Happy Leap Day

Congratulations to Tony Robbins, Ja Rule, and former El Salvadoran President General Carlos Humberto Romero Mena... It's your birthday! Happy Birthday to you all, and you all should be out there doing some big, big celebrating, since you only get to really say it's your birthday once every four years. As Tony would say, seize the moment, kick start your night or something so much more motivational than I can provide; that is, all except for you General Romero Mena. At 84 you need to be careful; a night of boozing and dancing could lead to a broken hip. Maybe you should just sit back, watch some spanish Golden Girls and drink some metamucil. I know you say the same joke every four years -- "I'm only 21 today" blah blah, just go easy on the sauce, okay General?

But to all the rest of the "leapers" get down, it's finally your day!

And to everybody, Happy Leap Day!

Happy Leap Day...That just doesn't sound right. It's missing some flair. I think maybe Leap Day should be celebrated as a holiday, I mean since it comes around so infrequently, the laws of supply and demand alone should dictate that this is an important day, more important than say Arbor Day, or especially those Hallmark holidays like Valentine's or Father's Days. I've never heard of anyone getting gifts for Leap Day But, if you were to give gifts, what would you give? A trampoline? Pogo Stick? Someone needs to get the marketing department on that.

I never really understood how Leap Day or Leap Year got it's name. I understand the purpose for it, but I just never really got the name. I mean the word "leap" conveys to me that we should be skipping a day. I.E. leaping over the day, or leaping right into March. Does that mean that the other three conventional years we are actually skipping the 29th of February? Now I feel gypped. I feel like I'm getting ripped off February days every year and nobody is crying foul! Except for me, dammit, I'm here to right this injustice. I blame the Democrats, it's probably some sort of calendar tax imposed, years back. I just wonder if they're using all these missing days to fund the medicare reform bills they keep promising; then that would be okay, we can call it even.

It's actually rule set out by Pope Gregory XIII, back in 1582 (making him one of the more remembered historical popes) that every year divisible by 4 is a leap year except for those years divisible by 100. But the exception to the exception are those years divisible by 400, those are still Leap Years. Not that this will come up again for another 92 years but be warned now that 2100 will not be a leap year. So we'll be leaping a leap year, I guess; I hope all the computers and power plants don't crash. You might think about buying your stores of extra Y21C water and canned foods now, before the mad rush.

Totally?: Tales Of Doe-Lairs And That Guy

Ok, since I’m using this place to empty my head of all it’s nonsensical thoughts… this is where I violate the male code….or at least try to figure out why I, personally, don’t subscribe to all of it. I was kind of reminded of this thought back in the “To Protect and Serve” post…regarding the “LIVE Nude Girls” section of Baltimore, so I thought I’d expand on it.

When you’re a young guy approaching adulthood, one of the biggest rites of passage once you become “of legal age” or even if you can get in to one beforehand, is….The Strip Club.

You’re waiting for this day…it’s presented to you as if it’s going to be every Christmas Day you’ve ever had all rolled up in to one. A cornucopia of naked women will be waiting to cater to your every whim…FOR A DOLLAR…and the more dollars you give them…THE MORE THEY DO!

That sounds crazy, right? That the one thing that you as a young guy want to see most…a naked girl right in front of your eyes will only cost you a dollar? I remember thinking back then…”Shit…I can’t buy an Arby’s Beef & Cheddar for a dollar!! You mean to tell me that the thing that all guys make asses out of themselves trying to see…the thing they will betray friends and country attempting to attain only costs four games of Pacman.? Sign me up!!”

Eh, not quite that way.

I remember the first time I went to a strip club. It was on 42^nd Street in New York City, or as it was known at the time…”Smut Row”. I was just out of High School, and two younger friends and I decided to head up to NYC for the day on the train from Wilmington. Only one of us had been there before, so he was going to show us around town. He told us of this mystical “Smut Row” on the way there as we sat on the train, and the important, most CRUCIAL part of the story was I believe this gem “Dudes, they totally don’t even check I.D.’s there!”

