The Date

Ok. So I've been doing all sorts of serious stuff. Time to have a little fun. Here's "The Date":

 Here's the situation. I'm on a blind date. Cute, right? Not really. See, this isn't how I usually like to get girls. I go to parties, get them drunk as hell, and then never see them after the following morning. This works for me. Good time, no attachments. And a lot of times, it's free!

But here I am. Sitting outside Red Bowl, waiting for my date. I have John Mayer playing in my car so I can chill out and get in the romancing zone. This will be a challenge. I literally know nothing about this girl, except that my mother approves. Oh did I not mention it? My mom set this up.

I should probably stand outside now. It's 6:59. Open door, get out, shut it, lock it, and now I'm standing right outside the entrance. An old couple walks by. Very very cute. I should probably get married sometime before I'm thirty. Then I won't have to be creeping with gray hair. Oh wow. Big group. Some kids, young couple, then the grandparents. Also very very cute. Oh God. Here comes a grenade. Why is she wearing such a tight dress? If I wanted to see rolls, I would've gone to the bakery. Why is she smiling at me? Are those braces? No no no no no no no no.

Grenade: Steve?

Me: Hi.

Grenade: You look much better than your mother described you.

Me: How did exactly did she describe me?

Grenade: Average at best. She told me not to expect too much but that you were a nice enough guy.

Now, for everyone's info, I'm actually a very attractive guy. I wasn't a model for GQ's 2009 suit expo for nothing. They like to call me "ruggedly handsome." My hair is done by a lovely lady who used to do Will Ferrell's and my grizzle is maintained by the guy who used to maintain Zack Galifinakis's  beard (pre-The Hangover). So yeah. I'm kind of a stud.

 Me: So you ready to go in?

Grenade: Yea, baby.

She then winks at me and grabs my arm. Stage five clinger already? Makes sense. This busted broad probably hasn't gotten anything since she met Ronald McDonald. We step up to the reception podium.

Waitress: Table for two?

Grenade: Mhmmm. We're on our first date.

She proceeds to crack a huge smile that shows off her braces. After an initial look of shock, the waitress smiles and tells us to follow her to our table. I just wish that the grenade had noticed the waitress eyefucking the shit out of me right before she cockblocked me with her train tracks. Oh well.

When we get to our table, I try to be sweet and I pull the chair out for her to sit in. As she goes to sit, a speedy waiter comes out of nowhere and pushes me out of his way. My hands are still gripping the chair. I move back. So does the chair. And thus the grenade hits the floor. BOOM!

To say that I felt a vibration would be an understatement. It'd be more accurate to say that the floor shook, a few tables lost their plates, and everyone was staring at us. I look around. The Usain Bolt of Waiting is gone and I'm left with a fat chick on the floor. Just lovely.

Me: Are you okay?

Grenade: Ha. You think a booty like this can't handle a little tumble? I've broken flat screen tv's with this thing!

After that little conversation, we sit down. A waitress comes up. Older lady, so I can't spit any game to distract myself from the big problem sitting across the table. She says her name is Sam and asks us what we want to drink.

Me: A water will be good.

Grenade: I would like a bottle of your Perrier Jouet.

I frantically grab the drink menu off the table and scan through it. My heart starts racing a little when I see what she ordered. A $58 bottle of French champagne. Thanks a bunch, mom. You got me a real keeper.

Soon enough, Sam returns, bottle in hand. She goes to pop it when the grenade interrupts her.

Grenade: Wait!

Sam: What? Isn't this what you ordered?

Grenade: It is! I just love to pop bottles. Do you mind?

Sam: We usually don't let our customers...We've had some issues in the past. I'm sure you understand.

The grenade gives her a death stare. I've seen my mother give me that look way too many times. The only thing worse than a woman entering bitch mode is the female version of The Incredible Hulk entering bitch mode. I said a prayer for Sam and watched the chaos unfold.

Grenade: Give me the fucking bottle.

Sam: What?

Grenade: I didn't stutter, bitch. Go get some fucking hearing aids so you can understand what this fucking princess is saying. Did you catch that?

Sam is frozen to the spot. I said another prayer. And one more when I saw the grenade grab the bottle. She looks at me.

Grenade: Hey sweet cheeks. Ready for a good time?

Me:..Sure.

The grenade starts shaking the bottle. Hard.

Grenade: I have a lot of practice moving my hand up and down. You like it?

