Friday, June 25, 2010

Attention significant others, we men all have super husband powers.

I am speaking on behalf of men in relationships, because we all share the same powers.

Keep in mind, this is all men, and all wives, not just me and mine, so get off my ass.

First, let it be known that I'm a mind reader.
If you're upset, or want me to do something a certain way, no need to express yourself or your feelings at all, I can just get the necessary information by prying ever so gently into your complex mind and getting that info for myself.
I always automatically know what's bothering you and what it will take to fix it, don't say a word.
You wanted the kitchen cleaned and painted blue, not white?
Shit broad, I already knew that, and it's done!
You wanted me to season the meat with Italian herbs instead of Spanish spices? 
I've known that since this morning.
Don't tell your sister that everyone thinks she's a whore?
Of course I wouldn't, because I am two steps ahead of you on that.

Second, I have super strength.
Don't worry about me holding this 200 pound, old as shit television set in my arms while you rearrange the TV stand, I can hold this all day long, no prob.
Don't rush while opening that door as I hold these grocery bags filled with gallons of milk; soda and cat litter, just take your time finding your keys in your massive purse.
That couch with the sofa bed in it is as light as a feather, I'll hold it while you sweep beneath it, take extra care to slowly wipe up any extra dirty spots with a sponge, I'll be here holding this until you're ready to allow me to drop it.

Third, I know every answer to every question you'll ever ask.
I'm so smart that there isn't a method of calculating my intelligence level; my IQ is clearly beyond measure.
I know all about auto mechanics and makeup and home repair and your schoolwork and problems.
Most of the time I don't tell you the answers because I don't want to make you feel bad or inferior, or don't want to show off.
However, when confronted during stressful situations, this power becomes weakened and even negated at times.
Stress is it's Kryptonite, which is why when you yell at us to find out why we broke your favorite cup with our super strength, or why we spent all weekend playing video games instead of doing chores,  we will automatically yell out the first thing to come to mind, which will most likely be a lie.
This is also why we never know what to eat when you call us at work and ask us what to make for dinner.
It just doesn't work like that.
This power also goes haywire during sex.
Heightened blood flow to our lower body regions makes this power go crazy, and we'll either answer things incorrectly or falsely.
Keep that in mind.

Fourth, I have an ability that allows me to create an unlimited amount of money.
Don't worry about any prices, go crazy, book trips like a mad man, buy useless knick knacks for the house, buy whatever the hell you want; I just yell the magic words "fuckmycreditscore" and POOF, instant cash.
I do work for a living, and I do get a steady paycheck, but that's just for laundering purposes.
Besides, I get paid in large gold bars anyway.
Go nuts.

Lastly, I am the greatest fighter in the universe.
No one alive can beat me in a fight.
So go on and provoke that insanely large black gentleman for talking during the movie, or that car full of men that look like the Incredible Hulk that just cut you off in traffic, tell that guy with the handgun in his belt that he's an asshole for taking up two parking spaces.
That guy that just karate chopped the Cadillac in half, total pussy.
Should they have a problem, I will wipe the floor with them up and down this god damned place.
Give them a piece of your mind; let them know how you honestly feel about them because I'm always ready and able to kick someone’s ass.

Keep these powers a secret, if they fall into the wrong hands, we could be easily manipulated by some rotten bitch out to give us shit and cause lots of pain and misery.

I love you.

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

When I was a boy, I used to pretend to be a drug addict.

Most people know that I grew up surrounded by drugs and alcohol and all sorts of unscrupulous acts that no child should have to bear witness to.
This is besides the attempted rape and murders by random hoodlums, maintenance men and creepy basement dwelling fat guys I had to dodge every so often, among other things.
When you're raised like that, certain aspects of even bad scenarios seem like they're what life is all about, it's what you're shown, it's what you see and believe, and it’s what you perceive to be acceptable.
This is why I felt that being a drug addict seemed so cool when I was a lad.

