Bryan Bronx's Supremely Awesome and Extreme Guide to Understanding Women.

From what I understand, (which is everything ) most guys these days are having a difficult time maintaining relationships or keeping their women happy, or not, I make up random facts sometimes to make myself seem smarter in comparison to others, don't fucking judge me.


Now, I'm not talking about in the bedroom, that's another issue you may have to work on, which could require hours of practice.
I recommend leather or latex and a wild imagination, but that's another story altogether, so fuck off.
I'm talking about understanding your woman, through and through.

See, women like to communicate with men using a series of signals with their body language and very few words, it's sort of a code speak, so to say.
Like during World War II, when the Navajo Native Americans were used to send messages to other areas of the military in order to set up some awesome fucking kills and to tell jokes White people couldn't get, about White people, it's the same thing with women, only difference being; your woman doesn't have a bad ass nickname like "Runs With Fire", well, she probably does, but for an entirely different reason, besides, there's only so many ways you can say "Fucking Slut Bag" in Navajo.

This doesn't make you native either, but makes a great bull’s-eye for skeet.

So your best pal, me (I only love you when you're dirty) has decided to scrape together my vast knowledge on everything "women" and share it with you so that you can stop fucking up your relationship.
Your girlfriend/wife is tired of your bullshit, man and you need to fucking recognize what you're doing wrong.
Don't believe me?
Ask her, she's lying right here, call me.

My guide will fully prepare you and get you on track with understanding the hidden meanings of shit women say but REALLY mean, you'll be reading between the lines like a fucking pro.

Trust me, there are two things I don't do: lie and steer people wrong, unless I'm giving directions to tourists, then I do both, but that's kind of funny anyway, right?

This movie was made in honor of my misguiding tourists antics.

So I'll focus on four easy scenarios that you may have encountered in the past, but sadly, without my tutelage, so you completely dropped the fucking ball there.
I'll start each topic with what you see as the scenario, then I'll follow it up with the actual translation of the event with the fucking TRUTH, or what you should see, but don’t, because you’re clueless.


I. Your woman asks you to do something immediately.


Here's the scenario.
You're sitting down on the couch in your underwear, playing Call of Duty, shoving chips into your face when your lady asks if you could throw out the garbage.

At this point, you're probably thinking to yourself; "God, she's such a nagging bitch" as you tell her that you'll do it as soon as you get to a save spot in the game while she gives you an icy look like she wants to fire laser beams through your chest cavity.

Here's what she REALLY means with what she asked of you using her body language to interpret, (i.e., the icy stare):
"Honey, when you're done being lazy and completely useless, but still staying sexy after gaining 200 pounds, would you mind throwing out the garbage please?
No rush, take your time; I know you're involved in something important and I'm just being a bitch.
I'll be cleaning the bathroom floor on my bare knees with a piece of steel wool in the meantime, have fun baby!!
Oh, and would you mind if I dressed like a secretary tonight?"

Since you didn't do the dishes either, come here big boy….

So you see, what you initially thought, was complete bullshit, you were being foolish.
You assumed she was nagging and bitching and commanding you around, when in fact, her motives were the complete opposite!
That "icy" stare you perceived as being harsh was actually her undressing you with her eyes.
You just got eye raped, my man!
This woman wants and has nothing but the best of intentions here.
Congratulations, you've just made it though part one of my tutorial and your relationship will only get better after a few more tender moments like this.
Let's continue.



II. Your woman would like for you to do more around the house.


Here's the scenario.
You go to work, come home, repeat. Everyday.
She says you don't do shit at home.
You don't do the laundry or wash the dishes or walk the dog, or hose down the kids and pets, whatever, she's got a list of shit you do not do and a face full of scowl to prove it.

You're thinking to yourself; "I work so hard all day, why do I have to come home and clean!?
She just does nothing but bitch and chew me out!
I wish she'd stop fucking making that stupid fucking face, she looks like Mr. Miyagi from the Karate Kid".

Pick this fucking place up or I'll make you break car windows.

Here's what she REALLY means with what she asked of you and her furious looking face:
"Welcome home, sweetie, I made your favorite dish, because I know you worked so hard at the office playing fantasy football all day and watching youtube videos.
When I say I want you to do more around the house, I just mean that I wish you'd be home more, maybe call out sick or take a small vacation so you can lie around all day and do nothing while I pick up the slack”

Do you see how far off you were with your assumptions?
Never assume, it’s the mother of all fuck ups.
I heard that in a Steven Seagal movie.

This guy has more wisdom than your alcoholic grandfather.

III. Your woman appears to be visibly upset about something.


We all know, when women are upset, they do not have the ability and/or capacity to express these feelings verbally because they fear that as soon as they begin talking, we will drift off into day dreams where we’re imagining that we’ve become deaf.
This is not true, we love hearing why you women are upset, in all honesty, I swear to God.
So with this in mind, they sit there, quietly, until they fall asleep and forget about it the next day.
They always forget.
One great thing about the fairer sex is that women never hold grudges, they’re pretty cool about getting over shit rather quickly and letting the past be the past in order to move on to a better tomorrow.

