I just bought I brand new pair of Skull Candy earphones yesterday. Actually, they're a replacement for the first pair that I blew out. I like my music real loud. So, ceremoniously, I spent the majority of last night raping the Net for it's free wares. Like any fun-loving American should do from time to time. Usually, when I'm on download mode I don't listen to any of the songs until I'm satisfied or I fall asleep in my recliner. But, like my loud music, I love coffee, maybe too much, so a full day's consumption had me too wired to sleep.
Somewhere between my wife's snoring & the bird's morning tweet, I ran through the entire catalog of joints I already had & those I currently ripped. &, to my shock & awe, Lil Wayne was a good 40% of my music. I didn't realize (remember) how much I liked him until almost every other random track had some type of Wayne affiliation. It started with "Prom Queen", then "Hot Revolver". Then backtracked to "P.M.W." to "Go D.J." & some older songs I had previously that he featured on. I started thinking about all the times I cracked wise on dude; the "Marilyn Monroe" stud, the Frankenstein scar tat on his forehead, his liquid jeans (whadup Kay Bee!?), his dreads that look as if they're ready to awaken & crawl out from underneath his filthy headgear, etc. But, all that is just comedic relief to how uncomfortable I feel when I look at him. He's a scary looking guy, more so than even Michael Jackson himself.
Yet & still, he's a creative son of a bitch. That is fact-based, undeniable truth. From where he started with Hot Boyz to his explosion of a solo career to him veering off into the unknown with Tha Carter 3, to his upcoming alternative (some call it rock, but obviously they need to step their genre knowledge up) release, homie gives you music to listen to. & after all, isn't that what WE pay THEIR salaries for?
I've never supported a rapper because I thought he was handsome [||], or because I had an interest in his views on global warming & terrorism. I buy the album because I need something to wash dishes to. Or to preoccupy me between meals. My taste in music grows in leaps & bounds yearly; most rap dudes been muttering the same rhetoric for years, thus I don't look/listen for something new, per se. Now, I'm interested in the song structure itself: instrumentation, subject matter, cohesion, musical personality if you will. Wayne doesn't let me down, even as he moans into a vocorder about girl problems & drug addiction. There's an undeniable passion to what he does, even if one doesn't agree with his methods.
To all those that "hate" Wayne for one reason or the next, first I ask that you find the best blaze in your hood, put the kids to bed, roll up & zone out to Tha Carter 1&2. 3 is purely optional. Then, if it's accessible, download "Prom Queen" & "Hot Revolver". Now granted, the weed may/may not help the situation, but it should remind you why for a whole year (2007-most of 2008) he was the B.R.A. (If you know that acronym, you can't deny what I'm saying). Now, he just might possibly be the posterboy for what Hip Hop is to become, like it or not.
Unadulterated artistic expression by any means necessary.
Forget the guitar, the hideous outfits & ridiculously ignorant talk show speeches.
Listen to the music.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Monday, April 27, 2009
*cough* *cough* *oink*
According to the CDC, I should've have contracted HIV a couple of decades ago. Just by the sheer magnitude of the infection rate, I would've easily been that "1 in 4" to have it. Yesterday, I hung out with 3 of my "friends" for an entire day waiting for one of us to keel over or evaporate or something. No Dice.
From what the news pumped into our brains, the majority of my generation should have died off around 1995. Although I have zero friends who engage in "the love that dare not speak it's name" (google it) or use drugs intravenously, that's what "reports" had us to believe. But alas, here I am. No AIDS. & I have medical documents to back my statement, in case any one wants verification.
I've survived through that, & the rampant Bird flu a few years. Granted, the only birds I know on a personal level are at KFC, Popeye's, or El Pollo Loco & usually don't survive past the ride home (you know Black folk & their fried chickens), but they were birds nonetheless. I'm not sure, but I can only speculate on the rigorous security process they must go through to make sure the chickens are safe enough to be deep fry. The last pet bird I owned was when I was about 12. He eventually grow tired of water gun target practice & being confined to his poop-filled cage, so the first break of daylight he saw, he escaped & never looked back. I'm sure him, my guinea pig, my rabbit & dozens of goldfish are all resting comfortably in animal heaven, ruing the day I bought them. Yet, no Bird Flu over here, either.
Which leads me to the recent scare (nay, hysteria) in regards to the Swine Flu. Now, in theory a disease called the "Swine Flu" would trigger a hundred red flags at once in the Black community. Unless you're Muslim. Seriously, it's the closest thing to a staple part of our diets since Kool-Aid began being referred to as "juice". All the news reports boast "no deaths" in California, but if it were up to Black people, they still wouldn't stop eating swine, but just make sure that their Medi-cal covers the medication. Which, it probably doesn't.
Apparently, it's very similar to the (regular) flu, with all the traditional symptoms. In some cases, it's a little more aggressive than it's counterpart, but that's about it. We all know the News has a reputation of maximizing &/or minimizing stories. In that vein, we can either ignore it, keep our hands clean & go on with our daily lives. Or, grab a handful of gas mask, scoop up the kids & head for shelter with the rest of the healthy people. I, for one, won't be fleeing my city like Gommorah anytime soon, but today when a little boy coughed near me, I threw my tray of Burger King at him, did a shoulder-roll underneath a table & called 911. Can't ever be overly cautious, especially when the chance of catching a disease named after an animal that wallows in his own feces is on the loose. Last night, I offered a woman some tissue for her snot-nosed kid, & as soon as she took it I sprayed them both head to toe with industrial strength Lysol. Then I apologized, because I didn't mean to spray the little guy in the eyes.
I'm not sure what ramification would be worse; the illness itself or the backlash from Black people once they find out that they can no longer enjoy the sweet grease of a fatback sandwich after a slab of bacon & bag of pork rinds. Breakfast may never be the same. Bacon is almost a condiment in my family, right behind salt. Often the two meet in such a way that even the threat of Heart Disease can't stop their love. It's kind of like Diabetes is the joke we never got. Maybe such a flu wouldn't be all that bad.
I guess until folks start dropping dead, I won't take this supposed pandemic seriously either, just like all the other plagues I've lived through. I've survived the crack epidemic, gang violence, various strands of disease, so it only seems fitting that I flick my nose at this newest manifestation of mass hypnosis.
If I'm going to catch it, nothing's going to stop it anyway. But, we never know about these kinds of things. I've often heard of the pig's intelligence & resilience. Why wouldn't it's disease posess those same qualities? Just in case, I got those extra strength medical face masks 2 for $5. Holler at your boy.
