Friday, April 30, 2004
Initially, my idea was to get the guys together, buy 40’s, and hit Hoboken. "Lets just walk around, hold hands and skip." That didn’t go over too well. Guess they didn’t realize I was joking about the holding hands part. I love skipping, but I’m so good at it that holding hands just throws me off. There aren’t too many young girls who can skip like I. My friends can't keep up.
Shot of Incredible Hulk.
Headed out of the house at about 10. Relatively early because we had to be back relatively early. I was thinking ahead to this morning. Work. I told the bartender this. She didn’t care. She smiled and shrugged, asked how early I had to be up. I knew it wasn’t good when I told her and she closed her eyes and shook her head negatively. She hurt for me.
Some Sambuca-based blue drink on fire. (Fuck you Sandro)
Reek and Carlos show up. Good shit. Love to have my peeps around. Vic and Rodrigo, my partners in crime, were already at the bar with me. A shame the Paul, yes, the one and only Silent Bob, couldn't make it. The man is sick. It's cool. Reek succeeds in getting Marina, yes, Oh-My-Jehovah Marina, she of "The Body," to come over. We’re talking to her for 10 minutes while her man waits outside. Warm up that car, fucker. Warm it up real nice. Turns out she’s working the car show. Reek is happy. I’m happy for Reek. Turns out she’s bringing her friends. Reek is promoted to very happy. I’m promoted to being very happy for Reek.
Then another shot of that blue shit. (Fuck Sandro again)
Rodrigo’s ex is at the bar talking to some guy. She’s a fucking slut. Not because she sleeps around or anything. I don’t know her like that. But because she’s my boy’s ex I think she’s a fucking whore. I don’t care what anyone says. Fuck her. I tell Rodrigo that when I’m uncomfortable like that, i.e. at the same place as an ex I had deep feelings for, I picture them sucking my dick. That makes me feel better. Makes me feel a lot better. Rodrigo lets out a very, very hearty laugh. I tell him that if I was in his shoes at that moment I’d just look at her and smile. I’d be so creepy, I tell him. She’d know exactly what I was thinking of. He lets out another hearty laugh. We drink to that.
Carlos buys me a shot of some red shit. At this point I don’t know what I’m drinking. I just kill it.
Her whore of a sister is there, too. She’s looking over at me. Rodrigo tells me, "I know her pretty well. She just gave you the ‘I wanna fuck you’ eyes." I’m thinking, fuck her and her whore of a sister. I’d do it just to get back at ‘em for my boy. I’d really play them the fuck out like only the Guapo can. I’d get that bitch so worked up she’s tearing her hair out just thinking of where I’m hanging out. I’ll turn the bitch out and turn her into a stalker. She'd be asking for me. Calling other people's cell phones asking about me. Showing up at my house unannounced. Coming to my job. You think I’m just running off at the mouth? Ask around. I’ve done it before. I’ve done it more than once. Fuck 'em both, those whores.
Carlos buys me another shot of that flaming blue shit ‘cause he thinks it’s funny. It kinda is. But I pussy out on this one. I’m thinking I’ve gotta be up in a bit. I really need to sleep. We turn it into 5 shots and toast to honor... "if you can’t come in her, come on her."
I wake up this morning and I’m burping Sambuca. I hate Sambuca. Fuck you, Sandro. He’s a cool guy.
A great night. Thanks to the haters for coming out. It was a short night. This all took place within an hour and a half. But with us there is no need for an excuse. Wait 'till the summer. We stay out 'till dawn and then hit the beach. We turn the bar out. We leave the bartender pleading the blood of the Almighty. That’s how we do it in the bricks. And I swear to you that if I was just a little bigger, if I was like 6’ tall, I’d fight that bouncer at Adega. He’d eventually take me out (he’s like 6’7, 350, easily) but I’d make him earn his ass-whoopin’. I’d pop him in the grill-piece a few times. Head-butt the motherfucker. This last portion about fighting goes against the nature of the post, but fuck you. It was my birthday yesterday. I’ll write about whatever the fuck I want.
I’m still burping Sambuca. Fuck Sandro.
Monday, April 26, 2004
Yesterday, Uhura was in a rush to get to the Enterprise’s salon to get her hair did and forgot one very important comment on pop culture. Omarosa is the spawn of Satan and the only positive thing Uhura can say about her is that she has an opposable thumb.
Now, we don’t get much reality television here on the Enterprise, but we did get to see the season-finale with the Donald looking lovely in his toupee. Kwame got shafted. That’s right. And this time Uhura can’t even blame some dumb white girl like Heidi or whatever. Omarosa is evil. Uhura pleads the blood of Jesus. Omarosa: Get thee behind me Satan!!!