“Totally?” I asked?

“Totally” he said.

(It was the 80s)

Telling the story now reminds me of the movie “Losin’ It” with Tom Cruise and Shelly Long. They’re a bunch of guys heading to Tijuana, Mexico in search of the elusive “Spanish Fly”…which I think we now call “Roofies”…but the point is that one of the characters is explaining to the rest of them about Spanish Fly, like it’s the Holy Grail or something. That’s how Smut Row was being described as our Amtrak car darted towards Mid-Town Manhattan. As we walked out of Penn Station and reached the street, the first thing I saw was a group of Black Gentlemen dressed like Genies or Aladdin or something…with the curled shoe points and all, screaming about the White Devil and how his time was coming to an end. This is where I would use the “Toto, we’re not in Kansas anymore.” line if it weren’t so clichéd that I would make myself sick, AND because quoting Garland would leave my sexuality in question, but you get the point…NYC was MUCH different than Wilmington.

Now so I make things clear…we didn’t go to NYC specifically to hit strip clubs…but it became a “hey by the way” thing that somehow evolved into something more as the train ride continued. Arriving on 42^nd Street was like seeing the Emerald City for the….wait….that’s the second Garland reference. Hmm….perhaps we should have been going up there to see “Les Miserable” and “do brunch” at Tavern on the Green?

Eh….no way.

So…SO…we arrived at what was supposed to be Utopia! There were so many clubs to pick from…where do we even start?!? One of my friends pointed to a place directly across the street. “Let’s start with that one!” We darted over to it, and guess what?

They TOTALLY didn’t check I.D.s!!!!

Put a check mark next to that part of the utopian fairytale!!! Everything else had to be true, right? I mean a Wonderworld of naked women awaited just through these doors!

As we got through, we noticed a long line of guys waiting to go upstairs. My one friend said “There must be some INSANE shit going on up there! Let’s get in line”

So we did, and within just a few minutes, the line started to move. As we approached the stairs a large black bouncer said in an almost Barry White-esqe voice… “Ten Dollars!” We all began reaching in to our wallets as my friend says “Say man…what’s going on up there anyway?” He said “All Male Revue featuring Rocky “Rockhard” Johnson.”

And the brakes went “SCREEEEEEEEEEEEECH!!!!!!!!!”

This was TOTALLY not cool, dudes. (Remember…it was the 80s)

I don’t think you ever saw wallets go back in to pants pockets in unison faster.

We bolted out of the place…in a New York minute. (See how I linked a catchphrase to our actual location at the time? Awesome, right…RIGHT?)

Say, you know what’s worse than realizing you’re in a gay strip club when you’re straight?

Having to walk out of a gay strip club when you’re straight, knowing that all the locals know what the club is, but not what you are. That’s a character building moment right there! You never saw that shit covered on “The Wonder Years”!

So, refusing to be deterred by our, um…error, we ventured into the very next entranceway. Now immediately, I got a bad feeling. See, this didn’t appear to be a normal club…there was a long dark staircase leading upwards. At the top was what appeared to be a door to an apartment, which as it turns out, it more or less was. Inside it was empty of all things that would resemble an apartment however. There were rows of metal folding chairs placed in a circle, and very strange individuals sitting there waiting. In these seats waiting were guys who literally fit the stereotypical image of a pervert to the letter. These guys were balding, had a moustache, and were wearing a trenchcoat. This just felt bad from top to bottom. Shortly after we sat down, some awful dance music began playing from a speaker system, and one of the most unattractive naked women I have ever seen began gyrating around in the center of the circle. It was then that I noticed the up and down motion going on under the trenchcoat of one of the “fellas” in the room. As I turned to address my one friend next to me about getting the hell out of there as soon as humanly possible, I was shocked to find a Hispanic woman where I thought he was standing. She had on leopard skin spandex pants and no top. She appeared to be in her 50’s, her makeup looked like it was applied with a Paintball gun, and I remember her breasts most vividly of all. No, not because I had come there to see naked women and this was the first we had seen that day…but because the veins that were running through her sagging breasts looked like a roadmap. Are breasts even supposed to have veins? Seriously I thought they’re just like fat deposits or something? Anyway, before I could even process all of what I was seeing, she said to me with a Spanish accent “Hey Ho-knee…ha bout me and joo go in dee bakeroom for feefteen doe-lairs?”

