Snitches Get Stitches

In 2004, Baltimore, Maryland witnessed the first of the Stop Snitching Campaigns. An ingenious idea created by local drug dealers to intimidate potential snitches through underground DVD's. 

Since then, fledgling rappers used this same campaign to try to add street cred to their fake credentials and ultimately to sell records.

For those of you that are already lost, a snitch is a tattle tale and no one likes a tattle tale, right?

Yes, right! No one likes a tattle tale. But, there are times when snitching is truly acceptable:

1.       If you see someone obviously under the influence while driving, call the cops on their dumb asses. Drinking and driving this late in the game is like finding a NEW crack head. You have to ask yourself, how does that happen?

2.       If someone is attempting to break into your house and you kill them outside of your house. Drag them in and call the cops. Everyone is broke and the economy is an old excuse for someone to make that a viable reason to take YOUR shit.

3.       If you find someone that’s a recent METH or CRACK head, call the cops. There’s not a reason good enough for anyone to take a drug whose only claim to fame is bad breath, lost teeth and the ability to turn the user into an instant thief. Clearly someone else needs to make the decisions in their lives.

4.        If you realize your neighbor is a convicted pedophile, beat his ass (daily), plant METH and CRACK on him and call the cops. Olivia Benson (Law & Order SVU) taught me that pedophiles can’t be rehabilitated. It’s best to keep them locked away until their nuts shrivel up like sundried prunes.

In most cases, snitches are identified as weak individuals only out for the money. I can’t say that I wouldn’t turn someone in for the loot (times are hard). Anything you can do to get a menace off the street is truly the right thing to do.

I’m a fan of both drugs and violence but everything in moderation. When a person(s) jeopardizes the balance of a neighborhood or city, it’s time for them to move on. Nino Brown and Tony Montana were fictional characters. The real urban heroes pay taxes, pay bills, bitch about being too broke and budget our weed.

Losing My Religion

Sunday morning in the Southeastern USA. This is the bible belt folks and I should be going to church... That is if I allowed myself to fall into that peer pressure. Instead I'm going to go walk out on the pier, smoke a fat, funny cigarette and find my own religion.

Luckily my mom doesn't read my blogs, otherwise I would have to hear how I'm nothing but the Devil and that I'm going to Hell. Mom, you have to look on the upside. I have a shitty lighter and if I were in Hell, I wouldn't have to worry about rubbing the skin off my thumb to light this blunt. Love ya.

Out of the Woods

Okay, so I'm a day late with replying to this but unlike the rest of the free world the Tiger Wood's apology wasn't the most important thing on my agenda.
However, since I did post a previous blog about this story I felt it deserved a follow up - sans humor.
I'm probably going to be the only person to go on record to say this, but I actually felt sorry for Tiger. Not because he was making a public apology but because the few months of self imposed exile haven't been kind to him. He's a balder, fatter, broken version of his former self. In a few months, he managed to age 10 years.
I lied, I said this would be without humor. I can't help but to giggle when I hear people say "poor Elin". Poor Elin?? Poor Elin is about to get $300Million dollars because her husband decided to live his own version of Stepford Wives.
Then there are the other women in this saga that say they didn't know he was married? Um, okay. Let's go back to the 'most famous athlete in the world' plug. Come on man. It's sad how we managed to paint Tiger as the bad guy in all of this and he's really not. The other women, they knew the deal. His wife had a clause in their vows which paid her in the event this happened. It's business and everything happened the way it was supposed to.
As with all things Tiger, this will in some way spark interest into the formerly boring sport of golf.

Bacon Bits...

