The Tortoise and Your Healthcare (part three)

My sister. I have to take a minute and tell you about this chick. My sister is one of my best friends, I love the shit out this girl. She’s ruthless and funny as hell. She went with me for every chemo treatment and sat with me the whole time. When I was laid up in the hospital, she made sure my insurance was getting taken care of. She’s a damn superhero, nah she’s gangster.


We would sit in the chemo room with like 10-15 people all getting treatments as well. The first time was sad as fuck. I remember feeling sorry for myself and a 10 yr old girl came in and was getting treatment, her head was bald, body was frail looking, but she had a smile on her face. So once again I feel like a gigantic pussy. They would have people come in and play the violin while we were there. Then one day this orderly was walking around offering out UofL football tickets. Well my family is die hard UK basketball fans and if you are unfamiliar with where we are from know that college basketball is life.


You’re either Kentucky, Louisville or an Indiana fan and you despise all others! If you say you like them all kill yourself. That’s like being kinda pregnant, get the fuck outta here. So the guy handing out tickets makes his way to us offers them to my sis her reply?


“I would rather be here”


Fucking coldblooded!! Dude didn’t know what to say. Now this brings me to a point I need to say something. If you’re reading this and you work as a care giver nurse ,whatever, y’all need to lighten the fuck up! If you cannot tell yet I’m a huge smartass and regardless of the situation I can find some kind of humor in it, but these nurses had no sense of humor. I know their jobs demand seriousness but if I’m making fun of my own situation, it’s ok to laugh with me. Case in point after my gal bladder removal I woke up restrained in my bed. Arms tied to the rails, this was due to me having tubes going down my throat and they didn’t want me ripping them out.


Understandably I freaked out at first. Then they take out the tubes and untie me. The nurse said “boy you were in panic mode are you ok now?” I replied “yeah but I woke up tied up I thought I was back at this chicks house I used to mess with”. Not a chuckle. Not a grin. Nothing! “You’ve woken up tied up before?”. I said yeah she was a sweet girl, still nothing. I mean damn, come on! Ok so back to the main topic.


I go to chemo for three months. Now when they started to explain to me what was gonna happen after treatments I didn’t believe em. Last time I ever doubted them again! They said I could not drink anything cold or my throat would close up. My first dose of medicine took four hours to administer. The second one took twenty four hours and came in a little box the size of a walkman that I had to wear for a day and then come back to have it removed. After my first four hours dose I went to grab my drink which was cold. The best way to describe it is, you know when your arm or legs go to sleep and you get the pins and needle feeling? Imagine that ramped up and someone smacking you in said body part thats asleep. This was crazy to me and you would think I would put it down and not take a drink. No


My dumbass did and like the doc said my throat closed up and had me freaking out! Then it opened back up so it was only a brief scare. Now the other warning they gave me was in regards to foods I couldn’t eat while having the poop catcher on me. Peanuts, popcorn and mushrooms were big ones. I fuckin love mushrooms and generally look for any excuse I can to eat them. Once again, like a dumbass, I smash on a basket of fried ones. I never made that mistake again!


The reason why they tell you not to eat those things is because they do not digest properly. So depending on how finely you chew them up that’s how they are gonna come out. I apparently did not even chew these fucking things at all! Felt like giving birth. Anyway, back to the first treatment. Besides the whole sensation of cold everything was fine. I’m like shit this is cake I don’t need any of the 20 meds they gave me for nauseousness. Then came the second treatment and all bets were off.


Picture your worst flu ever and you’re still no where close to how fuckin horrible chemo is. Can’t sleep but exhausted.  Can’t eat but starving. Your whole body hurts. So after being up like 24 or so hours I’m alone in my room and I start to hear voices. I’m not crazy and I understand how it sounds, but I was literally hearing voices. A lot of it I couldn’t make out but there were a few times it was telling me to let go. Even typing this out gives me chills remembering it, shit like “just take the whole bottle of pain pills and end it”.


I just cried for what seemed like forever until my mom came in the room. She gave me a hug and started crying with me but told me it’s gonna be ok and to keep fighting. My friends would call, text and come to see me. I’m a “rapper” so a lot of the people I worked with came to see me. The guys I started with talked me in to coming back to the studio and working on some shit. It had been the first time I had attempted to record anything in well over a year, maybe longer. I hadn’t written anything in close to that long. He’s a helluva singer and he had been working on trax for me to get on. I just went in and started unloading all my anger and felt like a giant weight came off my shoulders.


