No Disrespect Intended, But…

My good people, what’s the big idea this Tuesday morning? I hope you are doing fantastically well and your great weekend has bled into your work week. So, about the title…Don’t you just love when people try to lessen the impending disrespect of some shit by adding “No disrespect intended”? LOL. It’s like, “Yo Homie, no disrespect intended, but I see where your sister gets her fatness from after seeing your mom.” Ummm…what, fuck-nigga? Or, the goons who love employing the “I don’t mean to be rude,” modifier.

Scenario: A cute girl walks past some thug-hooligan-esque negroes, and she is waaay out of their league because she looks like she has a good job and doesn’t fully understand ebonics, but I digress. Anyway, one fella in particular notices her, she notices him noticing her, and of course, tries to speed up so he doesn’t breathe weed-breath on her and make her catch contact–or worse; he touches her with the blunt cutter fingernail on the pinky! Yuck, yuckers. Of course, this troll begins to jog after her, temporarily putting her in fight or flight mode. When he reaches her, he gives her the obvious: “Yo Shawty-dip, I ohn’t mean tah be rood or nuffin’, but I’d eat ya pussy and ya ass AND ask fa sekkonds afta.”

What the young fellow meant to say was, “With all rudeness and lack of couth considered, I really wanted to let you know that I’m an OB/GYN, and I’d love to give you a pap smear…with my tongue!” Nigga might fuck around and get the pussy for that one. Chicks ain’t ready for monkey wrenches these days! If you’re gonna come, bring the thundah!! I could teach these fellas a thing or two. It’s all about having confidence. Hell, you can almost say anything you want if you look like you know what you’re talking about. Lemme quit before the ladies come and get me. Y’all be cool and I’ll catch ya on the flip side.

Drewzee

Turn Off the Lights, The Party’s Over for Michael Jackson

The gig’s up, y’all. He’s gone. Done. Finished. Expired. Finito. You live the way you want people to remember you, is my sentiment. No, I don’t particularly care for Michael Jackson, but I did love the dude. He’s like our cousin that just couldn’t ever get right and stayed in and out of jail; but OUR cousin, nonetheless.

It’s funny to see all the people come out of the woodwork, crying and carrying on, throwing themselves off of bridges and in front of trains. Okay, so perhaps they aren’t doing all of that, but a lot of people are beside themselves over the loss of MJ.  He was a sick dude…and a sick dude. He made some of the most memorable music ever, and I do mean ever. But, he also had a disturbing fascination with little boys that was at the very least, inappropriate. This isn’t a bashing of the fella, for Christ’s sake. It’s an acknowledgement of his entire person, which is the only way to do a person’s legacy its full justice.

When a talent like MJ comes along, which might be once or twice every other generation, the general public (for the most part) is so willing to forgive their personal demons in lieu of their artistic gift(s). And if you aren’t able to forgive their personal demons, then, like many people including myself, you find a way to separate the two, praising his artistic person and admonishing his alter-ego…you know, the only part of him that could possibly be responsible for those transgressions? You might not want to admit that to yourself, but every time Billy Jean comes on, you know damn good and well you try to the lean thing he did that was so vicious and almost bust your ass. That’s what I’m talking about right there.

Anyway, it all comes full circle, guys. We’re born, we grow, we make mistakes, we love, we grow more, and we die. In that time frame, it is our responsibility to do things to ensure we are remembered. For Michael, it was largely the music and child-like adoration of the world he gave us. The other stuff, well, I suppose a lot of us will let that just be that…

R.I.P.

Question

Do fat peoples’ butts stink more than skinny peoples? I sometimes wonder about that kind of stuff, especially in the summer time. I don’t know; my mind just kind of takes me places sometimes. And it’s obvious that those places are no good. BTW, if you need like a super-sized panty or boxer brief, you certainly can’t go to Target or Victoria’s Secret, can you? I’m not trying to be a meanie, I’m just asking. Like, if you asked me why I bother staying out of the sun when I’m already the darkest hue in the color spectrum…I wouldn’t take offense to that. Anyway, I’m just at the library and happened to see a family of 3 wildebeast and they looked like their butts itched from stankness. Ok. I’m done. TTYL.

Something Interesting to Do…

My good friends, I hope you are all doing very well. Not too long ago, I was just sitting down, working on a writing assignment when something occurred to me: why not look up sexual offenders in my zip code?

Needless to say, I had to immediately quell my inner vigilante, so as to not end up in handcuffs for doing something stupid…again (LOL, but not).  Go ahead, check out your area, and see who that nice fella who mows your lawn for free really is.  Oh, he ain’t so nice anymore, is he? We all have mistakes in our past that we’d just as soon not like to have branded on our social being for the rest of our lives, but go ahead and commit a sexual crimes against a person, and you’re up shit’s creek. Sure enough, there are some innocent folks in the mix, but by and large, them dirty bastards did it.