Me: Yeah....You seem like you have a lot of practice. But I don't think we want it to spray everywhere. Maybe we should stop so you don't make a mess.

Grenade: That's what he said.

POP! The cork wizzes by my head and is soon followed by a stream of foam. Except the foam doesn't miss me. Looks like this Ed Hardy shirt is going to the dry cleaners tomorrow. And right when I thought it couldn't get any worse, it does. The grenade takes the bottles and pours it all over her chest. Oh I just realized something. I forgot to mention that this tight dress she was wearing was very low cut. So as I'm sitting here, covered in bubbly pussy drink, she's wasting MY $58 by pouring it all over her tits.

Me: Wait! Stop! [she does] Why are you wasting that?

Grenade: I feel sexyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy.

Me: You'll be feeling even sexier when I actually start drinking some of it.

I take the bottle out of her hand and I pour myself a glass full of champagne. But not a champagne flute. I pour myself a water glass full. And I go to town.

Pretty soon, the waitress returns. I keep it simple and order some sesame chicken. Of course, the grenade can't do anything small.

Grenade: I want the Seafood Saguo.

Me: What is that?

Grenade: I don't know! I just like the name.

The waitress leaves and I notice the grenade waving at some people on the other side of the restaurant. I look. It's that big family group I saw coming in earlier.

Me: Who are those people?

Grenade: Oh them? That's just my family. They wanted to be here for my first date.

Me: Your first date?

Grenade: Oh yeah, didn't your mom tell you? This is my first! Congratulations. You're the lucky guy who gets to give me the night of my dreams.

Me: But you said you had experience....

Grenade: I do! I just don't remember any of it.

Every family has that one cooky family member who has no class. Turns out, that was the grenade's grandfather. Not only was he on the other side of the restaurant, his hearing aid batteries had run out.

Grandfather: HEY KID! GIVE MY BABY A WONDERFUL NIGHT.

I muster up all of my strength and I lie straight to his face.

Me: It'd be my pleasure.

Grandfather: WHAT? SPEAK UP, WHIPPERSNAPPER

Me: IT'D BE MY PLEASURE.

Grandfather: WHY ARE YOU PLEASURING YOURSELF IN A RESTAURANT?! KIDS! CLOSE YOUR EYES!!!

Me: IT'D BE MY PLEASURE TO GIVE YOUR GRANDDAUGHTER A WONDERFUL NIGHT.

Grandfather: THAT'S WHAT I THOUGHT! AT YOUR AGE, I WAS IN GERMANY SHOOTING NAZIS. I WOULD'VE LOVED SOME FRESH PUSSY BUT I WAS STUCK WITH PRIVATE SMITH'S ANUS.

Dinner comes. She doesn't talk at all, not that I'm surprised. What kind of grenade doesn't love her food? Sam comes, takes our empty plates [hers was actually shining. I must have missed her licking it clean], and I give her my credit card.

Grenade: Can we get ice cream?

Me: Do we really need it now? We just ate.

Grenade: I LOVE ice cream.

Me: I bet.

Sam returns and gives me the receipt and a pen.

Grandfather: HEY BABY! HOW MUCH IS HE TIPPING?

Grenade: FIFTEEN DOLLARS, GRAMPS.

Grandfather: CHEAPASS BITCH.

Grenade: WAIT. FIFTEEN DOLLARS AND ONE CENT.

Grandfather: GOOD MAN.

I'm ready to get the hell out. I still have ice cream and a movie to survive.

Me: You ready?

Grenade: Let's get out of here and go somewhere special [winks].

As we get close to the door, my favorite person gets my attention.

Grandfather: HEY YOU. COME OVER HERE.

I walk over and he pulls me close to his ear. I hope he actually whispers. Tonight isn't exactly my lucky night though.

Grandfather: SHE LIKES IT IN THE BUTT. I WOULD KNOW.

Grandmother: HOW WOULD YOU KNOW?!

Grandfather: SHUT THE HELL UP, WHORE. I KNOW YOU'VE BEEN FUCKING AROUND WITH CRAIG JENNINGS BEHIND MY BACK.

Grandmother: HE'S BEEN DEAD FOR TEN YEARS.

Grandfather: SHIT. I MEANT ROGER FREDRICKSON.

Grandmother: HE'S IN A WHEELCHAIR.