From what the news pumped into our brains, the majority of my generation should have died off around 1995. Although I have zero friends who engage in "the love that dare not speak it's name" (google it) or use drugs intravenously, that's what "reports" had us to believe. But alas, here I am. No AIDS. & I have medical documents to back my statement, in case any one wants verification.
I've survived through that, & the rampant Bird flu a few years. Granted, the only birds I know on a personal level are at KFC, Popeye's, or El Pollo Loco & usually don't survive past the ride home (you know Black folk & their fried chickens), but they were birds nonetheless. I'm not sure, but I can only speculate on the rigorous security process they must go through to make sure the chickens are safe enough to be deep fry. The last pet bird I owned was when I was about 12. He eventually grow tired of water gun target practice & being confined to his poop-filled cage, so the first break of daylight he saw, he escaped & never looked back. I'm sure him, my guinea pig, my rabbit & dozens of goldfish are all resting comfortably in animal heaven, ruing the day I bought them. Yet, no Bird Flu over here, either.
Which leads me to the recent scare (nay, hysteria) in regards to the Swine Flu. Now, in theory a disease called the "Swine Flu" would trigger a hundred red flags at once in the Black community. Unless you're Muslim. Seriously, it's the closest thing to a staple part of our diets since Kool-Aid began being referred to as "juice". All the news reports boast "no deaths" in California, but if it were up to Black people, they still wouldn't stop eating swine, but just make sure that their Medi-cal covers the medication. Which, it probably doesn't.
Apparently, it's very similar to the (regular) flu, with all the traditional symptoms. In some cases, it's a little more aggressive than it's counterpart, but that's about it. We all know the News has a reputation of maximizing &/or minimizing stories. In that vein, we can either ignore it, keep our hands clean & go on with our daily lives. Or, grab a handful of gas mask, scoop up the kids & head for shelter with the rest of the healthy people. I, for one, won't be fleeing my city like Gommorah anytime soon, but today when a little boy coughed near me, I threw my tray of Burger King at him, did a shoulder-roll underneath a table & called 911. Can't ever be overly cautious, especially when the chance of catching a disease named after an animal that wallows in his own feces is on the loose. Last night, I offered a woman some tissue for her snot-nosed kid, & as soon as she took it I sprayed them both head to toe with industrial strength Lysol. Then I apologized, because I didn't mean to spray the little guy in the eyes.
I'm not sure what ramification would be worse; the illness itself or the backlash from Black people once they find out that they can no longer enjoy the sweet grease of a fatback sandwich after a slab of bacon & bag of pork rinds. Breakfast may never be the same. Bacon is almost a condiment in my family, right behind salt. Often the two meet in such a way that even the threat of Heart Disease can't stop their love. It's kind of like Diabetes is the joke we never got. Maybe such a flu wouldn't be all that bad.
I guess until folks start dropping dead, I won't take this supposed pandemic seriously either, just like all the other plagues I've lived through. I've survived the crack epidemic, gang violence, various strands of disease, so it only seems fitting that I flick my nose at this newest manifestation of mass hypnosis.
If I'm going to catch it, nothing's going to stop it anyway. But, we never know about these kinds of things. I've often heard of the pig's intelligence & resilience. Why wouldn't it's disease posess those same qualities? Just in case, I got those extra strength medical face masks 2 for $5. Holler at your boy.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Losers>>Winners
I can't recall too many times in my days as a young lad, anyone ever telling me, "Hey, don't worry if you don't win. People will love you regardless." It was more like, "All or nothing!" or "Second place means you're the best loser!" I guess that may be one of those blurred lines between humans & the other animals. I've never seen the second or third hyena in a pack on National Geographic not partake in a downed elephant because he didn't get the first neck-breaking bite. They ALL took his big ass to the dirt & dined on his carcass. Laughing & shit.
But humans, we need trophies & medals & congratulatory phrases to make us feel exalted & victorious. A winner must be declared, & whoever isn't that individual gets shunned & chased away like so many flea-infested possums. Or do they?
It's part of the human experience to feel compassion. With that said, I think Rihanna should tell Chris Brown "thank you". For what, you might ask. For kicking her ass. For being just dumb enough to physically injury her publicly, but smart enough to not permanently damage or kill her. That ridiculous attack propelled her career into the stratosphere. Not that she wasn't already a star in her own right, but how long do those things really last nowadays anyway? Pop culture is so fickle that some trivial statement or inappropriate picture could have surfaced on TMZ & rendered all her ass(et) shaking null & void. It happens everyday on the mean streets of Superstardom, U.S.A.
Thanks to C. Brown's bite marks & bitch slaps, Rihanna has risen like the proverbial phoenix for the movement of women's rights. She could possibly be one of the most noticeable entertainers for many years to come & never record another song ever again.
You never know what's going to happen in life. Take the runner-ups from America's Top Model & American Idol. Without second (or third, fourth, etc.) place, we wouldn't have Tocarra or Clay Aiken, respectively. Whatever point Chris was attempting to convey when he gave himself the green light to get all handsy with Rihanna obviously blew up in his face. He won the fight, but lost the war by light years. Not because he is facing jail time. Not because his career may be in limbo indefinitely. But because he did for her, for free, what Hollywood's best manager's couldn't accomplish in an entire lifetime of promotion & payola handouts.
Make her an undeniable icon.
It may not seem like it now, but Brown will be okay. America is notorious for it's short-term memory, especially when nepotism is involved. He may serve a little term, but as long as Niggas do Nigga things, examples must be set. But, had Rihanna been a white girl, the story wouldn't have been dragged out this far. In fact, Chris would've been dragged out far into the woods somewhere & hung by his neck.
Now, all that's left for her to do is hold her head high, continue to smile pretty for the camera & marry that white guy she was supposed to be with in the first place.
But humans, we need trophies & medals & congratulatory phrases to make us feel exalted & victorious. A winner must be declared, & whoever isn't that individual gets shunned & chased away like so many flea-infested possums. Or do they?
It's part of the human experience to feel compassion. With that said, I think Rihanna should tell Chris Brown "thank you". For what, you might ask. For kicking her ass. For being just dumb enough to physically injury her publicly, but smart enough to not permanently damage or kill her. That ridiculous attack propelled her career into the stratosphere. Not that she wasn't already a star in her own right, but how long do those things really last nowadays anyway? Pop culture is so fickle that some trivial statement or inappropriate picture could have surfaced on TMZ & rendered all her ass(et) shaking null & void. It happens everyday on the mean streets of Superstardom, U.S.A.
