Saturday, June 30, 2012

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Food, sneakers, dogs/cats, stupid poses, sand, ugly chicks, funny street names, and clocks=Instagram.

Friday, June 29, 2012

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What flavors might they have?

Blue black

High yellow

Caramel

Chris Broussard

Chocolate

Mystery albino

Do they sell ice cream too? Please tell me they sell ice cream and not chicken.

And if they sell chicken DON'T LET IT BE FRIED CHICKEN.
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This is the biggest squirrel injustice in the history of squirrel injustices. I want to say this is racist, but I have zero basis on how I can possibly make this about race. Imagine being a squirrel, just chillin' in a grass patch, digging up a nut you buried back in November, when all of a sudden you get wrangled by a confused Japanese zookeeper. Wrongly imprisoned and zero way to state your claim. Despite the hilarity that would ensue, there aren't any squirrel lawyers.

So what's the excuse? "They all look the same?"--it's 2012, that shit won't fly. I couldn't tell that they switched main actors in the new Spider-Man movie, but I can't say that outloud or I'll be called a bigot. Same goes for Japanese people and squirrels.

If you furry bastards somehow learn English and I come up with a law degree, I will defend the shit out of you.

Wednesday, June 27, 2012

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What happens when three of the most diabolical, scallywag-slanging, peacockin'est pimps of all time get together for a game of croquet? I have no fucking clue. But I know women were heavily involved.

In the Venn Diagram of things these fellas have in common, it's women, announcing that "I'm here, ya'll" at parties, and undoubtedly cocaine. Somewhere under the Playboy mansion lie the bones of 3 dead cocaine-covered-strippers with remnants of Arnold's "Conan" bandanna and Wilt's "100" sheet of paper sprinkled all over them.

PS. I see you, Hugh. Looking creepier than most.
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This may be a bold claim, but I think the entire concept/phrasing of a woman's "water breaking" is the least explained phenomenon in the history of modern society. Like I know more about the Bermuda Triangle than I do about what water-breaking means. Is there water involved? Who cleans that shit up? Prior to the water breaking, was the baby submerged in water?!

I took high school biology, I certainly have a basic knowledge of the reproductive process. Whatchu know about zygotes, blastospheres, and trimesters, homie? But with that extensive gross ass birth vocab, comes a complete lack of knowledge of certain key elements. When they showed the "birth" video in bio, I closed my eyes, covered my ears, and thought about shooting free throws. Result being me having zero knowledge how babies are actually born aside from textbook diagrams. Water breaking is a whole 'nother monster entirely. It's unexpected, wet, gross, inconvenient and gross. Like, honey, let me place a towel on the seat before we drive to the hospital before I have to get this thing steam cleaned with bleach and hydrochloric acid. I know a sac is involved and at the risk of sounding completely foolish, I'll go so over the top with my explanation that you won't know if I'm joking or not. Water breaking=baby is ready to come out, cuts some sort of cord, sac drops, bursts, dad is getting screamed at and Pepe the janitor has to bring his mop and some Mr. Clean to take care of the mess.

(Real definition from www.whattoexpect.com)

"Water Breaking During Pregnancy — What It Is
The breaking of the amniotic sac, and the gush that follows, signaling that your baby is getting ready to be born.

Water Breaking During Pregnancy — What Causes It
No one knows for sure what starts the chemical chain reaction that begins labor, but experts point to a number of complicated factors, including brain signals from the fetus. ("Ready or not, here I come, Mom!")"

Well if you didn't throw up 14 times reading that, I commend you. I was puking shortly after the word "gush" was presented and then later on when the fetus says, "Ready or not."

It goes without saying that I'm going to faint and be mentally absent from the moment the water breaks and my kid gets born.

Tuesday, June 26, 2012

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The Ishikawa Oku Lab at Tokyo University has it absolutely right. Why waste your time trying to cure fatal disease and solving the world hunger problem when you can build a fucking robot that can't lose a game of rock-paper-scissors?

