Bang Town

Boy meets girl. Boy invites girl over to his house. Girl goes over there and is never heard from again.

Sadly, this scenario occurs most often than not, and most recently in the news with one of the mofos of the year in Cleveland, Ohio.

Oh come on now, if you haven’t been getting your daily dose of CNN, then I suggest you run to the nearest TV: but here’s a Meik version recap, pay attention this is gonna go fast:

An ex marine, convicted rapist/sex offender lures 11 (or more) women to his crib, kills them all, buries them in and around the house like they are nothing but pieces of home decor.

Caught up now? Good. Let’s proceed.

I get that it’s cute and gives you the sniggles when you meet a new Romeo or Juliet and you click, sparks are flying everywhere and all you want to do is spend time with them.

Now, that’s all fine and good, but with the way folks are raising crazy mofos like farmers are growing veggies and ish, you gotta be careful with who you spend time with. I spoke it on it before and all I can do is hope you go back and read the blog called Screening is Essential.

Now, Meik is one cautious chick, granted I think everyone and their mammy is crazy until proven otherwise, but until I’ve had the chance to screen you, there will be NO visiting the house; mine or yours mmk?!

And as for buying me a drink? You got a sista munked up if you think I’m sending you to the bar ALONE to get me a Bacardi and sprite — date rape drug — HELLO??!!!

Going back to the case of the crazy mofo in Cleveland, I, for the life of me cannot understand how or why even women under the influence of crack, alcohol, or any damn thing could remotely listen to his ass and follow him back to his house. Has anyone seen what he looks like?! Granted looks aren’t everything but come on, really?! Further more, I’m not understanding how his small ass (stench and all, because you know that house was funkier than hell and I’m almost positive the smell was coming out his nasty lil pores, but I digress) but I’m not getting why on first sniff, these women didn’t run like hell or try to drown his ass in some soap and water.

Again, I digress, clearly this case has struck a nerve and a half with me.

But if you just HAVE TO please remember the following important things if you don’t listen to shit else I ever say or read another word I write:

1. Always tell someone where you are going, and if you have no friends or fam to speak of, keep your cell phone handy to call 911.

2. Just like my grandma told me, I’m telling ya’ll — Never leave home without your best friend: MACE.

3. If you just have to go to the person’s house. Don’t go alone, take someone with you. However, I just wanna know what happened to meeting folks in public places when you haven’t known each other very long? Did that go out in 2008?

4. Google is another good friend, and hell nowdays so is all the social networking sites, you know someone is gonna know his/her crazy ass. Do your research ahead of time so you don’t get caught up in no crazy situations.

5. This one is just for future reference: if you go to a mofos house and it smells rotten as hell in there oh let’s say like decomposing bodies. It probably ain’t the damn trash that stinks — that mofo probably been up to no good — don’t you watch Lifetime Movie Network?!

Lesson Learned: Stay alert, and always notify someone of where you are going. But if all else fails, kick that mofo where the sun don’t shine and RUN! Be safe out there fam!

With the tragic death of NFL great Steve McNair not too long ago, many questions, comments, eyerolls, and folks looking at their own boo pieces with the side eye have come up.

McNair’s mistake, as with many, was cheating — and not screening that heffa, but I digress.

Some of you may even be questioning, “Where do I stand with my own mofo in my life?”

Don’t you worry. I’m here to help.

Let’s take a closer look at the definition of a “jumpoff.”

A jumpoff is NOT the main boo, and is just around for sexual purposes.

I think that about sums it up.

Now let’s run down my list of ways to figure out if you indeed are JUST THE JUMPOFF:

1. You have low self-esteem (or maybe you haven’t figured out that you do), but yet you think you’re doing big ish. Lemme explain: You think just because you might get a water bill paid, or even your gas tank filled, and if you’re real good, you might get a trip thrown in there. Bottom line is you THINK you are big ish poppin’ cuz wifey/hubby ain’t doing their job. ***side eye*** Allow me to inform you of something: Wifey/hubby is always gonna be numero uno … you will always come towards the bottom of the list. But if you like it, hey, do you boo.