I responded with “How bout, no?’

She wasn’t having it…”C’MON baybee!! I can make joo feel REAL goo…maybe for jus tin doe-lairs now, no?

“Fuck off” I responded.

This place was NOT the Utopian wonderland of naked women that I had been promised, and I was out of there and didn’t care if my friends were following me. See kids, be a leader, not a follower…and all that Afterschool Special stuff.

So, as I hit the street, I noticed that indeed my friends were right behind me. At this point, I think all of our dreams of Smut Row were being smashed to pieces but no one was willing to admit it yet. We then looked directly across the street…in big neon we saw “2001: A Sex Odyssey”. This HAD to be the place. It was high dollar looking…hot women were standing right on the street flagging you in, so NO Rockhard Johnson…NO Chita Rivera’s busted ass sister…finally we’d found the place that everyone always told us about!

In we went, and immediately we were approached by this really good looking Amer-Asian girl. She was really friendly and talked our one friend in to going in to a booth with her. Within 5 minutes, he came running out…beet red…sweating and saying “let’s get out of these places!”

Until this day, I have no idea what actually happened in that booth. Whatever it was, it didn’t seem like something he was happy about, and he wasn’t talking. Needless to say, my first experiences with The Strip Club left a lot to be desired. I left NYC extremely disillusioned, and questioning what guys found so great about these places.

In the years that followed, I’ve returned to The Strip Club on numerous occasions…mostly bachelor parties…in fact, I think ALWAYS bachelor parties. None of the times since have been as catastrophically bad as the first outing; but still, I can’t understand what it is that guys like about these places. First off, the initial excitement of naked women that once was the driving force behind my desire to go as a young guy is gone. I’ve seen plenty of naked women now at age 37, and seriously, I can’t stand the concept of strippers. I really don’t like what they mean. To me, they’re nothing more than a reminder of how ridiculous men are sometimes, and I’m part of that club by birth. The fact that we’re supposed to drool and lose our minds over some vapid girl bending her naked ass over in our face pretending to be in to us is somehow really irritating to me. I mean, I KNOW you despise me, stripper…you should despise me, or at least what I represent. That’s not to say you’re a victim, because you’re not. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that you’re on equal footing here on the predator side of the fence. You know most of the men who come in there are weak when it comes to shit like this…it’s sad…it’s pathetic…but it’s fact. And you’re there to capitalize on it. But see I guess that’s where my disdain for these places comes in. I refuse to be knowingly be a fool. If I’m duped by someone smarter than me, fine…but I won’t be duped out of my money because you’re naked. However there are plenty of us men who are willing to do it. They’ll act like uncaged baboons and they don’t care who’s looking! And I guess that’s it in a nutshell…I refuse to be the baboon. I’ll watch the baboon and laugh…but I’ll never be him.

In fact, that’s the only fun I have at these bachelor parties. The fun of picking out who “That Guy” is going to be. You see, there are a couple of friends of mine who basically see The Strip Club the same way as me. They laugh at it and the strippers who lurk inside. But on every trip…every time…there’s That Guy. Who is he? He’s the one that at some point in the night will utter the fatal words: “No, dudes, she really likes me…seriously!!”

That phrase is almost like an elderly woman yelling “BINGO!” at her church’s fundraiser. When you hear it, you know you have a winner.

The last That Guy was the best I can remember. He was so convinced that she was “really in to him”, that she convinced him to go to the “Champagne Room” with her for $100.

