll make my own path. You should, too.
Join me
Or
Move.

Some woman locked her car doors as I was walking by her the other day.  This is a fairly common occurrence.  Even though I’m pretty used to it, the various looks of fear still amaze me.  Whatever.  Next time I see a white lady just sitting in her car, I’m going to start screaming, throw her my wallet, and run to the nearest cop and tell him that lady is trying to attack me.

—
ME: how about you?
FRIEND: good.. just same shit, different day
ME: hahah. exactly.
good thing it’s a different day.
ever get stuck with the same shit on the same day, it means you’re dead.
—

Saw a kid with a baseball cap over his yarmulke.  Do what you gotta do, kid.

The great actress CCH Pounder was walking near my street today.
She was walking with some guy, and they looked like they were going to Coffee Bean.
They passed me as we greeting one another.
The guy then told me I had some white stuff on both sides of my mouth.
BHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!
(It was toothpaste.)

How many of you know a muthafugga so nasty, he uses his toenail clippings as toothpicks?

How many of you know a muthafugga so stupid, he thought the “Don’t Walk” and “Walk” crossing signs were telling him to give the first white person he sees a high-five?

I never see anyone reading in the local Christian Scientist Reading Room.

“Assholes drive Odysseys.” –A friend of mine

“If they wanted to kill us, we would’ve been dead already.”  = One of the most used and awful lines that a character can say in a movie or TV show.  Lazy writing at its finest/worst.

Optimus Prime Syndrome: what Caesar from Planet of the Apes has; when the leader of some group can’t help but to believe that all humans are good and worth saving.

This guy likes to tell me about how he likes to challenge cops when he gets pulled over.  He has me in stitches half the time.  Tells me his gets out of the car and gets in their faces.  Tells me that he’ll rip up tickets, and calls them names.  All kinds of stuff.  Never gets into any serious trouble.  And he’s still alive to tell his tales.  Yup, you guessed it.  He’s white.

I can’t stand it when bespectacled folks can’t see something and immediately say, “I’m not wearing my glasses” or “I don’t have my glasses with me.”  Why aren’t you wearing your glasses, Person Who Can’t See Without His Or Her Glasses??  You’re all mixed up.  Wear your damn glasses!  What’s the problem?  I bet you wipe your ass and then take a shit.

—-
OK.
I have a bus buddy from Honduras.
His accent is thick.
Very thick and sometimes it’s hard for me to understand him.
But I tried something today.
As he was talking, I translated the voice in my head, which is in my own voice, to a male Hispanic voice.
Suddenly, I could understand 99% of what my bus buddy was saying.
Incredible.

I was hearing his voice, but my brain was working overtime trying to decipher what he was saying.
So because my brain couldn’t ease up off the work, I made it easier for my brain by making the voice in my head speak with an Honduran accent.

It’s a workaround.  And probably somewhat racist.
——

There’s this guy around here who is so cocky.  Soooooo conceited that when he proposed to his wife, I’m sure he just took her to a jewelry store, pointed to a ring in the display case, and said “I will marry you.  You’re welcome.”

Orange tans. They have to be stopped.  I recently saw a man so orange he looked like he was either going through a citrus-related jaundice or he was about to turn into Chester Cheetah.

I have a real problem with people who can’t look in the face when I acknowledge them.  They will look everywhere but in my eyes.  If you find yourself in this category of people, then you should beware.  When you don’t look at my face during a conversation or in casual passing, I will go to your house in the middle of the night and wait by your bedside all night.  So when you wake up in the morning, this football helmet head will be the first thing you see in the morning.  Oh.  Hell.  Yes.

Hmm, maybe that’s why that woman locked her doors…

Met a guy so dumb, it was like his father’s dumbest sperm fertilized his mom’s dumbest egg.

People bring the dumbest things on the bus. I just saw this guy bringing two 25-lb. dumbbells on the bus. I’ve seen a surfboard, a bike wrapped in tin foil, etc., all on the bus before, but dumbbells are a new one. And those people usually act like YOU’RE the one intruding on their space.

How do you tell a woman that you think she’s lactating? In public. On the street. If you tell her, you’re going to come off as a creep. I had this problem. This lady was definitely leaking down the front of her shirt. I didn’t know what to say. So I ran.