2. You only have the cell number. I’m just saying if you were the main boo boo, you’d have all the numbers … right? I mean, the house number, work number, any other dang number that exists. And if you get a sec, take a peek in his/her cell; you’ll probably find tons of other jumpoff’s numbers in there.

3. You only get a call every now and then, when the main boo is acting up. Meaning, you might get a call, maybe three to four times a month.

4. If you’ve heard this bullshit line “I’m waiting on the right time to tell my wife/hubby about us.” Riiiiiiiiight. And I’m Michael Jackson’s love child.

5. If you never go anywhere together in public, like cute little dates such as dinner and the movies, or wine tastings. The only places you see are the ceiling, the bed, floor, shower, elevator, kitchen table, or wherever you handle your business. Hmm chances are … you are the jumpoff.

Now, a successful jumpoff NEVER has any expectations. It is just about the sex . There are no gifts, trips, bills being paid, none of that — just sex. A jumpoff never asks questions, doesn’t stalk other potential jumpoffs, and probably has enough jumpoffs of their own so they aren’t worried about any of ‘em.

Lesson Learned: If you fall into all of the categories mentioned, and you are OK with being in that role and have no intention of taking things further, then hooray for you. You win the “successful jumpoff award.” BUT if you fall into the categories mentioned, and you have hopes and dreams of moving up to wifey/hubby status, then you might need to take the scissors and cut off the chain this mofo has you dangling from and move on. Love and respect yourself and realize that you deserve to be happy and maybe this person just isn’t the one for you.

Have you ever just had one of those days where nothing seems to go right?

Car runs out of gas on I-77 during rush hour traffic; you spill your red Kool-Aid (yes i said red) all over your new white shirt; your hands are ashy; you come home to find out the lights and water have been cut off because you forgot to pay the bill; and you just got laid off.

Ah yes, the joys of everyday life in the Queen City.

So you pray, fast, meditate, scream, cry, and shout, send out a few tweets … then on last impulse … you turn to your group of friends — or with the new Twitter/Facebook craze, you turn to 1,000 of your closest friends.

What to do???

Well, I’m sure everyone knows someone who thinks they know the answer to everything — whether it’s male or female — their answer for EVERYTHING is always the same:

Call the “problem solver”!

Who is that Meik?

Well, lo and behold, it’s a bird, it’s a plane, no wait, it’s Captain Save-A-Hoe’s lil brother Captain Long Stroke or his sister Princess Puss in (thigh-hi) Boots.

Their specialty?

Yep, you got it: Sex you down — problem solved.

Now, I don’t know about you my dear Creative Loafing readers, but if I tell you that my eyeball just fell out into my hand, a mofo better not fix their lips to tell me that sex is going to solve that. Instead, I’m gonna need someone to call 9-1-1 or drive a sista to the hospital! Let me get my shit re-attached before you have someone getting their freak on!

It amazes me how sex has relaxed beyond i’s “casual” means. Don’t get me wrong, sex is a beautiful thing, but come on, can it really solve the fact that coolant is leaking from the car and onto the driveway?

Well, on second thought, if you play that gold-digger card it just might get it fixed. But I digress (see previous blog on I ain’t calling you a gold digger).

At what point in our lives is it time to realize that the “problem solvers” can’t actually SOLVE the problem? All it does is makes you forget for a little while, it’s purpose is to throw a Band-Aid on it and become a TEMPORARY solution over the real problem.

My advice?

I always follow the rules of the corporate world: business before pleasure.

If you handle your business, things can be solved. Then afterwards, if you wanna call the problem solver to clear out the cob webs, then do you boo!

At one point or another we’ve all encountered the following scenario, and if you haven’t then I’m assuming you’re on some hermit type ‘ish’:

Boy meets girl. Boy and girl have a few conversations and agree to go out on a date to get to know each other better. After the date, one is not feeling the other and prepares themselves to fall off the face of the earth never to be heard from ever again. Leaving the other person sitting there blinking wondering WTF?!

Which brings us to today’s lesson in Meik’s world: How to tell someone you just aren’t feeling them or remotely even interested.