Your job in this situation is to ask her “what’s troubling you/why are you mad/upset/cutting your wrists?”
Women love being asked those questions, especially when they are asked as often and consistent as possible.
So follow one up after the other in great succession:
Are you mad?
Why are you upset?
What’s bugging you?
Why are you so angry?
What happened?
What did you do?
Why are you so quiet?
You mad?
You mad, brah?


Keep it going, they will take your constant questioning as a high interest in their feelings and thoughts and will eventually crack, then they’ll let you know what’s going on.
You’ll most likely all have a good laugh about it, it’s probably nothing.

HAHAHA, Breast Cancer?

IV. Your woman says she is not in the mood.

Know this, my befuddled friend, women are the men of females, they are always fucking horny.
Saying they are not in the mood is their way of telling you they want to be rammed like a metal door by the SWAT team at a crack house in the projects.
They just don’t want to seem easy or whorish because it isn’t lady like, so they act coy and it's all a ruse.

Here’s what you do, my simple homeboy.
She says she isn’t in the mood?
Fuck that.
You simply do the most logical thing to start this fire in her sugar walls, a woman’s favorite action performed by a man, the one thing guaranteed to work every time, proven throughout the ages with a zero failure rate; you place your bare penis on her shoulder or slap her on the cheek with it, lie it across her forehead, rub it on her lips, etc.
Women FUCKING LOVE THAT.
If ever there was a piece of advice you would consider taking from your amigo Bryan Bronx, this is it.
Women love nothing more than to be attacked by a man’s penis, because for them, it’s the equivalent of shaking hands with a celebrity, but with your dick.
Trust me.

Overcompensating? Maybe, but you get the idea.

I can’t count how many times women have thanked me after sex because I began it like so.
The number of times is astronomical.
It’s like the doorbell of intercourse.
Knock knock.
Who’s there?
This dick, baby.
BAM.
You’ll be scoring so fucking often.

In closing, I want you to promise me that you won’t share this information with those that may abuse the privilege of knowing the God’s honest truth about women.
If anyone found out, they may change the game up and make me look like an asshole, then I’d have to write you a really angry letter.
Remember, this guy here loves you, that’s why I’m always going to be around to tell it like it is so no one steers you wrong, especially people with vaginas and tits.

I Hate Your Face, Facebook. HAPPY FRIDAY!!

I'll keep this one short, because I'm lazy.

If you happen to be alive today and I'm sure you are, (unless you're dead, then high five for reading my shit in the afterlife) chances are; you have a Facebook page, and at this point in time, you also might be as fed up and annoyed as I am by the countless "IT'S FRIDAY!" posts that you see every Friday morning notifying you that it is in fact, Friday.

It's not just the Friday posts, though, oh no, these same people must announce every day of the week, each week, with pretty much the same comment they used last week. Like "fucking Mondays" and "Hump day" and "THIRSTY THURSDAY!".

(Don't get me started on the "have a good/blessed day" people or the penis heads who speak to Facebook as if it were an actual person (GOOD MORNING FACEBOOK!!!).

I guess we should appreciate the robotic dickheads who post these messages, because if it weren't for them, we would never know what day it is, what the weather is like outside (thanks for the snow photos too, assholes) or what current song is popular , even though it is constantly being circulated all over the internet, TV and radio.

Yes, according to your Facebook pals, you had no fucking clue today was Tuesday, stupid.

But they break the news first.

I can't count how many times I woke up and had no clue what the fuck was going on outside or what day it was until I logged onto Facebook and read their posts, which may or may not have saved my life.

It's a lifesaver.

I'm wearing snow boots because my friend Ron said it was snowing, I'm preparing for the weekend because Calvin informed me that it's Friday and I know who Kanye West is because at least 1,700 people posted his newest video.

So to the drones, I'd like to say "Thank you" for being informative, thank you for being obvious and stating the obvious and for being our human calendars and flesh reminders.

THANK YOU and God bless you.

Make sure it's set to "ON" for this.

Nah, fuck that, fuck you, fuck your mother, fuck your face and eyeballs with a gargantuan sized cock and fuck your sister.

I'm tired of the same shit, get new material, for fucking Christ's sake.

HAHAHA, blasphemy tickles!

Sure it's Friday, but be original, don't just say "it's Friday", you're now just like everyone else who say's it, say "going to get laid tonight, GANG RAPE FRIDAY NIGHT!" or say "Hope I don't end up in an alleyway with Vaseline in my butt crack again tonight, FRIDAY”, whatever, just fucking be clever, or original, or shut the fuck up if you can't do either.

