Pet Peevery, part deux

".......Tell em why you mad son, tell em why you mad!"

Ok, so I guess my attempt at soliciting information has backfired, but nonetheless, I am still compelled to write. One of my biggest pet peeves, and it actually may be the biggest, is when people incorrectly label my BELOVED borough of birth and residence. I LIVE and BREATHE Brooklyn. The proper acronym when referencing this 84 sq. mile borough is "BK". I am quite offended and appalled when someone refers to BK as "the BK". Oh, the horror. I dont live in THE BROOKLYN......save that for THE Bronx, and even then, you may have incorrectly referenced their borough's acronym as they are more of "Da Bronx" than "The Bronx". So, be warned people who call Brooklyn "the BK". I may viciously strike you in the adam's apple, repetitively and without warning or provocation; don't say you havent been warned! It's BK damnit!!!

BROOKLYN, We go hard!!!!!!

Pet Peevery

Good morning great people! Yes, WE can. Yes, WE did. YES, I am still alive and kicking, inhaling, holding my breath, and exhaling a sigh of relief to still be here.

This post is a tad different from my usual musings. I usually rant about something and solicit your responses to what I've written, but today, I am soliciting first. I would like to know what are your pet peeves? What really gets on your nerves? I guess in asking, I should let you know one of mine. I HATE HATE HATE poor grammatical construction and mispelling, and misuse of words. Por ejemplo (ha...bet y'all didnt know I was a polyglot -- look it up cuz I'm sure half of you are unsure of what it means), when people say, "On tomorrow". Clearly, it is NOT the same as saying, "On Friday".



Anyway people, let me know something. Elvis is BACK in the building!

New York City Nuances

How come you cant get good pizza, bagels, and chinese food outside of New York City? Now, you non-native New Yorkers might find offense in that blanket statement only if you have never ventured to NY to a pizza shop, the bagel shop/deli, or a Chinese restaurant. My explanation is that these types of restaurants in other locales are too clean; they dont have that yo no se que (sp?).....that particular New York filth, grease and grime about them. Filth, grease and grime are New York nuances.

In addition to the NY nuances listed above, has anyone else ever noticed the NYC bodega nuance(s)?? Most, if not damn near all bodegas (or maybe it's just the ones I frequent) have NO cash register. The add the cash total of the items you purchase on a big calculator! And they keep the "menudo" or "cambia" in an old cigar box. And there always seems to be a cat in the store. Now, I am not opposed to pets, BUT, I would rather not have Fluffy climbing about my $.25 cent bag of Wise BBQ potato chips or rubbing up against the Bounty paper towel that I need! But, in any event, I LOVE NEW YORK!!


and um gone....

The trials and tribulations of BILLS

Is it possible for one to have trials without tribulations? The thing is, when you hear someone speak about difficult times, and a period of hardship, they ALWAYS say trials AND tribulations. Can't you just have one or the other? Can't a person just have some tribulations? And as my man Forrest Gump says, "That's all I got to say about that.....Jen-nny!"

And one other thing has been on my mind. If you are like me, and I pray for your sake that you are not, you receive junk mail and catalogs galore. Usually, these items are addressed as such:

Mr. John Smith
OR Current resident
123 ABC Street
New York, NY 11111

I'm saying, can the company that sent this mailing make up their fuggin mind? Is it for me or not? And what if I am the current resident. But notice how they dont do that with bills. I am hereby requesting that henceforth, all my bills be addressed in the same fashion, to me or the current resident. Let that current resident bastard pay some of my exceesive debt since he'll be receiving mail that is POSSIBLY addressed to me!

I think I will put this in writing to my state senator, my congressperson, and president-elect obama.

and I'm gone.....

If it aint rough, it aint right.

For the record, pork is pork, beef is beef, fish is fish, and poultry is poultry. Please DONT ever ask me if I want turkey bacon. What the hell is turkey bacon? Did a turkey and a pig have intimate relations? I need to know. And I swear on Daniel Day-Lewis' left foot that if anyone ever tries to feed me "tofurkey", I will continously thrash them about head and shoulders with said tofurkey and a bag full of rusty buffalo head nickels. Seriously, who thought up meatless meat?

