• » Name: Meka Soul
• » Location: Los Angeles, CA
• » Member Since: 04/09/07
• » Bio: Providing clarity in hip-hop since 1981.
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Slap-Boxing With Jesus

The Price Of Fortune

Q and A time, peoples: what would it cost if you found a means of getting seriously gwopped up and draped out on some Coming To America, “I have my own country” type of shit? If it meant doing something you otherwise wouldn’t think of, like murdering a loved one or jerking your closest friends, would you still be able to go through with it?

Some people will not hesitate to say yes quickfast, but I honestly believe that there’s always going to be that morally conscious side that tells us not to, even if only for a second. Given that I reconnected with my own conscience earlier this year, I wouldn’t have had a second thought to royally fuck over somebody I felt deserved it. And believe me, I can name a couple schmucks who are more than deserving the Holy Hand of Fire, if not more.

Then again, therein lies the problem with having a conscience: said conscience will never let you sleep peacefully knowing that you pulled some fucked up stunt to get into a higher position of power. Which essentially comes down to the original questions I proposed. And at this point now, unless said person in question was a societal or personal virus that needed to be expunged, I likely could not fuck anybody over for a financial gain.

I’m likely in a minority group of people, however. The reason I proposed this food for thought is because I just read an article on the most powerful celebrities in the world according to Forbes, and while I’d like to believe that the people who made the list had a similar train of thought as myself I’m pretty sure they didn’t, hence why they made the list to begin with, not to mention that some of their, errr, discretions, have more or less been publicized. For example, the writer failed to make a mention of Oprah’s – who reached the top spot for the second consecutive year – endeavors in South Africa, where her school for women, which I’ve always assumed was nothing more than a front for an illegal blood diamond operation, was under fire when one of the matrons was caught giving the love below into some of the students, nor does it make a note of Jay-Z essentially bending Dame Dash over and going in dry while yoking him for damn near every business the two had together, leaving duke with nothing more than the clothes on his back and a truckload of ugly-ass, clear Pro Keds to try to make a living off of.

I’m not gonna front as if I wouldn’t think twice about Effing someone in the Ay fiscally if it meant that I’d stand to make a huge come up, however. But I’m pretty sure I couldn’t sleep at night at least a few times a year knowing what I did to get there. The slightly disturbing thing about all of this is that despite banking upwards of over a quarter billion dollars, some of these people are still going in on that gwop, which makes me shudder at the thought of the limit, if any, they supposedly have when trying to cake up. Oh, the depravity of it all.

24 Comments             

Adventures In The Land Of Racial Profiling

“Damn, hope that ten Gs aint hurtin that man's pockets. It's funny, a lot of rappers get pulled over for "routine traffic stops." I can't stand the damn police.” – Some random-ass commenter on Coolio’s (I know, right?) arrest on a random-ass site

Story time, everyone. Gather around.

The day after I moved into my new shindigs in downtown Los Angeles, I got pulled over by the police while returning back to my former shithole to clean it. Maybe it was the fact I had on a green doo-rag, which could have been easily mistaken as a show of gang appreciation for the crew Mitchy Slick (what up IFux!) runs wild with down there in San Diego, or the fact that it was karma biting me in the ass for the one time that – on the way home from a club where I ended up drunkenly tonguing down a complete but fine-as-shit stranger – I asked a cop for directions to the freeway while still heavily shitfaced and like a dumbass he helped not knowing I was drunk as shit to begin with, but the next thing I know I had to turn off the car and place my hands on the wheel with one cop asking me if I had been drinking – at eight in the morning, nonetheless - while his partner did a background check, possibly seeing if I had a warrant thanks to the decade-old foot race that went down.

Eventually I was let go with a warning. Here’s a word of advice, peoples: if you get pulled over for no reason, particularly when you’re alone, know your role and shut your mouth, because the chances of you catching a night stick up the sphincter increase tenfold when you step out of pocket. It sucks, yes, but at least you’ll get to rest your head on your pillow at night instead of biting down on it.