Thanks to C. Brown's bite marks & bitch slaps, Rihanna has risen like the proverbial phoenix for the movement of women's rights. She could possibly be one of the most noticeable entertainers for many years to come & never record another song ever again.
You never know what's going to happen in life. Take the runner-ups from America's Top Model & American Idol. Without second (or third, fourth, etc.) place, we wouldn't have Tocarra or Clay Aiken, respectively. Whatever point Chris was attempting to convey when he gave himself the green light to get all handsy with Rihanna obviously blew up in his face. He won the fight, but lost the war by light years. Not because he is facing jail time. Not because his career may be in limbo indefinitely. But because he did for her, for free, what Hollywood's best manager's couldn't accomplish in an entire lifetime of promotion & payola handouts.
Make her an undeniable icon.
It may not seem like it now, but Brown will be okay. America is notorious for it's short-term memory, especially when nepotism is involved. He may serve a little term, but as long as Niggas do Nigga things, examples must be set. But, had Rihanna been a white girl, the story wouldn't have been dragged out this far. In fact, Chris would've been dragged out far into the woods somewhere & hung by his neck.
Now, all that's left for her to do is hold her head high, continue to smile pretty for the camera & marry that white guy she was supposed to be with in the first place.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
The Girl in the Shower Scene
I think everyone knows at least one "famous" person. From school, or church, or drunken, anonymous house party sex, we all know some poor sap who had their wish to be renowned granted. How they feel about it now we can only guess, because once the dream-chasing paid off, they forgot our asses quicker than a spouse's favorite food.
I know/knew a few; here's one. True story.
We've all seen Baby Boy, right? One of John Singleton's best movies, might I add. Remember Jody's baby momma Peanut? Her real name is Tamara Laseon Bass. Well, at least it was when we were friends. She might have gotten all Prince Roger Nelson on me & changed her name to Stardust Bunny or Rayne'Bo by now. You never can tell with those celebrity types. Anyhow, if you've never seen the movie, see it. She's the girl in the shower scene. You can't miss it, trust.
We met at LMU in the mid-90's, at a party. I was with a buddy, & him & I were the ONLY two guys at a dorm party with about 10 girls. My homeboy got drunk & throw up all over some random broad's bed. Like the gentleman I am/was, I cleaned up his barf & one of the chicks volunteered her room for him to sleep it off. So, after I walked him across the hall, back I was in a room full of halfway decent young ladies.
Now, back then, my Bullshit ability was unparalleled. Undetectable by the naked ear. & I'm not an unattractive guy, so by the end of the night, all the girls had given me their connects because they said I was the coolest, most down-to-Earth guy they'd met in Los Angeles. I eventually called a couple of them just because, but the coolest girl's name was Tamara. She moved out here from New York, & her accent was so intriguing that I could/would talk to her for hours about nothing at all. We even wrote each other when she went home to visit her Mom. She was the first person I ever saw wearing Old Navy. A blue zippered sweatshirt with the company name plastered across the front.
We were close friends from jump; she'd invite me to the school, I'd go (of course), hang with her all day, swim, eat, smoke the occasional blunt. But, our whole friendship was strictly platonic. I never looked at her like that, & truth be told I tried just based off of how cool she was to me. No Dice. She even spent the night at my house when I moved from my parents' & slept on the couch. I slept on the floor. One day, she started hinting that she wanted more than a friendship, acting jealous of other girls being around me & whatnot. & she would always find a way to lock her arm into mine, like I was her escort around campus. But, she wasn't on my radar. We stayed friends though. She became more serious about her studies, while I became more adament about whoring myself out to every girl I smelled & time passed on.
The last time I saw her, she had invited me to a play she was in at LMU. I, being the egotistical maniac one becomes after buying a car & getting their own spot, showed up with a date. Tamara didn't see her, crept out of the shadows & kissed me on the cheek, real soft. Then she glanced around my shoulder & saw a girl, a fellow Lion at that, peering back at her. I said, "You did good!". She smiled partially, mumbled "thanks" & walked out of my life.
Sometimes I still miss her. That's the kind of person she was, to me at least.
Oh wait. That's not the last time I saw her. The last time was actually when I saw a sneak preview of 'Baby Boy' at the Magic Johnson Theater on Crenshaw Boulevard.
Again, she's the girl in the shower scene.
I know/knew a few; here's one. True story.
We've all seen Baby Boy, right? One of John Singleton's best movies, might I add. Remember Jody's baby momma Peanut? Her real name is Tamara Laseon Bass. Well, at least it was when we were friends. She might have gotten all Prince Roger Nelson on me & changed her name to Stardust Bunny or Rayne'Bo by now. You never can tell with those celebrity types. Anyhow, if you've never seen the movie, see it. She's the girl in the shower scene. You can't miss it, trust.
We met at LMU in the mid-90's, at a party. I was with a buddy, & him & I were the ONLY two guys at a dorm party with about 10 girls. My homeboy got drunk & throw up all over some random broad's bed. Like the gentleman I am/was, I cleaned up his barf & one of the chicks volunteered her room for him to sleep it off. So, after I walked him across the hall, back I was in a room full of halfway decent young ladies.
Now, back then, my Bullshit ability was unparalleled. Undetectable by the naked ear. & I'm not an unattractive guy, so by the end of the night, all the girls had given me their connects because they said I was the coolest, most down-to-Earth guy they'd met in Los Angeles. I eventually called a couple of them just because, but the coolest girl's name was Tamara. She moved out here from New York, & her accent was so intriguing that I could/would talk to her for hours about nothing at all. We even wrote each other when she went home to visit her Mom. She was the first person I ever saw wearing Old Navy. A blue zippered sweatshirt with the company name plastered across the front.
We were close friends from jump; she'd invite me to the school, I'd go (of course), hang with her all day, swim, eat, smoke the occasional blunt. But, our whole friendship was strictly platonic. I never looked at her like that, & truth be told I tried just based off of how cool she was to me. No Dice. She even spent the night at my house when I moved from my parents' & slept on the couch. I slept on the floor. One day, she started hinting that she wanted more than a friendship, acting jealous of other girls being around me & whatnot. & she would always find a way to lock her arm into mine, like I was her escort around campus. But, she wasn't on my radar. We stayed friends though. She became more serious about her studies, while I became more adament about whoring myself out to every girl I smelled & time passed on.