Now, before you continue reading, let me preface this with a warning: Before you follow any of the items I’m about to list for you, make sure you have observed ALL red flags and have done your share of screening. “Why,” you ask? Well, nowadays folks sipping on that punk-naide and acting a donkey could snap without flinching and you’ll just be … well, if you watch the news, you get the point. You just can’t mess with crazy folks.

With that warning out of the way, let’s proceed, shall we?

I took an informal poll of my Facebook friends and posed the question to them. Granted, I’m no researcher but hey, my blog, my poll … nuff said.

Here are the top ways they said (with my tweaking of course ) to let someone know you just aren’t interested:

5. Post a tweet or Facebook status that reads: (your name) IS NOT INTERESTED IN (fill in the blank.) LOSE MY NUMBER EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY. PLEASE AND THANKS.

***bonus** E-mail and text messages are favorite methods as well!

4. Attempt to play matchmaker by hooking them up someone else and pray they get the hint. I’m sure we all know how well that bitch Karma loves to bite us in the ass at times; so if you follow this route, make sure you at least hook them up with someone that has something in common with them — that way they won’t come slithering back to you in bug-a-boo mode.

3. Inform them that you have a few STDs that you’re trying to shake and it’s best that you focus on that for right now. Now … if that mofo tells you that they have the same ish and y’all can work through it together, lace up them sneakers, and RUN AS FAST AS YOU CAN!

2. Let every last one of your multiple personalities be unleashed. For example, let’s say you have the following personalities: Tiny, Toya, Frankie and Neffe (if you don’t know who these chicks are, watch BET or Google them please). You take each of those personalities and amp it up to 200 percent and make them all argue with each other over the simplest shit in public. When I say simple, I mean it has to be simple — like “how many licks does it take to get to the center of a damn tootsie pop” simple. If that don’t work, then hell, you really have a desperate lame on your hands and you may just have to follow the No. 1 way to tell them to kick rocks.

1. Just being honest. After all, honesty is the best policy. Especially if that person is on that “Steve Urkel Wear a Mofo Down Til They Give In” type ish; at this point, there’s no room for error. Say it like it is point blank.

Lesson Learned: I’ve always been taught to treat people like you want to be treated. If you would prefer someone to play games and make you figure out if they are or are not interested, then fine, do what you do. However, rather than waste someone’s time, the best approach is to just say (in a nice way of course) that you just aren’t compatible and move the hell on. Otherwise you end up with blogs like mine (mofochronicles.blogspot.com).

It seems despite my best efforts to fend off the spreading of bitchassness, it’s just never enough. Instead, that disease just continues to run rampant through the community just like Diddy said. Today’s example is the recurring updates on social networking sites that have caught my attention.

In layman’s terms, it’s best broken down like this:

Relationship drama = the “woe is me” syndrome.

What you mean Meik?

I’m glad you asked. The “woe is me” syndrome is just another symptom of the bitchassness virus that attacks the very thing that keeps us moving from day to day: The Self Esteem.

Let me break this down for you so we are all on the same page.

Contrary to belief, I too have had my share of relationship drama. I view relationships just like the roller coaster rides at an amusement park. When you first get on the ride, it’s full of excitement, then you ride that wave for a while, then you climb higher and higher and higher, until you reach the peak of happiness and you coast. Then all of a sudden a sharp angle sends you flying right back downhill into the abyss of whatever is waiting. From that point, its up to you to make the choice to get off the damn ride, or stay on the mofo and continue to have to deal with bullshit.

Here’s where the “woe is me” syndrome comes into play. Once you’ve decided to hang in there and be that ride or die mofo until the wheels fall off, your world is shattered and you hear the most dreaded words ever, ” We need to talk. I think we need to spend time apart.” Or, you may hear this, “It’s not you, it’s me, I just need some space to find myself.” Or my personal favorite is just don’t tell a mofo ish and drop off the face of the earth and leave them standing there holding their heart in their hand (wait…I had a flashback; but I’m back).

Whatever the conversation may be, the end result is the same: RELATIONSHIP IS OVER. RIDE ABORTED. Get your shit and go.

Now what I’m seeing on the networking sites, is people of all ages trying to either garner sympathy or perhaps draw the ex back in, or they may just be fool, but again, it’s the same message: “woe is me, nobody loves me, nobody wants me, etc, etc, blah, blah.”