I am a sweat factory. My new gym nickname is Sweatshop. I should start wearing nothing but Nike and using only Apple products.

Girls don’t wear pants anymore. I don’t know when’s the last time I saw a woman wearing jeans or anything that ain’t yoga pants. I asked a friend of mine what’s the reason for this apparel epidemic, and she said, “Comfort.” Oh. That makes sense. For women. Men can’t do that. If all men dressed for comfort, we’d all we walking around with our favorite 5-year-old holy drawers. And that, ma’ams and sirs, is against the law…I think.

I’m not sure why they’re called burpees when the only bodily function they make me want to do is throw up.

“You can live without love but not without lovers.” –Despina from Mozart’s “Così fan tutte, ossia La scuola degli amanti (Thus Do They All, or The School for Lovers)”

Why are so many news stations called eyewitness news? Most of the stories are covered by reporters who get to the location after the fact. What exactly did they eyewitness? The aftermath. They should be renamed the almost-eyewitness news.

Saw an ad for “Fifth Third Bank.” What?!
—-

FRIEND: Prunes…Is that a bad gift?
ME: Nothing says I love you or care about your health like prunes!
ME: Yeah, no, really. That’s a terrible gift.
FRIEND: LOL
FRIEND: Really?
ME: It’s not even a gift. It’s basically a way of slapping someone in the face without touching them.

—-

I’m distrustful of people who always want to high five.

Too many people are running around here wearing tight clothes that fit baggy on them. If you’re so thin that your tight pants ain’t fitting tightly, then you may just need to invest in some body paint. And eat some sandwiches. And biscuits. And ham hocks. And chicken grease. And…

Speaking of pants, I saw an Echo Park hipster with a pair of jeans soooooo tight that I could guess how much change he had in his pocket because I could see the shape of the presidents’ heads.

“There’s a war going on outside, no man is safe from
You can run but you can’t hide forever
from these, streets that we done took
You walking with ya head down; scared to look…”
—Prodigy (of Mobb Deep), “Survival Of The Fittest”

Do you have to sneak up on a glass of water to take a sip? Are people always telling you to stop making faces when you’re not making faces? When you walk into the bank, do they turn off all the surveillance cameras?

If you are, then let me be the first or latest to tell you…you ugly. Or average looking. It doesn’t matter. They’re pretty much the same in this world of selfies, egomaniacs, shallow bastards, and body alterations. There are two kinds of people in this world: the beautiful people and the rest of us. As a member of the latter group, I’ve seen firsthand the injustices that folks of my ilk have to endure. That’s the war that’s going on outside, and a lot of people are scared to look…at us.

It’s pretty well known that attractive people get a ton of breaks in life. Absolutely. You can be dumb as a sack of rocks, and still get hooked up with just about anything. And that’s just how it is. It’s a fact of life. Is it right? Naw. Is it real? Entirely. I sense denial out there. Maybe you don’t think you’re one of the millions of normal-to-ugly people out there. Don’t be fooled. You may be one of us and not even know it. We’ll see.

I once saw this really attractive girl trying to parallel park. She couldn’t do it to save her life or the life of anyone else. In fact, she almost took a few lives trying to straighten out her car. In the middle of all of this, this random guy just showed up and offered to parallel park her car for her. Total stranger. And without a second delay, she gave him her keys. And…he parked the car. This only happened because she was good-looking. Had she been ugly, she would have had to park her own damn car. In fact, people would have started throwing her their keys to park their cars. She would’ve been made the valet all of a sudden. “Here! Park my car, ya fuggin’ beast!”

Pretty people are pretty damn ridiculous. They don’t know how to do the basic things in life, because they’re used to having others falling over themselves to do things for them. Case in point: One day during my freshman year in college, I was washing clothes in the laundry room. This model-looking, Zoolander, Blue Steel faced guy rolls up to me and asks me how to work the washers and dryers. Baffled, I ask him if he’s never washed clothes before. He said that he never had to because his mom and other people always did it for him. Are you kidding me? A grown man who doesn’t know how to wash or dry his own clothes. I showed him how to operate the machines. He probably wanted me to wash them for him. Hopefully, that fool figured out how to divide lights and darks. He may still be there trying to stuff dollar bills in the coin slots.