Grandfather: HIS DICK STILL WORKS AND WE BOTH KNOW THAT YOU PREFER BEING ON TOP.

I can't believe this is happening. I walk away and grab the grenade by the arm to escort her out. Of course, she loves this and thinks that she HAS to respond back. So she takes my hand in hers and death grips it. I finally get a reprieve when we enter Coldstone a.k.a. Grenade Heaven.

Sweets EVERYWHERE. She immediately drops my hand and just stares.

Me: What do you want?

Grenade: Everything.

Me: Haha you can't have everything.

Bad move. I get the death stare.

Grenade: This is my first date and you will treat me like a fucking princess. Got it, bitch?

We wait in line and finally, our turn comes up. More specifically, her turn. A cute coed is serving her. I was jealous.

Coldstone Worker: What would you like?

Grenade: Birthday Cake Remix. Gotta Have It.

The Coldstone Worker laughs and starts scooping. I watch as she gets does her thing on the big marble slab.

Grenade: Ahem.

No response from the Coldstone Worker.

Grenade: AHEM.

The Coldstone Worker looks up at her.

Grenade: I want candied apples and strawberries on my Birthday Cake Remix.

Coldstone Worker: I don't think that'd taste too good. You know it costs extra right?

Grenade: I don't give a fuck. Give me my fucking fruits and you'll live,

The Coldstone Worker is shocked into silence and starts working harder. Another worker comes up and asks if I want anything. I can't eat anything. Few things take away from a guy's appetite like seeing a pig at a trough. I go over to check out and swipe the debit card while she sits at a table. I get my receipt and tip the worker handsomely.

Me: You don't have to sing.

Coldstone Worker: Thank you so much. I owe you big time.

I go over to sit with the grenade. She eats and eats and eats. Ice cream is everywhere, She has ditched the spoon and has stuck her head inside of the cone. She pauses

Grenade: You like it when I have white stuff all over my face?

Me: I need to go to the bathroom.

I enter the bathroom, lock the door, and sit down on the toilet for a few moments before standing up to pee again. I wash my hands for an inordinately long amount of time, hoping to delay the inevitable. I finally ball up and get out, only to enter hell.

The grenade walks up to the register, where the cute Coldstone Worker has just finished checking out a customer.

Coldstone Worker: Can I help you? Napkins are right here.

The grenade puts her purse on the counter and starts rummaging around. As I get closer, I see her pull out a penny. And drop it in the tip jar.

Coldstone Worker: Is this a joke?

Grenade: No. Why would you think that?

Coldstone Worker: You tipped me a penny.

Grenade: So? I tipped you.

Silence.

Grenade: Sing, bitch.

The Coldstone Worker starts a less-than-raucous chorus of one of their silly jingles as I pull the grenade out of there.

Me: Why'd you do that?

Grenade: That broad eye-fucked the shit out of you. On MY first date.

I hadn't even noticed the eye fucking. Bummer. I should have gotten her number. Too bad I was too busy taking the Dairy Queen on her first date. Eventually, we progress to the movie theater. I get the movie tickets, she orders a large popcorn and drink, and we finally sit down in our seats. I feel like I can finally relax. And then the lights dim. Paranormal Activity was probably not the best movie choice.

Within five minutes, she has taken my left hand out of my lap and is death gripping it. I can't move my fingers. Within ten, they are numb.

Me: I gotta pee.

Grenade: I'll miss you.

I enter the bathroom and look at my hand. It's blue. I take some time to run hot water over it until feeling is restored. My moment of tranquility is interrupted. The grenade walks in.

Me: What are you doing in here? This is a men's restroom.

Grenade: I came to update you on what's happening in the movie! They think the house is demented and...

Me: Have you ever considered you may be missing an important part right now by being in here with me?

But she's not listening. She's watching some sumo wrestler-size guy pee.

Me: Hey! Let's go.

We re-enter the theater...right to some almost-sex scene. The grenade takes this as her cue to start getting "sexy." I feel a hand on my crotch. No no no no no. You know that scene from Wedding Crashers? When I was watching it, I was always like "I can't imagine what that'd be like." After tonight, I'll never have to even try to imagine what it'd be like any more.

Thankfully, the movie gets scary again so she stops. She goes back to the death grip. More movie progresses, my hand loses feeling. FINALLY she lets go to answer her phone, right at the climax.