One of the verses I recorded mentioned baby moms stealing my pills. I ended up posting that online for a minimum, but took it down when I thought about what it would do to her. But after recording I sat and talked with my homey Wes and we decided to get our old group back together to put out the cd we were never able to do in that past. Now during this I was writing non stop, some of the best shit I had ever written. It was passionate, and went over almost everything that was going through my mind. This next to my daughter were the two things that kept me here.

The Nuclear Option

Sometimes the messenger can be almost as important as the message itself. When we first fired SSM back up, the first question everyone asked was “Where is Eddie Allen”? So much so that I had to quickly address it. That wasn’t enough for some people and they went looking. That search was indirectly responsible for finding an answer that I didn’t even want. In this case the messenger was Eddie’s good friend from high school and a SSM content collaborator in his own right. The man, the myth. Curly.


I was told that if I didn’t come over to his house that I was going to have four visitors at my own door. Nothing like a little peer pressure from three former high school friends. I walked in to them watching old episodes of Kentuckiana and a bit of spirited yelling. It must have freaked me out a little because all three of them asked me what was wrong and why I was shaking. I told them I wasn’t shaking, but in a few minutes I would be.


Curly isn’t the person you want to give you any serious news. His delivery is not one of doctor telling you about your terminal cancer, but more yelling like someone who doesn’t like a call you’ve made as a ref at a game. He asked me what the fuck was going on with Eddie, and when I told him I hadn’t talked to him in three years or so he just blurted back that “Well…….now he’s retarded!” Wait. What?


Before I can go any further I have to explain something else. If you read “last things first” you know that I said I had threatened Eddie Allen in code much the way gangsters do in all those movies we love so much. Turns out Eddie had been threatening me for years, and I only just today picked up on it. He always told me that if things went sideways he had a nuclear option. I assumed he meant if his wife ever caught him doing what we used to do. I thought it was a divorce reference. But he used it when talking about wrestling too. Also when we were in The Electric Heimann together. He never elaborated. He never had to use the Nuclear Option. Until he did.


I’ve now heard from a couple of different people that Mr. Allen has suffered a stroke and claims he doesn’t remember the last five years. I’m not a fucking doctor, but I’m pretty fucking sure that’s not how a stroke works. You can lose your long term memory or short term, but it’s not going to cut out a part of your life with such surgical precision as to only cover your fake trolling career as a Wrestler/Singer/News Anchor/Sportscaster/Writer/Actor. That’s precisely what he is claiming the stroke did. It wiped out his memory of Eddie Allen. Eddie is his real first name. Allen never was. It was his stripper name, if you will.


It’s a trolling masterstroke. I already have people who tell me that it’s legit, and he really is fucked up. They aren’t buying it as an act. That’s the genius of it. Who the fuck is going to call him out? You might ask yourself what kind of monster would fake something like that? Andy Kaufman. The guy we both worshiped. Eddie had already faked cancer quite publicly just to fuck with a wrestling promoter. Faking a stroke and having extremely selective memory loss is right up his alley. It’s absolutely in his wheelhouse. The only one who ever broke character for him was me. I’m not around anymore. Simply put, I’ve been nuked at my own game. Game. Set. Match.

I need to work on my reversals.



Chris Moon gleefully fired me from SSM after a nice talk about this. He is the president after all, and I have brought much shame to this fake media site. We can’t go back at him because it would look like we are attacking a man who has suffered a terrible twist of fate. I haven’t seen him with my own two eyes, but I’ve heard from several people that they saw him and he didn’t look “right”. I have zero doubt in his ability to carry on with this act forever, I just literally don’t know if it’s true or not. I never will. You never will. That’s the great joke, and why I have to take my sideshow act back to my old site again. More out of the respect of being out done than any other reason. I have to admit. I haven’t laughed this hard in a really, really long time.


I just don’t know if I’m laughing at tragedy, or genius. Fucking irony.



Bear Selfies

One hundred and twenty seven. That’s how many people died in a two year span in just the reported incidents of what I am hoping will soon be the newest “cause” for us all to rally behind. Selfie deaths. That’s right boys and girls, we have reached a point in our civilization where taking a picture of ourselves has become officially fucking dangerous.


The most recent, and dare I say hilarious, death occurred when a man stopped to drain the lizard on his way home from a wedding somewhere in India. Thanks to the racist propaganda cartoon that is The Simpsons, my American brain instantly makes them all sound like Apu. That’s when he chanced upon an injured bear. Prabhu, ever the opportunist, saw this as the perfect chance to get whatever they call likes in India. The bear had other ideas.


