While I was driving to work recently, the Ice Cube song “Givin Up the Nappy Dugout” came on and it got me thinking about how rappers are adept as hell at making the female nether regions sound as unappealing as possible. Here are just a few examples:

Nappy Dugout
EXAMPLE: “Cuz your daughter’s known for givin up the nappy dugout.” – Ice Cube
My first thought when hearing this term is a bunch of goateed baseball players scratching their nuts and spitting tobacco. Not exactly a stimulating mental image, right? In the same song, Ice Cube also refers to a “little-bitty twat.” While that rids my mind of the boys of summer, I’m afraid nothing good can ever come of having a run in with a “twat.”

Cut Up
EXAMPLE: “Cut up, know we like to get that cut up.” – Cut Up by Ludacris
Really? Cut up??! I’m not a prude, but this is fucking disgusting and all I can think about when I hear it is a stinky, bloody mess. Also, what kind of woman would answer “yes” when asked for her “cut up?”

Guts
EXAMPLE:  “When I’m all in those guts and shit.” – Bury Me a G by 2Pac
This sounds like something Gil Grissom might say around the office on C.S.I. to describe the types of cases he hates to work. It also has a slight necrophilia vibe to it.

Ill Na Na
EXAMPLE: “Sugar walls comin down niggaz can’t stand it, the ill na na.” – Ill Na Na by Foxie Brown
I’m not a germaphobe or anything, but I’d prefer your na na be healthy.

Cha Cha
EXAMPLE: “Call before you come I need to shave my cha cha.” – Work It by Missy Elliott
This one is not gross, per se, but it makes me feel like I may have to dance in order to get lucky and I don’t dance.

Coochie
EXAMPLE: “Pop that coochie baby!” – Pop That Coochie by 2 Live Crew
This word has always given me nightmares about being sexually abused by a wild-eyed, 70-year-old Mexican woman. Luckily I’ve always been able to fend her off by saying “circle, circle, dot, dot, now I’ve got my coochie shot.”

As  I was writing this, I started thinking about what word(s) I use to describe the vagina when talking to a woman. First of all, I certainly don’t go all clinical and say “hey gurr, lemme get some of that vagina.” I don’t often say “pussy” either. Even though it’s the old school standby, it’s rare that it can be used non ironically and not sound ridiculous. Instead, I usually say “that,” as in, “are you going to give me some of that tonight?” and “I sure would like some of that!” Yes, I  realize this doesn’t make me much better than the rappers I criticize, but we all have our issues, right?

I am, without a doubt, the third guy on this “honest” buddy list from Holytaco.com. For some reason I want all my friends to know what I’m listening to throughout my day. It’s kinda like when I  had a beat up Nissan Sentra with a stereo worth more than the car. I drove that thing all over town, just steady bumpin’.  Why? I was 19 and wanted everyone to hear Too $hort, goddamn it! I wanted them to feeeeel Too $hort and his freaky tales that he told so well. Now my only reasoning is that I’m a narcissist who thinks people should know when I’m rockin’ Tom Jones.

While I’m #3 on the list, I also have quite a few of these other buddy types residing in my own list, but it would probably be better if I didn’t get into all that.

(sound of someone knocking at the door)

“Hello, Mr. Cobain, are you in there? This is your electrician.

(more knocking)

Hello?!

(Sound effect of a shotgun blast)

This was the outgoing message on my answering machine 15 years ago yesterday, after Kurt Cobain’s body was discovered by an electrician. I thought it was timely and morbidly humorous.

Many of my friends did not find it funny at all. My friend Greg didn’t talk to me for a while afterward or at least he didn’t want to. For Greg, and many others, Kurt Cobain’s death was a big deal. It was an emotional time. For me, it was an annoying time as I was forced to hear Cobain lionized as the savior of music.