This was a big moment because in this room they would be alone, and she could let her urges for him run wild. See, it sucked because she couldn’t do anything out in the open or she would be fired, but in the Champagne Room…sky’s the limit! No, seriously…SHE SAID SO! This simply was a once in a lifetime situation, you know....to go to the Strip Club and have a stripper actually think you’re different than all the other guys that come in there…that YOU don’t just want to see her thrust things on her body in your face that she can’t even see without the assistance of a mirror. No, he wasn’t like all the other guys…they had a kismet. Annnnnnd…off to the Champagne Room they went!

Upon his return some 20 minutes later, he came back to our table with a HUGE smile on his face. I took a sip of my Jack and Coke, and as I returned it to the table I said “So?”

He looked at me and said “Dude that was awesome!”

I said “What did she do?”

He said “She took all of her clothes off and started grinding on me, and then I took my junk out…”

“Really...then what did she do?” I asked.

“Well, she wanted to watch me jerk off; she told me it would make her really hot.”

“Riiiiiight….” I said, leading him to finish the story, while unable to believe that this guy was actually telling me this with a straight face.

“So I finished and she was telling me how it made her so hot that she HAS to have sex with me, but she can’t do it here because she might get fired….she TOTALLY gave me her phone number.” (This was NOT the 80s anymore…well…for one of us anyway)

So I looked at him, took another sip of my Jack and Coke…returned it to the table and said “So in short…you just paid that chick $100 for the privilege of cranking your own rig……..WELL PLAYED!”

He stared back with this “Why’d you pop my Snoopy balloon?” look on his face.

But a thought immediately reassured him and he cavalierly said,”Dude, I TOTALLY have her phone number…you don’t get it.”

He’s right….I don’t.

I REALLY don't like this woman

Is there seriously anyone out there who thinks Hillary can out speak Barack Obama?
So why would you target that point?

That would be like my out of shape ass telling a champion bodybuilder that if he's going to lift weights he should make them a bit heavier.

While We're Discussing Racial Stereotypes...Stuff White People Like

http://stuffwhitepeoplelike.wordpress.com/

You know some of it is true...don't lie!
And DON'T EVEN try to deny the Guest Column between #53 and #54...I want to stab myself in the head with a butter knife when any of those songs come on at social functions.
UGH...I can hear the drunk white girls now..."WOOOOOOOOOO HUMPTY HUMP!!!"

Just When You Thought We'd Left The Plantation!

This past weekend my girlfriend was visiting with a friend, so I spent a lot of time being bored and checking out websites and stuff. While going through YouTube, I came across a video from a guy who calls himself “dejuanp”. Dejuan was disturbed by a video he saw by the…and I’m only quoting what this man calls himself…the “Honorable” James David Manning of the ATLAH World Missionary Church in New York. What really grabbed my attention was the true sense I got from Dejuan that he simply couldn’t believe what he was hearing and the tone of disappointment in his voice. Manning was speaking about Barack Obama is this particular video and well….let’s just watch…

Now let’s examine this hustler for a moment. I’ve found in my lifetime that whenever you see some thing or some behavior that simply doesn’t make sense, you have to first figure out what the possible angle or catalyst of it could be. Things rarely happen for no reason at all…there’s some pattern or logic to it, regardless of how distorted or convoluted it may be.

Pastor Manning’s angle is simple. To keep those in his congregation happy, by telling them what they want to hear. You see, Pastor Manning is a parasite…a blood sucking leech that drains his people of the very thing Obama is fueling his campaign on…hope.

Manning in this one video speaks volumes as to his agenda. His words keep his people hypnotized like a snake charmer’s flute. He tells them that Obama is somehow flawed, because he’s successful, and that his success was only attained by playing the game the way the “White Man” wants him to play it. Obama’s willingness to play ball with us “white folk” must have been lost on some of the guys that I know and see on construction sites. See, when I mentioned that I was present at Obama’s rally in Wilmington, DE, some have asked me, with a straight face, why I would dare support a “nigger” being President Of The United States Of America. There I was like a fool explaining that I didn’t see how Obama classified as a “nigger” by textbook definition, when all along I could have just said “Nah fellas, it’s ok…Pastor Manning said that Obama played ball with us…didn’t you guys get the memo?”

What...What did I mean by textbook definition?