While the average victim is quick to call racial profiling – which would be entirely logical under certain circumstances – people have to realize that despite the advances in technology, the quasi-improvement of race relations and the fact that Amerikkka may actually get a Negro (Halfrican?) to “run” this country, minorities [1] are still susceptible to the most basic of bullshit, such as being followed by Korean shop owners while inside their store, getting funny style glances when walking into a clothing spot or catching wreck from a cop, thanks to the actions of a few idiots in this country (read: the whole "one person fucks it up for the rest of us" ideal). In laymen’s terms, the more things change, the more they stay the same.

It also doesn’t help that these rap yaki tossers are doing absurdly obnoxious shit as well, essentially fucking it up for the rest of us. Had Clifford not been trying to be all The Punisher and cop an assortment of blammers and, to a lesser extent, that one jig from Bone Thugs-N’-Harmony who thought it’d be a great idea to shoot pigeons off his roof with an AK-47 [2], then rap about the mess to begin with, or had people not decided to take their vengeance on a rapper by lighting the ever-loving shit out of a weed carrier’s chest cavity, we probably wouldn’t have a Hip-Hop police to begin with. I mean, you don’t see 5-0 (no Curtis) following Daughtry, Scarlett Johansson (that YT got some tig ol bitties!) or 3 Doors Down because of the shit that Marilyn Manson and Ozzy Osbourne did back in the day. For the record, chewing the head off of a bat > ethering a piff pocketer.

I’m not saying that being racially profiled is perfectly fine because it really isn't even legal to begin with, but it isn’t a coincidence that it happens so often to the average citizen once you take into account all the bullshit rappers do in the first place. You don’t see that one guy (not Pharrell) from The Neptunes get caught up in anything, and I barely see any cop cars in Koreatown. Maybe it has to do with the whole skinny jeans look though.

[1] Note that I didn’t say a specific race but rather minorities, also known as the 95% of this country that isn’t in that 5%. Fuck what you heard, I’ve seen White, Latino and Asian people unjustly catch hell from cops too.

[2] Seriously, folks, how in the blue hell are these idiots getting such easy access to super heaters? My friend couldn’t even cop a pair of blast knuckles from the swap meet without catching stares from a rent-a-cop of all people.

26 Comments             

See, This Is Why I’m Misogynistic Sometimes

For the few people that actually know me – not the kumquats who think they do because they’ve visited this section over the past 14 months and thus have a good idea of how I look and think – I’m your typical single Afrikan male in my mid-twenties trying to figure out what exactly I was placed on this planet for. And if you’re one of the fortunate few that I actually allow into my cipher, you’d know I holds my peoples down like none other and – despite the voracity that’s displayed here – he majority of my thoughts and ideals aren’t that far-fetched.

Even when it comes to my standards on women. Granted, like every red-blooded hetero male I may want nothing more than to slap it in a cola bottle-shaped dimer every now and then, but for the most part I’d like nothing more than to come back home to a smile from the round-the-way woman of my dreams which, to others, may be surprising given a torrid past loaded with one-night stands and random-ass freaky tales in random-ass scenarios.

Those were the days.

Now that I’ve gotten older I’ve learned to not listen to my johnson as much; Lord knows I have too much to risk (read: an Xbox, fly sneakers and a pet turtle from Chinatown) being caught up in some bullshit, what with divorce rates at an all-time high (maybe it has something to do with gas prices?), phony reality programming on the tell-lie-vision that provides the false world of securing love via ass-backward physical challenges designed to make the smartest person come off as a two-bit, walking STD case and other random acts of fuckery.

