Wednesday, October 26, 2005

The Pain of Li Wong Wang

Li Wong Wang is a simple man. He is 45, and up until a few weeks ago he was a hard working fund accountant in downtown Boston. Arriving in the US in 1978, he quickly adapted to the culture of this brand new place. He worked hard in school both in the classroom and on his social life. Leaving his family of 13 back in Hong kong Li was desperate to fit in with the American kids. Its a problem most of us can relate to, only magnified ten fold for young Li because among other things, he was a minority on campus. He arrived at his small Maine college ready to take on the world. Another wide eyed freshman with his whole life in front of him. But Li had a secret. One that would cause pain and suffering over the next 20 plus years.

Li moved into the freshman dorms and lived in a forced triple which didn't bother him too much. After all, he was used to sharing one bathroom with 13 people back in the People's Republic. At first glance everyone on his floor was nice enough, but still he was the only Asian on campus. You tend to notice these things when your college is made up of 1400 undergrads. That didn't bother him too much and he began school on a high note, attending all of his classes the first week and studying several hours a night. His roommates even took him out to a Frat party on that first Friday. This is the night that would change his life. Since Li wasn't much of a drinker, he had to use the bathroom fairly regularly. They were at the party early so he had the bathroom to himself for those first few trips. Soon enough, people were pouring in as fast as the beer, and the bathroom line grew longer and longer. Li couldn't wait in line so he began to head outside where a good number of people were taking care of their business. Selecting the nearest tree, Li naively began going to the bathroom. People walking by pointed and laughed, they whispered to each other and looked in his direction. Li didn't know what was wrong, he was just doing what everyone else was doing. Since the Chinese love reruns of Perfect Strangers, he learned to speak English well enough. "Look at that fuckin kid." "Is this a joke" These were some of the taunts and whispers he heard outside of the Frat house. He finished as quickly as possible and ran back to his dorm humiliated and confused.

Li was angry. He thought he was being discriminated against. He immediately requested a single dorm room in a different campus house. His resident director, having caught wind of what happened at the frat party quickly obliged. A promising first week of school ended in disaster, and Li was well on his way to becoming a legend on his Maine campus. He spent the rest of his four years of college studying hard and living a solitary life. He became a sort of collegiate boo Radley. Still, everytime he emerged from his room to use the bathroom the students would laugh at him. The only thing that kept him in school was a promise he had made to his mother and father before he left China. He promised no matter what happened, he would finish school and make something of himself. He wasn't about to let a little discrimination stop him from getting that degree. If Li had only known the real problem, things might have turned out a lot different.

Finally he graduated and he went to work as a fund accountant in Boston. The year was 1982 and he had his whole life ahead of him. The next 23 years became sort of a blur to Li. Everywhere he worked, he heard snickers when he emerged from the rest room. It couldn't still be discrimination, he thought, since half of his coworkers were Asian. He worked a few years here and a few years there, bouncing around to basically every financial institution in the Boston area. Every new place he worked he thought he had a fresh start. But like clockwork, the laughs would begin a few weeks after he began. He rode it out as long as he could but he always ended up quitting and going to a different company.

Because of his scattered employment history, his manageres never promoted him. They loved his work ethic, but the coulnt't get past the fact that he changed jobs every few years. Also, they all found out Li's secret eventually and because of that, they knew a promotion would be impossible. No one would ever take him seriously.

This brings me to the end of Li's tale. The aforementioned secret that Li carried with him was really only a secret to Li himself. From his first college roommates to his superiors over at J.D. PencilPushers, everybody knew. This brings us to the present time, the year 2005. Li had obviously become more and more depressed because of his lack of progress in his 20 plus years of work in the US. It would take the innocence of a child to show him the reason for his uphill battle through corporate America.

Li entered the bathroom on that frigid Fall morning feeling a little more down than usual. This was his third year at P.J Horgan and he was again growing tired of his lack of progress. His boss, Johnny Harkins was at the sink and Li mumbled a salutation. Johnny nodded and Li made his way to the urinal. As he began to take care of business, young Jake Harkins, his boss's son, emerged from the stall next to him. Li looked back at the child staring at him with great confusion. "Bring your kid to work day," Johnny told him as he was making jake wash his hands. Li turned around but felt he was being watched. What he heard next was so earth shattering, it was like he was being released from a straight jacket and kicked in the stomach at the same time. "Daddy, why does that man have his pants and undys down at his ankles?" Johnny quickly apologized and hustled his son out of the bathroom. Li stood there, bare assed and confused.