When you’re ugly, you pay more taxes. You simply do. Every time you show your face in public, Uncle Sam keeps a tab and taxes dat ass! All Americans have the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. You go out in public, and there will be those who’ll protest and claim that your face is fuckin’ up all three for them. You can get taxed for that. Did you pay more this year then you did last year? Is your tax refund less this year than it was last year? Guess what? You just paid an ugly tax, homie.

When you’re ugly, you better learn how to swim, take self-defense classes, run fast, etc. In the event of some natural disaster, accident, brawl, or Doomsday, no one is going to want to save you or help you out. In times of crisis, ugly people have to fend for themselves. Pretty people get the lifeboats and life preservers. The rest of us get bags of nachos and backpacks full of kitchenware instead of parachutes. You will be forgotten and avoided.

You can, however, drive down a one-way street with ease. Just watch the cars part like the Red Sea for you and your mug. You don’t even need a helmet. Any wreck or accident is only going to improve that face.

Pretty people get lost easily, too. They’re not accustomed to looking at maps. Or having a decent sense of direction. The only directions they know are “straight ahead” from all of that catwalking, and “straight across” from all of those cocaine lines.

Uglies and normals, never get into a hostage situation, if you can help it. If so, there will be no negotiating. You will not be traded or let go free. The best thing for you to do is to try to force the gunman in a corner and stare at him for as long as you can…or until he turns into stone.

When you’re ugly, you don’t get sick. Bacteria stays the hell away from you. People start calling you Lysol because one look from you can kill up to 99.9% of germs, viruses, and bacteria.

When you’re ugly, your clothes treat you bad. Ever been throwing on a T-shirt when the neck hole closes up? It definitely doesn’t want to pass over your face and doesn’t want anyone else to see you, either.

Being ugly enables you to commit just about any nocturnal crime you want. Hold up a gas station. Go on a high-speed chase. It doesn’t matter. You will always get away because the overhead police helicopter will never shine its light on you. You are free to roam about in the glory of your ugliness.

When you’re ugly, you will probably never see a full movie theater, especially if you happen to be on the screen.

I’m just sort of rambling here, so please don’t expect any academic analysis here. I’m just concerned that there may be some misguided, uninformed uglies/normals who think they’re batting for Team Pretty. Sheeeeeit. Some of you are probably saying to yourself, “Ain’t no way he’s talking about me and my friends.” Well, you’re wrong. Uglies can’t identify other uglies. You see, when two uglies are in close proximity, their uglinesses cancel one another out. Therefore, they only see each other as beautiful. So here’s a few scenarios that may help you better figure out if you’re uglily normal or normally ugly…or just a pretty-ass muthafucka.

• You’re so ugly, your shadow quit.
• You find yourself on the edges of group pictures quite often.
• When you enter a room, people slowly start turning their backs toward you.
• Ever look at yourself in the mirror and your reflection frowns at you?
• No one seems to make eye contact with you when you’re talking to them.
• When you played hide ‘n’ seek, you noticed that you were the only one hiding and no one was seeking.
• You try to get someone to spot you bench pressing at the gym, and no one volunteers. They don’t want to have to look down at your ugly face making another an even uglier face as you strain to lift.
• Ever go into someone’s house, and they have no mirrors at all? That person has come to terms with his or her ugliness.
• Ever walk up to someone and try to give them five, but all they give you is a “What the fuck?!”
• Ever see a blind man turn in your direction and then inexplicably put his arm over his eyes?
• It’s a known fact that it’s not a bright move to stare into the sun. However, ugly people can stare into the sun all day long. You see, ugliness can bend light rays, which prevents UV light from damaging one’s eyes. Even the sun doesn’t want to illuminate an ugly face.
• Ever try to video chat or Skype someone, and the darn thing refuses to work?
• Ever go to buy yourself glasses, and the clerks try to sell you a welder’s mask?
• When you bake gingerbread men cookies, do the gingerbread men hop up and run away?
• Ever wink at a baby and then the baby starts crying?
• Ever look at a jack o’lantern and then all of a sudden, its mouth closes and it rolls away?
• You’re ugly when you try to get ketchup out of the bottle but it goes back further into it. Stop looking at it. You’re scaring it.
• When you look at your phone to check the time, does the phone shut itself off?
• When you look at your phone to answer a friend’s incoming call, does your friend’s picture just fade away?
• You will probably spend most of your life in solitude. Almost like you’re an exile or outcast. Your face is the leper, and your body’s just the vessel to take it around.