If Kwame needs employment tell him Uhura needs a personal assistant to help with Enterprise business and fucking.
Uhura out! I holla!
Sunday, April 25, 2004
Uhura wants to phone in on the overgrown Eastern Europeans who are attempting to take over the sport of boxing. The Klitschko brothers had everybody thinking they had enough in ‘em to take the Heavyweight Championship throne. However, somebody forgot the fact that they’re white. White boys, as y’all should know, don’t make good heavyweight champs.
If you ain’t familiar with the history of slow white boys in this sport you might want to check out the movie “The Great White Hype.” Samuel L. put it down. Um hum.
The Klitschko’s are slow of hand and weak of chin. Uhura knows this. They tried to push up on her before and she said no. No slow white boys in this fine ass, thank you. Now Roy Jones, that’s a man right there.
Uhura out! I holla!
Tuesday, April 20, 2004
Wednesday, April 14, 2004
In an effort to guarantee a better future for my children and my children’s children, and their children’s clone children, I will cut out all obscenity from my vocabulary. With out a doubt, someone will come along and revise everything that has ever been written on the internet, including this blog. They will delete and revise according to the new and improved moral standards set forth by our great government. I will save them the trouble. If anyone is going to censor me, it’s me. I know what I say may be objectionable to some people, but from now on people will get blog postings that are compliant with the new moral standard. Any “indecent” material will be blacked out, as to not cause harm to young minds.
Michael Powell sadlk ksdjal asdlwi. Tds obviously sdfdfsdsf sdf sdfsddf. Qweq qweq ert can’t dsfsdfsdfsdf dsfdsfsdfew ewrewr. Dsfdsfdsf dsfdsf be sdfdsfsdfdsf. Werewr wer called a sdfsdf. Communist sdfdsfew. Safew asdew sadf sfd bastard.Wqewqre jsdk sdal wqe sdawel. We know his father, Collin Powell. Browo weir dslsfk dlfs eio dsipof sdfpo iwpo xxxxx x xxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxx xx x x, but a communist, none aaaaa a aaaa aaaaa aa aa. The aaaaaa aaaa aaaaa aaaaa aaaa aaa aaa less. Kdlsfksmdf skdlfm sdfn sdfl ewodf sdf . He should asd askdh asd sad. Asdl asd stop being asdasd. Asdasdasd asdasd an asdasd. Uncle Tom askaf dsfk dskfj dsfkj dkfsj dsfj sf and start fksdf. Afafadsf dsfsdf sdfdf s df being a man.
Monday, April 12, 2004
Thanks comrade Vic. This was truly enlightening.
The FCC isn’t trying to control what we listen to, only checking some of the unwanted material and I am in complete agreement with these measures.
I believe that the next step, after handing control of the airwaves over to the government, is to control some of the more explicit material on television. Some of the current dialogue is overtly strong and the FCC finds that to be unnecessary. People who write for a living should possess a vocabulary adequate enough to see through this issue. We do not want people listening to bad words on television. And we should also cut out some of the steamier scenes on the small screen, such as exposure of bare bottoms and sex scenes. There is no particular need for any of this and for the sake of decency we need to take certain steps.
After that we should target Hollywood. That entire culture has gone unchecked for way too long and I believe that unless we make some changes the children will be lost to the dark side. We need to secure the silver screen with more Disney films and features of the sort. It is imperative that we rescue our children from this evil. Movies must be clean. End of conversation.
Up next will be the recording industry. While fighting Napster and other online sources for free music, this sector of society has overlooked its relevance and influence. It’s with that in mind that we should bring Tipper Gore back to fight for the rights of decency and morality. We need to set up a system where strong, inappropriate lyrics are not allowed. We can’t allow our children to listen to this crap. It isn’t healthy for our society.
We should also look at print and investigate how the written word is affecting our youth. A Federal Agent with the power of erasing and editing all material should be present at all newspapers and magazines. He will be given the power of black-lining any and all material deemed unsuitable for a general audience. These agents will report to a special agency, newly created by our big brothers in Washington, and the common decency of the proletarian will be our main concern.
Also, all inappropriate books should be burned. And paintings as well. We can’t allow art to mold the minds of the young. Who knows what subliminal messages lie underneath the innocent mask of pop? Not to mention rap! We need to face the evil before it comes to face us. Burn it all.
And finally we need to act together with our local police forces to ensure that public profanity and indecency is curbed. Road-rage, public cursing, "the finger," all of these and other indecent acts have no business in our cleaner society. We need to come together in building a better society.
Some times the future is in the past, and we have come to the cross in the road where the only safe way to go is back. We need to look forward to 1984. The time has come to take the fight to the enemy. Join us in erasing the indecent and immoral. Fight the good fight, comrade.