He looked down at himself, and then back at the mirror behind him. He thought back to his years in college, and all of his time at his different jobs. He thought of the laughter. Always the bathroom. Here he was, a middle aged man urinating in public with his pants and underwear around his ankles. In his 27 years in America, how could someone have not told him that this was inappropriate after the age of 6? All this time Li harbored resentment and anger at the people who laughed at him in the bathroom, when it seems he was the fool all along. From the frat party in 78 to the office bathroom in '05, Li felt like his whole time in America had been wasted. He became more and more angry that no one had bothered to tell him what was so god damn funny every time he took a piss.

Li Wong Wang returned to Hong Kong several days later and joined a financial services firm. His American resume was so impressive to his employers that they gave him that management position he always felt he deserved. Li, along with all of his Asian coworkers, have a good laugh everyday at the American who uses the urinal with his pants unzipped, rather than down at his ankles.

Thursday, October 20, 2005

Killin' Time 10-20-05

Again, its been a while since my last update. How is everyone doing? Wait, I don't really give a fuck I was just being polite. Anyways, huge milestone for me this past weekend. I was at a bar in Southie, and I was being mad rude. Leaning over people and yelling across the bar and basically acting like I was a Mick from Southie. It was awesome. The owner approached me and said, "If you don't settle down, you're gonna have to leave." I said, "Good I'm on my way out anyways." My first time being asked to leave a bar. Mom and Dad, I hope you're proud.

I was on the bus today and this lady comes to the door and says to the bus driver, "My mother is coming but she's late...can you wait 5 minutes??" How fucking ignorant can you be? the bus driver was like, "Nah money, tell that bitch to catch the next bus." Or at least that is what I imagined he said to her, because the door shut and she was still standing in the street waiting for Mommy.

You know how they sell those sports highlight tapes? Like they will have 45 minutes of Michael Jordan highlights, or NFL Linebackers layin the wood on poor unsuspecting crackers. But in those tapes you only see like a few seconds of the highlight, nothing leading up to it and nothing after. Well, I was doing some thinking. I know this is now impossible, but this would be the funniest highlight video known to man. I would like to take every sexual encounter I have ever had, start to finish, and have that be my very own sexual highlight tape. I am 22. I lost my virginity when I was 15. Add all of them up and I believe this tape would be exactly 33 minutes in length, 37 if we included foreplay. You could watch as I lie through my premature ejaculation. "I dont know what happened, I lost it." When the truth is, I jizzed 45 seconds ago. Feel my pain when I come early. Cheer me on when I rebound and keep pumping until another boner comes and extends the sex by another minute. Laugh as I fumble around trying to stuff the condom so my partners could actually feel something. I could even include the minutes of awkward silence after all 11 times Ive had sex in my life, stretching it out to maybe 50 minutes. 7 years of sex, crammed into less than an hour. Operators are standing by to take your orders for "Matt DiOrio: Sexually Challenged 1998-2005"

I won't try to follow up that last paragraph with anything because I believe it is the most heinous thing I have ever wrote. It would be the literary equivalent of trying to fuck one of Shaq's ex-girlfriends. How can you follow that? Ill just give you a quick Motta moment and then I'm done. Aight. Late.

Karson Motta Moment of the Week- A few summers ago, Karson decided he was going to shave his head witha bid razor. Not the whole thing though, not Karson. He shaved the top and left the hair long on the sides. It was a perfect horseshoe, absolutely brillaint. After several days of being hit on by senior citizens and being offered office jobs, Karson decided to shave it all off. A sad day for those of us who saw him in his prime.

Saturday, October 15, 2005

The Great Statistical Bureau in the Sky

For whatever reason, lately I have been thinking a lot about death and what waits for us in the afterlife, if anything. My morbid thoughts aside, I came up with what my ideal afterlife would be. This would be awesome, Im telling you. When you die you end up in a heaven type place. My heaven, however, isn't people walking around on clouds or having drinks with Frank Sinatra and Leonardo Da Vinci. Nope, my heaven is nothing but a huge statistical bureau where everything you did during your life is recorded. I am pretty sure I could spend an eternity going through my files and finding out the numbers on what is sure to be a stellar Earthly existence.