“All generalizations are false, including this one.”
—Mark Twain

I’ve figured out the origin story for a comic book character I’ve been thinking about writing. This character’s name is Useless Coworker. Useless Coworker is extremely lazy, doesn’t want to ever take responsibility, and do a little work as possible. So once upon a time, another hardworking coworker decided to take a dump in the restroom, but forgot to flush the commode. The crap took on a life of its own, climbed out of the toilet, and began working here immediately.

I want to create a pilot episode of a show called The Pilot.

—-

The following exchange is in reference to a man having to pay $5,001 in damages for urinating in his coworkers’ coffee:

ME: http://gawker.com/man-ordered-to-pay-5-001-for-peeing-in-co-workers-cof-1561348896
FRIEND: dude, that is so dumb… he put too much lol. gotta do it like The Help and make it all appetizing so they drink it all lol
ME: yeeeeaaaaaaaaah
haha
FRIEND: 5001 is a lot of money to pay for piss AND jail
ME: it is
He needs to save some money to buy a bodyguard in jail.
Dudes are gonna be like, “So…we heard that you like to whip your penis out…”

—-

Overheard two people talking about waiting on the Big Blue Bus. Mins later, a bus appears and comes towards us. In a semi-frantic manner, the duo yell out, “Is that it? Is that the bus?” The bus was black and white. In my mind, I pushed them both in front of it.
I wish I knew Korean so I could start arguments with these K-town teenagers on the Wilshire bus. A group of them keeping looking at me, and judging by the way they’re dressed, I think they want to challenge me to a dance battle.

Right after babies are born, all they do is sleep. What do you honestly have to be tired about, babies? You JUST started life.

—-

I was leaving the grocery store the other day when a store employee walked by me. She was exiting and probably heading home after her shift. She carried a bag full of cupcakes. A few feet away, an old lady saw her cupcakes and called out to her.

OLD LADY: Excuse me, miss. Where did you get the cupcakes?
WORKER: They’re everywhere.

The employee left, leaving the old lady looking very confused.

—-

Why do so many girls tilt their heads when they take pictures? Jump on any social media platform, and you’ll see hundreds of photos of apparently water-logged women. That head tilt is akin to the dogs do when they look confused. There is an actual condition called Wry Neck Syndrome. It develops in infants. Whereas Wry Neck Syndrome is very serious, the millions of head-tilting, selfie-addicted folks are suffering from Tryingtolookcutebylookingstupid-itis. That’s the clinical name.

Why do all butterflies look like their flying for the very first time?

It has been pointed out to me that I look like a disheveled, non-matching homeless vagrant when I go to the gym.

The other day, I ordered an old-fashioned. It was unusually sweet. I take that back. It was incredibly sweet. It was like a kiwi and a date cried over it.

I like watching people who type like the keyboard is hot.

Every spring, I get a kick out of the names of the horses in the Kentucky Derby. Humans should have Kentucky Derby names, too. A few of the names that I came up with for myself are Tarantula Spatula, Slewfoot Two-Stepper, Harpsichord Almond Butter, Trade Her Toes, Jamburger With Grease, Google It Bitch, Tadpole Stripper, Ladyfingers, and Keith.

Sometimes, I sleep on my face and it’ll feel like a rather large lady smacked me with her 50-pound breasts for about 6 hours straight.

I want to start a sexy video blog like Tyrese, dress up and act like Tyrese, and tell women to do the opposite of what he advises.

They say that you’re officially an Angeleno once you’ve lived in LA for a decade. My time’s running out then. I’m getting pretty close to that milestone. So before I am required to wear Dodger blue, around-the-clock sunglasses, and Chucks, this will be the first in a short series of observational literature dedicated to the land of yoga pants, egg whites, and car chases. This also goes out to the people. The natives. The LA born, bred, and raised. Not the transplants like myself who have made it our home and have, according to one LA native, “used our resources, clogged up our freeways, and taken our parking spaces.” So here you go, LA. With much love, this one’s for you, baby.