The last time I saw her, she had invited me to a play she was in at LMU. I, being the egotistical maniac one becomes after buying a car & getting their own spot, showed up with a date. Tamara didn't see her, crept out of the shadows & kissed me on the cheek, real soft. Then she glanced around my shoulder & saw a girl, a fellow Lion at that, peering back at her. I said, "You did good!". She smiled partially, mumbled "thanks" & walked out of my life.
Sometimes I still miss her. That's the kind of person she was, to me at least.
Oh wait. That's not the last time I saw her. The last time was actually when I saw a sneak preview of 'Baby Boy' at the Magic Johnson Theater on Crenshaw Boulevard.
Again, she's the girl in the shower scene.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
webcams for everyone!
So, Snoop Dogg has a website or vlog or something where we, the viewer, can sit back & watch as he smokes ounces of what I can only assume to be the finest tree this side of Guatemala. Rich people & their hobbies.
From what I could gather, he rambles incoherently (before & after said blazing), until the contact kicks in. He then, incredibly high, indulges in whatever it is that high niggas indulge in, while we sit at home & watch. I'm not sure what's more pathetic; him smoking "for" us, or us watching him smoke "for" us. Either way, it's a win-win for Calvin. Even TMZ did a story about it, & there's no such thing as bad publicity. Unless you're Domino's Pizza.
See, with porn, the payoff is simple, elementary. As soon as boredom gets in full swing, so do hormones. Thus, the feeling is easily quelled by monkey spanking. Chicken choking, if you will. A little clean up & we're off to the next activity. As for Snoop, what good does his chiefing do me? I can look at the screen & clearly see that the quality of his weed is far superior to my sweaty-sock nickel bag of sticks & stems. So now I'm pissed. & sober as a Nun. If you look carefully enough, you can see a twinkle in his eye. Plain as day it reads, "Hahaha! You WISH!". As I turn off the site, cursing the year my parents didn't buy me the karaoke machine I'd requested, I started to think what absurd phenomenon this may be giving birth tizzle.
Imagine Whitney Houston, fresh from a love fest with Ray J, at home drunk, sweatier than a crackhead in a heatwave & worn out. Add a webcam & her inebriated adventure in her bathroom becomes a knee-slapping romp for the (cyber)world to see. We could watch her stumble half-naked into an ice-cold shower, pants around her cankles; bra caught in her weave. Hilarity undoubtedly ensues. Squating over the drain like a ninth inning umpire to relieve her bladder, the steady stream of golden shower is no match for the projectile vomit passing through her thin, weather-beaten lips. Now this, America, is the entertainment that we need. The candid moments of a pop queen turned drug addicted cougar. Not some overgrown hippie gangbanger who wants to prove to millions of people that he's higher than California's unemployment rate.
Far be it from me to instigate, but somebody should drop a webcam in OctoMom's Den of a Thousand Babies. Not so much that we may partake in her underwhelming abilities as America's most successful welfare scam, but to see what goes on when the day is done. What type of pajamas does she pour her Silly Putty-esque body into after tending to her litter? Does she inject the collagen into her lips herself or just suck on a hot curling iron nightly for that Angelina Jolie-on-a-budget look? The paparazzi seems to be done with the exploits of her tribe, but I'm not. I want to know exactly which kids are mentally challenged, so I can steer clear of them while lobbing insults at her test-tube family like heartless hand grenades. In all honesty, I just want a full spectrum glance at her stretch marks. However douchy it may be, I think they would be hilarious to look see.
& it doesn't have to stop there. Imagine a ginormous, hippo of a woman, completely confident & comfortable in the enormity of her girth. One of those ladies who refers to themselves as "a big girl" before you get the chance to mention that she should chew her food THEN swallow it. Now, she's fully aware that she's huge. So, why not capitalize off of her capital size? People are going to stare anyway, especially when she's alone yet orders two combo meals, so why not make a couple of bucks in the process? In steps the 'Net. If people can stare at "Faces of Death" for hours on end, surely they would wince but not turn away as 350 lbs. of femininity does naked jumping jacks or takes a tapioka pudding bath. People are weird like that. It's kind of like finding that carton of spoiled milk in the fridge by tasting it. It's so God awful that it MUST be shared with whoever walks into the kitchen.
At this rate, Peeping Tom's will be a thing of the past. Just think, instead of gasping at the sight of some odd man leering into your bedroom window, having at his tool as you lotion your celulite, beat them to the punch. Print flyers, pass them out in the neighborhood, & charge $5 per person for them to watch you cook nude or iron your clothes in crotch-less undies. In the digital sense, get yourself Paypal, get undressed & do everything that you think a stranger would want to watch.
Think about it, that's all I'm saying. Now excuse me as I remove my pants & turn on my camera.
From what I could gather, he rambles incoherently (before & after said blazing), until the contact kicks in. He then, incredibly high, indulges in whatever it is that high niggas indulge in, while we sit at home & watch. I'm not sure what's more pathetic; him smoking "for" us, or us watching him smoke "for" us. Either way, it's a win-win for Calvin. Even TMZ did a story about it, & there's no such thing as bad publicity. Unless you're Domino's Pizza.
See, with porn, the payoff is simple, elementary. As soon as boredom gets in full swing, so do hormones. Thus, the feeling is easily quelled by monkey spanking. Chicken choking, if you will. A little clean up & we're off to the next activity. As for Snoop, what good does his chiefing do me? I can look at the screen & clearly see that the quality of his weed is far superior to my sweaty-sock nickel bag of sticks & stems. So now I'm pissed. & sober as a Nun. If you look carefully enough, you can see a twinkle in his eye. Plain as day it reads, "Hahaha! You WISH!". As I turn off the site, cursing the year my parents didn't buy me the karaoke machine I'd requested, I started to think what absurd phenomenon this may be giving birth tizzle.
Imagine Whitney Houston, fresh from a love fest with Ray J, at home drunk, sweatier than a crackhead in a heatwave & worn out. Add a webcam & her inebriated adventure in her bathroom becomes a knee-slapping romp for the (cyber)world to see. We could watch her stumble half-naked into an ice-cold shower, pants around her cankles; bra caught in her weave. Hilarity undoubtedly ensues. Squating over the drain like a ninth inning umpire to relieve her bladder, the steady stream of golden shower is no match for the projectile vomit passing through her thin, weather-beaten lips. Now this, America, is the entertainment that we need. The candid moments of a pop queen turned drug addicted cougar. Not some overgrown hippie gangbanger who wants to prove to millions of people that he's higher than California's unemployment rate.
