How You Doin’ Blondie?


Jump-roping Son of Gun
April 27, 2008, 11:32 pm
Filed under: Children's rhymes, fun, games, youth | Tags:

Miss Susie had a tugboat
the tugboat had a bell
Miss Susie went to heaven
the tugboat went to
Hello operator please give me number nine
and if you disconnect me
I’ll kick you from behind
the refrigerator there was a piece of glass
Miss Susie sat upon it and cut her little
ask me no more questions
tell me no more lies
the boys are in the bathroom zipping up their
flies are in the meadow,
the bees are in the park
Miss Susie and her boyfriend
are kissing in the
D-A-R-K
D-A-R-K
D-A-R-K
[fast] DARK, DARK, DARK
dark is like a movie
a movie’s like a show
a show is like a TV screen
and that is all I know
I know I know my ma
I know I know my pa
I know I know my sister
with the 40 acre bra

Other people I’ve spoken to remember this as being a chant they used to skip rope to. In my day, this was just a way my girlfriends and I could get away with saying almost-bad words in front of our teacher without earning a phone call home. The “Miss Susie” rhyme was a particular favorite of mine because as a girl, I envisioned any woman note-worthy enough to earn her place in the annals of recess lore to be one BAMF, and I aspired to live up to the standards of being a Susie. 

 

Advertisements


Protected: I Did My Best, It Wasn’t Much
April 21, 2008, 3:12 pm
Filed under: Life, love, Pain, relationships, Sadness, sex | Tags: , , , ,

This content is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

Enter your password to view comments.


Pretty In Pink
April 19, 2008, 10:11 pm
Filed under: Anger, Life, Lonliness, Loss, love, Pain, Reality, relationships, Sadness, sex | Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

I went to Barnes and Noble’s today, and for the first time in my life, I was disgusted by books. Disgusted. Everywhere I looked there was pink and white and cursive script and cutesy designs; “Blonde” and “Sex” and “Beautiful” and “Affair”; skin and breasts and lips.

It made me so sad. And so angry.

Every author was competing for the coveted distinction of being the most renegade, the most taboo.

“Oh, Oh, I know! I’ll write from the perspective of the ‘other woman’!”

“Well I’ll write from the perspective of the current wife, who approves of the ‘other woman’!”

“Well I’ll write from the perspective of a single woman who has anonymous sex with multiple partners!”

“Well I’ll be a kept woman”

“Well I’ll be a stripper!”

“I’ll be an prostitute!”

“I’ll be a porn star!”

And on and on and on and on until I just wanted to stand in the middle of the bookstore and cry. I wanted to sob, big heaving sobs that rack your whole body and make you gasp for breath and send torrents of wet, hot, salty, tears running down your cheeks and your lips and your neck.  I wanted to destroy; I wanted to tear each and every single book off of the shelf and rip the pages from their bindings and shred each word, each paragraph into little tiny pieces of confetti and then spit on it, I wanted to spit on all of it. I wanted to cause destruction and turmoil and pain. I wanted those authors to see the fruits of their labor – their lifeblood – desecrated and defiled. I wanted the authors to be hurt, I wanted them to feel violated. And I wanted to stand in the middle of the chaos and scream at them

“ENOUGH! THIS IS NOT A GAME! You take the one thing that brings me joy, you take my one escape, you take the only constant that I have to cling to and you USE it, you USE it and you CHEAPEN it. You CHEAPEN it in the name of your precious creative genius. You enclose yourself in your edgy little writer’s retreat and you say to yourself, ‘How can I be dramatic? How can I be poignant? How can I be utterly unique?’ And you start to brainstorm and the wheels start turning and you start thinking ‘outside the box’ and you start to think about what’s hot and what’s fascinating and how can you really grab someones attention, really force them to look at you and suddenly you think, ‘Sex!’  You think, ‘One of the most forbidden topics!’ You think ‘I’ll write about sex and sluts and prostitutes and adultery, but I’ll disguise all the turmoil and strife and make it cutesy and humorous and lovable, even! I’ll be a real insurrectionary!’

BUT YOU’RE NOT. Are you listening to me? YOU’RE NOT. You write about all these things that you know nothing about and you make your busty blonde protagonist sarcastic and witty and sometimes insightful and largely happy go lucky, as if sure, she knows she might not lead the most normal, average, lifestyle, but she’s happy because she knows what she’s doing isn’t wrong, it’s just different.

And then your book hits the shelves and people love it, they go crazy for it. You’re on Oprah and The View and Good Morning America and The Late Show and people are just in LOVE with your book! How could they not be? Just look at what you’ve done! You’ve made them fall head over heels for the whore of Babylon! You’ve made them root for Delilah! And you’ve done it all without making them feel anything unpleasant, no despair or defeat. You’ve romanticized everything. You’ve cleaned it up. You’ve made it digestible. You ‘left out’ the part where the ‘other’ woman cries herself to sleep at night over the unrequited love she has surrendered her soul to. You ‘forgot to mention’ the part where the prostitute falls in love with a regular guy but watches the relationship deteriorate before her eyes because she doesn’t enjoy making love to him, she’s not even sure what ‘making love’ is.

