a douchebag used to be a feminine hygiene product and tools were only found at the Home Depot...

Nobody ever talks about the events leading up to the point where a man strikes a woman. Make no mistake there is not a one fucking reason to hit a woman and any faggot that does should be beheaded not left in a fucking cell getting three square meals a day, but I digress. My argument is that there is sometimes way more to it than anyone cares to give it credit and NOBODY takes it into account. So some asshole back in the 50's who thought of women no more valuable than a possession of mediocre needs; I'm going to go ahead and say gravy boat, decided he was gonna make right a situation and discipline the shit outta them. It seems to be standard pig logic: Hit 'em and they'll never do it again". So he wails and wails until women acquire rights and whatnot.

The story, as life, goes on.

Now, luckily enough, I come up in the generation that depicts fathers scolding their sons for talking back to their mothers. Some respect has come into the picture.

It may not be the end of the world after all.

Time has changed, as we as society seem to love repeating history. Now here let me say this, if you are the kind of insecure person to date some roided out Guido that's been honey roasted you should not be surprised when he back hands the fuck outta you because he can't get his dick up. Sorry honey that spray tan ain't comin' outta that tube top.

Back to my point.

 The conversation that happens between a man and woman hours before the hit. It starts with a simple "just let me leave please so I can go for a drive." This usually happens right after a disagreement where the man decided he'd would be much more useful had he driven around a bit to clear his mind and unwind. This logic, however, is immediately discounted after the dame decides to park her ass right in the doorway. All he does is try and ask polite ways to get her to move. She insists on a more stubborn and counter productive approach. 

This is fucking bananas!

Trying a different array of tones and volumes ranging from soft-spoken permission requests to shouting demands and ape like gestures. Nobody is perfect. Yet nothing seems to work. Even explaining the course of action desired that even Gilbert Fucking Grape could understand  but is like cracking the DaVinci code. Then once you reach your pinnacle you start to fantasize. (Now keep in mind this doesn't negate the fact that this scenario is played in the opposite circumstances, but I happen to have a penis and these are my truths. So before you start calling me out as a sexist or whatever, keep in mind the topic in discussion. Joke)

The fantasy is just WHACK!, maybe an elbow drop or pile driver , anything to immobilize her enough to get the fuck out. Never any real damage done just a quick knuckle or slap on the forehead should do. But he never goes there. He remembers the rules, the way things are, mostly importantly; the father telling their kids to respect women. Now this brings us to a Goosebumps style read-by-number sequence where you could just go for it (bee-tee-dub the fantasy sequence should be enough to equal those times you skipped to the first decision, found out you were going to die, then held the other page bookmarked by your index finger trying to justify going back to the former option trying to fool yourself into believing that you had never left the original page so its okay to rewrite that 15 seconds of regret.

Does anyone have any clue what the shit I'm talking about?

Anyways, the bottom line is this; don't hit a chick. That is one bitch ass move and from what I heard from ex cons that I uncomfortably worked with, beating your girl will lead you to beating some big black dudes meat in the pen. Verbatim. Again this is not a justification but more so of an explanation of what the male mindset is comprised of when put in such shitty situations.

But here is a good way to avoid this. Maybe decide against dating the tool in the miniskirt or the douche in the fucking Ed Hardy V-neck. This really isn't the foundation for a future you want: a house that smells like menthol cigarettes, hooker perfume and axe body spray. That shit will make your kids retarded. It isn't impressive when a female parades around in a spandex miniskirt with tits in a shirt 4 sizes too small. It leaves nothing to the imagination other than what possible crossbred concoction of a venereal disease you can acquire. But they don’t all look skanky, and that shit depresses me because I can't cope with the idea that a girl of true beauty that can make your feet go numb even when she leaves the make up at home, walking around dressing too scandalous (and yes there IS a line, when i can see your cheeks when you walk up the stairs and the birth canal when she drunkenly picks up her now cracked iPhone; THATS the line). I dunno maybe it’s just me. Its way sexier to me for a woman to wear a sundress with some wedges or jeans flip flops and a vintage tee than to see ridiculous flared out acrylic nails two-toned eye shadow caked over too-thick mascara (its like they don’t even pay attention to the commercials. Just one or two stroked should do it. You're not reinforcing the levy in New Orleans) not to mention the ridiculous cocktail dresses. Although moderately sexy, it is wholly overrated. 

Till the day we realize when they told us that beauty was skin deep they were giving us a hint because when mothers taught girls that those boys teasing them did it because of crushes they were full of shit, remember to keep an open palm.

That was a joke assholes don't take me too seriously.