Anyway, on a lighter note, and especially since I've already written a similar post, I digress into the Plaxico Burress situation. First of all, who in THEE FUGG, not to be confused with the fugg, named this man? What the fugg is a Plaxico? Did his momma sneeze when they asked her what she was going to name him? Imagine.....

Dr: "Ma'am, so what are you going to name the baby Burress"
Mrs. Burress: "ACHOOOOOPLAXICO"
Dr. "God bless you. Now repeat that for me"

C'mon dude, really, how are you going to get into trouble and your first name is Plaxico? Now you have reporters all over the country fuggin up the newscasts trying to pronounce your damn name. And Chedda Bob Burress, if you havent been shamed enough, you shot yourself. You SHOT YOURSELF! What kinda teammate is Antonio Pierce? Wasnt he there with you? If I were with one of my friends, and said friend shot themself, I would take the fall, if for nothing else than to make the story more plausible and less assholish. Plax, just put some tofurkey on that gunshot wound and you'll be ok....

and I'm gone.....to the roof!

Da Luminum Foil Chronicles

(note: Mrs. Microphone Master, Super Rhyme Maker - I have added you to my blog list so that you can be kept in the loop with my writing....and this post is about you dear!)

Tis the season to be jolly, fa la la la BULLsh!t. How can I be jolly with the world's economy and my pockets imploding? Well, at least I have my health, and my teeth, and a lifetime supply of aluminum foil. I swear, I used to think that my grandmother, GOD bless her, used A LOT of aluminum foil....a hell of a lot. If there were ONE solitary pea left over from dinner, it would get wrapped up. A slice of bread, let's get to wrapping.....a lemon wedge, a whole turkey, 3 grains of rice, WATER....yes, it would get wrapped up. But my ever-loving wife has taken the crown.

I swear when I die, my funeral will not be costly because my wife is just gonna wrap my arse in aluminum foil and put me in the refrigerator. My wife wraps EVERYTHING in aluminum foil. I categorically blind myself on a daily basis just going in my refrigerator. Who woulda thunk that I would need special sunglasses to grab some leftovers? That glare from the light in the fridge reflecting off of the foil is worse than looking directly at the sun. And no wonder I still have a tan; I went to the western Caribbean in August...and it's December! Yup, you guessed it - I exercise tan maintenance by going into my refrigerator. The reflected and refracted light from the foil ever so gently kisses my skin, exciting my melanin.

People, just do me a favor. When that time comes, and my number is called and I am no more, please make sure that my wife wraps me in REYNOLDS WRAP. That store bought stuff is no good. Thanks! That's all I ask. And I'm gone......love ya hun! LOL.

The Laundry Touchers

As per the by-laws of the cooperative in which I live, no shareholder is authorized to have a washing machine or dryer on the premises in their individual unit. Thus, I must use the laundry room that is located in the building on the ground level, or, take my clothes to an external laundry facility. Yesterday, on a brisk Sunday, my wife and I decided to do our laundry. Again, it is a common room that all shareholders have access to. Now a typical load of laundry takes about 38 minutes, give or take. Because I am a jack of all trades and a master of none, I do not have the time to sit in the laundry room whilst the clothes are washing. It behooves me to conduct other constructive activities in the interim. I find it completely reasonable that I return to the laundry room 45 minutes later to retrieve my freshly laundered linens and place them in the dryer. Lo and behold, upon my return to the laundry room, someone had removed my clothes from the washing machine so that they may use it. 45-38 is 7 (yes, sometimes I am mathematically inclined), so my clothes were in the machine for an extra couple of minutes. That poor rat bastard was so impatient that he/she could not wait? Was it that imperative that they wash at that specific moment?