If you made it to the second paragraph, you either like where this is heading or you are waiting for me to fall on my face because this is retarded. Stick with me for a second. Remember that time you said you drank 27 beers in 4 hours? Turns out it was only 13. Or how about that night when you told your friends that you'd slept with 22 women? Yeah, the file says it was only 4. I would want to know a lot of things like that and also, I would look through other people's files and find out who lied to me throughout the years.

Think about the possibilities. I am talking every single moment of your life, recorded. At the end you get a huge summary. I'm telling you that this would be incredible. You could find out how many squirrells you killed driving your car, how many times you got punched in the balls by Mike LePage, or even how much money you spent during your lifetime. Anything you want to know is right there for you to study for all eternity.

In my omniscient sports bureau you could also check on the lives of others throughout history. Do you want to know just how many dudes Gianni Versace boned? Look it up. You could look at JFK's file and for cause of death, it actually says "Magic Bullet." That would be weird. Find out just how many women Wilt Chamberlain slept with. Look up how many of your friends banged the same chicks you did. This is seriously something that could occupy me for eternity. You could also check out if you were the best at something out of every human on Earth, or where you rank on the all time human list. My man Wilt the Stilt would probably be the champ in the "women slept with category," narrowly edging out Colin Farrell and Ellen Degeneres. Find out who the biggest skank in your high school was, or better yet, who the biggest skank of all time is. The possibilities are endless.

Your entire afterlife would be spent examining your life on Earth. When you need a break from your life, jump over to someone else's. Everything you ever wanted to know would be right there for you. I'm talking everything. For instance, I seriously want to know how many craps I took during my time at Old Rochester Regional High School. I have estimated it to be well over 1,000. That's right. 1,000.

Imagine the possibilities people. Anything you ever wanted to know. Think of it like this. Life is one big test that you take for however many years you are alive. Everything you do is a question on the test. My Great Statistical Bureau in the sky is the answer key.
I just have a feeling that when I get to checking how many times I beat it in, the file would say something like, "By a landslide, you are the All-time World Record Holder."

Tuesday, October 11, 2005

Killin Time 10-11-05

Well it's been nearly a week since my last post. My apologies, I was on a Columbus Day bender. God damn I love Columbus day. The most important thing I learned over the weekend had to have been, never buy sausages from a street vendor after leaving a bar. I will admit, the sausage was one of the 5 best food items I have ever consumed. Street vendors, however, are shifty characters that cannot be trusted. I was pretty hungry when we left the bar and when I saw this guy selling sausages, all the blood in my body rushed to my penis and I nearly passed out. Once my erection subsided, I went over to the sausage guy and I bought 3 sausages, one for me and 2 for some friends. The vendor saw that my eyes were nearly shut from way too many drinks and he thought to himself, "I can charge this kid whatever I want." Oh man was he right. 21 dollars later, we were eating sausages. A few minutes after the fact, it hit me. I just paid 7 dollars for a fucking sausage. Be aware that these shady street vendors are out there. The sad thing is, he could have charged me 10 dollars a pop and at the time I would have paid.

Another thing I found on that night was that my good friend Mike LePage is the toughest kid on Earth. Totally unprovoked, he wacked me in the balls and didn't apologize. He later pissed in the middle of a bar with a bathroom 15 feet away. This guy would yank an IV out of a sick kid's arm and laugh at him as he became dehydrated.

I have no problem refusing bums when they ask me for money. I dont care how scary they look or if they just pissed their pants, I generally just say no. Still, I caved in last week and gave money to a total stranger. This guy didn't look down on his luck or like he lived under a bench, he was just a regular guy. A regular guy who was a lot bigger than me, a lot blacker than me, and who looked me right in the eye and said, "You got 50 cents." My hands moved quicker than Roy Jones in his prime. If this guy said "Gimme your credit card," I probably would have offered to request a limit increase before I handed it over.

A memo to the Asian lady who insists on bring her family of 19 fucking toddlers on the T. Please don't bank on the fact that all Asian babies are cute and think we can tolerate their yelling and screaming. If this keeps up, I will abduct several of them and send you body parts until I get a written promise that you will not take them on the T until they are 18. Take one of those van cabs or something.