His friends handled it much the way my friends would in a similar situation. They told him not to do it, and then immediately started filming the man who refused the sage advice. The bear did what injured bears do when faced with a perceived threat to their well being. To be blunt, it fucking killed Prabhu. They said it was an instant death, but I watched it, and instant must mean something completely different in India. It lasted longer than most prom sex. It was fast, but not nearly fucking fast enough. A dog tried to help him out, but only enough as to not look like it didn’t try. His friends just yelled to make the video more likable.


For a good time, go look at all of the amazing drama surrounding this guy on Twitter. You won’t be let down.

The comments section on this widely posted story range from your typical frowny face emojis all the way to insulting this man’s intelligence for being so fucking brave. You know what the first thing I thought was? I bet I could get a selfie with that bear without being mauled to death. Dog or no dog. Good thing I wasn’t there. I would have tried to get a selfie with a bear mauling Prabhu in the backrground and I would have #kwikemart for bonus points. Scratch that. I wouldn’t have tried. I would have done it.


Each time that I think that we’ve hit some new low as a species an idiot astronaut somehow manages to move that bar even lower with self sacrifice and an ambition that none of us will likely ever understand. One hundred and twenty seven reported selfie deaths? Those stats are a few years outdated. If I had to guess they’ve tripled since then. Selfie Sudden Death Syndrome will be a thing in our not too distant future. While you wait on that trademark to go through, enjoy the spoils of the bad friends and the magic of the internet. Those of you worried that the bear would be put down, fear not, he was treated and released. 

The Tortoise and Your Healthcare (part two)

So I get released from the hospital 85lbs and 3/4 of my colon lighter. During my my first few weeks nurses would come over to show me how to change the bag. This was the most disgusting shit ever, it looked like a tube of red lipstick come out of my stomach. Red lipstick that would spout shit and fart. So my asshole was just for show at this point. Like for real I was sitting in the waiting room one time, and all of a sudden let out this high pitch fart. No warning. Nothing.  Almost sounded like a deflating balloon.
So they’re trying to teach me how to change the bag. I am still at this point trying to wrap my brain around this new reality. I couldn’t look at it, but the nurses were really cool about it. They helped a lot at first, well there was one bitch (always is). She was the second one and was determined I was gonna do this alone. So we’re in my bathroom and she is like you got it, not in an encouraging way, like barking at me. Next thing I know I’m waking up to this bitch calling paramedics.
I passed out on the shitter changing a bag of shit. The only people in the house is me, my daughter, and nurse ratchet. I have to tell my daughter to call my folks and her mother. They all arrive before the ambulance and they cart me off. Now I’m at the hospital again everything is fine, my pops walks in and precedes to tell me this story about my daughter. He said her mother walked in and was trying to calm her down, but my daughter is the definition of gangster to me anyways. She told her mother I’m fine he’s ok just calm down. Then says in a very stern voice “don’t go putting this on facebook”.
My pop is in tears telling me this laughing, he said it was like she was the adult in the situation. I fuckin love that kid! I stay with my folks still (hey fuck u a honkey was broke before cancer) and they decided to go away for the Fourth of July weekend to gamble. Which is fine, I knew they needed a break and babys mom said she would stay to keep an eye on me. Now quick back story on her and I.
We knew each other roughly a month before I got her pregnant. We lived together around 4 years and surprise!  Shit didn’t work out. Now before I get in to this next part I wanna say that we are good. We both have hashed things out and we are good. I don’t wish her any ill will or want anything bad to happen to her. Now that being said let’s get in to it.
The whole weekend we argue. I don’t remember why but we did. Sunday rolls around and she leaves, I go to take a painkiller and my bottle seems light. That Friday I got my script filled for 120 oxycodone. When I counted them on Sunday I had about 55 left. To say I lost my shit, well that would be a gross understatement. When confronted she tried to tell me I took them.
Now in my day I was the Michael Jordan of taking drugs, but in no real world setting could I take an estimated 50 of those in the span of 2/3 days. So understandably we no longer spoke, but an unexpected problem arose. My daughter lives with me and as much as I tried to keep this from her she overheard it. This put an even bigger division between the two of them. At this point I’m furious with her mother and now she is as well.
Understand good or bad you only have one mother, and even as mad and hurt as I was, I couldn’t let her continue to be upset with her mom. Well maybe let isn’t the right word. I had to step in bury the hatchet and help repair their relationship. Which we did over some time but not easily. I love my daughter more than life itself and she is the biggest reason I am still here to write this, but god damn it. Women lemme ask a question.  Why do you feel the need to argue every fucking point? It’s like I can tell you hey don’t hit yourself in the head with a hammer. You still try to convince me that “no cuz if I swing it from the side at this angle I won’t”. Then when you’re bleeding and hurting it’s my fault. Anyways………..
Now I’m on my way to the James Brown cancer center in Louisville.  The full name is James Graham Brown but fuck that. Before I get in to this I gotta say the people that work in this building are a true god send.  Each and every person there is unbelievably dedicated and caring!! Now I go for my first meeting with my oncologist, the professor of pooper if you will. My entire family is with me. Parents, brothers and sister. Then the younger dude walks in like literally looks like a teenager maybe early twenties and starts talking to everyone shaking hands etc.. Then turns to me and says he’s my doctor? The fuck?!?
Nah I’m here to see the head guy.  He said yeah,  that’s me you. Wanna see I.D? Then dude laid out a terrifying plan of chemo for the next 6 months. Says that I’m gonna have to wear the colostomy bag for at least 6 months. That was all I heard everything muted again. I’m like “mother fucker I want this off of me!!” I snap out of it to see my family smiling and the doc leaves the room and I’m fucking pissed. I look at my family and say “the fuck is y’all smiling about I gotta shit sack for six months” say that six times fast.
My sister says are you fucking retarded, did you not hear him? Um yeah I heard I poop like a normal person I got that! She says yeah you dumbass, but he also said they got all the cancer out and the chemo is to make sure they kill all cancerous cells left and you’re gonna be fine.