A good friend once told me that you could wrap bacon around dog shit and it would taste good. I never want to know if that's true or not, but it did make me remember how great bacon is and the impact that it's had on other foods.
It's just something about those smoked slices of pig belly that makes my insides do cartwheels.  For that first person that looked at a pig slopping around in mud and it's own dung and decided..... hmmmm we should eat that - much love to ya.
You're probably wondering what I'm smoking, to devote my energy on blogging about bacon. Well, I didn't eat pork growing up. My parents decided they wanted to be Muslims. Not the Osama kind but the Malcolm X kind. Somehow I knew early on that any religion where I couldn't eat pork or date white women wasn't the life for me.
Every time I research a new diet, I look to see if bacon is one of the allowable foods. If it's not, I naturally assume the person that created the diet is an idiot and I move on. Dr. Atkins was a man after my own cholesterol filled heart. The Atkins diet is a mans diet, full of bacon. I could eat a trough of bacon and as long as I didn't eat a piece of bread with it I would be within diet regulations.
My saddest bacon moment is when I visit one of my favorite Chinese buffets and I see the old fake crab meat or chicken from buffets past. But, because it's wrapped in bacon I give it a pass and I scoff as much down as I can, knowing that I'll see it later.
Bacon can bring any dish to life. What would a tomato and lettuce sandwich be without bacon? The only thing not improved by Bacon is acting. Sorry Kevin.

Office Candy

Don't shit where you eat. Don't buy your candy where you buy your groceries. Don't dip your pen in the company ink. Don't shit on your own doorstep. The previous terms originated in the 40's and are commonly used today as alternate ways of saying don't do THE DO with people you work with.

I wish someone would have given me the DON'T SLEEP WITH CO-WORKERS book FOR DUMMIES. Maybe then I would only be a 2 or 3 time loser. I had no idea what the other references meant and all I could think was "why in the hell would I shit on my own doorstep?"
At any rate, I learned a hard and valuable lesson through it all. I'll never sleep with the same co-worker more than ten times.

Sleeping with a co-worker isn't really the taboo thing that people make it out to be. But, developing a relationship with a co-worker is a whole different animal and should be avoided at all costs. 

However, everyone isn't capable of having a casual fling with a co-worker or anyone else. If this is you, I suggest you visit the battery or lotion aisle in Walmart or try your luck with match.com. Work is tough and draining, hence the name. Office flings should be used to reduce the tension of the day and should never at any rate induce stress for either participant. When emotions are involved, the stress is sure to come.

Another popular saying that also derived in the 40's is "there's no such thing as a free lunch". This adage translates to - you can't get something for nothing. Putting that in mind of our current conversation if you want the office sex, you better be ready for everything else that's going to come with it.

I'm sitting here in my home office and I had to stop to remind my receptionist, a female Basset Hound named Sam that she has nothing to worry about. I mean, I have hit on her a few times at the Christmas party but she wasn't that into me.

Men, this memo is written as a reminder to us. We tend to look at the workplace as our personal stalking ground where even the ugliest girl gets cute if you see them long enough. We also suck at temptation, just ask that Adam dude. My suggestion is to  leave the boning of the co-workers to the professionals; Clinton, Beetah, Letterman and all the fledgling porn stars.
Zip it up.

This blog powered by Jack Daniels.

Shake My Funny Maker

This is my first bit of useless info for 2010. I’ve been sitting here wondering why it has taken 10 days to put out a message on the blog called The Daily Deuce. I guess sitting on the couch with one hand tucked in the top of my pants was more appealing. Then again, I’ve never put out a daily blog and when have you met a motivated pot head?

It has also taken me 10 days to balance my checkbook. As you can see I’m starting out on the wrong foot towards saving and making money. I was watching the news and I heard the recession is over. If that’s true, why am I considering work as a male dancer to pay off Christmas gifts? Bown chikka bown bown.

I have 354 more days to work out some creative ways to drum up extra cash this year. The market for a fat, middle aged male stripper is probably non-existent so I’ll have to spend my time on another equally challenging pursuit.

I want to offer additional ethnic television channels. Black people have BET (Black Entertainment Television). That leaves the market wide open for TV networks geared towards ethnic groups.

• HET (Hindu Entertainment Television). Okay, maybe not. HET sounds too much like HATE. The timing for them is a little off right now. Sorry guys.

• LET (Latin Entertainment Television). On second thought, this would probably not work. Equal scheduling would need to be split between Mexicans, Cubans and Puerto Ricans. I know, I know – it was a shock to me too when I found they weren’t the same.

• WET (White Entertainment Television). It kinda sounds like a gay porn variety channel, but I think it would work. After some quick research, I won’t make any money on this one either. I just checked my 248 channels and WET is currently up and running already under a few different names (NBC, ABC, CBS, FOX, LIFETIME, A&E, USA, TNT, TBS etc).

