Explain sorbet, the word not the ice cream. A different orange like a tangerine. Now take ‘pervert, make it look like sor-bet it’d be spelled porvet, the English language is out of orbit. Make ya laugh till your core’s fit, till your pants are shit, I’m Smokin cancer sticks even though I wanna quit, a funny lil hypocrite with a big dick, blowing o-rings makin oh-faces when I hit, Office Space legitimate. Consider the inconsiderate and get rid of it, these disgraceful legislators don’t deserve to hold their places. Horses with blinders on their faces, when you gonna jump the fence and run your own races? Ditch the jockey- playin tonsil hockey, got the g-spot key, knuckle puck in the net ya can’t stop me in the Flying V? Copy? Can you cop E? Inconsiderate! They never had a jigger big enough to deliver the killer dose of Kryptonite it’d take for me to kiss the rose; they never had it figured that the kid could bluff, my liver’s tough, the world’s corrupt, tank on ‘E’ had to filler up but I’m movin now, had a couple kinks in the hose, if your lips are tight I’ll tell you some things that hardly anybody knows. Pay the price though, or else fold, or else go, in other words- make like Jack and hit the road. I’m really not that cold, I might just be gettin old, just like this joke. Almost all my words should be in italic bold. Almost all of you birds don’t seem to have a soul, only sing when the sun shines. These advertisements and poster child’s, jokers bullshit stacked higher than Gomer Pyle. Any mathematician would admit it’d take a while to acquire that volume of shit. Single-file with my style, not much like it, no denial there, been known for my wildness, wildebeest in the wilderness would kill for this, my will to win could fill a gym if it were a crowd, and the louder we get the more we’re not allowed, gotta serious problem with this that’s why I smoke loud, lost in the cloud till I come back down, another day another world spun round. Floating tryin to stay grounded.
We let too much slide. I’m guilty of it myself, but I’ve realized that we are all flawed. Some of us more so than others, and some of us hardly at all, or whatever- you know what I mean. But why should it be my responsibility to go out of my way to correct others? Can’t we hold ourselves accountable by following an innocent conscience? Why do we have to be saturated in a world of guilt? It’s not expensive to be a decent human being. It costs zero Bitcoin to treat someone you don’t know or someone you do know with respect. Why is it my job to clean up your mess? Why do we have to pay for janitors? Shouldn’t we be cleaning up after ourselves? “Eh, someone else will get it, they get paid to clean up after me.” Knock it off.
There are some great people doing great things behind the scenes, setting great examples but because of this world of advertisements and hoopla, these things go unnoticed and unfortunately are not as trendy. We are all flawed in one way or another. It’s okay though, you don’t have to work to improve yourself, somewhere there is a guy paying a person to clean up your flaws. And please don’t just think of this from a custodial sense of the term. Think beyond cleaning up the puke in the sink of a 5-Star restaurant restroom as if it were a primary school shithouse. Think beyond hanging onto your beer can for 2 more minutes when you see a trash can instead of just throwing it on the ground or into a bush, a living, growing plant that provides. Think beyond the effects of a war-stricken country that’s getting explosives dropped on its main infrastructure and the innocent people suffering the consequences. Think about that.
I write this frustration-laced language out after a 10-hour bartending shift at a bar included on a list of checkmarks of places to stop for a 1,000 person St Patrick’s Day Treasure Hunt pub crawl. They say the real shit comes out of ya when ya drink. I’m not sure how I feel about all of this. It’s a scary thought. I enjoy the job and the money and all the other perks that comes from working hospitality, and I love to provide great service to people who appreciate things for what they are, but mannn oh man, some of y’all, I don’t care who you are, but I really just wish some of y’all would just stay home. A chill night with okay money or a chaotic night with great money? Right now- I’ll take the money- but as soon as I don’t need it anymore, I’m stepping down so someone else can deal with you. I’m over it.