It’s election day. A day when I used to always post the George Carlin anti voting video to irritate my friends who get super self fucking congratulatory for voting. The requirements for voting are you have to be a U.S. citizen (I think), alive (I think), and 18 years of age. You know. The consenting age to get fucked? Fear not, kiddos. This is not another long rant about the futility of voting. Carlin is way better at it than I ever was anyway. This is more about applying the idea that all those famous people that tell you who to vote for are already employing. Maybe you do deserve an award after all.


From the inventors of the phrase humble bragging comes a brand new way for you to let people know how amazing you are without it coming off like you are some sort of pretentious asshole. I’ve noticed a huge uptick in beer, cars, celebrities, restaurants, toilet paper, just about everything showing off their awards for being best in…….something. I saw a commercial where they actually uttered the phrase “emmy nominated actor, Dennis Leary” to try to sell a show. Nominated? You don’t even have to fucking win now? What kind of award slut do you think I am? I’m not going to settle for the fifth fucking runner up. What time does the winner’s show come on? Fuck, they got me again.


Once a month there is an event where these dicks put on suits made by people that they just make up names for to impress poor people and suck each other off. Your mom watches it. In order to maintain such a ridiculous high level of false self worth you need to constantly shower yourself in meaningless accolades. These are people that read lines they didn’t write pretending to be people other than themselves, and not a single fucking one of them isn’t sure who you need to vote for. Seems legit. I see zero reason why you can’t start doing the same thing.


Awards are easy to get. You can buy trophies online and make them say anything. All you really need is a golden man of some sort in an odd pose with a really boring white name. Want to win an Alex? Maybe a Timmy? I hear Bobby just won his sixth fucking Seth-ie. Fucking Sethie. Happy fucking congratulations. If you want to jazz it up just start adding words like academy, council, or foundation. I just won the Nielson Academy Award for best……….whatever. But wait, there’s more.


Are you black? Jesus tap dancing Christ were you ever born in the right place at the right time. Never fucking mind that you are being murdered in the streets at an alarming rate by people you are actually paying to hunt you down with your own tax money. You might be the first black person that did a particular thing? Isn’t that fucking exciting? We white folks have offices in every state that track the movements of black people to see if they’ve done something we’ve done a bunch of times for the first time. That way we can swoop in and give you an award for being the first African American to accomplish something without a fucking hint of racist fucking irony. African American is the tuxedo adjective for black people. Despite the fact most Americans who happen to be black have never actually been to Africa. They don’t make me call myself a German American mixed with Native American. Wait. I’m mixed? I’m eligible for new awards!