Grenade: Hey baby...Yea girl it's good...Look I gotta go. Movie...OH OH OH...You know that scene from Wedding Crashers?..Yes I did!...Uh huh....Later girlfrand."

She puts the phone up and grabs my arm instead of my hand. Clearly, somebody upstairs is reserving me a spot in heaven.

Then the dead body hits the camera. And she clenches. I feel my skin break. I look down. Yup. Blood.

Grenade: OMG  I'm so sorry!

Me: I'll be ok.

The movie ends and we leave the theater. She looks at my arm. Blood is running all over it.

Grenade: Don't worry. I'm good at this.

Me: What?

She sticks her tongue out and starts licking my arm. Right in the center plaza of the theater. I don't need to describe the looks of the people around me. An old lady fainted. A mother covered her son's eyes. A Gothic guy looked like he would join her. I pulled my arm away.

Grenade: What are you doing? I love the taste of blood! And I only get it once a month. This is a treat.

Me: I think it's time to leave.

I walk her back to her car. She gives me that look every girl gives a guy that says "I want you to kiss me." In most cases, I would do it. And then she smiled and I saw my blood on her braces.

Me: It's been fun.

I hug her and start to walk away.

Grenade: Wait! I have something to tell you.

I have to stop, unfortunately. I guess I'm not totally out of dodge. I turn around.

Grenade: I love you.

Me: Ok. Later.

I walk away.

Grenade: I SAID I LOVE YOU.

I start walking away.

I hear and feel the earth shake.

I start running.

Why did the concrete in front of me just crack?

She's getting closer.

I hear a car.

She's breathing on me. It smells like shrimp birthday cake.

I hear a car gun its engine and hit something. Heavy. I turn around and can hardly believe my eyes. Somebody hit the grenade with their car and now she's laying on the parking lot. The car is totaled. The hood is completely bent in. Someone steps out. It's the Coldstone worker.

Coldstone Worker: I told ya I owed you.

She walks to me, smiling. Gosh she's pretty AND she just saved my life. I start walking towards her. I go in for the kiss. She goes for the kiss.

Interception.

I can feel the braces rubbing against my teeth. She grabs my hand and puts it against her tits. I open my eyes and I can't see my hand. I try to pull away but the grenade bites my tongue. I start screaming. The Coldstone worker hits the grenade. My tongue was release and I step back. The grenade turns around and stares at the Coldstone worker. I feel fear coursing through my veins.

The grenade walks up to the Coldstone worker, teeth bared. She grabs hair and pulls her close. Her teeth close on an ear and in one fell swop, she bites the Coldstone Worker's ear off. Then, she crunches twice and swallows the whole thing.

At this point, I realize where I am. I'm right next to my car. I hit the unlock button on the fob, open the door, hop in, and throw it in reverse. I slam on the pedal but I hit something. I look back. The grenade, covered in blood is staring back. I slam on the pedal again, stop, change gears, and I fly. When I got home, I checked out my car. The trunk had an indent the size of a baby elephant in it. Blood was every where.

You're probably wondering what I did after that night in hell. Well, I did what every man would do. I called my mommy.

Mom: Hello?

Me: Fuck. You.

Emotions

Emotions. Let's face it, they happy. Who can't feel happiness at the sight of a newborn baby or sadness at the death of a funeral? Exactly. Some call it the epitome of the human experience.

As with most other things, emotions have their own classifications. Some are positive, some are negative, some are depressing, some are respectable, some are masculine, some are feminine. It's just the way the cookie crumbles. But these classifications drastically effect the emotions themselves and how they are perceived. Follow me as I attempt to provide you with my own views on them.

Let's start out with a situation, shall we? You come up on a guy crying. I'm not going to tell you any details for right now. In this situation, you would undoubtedly begin to judge. Most guys do not cry. Is this guy a pussy or something? Or is he just the soft sweet guy EVERY girl wants?

Well that certainly does depend on why he's crying. Let's say his grandmother died, who was a sweet church-loving woman with a knack for baking chocolate chip cookies. If you're a girl, I say he's the perfect man. Sweep that homeboy up.

Switch up your flow. Mystery boy is crying over a girl he's dated for a week. "We were supposed to be together forever! I loved her!" Yeah. Something just isn't right. You would not go soothe him. You'd be afraid that your comforting hand on his shoulder would make him think you two were in love! You'd get the hell away in a heartbeat. Clearly he has some issues.