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not the completely heartless because I’ve been there. This clearly boils down to a self-esteem issue.

My advice? (Don’t get it twisted, this is still my blog so even if you don’t wanna hear it I’m giving it out anyway).

At some point, you have to take that dreaded walk and look in the mirror and take a good long hard look at the person you see. If you see a person with their hair outta control, eyes bloodshot red, nose snotty, and just overall Tasmanian Devil type ish, then Houston, we have a problem.

I’ve always been told, never let another person control how you feel, meaning don’t let someone else’s faults be the reason for your drop in self-esteem level. Imagine the horror of having your self-esteem drop to a -0! I’m clutching my pearls at the thought!

Just like Katt Williams once said (and I’m so paraphrasing so don’t get your panties in a bunch), self esteem is just that: Esteem of your damn self. You can’t blame others for something you should have under control because its all yours! Nobody else’s. YOURS! Get it? SELF=YOURS!

So, take another look in that mirror, dig deep and find the good things about yourself and build from there. If you can’t find anything, then damm it, look again. Because you just aren’t trying hard enough!

Check that bitchassness at the door and don’t let it in, and if some of it seeps in stomp it like a roach and throw that ish in the trash. The “woe is me” syndrome ain’t a bit cute and it damn sure won’t have mofos running in your direction.

Just like mama always said, “You have to love yourself first, before you can expect someone else to.”

Grown and Sexy.

That’s a phrase I tend to see repeatedly when promoters are trying to pack a venue. However, some folks just don’t seem to understand what the hell that means.

Let’s break this down before we proceed, shall we?

Grown: This term generally means the “older” crowd, meaning the 25 and up sector. This term points to the crowd of people that SHOULD be past the game playing stages, is a little more mature on the maturity scale, and knows how to party without deciding to represent their respective sets by shooting and throwing up the W for west side and ish.

Sexy: Now pay close attention to this one. This term is subject to your discretion, but again, this is my blog so we going with my definition. Sexy is swagger plain and simple.

Now, once a damn ‘gain, I decide to hit the streets and attend two separate events, both touting the Grown and Sexy label. Silly me for assuming and we all know what that means.

I’m going to tell you about two events and granted, one event was held out of town. But the other was here in the Queen City and the end result was the same: some folks just don’t get what Grown and Sexy really is.

Both parties had so much going on that I couldn’t do ish but blink so much my damn contact lenses were dried out, and no matter how many rewetting drops I used, it just didn’t seem to help.

Let me explain what I mean:

At both events, there were women dancing, gyrating and bent over showing off their coochie gear. How did I know? Well, some of the heffas had the audacity to be wearing what looked like a pair of panties with fishnets, stilettos and a cami.

Now don’t get me wrong, they honestly could have forgotten to put their dress on over that ish, but since they didn’t, I’m just gonna go with my own assumption on this and guess that they looked in the mirror and saw nothing wrong. My question is what kind of friends do you have if they let you go out the house looking like you just got off the stripper pole? (Here’s a helpful hint, you might need some new friends).

I don’t know about ya’ll but if you are going to attend a party, do you show up with your ish hanging out? Then take it a step further and proceed to bend over and dance ass up for the crowd? Maybe they have some exotic dancer type ish going on in their minds but again, this was supposed to be a grown and sexy affair. I felt like I had just walked onto a Lil Wayne video set.

I really believe that after the age of 25, it’s time to stop shopping in the juniors section at stores and move up to misses, or women’s, whichever fits you. Time to step up, put on your grown-woman clothes and stop showing all your assets in hopes of landing a man.

This really just boils down to one thing: before you step out of the house and decide to ruin everyone’s eyesight for the evening, can you look in the mirror and ask yourself the following questions:

1. Is my ass hanging out for the world to see? If yes, put some damn clothes on.

2. Are my nipples hanging out of my shirt? If yes, cover that ish.

3. Is my size 16-frame looking stuffed in a size 6? If yes, give your little sister her clothes back IMMEDIATELY.

4. Are my goodies on display so men can do a little window-shopping? If yes, put some damn panties on first, and then proceed to dress like you have some sense.