Everyone's overlooking this like it's another, "Japan being Japan" situation, but do you know how important RPS (yeah, I went there) is? Shit solved any dispute that couldn't be handled with reason or physicality. Imagine winning any and all arguments because you were able to read/scan/interpret hand movements at lame-nerd-robot speed. Life would be gravy. You'd probably be President or at the very least, someone who's really awesome at rock-paper-scissors.

If you combine the RPS robot, WATSON from Jeopardy and the creepy ass Kindergarten teaching robot, I think bath salts are going to be the least of our issues.
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Time to move forward. Gone are the days of sweating out "funnies", being thoroughly confused by "informationals", and contemplating suicide over "unfunnies." I run a grown man blog now.

If you want to tell me how the posts are or if you like/hate them, let me know in the comment section. You can post anonymously or let me know who you are if you want to spit some serious venom. I respond most of the time.

Kluvyabyeeee

Monday, June 25, 2012

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If that's not a "Yeah, I know I'm gross as hell" look, I don't know what is. Pure defiance, looking like a disgruntled old black dude with a grudge against the world.

To be very honest, this dog isn't even that ugly. Dogs of years past have CERTAINLY been uglier, but I think Mugly benefits from some of the worst dog hygiene I've ever seen. And with a name like "Mugly" there's almost no way you can succeed. So give this dude some shampoo, a comb and a positive outlook on the world and see what he can make of himself.

I'm not saying he'll have a bunch of dogs sniffing his ass at the park this weekend, but frankly anything is better than being the unanimous least attractive member of your entire species.

PS. Am I the only one that thinks this dog looks like a disgruntled black man?
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^this pic was so weird and irrelevant I had no choice but to use it.

I knew this moment would come, but I didn't think it would be this soon...

Remember when you were just a kid and were able to drink more than four beers and drink hard alcohol without being declared legally dead the next day? Seemed like a short time ago I was able to hold my breath and do five shots in a row. Now the mere thought/typing this makes me feel embarrassingly ill. At this rate, by 25 I'm going to be that guy that gets rowdy and uncomfortable to be around after a wine cooler.

A couple questions have obviously popped up: 1) What the fuck happened? and 2) How do I repair this issue?

Question 1 is a legitimate mystery. I hit a few open bars over the past couple of months and I could have sworn I got hit my a bus and had all my organs removed, covered in dirt, and put back inside of me again. Miserable. Back in the day I used to be able to brush off nasty hangovers by sleeping until 2pm and eating a breakfast sandwich. Now I wake up right at the crack of ass, half-way blacked out, unable to fall back asleep and confused at whether I should eat or vomit. My only theory is that my liver quit as soon as I got my diploma. If that's the case, I can't do anything but respect it.

Question 2: The main issue is winning my liver back. That shit broke up with me in 2009 and I've been that creepy ex that keeps trying to rekindle the flame. Coming in like, "Hey baby, I'm sorry, only 3 drinks tonight, I swear" and after 15 drinks gets real weird and emotional. I've been brainstorming some pretty shitty ideas for the better part of 10 minutes and the best/stupidest one that came to me was that I should drink a little every night. Maybe crack open a bottle of red to enjoy with the dinner I can't make because our oven had a gas leak that hasn't been addressed. I don't know. I just want my liver back.

There you have it, folks. My internal organs are aging like Robin Williams in "Jack." Plus, I'm almost positive I have rheumatoid arthiritis or degenerative knee syndrome.

24 is the new 78.

Friday, June 22, 2012

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Is this picture NSFW? I think it is. To the untrained eye that looks a lot like..ah, I'll stop. Chris Bosh had a rough year being the thirdest of fiddles for a team of superstars and washed up super-grimy veterans. Then he became anointed Chancellor Ostrich and things really turned around for him. He played each game with the passion of someone that would receive 6 ostrich eggs for a good performance. And god damn it did he earn them. Now here's a towel, $200 cash, and a contract that Naughty America is allowed to distribute this video for the next 5 years.



Jokes aside, wearing a t-shirt with a picture of yourself as a vampire is without a doubt the most baller t-shirt you can possibly wear. I've been in talks with my fake WMD agent to get Dub Jeezy t-shirts with my picture on them blogging with Cheetos residue on my fingers. Once those are made I'll wear them each and every day. Really though, I don't even know what to say about this. It's so irrelevant that it's relevant and pairing it with hipster shades and camou-cargo shorts just made Joan Rivers die again. Whatever man, I blacked out and threw up when I won my last intramural championship in college. Do you, Bron.