I guess that brings me back to male dancer or pot salesman and I don’t have the mental strength to just sell the pot. I’d have to sample it – daily. Daily samples would lead to zero sales. I saw Scarface “don’t get high on your own supply”.
~
I just took a break and looked at my money maker to see if I could make it as a male dancer. I have a beer gut like a pregnant woman in her last trimester and chest and pubic hair thicker than Kimbo Slice’s beard.

I think I have a chance.

New Years Revolution

Here I sit with two more days to go before I start off on the journey of another 365 days of lying to myself, better known as New Year’s resolutions.

These are my top 5 (previously failed) resolutions and how I’m going to keep them in ’10.

Develop 6 Pack Abs:

Why is this the first resolution that so many of us choose to pick for the New Year? Especially when we’ve decided upon this lofty goal while eating a huge slice of Jamaican rum cake (or maybe I’m the only one that does that).

It’s just not in the genes for me to have a 6pack (unless it’s Pabst Blue Ribbon). Even as a skinny kid, I had a gut like a starved Ethiopian. The only thing missing from my summer pictures as a child was the flies.

This year is going to be different. I’m going to have 6pack abs by summer 2010. It’s going to happen his time because I’m saying it while drinking tea. No Jamaican rum cake. No potato chips nearby.

Another reason I know I’ll be successful in this endeavor is, I learned a lot about eating right in 2009. In my previous attempts at a slimmer waistline, I only did crunches. I didn’t run; I ate at McDonald’s 3 times a week and I wondered daily why I wasn’t getting the results I wanted. Hmmmm??

Save $$:

This has been on the resolution lineup for most of my adult years. I just checked my savings account and I have .44. FAIL!

If I stick to eating right to meet the abs goal (above) and budget my weed, saving money this year shouldn’t be a problem.

Go Back To School:

TV is ruining America. Let me correct that, Late Night Infomercial TV is ruining America. Carleton Sheets, Better Trades, Dean Graziosi, John Beck, Russ Dalbey are all responsible for providing false hope to those of us that never make it off the couch.

In my blunt haze, I usually find myself weighing the options of going back to school or spending the money on a course that’ll get me rich quick. In reality, I’m getting the course hawkers rich(er).

To recap, I still have .44 in my savings account. Going back to school should make it to my list of To-Do’s for 2010, right after I put all of my infomercial courses on EBay to pay for the first semester.

Volunteer:

Okay, this is probably the toughest one of all. I was a volunteer for Big Brother/Big Sister and during that timeframe it hit me like a ton of bricks – I don’t really like kids; especially bad kids from single family homes.

I’ll have to switch my volunteer efforts to Habitat for Humanity for 2010. This way it’ll be a win-win. I can volunteer and learn a trade at the same time.

Be an Example:

Okay, WTF does that mean? Notice I didn’t say be a good example.  I’m just going to work on being an example and live the life that I want. I’m going to strive to be the best I can be. In this case, it’ll be the best porn watching, pot smoking loner stoner ever. Oh, and I’m going to look good doing it.

Bring on 2010.

O Christmas Thieves....