5. Is your goal to find a mofo to climb up behind you and do his business like Mister did to Celie on The Color Purple? If yes, then you just don’t need to even entertain going to a Grown and Sexy event, take yourself to the nearest 21 and up club and have fun.

Lesson Learned: Just because it says Grown and Sexy does not mean show up with your ASSets hanging out. Instead it’s a state of mind, just up your swag game and get your party on! Unless the party calls for you wearing your lingerie, leave the ish at home for your after-the-party booty call.
Bottom line: COVER UP. Let these fellas have the opportunity to imagine what you are working with. Nuff said. Please and thanks.

The minute I decide to emerge from my wanna-be-a socialite retirement, I run back screaming and banging on the door to get back to my solitude.

Why, you ask?

It’s clear to me that in 2009, chivalry and all that comes with it has died an agonizing death. Rather than go through the “men don’t do this and men don’t do that anymore” routine, I decided they don’t want to hear it and frankly, I don’t have the patience to write it.

But today’s discussion is one that’s near and dear to my heart and I just might need to teach a class on this so fellas: pay attention because this is going go kind of fast.

Ladies, how many times have you gone to the grocery store, the club, bar, gas station, hell, damn near anywhere and run into guys that are acquaintances, homeboys, ex-boo’s, ex-jumpoffs or whatever you want to call it.

You may walk up to them to get their attention, tap them gently on the shoulder, or arm, or as one of my friends likes to do, cusp his elbow, and then as these mofos turn around, they give you a series of hand slaps, clasps, dap, a pound, chest bump, and one to damn grow on. Then you’re left standing there thinking what just freaking happened?

Blink.

Blink.

Blink.

Now, I don’t know about most of you ladies out there in the world wide web, but I define myself as a lady. As a lady, I DEMAND respect. It’s one thing if you have that type of relationship with the guy for him to come at you like that, but if that type of thing hasn’t been established, then I EXPECT the man to respect my flow and greet me the way a woman should be greeted.

Now some of you are sitting there scratching your heads wondering “well, what’s wrong with the dap, pound, fist bump and all that other hand jive ish?”

If you have to ask, then I need you to think back to what your mama taught you, then holla back at me.

Fellas, unless the female is your tom-boyish play cousin, I fail to realize how greeting her like you would your male counterparts is cute or remotely attractive. You with your big ass man hands throwing a pound or dap to a dainty hand just seems all kinds of wrong to me. (Of course I haven’t forgotten the infamous Obama fist bump, but this isn’t about them and they have that type of relationship and this is my ish so let’s move on.)

Don’t get me wrong, there are many ways to greet people but this here is my blog and I’m going tell you some acceptable greetings in Meik’s world:

1. A friendly church hug does wonders. It’s not too personal and it’s not too rough, it’s just right. (As long as some of you nasty asses aren’t trying to cop a feel).

2. A kiss on the cheek. (Gently fellas! If you are a true gentleman, ladies man or whatever, you know how to do it, and just please make sure you don’t have that crusty dry skin hanging off the middle part of your lip, we don’t want our cheeks to get scratched to hell.)

3. A handshake, not too firm fellas! Remember, we’re not your male counterparts (now here’s where you might want to take a step back and examine the female, if she’s a little butch like, she might be able to take a good firm bone crushing hand shake.)

4. A light kiss on the hands. (I hate to bring this up when I’m trying hard to be uplifting and encouraging, but if you have some stank salvia or food particles in your mouth; then I really need for you to just resort to a different method. Please and thanks.)

5. If all else fails, a smile and a hello are simple enough. No need to complicate things when you don’t have to.

Lesson Learned: Save the dap, pound, chest bumping and hand jiving ish for your crew. A lady should be treated like a lady and if you don’t know how to do it, then I really need for you to check out an oldie but goodie, “Treat Her Like a Lady” by the Temptations. Ladies, DEMAND respect, if you don’t like getting daps and pounds, make it known. Hey if those of you out there think its fine, do you.
One thing I do know for sure is, the next one to step to me with all the hand gestures, will probably find themselves as the headliner in the Mofo Chronicles.