No one will miss you.

Even that tree hates you, dick.

We know what's going on, you fucking twat bot, we don't need reminders, and if we do, that's why we have Cell phones, because they don't just help us add small numbers or tell people where we are in the city every twenty minutes via foursquare (which is something we all fucking love by the way), they also alarm us for reminders (if we get around to setting it and shit).

I'm actually hoping Facebook causes more home robberies because you deserve it if you're telling me where you are constantly for no apparent fucking reason.

Tom Just checked into "Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrow Church". "Totally stealing this guy's shit, Facebook".

So with that said, I am renaming the days of the week and/or creating a new day of the week slogan, or whatever the fuck it's called, I don't give a shit, just mix it up a little,  before I stab my eyes out with a jagged dildo.

So from now on, the list below will be how the days of the week will go, at least as far as I'm concerned or until someone creative creates a new set, since it's vastly different from the monotonous shit I see daily.

In order to be innovative, we're going to keep it hood because it's clever, and edgy, and catches on faster and when people of color do something cool, White people think it's amazing, so there's that.

I'm trying to start a trend without singing or dancing here, so fucking work with me in order to save America.

Monday will be - Mug a Nigga Monday

Tuesday will be - Take yo shit Tuesday

Wednesday will be - We ballin Wednesday

Thursday will be - Thugged out Thursday

Friday will be - Forty ounce Friday.

Saturday will be - Suck a dude's dick Saturday

Sunday will be - Steal Shit Sunday

And there you have it.

You now have something new to say, beginning tomorrow.

Sure, I'm being unreasonable or overly bitchy for something so minute, but I got nothing better to do right now, so eat my tits.

Eat them, deep fried. They also have nice DSB's, wink wink. Use your imagination....

 

This message was brought to you by people who think you should be posting titty pictures instead of "HAVE A GOOD DAY!".

How to Feel Racially Superior and Bad Ass (Without Anyone Else Knowing).

I don't condone racism, in any way, you've all read that thingy I posted way back when, but I figured this can be your little secret. Our little secret, rather.

Crafty, huh?

Let's be completely honest here, whether you admit it or not, you feel that your kind is superior to other kinds because you hate the idea of being inferior, so fuck that, you're superior, TO ALL, regardless of what color, gender, race, creed, etc, you/they are (unless you're a Native American, then you're fucked).

If you don't feel this way, even in the slightest, then you're completely devoid of any racism and should ascend to Sainthood, even though you love anal sex and jerking off to your High School yearbook, but God will overlook that because you love everyone, you sick fuck.

Let us also state the fact that you are most likely a gigantic pussy who would never admit to having these semi-racist thoughts in public, especially in a group of diverse people, lest you get your ass whooped.

I'm not assuming you're a pussy and you may not be, but this topic, given the subject matter within, you would not say any of this shit in said group if you had a mouth full of shit, let's keep it real.

Bitch.

So, with that said, your buddy Bronx here is going to offer you some secret insider tips on how to display racial superiority over any and everyone, without getting your bigot ass kicked in.

In fact, my tips are so solid, that you'll be like, a motherfucking racist ninja!

You could probably form a racist secret society, but that's what congress is for, so skip that, and continue reading.

Note that if you get caught being racist, it's because you opened your god damned mouth, and deserve to get your ass pulverized.

You have to follow the steps and techniques I provide down to the motherfucking letter, otherwise, you're fucked and I'll deny it if anyone asks if I had any involvement in this shit and agree that you're a crazy racist, cross burning fuck head who loves hitting women and raping pillow animals.

You'd hit it.

I'm neither supporting nor defending racism, because I hate that shit, but at least you can feel good about yourself at the expense of others, you know, the American way.

Besides, this is the best way of figuring out ways to high five yourself and believe in your mind that you are THE SHIT.

Step 1 - Let successful White people do all the work in a revolving door.

This White guy makes more money than you, he drives a better car than you, his wife is hotter than your wife, his kids are smarter than your kids, he just beats your loser ass silly in just about everything in life.

There has to be a way to get this man to work for you without using an Infinity Gauntlet, right?

THERE IS.

If you work in a city, particularly an office building, there's a pretty good chance that you enter and exit this building via revolving doors.

If you want to perform a massive attack of racial superiority here over the "MAN", I'm talking about one of the highest forms of expressing yourself, wait for a successful White man to prepare to exit the building, or two, hell, three , shit 2 or more and you're a regular fucking mental Malcolm X!

As they proceed to enter the revolving door on their way in or out,  quietly enter behind them as the doors begin to rotate, but DO NOT push on the doors in any way, let them do all the fucking pushing for you until you've made it completely out without lifting a finger.

As they push with all their White might, say to yourself "that's right, push this fucking door for me, White man, Push it until I'm clear, you motherfucker, you".

