Snoop’s Not A Real Rasta? Oh Jah!

0123-buddy-wailer-snoop-dogg-snoop-lion-article-getty-6One of my first blog related to Snoop Dogg conversion to Rastafarianism while on a trip to Jamaica with heavy emphasis on the ‘trip’.  He claimed to have found his roots and blah blah blah.  Well it turns out that Snoop was trying to infiltrate the Rasta name and wasn’t, isn’t and never will be a real Rasta. Oh Jah!

A group of genuine Jamaican Rastas, including one of my favorite reggae singers, Bunny Wailer, (As you wonder who the hell is Bunny Wailer)  has called on Snoop to stop using their name and pay up.  They allege that Snoop used the Rasta name to make a movie and sell records, otherwise he tried to re-ignite his dying flame.  Oh Snoop! I liked the part where they told Snoop that “smoking weed and loving Bob Marley and reggae music is not what defines the Rastafari Indigenous Culture!”  I bet you thought it did.  Ok, I sorta thought it did too.  Well if it’s doesn’t, then what defines Rastas?  Smoke weed, love Marley and Reggae, what else is there for a Ras to do? Oh Selassie!

Snoop of course had no response to these accusations and when last seen, he was headed to Mecca to answer the call of a dream he had in which the ghost of Muhammad beckoned to him.  Not sure what to make of that but The Dogg-turned-lion could resurface as Snoop Dogg Bin Lyin.

   Snoop and The Ghost Of Bob Marley

The Day I Turned My Best Friend In

He was like a brother. Actually he was closer to me than my brother.  He was my best friend.  We share every secret, every story.  And that’s why he came to me on that fateful evening with a startling revelation that turned my world upside down and re-invented out friendship.

(I know I promised to use this blog to write about light and funny stuff, nothing too serious, but I have had this on my mind for some time and I want to share it with you as my way of getting it out.  Don’t worry, I’ll be back with the fun blogs, humor me).

My best friend showed up at my house, which is nothing unusual.  Unfortunately, what he had to reveal was not only unusual but unprecedented.  He had killed someone in a fight the night before!  Aghast, shocked and unsure of what to do next, I allowed him to steer me into agreeing to be somewhat of a cover for him.  He wanted me to hold on to the clothing he was wearing when he committed the crime and other personal belongings which would later be exhibits.  I was still stunned and my allegiance to my best friend was foremost in my mind.  No thought was given to the victim who was only 17. I promised my friend not to breathe a word to anyone but I did.  Did I ever!

For two days I gave him updates on the news and whether the cops had any suspects.  My sense of right and wrong and my moral obligation was now slowly kicking in.  It was starting to over shadow my bff responsibility.  I tried to get him to turn himself in, promising to go with him and be supportive through it all. I even gave him an explanation that would excuse his failure to report the crime.  He would have none of it so I did it for him.

I went to the police.  I told them everything.  The interrogation was scary as I was placed in a tiny locked holding room alone for a long time as a ruse to scare every bit of information out of me.  They didn’t have to.  I was there to sing like a bird, squeal like a pig and whatever sound a rat make.

My friend was arrested and charged based on my information.  I had to sit in the courtroom and testify against him.  It was hard. Does he hate me? I don’t know. He calls me from the pen regularly and we talk like old times.  I am not sure if he harbors any ill feelings towards me.  I have asked myself if I would do it again and the answer is always yes. I would do it even if it  was my son.  Why? Not only because it is the right thing to do but I would be grateful if someone did the same for me if I ever found myself losing a loved one by the hands of a coward.  It was the hardest thing I have ever had to do and I hope it remains the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

Now, would you have done it?  Do you think I did the right thing? It’s harder than it sounds.  I have no doubt in my mind that if the situation was reversed, my friend would have covered for me.  It’s called conscience and some of us have lots and some have little.

There. Now that wasn’t so painful was it? I just had to get that out of my system even though it’s something that will haunt me for the rest of my life but not as much as it would have haunted me if  I had kept my mouth shut.

Next blog: Picking Up The Soap In Jail

 

Why I Hate Hot Chicks

I am suddenly craving a burger

I am suddenly craving a burger

It has nothing to do with being jealous.  Why would I be jealous?  I am a guy and I don’t have vagina envy.  I just don’t like hot chicks because they make me do things I shouldn’t. No, not that, well ok, that too.

Take for instance the other day.  I was watching sports on my tv, minding my own business when out of the blue, this hot chick dressed in a nice pair of skinny jeans and midriff-baring top showed up on my screen drinking Miller Genuine Draft.  Well  darn it! If this chick was drinking beer I was too. I want to be on her team.  So I went out and got me a case of beer.  Yes, Miller Genuine Draft.  I said I wanted to be on her team, didn’t I?