Thursday, June 21, 2012

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vs.



This really sucks for rapper Hurricane Chris. His worst fear is being realized in the fact that an ACTUAL hurricane has been named Chris and it's shitting on his entire existence.

Millions everywhere are Googling "Hurricane Chris" and thinking, "Who's this ugly chick that has hair beads from 1997?" I'm almost positive that "Ay Bay Bay" isn't paying any bills and "Halle Berry" was probably the most offensive song I've heard in awhile.

Real Hurricane wins.

Wednesday, June 20, 2012

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Roller coaster of good ideas and terrible ideas. Thought I was sold after the Hello Kitty blow dryer and the MLB Express pass complaint, but in the end I'm just in Youtube video purgatory. I also thought it was the dude from the Always Sunny episode: "Dee's Dating a Retarded Person." Real disappointed when it wasn't.

If I knew how to write HTML code for a poll I'd do it, but I ain't no nerd. Funny or not?
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I've never been more happy to be born in the 80s than I have been recently. I experienced life without the internet, cell phones, dub-step, and exotic drugs. Now it's Facebook this, Twitter that, "I Instagrammed my balls!", listened to Avicii, and fucking tripped on Molly. And now the hottest drug on the market today is something your grandma uses in the bathtub to make her feet feel better and causes people to turn into naked zombies. I think.

I want a zombie apocalypse so bad..but not like this. I don't want naked dudes eating homeless guy's faces. I don't want the "cause" to be molecularly similar to something I put on my French Fries. What happened to the "freak accident" in a secluded lab somewhere? This shit's wack as hell. Paranoid, delusional, suicidal monsters with high-blood pressure induced chest pains are roaming about chewing on people's noses and they are not giving two fucks about eating brains. Want the best way to beat these new age, angsty zombies with emotional issues? Tell them they won't amount to anything and that their parents are disappointed in them. They'll probably start crying and try to eat their own noses.

What's Google have to say about bath salts?: (WebMD)

"It’s confusing. Is this what we put in our bathtubs, like Epsom salts? No. But by marketing them as bath salts and labeling them 'not for human consumption,' they have been able to avoid them being specifically enumerated as illegal."

"Agitation, paranoia, hallucinations, chest pain, suicidality. It’s a very scary stimulant that is out there. We get high blood pressure and increased pulse, but there’s something more, something different that’s causing these other extreme effects. But right now, there’s no test to pick up this drug. The only way we know if someone has taken them is if they tell you they have."

If you don't think I'm going to whisper "I'm on bath salts" to people I don't know at the bar, you're outside your mind. This shit might be the new whoopie cushion in the prank world. Ok, guess I was wrong on the epsom salt thing, but damn if "there's something more, something different that's causing these other extreme effects" didn't wreak of zombie.

Leave it to the younger generation to somehow fuck the concept of zombies up.
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So, this is a law now? If this was enforced on Thursday nights while I was in college, they would have put me under the jail.

The name of the game was aggressive dancing. No skill, no elegance, just intensity and a uniform feeling of discomfort. I'm fully convinced I don't even know how to "dance." I've gotten by through the years with the "stay at home" theory from "Hitch" and the requisite amount of black rhythm I was born with. Aside from that, it's a crapshoot. Salsa? Nope. Merengue? Don't even think I spelled that correctly. I was trained in the art of semi-stalking and sneakily approaching women from behind, which in itself can be considered "aggressive."

If I got the green light, it was weird-grind-city, if I didn't I'd walk away defeated, pout for 10 minutes, rinse, and repeat. Aggression. So shout out to this guy for taking a page out of the Dub J handbook and getting arrested for dancing too hard at an event where it is entirely encouraged to dance really hard at.

Seriously, when the Gay Pride parade tells you to that you're dancing too much, you're dancing WAY too much, bro. That's like dribbling the ball too much in a basketball game.

Tuesday, June 19, 2012

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In the realm of bad morning commutes, China absolutely takes the cake. One day it's 1 billion people traveling to work at the same time, the next it's 5000 ducks littering the streets with nowhere to go.