I think you should probably consider the source of any information before you just accept these awards as proof that something doesn’t suck. Every annoying fucking song that’s ever been stuck in your head has won something. They have porn star awards. They literally hand awards to people who get fucked the best in this country for money. I’d google some of the categories but I don’t want my PC to explode. If you think that I’m taking my condescending tone a little too far today, just look all across your social media feed. Today is the day for breaking your arm patting yourself on the back for the “little guy”. The people who don’t get their own limo red carpet orgy of self appreciation on the regular. You should be proud. Your vote matters. Need I remind you who is in office right now, or is that just crossing the fucking dickhead line? What? I already passed it? Where is my trophy?

Kanye Twitty

I’m quite proud of myself for building a Trump style wall around pop culture that has been standing for almost two decades now. I don’t know shit about current pop culture as it pertains to television, because I don’t watch it. When I see a red carpet and assholes walking around on it, I almost never know who the fuck they are. Sadly, Kanye West has jumped over that wall on three separate occasions now. He was the award show asshole, the Jesus melt down guy, and now he’s Kanye Twitty. The whitest black man since Karl Malone to hear the nation tell it. I have some bad news, kiddos. You’ve been fucking trolled.

Must. Not. Take. The. Bait…………………



I’ve heard the future is female and quickly corrected that the future is fucking Troll. There has never been a time where our dominance was on display quite like it is right now. If you really want to be heard in this day and age you have to learn how to troll if only to stop getting trolled. Kanye is pulling a form of trolling where he wraps his message in a toxic phrase. He mixed in what he thinks are his good points right next to the click bait anger phrase. Fucking everyone is taking the bait.


I’m not going to get in to his political agenda right here. I’m not going to bother to break down what are valid points and what are obvious troll attempts. Controversy has been his marketing campaign in the past and this is just the newest mutation of that. Instead I’m going to walk you through a recent internet crime scene that I happened upon that I believe was perpetrated by a troll whose work I’m quite familiar with. Some of you may remember Wes. For almost two years I thought it was Eddie Allen, and he thought it was me. Then one day we actually met him. He’s a master at his craft.


It started out simple enough. Just two people smiling in a picture. Everyone was commenting on how cute they were and how happy they looked. All those throw away compliment comments that I always wonder why people bother making. Then I noticed a huge uptick in comments and sudden F-bombs. It was time to reach for the popcorn. The show had already started. To me it’s obvious as fuck when it’s happening, but most people just cannot fucking resist that bait.


He insulted the two people in the picture with a very insensitive remark. That got the ball rolling. Then instead of backing down when people got offended he doubled down with a completely fucking fabricated statistic to support his claim (which was a Wes signature move). That confused them a little bit, which turned in to long responses that you could tell were typed with little to no actual thought. Grammar, spelling, and anything that remotely resembled coherent thought were killed dead. They went from zero to ghetto in two fucking comments. Happy to fucking furious. For the cherry on top they actually called him “getto”. Be still my Trolling heart.


From there he just did the old poke the dog with the stick routine. He’d not respond for a long time and let them run themselves completely out of threats and insults. Then he popped back up and hit them again. They’d relaunch their campaign for another long ass fucking time with zero responses. He’d let them tire out. Boom. All he was truly doing was exposing how uneducated they were. That was point. That was the joke. It was like that scene in Predator where they shoot off all of their guns and hit absolutely nothing. Only instead of bullets it was words, and instead of Arnie fucking Schwarzenegger it was a second grade education in adults. I felt really bad for laughing. The ones that got trolled were friends of mine, oddly enough.


I didn’t break it up because of Troll code. It’s like bro code, but for Trolls. If you aren’t wise enough to know that it’s happening to you, it’s not my place to stop it. It’s like a nature show host situation. You let the lion eat. I have jumped in and counter trolled on many occasions over the years, but that was more for my own fun and I saw this one far too late. If someone offers up an opinion that almost nobody on Earth would agree with, slow your fucking roll hot heads. You’re probably being tricked in to running a marathon carrying your torch and pitchforks just to see how long you’ll follow an offensive trail of breadcrumbs. The people laughing at your expense aren’t going to break character so long as you are still losing your shit. It’s free entertainment. It’s also how we run our country now, apparently.


I doubt Kanye Twitty is half as concerned with the treatment of black people in America compared to his bottom line. The backlash Trump gets from the left keeps the people on the right happy. He’s the first troll politician, but who would like to bet he won’t be the last? I have been capitalizing the word troll off and on throughout this post just to irritate Kent. We Trolls can’t turn it off, so it’s up to you would be victims to defend yourselves. I don’t think anyone would choose to be a slave, do you? Don’t feed the fucking trolls. I don’t want Kanye scaling my wall a fourth fucking time.