Ok……

Slang: Extremely Disparaging and Offensive. a person of any race or origin regarded as contemptible, inferior, ignorant, etc. a person who is economically, politically, or socially disenfranchised.

Ok, let’s run through that for a moment….

Contemptible: I can’t find anything about Obama that one could find contemptible. You may not agree with his policies…but contemptible…nah.

Inferior: Well, the man is highly educated, a Senator, charismatic, and seems to be doing ok financially…inferior just isn’t working either.

Ignorant: Uh…we already covered the educated part…so ignorant isn’t going to work either. Shit, we’re three for three…oh well, I’m sure we’ll nail him on one of these!

Economically Disenfranchised: Well compared to Warren Buffett he may be…but to the fellas questioning his “nigger” status and in a general all around sense of economics…well…strike four.

Politically Disenfranchised: OK, WE GOT HIM…..err….wait…Senator….viable candidate for the Presidency….hmm.

Socially Disenfranchised: Well, I don’t know about you, but I would hardly call one of the most charismatic speakers and personalities of our time, and one of the fastest rising stars in the political arena socially disenfranchised.

Hit the Whammy sound effect from Press Your Luck…we’re finished, Zeke!

Well, there you have it! We have officially ascertained that Barack Obama is indeed, NOT a “nigger”. Glad we cleared THAT up…that was a pressing issue for sure! Wait….are you suggesting that they’re just calling him a “nigger” because of his skin color and for no other reason?!? You mean to say that some white people…MY white people would still in this day and age do that?!? In 2008?!?

Naaaahhhhh!

But in all seriousness…for the white people who may read this that have referred to Barack that way…you just learned something. Maybe you never knew the true definition of the word, but now I’ve taught it to you. From this day forward, you have the knowledge that Barack is NOT what you have been calling him. If you choose to continue with it, it would only be out of ignorance…a trait that may make certain people think you’re inferior. And hell, they could find that to be contemptible, and then they might start calling you….applicable names.

But we were talking about Pastor Manning, weren’t we?

Well, it’s just that I get my racists confused sometimes….the lines get blurred, you know.

You see, Pastor Manning, just like the white people that asked me why I would support a “nigger”, are nothing more than relics of a day gone by. They are, in fact, one in the same. They use the terminologies that they were taught by those who came before them, each for their own selfish reasons. The Whites, to make themselves feel superior in a bizarre sense of birthright, and Pastor Manning, I’m sure, has a more financial reasoning for his harkening back to the Plantation era lexicon. See, in all races, there are a segment of those who believe that their station in life is beyond their control…that external forces are preventing them from being all they would like to be. In Whites, you have those who claim that Illegal Mexicans are taking all the jobs away from hardworking American Whites. Of course they won’t mention that most of these jobs…well…are simply “beneath” these Birthright Whites because of payscale and how they would be looked upon by their peers. They’ll also tell you that Blacks are using affirmative action to take jobs away from them. Of course the people spouting this usually aren’t even in an occupation where affirmative action is implemented, nor have they ever been the “victim” of it, but they’ll be very quick to remind you about it at any opportunity. And when you mention the reason why affirmative action was put in place…they’ll respond with “LOOK…those people just need to get their shit together!” Ignoring of course how this country wouldn’t even allow Blacks to “get their shit together” until within the last 40 or so years, and also ignoring the amazing levels of progress that has been made thereafter. Let’s remember…this is all about a Black man being a VIABLE candidate for the Presidency, whereas it was in the mid 60’s when L.C. Croker told Jimmy Webb on television that his PRAYERS to God weren’t even worth the same as a White man’s. Think about this timeline in the grand scheme of things.

But they should just get their shit together.

And these Birthright Whites will utter things like this while referring to even the most successful of Blacks as “niggers”. So, in all honesty, if it were up to these types, would Blacks still be afforded the opportunity to “get their shit together”? Or would the Jimmy Webbs of the modern day still be hearing that their prayers “don’t even get above their head.”

I think we know the answer.