Seriously, where were these fucking ducks going? Just a mass exodus to find the next hot pond to flap around in? Seems like something bigger was going on. Like, I hate to pigeonhole China, but I'm not exactly surprised that 5000 ducks took over the entire country. Kinda par for the course.
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If you read this blog and "The Lion King" isn't in your Top 10 favorite movies, stop reading, close your web browser and reevaluate your life. Real talk, I can watch this movie every day until the day I die and not bat an eyelash, but something went down last time I watched this past weekend. Usually I watch like the 6 year old I was when I saw it, but this time I watched with the eyes of a 24 year old adult. My most recent viewing of The Lion King was mad real; sunglasses and Advil.

Thoughts and Observations:

1) Zazu was the most disrespected character in movie history.

-Scar temporarily ate him, spit him out, and everyone laughed about it and never addressed that moment again

-He got punked SO BAD by Mufasa after he rescued Simba and Nala from the Elephant Graveyard

-Simba B. Rabbit'd Zazu something fierce on "I Just Can't Wait" to be King. I also think "hornbill" is an ethnic slur for Zazu's bird species.

-No one thanked him for alerting the crew that Simba was in the stampede.

-Scar kept him inside the bones of a warthog for roughly 10 years. Damn.

2) Rafiki was on Bath Salts. Would not trust that motherfucker with my baby lion cub.

3) Ed the Hyena was clearly mentally retarded and no one addressed that. They just laughed at him whenever his eyes rolled back in his head.

4) Want. Mufasa. To. Be. My. Father/Uncle/Grandfather.

5) Yo, who was Nala's father? Was it Mufasa or Scar? Those were the only two dudes on Pride Rock. (Was Scar gay?)

6) Timon should have been killed two seconds into the fight on Pride Rock.

7) The cover of the movie, Mufasa's nose, is thong underwear.

8) I want to be a giraffe so bad.

9) I think the movie is better when you're grown and see the Nazi and racist undertones. Good flick.

Monday, June 18, 2012

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I think it goes: 1) Having a baby, 2) Getting married, and 3) Creating a Facebook album as the most important events that will ever take place in your life.

The common connector of these three things is responsibility. You're responsible for your child, your spouse, and your social popularity. Can you imagine creating a Facebook album and getting zero likes? Neither can I. Shit is absolutely horrifying. You have to arrange the pictures in a certain order to keep the viewer interested. You have to be constantly mindful that you intermingle scenic shots with pics of actual people. And the captions..OHH the captions. Photo captions are basically mini-blogs. You're either setting the scene like a normal person or you're attempting to be a stand-up internet comedian like I try to be. Can't just take a picture of lasagna without adding a slice-of-life, self-deprecating joke to it. It's 2012 that shit won't fly.

I was lucky enough to have the privilege to make a Facebook photo album yesterday and I have been checking it every 5 minutes for the past 24 hours. 90% social media insecurity, 10% my computer playing the role of baby monitor.

PS. What in the fuck is Instagram? Still have no clue.

Wednesday, June 13, 2012

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NOTE: This is a segment I'm going to try that a friend suggested to me during a Gchat. He brought up the idea by saying, "It might be funny to see you make a fool of yourself trying to ask life's questions that people think they know, but don't actually know unless they Google it." Paraphrased that entire quote, but yeah, let's give it a go.

A traveler check, eh? Shrewd question, but one I think I can reason myself to without the help of my iPhone, laptop, Nook, Playstation 3 or television.

Let's dive into the root of the term: "traveler" and "check." A traveler is someone who...travels? When you travel, you need money. Because there are still people that don't have a bank somehow, you need to write checks to pay for things. So basically it's general Monopoly money that is connected to your bank. Actually this sounds really stupid, because there is no such thing as general currency. Is there? Fuck. They are still in existence, so I think I'm going to backtrack. I think a traveler's check is an emergency check that a bank keeps in your name in case you get into some serious SHIT overseas. I don't even know. Let's check Google to see how close I am.