Yet despite these frightening factors, there’s still those Maury Povich cases that can’t get it right for anything, as if the shit Robert Sylvester is going through right now isn’t enough of a warning sign. I can’t blame them for the most part; when many of these high school hoes portray an adult, it’s pretty difficult to tell these days, what with all the hormones in Chicken McNuggets ramping up their puberty to the point where they actually look 18. When I was at that age, most of the girls in my high school looked younger than they actually were. Hell, the other day I was told I look 19, so that should tell you something about how the female contingent looked in high school.

Real talk though I can’t feel entirely awful for those guys who think more with their bozack [||] than with their brain and end up becoming pillow biters in prison. Much like the skeezers who lie about their age on MySpace, the blame can be placed squarely on their own inability to judge from right and wrong. While some may contend that poor parental skills could be to blame, you can’t blame Mom and Dad when a person is in their twenties; a muh’fuck should be able to think, “Hey, this shit could get me anally violated in prison” at that age.

At this point, I feel it helps that I come off as an anti-social misogynist at times. Not only does it keep the skeezers away, but also it’s been proven to keep me AIDS, baby-momma and man-on-Mek Dot butt sex free [||]. And isn’t that what the so-called Amerikkkan Dream is all about?

38 Comments             

Wood Is The New Gold

You cannot really be this narrow minded and hateful, and if you are, then I feel sorry for you. Part of a random-ass email from a concerned fan I received the other day

I think I asked this question around the same time last year, but I think it’d be thoughtless if I didn’t ask it again: have there been any rap albums that’s gone platinum this year? Once upon a time a rapper would make like EPMD and go gold in thirty days; now they just seem relieved to break the 500,000 plateau after damn near a year. Word to Algernod and Wasalu.

While most people are deft at throwing the blame at the lack of quality music and the eschewing of such sounds for ringtone bleeps and bloops, I’d like to think that a good chunk of the accountability could be placed squarely on detesters such as, well, a good chunk of the contributors on this site.

Contrary to what others may lead you to believe, most rap fans are nothing more than sheeple – lemmings, if you will – that will hop right on the ratchet of an artist who otherwise wouldn’t even be allowed to push a cripple across the street, much less sell records. It’s this slow-mo train of thought that allows label overlords (it’s gotten boring to call them TIs as of late) to prey on such weak-minded individuals, passing off shitbag reverberations as quality music. And to an extent the shit has worked, which is why you see more God(dess) awful rappers trying to emulate the sounds of today’s top-selling shit monkeys for fear that being different will garner no wages to spend making it financially precipitate on Nappy-Headed Whoreos in nudie bars and the like.

On the flip side, you  also have the types who are simply fed up with t he bullshit in the Matrix and refuse to be caught up in it. No, I’m not talking about Internets Ninjas like DJ Chuck T and The Empire (although their cyber-martial arts ain’t nothing to fuck wit’ either), but the ones who see past the madness and – in their strange way of rebelling against (pimping of?) the system – plunder the music of their choosing. Shit, some of them even get lucky and get to spread their unholy gospel across the world in mediums like, well, this very site.

* Moves away from computer desk, stands on the arm rest of my couch and poses a la Randy Orton *

Then again, with gas hitting well over $4 a gallon in certain areas (read: where I live), the job market becoming ridiculously thinner by the minute (read: where I live) and the impassivity of a future without a cause running rampant (read: my narrow-minded, “hating” ass), some people would rather save their money – or spend it on items more worthwhile, like condoms and animal-style Double Doubles with cheese – than buy an album which the artist will likely never see a penny from. Shit, I just downloaded, hooked up and tossed three albums in my iPod Touch (fuck a Zune) as I wrote this mess; I’m pretty sure Mad Skillz won’t be mad that I just saved the non-existent royalties he’ll never see off of From Where??? from going into some Führer’s silver-lined pocket.

36 Comments             

Who Else Saw The Kimbo Slice Fight?