T'was the winter of 1987. One day before Christmas, better known as Christmas Eve. My dad instructed my older brother and I to go out and find a Christmas tree for a poor(er) family that we knew in the city. To the person that doesn't know my dad, it would seem like this was a noble gesture of a warm hearted man. I almost bought into that same sentiment until he handed over $15. Fifteen dollars to buy a tree? Okay, this was 22 years ago, but the prices of Christmas trees haven't changed much from what I can tell. He looked over the rim of his thick Cazal glasses and gave us that look that meant "don't come back here without a tree", or at least that's what we understood.
My brother, Chucky and I set out on our task to find the world's cheapest tree. We rode along in our 1980 Chevrolet van with the captains chairs, bed, black & white, non-working TV, and the house phone installed in the dashboard. The phone was a good way to draw attention in the mid-80's while stopped at a red light.
We came upon the first Christmas tree stand and pulled in. As the younger brother, I was the natural choice to try to broker the deal. The salesman wasn't having any of my normal nice kid spin. He stuck to his guns and didn't budge on giving up a tree (for less than $30).
I remember walking across the parking lot back to the van. It was probably closer to 4:30 and the sky was getting darker. It was at that time I was hit with a stroke of genius, or idiocy depending on your view. I asked my brother to pull up next to the far end of the tree stand and wait for me. At this time in my life I wrestled and played football and prided myself on being mildly athletic. I guessed at the weight of a tree and how far I could run with it before someone could chase me down. I walked slowly along the trees, pretending to be counting 'more' money but watching my brother a few yards ahead of me.
Then like a bolt I was off, I snatched a 6 foot pine tree and sprinted as fast as I could to the brown van. My brother was kind enough to have the doors partially open for me but got scared as I was running and kept pulling off. It was like a scene out of a bad comedy that we've seen too many times.
I finally reached the van, slid the side panel door back and dove in with the tree on top of me. My brother sped off as fast as he could in that clunky, poop brown piece of partially rusted metal. We were riding along the river front with pine needles flying everywhere. I fought to close the door then made my way to the front passenger seat. It was the great escape! We stole in the name of Christmas. It must have been what Robin Hood felt in his many adventures. We got the tree and still had the $15. Life was good!
On our way home, we made two more similar heists at a couple unmanned Christmas tree stands. It was the best feeling in the world. It was around 6pm when we were finished robbing from the rich to give to the poor. We headed to the city to give the three trees to some needy families.
Some of you may ask 'why bother', it's almost too late. We're black, since when have we done anything on time?
As I sit here writing this, I remember being especially proud of what we did. The best part was bringing my dad back his $15. We walked in the house with our heads high and handed my dad the money. I remember it being three $5 dollar bills because after I told him what we did, he punched me in my chest and knocked my 140 lb frame across the room. The three $5 bills remained on the coffee table for at least a week as a reminder to me to never steal.
I wasn't always a quick learner and I'm sure he meant well with both the punch and the failed attempt at the 'meaning'. The lesson I took away from that event was - buy a damn fake tree for $20 and keep it until you can no longer screw it together. Thanks Dad.

Lying, Tiger & Smears! Oh My

By now, everyone in the free world has heard stories of Tiger Woods and the multiple women reporting they had lasting affairs with the pro golfer. I'm getting ready for a press conference shortly to tell how Tiger seduced me too (I could use the extra Christmas money).

The act of being unfaithful isn't new. It doesn't make Tiger any less of a man. It doesn't make him a lesser father. It damn sure didn't negatively impact his golfing ability, or did it?

The active pro golfers should be thankful for the string of women he had to keep him busy. It's probably the reason they were able to eek out a win here and there.

Our fake outward values as a society will prompt many to openly condemn Tiger and provide emotional support to his wife Elin during this hard time. But, none of it really matters. First of all, we have no idea what their home situation is and second, men cheat. It's not a slam to men, it's what we do. Now, I don't want anyone to be confused and assume I'm saying only men cheat because that would be the biggest fallacy of all.

Women cheat also, but the majority of them that do stray are usually seeking emotional support. Men keep it simple. We cheat for the sex. Because we cheat for sex, we're often found in situations where the woman we're cheating with isn't on the same level as the woman we're in a relationship with. This isn't always the case ladies. But, if you catch your man cheating with someone that lives in a trailer park don't get mad, she lives in a trailer park.

Once we figure out how to get sex, we keep working and reworking that plan to be as successful as possible. Before you ask, "why doesn't he just have sex with his wife"?
Maybe he tried that and it wasn't good or consistent. Or maybe they  had sex daily. He's a Tiger!! The hunt is just as good as the meal.

I picture him waking up every morning singing that damn Frosted Flakes song to himself.

Who Has More Fun?

Most of us have heard the age old question "who has more fun Blondes, Brunettes or Redheads?" I have a better question - since when have guys paid attention to hair color?

A more accurate poll is to ask who has more fun, women with big breasts or those with an amazing backside?

The models in the pic above wouldn't qualify for the new poll as they look like they haven't eaten this year.

I'm sitting here trying to think this through without bias and it hit me that other than Dolly Parton's song "Islands In The Stream", I can't think of another song dedicated to breasts. However, the pop music charts are full of lyrics and titles dedicated to the female posterior.