Far be it from me to instigate, but somebody should drop a webcam in OctoMom's Den of a Thousand Babies. Not so much that we may partake in her underwhelming abilities as America's most successful welfare scam, but to see what goes on when the day is done. What type of pajamas does she pour her Silly Putty-esque body into after tending to her litter? Does she inject the collagen into her lips herself or just suck on a hot curling iron nightly for that Angelina Jolie-on-a-budget look? The paparazzi seems to be done with the exploits of her tribe, but I'm not. I want to know exactly which kids are mentally challenged, so I can steer clear of them while lobbing insults at her test-tube family like heartless hand grenades. In all honesty, I just want a full spectrum glance at her stretch marks. However douchy it may be, I think they would be hilarious to look see.
& it doesn't have to stop there. Imagine a ginormous, hippo of a woman, completely confident & comfortable in the enormity of her girth. One of those ladies who refers to themselves as "a big girl" before you get the chance to mention that she should chew her food THEN swallow it. Now, she's fully aware that she's huge. So, why not capitalize off of her capital size? People are going to stare anyway, especially when she's alone yet orders two combo meals, so why not make a couple of bucks in the process? In steps the 'Net. If people can stare at "Faces of Death" for hours on end, surely they would wince but not turn away as 350 lbs. of femininity does naked jumping jacks or takes a tapioka pudding bath. People are weird like that. It's kind of like finding that carton of spoiled milk in the fridge by tasting it. It's so God awful that it MUST be shared with whoever walks into the kitchen.
At this rate, Peeping Tom's will be a thing of the past. Just think, instead of gasping at the sight of some odd man leering into your bedroom window, having at his tool as you lotion your celulite, beat them to the punch. Print flyers, pass them out in the neighborhood, & charge $5 per person for them to watch you cook nude or iron your clothes in crotch-less undies. In the digital sense, get yourself Paypal, get undressed & do everything that you think a stranger would want to watch.
Think about it, that's all I'm saying. Now excuse me as I remove my pants & turn on my camera.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Obama will never be a great president.......
Here's why.........
Because he's a good president.
He's very humble, articulate, well-mannered, intelligent, efficient, stern; just an all around stand-up guy. & so far, his performance as Commander-In-Chief has been pretty fair if not pretty good. That, not does a great president make.
A "great" president has a landmark. Meaning, he has some oafish, retard quality that pinpoints his idiocy within a matter of seconds, & solidifies his legacy for time indefinite. Bush (1 & 2) both had that brain-numbing ability to pause mid-sentence, like bullets in 'The Matrix' movie, then drop the hammer in a manner that leaves something to be desired. Like a purpose for your time. & any president with the ability to make up & fully utilize non-words, such as "nucular", wins hands down over a man, such as Obama, who can actually prove his point using his grasp of the English language. Sorry Barry, you lose.
Landmarks can be overridden by charisma. Especially the charisma of a pimp/child molester as we found in Big Willy Clinton. Even before he let interns sample the southern-style life juices, he still had that "don't leave him alone with you're most attractive daughter, no matter her age" air about him. But, when he made the Oval office his personal mini-gentlemen's club, along with the help of Monica Lewinsky's mouth, he proved what we all thought. Bill was a stud; a himbo of sorts. The type of guy to install a stripper pole in his bedroom. The type of guy who really did buy edible undies; most likely for himself. The type of guy who'd ditch Secret Service during an early morning jog just to scarf down a grease-slathered McRib sandwich. With or without his saxophone with him. He did great things for world relations, but greater things for playas across the globe. As for B.O. (no disrespect, sir), you have a wonderful, supportive family. So, again, score one for the other guy.
Our current president is the antithesis of most his predecessors. The closest to a joke about him is the fact that he has those lips; too close to the roach clip lips. With 3/4 of the population being admitted weedaholics, who really cares. Let's face it, there's not much to do in Hawaii but surf (he is half-white), crack cocnuts open with rocks (hey, close enough to bananas, right?), & get zooted. Something tells me basketball sort of fell in his lap, being the only black guy on an island & all.
Maybe he'll accidentally back over his dog, or sprain his ankle going in for a lay up. Oh how the media would eat up our first Black C.I.C twisting his ankle playing the one sport we totally dominate. That would probably be just as bad as paparazzi snapping shots of Michelle Obama hording Kool Aid at the local Food For Less. Even that wouldn't be so depressingly humorous as Watergate &/or releasing tens of thousands of crazed people back into society for lack of funding. Yeah, Reagan's innate douchebagology was that of the rich man who steps over the one homeless guy who really does need twenty five cents for a cup of hot chocolate. Good luck with that winter chill, average joe.
Being the nice guy that he's unable to stop being, you've got to wonder about the presidents who actually were great, in the literal sense of the term. For example, Lincoln. An avid believer in freedom for all; brains blown out at the theatre. Kennedy Jr; an avid believer in freedom for all; brains blown out while the whole world watched. If there's any correlation, I'll let you make it. But I will say that being a Humanitarian sure isn't what it seems to be.
I guess one could assess that Obama's greatness is/will be pidgeonholed by the fact that he's [half] black; the first of his kind. Perhaps in the history books, hundreds of years down the line, he'll be known as the man who opened up the White House to Asians, women, homosexuals, midgets, hispanics, you name it. With his inaugruation, the melting pot finally spilled over onto the lily white steps of Washington D.C. That in itself has got to be a set up for some type of joke, & a great one at that.
Because he's a good president.
He's very humble, articulate, well-mannered, intelligent, efficient, stern; just an all around stand-up guy. & so far, his performance as Commander-In-Chief has been pretty fair if not pretty good. That, not does a great president make.
A "great" president has a landmark. Meaning, he has some oafish, retard quality that pinpoints his idiocy within a matter of seconds, & solidifies his legacy for time indefinite. Bush (1 & 2) both had that brain-numbing ability to pause mid-sentence, like bullets in 'The Matrix' movie, then drop the hammer in a manner that leaves something to be desired. Like a purpose for your time. & any president with the ability to make up & fully utilize non-words, such as "nucular", wins hands down over a man, such as Obama, who can actually prove his point using his grasp of the English language. Sorry Barry, you lose.
