Drunk pool parties save lives, duh.

So you’re at Wendy’s, shoving chicken nuggets or whatever the fuck in your kids’ mouths and you meet a new friend. She turns out to resemble Wild Style from the Lego Movie, so we’ll just call her that. Suuuure, at first she resembles a sweet little woodland creature who you want to take home and make your pet… she has two small kids the same ages as mine, and she seems to parent with the same como se dice “spirit”, but she turns out to be a real badass bitch. And in the course of maybe two weeks, this bitch your friend.

A year goes by and lo and behold, she gets you to join the motherfuckin’ PTA.   The Parent Teacher Association. This bitch…. the PTA. I can’t even.

But I’m on it. I’m on the motherfuckin’ PTA now. Cuz of this bitch.

So here I am, a few weeks ago, at a PTA meeting. She’s talking about the budget, and I’m sexting my strength trainer. Suuuuuure, the budget for the childrens is very important but there are numbers and there was wine, so I’m sexting. It’s all good. It’s natural. It’s SCIENCE. And this is a STEM Magnet school my kid attends, so science is importante, no?

Now what I haven’t told you thus far is that this girl has a pool. And if you have kids and you know the level of murder that almost happens every night in the summer, you may understand just precisely what a pool means. People are HAPPY in the pool. The children are happy. They grown folks is happy. People are HAPPY.  Then you add some wines. You know mama likes the wines.  So you drink the wines and you play in the pool and everyone is HAPPY.

Moral of this story? Drink the muhfuckin wines in the muhfuckin pool with your muchfuckin kiiiiiiids and Jesus help us let’s bring the crime rate down.

Also, I luh dat bitch.

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The Fat Boi Diaries: Why Selfies?

Hello sweet babies. I haven’t written in a long while because I’ve been working on putting some other projects together, but this post was so inspiring and spot on, I had to force its truth down your sexy little throats.

Self-love. “I owe you nothing, but I owe myself everything.”

Preach.

And I’m not gonna lie, wishing I were his type right about now. MmHmmm.

BlaQueer

Last week at an apartment party in Chicago’s Andersonville neighborhood on the North side, I whipped out my iPhone 5, told the folks at the gathering to press together, and clicked away. Simple act, happens at least a hundred times a day, and I completed the ritual by posting the picture to my instagram and linking it to my Facebook account. But, before I could put the camera away I heard a friend joke, read, throw a little shade (?) my way and say:

“Watch, tomorrow there will be like five picture of himself up there.”

Yes, guilty as charged, I am a selfie. One of those annoying people who take tons of self-pictures. Declaring to the world that I look good and you know it. This is so true that the same friend had earlier brought up the topic with me; apparently he and another friend occasionally discussed my…

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Shedding skin. Again.

“It ain’t no sin, to take off your skin and dance around in your bones.” ― Tom Waits

“Without deviations from the norm, progress is not possible.” — Frank Zappa

For so many years I was living to learn. I was living to make a reputation for myself in my career. I was living to put my time in and earn professional clout, to be taken seriously. I was taking those baby steps to get to that next rung in the ladder that would take me to my destination.

Then– I shifted gears. I was living to survive. I was living to keep my babies alive. I was living to get by. To get past “that year”. Skating through, hoping my marriage would survive the tension. It didn’t, by the way. It died. And was reborn.

Then– Shift into living to heal. Living to rebuild what had been decimated– physical therapy for the toddler, intense rehab and reinvention of marriage, getting a kid into school, picking our dirty finances up off the ground… dusting them off. Working a boring, soul-killing job to put the pieces back together. Sacrificing good credit to make sure the kids have milk. Stuff like that.

It’s a new day today.  Life is one long journey of grieving the expectations we have for any given scenario, period of time, relationship, you name it.  I think the element I’ve let ride along with me for so long is fear, though. Lack of confidence to take risks, to be the real me. Part of it is not really being confident of what that looks like.  And then lack of confidence in myself to even be able to figure that out.

The risks– What will people think of me?  What if I speak up and then find out I’m wrong? Can I go without that $3,000/month just so I don’t have to be a drone in a cube? I think… I can live without those things.  Being liked, being right, and being without spending guidelines.  I don’t know if even had those things to begin with.

So I’m shedding my skin again to move into my next phase. Time to stop living like a fool, and take the risk of living my true purpose.

Confidence in the path I’ve chosen. It’s terrifying.

Gunning, and other useful prison terms.

Not too long ago Relevant Magazine published an article called “Is Masturbation Sin?”  by Jesse Eubanks. My first thought was, “your face is a sin.” But then my second thought, the more mature one (which is always second or possibly third in the lineup), was “maybe I should read this bullshit.” So I did.  And so did Sugardaddy, who had some interesting insights. (Thank you, my sexy little homersexual).  We will share these with you here.  The article is from a man’s point of view. He didn’t seem to elicit the perspectives of a woman when espousing his ideas, so I will do that for him here. I’m not going to be one of those people who stands around and complains that someone else didn’t do something helpful. No one likes those people.