Outside of random-ass YouTube videos I had seen way the fuck back in college (go Toros!), I’d never really seen anything substantially intriguing about this backyard... errr... street fighter named Kimbo Slice. See, I’ve never really found the display of the Black man at their most primal all that interesting since Mike Tyson was the toughest video game boss ever. To this day I’ve still never beaten him; one-hitter quitters drove me insane when I was a child.

Anyways, needless to say I wasn’t particularly adrenalized when his “skills” would be put on display for the world to see for free on television. On top of my apathy I’d also gotten into a pretty huge argument with a good friend, so I wasn’t riveted to watch a multi-hour spectacle (on CBS of all channels) as is. But since I ended up spending my Saturday night at the studio mansion anyways, I watched the fight.

And as I expected, it turned out to be a load of shit.

Well, not entirely. Although there was roughly thirty seconds of actual fighting in the first ninety minutes of the show, as well as some semi-decent shots of especially skanktastic women “dancing” around in pum-pums, the best fight was yet to come, as two women – whose names I can’t remember right now – scrapped it out in the what was easily the highlight of the show. Unfortunately it didn’t go the distance, as by the end of the middle round the referee had thrown in the towel for one of the chicks whose eye had gotten beaten in so much it made the shiner Iron Mike gave Mitch Green back in the day look like a bee sting.

After that, there was another fight was shaping up to be another one that I actually thought that would turn out to be a great match as well, until one of the fighters ended up getting poked in his eye Ric Flair-style, abruptly ending the match. “What a load of shit,” I thought, so I ended up checking my email for the brazillionth time, finding out that my high school class is having a ten-year reunion in a few weeks. Time flies when you’re having fun talking shit on the Internets.

Finally, the much-ballyhooed Kimbo fight hit the screen, and it ended up being a bigger mess than the botched rappelling incident that ethered the ever loving shits out of Owen Hart live on pay-per-view way the fuck back in 1999. Disgustingly freakish cauliflower ear aside, the heavyweight-sized Kimbo clearly isn’t ready for even the likes of middleweighter Anderson “The Spider” Silva, as though he’s loaded with powerful punches and a steel chin, his stamina and – more importantly – his mat skills leave a lot to be desired.

Oh, and over the weekend Internets Ninja DJ Chuck T supposedly leaked Lil Wayne’s overhyped but essentially underwhelming Tha Carter III album. I spent a good amount of time listening to it – because when my cousin dropped me off back home he had it playing in the car so that we could all clown the shit out of it – before deciding that dedicating a shitload of energy to it unless I was getting paid to review it was useless.

See, while the hip-hop world – stans, dwyckriders, fans, haters and all – were up in arms about arguably the most anticipated rap album since Kanye West’s last album, I can’t and won’t simply because I could give three-fifths of a shit about the thing in the first place. I’ve spat out my fair share of ignorant diatribes, and I can honestly say that his kind doesn’t appeal to me anymore. So, I’d rather do other useless things – like watching shirtless men beat each other’s ass on this train – than talk about, in my opinion, a horrible album from an artist who’s too slurred out of his skull to quite possibly ever reach his full potential.

*Anticipates “no pussy getting hater” comments in the c-section in 5, 4, 3, 2...*

45 Comments             

Violent Rap Is The Past, Present And Future

Being that I barely have a social life outside of drunken escapades at a party every now and then and random-ass sexual romps once in a while – although most would consider that a pretty decent social life, but I digress – I spent the majority of this past weekend watching a plethora of violent shows on television: Saturday morning cartoons, the Kimbo Slice fight and the first two Ninja Turtle movies. Reliving a past childhood and realizing how silly being fascinated at watching a group of people run around performing ninja moves in green turtle costumes as a child was, I actually had to sit back in amazement at not only how it enthralled me when I was younger, but also how aggressive said programming was, even when aimed at a juvenile demographic.

It’s not surprising, however, given the ruthless nature of man and woman. I can’t recall where or when, but I think I was either told (or maybe I read it somewhere?) that it was in man’s psyche to be violent; it’s why we have children like Gangsta Ass Laterian Milton [1] running wild in this world. To be quite blunt, we’re savage by the time we pop out of our mothers, but for the most part we’re taught to not indulge in such tendencies.