I've seen it firsthand from my parents, my aunts and uncles, family friends, etc; these people were out at all hours of the night, partying until the sun came out, having sex with everyone, meeting new people all the time and not having a care in the world.
What wasn't to like?
You tell me.
This was like THE life, if there ever was a definition needed to define the best kind of life to live in my eyes.
Now don't get me wrong, I wasn't some retard who didn't know right from wrong, I had seen enough movies to know what everyone around me was doing was wrong , but that doesn't mean they didn't seem to be enjoying themselves.
So with all that abound, I would pretend to be an addict because it was pretty damn fun.
I'd smash up candies like smarties into dust, or make lines with pixie sticks powder and snort the shit out of that.
Any small candies were pretend narcotics and any beverage was a pretend beer.

I remember seeing Robocop (several times that night actually, after being left in the theater by my mother, who proceeded to go enjoy herself) and there's a scene where Bob Morton is having a party and he's sniffing Cocaine off of a hooker's tits.
This was the greatest thing I've ever seen at that point.
This guy was doing lines off of a hooker's tits!
I mean, what more could a kid aspire to do in his life?
That was a goal of mine, when I was a kid, I wanted to be a detective, to be wealthy and to also sniff blow off of a hooker's rack.
That was my dream.
I probably still aim to do this in life, although, it might be considered breach of the contractual obligations of marriage.
And I also don't do drugs.
Still, it would be a great experience to go on my resume.

Nowadays, I hate drugs and alcohol and addictive bullshit and stay the hell away from it all.
Not because it will tempt me to sniff blow off of a hooker's tits, which would still be awesome, but because I never knew how terrible my life was until I was old enough to look back and go "wow, that was a pretty fucked up life I had”, that's why I steer clear of it, I don't need a do-over.

In retrospect, I wouldn't change much, probably nothing of the past, because then I'd be different, and not only would I be a weaker person, I feel, but I'd probably be into drugs and all that crap, and I would probably have already sniffed blow off of a hooker's tits, though she would have been an ill reputable type of hooker, not the foxes Bob Morton was about to get it on with.

From your eyes, my childhood might have been a terrible mess, which it definitely was, but from my eyes, it was actually pretty fun at times , especially when I watched Robocop and sniffed pretend blow and got busy with the neighborhood girls at 6 -7 years old, but that's a story for another time.

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

This page is ugly.

I should really consider making it more aesthetically pleasing.
Any suggestions?
More blue you say??

Old Dreams.

I used to be into music.
Rap music specifically.
Seems like a lifetime ago, and I wouldn't say I was heavily into it, but I was pretty immersed in it at the time.
I'd constantly write music while riding on the bus to work, cranking out new songs regularly.
It's one of the things I enjoyed and I'd like to think I was rather good at it.

For those that don't know, which would be most of you,  once upon a time I went by the rapper alias of "the Mentalist" (before that stupid TV show , mind you, my name was from Legacy of Kain!).
I'd get compared to the likes of Big Pun (speedy rap style) and even Eminem at times (weird subject matter), which was a great compliment back then, not so much now though, haha.
I was also the very first rapper most people knew, this was before everyone and their mother wanted to be a rapper in my family and friends circles.
After having some chats with my cousin and a friend of mine recently, the thought of getting back into the music strongly crossed my mind.