Not only am I obviously biased I think the rest of the country has silently sided with me too. If I could grant one wish this year, it wouldn't be peace on earth or to bring troops home from the war (Hmmm... I need to go re-read that Obama extraction aka surge aka WTF do I do plan). Sorry, I got sidetracked for a second... My one wish would be J-Lo asses for all the pretty women in the country. I truly apologize to all the ugly women, but even a nice ass won't help you.

In my life I've had the pleasure of knowing a gorgeous blonde with an amazing rack, a brunette with an incredibly, curvaceous body and a redhead that could be J-Lo Jr. But, without the special body parts I wouldn't even remember their hair color. Come to think of it, I may have to consult my Blackberry to find their names.

Those are my biased thoughts (the cheeks win), but what do you think?

Know Your Roll

4 X 4. This isn’t a reference to a utility vehicle. These are the baffling measurements of the common household toilet paper. With that I have one question in mind – why?

 

Since when has a 4 inch sheet of toilet paper been sufficient enough to wipe your ass? It may be enough paper square footage for a guy to use after he pees, but I challenge you to find a guy that will actually do that. That’s why we wear underwear.

 

Last year, Sheryl Crow jokingly mentioned only using one square of TP in her quest to keep the earth green and an effort to fight global warming.  Well, whether or not I agree with the color of her cause, her underwear sure would’ve been brown.

 

I say, as an effort to fight global warming, the TP companies should push their paper perforators back to 12 to 18 inches to encourage proper wiping. This will cut down on electricity and the extra water needed to double wash the soil stained titey-whiteys.

 

Here’s a good rule of thumb to gauge if you’re using enough toilet-paper: Your hand should look like you dipped it in a cotton candy machine. If you can feel your skin through the paper, you don’t have enough.

F#ck It Day!

Fuck it days for everyone.

Most of us have the ability to differentiate between what's morally right or wrong. The individuals that challenge what's socially acceptable are possibly the last of the real free thinkers. Our society has taught us to hide our true feelings about race, religion and ethnic backgrounds for fear of offending some poor soul.

Fuck it -

Offend everyone. We could all benefit from a reality check about where we stand in this world. If we didn't have opposing views, this would be a boring life. Our differences define us for the perceived good or bad that we have to offer.

We should take a moment to celebrate those that dared to be different and stick to what they truly believed in.

White Supremacists have Black Supremacists. Crips have Bloods. Homosexuals have Homophobes. Christians have every other non-Christian religion. The Rich have the Democrats.

Stand up for what you believe in, regardless of what anyone else thinks. If you let someone else dictate your views, you only have yourself to blame.

My Fuck It for today is to sit down and actually try to watch a whole hour of Nancy Grace. I'm offended she has a TV show. Uselessness sells!

For The Love of Potato Chips.....

If I didn't have such a strong desire for beer, pizza, potato chips and lounging around on my couch, I would have the best set of abs ever.
I could even give up the beer or for my abs sake, maybe switch to Michelob Ultra. I can even stay away from noshing down slices of pizza while splayed out on my couch. But, I'm not sure I can give up on my potato chip addiction.
Can you imagine how pitiful I would look on Intervention?
Just like most addicts, we're particular. I don't like all chips. There are only a few potato chips that would make me have a tough time choosing between buying them and say - paying a bill.
My all time favorite potato chip is Middleswarth Bar-B-Q, commonly found in central Pennyslvania. It's worth a 10 hour drive to PA. I usually stock my car up with a few bags and boxes of chips and in most cases, I'll return to Atlanta with one small bag. I'll have to be smarter in the future and put some in the trunk instead of within arms reach.
And then there's Baked Lays. OMG! I never imagined a company so big could mass produce something so delicious. The flavor is pretty basic, but they have the right crunch and just the right amount of salt.
This is just a preliminary report, I'll have to do some research in the local area. Does Atlanta have a favorite chip??

Uber Goop??

Uber GoopIt would make more sense to label this as a shameless plug. but, it's not so shameless since I won't get a nickel for this. But, holy hell!!! If there was ever a retarded invention I wish I could've thought of as a home business, this would've been it.
While looking online at prices for replacement dishwasher racks I stumbled upon this rinky-dink mom and pop operation that saved me the price of a new dishwasher rack and ultimately a new dishwasher.
I haven't received the product yet. I'm just amazed that this exists and in my many attempts to get rich quick somehow this opportunity never popped in my head. WTF?!