You make it acceptable and understandable. You rob it of it’s realism. You’re a liar, a thief, and a whore, in every sense of the word.”



Update From The Battlefront
April 18, 2008, 11:45 pm
Filed under: Demotivational Posters, Family, fun, Humor, Pictures, USMC | Tags: , , ,

More from Sergeant Hell-in-a-Helmet and his merry 2nd Battalion

 …decidedly pre-deployment.



Money hoes and clothes
April 18, 2008, 5:01 pm
Filed under: Greed, hip-hop, Media, money, Music, Rap Music, sex | Tags: , , , , ,

Of all my automobiles, my favorite is my Volvo. It’s a 2006 S40, passion red, and it’s essentially a crush-proof box. The first car I ever owned was a Volvo, and I really fell in love with them. It’s an odd car for your average twenty-something single to own, Volvo’s are notorious for being the ride of choice for the stodgy white-bread class…which is the bulk of it’s appeal. I hold a considerable amount of contempt for these kids today, with their flashy Acura’s and Lexus’ (Lexis’s? Lexuses?) who will spend $600 for a pair of sunglasses or $1000 for a pair of sneakers just because they bear the Louis Vuitton stamp. They acquire and acquire and acquire all theses THINGS, all these status symbols, and they don’t realize that they look like fools. They’re so ridiculous, they’re caricature’s of themselves.

So I enjoy my Volvo; I take great pride in the fact that my neighbor, the one with the musical career of dubious distinction, has never once expressed even a remote interest in my S40. I like that I’ve yet to see a Volvo cruise slowly down the street with base music reverberating from the speakers and chrome monstrosities affixed to the wheel-wells. But perhaps the key ingredient to my Volvo enthusiasm has been the fact that never, not once, have I ever heard a Volvo be mentioned in any capacity in a rap song.

Until today.

I turned on the radio in my car today in time to catch the following line:

“…pimpin hoes that drive Volvos and Rodeos…”

I later identified the song as “Niggas” by the Notorious B.I.G.:

“To all my Brooklyn ‘Niggas!! (Niggas!!)’
To all my Uptown ‘Niggas!! (Niggas!!)’
To all my Bronx ‘Niggas!! (Niggas!!)’
To all my Queensbridge ‘Niggas!! (Niggas!!)’
‘Nigga nigga nigga..’

Back up chump, you know Biggie Smalls rips it quick
and kicks it quick, you know how black niggaz get
with the hoods fatigues with the boots with trees
Smokin weed, flippin ki’s, makin crazy G’s
Hittin buckshots at niggaz that open spots
on the avenue, take my loot, and I’m baggin you
Pimpin hoes that drive Volvo’s and Rodeos
Flash the roll, make her wet, in her pantyhose
Damn, a nigga style is unorthodox
Grip the glock, when I walk down the crowded blocks
Just in case a nigga wanna act out
I just black out, and blow they motherfuckin back out
That’s a real nigga for ya

[Chorus]

When we smoke spliffs, we pack four-fifths
just in case dread wanna riff
He get a free lift to the cemetary, rough very
Not your ordinary, we watch you get buried
That’s a real nigga for ya
Get mad do a quarter flip the script, and rip your lawyer
Spit at the D.A., cause fuck what she say
She don’t give a fuck about your ass anyway
Up North found first stop for the town
of fist-skill, where the hand skills are real ill
You’ll be a super Hoover doo-doo stain remover
Ha hahhh, yo G, pass the ruler

[Chorus 2X]

Money hoes and clothes
Blunt smoke comin out the nose, is all a nigga knows
Flippin on foes, puttin tags on toes
Watchin the stash grow, clockin the cashflow
The neighborhood gravedigga
Gettin paid so much, all the bitches wanna see a nigga
I guess they figure I’m paid, I wanna get laid
or since I got loot I wanna knock boots
I’d rather beat my dick than trick
and if she don’t suck then we don’t fuck
I’d rather make a buck, drive a fat-ass truck
Grab the 9, two clips, and run amuck
Yes, flex at the two or three Benzes
I wreck shit, what the fuck you expected?
A fly guy? Well fuck it, I’m the high guy
from Bed-Stuy, puttin the swellin on your eye
and your nose even, when I choke ya you stop breathin
And when Jake come, I’m leavin!”

I am indescribably depressed.



Thug Life Carpool
April 16, 2008, 4:46 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: ,

My brother must be a really efficient terrorist fighting machine because it seems like he spends the bulk of his deployment on the Internet, sending me things he and his fellow soldiers have found to be hilarious.

And to be honest, sometimes they make me chuckle too.



Protected: Flying Solo
April 16, 2008, 1:50 am
Filed under: lust, Men, relationships, sex | Tags: , , ,

This content is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

Enter your password to view comments.