See, the clothes that I washed were of no particular importance or value, but this has happened to me previously, when washing my undergarments, also known as MY DRAWZ! Now, what kind of NASTY SUMBITCH are you to fondled someone else drawz, laundered or not? That is some nasty sh%t? I would NEVER take someones funky arse crustified, jism'd up, hershey squirted down, frillies out of a washing machine so that I could use it. It's downright nasty and rude to say the least. And to the person who did it yesterday, as well as in the past, I say to you, "POX be upon your laundry. May bleach spill on your coloreds, may your whites stay soiled, and I hope you have several of my pubic hairs under your fingernails! Nasty bastard!"

ok, I'm cool now. Thanks for letting me vent. And I'm gone......

Let me see you...TOOTSIE ROLL

Yo,

We are zooming into the year 2009 and I have a question burning in my mind? Who in the fugg eats Tootsie Rolls in this day and age? They look disgusting and taste equally as disgusting. They look like chihuahua sh*t. They look like someone cut off Flavor Flav's fingers and packaged them neatly.

And I imagine they taste like sh*t as well. Not that I am a shit tasting connoisseur, but, I imagine if for some God-forsaken reason I ever had to ingest some fecal matter, it would taste like a Tootsie Roll. Tootsie Rolls should be used for torturing inmates in prison, and Guantanamo Bay and the like; Tootsie Rolls and black licorice. They act up, shove about 7 strands of black licorice and 4 Tootsie Rolls in their mouth at the same time. They wont talk, and you need information, shove 19 Tootsie Rolls and 2 black licorice in their mouths...then pour Red Devil hot sauce in their eyes and put garlic peels in their nose. Obviously, I have had too much time to think about this...but yeah, this is what I do.

And I'm gone.........

What is that smell?

People,

Have you ever had one of those days where you smell a particular stench and you cant place it, and there are no reasonable suspect nor clues around so that your resort to thinking that it might be you? I am kinda having one of those days. I am at my usual place of business....no, not the corner.....and I smell something horrifically (is that a word) foul. It smells like a shitburger with a large order of fries. Usually, I would think it is my coworker. He usually smells like a fresh, early morning cow patty, or an old sock, and sometimes the combination of the two. However, he is not in the office at the moment and I have RENUZED and sanitized his area with an industrial strength germicide and antiseptic spray, repeatedly. Yet, the smell is still in the air.

I love the smell of napalm in the morning......not the smell of ass lint. This smell is killing me, and I can not place it. Could it be possible that as I traversed these mean New York City streets that I stepped in something so foul smelling that it is beyond reproach? I know it can not be anything that I am clothed in because I wash my own gott damn clothes and I wash them with TIDE (with bleach alternative). And for the $50-11 dollars that TIDE costs, my clothes better smell as fresh as newborn baby ass after a diaper change. WHAT THE FUGG is this odor. I cant call it good people, I cant call it.

Change.....and spare change.

Good afternoon good people. Today, this fifth day of November, I am posting for the first time in about 2 weeks and so much has happened since then. Last night, Barack Hussein Obama handed John McCain an arse whooping for the ages, becoming the President-elect of the United States. Now, I'm sure we can all revel in the significance of this momentous occurrence, however, it is my wish that the energy, drive, and passion it took to get this far is not lost because Obama won. Yes, he won. But, there is still work to be done and the same passion and commitment that was used to get him elected needs to be used to affect the change we all hope for. Then, and only then, in the face of a imploding economy, can we have some spare change in our pockets, because as of now, my arse is broke. Please Obama, bring some SPARE CHANGE with you to the White House (are we still going to call it the White House?). Yes, money is the SPARE CHANGE that we can ALL believe in. When I see Obama, I don't see Black or White, I see GREEN! Show me the money Barack, show me the money! YES, WE CAN. YES WE DID!

YES I'M GONE!

That b%tch Goldielocks!

YO!