There are other examples.  Like the time I was reading the paper and there was an ad for a private college.  It showed a hot blonde chick sitting at her desk taking Medical Terminology. Yes, I enrolled.  I never did see her or any other hot chicks there so I quit after about a week or so.

I have bought exercise equipment, vehicles, beds, food and other some weird stuff.  Why?  Because I have a weakness for hot chicks and whatever they are doing it, I want to do it too.  Isn’t that the reason they are in the commercials?

Hot chicks are bad for me but good for business.

 

The Mysterious Woman At The Freshly Pressed Coffee House and Restaurant

IMG00074-20100801-1906Everyone at The Freshly Pressed Coffee House and Restaurant turned to look.  Some stared without apology.  I didn’t.  I couldn’t.  I looked up casually and went back to my work.  I was perched on a weathered looking chair at a crooked and unpainted table in a corner of the coffee shop area.  From my vantage point, I could see who was entering or leaving and that’s how I saw her enter.  I was on a mission and couldn’t be derailed by the sight of a woman.  I was intent on writing THAT blog.  The big one.  The one that would get my name up there with the pros. This woman would not rob me of this opportunity!

The Freshly Pressed Coffee Shop and Restaurant is far from being an upscale restaurant.  The decor is limited and consists of wooden tables covered by white and cheap looking tablecloths.  The chairs are not comfortable.  Hardwood floors looked ready for a makeover. In fact, the entire restaurant screamed for a makeover.  With its dimly lit interior, you really needed the coffee to keep you awake, unless you kept awake by blogging about something interesting.  The lingering aroma of every different blend of coffee hangs in the air mixed with whatever food was hot out of the kitchen.  Despite what it didn’t have going for it, it was invitingly warm and cozy and the atmosphere was very welcoming.  It had a homely feel to it and that’s why I chose to blog here.  It was my Eden.  My little niche was situated in the farthest and darkest corner.  From my vantage point, I could the comings and goings but usually don’t.

From the corner of my eye I saw the woman make a bee line for the table right next to mine.  I smelled her perfume before she was close enough to fully drink her in.  Liz Taylor perfume? No, too young. She was only about 30 was my guess and a stunner!  A definite head turner.  Now it was my turn to stare at the thing of beauty.  Kate Hudson and Jessica Alba all rolled into one.  Her long blonde hair flowed orderly down the nape of her neck which had a red silk scarf hanging loosely around it.  She wore a low-necked black blouse complemented by a hip-hugging and contour-revealing black skirt that flirted with the top of her knees.  Black leather boots came up her long legs.  Her face was angelic.  Brushed with a light touch of makeup and a hint of lipstick on her pouty lips.  I also noticed that she wore no wedding band.  In fact, her long and well manicured fingers were bare.  Not that it would have made a difference to me.  She was out of my league.  Plus I was a married blogger.  In love with this mysterious but beautiful woman whose peach-like lips opened up partly to reveal her magnificent pearly whites in a smile.  She smiled at me!

Now where was I?

Read this with or without panties

English: A pair of white panties with hearts o...

If you are a woman reading this, chances are you are commando.  Well, thanks to a new poll, I have a 50/50 chance of being bang on.  For those of you who have no clue what going commando means, it’s going sans undies.  No not bra-less, panty-less.  So, are you? Just kidding, you don’t have to share that delicate and personal information with me.  Heck, we barely know each other. (So, are you?)  Actually we don’t know each other.  (But, are you though?) So then, should you even be reading my blogs without panties? It just sounds a bit kinky (And depending who you are, a bit hot) but maybe it’s just me.  Would you like to know I’m blogging in the buff or talking to you on the phone while I lie there in the nude? (And, are you?)

Why am I blogging about panties? Well today I read the following on The Examiner’s website and it piqued by interest.

In less than a day, the number of poll respondents of panty versus commando has more than tripled!

The nonscientific survey regarding women wearing undies to bed that has been live forsix days now has panty wearers and those women who choose to shed their pantiesbefore sleep in a dead heat!

40% of women have answered the simple survey as panty wearers while another 40% say they prefer to bare their bottom in bed.

Seven and a half percent claim to only wear panties on special occasions – seems fair to say that those women probably shop at Victoria’s Secret or Frederick’s of Hollywood.

The remaining 12.5% claim to either not know what sleep is or not know what panties are.

Take the survey here: Do you wear panties or go to bed commando?

The poll will be open until midnight December 31st, 2012.