The main issue Sugardaddy took with the article was that “disconnectedness” was being blamed on stroking the salami.  And as a man and woman who have been married for ten years and have experienced the gamut of “marital issues”, we can attest with the strength of a thousand suns that arm wrestling the one-armed champ is NOT the culprit for disconnection between us. Not even close.  I can expand on that at a later, more drunken, date.  And then on top of that, a female’s perspective on masturbation was no where to be found.  Here women are still struggling after FOREVER to understand their bodies, their sexuality, their needs and desires… much of this achieved through the exploration that is masturbation, and this goes straight up ignored during his belittling of the act.  That and– Sugardaddy just likes to watch me masturbate, so Eubanks can just go suck a cock.  With that being said…

In prison, masturbation goes by the term “gunning”. Therefore, in order to accurately relate to you as the prison bitch that you are, I will henceforth refer to it as gunning for the remainder of our time together here on this blog. Maybe by reading it, the chances of your gunning session being interrupted by a large greasy 55 year old white biker inserting his super-nast rod in your brown star… will increase.

What I don’t think people understand is that… gunning is one of the keys to world peace.  If everyone would just take a moment and partake in a little anal play while applying a vibrator to sensitive areas, mass conflicts would be resolved!  Babies would be reunited with mothers, mothers would stop getting acid thrown on their faces, chemical weaponry would cease to be used against your friend and neighbor.  It’s when dictators or mothers begin using butter or the blood of Jews as lube that we need to stop and say to ourselves “maybe something is wrong here.”

45387908714429798_7DvJ8hS6_fIn the article Eubanks states, “When we attempt to find fulfillment outside of God’s design, we may find temporary enjoyment, but ultimately it leads to pain, disconnection and death. It’s like donuts. They are delicious and when I eat them, a smile emerges from ear to ear. But they do not bring a lasting fulfillment and when my life is littered with donuts, it ultimately leads to pain, disconnection, death and husky jeans.” What I can gather from this is that 1) Eubanks has never actually gunned (or maybe he did it wrong?); and 2) is under the (false) impression that he can do a better job of flicking the bean than a woman can. Does he even know what a bean is, when I use that term? Tell us Eubanks, are you a master of the clitoris, so much so that you and your crusty donut must be the only one who touches it, and no one else?! PPBBFFFFTT! Holy shit, that’s funny to me.

He goes on to ask, “How can a spouse in the real world ever compete with the on-demand response of our fantasies that masturbation encourages? …In real life, people don’t want to have sex at the drop of a hat all of the time. People have emotional and spiritual needs that often must be met before they are ready for physical intimacy. There are no issues of love and forgiveness and struggle in the world of fantasy. There is no deep connection.”  I don’t know, maybe he never gets turned down by his wife. Let me tell you when Sugardaddy gets rejected: when the baby is crying, when I haven’t slept in days because the baby won’t sleep, when the 4 year-old won’t stay in her bed, when I have morning mouth, when I’m bleeding heavily, when I’m on a business trip, when I’m bloated, when either of us is sick sick, when one of our kids is in the hospital for months on end, when we’re stressed…. oh wait that’s potentially a lot.  Far be it for me to deny him a little cum in the bucket when I just don’t feel like giving it up.  And I’ll be damned if I’m seen as some sex slave who has to pleasure my man every time he gets a little wood. Which is a lot. Fuck that shit. If he wants to lead Pedro down the road of bulimia, he has my blessing.

Cracka rap needs more ass.

The Food & Wine Hedonist recently asked me to write a music piece for his blog.  GO READ THAT SHIT. It’s about the white parent raps that go viral and annoy the shit out of everyone. BOOM!

CLICK HERE for some food and wine hedonism, sprinkled with commentary from yours truly about how people should eat shit.

I’m adding North Korea to my list of White People Problems.

“Sometimes we laughed. We didn’t know when to laugh or not.”
-Shin Dong-huyk

It’s been my view for quite some time now that utilizing free market economics is the best way for nation states to achieve political gains as it relates to liberty and equality.  So I don’t really get down with the U.S. when it places economic sanctions on another country because they’re not doing what we want, even if it’s with good intentions.  When you stop trading goods with a country for any reason, the top officials you’re trying to send a message to still get their shit. Those assholes at the top, making decisions and being dick-squeezes? They still get food and whatever the fuck they want. They just don’t get it from you.  It’s the average Joe who gets hurt.  They’re the ones who no longer have access to whatever we were trading with them.  It just adds to the hardship they were already experiencing from whatever tyrannical political leadership that rules their lives.