I miss Chappelle's show :(

I remember way back when I was younger I was playing in the basement of a duplex type apartment somewhere in northern Massachusetts. It was some type of vacation from elementary school so that meant I was back and forth from New Hampshire and Mass. I would spend the time mostly with my Cousins.

Being poor had its advantages in the mind. I had a very active imagination, well I suppose I still do otherwise I wouldn't have as much fun doing what I do.

Back to the point.

It was three of us playing some superhero world game. We were wrestling, clanking wooden rods and those L-shaped curtain rods they use in townhouses as weapons and staffs. I always felt like part of being a kid was the certain ability to just get away and today that would change entirely.

I'll set up the scene.



One of my cousins was to accompany me on the futon we had down in the cellar and pretend that my other cousin had appeared out of no where. He was supposed to be Raiden from Mortal Kombat. He had chosed this becasue he just assumed htat he would be the most powerful of us all..

Yeah, he was THAT guy..

Now, what I haven't mentioned yet, is the fact that my cousins are both half black and look the part. Being around them literally my entire life made it a trivial fact. I didn't care that they were black. It had never come up in conversation; I didn't love them less or treated them differently. They are my family and that is pretty much all I saw.

As we get back to the story just about where one of my cousins had just "lightning-bolted" out of nowhere. We were basically portraying the stoner type we just aware of it yet. See this new guy was supposed to come in need of help from two warriors and since we were the best of his terrible situation, he would bestow upon us magical powers. Basic poor kid shit, but hell it beats being one of those fucking kids that are subtly brain-damaged by video games. Anyways, I looked at him and in my "surprised" state I remember turning to my cousin and in character saying, "hey man there's some black kid in a basketball jersey that came from no where."


Yeah, that's an uncomfortable conversation.


To me though it didn't seem like such a terrible thing.  I was just describing him. I wasn't calling him out on being different, certainly was not my intention. But that was clearly the offense here. I remember my other cousin had gotten up and walked in the others place and asked me what color he was. Still confused I had mentioned that he was more of a coffee/caramel tone.

Needless to say that this led to an adults attentive intervention. My aunt had stuck me in the bedroom to think about the actions I did not understand.

And there it was. That was the first time I ever learned that calling a black man or woman so was very frowned upon. The only thing that the timeout gave me time to do was try to fix my associations. To this very day I am obsessed with racial fueled humor whether its from the moth of Richard Prior, Bill Burr, George Lopez or Daniel Tosh. It all feeds into one appetite and that is where my humor comes in. I don;t think of anything as hate unless it becomes personal, even then hate is such a strong word, most of it is to get a rise out or to strike emphasis in a less than intelligent way but that is what speaks to me.

I'm not the most intelligent fucker around but I know some shit. I am probably too observant in my world. I try to see everything for what it really is. Maybe that is where I get stuck.

Looking back on what happened with Dave Chappelle breaks my heart. That a few assholes in ties and shit go on and ruin a good thing based on ignorance and greed. As I reflected upon the menacingly hilarious scenarios Chappelle's show ensnared audiences with, I wondered why I had not looked more into the end of the series; What led to the burial of  Chappelle's show? Then I read about an interview where Dave mentions the taping of the controversial Racial Pixie sketch, and how someone in the studio had "laughed in a way that made him feel uncomfortable". I couldn't imagine it, but then again I could. I know what my realm of comfort is and to exceed that would surely instill some sort of discomfort and anxiety that could cripple me. being a public icon as he was the extrapolated effect seems unbearable. After the straw that broke the camel's back in the form of an excited patron at a stand up event shouting "I'm Rick James Bitch", Chappelle broke down.

Some people live for years and sometimes their entire lives in a struggle against living expenses and barely making any money to survive if at all. I grew up in shit neighborhoods with dealers and runners on every corner. I was afraid to walk the 7 yards to get to the closest convenience store to get junk food for the neglectful parent that I was so lucky to have. Why does race have to be such a big authority on the way we interact with each other?

Don't get me wrong I totally get it. Being Hispanic isn't easy but I never let that get to me. By no means do I understand the level of  hate and evil that comes with the brutal history of slavery. The point I try to get across if any is that think about that shit before you start listening to some Caucasian "Urban Specialist" that appears on some news segments talking about statistics that are skewed to begin with. I've actually met African Americans that are prejudice against other races. It all just blows my mind.

Lets try this out for a second. If we concentrate more on say, doing the things that mattered most to ourselves instead of following a pack of hyenas with the illusion that they are wolves and be our own Alpha Males we can make our marks in society instead of just reinforcing the stereotype society has laid out for us. Dave offered that to us for a brief moment in comedy history and for that I thank him. We all complain about the negative events in our lives not fully understanding that we are apart of that society that makes it impossible for these ideas to survive.