I grew up in a small town, and it pissed me off that the kids who had been making fun of me for years because of my “weird music” were all of a sudden listening to, and telling me about, the same bands I had been trying to tell them about for years. It’s ridiculous to me now, but at 21 this was a big deal. The ironic thing is that Cobain also struggled with this sort of thing as Nirvana audiences grew to include the kind of kids who would have beat him up a few months before “Smells Like Teen Spirit” was released.

I enjoy Nirvana much more now than I allowed myself to when Kurt Cobain was alive, and I regret that my immaturity caused me to miss seeing them in concert. I also understand the reaction to the suicide now, although I don’t think that people were upset about losing Kurt Cobain the person.

Allow me to explain…

Nine years after Cobain’s suicide, I woke up to find Elliott Smith had killed himself. I cried that morning. And I didn’t leave an outgoing voicemail about stabbing oneself either. But, a few hours after the initial shock, I realized that I wasn’t crying because I cared about Elliott Smith the person. I had never met him. Instead, I was crying because I cared about Elliott Smith the artist. Did I ever worry about him because he was an off again on again heroin addict? Did I ever care that he was a sad guy? No. As long as he churned out excellent albums like “Either/Or and “Xo” I didn’t care what hell he had to go through.

I contend that most music lovers, if given the choice, wouldn’t rid an artist of their inner demons if it meant they would no longer have the art created by those “tortured” artists. I know I wouldn’t. In some cases, I may even help the fuckers out. For example, while I think it’s great that the members of Aerosmith kicked all their nasty addictions, if getting back on heroin would make Joe Perry write another riff as kick ass as “Back in the Saddle,” I’d tie him off myself and cook up some China White.

What about you? How would you answer the following  hypothetical question?

The musician who created your favorite album of all time is addicted to heroin. It’s slowly killing him, but you can  save him from his eventual, fatal overdose. If you choose to save him, however, your favorite album of all time ceases to exist. What do you do?

My lifelong dream of having my own bobblehead is coming true for my wedding. Here is how it’s looking so far.

Tracey and I went to Atmosphere Bistro last night for dinner. I was excited because we had never been, and who doesn’t love going to new restaurants? Unfortunately, the excitement that flourished during our appetizers (Brie Croustillant and Plateau de charcuterie) and our bottle of wine (Joseph Drouhin Vero Pinot Noir) died when we got our entrees.

I’m not a food writer, so I won’t go into details, other than to say my roasted duck leg confit was too salty and Tracey’s pork tenderloin tasted like bland mystery meat served over Rice-A-Roni. Oh, and our waiter took forever to tell us the specials, since he couldn’t remember them. He would struggle for a moment, then open his book and tell us. We still liked him, though, since a French accent can be mighty charming.

Still, it wasn’t the sub-par entrees and odd service that ruined the night for me; it was the Phil Collins. Now, before all you rabid Phil Collins fans start accusing me of thinking I’m “too cool for Phil,” let me state that I’m not against Phil Collins. He’s a badass drummer that has recorded a handful of songs I really like. But, this isn’t about the intrinsic worth of Phil Collins. This is about how Phil Collins is the reason I will never go back to Atmosphere.

Sure, the chances of Tracey and I going back were already slim, but there WAS still a chance. The place is cozy and even romantic, so it wasn’t completely out of the question. We could have gone back and stuck to appetizers and wine. But, Mr. Phil Collins fucked it all up. Or, should I say, the management at Atmosphere fucked it all up with their choice of music.

I was already suspicious of the music selection when, halfway through our entrees, “Against All Odds” started playing. While it was bad enough to go from Sade to a Muzak version of Sade, hearing “Against All Odds” let me know everything I needed to know about Atmosphere Bistro. What it told me was that attention to detail is not a high priority. How else can you explain a cozy French bistro, housed in a mid-50’s cottage, not ensuring the music added to the ambiance? Is it that hard to have some romantic French music playing instead of a Brit belting out a song about divorce?!? I’m surprised they didn’t follow it up with Wham’s “Careless Whisper.”

