MURKY

The male mind is, to put it simply, an oasis. Or, more correctly, it fancies itself an oasis - an oasis that mermaids [read: women] are irresistibly drawn to, that have an infinite amount of confiscated booty and a sh*tload of of aged rum. Sounds mighty attractive, doesn't it KK?

I need to take that notion and tuck it away inside some tiny box, along with silly suppositions like girls don't fart & salesmen don't lie, then throw that box into the depths of the ocean - or in the toilet bowl. [It'd probably end up in the same place anyway.]

And in case you're wondering why I'm in such a seemingly befuddled mood, I'm right now all Nyquil-ed out. Flus suck ass; hope I don't have medicine-head tomorrow.

And this doggone semester is almost over with, thank God. Come find me the weekend of the 18th and I'm buying shots. Word.

AND WE DON'T STOP...

Praise be! Mr. Ericsson is back! Allow me to explain:

My cellie has been acting weird for a while now. It all started while taking footage of my boy V^6 blasting his crazy-fast Vee-Dub down the dragstrip - the camera feature wouldn't work. Maybe the decibel levels, not to mention the hydrocarbons in the air, were to blame. I disassembled and reassembled Mr. Ericsson, threatened, cajoled, sweet-talked it to full functionality, all to no avail - the camera wouldn't work.

Well, today I had an epiphany. I went to Sony Ericsson's website and downloaded and installed the phone's latest firmware. But not before completely backing up my contacts and the texts I needed saved - I'm not a complete bonehead. I've done that before tho and lost all phone #s and stuff, but I know better now. Once bitten, twice shy, they say.

And would you know it, the phone's now good as new! Everything works as it should, and I wasted no time snapping away at anything in my sights. Like, this was during one of my breaks from work.

And this I took while in class tonight. Notice the [apparent] complexity of the subject matter; it can be rather difficult to absorb after a long workday.


But who cares - I finally have a camera of sorts! Still haven't replaced the 'real' camera, which is still sorely missed - and this will, meanwhile, make it all better.

Maybe, in my next life, I should be a photographer. Preferably, dear Vishnu, taking pics of swimsuit models all year long.


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Hip-Hop phrase of the day:

"I just had an epiphany, I need to go to Tiffany's
Fendi on my slippers and my cookies always slippery..."

Nicki Minaj in Yo Gotti's 5-Star Chick

WATER WATER EVERYWHERE...

Figures. Just as I got done with this one pain-in-the-ass project and the weekend's finally here, I look out the window for the first time in days and harsh reality sets in - it's nasty out there. Come to think of it, it's been cold and rainy for days. Sh*t, I don't even think I've seen the sun all week!

Of course that could be a problem, and it is. Plus, it'll keep raining a few more days. I guess I'm sentenced to another weekend stuck indoors marinating on the couch, exercising my thumb, switching channels. *sigh* I need a life.

Hmmm, maybe I could browse through the phone and find something to get into, if you catch my drift. Not a bad idea. Not a bad idea at all. But maybe not. Only if it were back in my wilder, conscience-free days. Oh well, it is what it is, I guess.

Y'all have a good weekend, and that's an order!


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Hip-Hop verse for the weekend:

"...And if he cries, I know how to control that
Give him some bottles of this Conjure cognac
Just to shut him up
She said you wasn't half the man I am-
-so I guess he had to double up..."

Ludacris in Letoya Luckett's Regret

IT DON'TSTOP, IT DON'T QUIT

Good Lord!! Where does the time go?! Like Melanie Fiona says, It Kills Me! At this rate I'll be 75 in no time, boyish as ever, hitting on skimpily-clad associates at the nursing home!

Sidebar: I'll be damned if I'm one day sent to a nursing home. It's one short step up from a looney bin, it seemed - that's when I visited such an establishment. The very sight of incapacitated and unloved geriatrics damn near broke my sometimes-fragile-but-will-kick-your-ass-any-day heart.

Speaking of age, school has a way of aging yours truly. I especially hate that damned homework. The image below very accurately depicts how it really is. [Courtesy of GraphJam.com]


Best believe I'll be back to blogging, vull vorce, in a few, soon as I get this one godforsaken project off my back.


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[C-Villain - you'll be happy to know this section's back!]

Hip-Hop verse of the day:

"Used to bomb you like Saddam but now that I’m a lil' calmer
I'm a f*cking cross between Osama, Dahmer, Obama and Dalai Lama
Tell Miley I'm her knight in shining armor..."

Eminem in BET's The Cypher, 2009.

WHYs

Why do I like the dimpled so much,...

... or this guy's lyrics, as big a douche as he is?

Why do I dream about this all day?

And this?

Why are people so inherently evil?

And others so cool?