"A traveler's check is a preprinted, fixed-amount cheque designed to allow the person signing it to make an unconditional payment to someone else as a result of having paid the issuer for that privilege.

They were generally used by people on vacation instead of cash as many businesses used to accept traveller's cheques as currency. Their use has been declining since the 1990s as better alternatives, such as credit cards and automated teller machines became more widely accepted and available."

Real talk, I have no idea what that first paragraph means. I paid you for the privilege of paying you? There's a 5% chance that's what it means, but it sounds crazy baller. I was kind of correct with the second paragraph, but I need to find a way to use a traveler 'cheque at the bar. I'll probably get punched in the face, but that's a bucket list moment I just created that I need to accomplish in like 72 hours before I mentally break down. Googling "How to acquire traveler's checks" now.
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"Django Unchained" will mark the next film in a line of many that Leonardo DiCaprio dies a horrible, horrible death. The guy dies well, what can I say. I have just never been more excited for one to happen.

He almost wants us to will on his death with this twisty, pipe-holding, racist asshole look and he has fucking succeeded. Kill him because it will be amazing, kill him because he wants us to kill him, and most of kill him because of this glorious face.

Tuesday, June 12, 2012

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Even tougher night for Alonzo Mourning. Tough being the only black dude not on the court in a 2000 mile radius. Brotha might mess around and get hate crime'd on.
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Just kidding, she legitimately looks dead. And has no eye-sockets.

Monday, June 11, 2012

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If you weren't crying laughing 30 seconds into this video, you aren't nerdy enough and you don't have a pulse. Once that fucking wolf said, "Man, ain't nobody give a shit about the hood. All they do is sell yay and ruin the place." I was sold beyond belief.

On an even nerdier note, I had no idea how to play Star Fox 64. Just an entire mish mash of colors and polygons that made no sense to me at any point in time. With that said, it has to be in my top ten for most time spent on a game. Also in the top ten was Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas. Match made in heaven.

If you weren't jetpacking from "Las Vegas" to "LA" in San Andreas, you weren't cheating hard enough.

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As an avid gambler since 15, I have been looking for that new breakthrough game that will steal my money and subsequently get me black out drunk in the process. Hey casinos, I appreciate the prompt feedback in the form of you adding a chicken into the mix.

A fucking captive chicken playing tic-tac-toe? I've seen a lot of odd things since starting this blog, but this literally has to be the most ridiculous. I can picture a bunch of casino execs having a detailed conversation, like:

"Revenues are at an all-time low and people just aren't gambling as much as they used to."

"Chicken Tic-Tac-Toe"

"What did you just say?"

"We're going to save this casino and we're going to save it by locking a chicken in a claw machine and having it compete with humans in tic-tac-toe until it dies"

"By god, I think you've saved all of our jobs"

There is no way that conversation didn't go like that. I just pray there is someone watching this chicken and keeping consistent tabs on it's well-being. No one wants to be that hammered asshole that kills an exhausted chicken because they kept pouring dollars into tic-tac-toe.

"After each game, the chicken is rewarded with feed. The chickens are then rotated when one gets full, bored or tired."--quote from article.

What I would give to see an old woman arguing with a pit-boss because they're dealing with a disinterested tic-tac-toe playing chicken.

Sunday, June 10, 2012

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So I think Jimmy Fallon finally killed "Call me Maybe." He did it with "Friday" and I'm pretty sure it just happened here. Once songs get big, popular, and insufferable, Fallon creates the most epic parody/cover imaginable that can't be topped and the song just stops getting played altogether. The man is good at what he does. Plus, The Roots look absolutely THRILLED to be apart of this and that's hilarious.

PS. Carly Rae is 26 years old. While she must realize she is too old to be putting this song out, she is controlled by the puppet strings of Justin Bieber. And this will be her only form of income for the next 50 years. Jimmy Fallon just ruined her life.

Friday, June 8, 2012

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One of my buddies did the standard "look at me when I was little so I can get 'likes' and 'comments'" thing on Facebook recently. I can't knock it at all because I did the same exact thing on at least 2 occasions. Easy money, "Aww"s and "You were soooooo cute"s that are just too good to pass up. Anyway, it got me thinking if I saw my younger self and had two minutes to tell him anything, what would I tell him?