It only takes one...

The feelings and behaviors of the most fortunate

It seems that these days women are more concerned with status and material bullshit. The few that aren't are already in relationships so this is clearly not for them. The perfect body has been chiseled down to chiseled abs and a million dollar smile. At first pick who could argue boost men go crazy about a girl with enormous erogenous assets and nobody seems to think twice. The shame is that our culture is becoming one based on the superficial. Kardashian sisters here, Hef's blonde bimbos there, we are limited by limitless imagination. Constantly searching for the next big thing, the fabled "bigger better deal". The bad bad news is it really doesn't exist. Chances are that better deal is just someone else's shitty one and you have to deal with all the baggage.

One man's trash is another man's burden.

The treasure is all in the first week of lustful chasing and ignorance to clear warning signs.

In any case we all fail to see the bigger picture. Everybody is different in this day and age. Not every hardbodied 24 year old girl will continue to be a yoga nut once she has a kid. But then again I could be wrong. The best we can hope for is that we find someone that makes us tick. That someone in our lives that enhances our very way of living, we wake up in the morning and turn over to see that face that has made the decision to deal with our own shit, wether it's for the time being or the rest of their life.

Take what you have, appreciate the good times and disregard the bullshit. The best thing about arguments is that they will always come to an end. Toss in a puppy to the mix and have a great fucking life.

What inspires you?

There are more times than I care to admit, that I wish this world was just overrun with the undead. I sit in my room, on the train/bus, even while at work I can see those that would be amongst the first infected.

Now please do not mistake this as me being an elitist or some cocky douche bag, but I feel like every day is just begging for something to plant this world into utter chaos.

I think we need something real to fear.

Something more than commitment and diets. Resolutions and bill collectors....Something that forces us to start living.

I see the droll looks on some of these pedestrians faces and begin to scale their survival rate....elder lady in a wheelchair: .05, man in jogging suit: 4.5; but worse if he becomes infected because that 4.5 survival rate turns into a 500% kill rate once infected.

I look into a hazy window of a shoe store....5 at best...with my drive I could push a 8.9.

But thinking about this I feel like this already is in our reality.

Think of the people on our lives that we've left behind or more realistically have left us...I feel like they are the comparable undead of society. Our everyday struggle with coping with existence, or at least my own, I find my self bored, but almost terrified with each days outcome.

Music is my ammunition.

My tattoos are my volumes.

I get lost in the words of these books almost counting on the fact that there will be some validity in these lines.

And although I can see the doomed and demised......I can also see my fellow survivors....


This is my reason.......


So before I say I love you

Before I hold your hand


Or Help you up

Before I hear your screams in the distance.......


This Is my inspiration.....

These steel tracks follow..

I don’t want to go on epic journeys, if I cannot recollect with anyone special.
I don’t want to make millions of dollars, if I can’t bring home a new toy from a different country for my son or daughter, I don’t want to remember, if you're not there.
I don’t want to be the best boyfriend/ husband. I just want to see you smile. I don’t want to be the best lover, I just want to feel whole.

I feel so lost. I've ridden along these steel tracks, and I've made trails in dirt roads. I've looked at life and said "Fuck it, why not" and I still cant find the repellent to "what if" I'm stuck in the embrace of circumstance, wondering, Is this it? I've found adventure in the eyes of a lover, the smile of friends and the sound of our histories. Yet I'm left empty.

What good are family, and a promising future, if it's not with the people you intend on living it with. Times change, perspective takes different paths and you see different things as you grow older.....after so much...what is left?

People will always find a way to leave. They'll always find a reason. Whether it's the fear of finding something real, or the boredom casted over a shallow heart......

You're always left wondering where you went wrong all the while our world tears itself apart/

btw...

Dear Jill,

  I wish we knew each other when we were five. I wish we played on fields, and splashed in pools. Shared each others deepest secrets, and playfully held each others hands.

             I sometimes wonder how it would've been if we'd spent our years praying that we had the same class schedules, and passed notes back in forth in Social Studies. I'd sit back and admire your intelligence as you spoke in front of the class in your flower pattern dress that your mom grandma bought you, and although you may think you look ridiculous, you're actually quite captivating.

             If only you had been the girl to glow in the gymnasium, taking focus away from tacky balloon arrangements, disco lights and loud mouthed jocks, to take my hand in dance because my date had ditched me for Tom Hardy. You'd smell amazing and my heart would skip beats and our rhythm would get lost in the snare and bass drum.

