Before I even say anything, two things: [These might be general, but they also might be very specific.]
- Please, don’t try & play the player. It’ll all come back and bite you in the rear.
- You can’t always have it your way. Don’t get it awry; show me the highway.
Now that that’s over with, let’s go back to our regularly scheduled programming, shall we?
See, I’d like to think that I’m accommodating and rational, like Princess, but some things are a bit much. Imma be like the Acolyte for a minute and not give a damn.
Where does the coolness end and the idiocy begin? Lately there seems to be a fine line between the two. As usual, allow me to expound on it.
This past summer I was hanging out with Udi’s fam in NY. There we were, smack in the middle of the chaos that is Times Square, when we noticed this red Ferrari. It was a beauty, impossible to miss. Sure enough lots of people, particularly those camera-happy Japanese tourists, kept snapping pictures of it. Its owner, some young white-boy, was leaning against the passenger-side door smoking a cigarette, trying to look like he didn’t notice all the fuss, until someone [accidentally?] touched the car and yo, he went ballistic.
“Hey,” he yelled at the unfortunate victim. “Don’t scratch my sh*t!!”
Now, how’s he gonna do that? Sure, it’s a Ferrari and yes, it costs about as much as a townhouse but damn, just politely tell someone not to touch it, and only yell if they keep doing it!
Sometime ago, when CK’s gait was reminiscent of Long John Silver’s, [my bad! :)] she and I and a bunch of others went to a bar of sorts. We got some drinks and went to the pool area where this one dude started talking to us. He’d had 2 too many and we could tell, but he was coherent enough. Maybe he was trying to impress CK or ‘honey’ or whoever but in 5 minutes flat, and I kid you not, we learned that he worked at some nuclear plant, drove a House and lived in a 3-level house with a 25-acre yard. Was that really necessary? Do people really do that, brag about possessions to lure in the opposite sex? Maybe it’s becoz I don’t own sh*t that I don’t understand it, but a man needs some mystery about him, I say!
Do I dare venture closer to home? F*ck it, I dare.
Why is it that when there’s a major Kenyan bash all these cats show up in all these expensive, and rented, whips? Don’t get me wrong, I know chics pay attention to what a man drives, and it’s good that you want to step your game up a notch; I ain’t mad atcha. Dude, unless your intention is to hit it and quit it, why front? Shoot, I’d hate to think someone would like me just because of my car. [Not that I have that problem, coz my bucket isn’t exactly a chic-magnet!]
Diddy has like 10 different cellies, and I understand. He’s a businessman and is constantly making and receiving calls, emails and such. President Carter – same scenario, same as Trump and the like. Most importantly, you almost never see them wearing that pesky Bluetooth headset. Why not? It’s completely unnecessary.
Now, it’s perfectly sensible to attach that godforsaken device while driving or cooking or doing some other task that necessitates the use of both hands, but why wear it in the club? Dude, [pronounce this like a white-boy would] you can’t hear sh*t! Either that or the person at the other end doesn’t either! Why clip it to your ear?
And while we’re at it, take those damn shades off too. True, they’re Versace or Gucci, but it’s dark as hell in the club! Take them damn things off!
Being African has its advantages. For one, we African men have a repertoire, myth or not, of packing considerable clout between our legs. I’ve seen some local chics dismiss me as African American at first, only for me to peep that wicked glint in their eye when they learn I’m Kenyan, coz I publicize that fact when necessary.
The size of the male package is directly dependent on divine intervention or is in the genes, unless you believe in those pop-ups that read: ‘Want a bigger penis?’
Now, how’re you gonna brag to homegirl about how much meat you’re packing? That’s setting yourself up! She might unwrap the package only to be like WTF?! Keep your damn mouth shut and let her be surprised, damnit!
Alright, I think I’m done with my little outburst. Back to being the >d® y'all know and [hopefully] love.