“what is wrong with you, dude?”
that’s how my frat brother & son, skip, addresses me every time i call him.
the problem is this:
2 or 3 years ago i had the opportunity to have sex (because any other word would degrade OR make the situation sound too dreamy) with the baddest – actually – one of the baddest chicks to walk across the quad at the great bethune-cookman college.
***sidenote: mary mcleod bethune founded the beloved school in 1904 with $1.50 – 5 little girls – and faith in God.***
and although the opportunity to seize the moment was upon me, i had to refuse. There were just too many things to consider in the situation. so i opted out.
plus, you know how sometimes there are people who you won’t follow up after?
well i know more than two guys who shouldn’t be followed up after, and i know for sure one had been in the womb.
and it was just to easy.
so i chalked it up to NO…
and gave him a stare like this:
so let’s shout from the top of our MOTHER EFFING LUNGS!
after i finish hustling and auditioning a few GREAT actors for my one-act play for the festival next month, i will iron out something great & make greatness happen!
it is a fact that we do out best when we look out best. SO…i must look my best for you folks.
so i thought about going for the look finally since i’m far away from judgmental black folks who’ll point and say “look at this homo in the skinny jeans.” (no brokeback)
you how it go. a man can’t do too much around his own people before they start calling him names. hahahaha.
which is the reason i’ve taken a liking to dancing at the latin and white folks clubs…because you can do whatever the HELL you want to do. if i wanna invent a dance called THE SEIZURE and perform it on the bar while i’m pissy drunk, people will look and try to do exactly what i’m doing.
so i haven’t worn underwear in the last 2 days because i need to wash clothes and TD BANK (who i cussed out yesterday afternoon) was fucking with my debit card and didn’t send it yet! fuck ass people!
don’t get me wrong. i don’t mind free-balling at all!
personally, i rarely see the purpose of underwear.
i mean, unless i’m going to church (which is NEVER) and i’m wearing sweat pants & don’t want JIM BROWSKI (the jewish butcher – aka – my penis) to leave a print, then eff drawls.
but that brings me to this next picture!
YOU ARE TOO DAMN GROWN TO BE DOING THIS!
so…folks…let me leave out of here and go get some quarters to use this basement washer and dryer that BETTER WORK!
before i go…here is what you need to reflect on:
keep your face always to the sunshine
and the shadows will always fall behind you.