By that (admittedly bizarre) logic, I can see why rap music is so bloodthirsty more often than not, as well as why that form of sound sells more than random-ass shit about seashells and tulips. Well, it used to sell before Internets Ninjas like DJ Chuck T [2] began dropping off bootlegs on the fly. It panders to our natural human instincts, and gratifies our own delusional grandeurs of mayhem. It’s why we’re more drawn to songs about ether than songs about salad tossing. Hell, it’s why I’d likely listen to Clipse before Talib Kweli on any given day.

Contrary to what the likes of Oprah, Bill Cosby and Al Sharpton may claim you can’t blame hip-hop music for society’s ills, not to mention: fuck Oprah and Al Sharpton. Bill Cosby gets props cuz I used to dig Ghost Dad, but that’s where it stops. If anything’s to be the scapegoat it should be our own innate tendencies – as well as man’s greedy, capitalistic nature as well – for bugging the fuck out.

[1] As a side note – as well as a cheap plug – my pat’nah Shake and I’s side hustle is going through some changes, so you may want to hit its cyber-skins with this prophylactic for the time being: http://2dopeboyz.wordpress.com/.

[2] What I found particularly hilarious was that in the c-section of that piece the good DJ dropped off a link of Wayne’s new album, yet nobody even noticed that shit yet continued to ask where he or she could find one. I could correlate that to the fact my theory that the majority of humps who comment are nothing more than a bunch of ADHD-inflicted future Section 8 residents, but that would just be mean.

54 Comments             

Hipster-Hop Must Be Stopped

Way the fuck back in December – around the same a couple c-boys tried to dissent but failed miserably, but that’s neither here nor there – I made the mention how hipster-hop was turning into the new backpack rap. Back then I was somewhat leery of this new sensation of 90s babies running around trying to emulate the styles made popular in the 80s, though I’d notice it had been coming up for a long while now, because it just didn’t make any sense. For starters, I was born in the 80s, and not only do I not remember it being like that to me, I barely followed the shit when I was a kid to begin with. The only thing that kept my interest were Mario Bros. I played at my cousin’s house and the fake-ass Ninja Turtle action figures from the Paramount Swap Meet [1] my mother used to get me when I brought home good grades. Shit, I could give a shit about rap unless it came on early Saturday mornings. Word to Kid ‘N Play on NBC.

On a side note, to anybody who feels my “hip-hop pedigree” – which is about as valuable as a Happy Meal toy in the real world nowadays – is questionable allow me to call shenanigans on that thought, because I know I’m not the only one who was more into toys and cartoons than rap music and Jordan’s when I was in the first grade.

So obviously there’s a clog in the pipeline when some not-even-legal-to-drink rapper is talking about “bringing ’88 back.”

Not only that, this disturbing trend is solely focused on braggadocio, essentially devoid of any of the powerful messages a good chunk of the music from that era, making each and every acid-wash-meatcutter-jean-wearing hipster rapper look even more foolish. To take Sach O’s point to a different realm, this one-sidedness only makes them come off as insidiously fake.

The true test for most of these acts will come within the next few months at this year’s Rock The Bells Festivals [2]. With the majority of the concertgoers being predominantly anti-anything “trendy” hip-hop [3], I’m interested to see the response the likes of Kid Sister and The Cool Kids will receive. My guess is that they may get the ever-loving shit booed out of them, not unlike how Brillyance did Collie Buddz (who?) at that Zune (iPod Touch > Zune) concert a while back, because of their blatant attempt to gain crossover appeal by swacking the look, but not the feel, of rap music from over two decades ago. Then again, they may actually succeed in tricking the masses as they have the industry idiots who waste their money backing them. I doubt it though.
 