Not only did you just make the MAN work for you, but he had no clue he was your bitch the whole time!

Celebrate by going to Starbucks and doing the same shit to the Barista.

FASTER, you White bitch!!

Step 2 - Own the sidewalk.

This pretty much only applies to White people (or gigantic vaginas).

Sure, you guys probably feel socially and racially superior anyway, but there are still some areas where you guys feel inadequate when compared to say, Black guys.

Particularly in the pants and in the coolness genes.

Yes, it's all stereotypes, I know some of you white guys have big wangs and not all Black guys are tripods, but that doesn't stop you from crossing the street to the opposite side whenever one or more Black people are walking on your side of the sidewalk towards you.

The cool factor, I can't help with, you guys have to really work on being cool while it's just so natural for Black guys, sorry, it's fucking true.

Even lame Black guys are cooler by default, it's pretty fucked.

So here you are, walking down the block, when all of a sudden, this Black dude is walking towards you and in your mind, he's not just any Black dude, he's as big as Lawrence Taylor and as scary as Mike Tyson.

HOLY SHIT, Cross over, right? CROSS, He's getting closer!! He might steal your wallet or pound your vanilla face in or dunk you in a basketball hoop or challenge you to a freestyle rap battle. CROSS NOW!!

NO.

STOP.

LISTEN.

Fuck that, don't cross shit. It's potentially dangerous, you could get hit by a car and die or there could be like, four Black guys on the other side.

It also costs you valuable time, like, two whole minutes, which is a major loss to the White community.

You're going to march your lame, little dicked white ass straight through that block and keep your pale head high.

When you pass that Black guy, even though he really looks like this….

He can still kick your white ass.

...High five the fuck out of yourself.

Not only did you display racial dominance over that guy by not getting off of that piece of land like your ancestors did with Native Americans, you stuck it to him and showed him that you will not bend to his will, you will not give in to fear, because YOU are superior, you are better and you handed him his Black ass, and the best part is he doesn't even know it!

Be a real bad ass and think to yourself "Who's the pussy now??" as he walks away.

Use the word "Nigger" in your mind as freely as you'd like too, you fucking tough son of a bitch.

Step 3 - Make those delivery guys work their asses off.

If you live in New York City, there is a one hundred percent chance that the delivery guy is either Mexican or Chinese, so it's not as dominating when it's a third worlder because you're kind of winning there already, but if it's anywhere else, chances are it might be a young White guy delivering your shit, in which case, you're going to fucking score big for this.

I find that it's also most effective when you order the heaviest shit you can get, like a vase or two of flowers filled with water or forty bottles of soda or a few hundred 1+ pound steaks, or all of those at the same time.

You might argue that they end up coming to deliver these items using some type of mobile cart, but fuck that, do it, those carts usually have some really fucked up wheels anyway and chances are, it'll break on the way over causing him to have to drag the cart AND the heavy ass goods at the same time.

When they finally get to wherever you are, preferably a huge office building, have them drag the load to one location, only to bitch about how it needs to go somewhere else for some group of people who have moved to another location, he'll sigh in anguish but still smile as you smile over having the slave boy carry your shit.

Keep smiling; I'm not tipping you SHIT.

This can potentially go on for as long as you'd like, he has to make the delivery and his bill has to be signed and lord knows you do not have authorization to sign the bill so he has to carry that shit upstairs to the boss’s office to have that done.

Just keep telling yourself "this way, stupid, White (or colored) slave" and feel the surge of racial dominance course through your body, it feels like victory which feels like eating a handful of Wheat Thins.

Racial superiority - brought to you by Nabisco.

This guy will have no clue that he's been played and that the game being played was you being fucking racially superior to his ass in every way, what a pussy, right?

You just brought back slavery, in this guy's FACE.

See, there are countless other ways to triumph over other races and be dominant in the fight for mental domination, it all depends on how bad ass you are on the inside.

We know, you're about THIS bad ass on the inside.

I just can't list them all because I use them daily and don't want people to get wise on me.

Telephone tough guys are a thing of the past, all hail the age of the secret racists!

You are totally unlike these assholes, though.

Life From A Feline Point Of View (or Cats Are Assholes).

Although this post is about cats, I am not technically Caucasian, so me writing about cats in any way, shape or form does not make me white or lame, so fuck your mother.

I get a free pass because I kick ass.

I was bored and in the tedium of my day I imagined myself as a cat and thought of all these highly imaginative feline scenarios and situations that the little fuckers get into which you're about to read.

For the most part, my goal is to point out how cats, though cute, are gigantic assholes.

So in my genius thought process, as my cat was being a complete cunt,  I said to myself: "Godly Adonis, what do you think this cat is saying while he is performing this stupid act of cat-ness?”

With that, I began to think of everything that follows.

My mind is light years beyond most humans, so bear with me.