You ever had one of them days where you just want to karate chop people in the Adam's apple for no apparent reason other than them breathing? I find myself having these days more frequently. I sort of had one of those days today, but found solace in my inner being. I had gone grocery shopping in the suburbs the other weekend, which is quite a different experience than grocery shopping in Brooklyn or New York City (and please, feel free to read the inference of systemic racism between the lines, or not). Produce is actually the color it is supposed to be, meat is actually the color it is supposed to be. The even had pick up at the deli counter. You could place your deli order, then when your order was complete, they would announce that the order is ready for pick up (at your leisure, of course) over the loud speaker. Now that is good living. I picked up the household necessities, and I bought myself veal cutlets and FRESH mozzarella cheese so that I could make veal parmigiana. And to go along with it, I bought the softest french bread, even softer than my next door neighbors. My mouth just waters thinking about it. Well, the solace that I wrote about earlier was going to be dinner, veal parmigiana and french bread.

Upon my arrival this evening, I transformed into the chef that I am. I seasoned and breaded the cutlets, sliced the fresh mozzarella ever so thin as to enjoy the taste of the cheese, the sauce and the veal. What a medley! Then, I went to where I'd left my french bread. To my chagrin, the package had been opened and three fourths of the bread was gone. That bitch GOLDIELOCKS had broken into my house.......or was it my wife. I went into the bedroom to question, no, to interrogate my wife because a crime had been committed. I asked my wife, "Bub, did you eat any french bread?" She immediately gave me that look, that over the glasses, NEGRO PLEASE look. "No", she replied. "Not today, or you didn't have at all since I bought it?". "NO!"

SO, who the fugg ate my porridge? It was that bitch GOLDIELOCKS! And I am so gone......and hungry....and gone......

The Extra People

This post is about a particular subset of people who just HAVE to go the EXTRA mile to make their presence known. We know them as the EXTRA people. And it's not as if the EXTRA people seldom act extra; they do it ALL THE DAMN TIME. And we normal people, as if I fall into that category, try to avoid them at every expense, much like they have the cooties, not to get caught up in the extra-ness. I encountered an EXTRA person last night at the Maxwell concert here in NYC, which by the way was a decent show. Kudos to Maxwell, even if yo stankin ass look like Young Frankenstein with that haircut, but I digress. The extra person in question, a young lady who appeared to be in her late 20's, was undoubtedly a fan. But werent we all, hence the ticket purchase to see the concert in the first place? But she just happened to be....you guessed it.....a little EXTRA with her appreciation. She stood up, she jumped up and down, she yelled and screamed toward the stage, she sang and danced EXTRA HARD to every single last song the man sang, EVEN the unreleased songs. It's as if she looked to see what words he was forming with his mouth and tried to guess the word he would say, and sang the word she PRESUMED that would come out, often muttering garbledeegook! EXTRA.

And for those of you EXTRA persons who happen to be reading this, please observe concert etiquette at the next show you attend. You can be extra, but do it from the confines of your own gottt damn seat. I paid my fiftyleven dollars just like you did and would prefer not to hear nor see you, bastard!

And I'm gone.....but not forgotten.

John McCain for President!

Great morning good people! I am sitting here in a meeting for my good gubment job, wondering what kind of paint was used on the walls and whether they used an oil-based primer. Yes, it is that boring, but I digress.

Last night, I watched the second of three debates between Barack Obama and John McCain, the Democratic and Republican nominees for president, respectively. Both spoke of energy independence, their track records as senators, their plans for our fragile economy and other issues. McCain has previously stated that his military service and status as a P.O.W. better qualifies him for the office of President of the United States. My question is, and I may be going to hell wrapped in an American flag with 13 stars, but how does being a P.OW. qualify you to be President? You were a prisoner of war....what particular skills did you learn in captivity? Did you learn how to do 10,000 of those 1 handed push-ups consecutively a la Rocky Balboa? Did you learn how to make a zip gun out of a magazine and/or a newspaper? I'm sorry. I do respect your years of military service and years as a United States Senator but I do not understand the correlation with regard to leadership and being a P.O.W. Can someone make this clear for me?

And also, Obama, you been talking that talk but mug fugga you better have one HELL of a game plan. We are counting on you. On election day, everybody please, go out and exercise your right to vote. As RUN-DMC once rhymed in a song, "We got the right to vote, and will elect, and other rappers cant stand us, but give us respect!"