Oh well. Next week we’ll go out again and hopefully have better results. Of course, we could end up at an Italian restaurant that plays 2 Live Crew because, as everyone knows, nothing makes an evening more romantic than hearing “Pop That Pussy.”

Me and my boy Hagearty went to an Atlanta Thrashers game last night, where I was quickly reminded of something that really pisses me off at sporting events: Kiss Cam.

For those of you not familiar with the Kiss Cam, it goes like this: during the game, when there is a break in the action, some “romantic” music starts playing and, on the JumboTron, the camera starts searching for couples. The couples then dutifully kiss for the cam, and everyone goes “awwww!”

It always starts with your cookie-cutter-cute couples to get the crowd warmed up. Then the cam finds at least one elderly couple. This always brings a louder “awwww!” and sometimes even applause from the crowd. For some reason, large groups seem to enjoy watching old people make out. And I thought granny porn was niche.

Anyway, this goes on for a minute or so until it’s time for the big finish, which is when the cam focuses on two male friends who immediately start shaking their heads “no!” while moving as far away from each other as possible. This doesn’t get an “awwww!” but roars of laughter. Why? Because, sadly, there are still a bunch of dumb motherfuckers out there and, to play the stereotype game they are so fond of, you can usually find said dumb motherfuckers at sporting events.

As the Kiss Cam started last night, Hagearty and I joked about how it was going to end up on two guys. This was an easy call, but I was still hoping I would be wrong. I hadn’t seen the Kiss Cam in a while, so I was hoping we had finally moved past this sort of thing. Maybe that was just me being an idealistic dope. After all, two nights before I had been moved by Dustin Lance Black’s acceptance speech at the Academy Awards and had real hope for us as a country.

I also let Hagearty know that if the cam was pointed on us, I was going to kiss him. And, though I’m not sure he believed me, I meant it. Although he’s not the kind of man I’d go for if I were gay, I’d rather kiss Hagearty than play into the tired “joke” provided by the Kiss Cam.

As it turns out, the cam didn’t end up on us, but it did end up focusing on… you guessed it; two guys, who immediately started shaking their heads “no!” while moving as far away from each other as possible. Fucking hilarious, I tell you. Comedy gold! Oh, and to really hammer the joke home, the music changed to Wham’s “I’m Your Man.” Get it?!? Get it?!

Funny how these same types of idiots quickly jump to their feet when Y.M.C.A. is played, without even a hint of irony. Maybe if the Village People would have been less “subtle,” these homophobes would understand what that song was about. Maybe the lyrics should have been “you can hang out with all the boys, and then get a dick in your mouth.” Although, come to think of it, it’s really FUN to do the Y.M.C.A. at sporting events, so maybe they would still do it. Then, when the song ended, they would high five each other while saying, “That was fun. Not that I’m queer or anything!”

Am I saying that we shouldn’t joke about homosexuality, or homosexuals? Hell no! We should be able to joke about anything and everything as long as it’s funny and/or insightful and without hate attached to it. Is that really too much to ask for?

Since I’m hoping to start blogging more, I thought I should finally test out this WordPress for the iPhone app that I downloaded months ago and haven’t touched since. To make testing it out fun, I decided to write this entry from a bubble bath. I hope that properly disturbs or excites you.

Speaking of bubble baths, I think I’m becoming obsessed with taking them. It started out with me taking one every Sunday, while drinking mimosas, but it is turning into a regular event. Sadly, there are no mimosas this morning, since I have to go to the gym in an hour.

OK, that should be enough jibberish to test this thing out. Plus, I gotta build my bubble fortress.

Every once in a while I like to check out my blog stats. I do not do this to stroke my ego. I mean, how much stroking can one do when finding out a whopping 45 people checked out their blog the day before? Not much. Instead, I like checking my stats to see HOW they found my rarely-updated spot on the web. I am almost always surprised, and even disgusted at what I find.