Let’s flip the skrip. I could give a cats ass about a holiday, honestly, if I were St Patrick and I saw all this shit I hope I’d be like, “y’all need to chill, roll some joints, sit down listen to music and talk about some cool shit.” But if I were St Patrick then he’d be me… woah… what if I AM though. And he IS me! And I’m him but he-me said “y’all need to chill and celebrate differently cause that’s not how I roll”? What if that happened and it was right now? Am I Saint Patrick? I’ll never tell. No, I’m not. Or am I? “No, you’re Nick.” We all started out swimming in our dads nuts. That’s what all of us were at one point. A fraction of a dot on the scale of being. Have any of you ever smoked DMT? I’ve heard good things about it.
Accolades reached today: 100 mojitos, probably. Goodnight. This won’t be posted until tomorrow (today, but since I still have to go to sleep) so good morning or afternoon also. 🖖🏿
Wood fuh wood. No edit. No add. No subtract. First word to thesis to Sounds Good period.
I’m just bored of small talk and corporate success and high taxes and illiteracy and war and terrorism and how the fuck are we still falling for this bullshit? I’m tired of sports, professional sports, endorsements and advertisements it’s blatantly obvious the problem we have is collective ignorance. I’m tired of of being called crazy for using sound logic and for treating people with respect regardless of their pay grade. Our faces buried in our phones doing whatever it takes to get likes and conning the poor bastards who keep falling it. I’m tired of being confused and contradicted in every sense of the fucking word. I’m tired of of talking about banning this, banning that, because ‘this many’ died from it and “you don’t need it” so you can’t have it because we said so. I’m tired of the prayers, I’m tired of the fucking faith in God. Have some faith in your ambition, stop praying for shit and just go do it. I’m tired of the pity party, the belligerent drunks egged on by assholes disguised as friends. I’m tired of of disguises; filters. Fuck you Snapchat, the only filter needed is the square jaw. I’m tired of a bullshit degree being the kicker on a bullshit resumé. I’m tired of the lack of accountability. Why are we $20T in debt, I’m tired of hitting potholes and coming out of pocket to fix when my taxes go towards $2B/day to kill people because of these rich fuckwads calling shots. Fight your own wars, you fucking cowards. I’m tired of fake news, I’m tired of no justice. I’m tired of holding all this in, I’m tired but I still lose sleep over this, I’m tired of that. I’m tired of the struggle, I’m tired of digging for hidden answers. I’m tired of lazy people. I’m tired of being lazy. I’m past that shit. I’m tired of holding doors for people who don’t know what giving thanks actually means. I’m tired of Netflix, I’m tired of being bull-shitted, and in a coma from bullshitting myself. I’m tired of of turning the other cheek, and I do that because there’s not enough time in the fuckin day to call it out when bullshit is seen.
Pick your battles. Win your wars.
“Ive got some mushroom chocolates”, the booms, the 1-2, that’s how the night started. Momma thinks I’m retarded- probably- I know I would be if I were her, but if I were her then she’d be me, ya see? But I’m not trying to be somebody I’m not- white collar blew and blue collar blows too, not gonna do this till I rot in the ground- I’m- pound for pound the nicest white Kid around. Stay on my good side and enjoy the ride, but if you’re too needy too greedy please believe me when I say I don’t need ye. I’m on a mission of discipline, clinching my fists again, I’m pissed off trying not to punch my fuckin wrist off; the way Uncle Sam raises kids, the shit’s soft. I wanna kick a kickball in his dick till it’s raw or till a lightbulb flicks on- whichever comes first, it doesn’t matter to me, I could be Blitz’n in the mass of the pack with my sights set on Rudolph’s back and won’t be happy till I guide the sleigh- it sets my mood out of wack.
Leaps and bounds, leaps and bounds, been lost and been found- almost didn’t plan on sticking around, yet here I am on the mound- and here comes the pitch- when I call you ‘bitch’ are you astounded? You the type to snitch and get your brother grounded? You tellin me the tag on the Jag was invalid, and you still went whippin round in it? You sayin to me you were up later than me, Luke, the Darth Vader in me, killed an army of storm troopers and ya don’t know what amount you did? What the body count is? My V-A card is my light saber, sorry ma’ for my behavior. Been callin bullshit as I see fit since way before they said he was my lord and savior. The only difference is, well nah, I’m the same Kid, this is just the result of all the steam blowing off my lid. My wit is sick, I’m sick from wit, and these Nootropics still have yet to hit! What a handsome horizon ahead lookin back where I’ve been, bout to put it in cruise if I gotta stop im’a skid. Grandpa was an auctioneer, so naturally, I’m ready to bid- put up or shut up, the boss is here, yes it’s actually Nick Nack Diesel Packed, the Kid.