Landmarks can be overridden by charisma. Especially the charisma of a pimp/child molester as we found in Big Willy Clinton. Even before he let interns sample the southern-style life juices, he still had that "don't leave him alone with you're most attractive daughter, no matter her age" air about him. But, when he made the Oval office his personal mini-gentlemen's club, along with the help of Monica Lewinsky's mouth, he proved what we all thought. Bill was a stud; a himbo of sorts. The type of guy to install a stripper pole in his bedroom. The type of guy who really did buy edible undies; most likely for himself. The type of guy who'd ditch Secret Service during an early morning jog just to scarf down a grease-slathered McRib sandwich. With or without his saxophone with him. He did great things for world relations, but greater things for playas across the globe. As for B.O. (no disrespect, sir), you have a wonderful, supportive family. So, again, score one for the other guy.
Our current president is the antithesis of most his predecessors. The closest to a joke about him is the fact that he has those lips; too close to the roach clip lips. With 3/4 of the population being admitted weedaholics, who really cares. Let's face it, there's not much to do in Hawaii but surf (he is half-white), crack cocnuts open with rocks (hey, close enough to bananas, right?), & get zooted. Something tells me basketball sort of fell in his lap, being the only black guy on an island & all.
Maybe he'll accidentally back over his dog, or sprain his ankle going in for a lay up. Oh how the media would eat up our first Black C.I.C twisting his ankle playing the one sport we totally dominate. That would probably be just as bad as paparazzi snapping shots of Michelle Obama hording Kool Aid at the local Food For Less. Even that wouldn't be so depressingly humorous as Watergate &/or releasing tens of thousands of crazed people back into society for lack of funding. Yeah, Reagan's innate douchebagology was that of the rich man who steps over the one homeless guy who really does need twenty five cents for a cup of hot chocolate. Good luck with that winter chill, average joe.
Being the nice guy that he's unable to stop being, you've got to wonder about the presidents who actually were great, in the literal sense of the term. For example, Lincoln. An avid believer in freedom for all; brains blown out at the theatre. Kennedy Jr; an avid believer in freedom for all; brains blown out while the whole world watched. If there's any correlation, I'll let you make it. But I will say that being a Humanitarian sure isn't what it seems to be.
I guess one could assess that Obama's greatness is/will be pidgeonholed by the fact that he's [half] black; the first of his kind. Perhaps in the history books, hundreds of years down the line, he'll be known as the man who opened up the White House to Asians, women, homosexuals, midgets, hispanics, you name it. With his inaugruation, the melting pot finally spilled over onto the lily white steps of Washington D.C. That in itself has got to be a set up for some type of joke, & a great one at that.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Us(a) VS. Them
Call me old-fashioned, but I understand the plight of the "pirates".
I'm not sure where their exact home base is located, but I know they're not American. If they were, they wouldn't waste time negotiating ransoms & collecting hostages. That's not the American way. They'd jump aboard the ship, kill everyone on board, rape, pillage, plunder & leave with whatever wasn't bolted down.
Yep, that sounds about right.
Most likely, when they were done domesticating the captured vessel, they'd tow it back to shore & convert it to a cruise ship, gambling boat or some other money-driven endeavor designed to further fund the one-sided war being waged on the remainder of humanity. You know, everybody who wasn't/isn't American.
Instead, said "pirates" are an obvious band of vigilante refugees apparently fed-up with westernized thinking & conductivity (i.e. "Fuck you; this is rightfully ours no matter what you think & we dare you to do something about it!"). Westernized thinking that has left them a defeated, forgotten people. Lawless & desperate, it would appear that their abandonment issues have gotten the best of them; a prime example of the chickens coming home to roost.
Funny thing about oppression is that it's not savvy at all. Therefore, it's backlash is equally as, if not more so, treacherous. Europe was the main target in the seek & seizure exercises of the Somalians, but we had to expect that at some point the melee would spill over onto it's brother. Us(a). Whether or not we (America) played in active role in the proverbial destruction of their continent is unproven per se, but there's no convincing a man with a gun aimed at your head. You either hope God is as good as you thought or fight back. So, fight back it is.
President Obama (& every president before him) publicly stated that we don't negotiate with terrorists. We let the business end of a bullet do all the necessary talking. I'm on the fence about that, partly because I am American & love my country, & partly because the movie Amistad was about my people & I rooted for the slaves when they took over the ship.
So, who do I root for here? Had one of my relatives been aboard that Maersk cargo transporter when it was taken over, I could easily cheer for the red, white & blue. But they weren't. Not only do I love an underdog, but I love a rebel with a cause even more. I grew up listening to Chuck D telling me to "fight the power". Little did I knew at age 12 that the "power" I'd be fighting was the same power with unmitigated control over my life. & just think, the Somalians probably despise Pres. Obama even more than most Kenyans. They are waiting to attack his credibility on both continents.
For whatever reason, they didn't kill the captain. I think it was because deep down inside there's still a fear of white skin that predates any current social conflict. Had the captain been an American of African Descent, I don't think the Navy S.E.A.L.'s would have had the same opportunity at murder. Or justice, as we like to call it.
Hopefully, there will come a day when the world can get on the same page & put the word "mankind" to good use. We're still stuck on the "kind of man", so I don't see any change in the near future. Until that utopia is ascertained, expect things to worsen extensively.
I seriously doubt the next captain caught slipping will be so lucky.
I'm not sure where their exact home base is located, but I know they're not American. If they were, they wouldn't waste time negotiating ransoms & collecting hostages. That's not the American way. They'd jump aboard the ship, kill everyone on board, rape, pillage, plunder & leave with whatever wasn't bolted down.
Yep, that sounds about right.
Most likely, when they were done domesticating the captured vessel, they'd tow it back to shore & convert it to a cruise ship, gambling boat or some other money-driven endeavor designed to further fund the one-sided war being waged on the remainder of humanity. You know, everybody who wasn't/isn't American.
Instead, said "pirates" are an obvious band of vigilante refugees apparently fed-up with westernized thinking & conductivity (i.e. "Fuck you; this is rightfully ours no matter what you think & we dare you to do something about it!"). Westernized thinking that has left them a defeated, forgotten people. Lawless & desperate, it would appear that their abandonment issues have gotten the best of them; a prime example of the chickens coming home to roost.
Funny thing about oppression is that it's not savvy at all. Therefore, it's backlash is equally as, if not more so, treacherous. Europe was the main target in the seek & seizure exercises of the Somalians, but we had to expect that at some point the melee would spill over onto it's brother. Us(a). Whether or not we (America) played in active role in the proverbial destruction of their continent is unproven per se, but there's no convincing a man with a gun aimed at your head. You either hope God is as good as you thought or fight back. So, fight back it is.