Pastor Manning plays upon this mentality too; one could even say that he works in conjunction with the Birthright White…only he’s smart enough to make a living at it. When his congregation sees a successful man like Obama, who comes from a single parent home, whose father left his mother when he was just a toddler, and who was raised by his mother and his grandparents…a man who essentially beat all the odds and rose to great heights, Pastor Manning MUST explain it away. He can’t let the people who fill his donation boxes think that this is possible…not when he’s told them for so long how the evil White Man has prevented it. So what does he do? He says that Obama is working in cahoots with the White Man. That’s he’s not only playing the White Man’s game, he’s playing it EXACTLY the way the white man wants him to play it.

That he’s simply….”a good House Negro”…and nobody wants to be a House Negro, right? I mean, I don’t want to be a House Negro….unless it has a good benefit package…can anyone get me some literature on it?

So anyway….False Designation = Continued Division = Congregation Keeps Coming Back = Full Donation Plate = A Winner Is Pastor Manning!

So, we have some Blacks who don’t like Obama because he’s too White, some Whites who don’t like him because he’s too Black. Blacks that say he’s playing the White man’s game, and Whites who say that if he’s elected he’ll only cater to the Black agenda because “they all stick together”…but Pastor Manning tells us that Obama isn’t “sticking together” with the Black community because he’s a House Negro, but Whites who say that he’s in fact a Muslim terrorist with the master plan…Who’s On First, What’s On Second, and I Don’t Know Is On Third.

In the end, you know who I haven’t seen mention any of this in any way?

Barack Obama.

I see him present himself as a man running for the Presidency of the United States.

Not a Black Man.

Not a House Negro.

Just a man.

A man who wants to change the way things are. A man who speaks to ALL people about issues that effect every one of us. I don’t see him trying to blow out other people’s candles in hopes of making his own shine brighter. I see him telling everyone “yes we can” in hopes of building a better, more unified tomorrow.

And through all of that, I see a groundswell….a cultural movement.

As I stood in Rodney Square a few weeks ago watching him speak, no one there was focusing on the color of the person next to them or that of the man on the stage. They…we…were all there because of a common belief…that Barack Obama is the right man for the job this time.

So for those people who asked me why I’d support a “nigger” and other Birthright Whites and to Pastor Manning and his brethren…I would suggest that the ways of your time and it’s mindset are on life support. Unfortunately it’s not dead yet, because we still have to even be bothered to address your insanity…but we’re getting there. You’re the fossils of another time. So keep spewing your rhetoric, and watch as this society passes you by.

I want to leave you with Dejuan’s video that inspired this. I found it heartfelt, honest, and poignant, and hopefully you’ll see it the same way.

"To Protect And Serve"

Every once in a while someone breaks out of the crowd and rises to levels of greatness.

Today, that person is Officer Salvatore Rivieri of the Baltimore Inner Harbor Police Department. You see, for those of us who have been to The Inner Harbor in Baltimore, we know the diabolical criminals that lay in wait for unsuspecting tourists like ourselves.

I can personally recall a time while using a public restroom in the shops at the edge of the Harbor. As I was using the urinal, I began to hear a gentleman moaning across the room and to the left of me. When I looked over to see what was going on, I saw a young guy, probably in his early twenties, with his hand up his “Rush: Grace Under Pressure” t-shirt, rubbing his chest in the nipple region and giving me a strange look.

Disturbed, I turned my attention back to the tiles straight ahead of me at the urinal. Now this was a whole new level of urinal “stage fright”. What’s “stage fright” you ask? Well, it’s something that some guys experience when they feel that they’re being watched while at a urinal. No matter how bad you have to go, you can’t. It’s just one of those bizarre things that occur that no one can really explain, but it’s usually over the simple belief that one has that they’re being watched, and here I was, not only being watched absolutely, but with a human soundtrack to assist in the awkwardness. But then the situation took an unexpected turn. As I stared at the tiles, desperately trying to avoid eye contact again, I saw something written in the tile grout.