Just like my life, this one took a weird turn. So familiar with thinkin twice and still not speakin, I’m just here to learn- learn from the past, holding true, n some of you don’t even have a bridge to burn! Some of you can’t discern your elbow from your asshole, pussy lookin good ‘tude smells like tuna casserole, the massive hole-in your face is leakin, ain’t passable but pass the bowl, try to get as high as possible, the laughable factual assassin’ll matador through all the bull, even if my red knife is bloody dull. Bashing skulls with lead pipes if my words were a weapon, get a clue, Miss Scarlett poppin it in the Ballroom, sounds like heaven. And if I slay em, all I have to say to em–“you probly had it comin to you, prolly had to pay it to you.
The pied piper.
It’s been a while but I realize music saves my soul when the saving is needed. Why not write some lyrics and record some new jams? Doin what makes me happy and this is the release. To any out there struggling to find happiness, don’t ever give up till you find it. Words from the wise. Out.
Bill Hicks, how to sell your TV in a year and a half or less, and Joe DiGenova.
I’ve found myself in a bit of a funk lately, and I’m pretty sure part of that has to do with a lack of physical activity. I haven’t been out for a run since early November, so that will have to change. The reason I stopped running is quite the adventure.
I was bit by a dog in the left calf muscle. I could leave it at that, but that just doesn’t do the scar that’s on my leg justice. Story time.
Here I was, a regular night-or so I thought- was brewing up just nice. I was jamming out in my kitchen like I always do when I have the time, when all of a sudden: “BUR-BURRRM” my 5s with the screen cracked signaled to me. A friend of mine who went to EDC Orlando was down and out with the wook flu. A devout vegan, I heard her distress call and answered as fast as I could! She needed soup, but she needed soup that met her dieting standards, her taste standards, and something practical enough to unravel the miserableness. What was I supposed to do, let her die? Not on my watch. No suh, not up in here.
I should have known things were going to backfire on me from the start- the first two ingredients I had written down on my list: thyme and parsnips, were sold out at Winn-Dixie. Not a huge deal, not on a time-constraint because this is a good deed and a favor, but time was absolutely of the essence… or should I say… thyme… was absolutely of the essence(/Dr. Evil pinky to mouth). An extra trip to Publix for the snips and thyme, good to go, back to home base for prep and cook-time. Fast forward another hour, and the soup is ready for delivery.
Any who have ever seen or been in my car know how beautiful it is but how beautifully unpredictable it runs. How I made it to Pensacola and back for the hurricane this August, I still don’t know, because my car started overheating when I got to my friend’s apartment complex. Not a huge deal, not on a time-constraint because I made it to the destination, just gonna have to let ‘er cool down for a little while. Because of the way I packaged everything for the soup, and because my friend had her dog with her when she met me at my car, I decided I’d help her carry the soup to her quarters. This is where I guess I fucked up, because literally as we’re opening the door to her place, she’s telling me about the other “dog that lives here” and oh hello there, angry fella, oh good they have your collar, oh no, they don’t have you by the collar anymore, you don’t like me, I can tell because you’re trying to bite me. I’m standing here helpless with a giant pot of hot soup while this angry 70 pound dog is trying to eat my dick for dinner. Literally, if I wasn’t wearing a hoodie with a front pocket, I’m not sure what it would have bit on the first go. I tried to distance myself, but with the soup in my hand, things were happening fast but I figure my agility was at roughly 15% out of 100%(if you ever need the formula to calculate that, let me know). I couldn’t separate with enough distance, the next thing I knew, it’s mouth was on my leg teeth-first.