For this piece, I think it's best if I toss myself into the role of a cat, method act, if you will, as a cat, because I've never been a cat before, but I have been a Superhero as well as a brown paper bag-guy like this kid, poor guy:

Kill me.

So at the end of this sentence, the method acting will begin and I will be in the role of a cat, minus the ball licking, because that's how I fucking get down when I go about getting down with acting.

BEGIN METHOD ACTING

Hi, I'm a cat, I don't give a flying fuck if you're wearing new black pants, I feel like fucking rubbing against your legs, back and forth, 735 times. Regardless of how badly I'm shedding, fuck your face.

Oh was that your bowl of cereal on the table?
Fuck you, I jumped up and took a few swigs of your milk, asshole.
Shouldn't have left it sitting there.

I know its 4 am, but I don't give a shit, I feel like flopping around and running laps around your living room with my feet that make me sound like a fucking small horse.

Feel free to walk by me as I lie down here in the hallway, it's totally safe, nothing's going on.
HAHA, I fucking lied, it's not at all safe and I took a swipe at your ankles!!
You fool!!

I totally missed the litter box and shit on the floor, you might want to pick that up when you get a chance, I'm busy not giving a good God damn.

Are you pooping?
Oh my God, I want to come into the bathroom with you to smell it while you pet me.

I know you don't like me in the bed, but I'm in it, tough titties, deal with it, faggot.

I ate my entire bowl of food, give me some more or I'm knocking over the fucking water.

Shove that laser pen up your ass, I was sleeping.

HOLY SHIT! Shoelaces! I'm going to eat the aglets off so that you can never adjust the laces again.

I happen to enjoy the beach, thank you very much, which is why I kicked litter all over the God damned bathroom floor.

My anal gland is secreting, it smells like a thousand hobo farts mixed with their dick cheese but I'm going to take a nap on your new sweater.
I'm also shedding and just finished kicking my shit around in the litter box.
If you're not busy, go fuck yourself.

Hope you're not allergic, there's dander EVERY FUCKING WHERE.
Mostly from my balls.

Speaking of my balls, if you see me licking them, fuck off or lend a hand.

END METHOD ACTING.

As you can clearly see from my immersion in the role, cats hate our fucking guts, yet we love the ever loving shit out of them, even though they treat us like abusive spouses.

If your wife or husband did any of this shit above, you'd hit them with brass knuckles on, admit it.

Right in the teeth.

Use these:

Be sure to get a manicure first.

I have a cat; I don't normally act as a cat in my spare time, although I did such a tremendous job above.

I also get attacked every night for no apparent fucking reason at all other than minding my own business, which I can only assume is a crime in the world of cats, because they see fit to attack me as I pass by which is the cat equivalent of mugging AND I’m FROM NEW FUCKING YORK where I haven't even been mugged (yet).

What this means is, if cats were 6 feet tall and had opposable thumbs, they'd take our wallets, kick our asses, fuck our wives and rape us at least four times a week, which is unacceptable behavior for anyone who isn't a maintenance man. (Inside jokes!!).

My idea is this; let's get the drop on these little bastards.

They think that they can run our fucking lives like they're some big shit in prison.

This isn't prison, it's the real motherfucking world and I'm not going to be anyone's bitch, especially someone with three rows of nipples,

That's six god damn tits!

Boner yet?

Follow these steps to fuck their shit up proper:

First, pretend you're asleep, when your cat jumps on the bed, immediately jump up and scream as loud as you can and scare the balls off of it.

If done correctly, he will have shit his fur, and he should look like this:

GAHH! Your dick is smaller than mine.

Props if you manage to somehow get his ear torn off like the cat in this picture, you badass son of a bitch, you.

Second, get a bag of chips.

Anytime you see your cat sleeping, grab the full bag of chips, squeeze it in a way that all the air gets trapped on the opposite end from where you're squeezing.

Hold it tight, and slam on the other end with your open hand, making it pop loudly, sending chips flying everywhere.

This will ruin his nap and will make you feel like a better person in the process.

If he looks like this after you pop the bag….:

This thing isn't going to suck itself, buddy.

….then you probably got him excited by popping the bag too close to his balls, try again, we're not offering rewards here for shitty behavior, you fucking failure.

Who's a schweepy Kitty kitty?? POW!

AWWWW,…..Guess who's in for a surprise?

Lastly, shave off his whiskers.

Contrary to popular belief, cats actually hate their whiskers and would love nothing more than for you to remove them of this burden.

For one, it makes them look stupid.

If you had facial hair like that, you'd kill to have it removed because you'd look stupid too.

Whiskers also have a habit of getting wet when they drink out of the toilet bowl, they hate that too.

Plus, they prick your balls as you lick them and make them itchy and who enjoys that?

So be a pal, shave their whiskers, they'll bang and crash around against the walls in glee!

I say old bean, I have no whiskers and I'm doing bloody fine! Care for some Monopoly?