The Art of Grambling

This is the only time of year that it is actually cool to live near Louisville. The Derby has long been a bright spot in an otherwise bleak existence in a place where the only two usual options are raising a lame ass family or spiraling the fuck out on heroin. Some try to do both. Sure there is a question of pricing on the festivities, a good bit of animal cruelty for the horses, and we all still think jockey’s are ultra fuck creepy. Turns out that if adults want to have fun there are always certain moral consequences that we need to fucking ignore almost entirely. If an entire city suddenly embraces getting really fucked up wearing silly clothes and gambling. Well. That’s a price I’m more that willing to pay. Even if I’ll never actually be able to afford it.


Friday used to be the day for locals, but the celebrity crowd stole that from us a long ass fucking time ago. It was the day that I used to actually make my appearance at the track. I would have made my glorious return this year, but I couldn’t find a pink Chinese dress at a thrift store to wear to send social justice warriors in to another bout of fabricated outrage over the destruction of their culture. If you think for just one second I wouldn’t have done it, you must not have heard I was recently a woman for an hour, and a troll for fucking life. I still love to gamble.


This is where the real point of this comes in. Today is also May the fourth. It’s not a holiday. It’s the day that Star Wars fans choose to be even more annoying than usual. If you say may the fourth be with you to anyone you’re a fucking dickhead. I’m not saying that to hurt your feelings. I’m trying to bully you in to stop doing it. Every time I hear it, I like Star Wars a little less. That fucking Solo movie is looking like the death blow for my fandom anyway. Star Wars nerds were recently the subject of a huge gambling scandal of their own. I wasn’t around to write about it then, I’m going to attempt to tie that in now.


When I was little there was a place virgins could go where we didn’t feel like the tools that we were. Arcades. Inside these often foul smelling places were machines that took quarters to entertain us for short bursts of time. It was my favorite place in the world as a kid. The games were rigged to devour as many quarters as they could. My favorite place as an adult is Vegas. They are giant buildings with machines that take money in exchange for short bursts of entertainment while I get completely fucking shithoused on “free” alcohol. I used to feel like an asshole for spending twelve bucks for a beer at a concert. I’ve lost two hundred waiting on a beer in Vegas more than once. It’s a good thing those arcades couldn’t follow me home as a kid. Something worse is happening to your kids though.


I’ve used video games to kill boredom all my life. It’s a huge part of our culture, and most of my fondest memories involve them. That all changed in the past few years. I’ve all but retired from playing. Why? Because one of my other favorite things invaded and destroyed it. Gambling. The worst part about it is your children are being taught to gamble completely unchecked while you think they are just in the other room leaving you the fuck alone. Those violent video games haven’t caused a single murder in real life. These gambling devices they’ve put in games have already emptied out a few bank accounts by kids who got legit hooked on it in a very short period of time. Their parents were dumb enough to link their bank accounts to the game system, and their children took care of the rest.


It used to be that when you played a game, the people that were good at it won. Now it is the people who get the better gear that win. You get the better gear by paying for it in most cases. You don’t just buy it though. You buy loot boxes with random gear in it with real money. You know, exactly like a fucking slot machine? When I was a kid video games had a loading screen that said winners don’t do drugs. Now almost every game let’s your kids know that winners fucking gamble their way to the top. The gaming industry has made billions, yes with a fucking B, off of people buying these loot crates. They’ve fucking killed gaming for me in the process. A man my age probably should have stopped a long time ago.


I’m a bit loosey goosey when it comes to morality in most cases. I don’t think you should let a six year old smoke cigars, drink a mint julep, and bet his allowance on the ponies. I don’t think that same six year old needs to try the legal weed gummy bears, get a hooker, and try his hand at black jack in Vegas. So that same six year old probably shouldn’t be playing fucking slot machines in his own home with your credit card either. The government has yet to get off of their dead asses to regulate this, so it’s up to the parents to step in and kill the fun. I’m pretty sure that’s your favorite thing to do anyway, right? You might think that the games your kids are playing don’t have that element to them. Right now almost all popular video games do. It got national media attention when that May The Fourth be with you crowd fell victim last Christmas. You really really really don’t want to piss off that Star Wars crowd. So my word of warning is to get that shit out of your kid’s hands immediately. Take that money and do something constructive with it. Like putting it on a long shot to win the fucking Derby tomorrow. Pro tip: I pick the horse with the dumbest fucking name. It almost never works. May the fourth go fuck itself.

Only the true nerds get the pink Vader joke. It gives them a sense of pride and accomplishment.