UNIQUE THINGS ABOUT LOS ANGELES

1) In LA, signaling while you drive is not an indicator that you want to switch lanes. It’s how you tell other drivers that you want to be passed. The second you put on your turn signal, every driver behind you within a mile and a half will accelerate to pass you. They will honk at you, flip you off, and then get in front of you just to slow down. It’s a psychological move. An intimidation tactic. They don’t drive any better than you do. You gotta stay tough in these streets. You can’t let them bully you, son. Which is why I ride the train.

2) The most mundane, commonplace things that happen anywhere else are the most exciting and extreme of things in California. Time after time, I hear nothing but superlatives being used here. “Oh my god! That is the best show ever!” “Oh my god! I am starrrrving.” “Oh my god! She is the coolest person ever!” “Oh my god! That was the greatest OMG I’ve ever said!” “Driving to the Valley takes forever.” According to this logic, nothing should ever surprise anyone here. The Big One? Pffft. The Biggest One happened several times yesterday. An earthquake is just nature’s way of redecorating your house and mixing up the Feng shui a little. Mudslides? Sheeeeit. Mothers give birth to their children on mudslides out here. The best thing ever to happen has already happened here and it continues to happen every day, getting better with each time.

3) Illegal U-turns are perfectly legal here. I’ve seen a person heading south make a U-turn to get to a Subway parking lot and hold up all of the northbound traffic. All for what? A $5 footlong?! She was willing to risk thousands of dollars of damage to her car, not to mention the lives of everyone else on the street, just so she can get some sub and a drink?? She probably didn’t even get chips. The nerve.

4) In LA, you can wear anything your heart desires. Anything. I do mean anything. I’ve seen a woman wearing a plaid flannel shirt with a polka dot skirt and some pinstriped sneakers that made my eyes bleed. When I first moved here, there were people wearing sweatpants with blazers and sandals. It’s pretty easy to tell here who was stopped and frisked by the fashion police and who was just straight up beaten mercilessly and Rodney King’d by them. You can get away with wearing something in this town that would get you shot by your mama in any other U.S. town. I’ve seen a homeless guy walk up to one of these local fashionistas and drop money in their hat and say, “It’ll get better.”

5) LA people speak a language only they can understand. That language is called Traffic. There’s a SNL skit called “The Californians” that’s all about this. While the voices are somewhat exaggerated in that skit, the content of what they’re saying is absolutely true. Hearing two Angelenos talk about traffic directions probably sounds like what it would sound like if an old dial-up modem could talk with a fax machine over coffee. All you hear is numbers. “Well, Jenniferrrr, I took the 110 to the 101 and then to the 10 eastbound, which runs you into the 60, and that’ll take you to the 5, just stay to the left and hop on the 105, and if you multiply the 105 times two then you get the 210, which you’ll have to double back and drive on the 105 twice so that it becomes the 210. But by all means, avoid the 405.”

6) I’ve written about this before, but it’s worth bringing up again. Rain. What Mount Vesuvius was to the ancient Romans of Pompeii, rain is the modern-day Angeleno. If you want to do a social experiment to see how people would act in the event of the apocalypse, just wait until there’s rain in the local forecast. I’ve seen people leave work at noon because it MIGHT rain at 10 PM. I’ve seen folks take their children out of daycare so fast when it’s about to rain, you’d think that the sky was dropping down millions of watery paratrooping child molestors. One time it started drizzling at work, and everyone ran to the window in terror in hopes that the sound of raindrops they were hearing was all a grand hoax. Just say the word “raindrops” and you’ll see raindrops forming in their eyes. But ironically, everyone’s happy after the rain stops. Why? Because now they don’t have to wash their cars.

7) People hate ventilation here. I’m mainly talking about the bus. They would rather choke to death in a fog of their collective humidity and sweat than crack open a window. This I will never understand. At first, I thought it was because it was cold to them outside, but this was not the case. They don’t open the windows on hot days, either. Maybe it’s protection from the smog. Maybe there’s some unified front against wind and fresh air that I don’t know about it. Sometimes, I’ll open a window to see what kind of looks I get. They stare like I just unleashed a chemical weapon on the bus. The only time a window will get opened is when a smelly homeless person gets on the bus. CLACK, CLACK! That was the sound of 20 bus windows opening in unison.