There is a middle ages Asian man in my building at work who pisses with his pants and underwear down at his ankles. At the urinal. I don't feel the need to make a joke here, I think it speaks for itself.

Karson Motta Moment of the Week- Early in my high school career, I used to frequent the Motta household to use their giant trampoline with Karson and others. On one special fall afternoon, it was just Karson and I out there. I had a Victory Supermarket brand orange soda and I thought it would be funny to pour it on Karson while we jumped on the tramp. He warned me to stop but I was having a little too much fun. I should have listened. When the can was out of ammunition, Karson tackled me. His nipples alone weighed more than me back then since I was as thin as an Irishman's wang. Needless to say, he had me pinned down pretty easily. He wouldn't get up and I couldn't get him off of me. Then, he started laughing hysterically. I asked what the hell is so funny. He replied, "Im pissing my pants on top of you right now." 20 seconds later he got off of me and let me tell you, he was not lying. It takes a special kind of person to sacrifice a perfectly good pair of jeans so he could piss on someone. Ask him, this might be the one thing he has accomplished in life that he is most proud of.

Wednesday, October 05, 2005

I Am a Survivor of Sexual Assault

Those of you who have known me since high school surely know, but those who I have met since then would have no idea about the dark secret I have been carrying around with me for over 6 years. In my sophomore year of high school, I was sexually assaulted in front of hundreds of a girl with Down Syndrome. Stop reading if you think this is a hoax, but I swear to you this is 100% fact. Obviously this is not an easy thing to write about but I think I will be able to get through it because I know my blog readers truly care for me. This is a window into my poor track record with women since this day. Here goes....
School let out at 2:05 and I made my way towards the exit near the gym where everyone poured out of after school, either to catch a bus or a ride. People generally stopped to socialize before leaving so there were always hundreds of people stopping and chatting on their way out the door. This particular day, there were some high jump mats on the floor across from the gym doors for the indoor track practice scheduled for that evening. Being the punk sophomore that I was, I made my way over towards my brother, a senior, and his friends who were standing in front of the mats. I was about to make a wise crack to one of them, when all of a sudden he decided to push me onto the mat. No big deal I thought, as I landed on my stomach. I then made a very costly mistake. I hesitated. I didn't get up right away. The mat was sort of comfortable so I took my sweet ass time. Then out of nowhere, I felt 150 pounds jump onto the small of my back. "What the hell?" I thought as I turned my head to see what was mounting me. What I saw, I will never forget.
To put it bluntly, there was a slobbering retard girl with a huge smile on her face sitting happily atop my body. My face twisted in horror as she began to ride me like I was Seabiscuit. "Woohooo...Wooohooooo" Her screams of pleasure echoed the cavernous hallway in front of the gym, as dozens and dozens of people began to close in and see the spectacle unfold. Horror turned into laughter as a sizable portion of the school's population pointed and laughed. I didn't know what to do. Who would? "Get her off me!!!! Get her off me!!!!!" My screams fell on deaf ears as the crowd was laughing to hard to move. Seconds passed and passed. I wanted to turn around and hit her but I'm no animal. No one would help me, not even my own brother. I did what I felt was right. I laid there and took it like a sorority sister during homecoming.
After what seemed like a fortnight, the riding and yelling stopped and she mercifully dismounted. I was later told that the ordeal lasted upwards of one minute. She disappeared into the crowd, slobbering her way back towards the main school building, satisfied with herself for what she accomplished.
I reached towards my back and my TShirt was wasn't from me. Then I rose and turned, face as red as a Solo cup. I looked at the crowd, hundreds of people in fits of laughter. What was funny for them amounted to years of torture for me. Molested by a retard in public. Boy did I feel like a man.
Years have passed and the TShirt was burned, but the scars remain. If the women of Saint Anselm College or anywhere else for that matter wondered why I seemed shy and uncomfortable around women, there is your reason. My dignity was taken from me that dark afternoon and I'm only now trying to put together the pieces. Damn you Jen Perry....DAMN YOU TO HELL