Girl 4 a Day

Over the years I have blamed a lot of the world’s problems on what I thought was the complete destruction of gender roles in our society. Men were a little too bitch made, and women just a little too masculine for what I thought was for the greater good. Now I’m going to do something that I almost never do. I’m going to pivot, and then sprint headlong in the complete opposite direction. There is a lie being sold for top dollar in my very own backyard, and I think perhaps I can help. In the past I would have been powerless. Now, I can wield girl power.


With the magic of gender fluidity I shall transform myself now in to a woman. Don’t worry, I’m only going to stay in this form for a day. I’m not going to pull a Rachel what’s her face and try to take over like she did for the black movement despite being one hundred fucking percent cracker. That should be more than enough time for me to turn this whole God damn thing around for you. I mean us. Just sit tight while I firmly tuck my junk between my legs and do the dance from “If” by Janet Jackson nude in front of a mirror………….and………….boom.


I am woman. Hear me fucking roar.


This whole girl power movement thing is a fucking sham put on by misogynous men looking to score a quick buck at the expense of the most gullible among us. If you think that Wonder Woman becoming a successful film franchise is proof that the future is female, riddle me fucking this Batgirl. Why didn’t they cast an amazing actress to play her, say like Kathy Bates, instead of some random hot chick that looks like she couldn’t open a fucking jar of pickles by herself? Because it was a male fantasy film. That’s not girl power. That’s another day at the fucking office. It’s time to throw that merchandise away and start taking on the real issues here.

If her lame ass rope of truth doesn’t work, she’ll grab her fucking sledgehammer.


If equality is what we are truly after then we need to adjust our thinking a bit. You see, we’ve not really been requesting equality over the years. We’ve been asking for special treatment. We want to be CEO more often, but none of us are bitching about wanting to operate the jackhammer. We want to be able to abort our offspring without having to tell the male who helped create it, and keep the children for no other reason than it fell out of our vagina instead of the tip of their dick. True equality is getting the best person for the job based on their skill set and nothing else. If you’d like to start lobbying for special treatment instead of equality we have to start all over again. I’m pretty sure it’s completely different paperwork.


If you want to go to Target someday and all the clothes are in one section just labeled “people”, we’ve got to stop spending all this money painting ourselves up like two dollar hookers. Time to ditch the heels. Time to stop turning ourselves in to the dolls that they want us to be. Hairy armpits, garlic breath, and farting in public are now mandatory. I’ll be fucking damned if I’ll allow even one of us to ever be objectified, or considered attractive. Attractive? Who do these fucking apes think they are complementing our looks with impunity? We can keep spending seventy five dollars for a half ounce of facial cream that makes us look three days younger if we squint though. Let’s not get crazy.


A few of us are going to need to get better at basketball than Lebron James. We’ll need a clam or two to be able to throw the pigskin better than Tom Brady if we are ever to be able to go outside with our shirts off too. We are also going to need to put together a space program and put a sister or two on the moon. Should be easy enough. We need to build a greater wall of China. We can probably enslave those women from countries that aren’t even allowed to show their ankles to build it for us. They seem to take orders well enough, and we sure as shit aren’t going to lift a finger to help their cause. Anything men have done, we need to do just as well if not better if we are going to ever be equal with those disgusting fucking pigs. Uh oh. Fuck. No no no no no no no.


The magic is gone.


Back to a man again. The fact of the matter is that you can’t be handed equality, and sure as fuck can’t just ask for it. Equality happens naturally when we are…..equal. Men are better than women at certain things. Women are better than men at certain things. Why fuck up our overall quality of life to try to destroy something that can’t be changed? I’ll never know the pain of menopause. You’ll never know the shame of an awkward boner. The only movement started by actual women was the METOO thing, and if I’m being honest, I feel like you fucktards left the most important part out. It should have been #sexuallyassulted, me too sounds like a fucking soda ad. I think 7-up actually used that once. Put the emphasis on the important part, cupcake. That way some dumb bitch who just doesn’t want to feel left out can’t be grouped in with actual rape victims because a guy she didn’t think was attractive enough hit on her this one time. I say fucktards with the utmost respect, ladies.


I wouldn’t last five minutes as a woman. I was raised by one of the craziest among you and she may have taught me just a little too much about your thought processes and trickery. You really could have this world by the balls if you would just stop trying to get a set of your own. I have zero doubt in my mind that we are witnessing the absolute height of women’s achievement in our species history. I just don’t think it is women who are profiting from it the most. Until you can figure out a way to fix that narrative, it’s just another “you can be anything you put your mind to” type of lie that you tell yourself. Don’t worry. Wonder Woman will surely save us all.