President Obama (& every president before him) publicly stated that we don't negotiate with terrorists. We let the business end of a bullet do all the necessary talking. I'm on the fence about that, partly because I am American & love my country, & partly because the movie Amistad was about my people & I rooted for the slaves when they took over the ship.
So, who do I root for here? Had one of my relatives been aboard that Maersk cargo transporter when it was taken over, I could easily cheer for the red, white & blue. But they weren't. Not only do I love an underdog, but I love a rebel with a cause even more. I grew up listening to Chuck D telling me to "fight the power". Little did I knew at age 12 that the "power" I'd be fighting was the same power with unmitigated control over my life. & just think, the Somalians probably despise Pres. Obama even more than most Kenyans. They are waiting to attack his credibility on both continents.
For whatever reason, they didn't kill the captain. I think it was because deep down inside there's still a fear of white skin that predates any current social conflict. Had the captain been an American of African Descent, I don't think the Navy S.E.A.L.'s would have had the same opportunity at murder. Or justice, as we like to call it.
Hopefully, there will come a day when the world can get on the same page & put the word "mankind" to good use. We're still stuck on the "kind of man", so I don't see any change in the near future. Until that utopia is ascertained, expect things to worsen extensively.
I seriously doubt the next captain caught slipping will be so lucky.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
R.I.P.?
So, for some years now, I've been hearing the repeated chant of everyone's favorite phrase; "Hip Hop is Dead". When, exactly, did this event take place?
If it DID occur, I'm pissed at whoever organized the funeral, because I damn sure wasn't there. How come TG didn't get invited to the largest celebration's of life & death of arguably the most awesome life force ever? I've been a part of it since the late 70's. Damnit, I deserved to pay my last respects in person, more so than a lot of other "fans". I'd heard rumors swirling for a couple of decades, but I didn't know for a fact that it was even sick. I knew something wasn't right with it, but I never imagined that Death lurked on the horizon. They say the good die young & by that mantra, it all makes sense. Yet again, I ask you, when did Hip Hop die?
Was it when Run DMC performed on stage with Aerosmith, forever fusing Rock & Rap? Though the two genres are distinctly different, they have more similarities than most choose to acknowledge. "Walk This Way" introduced the two genres to each other, & they have been seemingly inseparable ever since. Just ask The Beastie Boys.
Maybe it was the exact point that Death Row Records meandered it's way onto every video show, radio station & boomin' system for years, audaciously challenging the notion that good Hip Hop can't come outta the West coast.
What if mainstream America really did have it's vengeful sights set on taking yet another one of "our" creations, distorting it for their own purposes & force feeding back to the unknowing public. Unless I'm mistaken, Public Enemy warned us about such events in the late 80's. Many, many moons later, watered down lyrics & subpar soundscapes are tossed at us like monkeys with their poop. & to this day, most of our heroes STILL don't appear on no stamp.
Perhaps the first time you heard Soulja Boy you also heard a trumpet playing that soldier funeral song. Some go as far as to finger him as the last nail in the coffin, Superman dance & all. As fickle & tempered as hip hop fans are, they all seem to be in compliance about his house nigger antics spelling certain doom to our beloved culture.
& even still, the hipster onslaught is viewed as the last chapter in a book of meteoric rise & fall. Rap as we know it has been face-lifted, rearranged & shoved into a pair of liquid jeans & tie-dyed muscle shirts to the dismay of a nation.
For what it's worth, I think Hip Hop is an animal of change; a chameleon of artistic expression that one can never truly label. Constant change as opposed to permanent expiration. An energy like that can't ever be extinguished.
& if the "dead" statement holds any truth, then surely there's plenty of fault to be spread around. The death of Record Labels. The birth of easily accessible Internets. The influx of mediocrity and gimmick. The insatiable greed & lust for dividends. The miseducation of a people. The proverbial list is endless................
If Hip Hop is dead, as so many detractors keep lamenting, then when did it happen? & who's head is to be had?
If it DID occur, I'm pissed at whoever organized the funeral, because I damn sure wasn't there. How come TG didn't get invited to the largest celebration's of life & death of arguably the most awesome life force ever? I've been a part of it since the late 70's. Damnit, I deserved to pay my last respects in person, more so than a lot of other "fans". I'd heard rumors swirling for a couple of decades, but I didn't know for a fact that it was even sick. I knew something wasn't right with it, but I never imagined that Death lurked on the horizon. They say the good die young & by that mantra, it all makes sense. Yet again, I ask you, when did Hip Hop die?
Was it when Run DMC performed on stage with Aerosmith, forever fusing Rock & Rap? Though the two genres are distinctly different, they have more similarities than most choose to acknowledge. "Walk This Way" introduced the two genres to each other, & they have been seemingly inseparable ever since. Just ask The Beastie Boys.
Maybe it was the exact point that Death Row Records meandered it's way onto every video show, radio station & boomin' system for years, audaciously challenging the notion that good Hip Hop can't come outta the West coast.
What if mainstream America really did have it's vengeful sights set on taking yet another one of "our" creations, distorting it for their own purposes & force feeding back to the unknowing public. Unless I'm mistaken, Public Enemy warned us about such events in the late 80's. Many, many moons later, watered down lyrics & subpar soundscapes are tossed at us like monkeys with their poop. & to this day, most of our heroes STILL don't appear on no stamp.
Perhaps the first time you heard Soulja Boy you also heard a trumpet playing that soldier funeral song. Some go as far as to finger him as the last nail in the coffin, Superman dance & all. As fickle & tempered as hip hop fans are, they all seem to be in compliance about his house nigger antics spelling certain doom to our beloved culture.
& even still, the hipster onslaught is viewed as the last chapter in a book of meteoric rise & fall. Rap as we know it has been face-lifted, rearranged & shoved into a pair of liquid jeans & tie-dyed muscle shirts to the dismay of a nation.
For what it's worth, I think Hip Hop is an animal of change; a chameleon of artistic expression that one can never truly label. Constant change as opposed to permanent expiration. An energy like that can't ever be extinguished.
& if the "dead" statement holds any truth, then surely there's plenty of fault to be spread around. The death of Record Labels. The birth of easily accessible Internets. The influx of mediocrity and gimmick. The insatiable greed & lust for dividends. The miseducation of a people. The proverbial list is endless................
If Hip Hop is dead, as so many detractors keep lamenting, then when did it happen? & who's head is to be had?
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
HAPPY (re)BIRTHDAY TO ME!