             If only I'd known you before you got your heart broken, before you built up that wall. I'd have had the chance to tell you what you've meant to me over the years.  I'd tell you how much I love you and that anybody who doesn't see your worth and breath-taking personality is completely insane. And how I wanted to love you for the rest of my life, wake up to you every morning, and raise a family with you.........




 Unfortunately, we didn't know each other when we were young ins. I never got a note all folded up fancy like with my name and a heart. And I never set foot in a high school dance.

             I often wonder if, when you look at me, you’re thinking exactly what I'm thinking.......

             Unfortunately we've both been in terrible relationships. And you have quite the establishment surrounding your heart.


             However, I do Love you, and I'll keep picking down that wall. Till I have you in my arms and you understand that you are my world and I'd never abandon you.....

             After all, I'd like to think that maybe things DO happen for a reason. Perhaps the reason for such shitty past, is to fully appreciate what its like to love and be loved.......



If you've read this far perhaps I've given you something to smile about at the very least. It's not very easy for me to verbalize  my emotions....s I’ll let my pen do the talking.






                                                                                              I love you,  
                                                                                                     <3Jack

Re-tieing old knots

A lustful beginning brought to an end of spiteful lies. As I'm pulling on this last nicotine ride laced with caffeine to reinvent the taste of your silver tongue and cindering attitude..... This tar building up on my lungs won’t stand a change when I shout out my solemn promise to never be fooled again.... I'll scream out the abridged till my nose bleeds and these fingertips thumping wound nickel cease to be. As for him I'm wondering what he thinks of my taste on those truthless lips and Baby Girl you can choose whichever you like..... I sit and I stare with fire and a prayer but honey no rhyme can bring me to any reason..... So add this to your collection and see what transformation you've spawned through the pages of a white binder plastered with photos of something untold and kept secret.... Through these tiny white ear buds are decibels blaring words of reality ''I don’t care that you left and abandoned me....what hurts more is I would still die for you...'' And babe...God himself couldn’t write a better truth.... So reiterate and tell me how amazing I am.....

Mental debt consolidation

I'll start caring about the woes of man the second we stop shitting on ourselves pretending like we have the worst situation in the world. We have gumball machines on every corner and on the face of every storefront where other countries are starving wishing they could get the crusts of pizza people just throw away. Don't get me wrong, you won't see me peddling down the way on a huffy to get from point A to point B just to send my .83 cents a day to feed some kid that is fortunate enough to be on TV yet not enough to get support from the camera crew and organizations that have spent the money to travel out there to broadcast this need in other countries.

But I digress.

Our culture is so clicky. THAT is our issue as a fucking super power. You have to be a Mac or PC. Yu have to use either Android or iPhone. 3G, 4G, Prada, Coach, or some other letter fetish fuck. We argue about everything for no reason.

No personal reason. W sure as fuck don't contribute to any kind of solution we just wanna live our own quiet fuck me in the face of all products ever invented ever.

One day it's bell bottoms the next it's skinny jeans. we breed culture just so we can get tired of them to the point where we end up rummaging throughout the trends and douchebags are allowed to wear Iraq scarf ironically or to make some peace statement. I dunno about you but I like to jus buy shit that looked good on me and caught my interest, and if sand scarves are your bag then go for it, I'm a fat dude that loves slip on vans, I'm sure that look awkward but fuck they comfy.

The bottom line is that we need to worry the fuck less about what Lady Gaga wears or has swinging through her thighs. You're progressive enough to believe in evolution and natural selection yet you weep for salvation the self destructive masses. If Charlie Sheen wants to play in a sandbox of coke and pretend he's snorkeling, I say we turn then fuck away and let nature take it's course. Clearly he wasn't a winner in the first place. Remember that asshole fucker that was in every line of our classes that just did incredibly stupid and annoying shit and every one wasted their time giving him Ritalin, telling him to shut the fuck up, put him in a corner fueling the actions with responses and everyone eventually figured out, ignore him and it'll just go away.

Ts probably won't make the junkies decide to sober up, but at the very least the lesser intelligent would overdose and die within a week and that line at the DMV gets a little shorter.

Winning!

As for our country, we're declining like the erection rate of a middle aged Jewish man. I don't have a plan to fix shit and I'm not saying our government can't get it done. I do however think that with a little more concentration, for the worst condition our bastard country has been in a while, in doing what we can and bitching less about saving the planet, put actors back in a place where the pretty faces on the screen and are "real people" in their own personal lives and stop being so obsessed with icons. Id love to see a year stretch where everyone who makes a retarded amount of millions to switch to a 60k a year gig and put the rest toward fixing our fucked nest egg.

Lil Wayne has enough fucking diamonds in his teeth.