Somewhere in a cold and dark basement, there’s a naked guy awaiting your answer to this poll.  Eagerly.  Somewhere out there, anywhere, everywhere, there’s a woman enjoying a nice cool southerly breeze…And Victoria Secret is yelling, NOOO!!

Oh, and you never answered my question.  So, are you?

Related:

http://www.examiner.com/article/women-that-go-sans-panties-now-dead-heat-with-those-that-wear-undies-to-bed?CID=obnetwork

A Long Standing Member of The Penile Family

English: Jonah Falcon

English: Jonah Falcon (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

This morning on the local rock radio station, the dj’s were making fun of a guy who was blessed, or cursed, with a 13″ penis.  Yes, you heard me right.  The man had a penis to make an elephant jealous.  Alright, that’s a bit much, the elephant comparison I meant.  His penis is peanuts to an elephant’s.  Anyways he had a huge member. Still does.

So curious me, I went and scoured the internet to read more about this phenom.  Apparently, he’s been in the news since the early 2000s and was featured in talk shows and HBO specials. All because of his penis.  (So if this is old news to you, pardon my ignorance.)  Jonah Falcon, and if that name doesn’t scream to be in  porn then I don’t know porn, has also been stopped at airports due to the significant bulge in his pants.  “Sir! Sir!  Yes you there with the bulge.  Are you packing?”
“No ma’am, it’s just my penis.  I can show you but you will have to stand back.  No, farther than that.”  Ah, the poor guy and his penile weapon.

Some more facts about Jonah’s penis.  Flaccid, it’s only 9.5″ but sitting up straight, a respectful 13.5″.  He claims that his foreskin can completely cover a door knob.  Which door knob did he use? Good thing I wash my hands after handling door knobs.  Jonah is also single.  At least last time I checked.  He’s having some problem finding like receptacle to accommodate him.  He is also bisexual but that wouldn’t change that he still has to find an accommodating partner.  I also think Jonah chooses to pee out of a window than take the chance of getting his tip dipped in urine by using a toilet.

Jonah is also an actor and should they do a movie based on my life as a player, I would choose him to be my body double.

Good luck, Jonah!

 

 

 

 

Memoirs of a nice player

Let me be clear, this is not a confession.  I repeat, this is not a confession.  I used to be in the game.  Yeah, deep in the game.  I considered myself skilled and quite a natural.  I wasn’t the hottest guy in the house but I sure was the one taking home the hottest lady in the house.  Mind you, that doesn’t mean that I was painful to look at or anything.  I was a player by all definition and never once did I sit on the bench.

Man, I played it like it a pro.  At the bars, I oozed ‘player’.  Oh yeah baby, I was a player.  I am not bragging about it but I learned from it. I wasn’t mean or an asshole to girls. I just had a lot of them. I never had a space between relationships.  My charm was a weapon.

It wasn’t about the sex, don’t get me wrong. I mean in some instances, the sex was a welcome additive but taking home that hot chick that all the other guys were salivating over was grand!  “How do you do it?” They would ask.  “What do you say to them?”  They would even point out hot girls and dare me to get a dance or a number, to which I willingly obliged.  I can’t remember ever striking out.  Why? I was nice. I was a nice player.

Now you wannabes are waiting for the big secret on how to meet and greet girls.  Well let me tell you how I did it.  I tried to always be myself.  I go up to the girl and I started talking her language.  I didn’t brag on things I have or didn’t have, or my accomplishments. I talked about everyday stuff, without trying to sound smart.  I made sure that she knows I am just there to talk, not get her in bed or get her number.  Talk usually led to one or all of those anyways.

I have dated girls who were supposed to be friends with benefits but being a nice player, I couldn’t  say no to their requests for a relationship.  How do I say no after spending time with them, enjoying their company or worst yet, having sex with them?  I couldn’t be that mean.  Let’s just say I was a con with a conscience.  Maybe I wasn’t that great of a player after all.

My wife of 7 years was supposed to have been just a friend.  I met her right after a breakup and we both agreed to just be friends with garnish on the side.  Well before you know it, she had succumbed to my charm and wanted more.  Of course I obliged. I had already slept with the woman!  Now I don’t regret a moment of it.  It was the best ‘yes’ I have ever said.

My playing days are over.  I am hobbled now but a guy can reminisce can’t he?  I couldn’t have been that bad of a guy as I am still friends with all of my exes.  They understand the game.  Hearts get broken.

Oh, and if you ever wanted some tips on dating, feel free to drop me a line.  Do it, all my friends do, especially my female friends.  Don’t forget, I know the game inside out.