*hums the happy birthday song, the Stevie Wonder, black folks celebration edition*
Approximately 365 days ago at this exact time, I was in Kaiser Permanente's emergency room. My body had basically become entirely too heavy for me to do anything with. My vision was blurry, & I felt the weakest I'd ever felt in 32 years. I knew I had been sick, for several years, but I had no idea to what extent. See, I have this saying; "Something doesn't happen until it happens". Well, it happened. When I arrived (with my wife & two closest friends), the ER docs asked me what was wrong. I didn't have any idea where to begin. Long story short, I "woke up" in the Intensive Care Unit.
Now, prior to this night, I had been drunk. For about 13 years. Everyday. Hard liquor. Up until I was wheel-chaired into that depressing hospital, I had no problems with drinking. Just as long as I could do it. If you're thinking "wow, he's an alcoholic", congratulations; you've won a cookie.
My post-examination diagnosis was as follows; liver failure (it was operating at 20%-in need of being replaced), pneumonia, malnutrition, dehydration, colon infection, brain damage, & various muscle atrophy. This was before they'd looked inside of my body to see the lining of my stomach was eaten away by backed up bile & noticed mild kidney damage. Yep, I was certifiably screwed.
My medical dilemma was caused by my drinking, yet my drinking was removed from my medical dilemma. In other words, I had to detox, immediately, while beginning the treatment for my multiple illnesses. Talk about an uphill climb. & trust me, you'd have to go through it to get it.
So, after 3 weeks in the hospital, fully medicated, undeniably sober, no cigarettes, blood transfusions, doctors in & out (of the room as well as my person), horrible food, unwanted visitors, & excruciating pain, I was back in the same wheelchair headed back to the world. I weighed 127 lbs & could barely walk. The sun hit my bruise covered body & I was born. Again.
The next day I enrolled in rehab/therapy. That lasted about 9 months. Those people are blessings manifested to poor schlubs like me.
Contrary to popular belief, alcohol will destroy you. At the very least, it will deconstruct you to the extent of possible annihilation. & that's not necessarily a bad thing. In my case, it was the best possible thing that could've happened. I needed that wake up call, alarm clocks be damned.
*fast forward*
So, here I am, right now, one year later, as sober as a 10 year old quaker on Christmas eve. I don't have the slightest urge to ever taste liquor again. By the grace of God, my liver got healthier, & I have a habit of not spitting in the wind or slap boxing with God. I'm still working through some things physically, but substance dependency isn't one of them. & I weigh 170 lbs now.
I left out a few details, but the human mind has a habit of blocking out harmful memories, so I'll just take the doctors' word for it. Point is, if I could basically destroy myself, survive the aftermath (with God's help of course), weather the recouperation & come out on top better, bigger, faster & stronger than I was before, then you can too.
Whatever needs to be revamped, just do it. Whatever wrongs that need to be righted, just do it. Life is short, but it's long when you make the wrong decisions. I had to hear state board certified doctors of medicine tell me that I may not live long enough to get better for me to decide enough is enough. That life is far behind me, & U-turns aren't an option.
I was supposed to die in that place. But I didn't. I was actually reborn from the bullshit, kinda like the scene in The Matrix where Neo had to suffer intensely to be birthed again in righteousness. Now, that movie is one of my top 3 ever, because I understand it.
Take what you can from my story & use it at your disposal.
Approximately 365 days ago at this exact time, I was in Kaiser Permanente's emergency room. My body had basically become entirely too heavy for me to do anything with. My vision was blurry, & I felt the weakest I'd ever felt in 32 years. I knew I had been sick, for several years, but I had no idea to what extent. See, I have this saying; "Something doesn't happen until it happens". Well, it happened. When I arrived (with my wife & two closest friends), the ER docs asked me what was wrong. I didn't have any idea where to begin. Long story short, I "woke up" in the Intensive Care Unit.
Now, prior to this night, I had been drunk. For about 13 years. Everyday. Hard liquor. Up until I was wheel-chaired into that depressing hospital, I had no problems with drinking. Just as long as I could do it. If you're thinking "wow, he's an alcoholic", congratulations; you've won a cookie.
My post-examination diagnosis was as follows; liver failure (it was operating at 20%-in need of being replaced), pneumonia, malnutrition, dehydration, colon infection, brain damage, & various muscle atrophy. This was before they'd looked inside of my body to see the lining of my stomach was eaten away by backed up bile & noticed mild kidney damage. Yep, I was certifiably screwed.
My medical dilemma was caused by my drinking, yet my drinking was removed from my medical dilemma. In other words, I had to detox, immediately, while beginning the treatment for my multiple illnesses. Talk about an uphill climb. & trust me, you'd have to go through it to get it.
So, after 3 weeks in the hospital, fully medicated, undeniably sober, no cigarettes, blood transfusions, doctors in & out (of the room as well as my person), horrible food, unwanted visitors, & excruciating pain, I was back in the same wheelchair headed back to the world. I weighed 127 lbs & could barely walk. The sun hit my bruise covered body & I was born. Again.
The next day I enrolled in rehab/therapy. That lasted about 9 months. Those people are blessings manifested to poor schlubs like me.
Contrary to popular belief, alcohol will destroy you. At the very least, it will deconstruct you to the extent of possible annihilation. & that's not necessarily a bad thing. In my case, it was the best possible thing that could've happened. I needed that wake up call, alarm clocks be damned.
*fast forward*
So, here I am, right now, one year later, as sober as a 10 year old quaker on Christmas eve. I don't have the slightest urge to ever taste liquor again. By the grace of God, my liver got healthier, & I have a habit of not spitting in the wind or slap boxing with God. I'm still working through some things physically, but substance dependency isn't one of them. & I weigh 170 lbs now.
I left out a few details, but the human mind has a habit of blocking out harmful memories, so I'll just take the doctors' word for it. Point is, if I could basically destroy myself, survive the aftermath (with God's help of course), weather the recouperation & come out on top better, bigger, faster & stronger than I was before, then you can too.
Whatever needs to be revamped, just do it. Whatever wrongs that need to be righted, just do it. Life is short, but it's long when you make the wrong decisions. I had to hear state board certified doctors of medicine tell me that I may not live long enough to get better for me to decide enough is enough. That life is far behind me, & U-turns aren't an option.
I was supposed to die in that place. But I didn't. I was actually reborn from the bullshit, kinda like the scene in The Matrix where Neo had to suffer intensely to be birthed again in righteousness. Now, that movie is one of my top 3 ever, because I understand it.
Take what you can from my story & use it at your disposal.
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