Why do most radio DJs butcher Beyonce's Ego song and not play the last part which, to me, is the best? Infuriating.



How are some people freakin' hilarious...

... and others without a sense of humor to save their lives?

Why are things so easy,...

... yet so hard?

Jadakiss, Why?


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Oh well, why worry about it? What am I gonna do about it anyway?


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Hip-Hop verse of the day:

"If you could feel how my face felt -
You would know how Mace felt
Thank God I ain't too cool for the safe belt..."

Kanye West in Through The Wire

RESPUESTA

Hot damn! Never been away from the blog his long, never! No wonder I’ve harbored this strange emptiness these past few weeks. Naturally, a quick update is in order:

My boss’ son, who recently only turned 15, wanted to go to Hooters for his birthday claiming that, and I quote, “he likes the wings there.” WTF? There’s only one reason people [read: men] go to Hooters – to ogle at skimpily-clad ‘waitresses.’ And as I recall, my body at 15 was a volatile concoction of pheromones and dirty thoughts, and Hooters is the perfect environment to foster new fantasies.

And they actually took him there, go figure.

Comcast sucks. I signed up for a TV/Internet package and their punk asses signed me up for a different, and more expensive, plan. Seeing how militant I am about my money, I called them up and they were [apparently] apologetic, all ready and willing to give me a refund. Have I seen a check from them since, and that was a month ago? Nada.
Oh, and they’d told me that they’d bring me a cable box. Did they ever, even though they were supposed to bring it over 2 weeks ago? You guessed it – nope.

On another note, why are girls so warm, body temperature-wise, I mean? You don’t need a heater when a woman’s around, for real. I could’ve sworn that body glowed red in the wee hours of the morning; such was the [virtual] inferno. I wish I’d had an infra-red scope; she probably would’ve seemed a green-white blob through it – that hot

Soon as she was gone the entire apartment, and especially the bed, became an icebox. And it’s been an icebox since.

Thank God for women, as miserable as they make us.

WORKS CITED

Sometimes I think I'm an idiot. Whatever happened to my natural-born Kenyan hustle? Allow me to explain:

My appetite for reading material [fiction, for the most part] is voracious. When I first discovered libraries I thought I was in virtual heaven: with a free library card I could go home with any book? How ridiculously amazing is that? So I attacked the fiction shelves alphabetically, no less. I wasn't working or going to school then so I had all day, and best believe I lived in the library. I'd get into the Quiet Room at noon and leave much later. I read a book a day, seriously.

In a few short months I'd exhausted the tiny library's inventory. School and work started soon after and I didn't have as much time to kill, so I joined the largest library in the area, assuming they had more inventory. And they did. Not only that, but they sold used novels at the ridiculous rate of $.50 each. Fifty cents?! Sweetness! So I'd go get 10-20 books at a time, and life was just dandy.

It only took 3 trips to the library before I realized I had a major problem - I was accumulating too many books. The shelf quickly filled up and I started stacking them floor to ceiling. Fortunately, some girl who worked next to my workplace was as voracious a reader as I, if not more so, and we'd swap books all the time like it was dope. I'd go to her crib or she to mine, or at work, and we'd pop the whips' trunks and swap trash-bagfuls of them joints. Plus, she knew this one place where she could trade or sell books for 50 cents, so I was good. All too soon tho, she had to move to another state and I was again stuck with the problem of having too many damn books.

So I stopped reading as much, if only to keep my bedroom floor book-free. I still bought the occasional book from the grocery or drugstore, but they're [comparatively] expensive there.

And then I discovered Borders, and it was a wrap. The sheer volume of books, brand new titles especially, was mind-blowing. But then I learned real quick that new books, when they first come out, are only in hardcover, not paperback. I don't give a sh*t about hardcovers; I'm more interested in a book's content - and its price. So while brand-spanking-new paperbacks could go for $8.00, their thick-skinned counterparts can go for as much as $30. That's way too much for a book I'll only read once.

So, back to the issue of my lost hustle: I've been patiently waiting for Dan Brown's latest, The Lost Symbol. I went to Borders yesterday to check it out and it was finally available - for about $30, no less. But then it hit me like a thunderbolt: Why not grab the book, find a nice comfy seat, read as much of it as I could then put it back on the shelf?

And so I did just that. And as far as I can tell, that's what I'll be doing from now on with books I know I'll only read once. I know a good number of you probably do this already, but I can't believe it just recently occurred to me. I so feel like an idiot!

Matter of fact, I gotta go back right now and read a couple more chapters; the plot's got me already.
Later y'all. Be true to yourself.


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Hip-Hop verse of the day:

"She be jumpin' up and down tryin' to fit that a$$ in
Took her half an hour just to get that belt to fasten..."

Drake in Young Money's Every Girl