Keep in mind, young me was only concerned with Power Rangers, Ninja Turtles, Nintendo, pizza, not sports, and digging in the dirt for bugs.

Here's my list:

1) You won't know what this means at all, but try your hardest to invent the internet/smart phones/Google/Facebook/Napster/Reality Television.

2) Focus all your attention on football. I know you're terrified of the entire "hitting" and "getting dirty" aspect of it now, but you'll love it later and become really fast. Trust me, basketball ain't gonna work out.

3) And by football I mean, kick field goals and punt all day. Literally never throw, catch, or attempt anything that doesn't involve kicking the ball.

4) Baseball sucks and I know you hate it, but have Dad teach you how to throw a knuckleball. And keep throwing it when you're not kicking field goals. I'm trying to be rich you little bastard.

5) Stop digging dirt, bro. Get out there and be social.

6) Stop asking Mom for a brother. Years later that entire request process is disgusting and you'll regret ever doing it.

7) Don't try to catch all 150 Pokemon. Not worth it.

8) Ride a roller-coaster, get tossed in a pool, and somehow manage not to cry for 3 days straight.

9) Learn how to tie your shoes the other way. Not just bunny ears.

10) Don't threaten Mom and Dad by saying you're going to "kill yourself" and walk behind the TV thinking the wires are going to electrocute you.

11) Why were you afraid to eat subs?

12) It's going to be socially unacceptable to like "I Want It That Way", but don't let that stop you.

13) Major in finance in college

14) Start talking to girls now to prevent being a spaz in the future.

15) Stop crying about every possible thing that goes slightly wrong.

16) Just kidding, catch all 150 Pokemon. It will be a top 10 life achievement for you.

17) Mom and Dad speak the truth all the time, but vegetables are still disgusting and you don't have to eat them because you have an awesome metabolism.

18) Watch porn more discreetly when you find out what porn is.

19) Truly take pride in your Halloween costumes. Future Dub did a terrible job.

20) Do what makes you happy (don't dig dirt), don't let anyone sway your opinion unless it's someone you care about and trust. And don't worry about the gap in your teeth, it'll align itself nicely, but you WILL develop gum disease so start flossing when you can.

Take care of yourself you handsome little shit.

Thursday, June 7, 2012

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I was at a loss at what my summer wardrobe situation was going to be. The fashion coalition declared Cargo shorts officially out, the V-neck tee is at a crossroads and my shitty feet are in no way equipped to deal with thong sandals. I was in need of a change. A new glimpse of hope and understanding had to show itself or it'd be a very long season. Well everyone, I think my prayers have been answered in the form of the most ridiculous/baller/swaggy parrot related garment imaginable.

If there was ever a time for a sleeveless parrot shirt from a fashion website that I have never heard of, this is it. My summer has been saved. Casual friday? Parrot poncho. Walking around the city? Parrot poncho. It's almost a difficult task finding me a place where this isn't acceptable. This shirt has far too much parrot/leaf symmetry to ever quit on me.

If I can get anywhere near the melancholy expression this dude is rockin', I might just be able to pull this off. Buy it for me here. Thanks in advance.
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Man, it sucks to be a white person these days. High income taxation, Tiger Woods won a golf tournament, and ya'll are exploding while chillin' on the porch.

I remember one time back in the day during a track meet, my coach said, "Dub, you should put this sunscreen on, the UV index is crazy today." What transpired was the most confused, awkward, unabashed interaction two men could have exchanged. Both recognizing that I am black, him recognizing that I've never considered wearing sunscreen because of said melanin, me recognizing that I have a 87% certainty of what "UV" stands for, and him shakily holding a bottle of "Banana Boat" for me to take. Real riveting shit. I took a dab, put it on my neck (because the sun was NOT fucking around that day) and thought nothing of it. The more you know.

The sun creates a tricky dichotomy between black and white people. Black people get darker (re: "blue black) and have a -8% chance of getting skin cancer and white people peel, flake, turn lobster red, kinda die, and have a real risk of getting sick.

Add "exploding into a fiery blaze" to that list and things just keep getting bleaker.