I'm only giving you this information because I love you, I really do, if I didn't, I'd leave you to your own stupid devices, which would entail you getting your shit bossed around by stupid asshole fucking cats.

Also, my readers are going to get free cat mugs, just go into any department store and pick them up, on me, they look like this:

This Mug + YOU= Coolest guy ever.

Of course you already know, you're welcome.

Adventures of a Misfortunate Bronx Kid or Almost Being Raped by a Maintenance Man and Other Crazy Shit That Happened to Me as a Kid.

When I started this thing, this whole web site, blog, journal thing, I mentioned I would get into some stories from any and everywhere I could think of.
Probably not in those exact words, but I'm too lazy to scroll down and check what the hell I originally typed to get an accurate quote, so let's not focus on details and quoting and shit like that, but instead, let's focus on the actual work, a story I probably mentioned somewhere along this site, about almost being raped by a maintenance man and other crazy shit that happened to me as a kid.

Actually, as I type this, I still haven't thought of a title for this little piece, so for now, I'm going to call it "Almost Being Raped by a Maintenance Man and Other Crazy Shit That Happened to Me as a Kid.".
If I can't think of a better title by the time I finish, then that's what we're going to stick with, because sometimes, a title doesn't have to be all clever and witty and shit, it just has to be honest.
I made that up just now too.
I can be pretty profound when I need to be, I just don't like to do it all the time because then people want to quote and paraphrase your shit and have you sign autographs on their tits and offer you handjobs on the subway platform at three AM on a Tuesday, or they ask for a bowl of your semen, it’s just a cluster fuck of situations that I don't like to get involved with, so don't fucking bring it up again.

Moving on, let us begin our journey through time, circa, 198-something, maybe 85-87, somewhere around that time frame, I honestly can't remember because I try to block out most of this stuff so I don't wake up at night in a puddle of my own tears, urine and feces and/or with a gun in my mouth mumbling the lyrics to "Sister Christian".

For the earlier part of my childhood, I grew up as a free spirited soul, able to pretty much do whatever I wanted or go wherever I wanted due to alcohol, drugs and the effect they caused on whatever part of your brain that is responsible for "adult supervision and responsibility over children".
Now , I'm not a biologist in any way, but I'm almost certain it's the Medulla Oblongata, only because it's probably the only part of the brain that I know of other than the Cerebral Cortex, which coincidentally, is my second choice here.

Anyway, being a kid of the streets, along with my older brother, we'd get into some shit.
For the most part, I'd get into my own adventures, and he'd get into his.
His were mostly playing sports and having fun with an occasional fight,  while mine were mostly getting into fights with an occasional near death experience and/or attempted rape.
The times we did join forces, we always ended up sharing experiences like no other.

We were little kids, maybe somewhere around age six through eight, and like most kids our age, we were supposed to go to school at around 8 or 9 am daily, but instead, sometimes we said "fuck school" and ended up just walking around the Bronx and getting into shit.
I remember one day, we were joined by two other dudes from my brother's class.
The four of us,  we tried sneaking into a nearby building through the back entrance , which was accessible through a gate that led into an alleyway, a little path that was surrounded by concrete and bricks that superintendents would use to ship garbage to and from the compactor room and the sidewalk as easily as possible.
Something like this:

But felt more like this:

Here we are, fucking around in this back area when I decided to take a piss, along with another guy in our crew who also had to do pee pee.
I'm relaxed,  draining the main vein,  not a care in the world,  when out of nowhere, this 40 something, dark (Black, maybe Hispanic, who cares?) man with his brown leather jacket on,  jumps out of the fucking shadows, kicks me square in the ass and then hits me in the back with a broom stick,
My heart tries to forcefully come out through my anus, meanwhile I'm literally pissing my pants and my legs and whatnot as I begin to fucking run as fast as my little pissed on legs could take me, while this dark man with the brown jacket motherfucker, he's chasing us , he's hooting and hollering curses and threats of how he's going to kill us if he ever sees us again as we haul ass and finally make it out of his basement entrance, running for our motherfucking lives , hearts beating like jackhammers, making our way away from that place while the cold air settles against my wet clothing.
Oh man, I had so much piss on myself, I can still remember my legs feeling gritty like I had sand on them because the skin around my legs had sort of water (read: piss) logged and now that I think of it, I don't actually remember stopping to piss, I think I stopped, and the rest of the pissing happened when he jumped out of nowhere like Count fucking Dracula.
God, I should go back and kill "the man with the Brown jacket", who he was affectionately referred to as after this encounter.
Needless to say, we never fucking went back to his basement again, ever, and we walked back to school with our scared shitless selves, pissy pants, raw skin and all.