I do not agree with a 19 year old fella boning a 17 year old girl, her mom finding out and reporting him, and he is forced to register as a sex offender for the rest of his life. They don’t distinguish that aforementioned situation from that of one where a grown man touches little boys, which is kinda fucked up. The 19 year old dude should not have to register as a sex offender, in my opinion. Man, half the chick’s I knew in high school didn’t even fuck with a dude unless he was older than 21. Now, that just ain’t fair.

Anyways, back to the pervert-tards. Man, there are good hoes, bad hoes, pretty hoes, ugly hoes, kinda-lesbian hoes, pretty-toed hoes, hairy hoes, toothless hoes, amputee hoes, freaky hoes, dumb hoes, man ALL TYPES OF HOES…and each and every one of ‘em are just waiting to give it up. So, why in fuck’s sake would a fella have to take it? I know people talk about rape, or whatever, being a crime of control, but if controlling chicks is a fella’s thing, some good dick is perfectly capable of making that happen. **And you can get some shoes and clothes out of the deal** (Don’t say I told you). Y’all be cool.

Drewzee

Been a While…

Sorry guys and gals, I know you can’t possibly live without Drewzee slapping that ass with a blog, but somehow, you’re just going to have to manage. I’m going into a batcave for a little bit, and I don’t know when I’ll be out. I have books to read, writing to do. Not that this isn’t considered writing, but I’m talking about the writing that gets people paid, ya know? I’m just saying…

Here, look at that funny ass picture of Usher’s wife, Tameka, in the meantime. No wonder homeboy’s filing for divorce. LOL. Look at the crotch-area!! Too funny!

Y’all be cool.

Tragic

Unbelievable, y’all. An 88 year old geriatric walks into the Holocaust museum and offs a gentleman. (Read the story) Prayers go out to the families of all involved in the situation, even the shooter’s as there’s gotta be a decent person in there somewhere. That man’s poor wife and children have to deal with this craziness for the rest of their lives. Fine then, let’s talk about something that is just damned ridiculous in these days and times: hate.

Mosquitoes, plaque, and pap smears. Do you all know what things like that have in common? They are things that a person is well with within their own right to hate. But, to hate people solely based upon their race, or any other factor short of a few terrible things is just fucking stupid. Do you all see what stupidity is the catalyst to? I mean, where the fuck do we live? (Well, I literally live a hop and skip, no  jump, from DC) Is this the Gaza strip or something? Is this Rwanda or Chechnya? This is a crying out shame. We all harbor certain thoughts about some people or other, but for the most part, I believe people are inherently good, and have enough wherewithal to know that no one person, or group for that matter, represents the entire people.

This old cat is shooting black people and denouncing the Holocaust, meanwhile, his lineage is all but sure to be about as pure as a 50 year old hooker. Get serious. Y’all be cool and be safe.

A Simple Misunderstanding

Top of the morning to you all. One time, I thought my son said “shit,” but the poor fella couldn’t fully enunciate yet, and was actually saying “sit.” When I started as a Recruiter a few years back, one of the managers thought I was being a smart alack when I said, “Yes, ma’am” when she gave me direction over the phone before we hung up . She just didn’t understand that I came from a military background, so sir and ma’am are a part of my daily vocabulary, regardless of who I am actually addressing. A two minute conversation explaining that allowed us to become very good friends, and I’m sure she wanted to jump my bones as she is a white milf, fasho, and I’m a black stallion; it was meant to be. Anyway, misunderstandings happen all around us. It is usually due to some level of equivocality, that being a different interpretation of something than what its intention was.

So, the other day, I just happened to be sitting at my laptop doing some writing and preparing myself for opportunities soon to come. There’s nothing wrong with that. Now, my roommate normally gets home pretty late, as he is a retard and works an hour away in the lovely state of Virginia whereby he battles a multitude of traffic in order to get there and back. So, here I was, writing away at about 4pm when all of a sudden, I hear the door start to unlock. I panicked and ran to the room to get my bat so that I could destroy the intruder upon entry into my domain. Luckily, it was my roommate.

Oh yeah; the misunderstanding. So, he was under the assumption that I was masturbating because there just so happened to be a porno playing, Vaseline next to the laptop…and I ran to the room with my pants by my ankles as he entered!!!! LMAO!! That’s a misunderstanding. I mean, doesn’t everyone massage their sore penis with Vaseline and their pants by their ankles while watching ebony lesbians??

Assuming makes an ass out of you and me, everyone knows that Y’all be cool.

Drewzee

Cell Phone Ringage

Good ‘aye, mates.  I hope you are all doing well. Something just got on my nerves times a billion, and I wanted to share it with you all to (1) see if you felt the same way and (2) bring this grievance to your attention so that if you are a transgressor, you put a halt to all future silliness. So, technically speaking, we can all do whatever we want, so long as we don’t intrude upon o.p.p.’s (other peoples’ persons). Fair enough. I play my music louder than the most southern of negroes at times, but never while “standing” in a public place. That’s some kinda rude…and pretty effin’ annoying if you ask me.