I recently read an article about the executives at Google going into North Korea to “discuss the free and open internet.”  And, while I agree with their leadership that North Korea’s economic growth will continually be stunted by their lack of internet access, I couldn’t help but thing, “What a bunch of naive assholes.”

With that being said, let me tell you who can suck my dick as it relates to North Korea. Anyone who turns a blind or ignorant eye to the reality of suffering, that’s who. And you know what?  Same goes for turning a blind eye to the reality of pain in the lives of anyone around you, or in any other neighborhood, city, state, country, or people group. Shit just isn’t as simple as you’d like it to be. You can’t just reason it away in order to make yourself feel better. It’s a fucking mess. The problems are complicated, and the solutions even more complex.

In the documentary Camp 14: Total Control Zone, Shin Dong-huyk was born in a forced labor camp in North Korea. He was one of 160,000 forced laborers in North Korea.  His first memory was that of a public execution.  All the prisoners were forced to watch the public executions. He was about 4 or 5, when he saw this. What are people executed for in North Korea? Not “working hard”. Being “disobedient”.  His first feeling he remembers was that of panic, at this particular public execution.  He is the only person ever to be born in a North Korean forced labor camp to escape to the West.

He had a little friend when he was 6 years old. She had hidden a few grains of wheat in her pocket. They were always starving.  Everyone in the labor camp.  The school teacher decided this warranted beating the young girl from 8 a.m. to 2 p.m.  I’m sorry, but can I just stop and say right now and ask you, “Does that seem real… when you read that???”  I want you to fight the desensitization to the fact that this shit is happening AS YOU READ this stupid blog.  That young girl finally fell unconscious to the floor. Her little friends carried her home. She was dead the next day from an infection in her head wounds.  I think of my 4-year-old, who is constantly collecting little things off the ground outside to bring to me. Rocks. Leaves. Flowers.  The contrast of the two girls’ lives is stark in my mind.

In the camps, families are not allowed to be together. Every human is treated as less than an animal. Less than a worm. You have no rights. You don’t have a right to eat, sleep, move, date, make friends.  All of these decisions are made for you. Your diet consists of maize and cabbage soup. If you are ever lucky enough to taste meat, it is that of a rat that you catch yourself (in your house).

Women will submit to sex with the guards, with the hope that life will be easier if a guard likes them. Hoping a child with a guard will keep them alive, they will try to get pregnant.  Instead, these women are killed.  Shin’s father received Shin’s mother as a wife, as a reward for good labor.  People are used as currency.  Trafficked.

The only societal value you are taught is that of suspicion toward everyone around you.  Everyone watches each other, spies on each other, in the event that you are disobedient. Then you are publicly criticized. Beatings are the norm. There is no sense of loyalty to another person. There is no compulsion of love. You are not compelled to protect one another. You are so hungry, all your mind tells you to do is to act in such a way that maybe you will survive better. Eat something. Shin was 14 years old, laying on a prison floor, deformed and burned from fire torture, before he felt what human affection and emotional support feels like from another. An old man who tended his wounds, and told him “You must survive.”  He returned to the labor camp to watch his mother’s and brother’s public execution, which was Shin’s fault. He had reported them for hatching an escape plan from the labor camp.  He felt nothing as he watched them die. The concept of family was completely foreign to him. He felt anger toward his mother, blaming her for the torture he had experienced in the prison after he had reported them.  He didn’t cry as he watched her die.  He hadn’t learned that you’re supposed to cry when your mother is executed.

Eventually, Shin escaped the camp with the sheer purpose of getting his hands on some meat. He had been told about this meat called “chicken” from China.  He wanted to try this meat. He didn’t care about freedom– the concept was foreign to him. But he had been told about food by a man in the labor camp who hadn’t been born there. He wanted to taste the food.   He attempted escape with this fellow prisoner who had told him about the chicken.  That man died on the electric fence surrounding the camp.  The weight of his body made a hole in the fence large enough to allow Shin to crawl over his back, and out through the fence.

Which leads me to wonder… whose backs are being offered to us, so that we can fulfill our purpose in life, become who we are meant to be, tell the story we are meant to tell??  We are not alone, friends. We cannot live alone. We are social beings, which Shin himself confesses he had never known or understood until he landed on the floor of the camp prison after being tortured with fire, as the old man cleaned his burn wounds. Whose wounds are you cleaning? In your prison? Who are you tending to in their pain, to show them what they are truly worth?

Shin Dong-huyk maintains that, in all his meetings with political figures and NGOs, he has yet to find a clear answer on how to address the terrible reality that resides within North Korea, his home.

When asked what he misses about North Korea, Donghuyk says “I miss my innocent heart.”