Tuesday, October 04, 2005

Killin' Time 10-4-05

Yesterday I saw something undeniably ironic in the T Station on my way to work. It had me thinking, "Have I ever seen anything like this happen before?" and the answer was yes. I witnessed a classic example of a person trying to teach someone else a lesson about how rude they are, and in the process they offend dozens of people. Let me fill you in on the details. I slide my T Pass through the scanner to get into the station and I make my way towards the stairs down to the train. I make it to the top of the stairs and walk by a man in his mid 20's who does not look happy. He starts yelling at the top of his lungs, "Can't you say excuse me you fucking asshole. That's fuckin real rude bro....fuckin asshole." At first, I thought he was yelling at me and admittedly, I almost pissed myself. Thankfully he wasn't.
He was yelling at someone who had just brushed passed him on the stairs and who must have been walking right passed me. Close call for yours truly. I walked to the bottom of the stairs and walked as far down the platform as I could, just to be safe. It got me thinking though, this guy was obviously offended that someone would act so rude as to bump into him without saying excuse me. This crusader for common courtesy was so offended that he was dropping F-Bombs in the middle of a crowded train station at 8 am. There are women, children, grandmothers and grandfathers on this train every morning. There are even people handing out religious paraphenalia to the commuters most days. If there was an irony train, this guy would be the conductor. I saw one woman on my way down the stairs while this young man was spewing filth out of his mouth that looked like she had been hit by a sniper's bullet. Just an immediate jerk reaction once she got close enough to hear the glorious FBombs.
This brings me to my all-time best example of a person going above and beyond rude to let someone else know how rude they are. It was Christmas night, not to be confused with Christmas Eve, in 2003. Nothing was going on so a friend and I went to catch a late showing of the movie Paycheck, which was rated PG-13. There were approximately 15 people in the theater from what I can remember. Some people were scattered towards the front, there was a group of four behind us, and at the other end of our row there was a Husband, Wife, what appeared to be a brother-in law, and 3 small children, none over the age of 8. During the entire movie, these three little fucks were running around the theater wreaking ruining our movie going experience. You may say my experience was ruined as soon as I purchased a ticket for Paycheck, but back to the topic at hand. So towards the end of the move, the three "parental figures" had not bothered to control their kids at all, and the man behind me finally said something. He politely asked the woman to please control her children. To which she responded, "Don't you swear in front of these kids."
I swear I'm not making this up. The man, obviously stunned, tried telling her he didn't swear at anyone. And the conversation gradually died down and we got to see the thrilling conclusion of Paycheck in peace. As we were walking out of the theater, it had to be close to midnight and these fucking kids were still buzzing around. Well, the mother of the year was stll heated about this man "swearing" in front of her kids. She confronted him in the lobby in front of a card board cut out of Frodo Baggins. "How dare you swear at my fucking kids?!!?" she belted out in the empty theater lobby. My friend and I started walking a little faster because we didn't want to get caught in the crossfire. "Who the fuck do you think you are swearing at these kids?" I was stunned, her kids had stopped buzzing around and were no staring at the scene unfolding.
This woman was totally irrational. She was swearing right in front of her own kids, while the two dudes she was with stood there waiting to kill someone. The guy finally just started walking away with his group and the woman accused him of trying to hit her and began wildly swinging her purse at him! I was shocked, the man and his friends were scared, the dudes were proud, and the kids were horrified. We all kept moving and it spilled out into the parking lot with the man trying to get to his car to leave. We quickly made our way to our car at the end of the parking lot, as did the man who was just wacked in the face with an Assistant Coach(TM) purse. This lady stopped at her SUV with her antourage following her, and I thought the ordeal was done. Wrong. One of the dudes pulled out a fucking baseball bat from the truck and they all started taunting the guy in Spanish because he was trying to escape with his life. We left, the guy and his friends quickly left, and I can only assume that the Super Family stayed behind and waited for an usher to leave the theater so they could taste a little blood before Christmas ended.
This brings me back to my original point. How far do you really have to go to let someone know that they were being rude. The aforementioned champions of courtesy were some of the most irrational people I have ever met, especially our mother of the year. What a fucking skank. My message to you, good blog readers, is that if someone offends you, don't feel its necessary to go on a public rampage until you feel you get your message across. In the end, you just end up looking like a crazy asshole that brings toddlers to late movies or offends bible-toting grandmothers. These people didn't see the irony in their actions, and if this prevents just one of you from doing something like that, well, I still probably won't be able to sleep without beatin it tonight. Thank you and goodnight.