Where this guy is crying is a pretty big deal. If he is crying in a private place, like a bathroom or away from the group for peace, he probably just doesn't want to be seen as a girl. This is pretty understandable. Most females don't like to cry in front of people (even though they inevitably do more than guys). But no one wants that strong of a release of emotions to be flaunted in front of a group of people.

Wait...Contemplate. I bet some people do. Let's say said guy is crying in front of a group of people. Not trying to get away. He's actually living off of everyone watching. He's crying as hard as he can, just exploding with emotions, and the attention is only bolstering his performance. What would you think then? If you're in the group, you probably feel terrible for him. You don't know the difference. You just hate to see this poor, innocent boy have his heart torn to shreds.

Let's say you're standing a little away from the group, next to me. You'd see the play and be like "What the hell?" Then you'd look at my face and see that I'm pissed.

People use emotions. A funny person will use comedy to make you feel more relaxed and get closer to you. A hot girl will use a boy's tendency to lust to get whatever she wants. Poor people often play off the sympathy of more fortunate ones to get what they need. Do you see what I'm saying? Emotions are powerful weapons.

We've already switched up our flow, so now we're moving on to the second verse. The L Word. Before I start, I'm not talking about a lesbian. Or lesbians. I mean the big one. Yup. Love.

I'm not here to debate the validity and repercussions of Love. I don't want to talk about it's pros and cons. You think that it's what makes us human? A friend of mine proved that wrong, but this isn't the place for that. I just want to talk about The L Word. Love.

"I love you." That warms the soul, doesn't it? It does for me, but I don't know why. What does Love mean? It's an awfully ambiguous word. I Love Lil Wayne. But I also am supposed to Love a girl. That seems like a bit of a contradiction. I currently love an incarcerated male rapper....but I'm supposed to have those same feelings for my soulmate.

Hence my diatribe with the four letter word. Let's throw down a situation. A girl says that she Loves a guy. Automatically, you think this is cute. "Young Love!" you think. This is with no knowledge of the situation. All you saw was a girl throwing down the big one for the boy.

Pretend that this couple had been dating for a year. This changes everything. It clearly transcends mere cuteness. That is a serious relationship. When that girl says she Loves him, she actually means it. They wouldn't have stayed together for that long just for the sex or the company. They are lathered in the invisible paste that puts a couple together and keeps them together.

Now pretend that they aren't dating at all. She is trying to get the boy to love her back and thinks that showering him in emotions and providing physical entertainment will bring them together. That girl actually says that to everyone.Sure, she's a sweet person and she may truly care for everyone she says that to...But does she Love each one? Sounds to me like she gets around sexually AND emotionally.

This may be confusing, but stay with me reader. Why do we hate whores and pimps? Because they take a sacred ceremony (sex) and use it for their own gain. They take all of the grace and reverence out of lovemaking and make it just two bodies engaging in sexual intercourse.

So when a person uses Love freely, is he or she not a Love whore? Where is the reverence of that beautiful ceremony? It's gone. It's just used for a momentary feeling rather than for something unexplainable and worthwhile. In other words, instant gratification is a bitch.

Time to close up. Emotions are powerful. These Love whores know how to use Love just as well as a whore knows how to use sex. They are tools. Unique ones. The pen may be mightier than the sword but love makes the world go round. This being said, keep your feelings in check. They weren't bestowed upon you to be used for your advantage. They're shared by everyone. Respect that, don't flaunt, and save The L Word for when you really mean it.

Heezy out.

Superheroes: More Trouble Than Good?

I'm not going to lie. I love superhero movies. I mean, who doesn't? Superheroes are the epitomes of our imaginations. Who hasn't wanted to fly or pick up cars? Back when I was a wee little lad on Christopher Drive, I'd pretend to fight loads of villians with either my Spider Powers or my Batarangs.

Tonight, I went to see Iron Man 2 for the second time (If you haven't seen it, do it. It's pretty sweet.). In the midst of all of the action and fighting and gratuitious explosions, I couldn't help but realize that superheroes seem to cause a lot more trouble than good. Stay with me as I examine their effects on the societies they're in. Note: I'm going to keep it within the realm of recent superhero movies, so no Tim Burton Batman or Christopher Reeves.

Superman: He disappears for a while. When he finally returns, a plane almost crashes into a baseball stadium and Lex Luthor creates some sort of weird Kryptonite-moon thing. Just to test him.