How many times have you sat down to check your email, text message, or even messages on other sites, like Facebook or MySpace, only to find a pair of boobs, ass cheeks, or even a sausage staring you in the face?

Or taking it a step further, the person in the pic has invited you to a birthday session of sorts; you and them in the nude.

Now,I can only hope the folks that have the nerve to send out these pics look halfway decent when naked, but there are some that make you just blink until your eyes make you look like a crackhead, bloodshot red and bugged out.

But I wanna look a little closer at WHY these people send these type of pics to folks they do not know and expect to get to know.

Social networking sites are all the rage these days, but when did it become the place to try to find your next booty call?

When did it become okay to take naked pictures then send them to people that you think you want to hook up with? What gets me is that same person will send the pics, meet up with the person, find themselves in a jumpoff situation, then wonder why?

Really? If you label yourself as a garden tool, then chances are that’s how you’ll be treated as such. What person in their right mind would take you home to meet mama and ‘nem, if you are so quick to send out pics with the goodies on display? There’s no telling just how many people have seen it!

I think it boils down to one thing, well maybe two, low self esteem, and a touch of bitchassness.

What you mean Meik?

Well, maybe these picture sending mofos feel the need to be validated, meaning being told that they are fine, pretty, nice body, ripped, muscular, thick, or whatever adjective they think best describes them.

Low self-esteem is probably what has many mofos posting pictures online calling themselves models on Myspace, Facebook, and other sites. Hmm. Really?! I could have sworn real modeling doesn’t entail you taking pics with your cell phone and posting them online, I’m just saying, that just isn’t one of the lessons Tyra Banks taught on America’s Next Top Model but hey, I digress because that’s a whole ‘nother blog topic.

Low self-esteem with a touch of bitchassness will have mofos sending out the pics with a note attached sounding like they have all the sense in the world, but when the recipient clicks on the attachment and finds someone’s birthday suit staring back at them, best believe most folks are gonna send it straight to the TRASH. Well, the ones with sense anyway.

Lesson Learned:
Please fam, get some esteem about yourself! If you need to be validated, fine, start by looking in the mirror and admiring yourself and loving yourself, that way you can achieve enough swag to reel someone in WITHOUT having to literally show your ass.

My advice or really the advice I learned from listening to Michael Jackson’s “Billie Jean.” Remember to ALWAYS think twice — especially when you are about to hit send! Not everyone wants to see your cookies, taters, or muffins. If you are truly interested in someone, your conversation should be the first place you start. Try an icebreaker, a hello, let me introduce myself, this is why I’m hitting you up, etc, trust me, you’re more likely to get a response

We all love a good summer drink right? Sometimes, just because it has a smooth taste going down, and makes us feel good doesn’t mean that it’s the best thing for us.

Here’s a ‘lil recipe that I want to share:

• Get a glass

• Mix in about 5 oz of Bitchassness (refer to mofochronicles for the definition)

• 2 oz of red-koolaid: (that’s the cherry flavor for you uppity folk)

• A half teaspoon of ignate (oh let me clarify again, that’s the same as ignorance times five)

• About 2/3 oz of your favorite liquor

• A dash of WTF

• Add ice…and stir..

Voila! There you have it, a tall refreshing glass of what I like to call punk-naide!

I’m convinced this is what people have been sipping on as their beverage of choice this summer.

What makes me come up with this fabulous assumption?

Well let’s see here:

It has to be the punk-naide that makes folks do some of the dumbest shit ever.

For example, some folks have the audacity to try to holla at people, find out they are married and then don’t give a damn and proceed to pursue them, eventually ending up in a jump-off situation.

(I just really refuse right now to go into a full blown explanation of what a jump-off is, so if you don’t know, my best advice is to watch the news, there’s plenty of examples.)

I have a friend who told me about how in just one night, he had several women approach him, ask him if he’s married, he said yes, and every last one of them said they didn’t care. They just wanted to be the jump-off (ok so I’m paraphrasing). Thank goodness he’s that rare find called a “good catch,” and told them heffas to kick rocks.

Or how about that chick that has grandeur illusions that if you become the jump-off then you can eventually make wifey status.

What in the hot hell?! Put that damn cup down and back away slowly!