Legend has it, I didn’t make a damn sound or a peep of terror the entire time. Stone cold, but honestly, that shit really did hurt. The car comes into play again now, because it takes a good half hour to let the car cool down, and all of this happened within about 3 minutes. So, with my leg oozing blood and the calf muscle twitching like a bad case of leg-Tourettes, in a bit of pain, I’m sitting in my car digesting the scenario that just happened, texting a few people and trying to assess the damage done to my one-of-a-kind calf muscle… just patiently waiting for my car to cool down so I can just go the hell home and eat one of the edibles she gave me… time is yet again, of the essence, and not on my side once again.
None of this has anything to do with the turning point of my life… I hope I end up getting to that. Buuuuut, I digress.
Fast forward. Start up the Jag and start my way home. It’s about a 20 min drive home, not a huge deal, but about 30 seconds into my B-line for a Band-Aid I noticed that I was the proud new recipient of a blown out rear-driver side tire. Mind you, the second flat tire in just 3 days at this point. God, you mysterious lil’ Devil, you. I’m on to you and don’t think I’m not! To bring this story to a close, I finally got a friend to come snag me and bring me home. I ended going to the ER, getting some antibiotics and pain pills prescribed that I never did end up filling, and then I lived happily ever after.
I was pretty pumped about the scar, but there was more reward than that. On top of a bunch of other goodies exchanged for the soup, my good ‘ol friend still felt terrible about my misfortune, and it just so happens that she’s related to the voice of Michelangelo on the animated Ninja Turtles cartoon on Nickelodeon. Have a look at this badassery rightchea:
What should have taken 2 hours from start to delivery to my being back at home all in one piece actually took me about 4, with a couple hours of OT in the ER. But. Did you look at that autographed figurine yet? Totally worth it. Maybe I’ll run Bayshore tomorrow.
So, I wanna drop some knowledge in this before I shut it down. This is where the turning point is laid on the table.
In 2011, I was taking a US History course through the University of Maryland University College. It was a distance learning course, because at that time, I was in the Air Force and I was somewhere near the middle of a 365-day volunteer special duty assignment in Qatar. I would receive care packages from family and friends from time-to-time, but one care package came from one of my old soccer coaches from the early intramural days. Along with some snacks, he’d sent me a copy of Howard Zinn’s “A People’s History of the United States” to supplement my History course. I didn’t think you were allowed to ship weapons through USPS, but I’m glad he sent me that book, because from the very first page of that book, I started reading some things that were far from ever being mentioned in the class textbook my classmates and I were using for reference. Or any textbook I’ve ever seen before. Zinn, a bombardier in the Air Force during World War II, earned his PhD after the war. He first taught for 7 years at Spelman College, an all-black women’s school in the South. He was eventually fired because he supported his students during the civil rights movement in the 60s. He then taught at Boston University until he retired in 1988. Quite an eye-catching resume, if you ask me.
I cannot stress enough how devastatingly enlightening that book was to me. It covers grounds from Columbus’ voyages all the way up to the War on Terror. Unfortunately, Dr. Zinn passed away shortly before I even knew who he was. Fortunately, his work has been laid out for us to pick up where he left off.
I can remember making ‘pilgrim hats’ and learning about Squanto(who spoke English so well because he was captured) and John Smith, Pocahontas, Thanksgiving (which wasn’t celebrated until the year 1817), etc. in Pre-School. We are taught to celebrate Christopher Columbus while we’re still pissing our pants. If that isn’t breading ignorance, I don’t know what is. There needs to be a time, soon hopefully, where we lift the drape and let the light in, because until we start educating ourselves and then each other with the facts we have been so conveniently left in the dark from as a collective mass, we are going to continue to see the same mistakes repeated over and over again.
I’ve had people tell me that I wasted my vote in the elections because I didn’t vote for this asshole or because I didn’t vote for the other asshole. People who have never served a table let alone a fuckin country, with a straight face, “Ah man, why would you waste your vote?” It really left a bad taste in my mouth.
Shut the fuck up and read. I’ll just leave it here for now.
Stay classy doe.
P.S. Yes, the soup was bangin’.
You can find a cheap, used copy of A People’s History of the United States here.
A brief summary of just why exactly another blogger exists and a little mother neature breakdown for that ass.