I'm and the KING OF ROCK and I'm gone......

Your favorite rapper's FAVORITE RAPPER

Howdy folk. Let's get straight to it today. What kind of fugged up world do we live in when your favorite rapper is ashamed to say that their choice of gainful employment is to be that of a rapper, but rather would be PROUD to be or have been a drug dealer? If that isnt some fugged up, bizarro-ghetto, bass ackward, Stockholm syndrome type of mentality, then I dont know what is. For those of you who dont know what Stockholm syndrome is, "Stockholm syndrome is a psychological response sometimes seen in an abducted hostage, in which the hostage shows signs of loyalty to the hostage-taker, regardless of the danger (or at least risk) in which they have been placed". So rappers, your brains have been abducted by the notion it is COOL to be a common CRIMINAL, a notion purveyed by major motions pictures, and music. If it were cool to be a criminal, jail would be like Ibiza; it would be a cool, exclusive place to visit when you wanted to be seen, or escape the doldrums everyday life. And the key to a hip vacation spot is that you can leave when you want!

And rappers, since when is it cool to have done a bid in prison? Doing a bid means that YOU GOT CAUGHT! WTF. You werent intelligent enough to get away with whatever crime your were trying to commit, thus, in essence, you are celebrating incompetence when you announce, "I did to 3-to-9!". And lastly, before I retreat the the confines of good gubment employment, does anyone else think T-Pain is Bootsy Collins' illegitimate bastard child?

Irreplaceable

Some things are irreplaceable. Not the tangible items that are vested with sentimental memories of moments past, but your regular everyday goods. Some things you just dont skimp on as there is no substitute. Let me list a few:

Clorox bleach - if you are using store brand bleach, that is the very reason you have ring around the collar

Reynolds Wrap Aluminum foil - that other sh%t is some left over transistor from your father's 8-track stereo that was recycled into foil.

Glad handle tie trash bags - I'm sure it's more cost effective to purchase the $.99 cent good sense trash bags, but as soon as there is 1 grain of rice too many in your trash, the "garbage juice" that has settled in the bottom of your trash bag will be on your hands.

Dove soap - Ah, the clean!

Dove deodorant - again, ah the clean! [actually, the Dove items are a matter of personal preference so I will accept substitutes in their stead]

Gulden's Spicy Brown Mustard - That YELLOW French's bullshit looks and tastes like antelope piss. Yes, I do know what antelope piss tastes like, I've been around.

Heinz ketchup - WHAT THE FCUK is CATSUP? That shit dont even sound right. That particular catsup condiment is what was up the cats bowels!

Hellmans REAL mayonnaise - I consider eating Miracle Whip or anything of the sort communism.

My list goes on ad nauseum but I shall spare you this time. But feel free to add your own "irreplaceables". Much like Tupac and Danny Boy, I aint mad atcha...but I am....Justin Timberlake.....GONE!

My midlife crisis

I was recently confronted with a new reality that has affected the core of my being like nothing else before. My Black ass is getting old, which is not entirely a bad thing, but it's different to say the least. At the beginning of the year, I had one lonely white hair in my goatee....nothing major at all. Last night's count was seven. I used to think salt and pepper hair was cool....on other people. But gray hair really isn't a gauge of antiquity (actually, gray pubic hair is and I haven't counted them, yet, I digress). The true gauge of me getting old.....I find myself wearing pajamas nowadays! And before you people even get it twisted, NO, I do not wear a set, just the bottoms, but if that ain't some old man shit, I don't know what is! I used to find myself in bed in a pair of boxers. These days, I have at least 7 pajama bottoms. What has become of my life? Oh the agony! Is my midlife crisis upon me? How do I solve it? A Porsche, some young college thing thing who was born the year I graduated high school? Please people, tell me what to do! Is this what life has become? Work, taxes and pajama bottoms? I need to know how the story ends.

and I am gone......

Why Juice, WHY?