Can you say get some damn self-esteem and find a man that’s single?

I wasn’t going to go there — but did we not learn anything from Steve McNair?

Granted, it’s a two way street, but come on, married folks wouldn’t cheat if they didn’t have anyone to cheat with. They would be satisfied with the two hands God gave them and if that don’t do it, then the adult store might just have what they need.
I digress.

The damn grass ain’t always greener. Haven’t you heard of the 80/20 Rule? If not, go rent Why Did I Get Married.

Which brings me to the next batch of mofos that have been sipping on that punk-naide syzurp.

It’s not just married folks acting a donkey, it’s the people that are in committed long term relationships, boo’d up, engaged, whatever you want to call it.

How many of us have gotten a phone call, text message, email or whatever from someone that you ain’t thought about in years and they hit you up wanting to place you in that jump-off spot?

Again, reference the Steve McNair case one more time if you still just don’t get it.

How about those infamous “blocked hang-up calls?”

You know what I’m talking bout. The insecure mofo that goes through their significant other’s phone to see who they have been texting, or chatting it up. They see a repetitive number, call it (blocking their number, of course) then hang up when the other person answers or they sit there breathing listening to see how many damn times they’ll say hello.

Yep, just another fine example of fools sipping on that punk-naide.

Or better yet let’s address the grown ass men that are over the age of 28 but still think it’s cute to put their boys first and run the streets 24/7. Damn the wife, or boo piece, and/or the kids.

Really. Hmm. Partying is so much more important. Who knew?

I mean, I could be completely out of line here, but I thought at some point you just have to grow up and accept some responsibility for your actions.

Clearly I could go on and on for days, but these are just the cream of the crop that seem to have a steady supply of punk-naide in their refrigerator.

Lesson Learned: Instead of pouring out a ‘lil for the dead and gone, dump that entire damn cup of punk-naide out. Refill that glass with some good ole purifying water. That should at least clean up the majority of the punk ass behavior that continues to rear its ugly head. The bonus is, water hydrates the skin and its better for your health.

Dear First Love,

I Remember the Time when I first fell in love.

I was a PYT when I first heard your voice loud and clear through my parents’ stereo — every note, lyric, and even the beat made me want to Rock With You.

You explained to me how love could be as easy as ABC, but unfortunately, that lesson has yet to be learned, but that’s another story.

As I sat glued to the television watching you debut the moonwalk across the stage. I discovered that just maybe I could one day be a Dancing Machine, but later realized that just isn’t my thing and for that matter neither is singing.

I respected your hustle, because your diligence, creativity, persistence, and phenomenal talent broke down barriers and paved the way for the future. I thank you for that, because who knows where the state of music and music videos would be today.

But boo, you scared the living piss out of me with Thriller. I couldn’t even handle being in the dark for weeks without thinking that a mummy was going to bust out of the floor and snatch me up, but that didn’t stop me from begging for a red leather jacket with a pair of black loafers and trying to get my Smooth Criminal lean on.

I love that there is no other performer that could bring an entire crowd to tears with just their mere stage presence. That ability alone should be the definition of TRUE SWAGGA.

No matter how big of an international sensation you became, you took the time to try to Heal the World.

When others tried to imitate you, I wanted them to just keep it In the Closet because it just wasn’t the same.

While some wondered about your eccentric ways, I knew better. Game recognizes game. You knew just how to strike a chord with your finely tuned public relations team — but when it got out of hand and the tabloids kept hitting you below the belt, you didn’t let that deter you — instead you retaliated and told them in only a way that you can, Leave Me Alone.

Al Sharpton hit it right on the nose — you were never what they referred to as a freak, you just learned how to deal with a freakish situation. No one could possibly understand being in the public eye for more than 40 years.

Oooh, there’s just something about The Way You Make Me Feel every time I hear one of your songs. I admit, at times this thought ran through my mind, I Wanna be Where You Are and of course I imagined that I was gonna be your Girlfriend chillin up at Neverland Ranch (I’m blatantly ignoring those two boo-boo pieces you married for good reasons).

For a couple of years you were Out of My Life. I began my affair with hip hop, and R&B. None of them could hold a candle to you. (more…)