Wednesday, June 6, 2012

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How'd they get down there? Where are their scuba helmets? Are they ok? How did King Triton not notice a dog or a duck chillin' 3000 miles below sea level? Why are they so intently listening to sea talk when they can't hear underwater? WHY ARE THERE SO MANY BLACK PEOPLE THERE?

Too many questions, too much Disney propaganda.
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^
History: Poor attempt at humor, bro. Everyone knows that as long as the Pope keeps rocking that hat, no country in the world has to worry about anything.

Literature: I Sparknoted all of those books while I breezed through class, Professor I feel very sorry for you, have you ever gotten ass?

Music: Please refer to the Dubstep masterpiece I made on the Google home page

Art: Ornery/Bitchy

Religion: Kanye West, "Jesus Walks" video.

Logic: Working Man's Diary is the greatest thing I've ever done, yet it represents the darkest point of my life.

Philosophy: Food/water, sleep, and sex over everything.

An "E" word I'm convinced doesn't exist: Veritaserum. Done.

Medicine: Nah, I'm all set.

Biology: Present a female and give me 2-3 minutes. 500 years earlier my son would have written a mediocre blog called a "Scribe Man's Scroll." Tons of wall readings.

Psychology: Didn't bother reading this question. Just check the blog, I'm clearly awesome.

Sociology: Zombie apocalypse, duh. And boy meets girl theory? They have boobs, right? Terrible test. I crushed it.

My Coup de grĂ¢ce would be drawing a hilariously large elephant and writing "Eff You" in the middle. I'd probably get expelled, but I'd go out in a blaze of glory.

Tuesday, June 5, 2012

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An uncountable amount of issues going on here with Amar'e Stoudemire:

-Amar'e is attending a Heat-Celtics game in the front row

-Amar'e is wearing sunglasses in a very well-lit arena

-Amar'e is wearing a Fedora

-Amar'e is wearing a sleeveless, denim, shirt-jacket

-Amar'e's facial hair is unkempt.

-Amar'e looks unhappy

-Amar'e 1000% needs to be traded

Thank goodness that woman is a 10.

Rallying behind Carmelo, JR Smith's tattoos, Jeremy Lin and Landry Fields' pregame celebration, and Mike "Mr. Potato Head" Woodson.
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Tough times all around.

1) The person who made that tweet typed "suspect" twice and undoubtedly got fired.

2) Bad day for Phil Gilberti. Can't blame him though. If you soil yourself in public, there's really no other route.

3) Kensington Police walked in on a pretty tough scene. Fecal matter and human remains isn't a good look on a Tuesday.

4) This got retweeted a TON, so if you didn't know a man pooped himself and immediately killed himself, now you do.

5) Working Man's Diary. I'm having somewhat of a banner week in offending everyone. It's only Tuesday and I think every person close to me is upset at the posts I've put up. So...let's keep it going I guess.

Monday, June 4, 2012

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Phew, I do have a soul. I legitimately couldn't have slept with the helicopter cat being my final post of the night. I almost deleted it because I love cats so much (and it picked up hundreds of unfunnies right instantly). But seriously, I owned a cat, named it Garfield and loved that fat bastard with everything I had. If he had the dexterity and wherewithal, he 100% would have eaten like this.

Shout out to cats. Don't turn them into helicopters.
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^literally every blog in the world blogged about this, but I had to take a stab.

Listen, I don't like this as much as the next guy because I'm a cat lover, but I truly can't think of a better way to honor your dead pet. Sure, you can bury them, but then you never see them again. You can cremate them, but then they're just a pile of ash on your mantle that can easily get knocked over. You can take a different approach and go the taxidermy route and have it's likeness forever in your presence, but that's kind of depressing. Or you can just cut the malarkey altogether and turn your cat into a helicopter.

PETA probably doesn't like this and I know a lot of you don't either, but dammit if Orville's memory will ever be forgotten. Especially when he crash lands on your face and gives you a really strange cat-helicopter concussion.