Now the reason I stopped would still be a pretty prevalent reason, which was lack of resources.
Meaning I had minimal support, if any,  to actually make music.
These resources being production, mainly, which would open up such reasons as: no one to supply original beats, to record music, to help me bring plans to fruition, etc.
Sure, I wrote songs and once in a blue moon someone would toss me a bone and I'd receive an original beat to write music to, even had a few recording sessions, though not the best quality, still had them, but I had no one at the time with the sufficient tools to really be there to say 'let's do this shit, and make some music".
It felt more like a hobby a small job to do on the side, and after a while, I got bummed out by the fact that I couldn't make solid music for people to hear without a producer, and just stopped making it period, feeling that any attempts were futile.
I didn't want to bug my cousins, because it just felt like I'd be pussying out and they'd hold it against me someday.
The songs I did record , I put up on a myspace music page and they got mixed reviews, but were mainly bashed due to what most said was sub par recording quality.
Other "friends" bashed the subject matter, even going as far as saying I wasn't really a good enough rapper to make it.
I got the laughs, the jokes, etc, whatever, they hurt a bit, because you'd think friends would be supportive, but you get used to the negative shit when you're trying to do something new and different, because people think they know you, but they only really know one side of you, so they can't accept another part of you doing anything out of the ordinary.
People just fear what they do not understand, it's typical nature for most, once you realize and understand this, you learn that those closest to you would be the ones you're least likely to share your creativity with, which is fine.

Anyway, I figured, I am kind of old to be a rapper, pushing 31 now, BUT, if I could get a producer, I think I'd try to hit this thing hardcore.
I feel I am original and creative enough to be a really good rapper.
Most rap nowadays is just really terrible party music, I weave together intricate stories with complex lyrics to form a web of originality that is respected by those who actually understand what good rap music is all about.

Consider my interest piqued for now, let's see where this can lead.
I may or may not be the next best rapper.
If anyone has any input here, negative, positive, etc, lay it on me, I'd love to get some feedback.
And if you'd like to hear the current list of tracks, hit up the Mentalist's music page on myspace, keep in mind that they are in fact, poorly recorded, but it's because I used shitty tools.
Feel free to tell me if I'm out of my mind, or if you think it's worth a shot.

Friday, June 18, 2010

For fuck's sake, close your god damned mouth when you chew!

Why do some people have to smack so fucking loud while chewing?
Is this just some conspiracy to annoy the fuck out of me?
Everyday at 12, these Indian dudes pack into the lunchroom at work, and eat in a large group, and all you hear is constant smacking and chewing with open mouths. It's so fucking nauseating.
Sounds like a horse chewing moist hay, or a blow job being performed.
This dude at Wendy's today was chewing his gum so god damned loud, I wanted to Karate chop him in the esophagus.
This happens on the subway a lot too, people will decide to bring their food and eat it on the subway, then smack and chew and slurp for the next 40 minutes.
Please note, the subway is the last place I'd want to eat, it's so disgusting, if it doesn't smell like warm bum shit, it smells like sweaty passengers, or breath, or some other putrid odor that would not allow me to enjoy a decent meal.
Close your fucking mouths while eating and chewing, there is no excuse for this disgusting habit.

Don't get me started on people who blow their noses at the dinner table either, I'm looking at you assholes right there.

I'm not a racist, but....

I have to point out and establish some shit first, before I continue with anything else, that way I don't get mistaken for something I'm not, like a racist, so please continue reading.
I live in New York City, born and raised, I personally feel that it is technically impossible to be a legitimate racist here being that we are a melting pot of the droppings of every god damned country imaginable.
Every person, unless they're a Native American, is of foreign origins here, so to be a real, authentic racist is really fucking stupid here.
Or anywhere for that matter, but here it's really, really foolish.
Shit, even our Ku Klux Klan here isn't racist.

Now with that being said, I can describe how I break down my hatred of other races, in a completely non-racist way.

I think it's actually more hating of the stereotypes of races as opposed to the actual races, more than anything, but allow me to explain.

Let's start dark and go lighter (RACIST!), you have Black people, good people, contribute to society, perform well in school, excellent workers, don't cause problems, we all love them, then you have Niggers, who are the total opposite.
Niggers hang in front of the building at all hours of the night, hooting and hollering and making a mess, they destroy public property, and can't have anything decent or nice in their neighborhood.
They are piled in front of the public assistance buildings and speak as if they learned English from Chicken George himself and they like to make scenes in public places by being totally obnoxious, especially in groups.
Police hate them, white people cross the street when they walk by (actually, they do that with Black people too) and anyone around them wishes they'd spontaneously combust and burn to death.
Most rappers act pretty niggerish and give good black people a bad name, I have to say.