What irks me and tap-dances on my nerves in a way that leaves me just short of committing a crime of passion, is when people refuse to quiet their cellular devices. Your phone rings to alert you to a message, alarm, phone call, perhaps an email depending on your particular device’s capabilities, etc. You get that, I know. So, once you’ve actually been alerted as to the notification, why then, would there need to be a process of actually looking at the phone to diagnose the particulars? It takes the pressing of one button to put a halt to the ring tone of “Birthday Sex” by Jeremih, or “Rockin’ That Thang” by the Dream. It’s not fair for other people to have to listen to your phone ringing repeatedly while you execute the skills you’ve learned from your Hooked on Phonics audio-book to sound out the name of the person who has called you, or decipher the 5 word text message “I will be home soon.” Silly retards !

So, just now, while in the library, an old man’s device began to ring. And it rang quite loudly as he was very old and had the hearing contraption situated appropriately in his ear. While the phone was ringing, he continued doing whatever it was that he was doing before he even reached for his phone. Okay, I’ll cede that point to him. He was doing something that required his undivided attention and that’s fine by me. But when the old slave reached in his pocket, pulled the loud, ringing device out and began to look at it for the next 2 minutes, I became instantly infuriated. The only thing that saved the old sir from my wrath was the white people who were 10 times as angry as me because the ringing disturbed them from reading. Perhaps they were reading How to Be a Parent and Not Let Your White Kids Run All Over You and Curse You Out in Public Without Getting a Spanking. And well, I just can’t say I blame them as that book is very necessary for them! Y’all be cool.

What? I might be getting a little ahead of myself, but I don’t think there are any curse words in this post. It was a bet with a girl, now she owes me some sex. Kidding!!!

Drewzee

Lions and Tigers and Bears, Oh My!!

White people are completely out of hand with their love for the wilderness, attempted domestication of wild animals, and fucking of pets. ROFLMAO!! Not “fucking of pets,” though! Yep. It’s true. As promised, per the earlier entry, I wanted to share some thoughts on the gross lack of common sense white people display when it comes to animals. I mean, why do white people wonder why a crocodile bit their arm off when they tried to wade on the banks of the Nile river? What makes them think a bear WON’T attack, maim, thrash, and eat their eyes out in the mountains of Montana? (Montana should be a territory, like Puerto Rico, not a fucking state) Is anyone surprised that a chimp forgot that a woman was his “friend” and he shouldn’t have mangled her and ripped her face off? I don’t mean to be funny…I’m fucking lying. Humor comes from pain. Pain = a chimp tearing your ass up. By deduction, humor = a chimp tearing your ass up. You CAN NOT domesticate wild animals. Shit, even dogs attack people sometimes, and we all know how much white people love them by the way the let dogs lick them on the face and in their mouths. That’s some nasty shit, by the way. If their beloved dogs will attack, what will a lion or tiger do? Fuck it; I’m on my shit right now. Let’s keep the party going. White women have got to stop sucking the dicks of dogs, goats, and horses. Letting those animals fuck them is also very, very wrong and hella-disgusting. Are white people predisposed to loving animals enough to want to fuck them the way that black people are predisposed to diabetes? These are questions we have to ask ourselves. Imponderables, even…

Final Destination

Man, I thought this final destination shit wasn’t real. I mean, come on now. No one really slips on a little puddle of baby oil that dripped from the bathroom above when a woman is washing her baby, does a double back hand spring (no hands), hits their head on the spout, and proceeds to suffocate because they are knocked unconscious. That’s out of line; or so I thought.

A while back, I was doing some shit. The exact shit is truly irrelevant to the point of the story. Of particular importance, however, were the items that would make great fodder for another Final Destination movie: a bag, a stove, a carton of Chinc food (everybody gets joked, you know the rules), and your BFF, Drewzee. Guys, I believe in some things being out of our control, perfect storms, and other extraordinary things, I really do. But, I also believe that stuff only happens to people in third world countries (tsunamis = ouch), and white people who just looove to go hiking in the wilderness (extra blog for the day today).

Anyway, here I was, going to the kitchen to grab something to drink, I believe. I had the carton of Chinc food in my left hand, and my beloved chopsticks in my right hand. BTW, don’t be such a Neanderthal; learn how to use chopsticks, please. As I went to take my first step on the kitchen floor, I noticed a bag, which wasn’t a big deal. Until…

I stepped on the bag, slipped and was about to do a back-fucking-flip before I slammed my arm down halfway on the stove and halfway on the counter. At this point, I am tense as hell, realizing what could have just happened. Shit was scary as hell. Deep breath because it’s over, right? Hells to the no! As I turned to the refrigerator, I smelled something and quickly turned back to see my food and carton engulfed in a 5 foot flame!  Apparently, I accidentally turned the stove on during my free fall and lit some shit up. Crazy, right? That’s what I said. The icing on the cake was my handsome son looking at the whole thing dying laughing. Little bastard. I’m gonna find out who his real daddy is if it’s the last thing I do! Y’all be cool.

Drewzee