Live on, Orville. Live on.
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^Underwear Bin: boxers, boxer briefs, socks, tanks, tees, random sportswear, millions of dryer sheets


^Miscellaneous Bin: athletic shorts, unlimited free t-shirts, torn clothing, unwearable weekend clothes, forgotten/lost nice shirts, bags, potentially one slipper

As I'm apartment hunting, I did a mental checklist of all the things I've accomplished since effectively "growing up." I have a nice job, a girlfriend that's way out of my league, pay my bills on time, learned how to cook a little bit and got myself to be the strongest I've ever been. Everything has been trumped by these two bins above.

If you ask me where I got these bins from, I legitimately can't answer. They just appeared into my life like two semi-disgusting, colorful, plastic babies that I had to be responsible for. Plus, I honestly had NO idea where and how to get a dresser. The only opportunity that ever seemed realistic was picking one up on the street without accidentally stealing from someone. Too risky as a black guy. And IKEA just seemed like a figment of my imagination at that point--an "adult" location where "adults" did things for their legitimate lives. And that's when the bins became a staple in my life.

When the dust settled I really had nowhere to put my clothes. The bins were literally my only option. I've relied on them to store my unmentionables and the entire catalog of t-shirts I'd never wear in public. Where does a "Rock Band" video game shirt fit into this world other than the bottom of my bin? These things are like homeless shelters for all my terrible shirts that I'm too lazy/misinformed to actually donate to a real shelter. It takes a big man to realize that it's time to make a change. This will be the year I toss the flamboyantly colored bins into the street for the next naive kid to pick up and use to store his clothes. From there I will extensively Google "How to acquire a dresser" and undoubtedly purchase a dresser from IKEA. Maybe make a weekend out of it and stop at Home Depot..only if there's enough time.

Getting old sucks.

PS. The curtain in my room is not a curtain. It's a quilt.

Friday, June 1, 2012

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Embarrassing. James Harden's beard has like 60,000 more followers than me. That fucking snake that escaped from the Bronx Zoo, got found, and brought back into captivity like a year ago has a WAY more followers than me. The @Shit Twitter account that hasn't tweeted once, has so many more followers than me.

It's so cutthroat in the Twitter world, but come on. THOUSANDS of people view this blog a day (seriously) and a snake with zero hands is crushing me out there. As a professional blogger, Twitter followers is the only thing you can really flaunt in a rooster swinging contest. No one really knows how many views you get per day, no one knows who is sitting behind the computer laughing at your shit--the only tangible evidence of your awesomeness is Twitter followers. It's sad, but it's fucking true.

So this a CALL TO ARMS for all WMD readers with a Twitter account. Follow me and prevent other bloggers from making fun of me with their Twitter schlongs. You may laugh or some shit.

@WMsDiary
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(go to the 1:50 mark)

I'm just sitting here with tears in my eyes and the weirdest erection ever after watching that. It's like I hopped in a time machine and went back to being a 12 year old with a box-bag of Chips-Ahoy, some Hawaiian Punch and my personal laugh track on a hundred, thousand, trillion.

I'll take an outlandish stab and say that the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air theme song was one the most important historical moments in race relations. EVERYONE knows the words of that song. White, black, hispanic, maybe asian, some indian, and zero eskimoes know every single word and voice inflection of this song. Did you see when they panned through the crowd? It was like the melting pot we all read about in Social Studies class in 5th grade was finally revealing itself. This may be the greatest Friday ever.

PS. Only Will Smith can kinda forget the words to the song that made him famous and still come out like the brother/cousin/best friend/uncle I never had.
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God. Damn. That's all there is to say. As much progress we've made as a people, one video on fucking WorldStar has set black people back at least 50 years. With just a swift press of "Play" we somehow ended up in 1962.

Who made the best Kool-Aid? Really? I know there is a ton of pride in everyone's batch, but saying you make the best Kool-Aid is like saying you make the best Hot Pocket. Pour in like three packets, "eyeball" a diabetic amount of sugar, and turn on the faucet. Done. You made an awesome batch of Kool-Aid. No need to get into some Highlander, "There can be only one!!" situation. All I see is the more the merrier. Just a bunch of reckless hoodlums bouncing off the walls on a sugar high. That sounds a lot better than raining bullets because one dude out Tropical Punch'd you.

I think I need to graduate from college like 200 times by the end of the month to right this wrong.