Batman: In Batman Begins, this really isn't a big issue. Mr. Wayne essentially stops something that was already in motion. The only extra damage was Wayne Manor burning down, but Alfred seems to have approved of the destruction. The Dark Knight is a different story. The Joker is specifically targeting civilians just to get at Batman. For example, a hospital is blown to pieces. Two buildings are burned down in an attempt to hurt Batman's allies. Several people are kidnapped and/or killed. Solely because Batman completed The Joker.

Iron Man: It's an intriguing debate. Technically, he causes a lot of destruction. But he also led the longest period of uninterrupted peace in modern times. I think that despite the fact he can destroy stuff most easily (it's a suit of solid metal flying around, for Christ's sake) he may have actually saved more lives and cost the world less in damage than anyone else.

Spider Man. Oh Spidey. Oh Webhead. You do have a tendency to screw things up. The people you love get put in danger again and again and again. I'm suprised poor old Aunt May didn't die of a heart attack by the third movie. She got flung around by a man with four bionic arms on the side of a skyscraper at one point. Every single villain in your story targeted people you loved, took out buildings, and just caused mass chaos. I have to say that you are the worst of the bunch.

That's my little run down. I'll probably get more into this later but I had to throw down my ideas fast before I lost them.

Branley out.

Lyrics & Logic 1: A Milli

I figure that rap lyrics get pretty complex, so why not analyze them? Lyrics & Logic will take a rap song (usually my boy Lil Wayne) and take it apart, piece by piece. This week's is A Milli, from Tha Carter III. Here's the song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O8Uhn-dU3Gg

I'm a Millionaire,
He’s got money. That’s easy
I'm a Young Money Millionaire, tougher than Nigerian hair,
Young money is his new group, African hair is renowned for its nappiness
My criteria compared to your career just isnt fair,
His checklist compared to what I have done is not fair
I'm a venereal disease like a menstrual bleed...
Music is a sexual experience and people share him…Thus he’s a disease
Threw the pencil and leak the sheet of the tablet in my mind,
Cause I don't write shit cause I ain't got time,
He quit writing down lyrics because he didn’t want his stuff to turn out like Kurt Cobain’s and be sold. He just goes into the studio every night and raps what’s on his mind
Cause my seconds, minutes, hours go to the almighty dollar,
And the almighty power of dat cha cha cha cha chopper,
All of his time goes to making money and his automatic weapon (chopper = AK-47)
Sister, Brother, Son, Daughter, Father motha fuck a copper,
His family does not like the police
Got da maserati dancin on the bridge pussy poppin,
His family’s vehicle is rather close to the edge, where you can see up it
Tell the coppers... hahahaha you can't catch em, you can't stop em,
Police officers: you can not catch them, nor can you stop them
I go by them goon rules
He goes by the rules of real gangstas
If you can't beat em then you prop em,
I should give respect to people I can not defeat
You can't man em then you mop em,
I should kill them if they aren’t man enough
You can't stand em then you drop em,
If they annoy me, I should kill them
You pop em cause we pop em like Orville Redenbacher,
I  kill them because they kill them, metaphor relating to the popping of popcorn

[Verse 2:]
A million here a million there
6 zeroes here, 6 zeroes there
Sicilian bitch with long hair with coke in her derriere
Italian girl with luscious locks who has cocaine in her butt (ew)
Like smokin the thinest air I open the Lamborghini
People are breathless when he opens the door of his car, not a chaffeur
Hopin them crackers see me like look at dat bastard Weezy
He is on an ego trip
Hes a beast hes, a dog hes, a muthfukin problem
But he wants people to think he’s a bad dude
Ok your a goon but what's a goon to a goblin
A goon is a gangster, but a goblin is a rich, awesome gangster
Nothin nothin you ain't scarin nothin
I am not scaring anything
On some faggot bullshit call em dennis rodman
I am on some gay man-cow poop, like that crazy Chicago Bulls player
Call me what you want bitch call me on my Sidekick
Call him anything, call him on his cell phone
Never answer when it's private damn I hate a shy Bitch
He does not answer when it is a restricted number, gosh he hates a shy female dog
Don't u hate a shy bitch yea I ate a shy bitch
He wants to know if I hate a shy female dog, well he ate one
And she ain't shy nomore she changed her name to My bitch
But she isn’t shy anymore and she changed her name to “My Bitch”
Yea nigga that's my bitch so when she ask for the Money when you through don't be    surprised bitch
That is his female dog, so when she asks for the money when I am through, I should not be surprised. She is, what is known in popular society as, a ho.
It ain't trickin if u got it
It isn’t big spending if I am buying something I already have
But u like a bitch with no ass u ain't got shit
I am like a female dog with no butt, I am unable to defecate
Muthafuka I'm ill not sick
He is ill, not sick so don’t take him to the doctor
And I'm ok but my watch sick
He is ok but his timekeeper isn’t feeling well
Yea my drop sick
He drops nasty stuff
Yea my glock sick
His gun is sick
And my knot thick
He has a large stack of money
Im it
He is it