8) Avocados are the cornerstore of Cali cuisine. Take any dish in the world. Go ahead. Pick one. What’s your favorite? Oh, really? Yeah, that’s a good one. I like it, too. Do this for me, OK? Take an avocado. You have it? Alright. Now take that avocado in your hand and place it on your meal. BOOM, SON! Your food’s just been Californiafied! That goes for anything. Sandwiches, burgers, omelettes, apples, oranges, Tandoori chicken, cotton candy, shark meat, whatever. Put an avocado on top of an avocado. What do you have? Yup. Double Californiafied! Tell a friend.

9) None of the natives like each other. There is a geographically based disdain in this city like none I’ve ever seen before. The folks in the north (the Valley) don’t like to drive to the South Bay, and vice versa. The folks on the Westside don’t like to travel east, and many of the Eastsiders don’t really see a need of going to the “uppity” Westside. I live right in the middle. If a citywide turf war ever goes down, then I’ll be going down, too. Underground. With the mole people. And the purported methane buildup in this area.

10) Everything is awesome. It’s the one word that everyone here has said at least once in the last 3 seconds. I’m pretty sure that LA actually stands for Lotsa Awesomeness. At the local spelling bees, I’m fairly certain that the only word the kids have to spell is “awesome.” If “Dawson’s Creek” took place in LA instead of on the East Coast, it would’ve been called “Awesome’s Creek.” Depending on who says it and how it’s said, it can mean the absolutely everything and completely nothing. It’s probably the most used language in the region, surprisingly outpacing Spanish, English, and Traffic.

The 4 C’s of diamonds are clarity, cut, carat, and color. I can think of one they forgot to mention. Cost.

Nothing says unity like a whole group of strangers working together to align their cars to block some asshole from trying to cut in at the front.

I think the freezer deserves a light as well.

“You know what I hate? Life.” –a coworker of mine

Can one really enjoy one’s leisure in a leisure suit? Aren’t those things itchy? Polyester? Uncomfortable? Flammable?

When you flash your ass to someone, why is it called mooning? Your ass looks nothing like a moon. It looks more like a round hot dog bun. In fact, why do they call your buns cheeks? Your butt cheeks look nothing like your real cheeks. It would look more like your cheeks if you didn’t have a face in between them.

If I’m nodding my head continuously while you’re talking to me, I haven’t heard a word you’ve said.

Next time you’re in the middle of an argument and suddenly realize that you’re wrong, just start making up stuff. Do it. Then after you’ve thoroughly confused your verbal combatant, quickly walk away.

I totally take back all those times I didn’t want to nap when I was younger.

One week, two people on two different days told me that I shouldn’t marry outside of my race. I find it interesting that these two people both had spouses of different races.  That’s like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich telling a jar of peanut butter that it shouldn’t ever mix with jelly.

I need to invent a sarcasm font. I’m not joking.

Sometimes, I’ll watch a movie that I watched when I was younger and suddenly realize I had no idea what the hell was going on when I first saw it.

“Do not machine wash or tumble dry” means that I will never wash any machine because I could possibly get electrocuted and to stop bustin’ somersaults while holding wet dishes.

One day in the future, someone will get a Nobel Peace Prize for figuring out how the hell to fold a fitted sheet.

Learning cursive in grade school was about as necessary as learning your ABG’s.

If LOL has gone from meaning, “laugh out loud” to “I have nothing else to say,” then LMAO has gone from meaning, “laughing my ass off” to “I still have nothing else to say.”

Obituaries would be a lot more interesting if they played music like those birthday cards that sing when you open them up.

The difference between being book smart and street smart is knowing how to hurl a science book at somebody’s nuts in a street fight.

What would happen if I hired two private investigators to follow each other?

Los Angeles is full of directionally challenged businesses. Wilshire Boulevard Temple is on Olympic Boulevard. Brentwood Pet Clinic isn’t in Brentwood, but West LA. Westwood Auto ain’t in Westwood, either. It’s in West LA. Beverly Hills BMW is about 4 miles from Beverly Hills. Hancock Park Apartments is in the Miracle Mile neighborhood, which is next to the actual Hancock Park.  I guess that some confusion should be expected.  Many people don’t realize that Los Angeles is short for “El Pueblo de Nuestra Señora la Reina de los Angeles del Río de Porciúncula.”