It read:

“If you want a blowjob, sit in a stall and tap your foot”

Now I was really disturbed. Not only was I alone in a restroom with a homosexual prostitute, but what if someone came in while I was tapping my foot and knew what was going on?!?....err….ignore that part.

At any rate, I thought it best to just leave as quickly as possible. So I gave up on the idea of relieving myself, and I quickly darted for the exit without ever making eye contact with the stall entrepreneur.

I could have really used Officer Rivieri’s swift exacting of justice then, but sadly this was the late 80’s, and Officer Rivieri had not begun his 17 year reign of zero tolerance on the Inner Harbor.

I returned to the Inner Harbor in 1991 with a few friends. We decided to explore the areas just outside the typical tourist spots. We ended up one block back from the Inner Harbor attractions, on a street where “LIVE Nude Girls!” signs adorned the front of what seemed to be EVERY doorway. As we arrived on this street we were immediately greeted by a black gentleman who was bleeding from his head quite significantly. He began screaming “Look what these motherfuckers did to me, MAN!! I was just minding my business painting this picture and they cracked my fuckin’ head open!” He was holding a dinner plate up to show the picture he was painting. It was the type of plate that you might see at a yard sale, white crockery with a winter snowscape and sleigh in the center under the glaze. But, the man said he painted it, and we weren’t about to argue the point. As I turned to look at my friend Bryan to see what he thought of the bleeding man’s “painting”, I noticed an extremely “portly” man with two black eyes in a sweater (on that warm Summer’s day) approaching Bryan from behind. He was thrusting his genital area and making a “grunt….grunt” sort of sound. I imagine we looked like Fred and Barney as our feet began twirling and that xylophone sound was playing right before the dust clouds were left behind in the shape of our bodies that used to be there.

I don’t think we went back to the Inner Harbor again.

This was probably the year that Officer Rivieri began cleaning up that area. It must be glorious now. There must be no crime at all. No drug dealers…no robberies….no gay prostitutes awaiting an unexpecting tourist in a family area restroom. No sir, after what I’ve witnessed this week from Officer Rivieri, there is such little amounts of *real* crime in the Inner Harbor of Baltimore, that he has now been forced to turn his Gestapo like iron fist on those who dance with the idea of bringing lawlessness back to his turf.

Oh I should just let you see what I mean…certainly my words can’t bring justice to an Officer of this majesty.

In the words of Alex from “A Clockwork Orange”…”Viddy well, my droogies….viddy well”:

Like the HAMMER OF GOD, I TELL YOU!!!!

Ok, now let’s get serious.

As I’ve read responses from people regarding this news story over the past few days, I keep seeing people saying “This kind of cop makes all cops look bad”. You may find your self inclined to agree. But I offer you this thought….

Officer Rivieri is not the disease; he’s merely a symptom of the disease. For the blatant pissing on the line of civic responsibility and professionalism that you’ve just witnessed, Officer Rivieri was placed on a PAID suspension, pending an investigation. In a nutshell, he was basically rewarded with an all expenses paid vacation.

You see, THAT is what makes all cops look bad. That when one of them clearly crosses the line…clearly violates the rights of a citizen because they’re simply on an ego trip…nothing happens. The “blue wall” goes up….they get paid to sit home…and when the storm subsides, Officer Rivieri will be back in his Bee costume and his Urkel mobile, kicking the shit out of a guy for tossing a Frisbee to his dog too close to the entrance of The Cheesecake Factory’s front door. To make matters better, we the people won’t say anything about it, because five minutes after seeing this on the news, Britney will be rushed away to a mental facility while speaking in an Eliza Doolittle accent and our priorities will fall in place! Then right after that, we’ll be reading the blog of a self important asshole who’s pontificating about how our priorities as Americans are skewed and he’ll site our bizarre fascination with Britney as his completely clichéd example and….um…nevermind. But ultimately, Officer Rivieri either consciously or subconsciously is aware of this. He knows that nothing will really happen to him…he knows his brothers in blue will put that wall up in short order…it’s what affords him his comfort zone. It’s what allows him to take such liberties with people’s rights. He’s a symptom of a much bigger disease.