Another time, probably with the same crew from above, we decided to go on a journey to one of the guys' houses after school one day.
One of these geniuses had the bright idea of cutting through a field of debris caused by condemned buildings and abandoned construction jobs, pretty much like this:

This is how the Bronx looked back in the 70's and 80's, it was pretty fucking desolate.
So here we are, taking this shortcut, along the way, we see this building with an interesting little "cut from the earth" type of design to it, looked sort of like this:

So two of us, myself and this other kid, we decide to hop down to another spooky, concrete basement type of area (We never learn, and kids, stay the fuck out of basements, especially ones made from concrete and maintained by Hispanic people of the Bronx) to frolic about and explore while my older brother and his other friend waited above.
Those two, Pussies?
Yes.
Stupid?
Nope.

We're here, this other dude and myself, just wandering about in this basement, when we hear a door unlock, then creak open when out comes this spooky fat Hispanic dude who was more than likely the maintenance guy and looked like a murderer and was probably about as safe as a gynecologist with penises for fingers.
That's when we decided to jet the fuck out of there, but in our hasty retreat, my friend dropped his book bag as we scampered up the concrete wall back to the top where the junkyard was.

The fat Latin fellow, who was stuck in his little basement palace, didn't appear to be able to physically climb the rocks, so we were safe from his wrath, our dilemma was that he had this kid's backpack.
We pleaded with the guy to toss it back up, but he kept telling us to come back down and get it, in his soft, gentle voice, that sounded like Rainbows speaking and cottony soft Cottonelle tissue wiping my ass, suitable for a killer.
We told him "please, just toss it up and we'll leave" and he said "don't worry, come down and get it, its ok, come down".
As we gave up all hope and were about to leave, he finally figured he wasn't going to get a child for dinner and tossed it up, then we left, assumably preventing the rape of a child that day, most likely my own, because those brave souls would have surely shoved my little ass into the basement to save their own asses.

Before I close out, I'd like to add one more adventure to the list of "Adventures I'd rather not have had as a kid".
I remember playing in the courtyard of my old building, which looked like the Carter building from "New Jack City", located between 170 and 171 streets on Grand concourse, in the Bronx.
I was with a "friend" at the time, or whatever you called a kid you'd play with once, just playing in the dirt , because if you brought toys outside, someone would try to steal them, so we're sitting there playing, when this little kid comes out of the building nearest us asking if we wanted to make some money.
Being the young opportunists that we were, fuck yes we wanted to make some money!
So the kid says to follow him, and we do, as he leads us into the building, up some stairs and into this apartment on the third floor.
We walk in and there's this chubby brown fellow sitting on a bar stool, he tells the escort kid to close the door, as my friend and I walk in towards the back of the living room of this small, one bedroom apartment.
The door was directly opposite the back of the living room, I could see it, maybe about 10 feet from me, and there was a window directly behind me, facing Taft High School.
So the perceivably kind businessman asks us if we want to make some money.
We're all stoked and excited and are all smiles saying "YEAH!", and then our host smiles, slowly reaching to the area on the other side of his bar stool, grabbing something long that took a few seconds to pull up and that's when this sweet charming fellow suddenly pulls out this double barreled shotgun that looked about as big as I was and held it over his shoulder, telling us that in order to make money, we would have to drop our pants.
I immediately felt this sense of fear loom over me, and couldn't figure out what to do as he pointed the shotgun towards me.
Do I just drop my pants?
Do I try to run?
Do I run towards the door or out the window?
What should I do?
As I tried to decide, fortune would smile upon me.
In the distance, across the courtyard, I hear my mother calling for me, yelling "BRYAN!”
I told the shotgun holding guy who clearly wasn't making a very good business proposition here "That's my mom, I gotta go!" and ran for the door faster than a bolt of lightning, leaving my friend behind to a fate I'd never know of because I don't even remember seeing that kid again after that.
I ran to my mom and later that day, told her the whole story.

A few days later, she'd approach this man as I pointed him out and she would go on to threaten his life, saying if he ever tried anything like that again, she would literally murder him.
He just kept saying "it wasn't me, right Bryan? It wasn't me!" and now that I think of it, I have no clue how he knew my name, unless my mom let it slip.

Needless to say, I had an interesting childhood, these were just some of the more colorful moments that stood out to me, and have never escaped my memory.

I'm glad too, because not everything afterwards was as exciting and this always makes for good conversation.
I can also proudly say that I was never raped or murdered by any random brown skinned Hispanic maintenance men, so yay for me.

My Greatest Christmas (An oldie from the archives)

I wrote this story on my old Myspace blog a while back, thought it would be appropriate to post this time of the year, holidays and all. 

It's called "My Greatest Christmas".

Sorry for copping out and not posting an actual update, I WILL SOON,  I fucking promise, but it's been my lack of motivation that's been holding me back.

Ah, who am I kidding, I'm lazy.