Jumping in the shower first and then turning on the water is like putting the toothbrush in your mouth and then squirting in some toothpaste.

The best stories always start off with the dumbest actions and decisions.

If Clifford the Big Red Dog and Big Bird ever had a love child, it would most likely be an orange birddog.

The Point of No Point: That point of the day when you realize that there’s no point of working anymore because you’re physically unable to be productive for the rest of the day, and you just don’t care anymore.

Freefalling Fear: The few moments when you’re leaning back too far in your chair and you’re about to fall onto the floor on your ass. Those few flashes of time when you’re trying to break your fall or prevent your impending crash…all in vain.

Saw a sign the other day that read, “School Zone: Speed Limit 25 When Flashing.” I don’t think they need to be encouraging pedophiles to expose themselves from slow moving vehicles.

All drivers hate pedestrians. All pedestrians hate drivers. But all drivers and pedestrians hate cyclists.

Being a cop must suck sometimes. Everyone driving behind you follows the speed limit, so you can’t pull them over. And if a cop pulls someone over, then everyone DEFINITELY obeys the speed limit. If you’re a cop and folks start following the law the second they see you, what else are you going to do? How are you going to pass the time? Who are you going to harass? Oh yeah, that’s right. You’ll harass black dudes walking in their own neighborhoods. True story.

It should probably be called Unplanned Parenthood.

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*This was started in a coffee shop in 2009 and remained unfinished until 2014. Still a bit raw like the sugar I ingested, this bit is the result of an inadvisable synthesis of insomnia, high amounts of caffeine, three bowls of cereal, a session of people watching, and three quarts of boredom.

ETHIOPIAN ELDER MEN

I see images of you in images of me
Pull back on the lever
Beware of the trap door hidden underneath the rug of reason,
Eroded from the guise of lies
We lie on it anyway because we like how it feels.
Feels good like a Q-tip swab hitting that spot in your ear.
Like a car with the top down, wind blows us hope, we believe in the unseen
A pair of Ethiopian elder men sit by me at the moment.
I’d like to pick their brains, but it’s not harvest season.
All you need is a reason to not invest in your enlightenment,
Opting to stay in the dark. Sow what?
Moment’s ripe with opportunity, not without impunity.
You like not knowing, not moving, not growing.
While you’re moaning and groaning, I spread my wings like Boeing.
I listen to you. Now listen to you.

My tastes have become more varied and eclectic,
Like freshly brewed coffee.
Time to get a refill. I need that caffeine.
I can sleep when I die. Don’t want to miss anything.
Sitting here watching the world go by,
Mothers pushing the future forward—one revolution at a time.
Couples hold hands with starry gazes,
Vehicles putter down the boulevard to destinations unknown.

There’s something comforting in being uncomfortable,
One can see the full picture when looking at a blank stare.
The girl with kaleidoscope eyes’ name is Destiny,
I asked her to rest with me, but she didn’t like my tie—-or britches—-
Or my new acquirements from the haberdashery and tonsorial parlor—
But she’s still gonna come over and crash.
Her eyes draw you in like an auto accident or someone else’s misfortune,
But there’s nothing we can do but take the hit—-or the hint.
Yet we scream ‘til our throats are raw, bloody, and torn
In the hopes that there is hope still out there, real out there.
Real out where?
Still out there.
It’s real out here. Feel our fear.
We’re LOUD and c l e a r.
Loud but not very clear. Still struggling to find some guidance.
Still looking for a role model; someone to tell us “no”
Or spank our hands, or point us in the right direction.
Because we act like we know it all, like we’ve got it under control.
But the reality is we’re out of control. Weak spines, out of the fold.
Too immature to make smart decisions, and too dumb to do what we’re told.
Or do what’s been suggested. It’s hard to digest it.
Especially when your foot’s in your mouth and your development’s arrested.
We’re cockalorums with bad decorum in anything from quorums to online forums.
In those moments, I remembered where I was.
I regretted what I was and wanted to be a better version of myself.
It was time to pick their brains. It’s now harvest season.
I had finally found the reason to invest in my enlightenment.
I opted not to stay in the dark.
I looked over to the Ethiopian eldermen of some wisdom.
And they were gone.

– Me
2009/5:48am PST, 2/28/14
LA, CA