THAT day has finally come. Judgement Day has cometh.....for the Juice. Orenthal James Simpson, better known to you and me as "O.J. Simpson" was found guilty on 12 charges, 11 of them felonies, with regard to his robbery and kidnapping case. And in a fitting, poignant twist of fate, the verdict came 13 years to the day that he was acquitted of killing Ron Goldman and Nicole Brown Simpson.

My question is, "Why JUICE, WHY?" Why you gotta be such a fuggin fugg up? You KNOW Mr. Whitey been after you for these last 13 years non-stop cuz you is (I have to use the ebonic venacular to get my point across) the ONLY n-word who EVER got off at trial. You beat Mr. White Folk at his own dirty game and afterwards, you threw it in his face, still parading around town with them Barbie dolls, playing golf and talking shit. O.J, you was supposed to lay low and chill. But no, you had to be "BOUT IT, BOUT IT". The last few years of your life have been like a bad Master P movie (although any and ALL Master P movies are que horrible!). Johnnie Cochran just called me from the afterlife and he told me to tell you that you are one dumb nigga, O.J.!! Nigga, the gloves aint fit! You shoulda sat your old arthritic ass down, you dumb summumabitch. Now you know Mr. White Folks aint letting you out of the bing now. You done played your last 18 holes, smoked your last cigar, ran with your last Samsonite bag and jumped your last airport bench and killed your last white girl, Juice. And I'm sorry to see your OLD 61 year old ass go to jail, but.........two tears in a bucket, Juice. And Juice, please dont call A.C. from jail and tell him to come get you in the white Ford Bronco.....I'm still mad at y'all futha muckas for interrupting the 1994 NBA finals featuring MY NEW YORK KNICKERBOCKERS. And what self respecting Black man drives a Ford Bronco, anyway? Be easy Juice, be easy.

And I'm......**poof**

It's 2008 and I'm scared for my life.

It has been a minute, but life happens...rather, SHIT happens. We get busy with the conundrum called life and its daily rituals. But alas, I am back in a major way.

Yes good people, it is the year 2008, Ano Domini and I am scared SHITLESS. Why you ask. Well, let me put it in perspective. George W. Bush, #43, done ass fu*ked us all. The American economy is like a fat woman is a XS thong; it is one cheeseburger away from tearing to shreds and exposing the unshaven nether regions that we NEVER wanted to see. And its all W's fault. You know why it's his fault....well let me tell you. Back in Sept of 2001, there was this BIG terrorist attack on the United States, aimed at completely destroying our ECONOMIC system (isn't that what they said?). And what did W do to prevent the economic collapse that the terrorists had hoped for? He started spending money instead of stacking chips. He financed a war and it wasn't his money he was spending, it was good ol' US of futha muckin A taxpayer money, spending BILLIONS of dollars a month. Now, I can buy like 2 gallons of gas at a time because I cant afford it and banks are failing at an unbelievable rate. Soon, I will return to putting money under my mattress. So, 7 years later, our economy is on the brink, we are still at war, and Osama is officially still missing. Thanks W!

And to make matters even worse, we have Sarah Palin running for VPOTUS (that's Vice President of the United States for those challenged by acronyms). This chick went on NATIONAL TV and said her foreign policy experience is relegated by Alaska's proximity to Russia and Canada. WTF! John McCain is 50leven years old. Should he win, he wouldn't make it past inauguration...he'd probably keel over from all the excitement. And then where would that leave us. I feel like I am in a very bad Spike Lee movie and no one is screaming "WAAAAAAKE UUUPPPPPP"!!! Please, someone pinch me or slap me to awaken me, but not both, and tell me it will all be better tomorrow.

Yes people, I am scared and so should you be. And I'm gone, and back at the same time! Y'all be cool.

Intellectual siphons

Great morning good people!