Anyway, fuck me, I suck, but please read this, it's a good read , if I might say so myself, and look out for something new very soon. I swear to my friend Alex's gigantic balls, I will update soon.

Now, without further ado,  I present to you, "My Greatest Christmas".

Must have been 89 or 90, it was so long ago, I can barely remember exactly, I just remember that it was the greatest Video Game gift I've ever received, and probably the best Christmas I've ever had.

I must have been ten or eleven or so.

My aunt saved up and probably borrowed money to buy it for me, This particular gift, It cost like $100 some odd dollars back then and I figured I'd never get it, since she supported seven of us and my uncle's drug habit on top of a car that conked out at least once a month.

I had been asking for this gift hardcore for two years, a few of my pals had one, and I'd hang with them just to get my fill, to satisfy the urge to have it, but it wasn't enough,

I needed my own, but there were bills to pay and kids to feed, not much extra for videogames.

The only videogames we did get were occasional used NES games from Doorae's mall down on West Farms, where we'd risk it and get whatever we thought was cool.

There was no internet back then, only word of mouth, so if a game sucked, you were shit out of luck.

But, if Ralphie from across the hallway had the game, it must have been good.

Otherwise, we blew about $20-$30 bucks on a real piece of shit, either way, that was what we got maybe twice a year, if we were lucky.

I'd mostly get my games by borrowing and trading with friends.

One good thing about being a foster kid and living in the hood, people tend to move a lot.

When you borrow a game and your pal moves away, you got a free game, it almost always worked out in your favor, but, there were times when it totally fucked you over, and you lost a game or two.

A gamble, but sometimes, you got to give it your all with the shitty cards you're dealt, none of that "know when to fold'em" bullshit.

Anyway, Christmas day comes, we used to open gifts at the stroke of midnight on Christmas day, I remember opening a few gifts, mainly action figures, and stocking stuffers from grandma, mostly sweatpants and socks and art supplies and shit.

I'm done unwrapping all the fodder, but my dream gift was nowhere to be seen.

Did they forget?

Did they not care?

What the fuck?

WHERE IS IT??

And MAYBE, just MAYBE, here it is, a rectangular shaped box, with the words "from Santa, To Bryan'" Written on it (my family always writes that shit on gifts).

Is this it?....

What could be inside?

Is it a trick??

I unwrap this gift hesitant, slowly,  like the first time I took a girl’s bra off, nervous, yes, but with a hard on so stiff, I could jack a tank up to change it's tire and not have it bend.

I get the corner wrapping off, from there, I kick the shakes, and just let it rip, there it is, Oh my god....it's a ....it's a FUCKING GAMEBOY,  HOLY SHIT!!!!!!!!!....

Out of excitement, I jumped so High, I almost banged my head on the 8 foot high ceiling, there's photo evidence of this somewhere, I shit you not.

Here I am, I'm screaming "A GAMEBOY, A GAMEBOY" so loud, everyone in the house is all smiles for me, it's like I got the gift of gifts, and all my cousins and my brother knew that this was my moment, I had finally gotten something I wanted in my shitty life, the fact that I lived in the hood, that I was poor, that I was unfortunate,  none of that mattered, at this moment in time, I was a millionaire, I was Richie Rich, I was Golden.

I immediately tossed 4 double A batteries in there and began playing the only game I'd own for a good few months...Tetris.

This was a momentous Occasion.

This was the greatest moment ever in my young life.....

Then, the horror came....

A few months later, I STRONGLY believe my uncle would go on to steal my gameboy from underneath the pile of unmatched socks in my sock drawer and sell my gameboy on the street for $20 to buy drugs.

I had nothing now, my moment.....was at an end, and life had no purpose.

I wished his death so hard that even the devil thought I was being too harsh.

He had to die....

I suffered for a few months, no gameboy, just regular console games to hold me over in the meantime.

Luckily, the god of video games heard my calls, and the next Christmas I got the gameboy core system!

I was back!!!.

Then the horror struck again....and when I slept over my friends house, they switched their broken gameboy for my brand new one..

I still own it to this day, it works, but the screen borders are a bit cut off.

Life sure can suck sometimes.

And this is my story, my Video game Christmas story.

Special Thanks to Titi Loida, without you, I would probably be in jail or dead somewhere.

Holy shit, I'm lazy.

Look how long it's been between posts, I'm a piece of shit, why do you all put up with my bullshit?
Here you all are, all six of you, maybe ten, waiting patiently for the next post (or not, probably not) and here I am, not making with the good shit.
I fucking suck.
Here's some advice:
If you see me in public, punch me in the face, I deserve it, and you don't have to say anything more than "fuck you, Bronx" and I'll understand fully.
I will post an update soon, I swear to the balls of my older brother, but for now, you're going to have to find something else to do, like masturbate to Scooby doo or pour yogurt on your tits or something.
Stay busy, stay tuned, stay the fuck away from my booty hole.