[1] B. Clipse, Malcontent and Brillyance, I know you three know what I’m talking about.

[2] On a side note, I will be attending both the Los Angeles and San Francisco shows, so feel free to stop by the DX booth and get insulted by yours truly at any time.

[3] Although backpacking against the system has gotten pretty trendy as of late also.

32 Comments             

For Once, I Agree With Lil Wayne

Despite the plethora of non-sequiturs I’ve lobbed here and there about the guy during my time here, at the end of the day I’ll begrudgingly admit I have some respect for Lil Wayne in the sense that, dubious uses of free time aside, duke seems capable of saying the most obnoxiously absurd shit and is still able to remain a focal point of music today. I think a part of this is thanks to a combination of slow, uninspiring news (because things like the conflict in Darfur are nowhere near as important as, say, Killa Priest contributing to the fall of the Wu by selling a laughable 840 copies of his latest hash tray), young-minded yentas like the ones who flooded the c-section erroneously proclaiming Nazz as a savior of all things rap last week (he’s not and never will be) and the fact he’s always doing something that makes it impossible to not be in the “news” but hey, he’s the reason I’m talking about him right now.

Despite the fact that he’s obviously trying to sucker me into saying some ignorant, stereotypically quasi-homosexual remark about getting fellated and not being able to have a romantic explosion by them – which I will not because that actually has nothing to do with the point of this rant – I will say that for once I actually side with Dwayne when it comes to his convictions on status of current mixtape DJ: fuck ‘em all.

With the exception of DX’s own Legend and Slimm, of course.

There was once a time where mixtape DJs essentially dominated and directed what us listeners should listen to, and for the most part they were on point. Had it not been for the likes of Mister Cee providing the sounds of one Chris Wallace, we may not have ever had a chance to be exposed to the unbridled greatness of The Notorious B.I.G. In that sense however, Puff would not have unleashed the likes of Fuzzbubble, Dy-lan, B5 and that one blonde chick from Danity Kane who looks like her middle passage resembles a compost heap. But you win some and you lose some, I suppose.

Now I can’t even take a shit without my inbox being flooded with some yenta’s mixtape. I mean, getting somebody’s shitty mixtape > receiving death threats via Yahoo! because I pissed a reader off when I made fun of their culture, but I digress. Plus, there are some mixtapes that I’ve actually enjoyed; I’m just too big a dwyck to mention which ones that doesn’t have the words “we got it for cheap” in them, so don’t ask.

Next to MySpace rappers, slores and random acts of YouTube fuckery, mixtapes are about as valuable as the State’s dollar in London. Not to say that I’m complimenting our snaggletoothed brothers overseas, mind you; I just find the likes of the Notorious BUM more interesting than a Zshare link from DJ Ass Milk. Then again, you’re talking to a person who barely gives a shit about anything outside of women, sneakers, my family and chicken. So perhaps I don’t quite fit that target demographic at all then.

26 Comments             

Jermaine Dupri Must Be Stopped

In case you haven’t noticed, the rap blogging game isn’t what it is anymore. Back in the go-go era when this site’s cyber crack game was at an all time high we had everyone from soopa starrs to wack ninjas getting in where they fit in. Even yours truly was hitting the masses with a nonstop daily flow of that ultimate (e-)high.

But as with everything else, the game got bloated. Everybody wanted a piece of that chicken blog pie, and soon enough most of the OGs either ghosted out or ventured into other avenues.

I’ll be the first to say it (errr, or at least the first to say it here):

BLOGS HAVE OFFICIALLY JUMPED THE SHARK.

Everybody wants to be the next big thing like Brock Lesnar. Rappers stopped rapping and started blogging half-assedly. Whereas before the blogging game was a zone to unleash your inner most thoughts, random freaky tales and pure black hatred (ahem!), what now remains is a swollen arena of carbon copies, stalkers and talentless schmucks, with a couple wannabe web saviors determined to help the dumb, deaf and blind from the likes of, well, me.