So, I figured, why not start sharing some of these search terms, just in case you’ve started thinking most people use the Internets to expand their mind. My “top line” analysis? There are a lot of people out there who are really obsessed with tattoos, Gene Simmons and “fucken” 17 year olds. Oh, and a lot of them are also racists who want to know how to best use their iPhone.

Here are some highlights from 2/12/09 – 2/19/09

• shit tattoos
• what republicans say the word nigger
• gene simmons sex tongue
• what is with all the winking on match.co
• i’ll never stop loving you tattoo
• 17 years oldfuck hard
• “michael vick” +nigger
• 17 years oldfuck hard
• quiet riot
• top iphone uses
• pussypower
• heidi fleiss ugly
• gene simmons cunnilingus
• power to the pussy
• 17 year old fucked
• sex in a truck
• christian tattoos
• old lady sex
• best uses of the iphone
• fucken 17 yearold
• people who hate republican
• 17 year old fuck
• 1980 clothes fashion
• stale pussy
• does gene simmons drink or do drugs
• can a 17 year old fuck a thirty year old
• why be thankful for today

My wedding is less than 100 days away, which means it’s time for me to take care of the few things left on my to-do list. One of the most important of those items is my “Do not play” list for the wedding band. While many couples probably tell wedding bands all the songs they really have to hear, I’m taking the opposite approach. There are no songs I HAVE to hear performed by a wedding band, but there are songs that I don’t want to hear under any circumstances.

I thought I’d share with you the list I’m sending to the band, along with a note informing them that these songs are NOT to be played, even if the father of the bride makes the request.

(Some of these quickly came to mind, while others I found while going through the band’s song list.)

Brown-Eyed Girl – Van Morrison
This song is the reason I started the list in the first place. My reasons for hating this song have less to do with Van Morrison and more to do with the people who love the song. Every time I hear it I think of both young and aging frat boys and sorority girls singing it at the top of their annoying fucking lungs while at a kegger.

Hotel California – The Eagles
I think Jeff Lebowski sums up my feelings better than I possibly could; “I hate the fucking Eagles, man.”

Margaritaville – Jimmy Buffett
There is not enough tequila in the world to make me like this song or ever want to hear it again.

Play That Funky Music – Wild Cherry
I’m just not sure I’m ready to see a room full of white, predominantly Jewish people attempting to “lay down the boogie.”

Love Shack – B-52’s
There are plenty of good B-52’s songs, but this has never been one of them. If the band chooses to play it, they can head back down the Atlanta Highway in their big-as-a-whale Chrysler. But they won’t have all their jukebox money.

I Will Survive – Gloria Gaynor
As long as I know how to love, I know I will stay alive, but I’ll start considering suicide if I ever have to hear this song again.

Mustang Sally – Wilson Pickett
See Brown-Eyed Girl (minus the young people)

Rambling Man – Allman Brothers
I grew up near Macon, GA, home of the Allman Brothers, where it was assumed you wanted to hear them played two to three times an hour on the radio. I never wanted to hear them at all, and I sure as hell don’t want to hear them at my wedding.

Here are some more songs that made my Do Not Play list that are not even worth commenting on:

My Heart Will Go On – Celine Dion
Only Wanna Be With You – Hootie & The Blowfish
Sweet Home Alabama – Lynyrd Skynyrd
All I Wanna Do – Sheryl Crow
I Believe I Can Fly – R Kelly
Far Away, I’m Alive – Nickelback
Give Me One Reason – Tracy Chapman
Smooth – Santana
Old Time Rock & Roll – Bob Seger
We Belong Together – Mariah Carey

It has been more than a week since the election and I am still emotional, and amazed at how my cynicism still sleeps.

I woke up November 4 with a lot of anger inside me, as you can see in my post from that day. However, I woke up November 5 feeling like a new person. I don’t even feel cheesy saying that. I love feeling like this. I love having positive feelings about my country.

It started with Barack Obama’s acceptance speech. I knew I would cry if he was elected and, well, I did. I was actually doing OK holding the tears back, but then he had to mention the 106-year-old black woman. Bastard! That was the moment I lost it. But, it didn’t stop there. Every once in a while it hits me all over again and I start to tear up.