As a backup plan SSM is bringing on a female writer. An actual one. She might be even crazier than me.



The Tortoise and Your Healthcare (part one)

So for years I’ve had stomach problems, they would flair up outta nowhere. I would take some Zantac go to bed and be fine. Well eventually it got so bad that sleep wasn’t an option. I took my ass to the ER and they said it was my gal bladder.
After I came to from surgery they informed me it ruptured right when they were taking it out. I spent about a week in the hospital, my baby mom came by to check on me and to pick a fight. Crazy shit was she got in to my phone and deleted a gang of females I knew from facebook. Then, while laid up wants to know who I’m fucking. More about that later.
Now the pain was gone and I’m like cool, business as usual. I got a month off work. Hung out with my daughter. It was nice. Then two weeks go by and my stomach starts up again. Only this time it was like someone was stabbing me. I go back to the ER, they admit me, and immediately give me morphine. The pain was still there.
Now in my mind I’m thinking about Vietnam movies where dudes get their leg shot off screaming, they give them that shit and they stop. I’m like what the fuck, have I done that many drugs in my life that morphine has no affect? I remember thinking well fuck they don’t have anything for my pain. Oh how wrong I was.
I hear the doc say give him dilaudid. Spoiler alert. This shit is CRAZY!!! I went from the worst pain ever to looking at the nurse like heeeey bitch you cute. I go up to a room higher than giraffe nuts, and pass out. Now literally weeks go by (from what they told me) I was gone like Wyatt Earps wife in tombstone. They have no clue whats going on, only I cannot take a poop.
I’m feeling rough and this pretty ass nurse walks in and says “time for an enema”. Like the way she said that shit made me laugh, all perky saying “ok I’m going to enter your asshole”. So she’s getting her stuff situated and she stares at me for a minute and says “We went to high school together didn’t we?”. Lemme tell you this is not a time you want someone to recognize you. Especially when they’re hot, best case scenario is she sees my homey during and she laughs. I’m polite and say yeah I remember you but never woulda thought we’d be meeting again like this. She laughed and then violated my pooper. I threw up. She left.
Now days go by, but it could be weeks. I have no clue. YAY DRUGS! One of the resident doctors comes in and she has a Jamaican accent. She proceeds to tell me they are going to take me off my meds to get me to poop. To which I reply in a Jamaican accent “get the fuck outta my face mon”. I have a habit of when I hear someone’s accent I start talking in it. Plus I’m higher than Katt Williams at a hip hop show. My family steps in an calls a specialist and they do a colonoscopy.
Now I have never had this much attention to my ass in my life! Maybe a finger once or twice, but they go in with like alien probes. I’m really foggy on what happens next and the info comes to me second hand. I wake up and my whole family is at my bedside and they all are crying. My very first thought was oh fuck I’m dead. I don’t feel any pain I must be dead. I try to sit up and my whole right side was like “nah we ain’t doing that” . I pull back the sheets and I have a colostomy bag on. Now I speak WHAT IN THE ACTUAL FUCK!
My mom tells me to calm down and not to move. The doc will be by in a second. So in walks the doc (comb over blonde hair, tan, thin gold chain, corny white dude late 50’s). “Ok well you had two very large tumors we had to remove. Your colon was swollen 4 times it’s normal size and was about to burst. If we would have waited any longer it would have killed you”. Then he said colon cancer stage 3, now I ain’t hear shit else after that.
It was like a movie everyone’s voices just muted. He leaves and my first reaction is “I know I’m fulla shit but this is ridiculous” . But then the thought comes in that I might actually die from this and that I almost died already. I go in to a weird state of mind at that point. I had just given up. The road seemed so long and no real guarantee I would come out the other side. I start calling my friends and tell them what’s going on. Best response I got when I told one friend was “shouldn’t let so many dudes in that ass”.
My friends are dicks.
My daughter came in pretty much at my lowest point. All this time I’m worried about me but when I saw her it flipped so fast. I had no idea what was going on in her head, and I felt horrible for that. She walks up to my bed wearing a pretty dress from her last day as a fifth grader. I just put on my best smile and ask how she was.  She smiles and said she was good. Went in to her day and was just excited to talk about it. Then she asked if I was ok. I explain what’s going on and her reply was awesome. She just says well it’s ok you’ll go through chemo and you’ll be better. The way she said it, the confidence she said it with, I was like “oh I am a giant pussy”!