I’ll be the first person to rail against profiling when it comes to accusing people of terrorist behavior, but the police need to tape Hindurabic peoples arms to their waists when these fools come on the subway after a full day of work.
This nigger had the rice-picking-nerve to have BOTH of his arms raised. Imagine coming from the hot ass humidity of a subway platform into downwind range of this dude…
You know that we have pretty much left the Earth in some fucked the fuck up condition when NASA starts going in hard to get motherfuckers off the planet. Mars, the moon, fuck it, anywhere but here. There’s only one little problem with prolonged space travel…
Number one.
Yep, numero uno in grade school parlance, or you could call it urine like most grown ups do. Pissing in space is a problem because the pee water contains all kinds of particulates that accumulate inside of the waste containment system. The acidity of urine is also highly corrosive. To test the waste systems of a new capsule being prepared for lunar travel NASA’s contractors are looking for a veritable shitload of piss.
If ever there was an assignment tailor-made for the iNternets Celebrities, this would be it.
Editor’s note: [ll] to this IM discussion.
Nerditry: At your job, how mad/disgusted/disappointed/etc are you in a dude that leaves his load, all the stained up paper and then leaves it for the next man to view and flush? I wanted to run through our entire floor looking for the scoundrel, but know that even though he’s a lawyer, it’s the Haitian dude next door. He’s also the “Mellow Yellow Bandit” for leaving the piss for someone else to flush away.
DP: I work with a shitload (literally and figuratively of Indians (red dot as opposed to redskins – no Darrell Green). These hindabi niggers leave all kinds of liquids around the seats like they piss standing on the bowl.
I hold my deuces in ’til after the cleaning crew swabs downs the head after six (no Brian McKnight)
Nerditry: Can’t stop, won’t stop when there is a Spanish deli downstairs in the building. There’s only 6 floors and 2-3 offices per floor, so usually, things are well kept. I’m even down with the Guyanese cleaning lady that knows everyone in the building business [ll] who seems to have radar so that when I take my 3-4 PM squirrel, she is knocking on the door ready to clean.
Think about those Indians (dot not feather) and how their houses smell already. You know when you walk into any brand of Indian (even Carib) house, it’s going to smell like the end of a lunch buffet. That in mind, there’s no way that an Indian wife is standing for someone layering the cumin and curry aroma with a load of the Darjeeling Limited.
Working in an office, the only worse offender than the dirty shitter is the dude talking on his Bluetooth in the next stall over. Breaks my concentration like Sam Jackson with a curl.
“Two ply, till I die.”
DP: For some reason the older I get the more easy it has become for me to break it down away from the comfy home terlet. I’m like Chitown when the Bulls had Jordan, Pippen and Rodman. Great at home and a beast on the road.
I still play the game fair though and I don’t leave any bodies floating. I think my ability to deuce it up at stalls without doors is going to help me extend my life 5-10 years. None of that toxic rancid shit will stay with me for too long.
And I’m gone
Nerditry: That’s all serious, veteran talk. What I would expect out of a post-dinner press conference from Charles Oakley or Bill Wennington.
Traveling is the deciding factor on one’s ability to duke in a hostile arena. Anyone who has been out on the road knows that when you have usable facilities and the urge to make Play-Doh that it’s time for the pyro and laser lights. Couple that with any stints in foreign competition to ensure a strong finish near the hoop.
My name was made at the tender age of 10 when my grandparents lived in the Dominican. Yes, they’re white like me and decided to move there after a vacation back in the mid 80s. The family went out to the flea market and soon I had to push out a Baby Doc (no Duvalier) which was the wrong place, wrong time on errry front. Once we found the bathroom, it was guarded by a solider with a machine gun, which surprisingly didn’t help my mental status. I go to wrap up and find that there’s no toilet paper. None. My dad goes out to try and find something and that something is computer paper. Not even the
current, cheap ass stuff for copies. Dot-matrix printer paper with the perforated guides.I would have gladly preferred to spend a night with Chuck Berry [ll].
Don’t get it twisted I’m the Kareem Abdul-Jabbar of this. So good, I had to change my name to keep it fair in the game.
DP: Props on your points in the international league. Reminds me of when I scored the runs playing with the mexican monteczumas. I dropped off brown fire water in a secluded area of the surf and wiped me down with a razor sharp palm tree leaf. I then went back to playing beach volleyball with vivica fox and mr.dalvin. True story. At the Cancun all-star mermorial day jumpoff back in the day.
I hate when I have the wickedest bubble and I am steps from my own bowl. My ass knows this and sometimes it quakes off too soon. Now I’ve never missed the rim, but there are times when I’m thankful for the backboard.
Nerditry: Nicely done. To evoke Tim Duncan during an emergency dunking. [ll] to the consistency, yet still never afraid to go to the learned skills like using the glass and unless it’s something spectacular, not a single change in emotion but for a lone sweat bead.
Tonight, I’m looking at some prospects coming out of Puerto Rico, or possibly a protectorate farther south. Rotisserie chicken + red beans/red rice + yucca + avocado salad. If you hear anything, it’s the ghost of Marv Albert seeing my finish and proclaiming, “YES! AND IT COUNTS!”
DP: Take it easy with that meal because the inside moves of the beans, avocado and the yucca can combine to force you to play a Paul Westphal run and gun game.
Nerditry: Tomorrow morning Clyde and Pearl will be running suicides while DeBusschere keeps grabbing offensive rebounds [||]. Pray for me, lest I be stricken with a case of the Tyronn Lue’s.
You know what, the bowl of kashi cereal for dessert was not the brightest of ideas.
There isn’t much for me to say to glorify this man that more notable statesmen haven’t already proffered.
GEORGE CARLIN was a genius.
Period. Point blank.
He was committed to discussing the truth and also needed to be committed to an asylum. I loved CARLIN’s examination of language and how it is used to confuse our better sensibilities. There is SOOOOOO much in my life that I have cribbed from his rants. My lifelong ambition to be a class clown was fueled from listening to CARLIN cassettes. The name on my eBay account comes from a CARLIN skit. He taught me to love the word ‘cunt’. I’ll assume he taught JOHN McCAIN as well.
Here are a few rants of his that describe his genius perfectly. Thank you GOD for sending us this humble servant. I shudder to think what GEORGE CARLIN would say to that.
‘Why Kids Love Farts’
‘Baseball vs. Football’
‘The List Of People Who Ought To Be Killed’
You know how I know that America still isn’t ready for a Blackish president? Because there is still a taboo around words in the English language.
One word in particular.
Cunt.
I was hoping that this word would go mainstream this summer. I love saying it too. It transports my mind to another place. I imagine a cunt to be tasty and sweet like a fruit. Just look at the apple above. That is the image that forms in my mind when I think of a cunt.
JOHN McCAIN loves the word cunt as well. That’s why he called his wife one. I’m pretty sure he was also thinking of something delicious to eat as well. I’m going to say the word cunt fifty times today. It may get me elected into office one day.