It happened again this past weekend. I was at the Atlanta Falcons’ game, and the weirdest thing happened. During the singing of the National Anthem, I got teary-eyed. Usually I want the singer to hurry the hell up so the game can start. Not this time. I stood there proudly and smiled. Finally, the country in which I live feels united. Now I can focus my anger not on the far-right zealots, who are thankfully in the rear-view mirror, but on things that make me mad, but are of no real consequence. People who stand in my way on escalators, I’m coming for ya!

I also get a little choked up watching the kid at 0:53 in this video:

]]> http://stalebread.wordpress.com/2008/11/13/damn-it-feels-good-to-be-a-softy/feed/ 2 Tony http://stalebread.wordpress.com/2008/11/04/just-get-off-your-asses-already/ http://stalebread.wordpress.com/2008/11/04/just-get-off-your-asses-already/#comments Tue, 04 Nov 2008 20:04:06 +0000 Tony http://stalebread.wordpress.com/?p=222 ]]>

“We are all born with the same opportunities.”

This was just said to me by a co-worker. Why did the coworker say something so asinine? Well, it was her reasoning as to why a)she is a John McCain supporter and b) she doesn’t want her taxes raised to “give money to people who don’t work for it.”

I understand that we should all work hard to make ourselves better people, but to say that we are all born with the same opportunities is ridiculous. Can any rational person really say that this is true?

What about kids with drug addicts for parents, or kids who are physically and/or sexually abused? Wait. The more I think about it, fuck them. They have the same opportunity as all of us!

Then I think about how not terribly long ago, black people and women couldn’t even vote. But, then again, fuck them too! I don’t see how being thought of as less than human should blind you from the fact that you have the same opportunities as everyone else. They are just lazy!

Oh, and the people born with mental conditions? Why do they think for one minute that, just because they spit up on themselves, they can’t do what everyone else can do? I, for one, don’t want my tax dollars paying for some fucking retard to sit around on their ass all day watching Family Feud reruns. Don’t even get me started on the gays!

I’m glad I wrote this, because now I totally get it. My coworker was right. We are all the same. We all have the same opportunities. How could I have been so stupid?

Let me first say that I do not think every Republican is a racist. Many Republicans are more concerned with money, and how to keep it, than they are with race, and I am in no position to judge them. While I am willing to have a few less dollars in my SunTrust account if it means a few extra go into the GreaterGood account, many people are not and that’s fine. What is not fine is the undeniable hate and ignorance that is rearing its head as the once unbelievable idea of a non-white man becoming President of the United States is nearing reality.

First, let’s talk about the word Muslim. It’s has become the new, safe way for white people to scream out “because he’s a nigger!” when explaining why they would not vote for Barack Obama. But, let’s pretend, just for a moment, that the people who scream out “he’s a Muslim” mean just that. Let’s imagine that they are not racists. Ready? Well, those people would still be spouting narrow-minded ignorance. Because that would mean they are using “Muslim” as a code word for “terrorist,” which is just as asinine.

What if Barack Obama WERE a Muslim? Does that mean he would also be part of Al-Qaeda? He happens to be a Christian. Does this mean we should worry about him starting a war to impose those “Christian ideas” on other countries? Oh no, never mind, Christians would NEVER do something like that. Only those dirty, terrorist Muslims, quietly known as “sand niggers.” See how it always comes back to the non-white part? We sure hate brown people.

Here are just a few examples of the hate that has been coming out lately.

Want to know where this piece of genius comes from? It was in the October newsletter by the Chaffey Community Republican Women, Federate in Riverdale, California, which says that if Obama is elected his image will appear on food stamps — instead of dollar bills like other presidents. You can read all about the incident and how offending anyone was “clearly not (their) attempt” here.

I know you want more examples of the kind of hate that is coming from Republicans, right? I leave you with a few videos to “enjoy.”