I can see why people try to get some getsome though. In this “new media” age where something like a Tay Zonday can land a Dr. Pepper’s commercial of all things, any and everybody can blow like Roxy Reynolds at any given moment. Another perfect example is this is the Black Shang Tsung’s latest signee, some random ass kid he found on YouTube. On a semi-related note, am I the only one who sees that JD plays with more children than Michael Jackson and R. Kelly combined? Something isn’t right with that, especially when that one dark-skinned rapper from Kriss Kross started losing his hair to “leukemia.” Is that what they’re calling it now?

Let me stop.

In his weird, dementia-ridden post (which is obviously edited by some low-level mailroom clerk before it gets thrown up in the hopes that the Huffington Post’s Ritz contingent can understand what he’s spewing) the leader of the Lollipop Gang may have a point. Fans of music want shit now; it’s common knowledge they flock to sites like this to read up on and listen to – or in my case, illegally download repeatedly – the current flavors of the month. At the same time, just because a one-trick pony is hot right now doesn’t mean that the longevity will last. And trying to find new means to acquire new means doesn’t mean a damn thing when everybody else is doing the same thing.

50 Comments             

What’s Wrong With Getting Married?

This post can go under “Mek Dot Soul’s Insomniac Chronicles,” as I’ve probably written this shit while most you gumshoes were doing more meaningful shit with your lives, like sleeping. On a totally unrelated note, I just caught Robert Sylvester’s “Hair Braider” for the first time. He must be stopped. Immediately.

Anyways, in less than 2 months two of my closest friends are getting married, and I’ve been asked to participate in the ceremony. Not to be the thunderstorm that could potentially ruin the sunshine, but honestly I’ve struggled to maintain a somewhat content demeanor about the whole thing thanks in part to recent events that’s left me more aggy at the world than usual.

Not to mention my stimulus check still hasn’t arrived, and I’m thinking that the bitchassness mechanics of H&R Block may be to blame. Fuck H&R Block.

Now, the shitty thing about this is that I one day would like to be wifed down as well. Real talk is that I’ve always thought nobody’s cipher is complete until they actually have their soul (sole?) mate around their arm, but given my current “talk to my money” attitude I honestly don’t see that going down for myself any time soon.

I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one who has second thoughts on marriage though. With a success rate of barely 50 percent, on top of the fact that I don’t think today’s society is built for it at all right now, it’s easy to see why people are settling for baby’s parents, casual flings or – for all you anal plunderers out there – butt buddies instead.

In addition to that ridiculously low rate, there’s also the fact that men and women can’t keep their respective genitalia to themselves. Let’s not front, people: men and women alike are more often than not looking for someone to stretch out their middles than a fiancé nowadays. Shit, I wanted to have a wife by the time I bounced out of college. Then I found out that one of the more limber (and bisexual, to boot) cheerleaders for my university’s crapathetic basketball team wanted to take a meeting by me.

That’s spelled m-e-A-t-i-n-g. But now I’m saying too much.

It certainly doesn’t help that the supposed sacred virtues of marriage are marred by the likes of Tila Tequila bouncing around television sets and getting pounded by random-ass meatwads and lipstick dykes all under the bullshit premise of love, giving me pink eye in the process. Had I known that finding “true love” consisted of making as ass out of myself on Clear Channel- and Viacom-owned networks, I probably would have stopped trying to woo women with my awesome comic book collection a long time ago. By the way ladies, I have a limited-edition Captain America joint which probably is worth more than that Sherpa’s hair sewn into your scalp, so you know I’m no good like that.

Long story short, I don’t think that marriage is for everyone; if I can’t even fathom having a roommate, the fluck’s chance do I have waking up next to someone for the rest of my life?

*Thinks about it*

I’m lying. I can think of at least two women I could wake up next to. Hell, even all together. Now that would be my Make A Wish request.

48 Comments             

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