Sunday, October 02, 2005

Killin' Time 10-2-05

I was in the office bathroom last week and something incredible happened. I heard a cell phone vibrate in the spacious handicap stall. The gentleman answered his phone and begain talking. Admittedly, I am a strong advocate of bathroom phone conversations when done in the privacy of one's home. The whole talking on the phone in a public restroom is a bit much for me. This guy already had one strike against him because he was occupying my favorite stall and then he decided he was going to move the count to no balls and 2 strikes. He keeps his spirited conversation going for a few minutes and then, the third strike comes. Without halting his conversation or even attempting to cover the phone, this guy lets out one of the biggest buckshots I have ever heard in my 22 years on Earth. If his ass was facing horizontally, he would have knocked out a wall. The force behind that dump could have killed a bear. And this fucking squid just kept on talking. This guy was a savage.

I'm not very impressed with law enforcement today. They don't seem to strike fear in the hearts of the population anymore. The punishments aren't harsh enough to be much of a deterrent.. My suggestion for law enforcement, and even the judicial system, is to revert back to medieval ways of punishment and justice. Do you think there would be any punk kids mouthing off to police officers who were swinging maces around their heads? For those of you unaware, a mace is a spiked iron ball on the end of a chain. That's not exactly like getting hit with a pillow. Their punishments were just so much more vicious. Personally, I would rather be shot with a beanbag than drawn and quartered. People would seriously reevaluate their criminal activities if they knew that if they get caught, they would get the Braveheart special. And I also doubt any of those guys would go out yelling, "FREEDOM!!"

I simply refuse to walk up escalators. Every day, I stand on the escalator leaving the T station on the right side of the escalator. And everyday I have stressed out professionals come up behind me, draft on me and then cut to the left and sprint to the top of the stairs. Why are you walking up something that is walking for you? People treat the escalator like its the fucking Brickyard 400. They get mad when you just stand there and enjoy the ride. If you feel the need to run up the stairs, use the fucking stairs. Leave the escalator to those of us who enjoy a stress free trip to the top.

Another breed of stressed out professionals that I see everyday are the guys who are going to the top floor so they stand near the door of the elevator just so they can press "Close Door Now" after people get off. Buddy, do you like your job that much? Each day this guy saves himself a grand total of 7 seconds on his elevator ride by jamming on the Close Door Button. I think that's unfair to all of us who are on the ride with him who don't want to rush getting into the office. I hope at your annual review your boss takes into account how vigorously you tap this button and gives you that 2 percent raise you've been asking for. Way to not even try to beat inflation asshole.

I love when people bust out their cell phones on a crowded train. My favorites are the guys who keep their phones on high and vibrate. Are you that fucking important that you need your phone to ring at an ear splitting level and vibrate at the same time? Another favorite of mine are the guys who talk on their phones on the train and make eye contact with every other passenger that they can just so we all know he is on an important call. We see you chief, we hear you, and I don't know if you know this, but we all have cell phones too. We aren't that impressed by your conversation about short selling Google.

My last complaint about the commute in the morning is aimed at all of you mothers out there who insist on bringing your baby strollers on the T. I don't know if you noticed this, but space is kind of at a premium in the morning on the train and your carriage containing your ugly baby takes up the space of 3 people. It's also wicked sweet when the baby starts crying. That's what we all want to hear at 8 am on the way to work, your frigging baby crying because he is scared of the wino sitting next to him on the T.

I hate to beat a dead horse, or in this case a baby, but am I the only one who gets wicked uncomfortable when babies look at him? If you want to see me squirm, put a baby in a stroller next to me and watch as I try to avoid eye contact with that precious bundle of joy. I liken it to a remorseful murderer trying to avoid the eyes of his victim's family in court. It creeps me out. I think I'd be more comfortable staring at a naked anorexic woman than I would locking eyes with a baby.

I think Russell Crowe should start his own airline. On his planes, they would still tell you that cell phone use was prohibited, unless of course you got out of line. Then the flight attendants would have the right to fire cell phones at your head until you stopped being such a bloody nuisance. Also, when the in flight movie ends, a flight attendant would stand at the front of the plane and yell, "ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED??!?!?" Answering yes would defintely be the smart thing to do.