It is 10:03 am, and I am here at my 9 to 5, which oftentime feels like a 5 to 9.  I've been at my place of employment for just about 5 years and to date, I feel like my intelligence quotient score has fallen by at least 30 points.  Do you ever feel like you work with and around intellectual siphons -- people who drain every bit of wit and common sense you have by just being in their presence?  It seems that is ALL i work around.  I can NOT have an intellectual conversation which spurs healthy debate or dialogue UNLESS it is about America's Next Top Model. [side bar: do any of them top model broads get work after leaving that show?]  By definition, to siphon means, "to convey, draw off, or empty by or as if by a siphon —often used with off" as per Webster's Dictionary.  Well, these bastards have emptied what was left of my mental acumen, not because I actively engage in the "unscholarly" debate, but rather for a lack of actual discourse in which issues of substance are discussed; my mind has atrophied.  Now let me also say that flippant discussion has merit as well, just not 100% of the time.  I am one of the first persons to argue over who's the better MC - Biggie or Tupac.  However, I can also discuss how the Campaign for Fiscal Equity's lawsuit will affect NYC educational policy.  And I should not always have to hear things like crunchy cheese doodles go better with a ham & cheese sandwiches as opposed to puffy cheese doodles, or how playing along with WHEEL OF FORTUNE last night, you got all the answers correct, except the last one!  [side bar: wouldn't that mean you STILL LOST?]

Brangelina, Gay couples, and adoption.

Good morning Vietnam!  Yes, I am BACK on U.S. soil and glad to be here once again.  My vacation was great and it was much needed.  I need to quickly devise a scheme (plan) that will make me a multi-millionaire whose money works for him so I can take transcontinental jaunts at the drop of a dime.  While I was gone, several celebrities passed away.  What the hell is up with all these people dying recently? -- Bernie Mac, Isaac Hayes, Congresswoman Tubbs-Jones, Gene Upshaw (president of the NFL Players Association), and SHO NUFF, the shogun of Harlem (from the Last Dragon, if you know not what I speak of, backhand yourself immediately and with force).  May they all rest in peace.  We all need to take time to do what he have and need to do so that we can do what we want to do.  I may bitch and complain from time to time, but hell, I'm NOT ready to go just yet.  In quoting the rapper Nas, "Life's a bitch, but God forbid that bitch divorce me".

[insert awkward transition here]

Ok, onto the subject of this blog.  Brangelina and all them gott damn rainbow coalition kids.  I'm sorry, but I just cant keep count of how many she has (mostly cuz I dont give a FLYING FUCKERY).  I know she just had twins and she adopted the lil Ethiopian girl and lil Asian boy and there are some more in the mix somewhere.  But WHY oh WHY do lily white Angelina and Brad want to adopt other races, ethnicities, nationalities?  Not saying that they shouldnt.....as a matter of fact, I applaud them for being responsible and caring enough to take on the challenge.  But with all the complexities of being a minority in America, how are they going to cope, comfort, explain and/or empathize with [insert lil Ethiopian Brangelina adoptee name here]  when she comes home from school and tells them that someone called her a nigger?  How are they going to cope, comfort, explain and/or empathize with [insert lil Asian Brangelina adoptee name here] when he comes home from school and tells them that someone called him a gook?  How are they going to cope, comfort, explain and/or empathize or deal when [insert lil Ethiopian Brangelina adoptee name here ] and  [insert lil Asian Brangelina adoptee name here] get into an argument and start calling each other all types of niggers and gooks?  God forbid their natural children get into the fracas, then it'll be niggers, and honkeys and gooks, OH MY!!!!! 

And, I was watching some program with a lesbian couple, when one turned to the other and said, "I want to have children with you".  Yeah, I'd like to see that too as you BOTH HAVE VAGINAS.  She should have said that she wanted to RAISE kids with her partner.  With regard to adoption, is that healthy....having two moms or two dads?  Sure, you are putting a child in a home and taking a child out of "the system", but is the trade off the years of therapy that the kids will need from that one time when he/she opened mom & mom's or dad & dad's bedroom door (not that it cant happen with a hetero couple, but for my blogs sake, let me embellish), or the non-stop ribbing they will get from classmates.  Kids are cruel sumbiches and if your classmates know that you have 2 moms or two dads, that's like giving (this gott damn $3.87 per gallon) gasoline to a pyromaniac. 

What say you about this?