Then you have the Latinos, Hispanic, etc, (like myself, regardless of how pale my flesh is) you have good strong Latin people that are in politics and own businesses, and go to college, really helpful to the country , just like good black people, sadly, you also have the Latin equivalent to Niggers, which are Spics.
Spics are pretty much niggers that speak Spanish, usually "Spanglish" which is the worst kind of fucking language.
They don't necessarily speak English, or Spanish, they speak both, Spanglish, and whenever they can't say a word in one language, they say it in the other, and it's really fucking irritating, they also make up their own fucking words or use the Spanish word for "thing" when the proper words becomes too elusive for their simple minds to locate. It's also pretty common for them to say the word "for" instead of "so".
Here's an example, instead of saying 'I bought these shoes so I can go dancing" they'd say something like "I bought these shoes for I could go dancing".
What the fuck is that?
Did I mention that they're also loud as all hell?
You can hear a spic speaking from a whole town away, and they're worse than Italians when it comes to speaking with their bodies.
They always want to physically demonstrate something on you, because not only did they get punched in the face by the cops, they need to explain what that means exactly with their entire body, and yours.
They also tap you as they speak, constantly, stomp their feet for story emphasis and stop dead in their path while walking to express their frustration about a certain subject.
Fuck spics.

Though these next few don't directly affect us New Yorkers, they can't go unmentioned.

White people have rednecks, and everyone hates those assholes, all over Jerry Springer and littering our southern Wal-Mart’s, and I have no clue what the Asian equivalents to Spics and niggers would be, but they're out there, the assholes shooting snot rockets all over the god damned city and invading your personal space on the Subway with their Salami breath, fuck you guys, I hate you too.

This is pretty standard for all races actually; you have the good side of the bunch, then their nigger/spic/redneck equivalent.

So as you can clearly see, I'm not a racist, I'm just a very outspoken stereotype hater, but unfortunately, in NY, it seems that the stereotypes make up the majority, so it's not uncommon for someone to say "I hate Puerto Ricans" but actually mean "I hate Spics".

It's pretty much exactly what they meant to say.

I needed to have this pointed out, so that whenever I go on a seemingly racist tirade, you know it's totally out of love.

More to follow, when I get around to it.

Today is unusual.

My wife made me breakfast today.

This is a rare occurrence.

This indicates that she wants to have sex with me, so she's trying to get on my good side.

Not just any sex, but the kind that requires cleaning up with household chemicals afterwards.

Funny thing is, breakfast is great and all, but I'm easy.

If you ever want to have sex with me, simply toss on some leather.

She knows this, but it is rather hot these days, so I'll forgive her.

And with kids going to sleep at around, whenever the fuck they want, it's quite difficult to get that dirty these days.

She's in for it.

I am planning on fracturing her pelvis and impaling her pancreas, fortunately, we have a wheelchair at home, so I can stab, a winner is me!

Let me not put anymore thought into this.

If I build it up too much, I might get too excited and ejaculate early, make a fool of myself, ruin the moment, and never get breakfast again.

Or leather.

And I can live without breakfast, fuck that shit, but oh lord, not the leather.

Not the leather…..

Thursday, June 17, 2010

Welcome to my face, have a seat!

So with the help of my buddy Ish, (and by help , I mean he told me "It's easy to set up you stupid fuck") I've set up this site to post my random thoughts and other nonsense that spews forth from that horribly damaged part of my anatomy I refer to as a "brain".
I may pull out some stuff from the archive of madness, but this will be my man's version of a diary, and a way to argue with myself without seeming insane, or something like that.
Actually, it's as much a diary as the Punisher's war Journal, which is full of killing and war stories, but not so much in my case.
Mine is going to be full of crazy talk and stories of almost being raped by maintenance men when I was a child and things that annoy me and the best way to avoid being shot in the face on the way home.
More to follow, just wait for it.