Friday, April 09, 2004
I know what you’re thinking, that there are already enough sizes out there, that it’s not worth revamping the clothing industry with this small a concern. It would cost too much. There aren’t enough benefits involved.
I beg to differ.
We’re living in a day and time where we’re no longer keeping up with the Joneses. This is a time when the father spends more time at the gym than Mr. Jones and where the mother has to have a smaller waist. It’s all competition based on the passive-aggressive tone we’ve adopted. But that’s besides the point. What’s important here is that everyone wants to look better than the next good looking imbecile.
So, if I want to look better than that snot-nosed Jones kid and there’s a company that provides better fitting clothes, won’t I go to that store to purchase my shirts? Of course I will. I can finally get that shirt that never looked right on me because Medium was too small and Large was too big. Now I can go to the dance with my Medium and a half and get Mary Beth to dance with me instead of the stupid Jones kid with his lousy stretched Medium. Tell him to get out of here with that ugly shirt.
And for a dance with Mary Beth, wouldn’t I be willing to pay more for this shirt? You bet her sweet bikini-wearing ass I would. I’d buy all of my clothing at that store because the other stores don’t offer as many size options.
And I’m willing to bet you that there are enough Mary Beth’s out there to warrant this kind of service. It’ll pay for itself. It’ll more than pay for itself.
I get the girl. My shirt looks great. And we can score another victory for the good-natured forces of capitalism, thank you very much. Fuck the Jones family and their Ford.
This uppity uncle-tom bitch had the audacity of saying, “It’s imperative that we find the problems associated with this tragedy for the sake of the victims.” Well, bitch, if that’s the case then get your ass down there and testify. Why the big production about testifying? We know Dubya is a damn fool, girl. Why you gotta take the fall? Dumb bitch.
She ain’t nothin’ but a house-nigger.
Uhura out! I holla!
Monday, April 05, 2004
Uhura wants to "Pimp Her Enterprise."
Gimme some co-ed showers so I can check out what the Vulcan looks like nekkid. And also, give Uhura some thicker walls so that the entire spaceship doesn’t hear what goes on in this room.
Give Uhura her own massage therapist, happy ending thank you very much, and a Korean lady to do her hands and feet.
Uhura also wants a more comfortable chair on the control deck. Uhura likes to wear skirts in the summer and that old pleather thing sticks to my legs.
Uhura also wants a swimming pool. How is a woman going to stay in shape without some cardio exercise? Get me a pool so I can swim and see some of those young security officers in swimming trunks.
Get Uhura some club nights on the Enterprise. We can host it in the dock. There is plenty of room there and if people got drunk and acted a fool the damage wouldn’t be too great. Plus, people could puke and it could just be hosed down.
And finally, get Uhura some more "Uhura time." I know that doesn’t have anything to do with the Enterprise, but if someone can make all these changes they can make this happen.
Uhura over and out. I holla!
We’ll start by adding some 20-inch rims. I know 20’s won’t fit my car but I’m thinking we can shave off some of the wheel-well and find the needed extra room in the underutilized trunk and under the hood where the 130-horsepower engine has left much room for these kinds of improvements. I want chrome 20’s. I want to blind old folks and young children alike.
Then I want a DVD player and TV’s in the sun-visors, headrests and trunk, from which I’ll transmit some of Jenna Jameson’s finest film work, David Blaine TV specials, and old re-runs of The Real World. But never the last episode of each series because those are sad and make me cry.
It has to be bullet-proof ‘cause I know people are going to hate on me!
I would also like hydraulics installed. I want control of this device from my driver’s seat as I want my car to dance along with the music. Since I listen to everything from Gipsy Kings to Run-DMC, I want to make sure I can curtail the bumpin’ and grindin’ for when the mood is mas romantica.
I would also like a car-phone with a phonebook composed solely of porn star contact numbers. I might want Jenna, or Amber, or Gauge, or even Nikki and Adriana. I don't want to feel boxed-in.
I want leather interior and a box that "bumps." I want the seats to feel like La-Z-Boys. I want black-lights and a Snoop Dogg-voiced alarm where he says, "Step off the vizzle, biatch!!!"
I also want a body kit and much like my favorite car of all time, KITT, I want mine to have a "super-pursuit mode" button for chasing bad guys and a "turbo boost" button for when I have to jump over garbage cans or oncoming traffic.
And finally, I want my ride to drive on water. Maybe it can be rigged to activate a floatation device at the push of a button. It would be like my own island. I can take my date out on the lake to watch the sunset from a more romantic vantage-point.
That’s it. That’s how I would pimp my ride.
PS- I also want tints for when I want to fuck in the backseat. Thanks.