Karson Motta Moment of the Week- In my senior year of high school, there was a diminutive freshman by the name of Marc Anthony in a directed study period. These were made up of kids from all 4 classes, so the freshmen were always a little quiet and insecure. Well, when the teacher read the name, "Marc Anthony," you immediately heard "I just cant believe I didnt see it in your eyes...I didnt see it....I cant believe it...Ohhhhhhh but I feel it....When you sing to me," being crooned from the back of the class by Karson Motta.

Saturday, October 01, 2005

Why I wouldn't Mind Being a Rapper

I may not look the part, and I certainly won't be pursuing a career in the rap game any time soon, but being a successful rapper has to be one of the best jobs on Earth. These guys can basically do and say whatever they want. Generally, they have a ton of money that they spend on cars, diamonds, platinum grills(for both their cars and their teeth), mansions, partying, whatever. These guys have it made. When you can wear a piece of jewelry around your neck that is valued higher than the GDP of Luxembourg, you know you've made it.
The material possessions are obviously a great perk of being a rapper, but they aren't the best. The best thing about being a rapper is the women. These guys say whatever they want to women, and they can still bang just about any girl they want. You don't think these guys get away with saying whatever they want and still get laid? Well my friends, its time we go to the tapes and extract some examples. When reading these, try and picture what would happen if I, a 22 year old white kid who now parts his hair to the side, said anything along these lines to a girl at a bar.
#1- I will start with a layup. This is a line from the Juvenile song, "Slow Motion," a song that received significant airplay in its day. The line is, "Hop on top and start jiggy jiggy jerkin." That's just spectacular. I wish I had that kind of power that I could produce something with a line in it like that and still have the ladies lining up to get with me. Of course I'd have to modify the line to fit the context of the situation, "Hey what's your name. You wanna come back to my apartment and start jiggy jiggy jerkin?" Predicted reprocussion:
A slap in the face and most likely a drink thrown at me, probably still in its glass.
#2- This is where it starts to get a little raw. I could have choosed a number of lines from my boy 50 Cent, but I went with a classic from the smash hit, "Candy Shop." In it, 50 tells all of woman kind that "When you work up a sweat, you can play with the stick." Wow. This man is oozing with confidence. How I wish I could use this line for my own benefit: "Hey girl, come home with me and when you work up a sweat I'll let you play with my stick." Predicted reprocussion: Immediate bouncer notification followed by me being dragged out of the bar and put in a Boston Crab in the parking lot.
#3- This is taken from a classic Snoop Dogg track off his debut album Doggystyle. The song is called "Ain't no Fun" and the line I'm selecting is from none other than Nate Dogg. In his smooth baritone voice, Nate croons "Next time I'm feelin' kind of horny, you can come on over and I'll break you off. And if you can't fuck that day baby, just lay back and open your mouth." Nate you sly dog you. How I wish I could use this line for my Own Benefit: "Well, now that I have your number, I'll be sure to call you next time I am horny. And if you're on the rag, Ill take some head. Either way, Ill give you a call." Predicted reprocussion: That call is never made, as I just received several swift knees to the balls, rendering it imporrisble for me to reproduce.
#4- This will be my last example, although I am pretty sure we could make it to #4,522 pretty easily. This last example is from the Ying Yang Twins's song called, "Wait." You know this one, its the one where they whisper nasty things for 4 minutes straight. In a song filled with winners, I am just going to take the chorus, which goes something along the lines of, "Wait till you see my dick, wait till you see my dick, Ima beat that pussy up, Beat the pussy up beat the pussy up, Beat the pussy up beat the pussy up." Incredible. Yet these guys are always surrounded by women. My mother always told me to be a gentleman, but let's face it, that's not gonna get you laid nowadays. So,
How I wish I could use this hook for my Own Benefit(whispering of course): "Wait till you see my dick, I am going to use it to have sex with you several times tonight, you might even say that I will be 'beating up' your vagina." Predicted Repocussion: I will spare you the details, but this one probably ends badly. Bare minimum someone in the bar power bombs me and crushes my spine.
So there is it, why I wouldn't mind being a rapper. These guys can get away with things that us regular civilians just can't get away with. I salute you, rap artists, for making me dream about the power you possess, and for making music that white girls love to get drunk and dance to.