Monday, Monday

As I sit here hopping from one newsfeed to the next trying to stay on top of the latest local tragedies, I wonder what actually brings someone to the point where they feel it’s a great idea to take another person’s life.

My usually peaceful yet brake-light filled trip home ended with marked and unmarked police cars lining the side of my street. Onlookers stood around with hands in pockets trying to make sense of all the commotion. I wondered too.

A neighbor (or at least I hope she was) informed me there was a triple shooting and at least one person was dead. I was floored.

Now, I don’t want to lead on that I live in Mayberry, but damn! This is way too close for comfort. The details about the event are still sketchy. All I know is it didn’t appear to be related to a home invasion – per the police.

What would it take to get me to the point of taking someone’s life? I’m sure if a person hurt my children (dogs included) I could easily slip into a special place in my head where I’d want to cause extreme harm. Maybe that’s what happened last night. Who knows?

I feel violence may be justified if it’s in the act of protecting or defending one’s kids. But, violence should never come from two adults disagreeing on a certain subject; yet that seems to be the underlying problem in most cases.

Instead of tougher gun laws, we could all benefit from classes to teach us how to be more effective communicators. Or at a minimum, send us to the same school the people from DMV must attend. The one where they’re obviously taught not to give a damn about anything other than smoke breaks.

If a person feels they need to pull a gun to express their point, they should at least do it honorably. Back to back and walk 10 paces, and out in the woods where no one else can be harmed by their senseless behavior.

Just in case I can’t figure out which school my DMV heroes attended, I’m going to look up my local laws on gun ownership. I think I hear the theme to The Sopranos playing in the background.

Cheese & Whine

During a recent family get together up north, my brother jokingly admitted (over a few beers) we should write a script to capture the crazy, funny and sometimes sad times of our child hood.

Although that thought has always been in the back of my mind, I never knew what to write about or where to start. But, like anything else, I guess the best place to start is in the beginning.

One of my earliest memories has me kneeling on a sofa and peering out the window looking onto the porch and towards the old arcade and corner store directly across the street. I remembered it getting dark and being alone for a long time. I remembered taking hot, sweaty naps on a thick, green shag carpet.

I drank juice from a glass bottle that was on the lower level in the refrigerator and fed myself with pieces of cheese I was able to break free from a huge block.

For the longest time after that I thought maybe they’re not my memories. I figured it was possibly a scene from a movie I watched as a kid and it got stuck in my head.

No such luck. Twenty-five or so years later, I moved back home to rebuild my life after a failed marriage or 2. I sat around the table with my grandmother, feeling sorry for myself and trying to make sense of why I was there. I’ll save her response to that for another time.

She started to tell me the story of how she came looking for me when I was a kid. At that time, I lived a block away from my grandparents on the same street. My grandmother had not seen me in a few days and wanted to check on her only grandchild.

She walked down the street and onto the porch of my white and green house and found her 4 year old grandson staring back at her through the front window.

She let herself inside with a spare key and looked around for my mom, who was nowhere to be found.

She noticed I wasn’t able to get off the couch and I had a high fever. She surveyed the tiny house and noted an empty Riunite wine bottle in the fridge and a pack of old cheese that I was apparently gorging on.

I was scooped up in my Underroos and driven immediately to the hospital emergency room to get checked out. Once we were able to be seen, the doctor looked at me and asked my grandmother if I was retarded. She informed him she thought I may be drunk, which I was.

It’s funny how times have changed. If I took a drunk 4 year old to the emergency room today, I would be arrested and charged with everything from tax evasion to putting out a bad health care plan.

However, some things haven’t changed too much. Apparently that night I was taken back home and allowed to sleep off the wine. I’ve been reliving that same scenario as an adult. Substitute the wine for whatever’s on tap.

I was told my mom moved to California during that time and left me behind to be the man of the house, alone. And to think, all that time I thought she was at work.

This isn’t a sad childhood story. There were a lot of valuable lessons learned during that three day period.

I was able to provide for myself. I learned sleeping on shag carpets is not something I’d recommend and lastly, whenever times get tough alcohol is always my friend.