And can you really blame him?

I mean, who wouldn’t love to screw over people they don’t like at work without fear of repercussion?

He’s just living the dream, people!

Into The Wild

"Based on a true story.
After graduating from Emory University in 1992, top student and athlete Christopher McCandless abandoned his possessions, gave his entire $24,000 savings account to charity and hitchhiked to Alaska to live in the wilderness.."

Ok, for a few months now, my girlfriend has been wanting to see this movie. She apparently read the Jon Krakauer book, and was dying to see the film adaptation. You see, as it turns out, people apparently find this book inspiring, interesting, or some other shit. It seems that the idea of leaving all of the ways of society behind and simply living off the land in an attempt to "find" one's sense of self is apparently such an amazing concept that people are left in awe of this guy.

Here's the problem for me...and if you don't want any spoilers, leave now.





Ok





You were warned.





THE JACKASS DIES FROM STARVATION AND EATING POISONOUS BERRIES!!
What the hell is so admirable about going to Alaska to "live off the land"....AND FAILING?!?!?!?!?
*I* can go put my self in the Alaskan wilderness and DIE....I SWEAR I CAN DO THAT! This guy was a goddamn douchetrain!!! He gave up all of his earthly possessions because he got WAY too caught up in some 90's slacker bullshit mentality, he took himself to Alaska, and he fucking DIED!

WOW! That's really awe inspiring.

Here's an idea…how about if you're going to do some shit like this…oh…I don't know…HAVE A GAMEPLAN!! Don't be some over-privileged cockrod that has "Mommy and Daddy" issues, so you think you'll show them by becoming some twisted mix of Wavy Gravy and Grizzly Adams, with a splash of a spoiled "everything sucks" crybaby tossed in.
Chris McCandless is no more interesting to me than someone who finds them self homeless, and ultimately dies of exposure in some piss stinking alleyway. McCandless failed the same way....he just chose a more interesting location....to us here in the mainland States anyway. To Alaskans it probably meant nothing. I mean if some hobo makes his way to Pennsylvania and dies there, does it matter to anyone? But throw in the land of Eskimos and Igloos and we're all supposed to take notice, right?

You know who's fucking inspiring if you're in to shit like that?
Dick Proenneke.
You know why? In 1968 he decided "Screw this structured lifestyle, rat race bullshit", and he moved to Alaska. He had some hand tools with him and an old style video camera so he could send videos back to his family to let them know he was alright...he didn't just let them think he was dead like ole "Alexander Supertramp". And what kind of self absorbed toolshed renames himself "Alexander Supertramp" ?!?!? From now on...I'm "Xavier Aldo Nova"...there, now I'm awe inspiring too!!! UGH....anyway, Proenneke went up to Alaska...claimed a piece of land (which you could do then) and by HAND cut down trees and built a fucking HOUSE!
THAT is a motherfucker that's awe inspiring....and you know how long he lasted up there?
No, not several months like our buddy, Chris....35 GODDAMN YEARS!!!
That's right bitches...he died of old age.
You know what Dick Proenneke did with the berries he found?
He made syrup for his FUCKING PANCAKES THAT HE COOKED IN HIS HOUSE THAT HE BUILT!!!!!!
He didn't die like an assclown while living in a bus that someone left out there.

And how far in the "Wild" were you, if there was an abandon bus around. Did somebody say "shit, I've got to get rid of this bus….I know….I should drive it WAY deep into the wild so I don't get hit with any fines…What?....No it won't be a problem, this bus can drive through trees and over rivers and shit!"

You KNOW this prick was three blocks from a 7-11 but was proving something to Mommy and Daddy.

FUCK INTO THE WILD!
FUCK CHRIS MCCANDLESS!
FUCK THE SLACKER GENERATION AND IT'S BULLSHIT IDEALS!
FUCK EDDIE VEDDER AND HIS BULLSHIT GRUNGE ERA INSPIRED MUSIC!

Dick Proenneke like a motherfucker, yo!!!!