Muthafuka I'm ill...
Yet again, he is not actually sick.

[Verse 3:]
They say I'm rappin like BIG, jay, and tupac,
He raps like three other rappers
Andre 3000, where is eryka badu at
Andre, where is your girl?
Who dat
Common New Orleans Saints term
Who dat said dey gonna beat lil wayne
Who is that who claimed they could beat Lil Wayne?
My name ain't Bic but I keep dat flame man
His name is not Bic, but, much like the lighter, he keeps things hot
Now who that wanna do that?
Who wants to do that?
You all knew that
We all knew that
True that swallows
True, that sucks
And I be da shit now u got loose bowels
He is the poop, and now is coming out of you
I don't owe you like two vowels
He does not “O U” like two vowels
But I would like for u to pay me by the hOUr
He wants me to pay him by the hour (I guess he is a ho)
And I'd rather be pushin flowers
He would rather be dead
Then to be in the pen sharin showers
Then to be in jail, worrying about dropping the soap
Tony told us this world was ours
Scarface had a great line
And the bible told us every girl was sour
The Bible told us girls are bad.
Don't play in her garden and don't smell her flower
Think Adam and Eve: girls will bring bad things upon us if we mess with them
Call me Mr. Carter or Mr. Lawn Mower
Treat him with respect or like a landscaper
Boy I got so many bitches like I'm Mike Lowry
Mike Lowry was a senator involved in a sexual harassment case…
Even Gwen Stefani said she could'nt doubt me
Gwen Stefani was in No Doubt
Muthafuka I say life ain't shit without me
Apparently, life isn’t poop without him
Chrome lips pokin out the coupe look like it's poutin
He has a large grille on his car that is sad
I do what I do and u do what u can do about it
He does what he does and I do what I can do about it
Bitch I can turn a crack rock into a mountain
He turns a little bit of cocaine into a lot
Dare me
He would like me to dare him
Don't u compare me cause there ain't nobody near me
I should not attempt to compare him because there is no one around
They don't see but they hear me
We aren’t eye to eye with him, but we hear his words
They don't feel me but they fear me I'm illi
We do not rub against him but we are afraid of him, he is illy

Intro

Yo, what's good? The name's Jimmy and this be my blog. I'm a pretty wild dude from the oh so lovely Elon, North Carolina. I'm a senior at Western Alamance, waiting on that acceptance letter from UNC Chapel Hill. If there are three things I love, it's music, movies, and video games. So yea, I am a nerd. But it's ok because at least I accept it. Now geeks? Those are the weird ones. They are the ones you see walking around school with their suspenders and glasses straight out of an 80's sitcom. They are the ones who try to wow you with their knowledge of microprocessors and bandwidth speeds. Who even knows what those are? I just like my music, movies, and video games. I'm happy to say that I listen to more then one genre. My iPod is pretty much split down the middle: half rap, half classic rock. I do enjoy some mainstream chill stuff, such as Maroon 5, Coldplay, and John Mayer. But right now, I'm all about the Weezy. I'm not even going to get into him now because that'd turn from an intro to a Lil Wayne post. Movie-wise, I like good movies. Not inspirational sports movie crap or Hugh Grant rom-coms. I mean, high quality, such as Fight Club, Memento, and Wedding Crashers. That's right, the best of the best. Bad movies anger me so much that I have to watch a good one to cancel them out. And finally video games...well I'm stuck with a Gamecube and a PS2 so I'm not on the cutting edge. I'm a huge fan of Rock Band and Guitar Hero (expert on every instrument). And I'm all about shooting something every now and then. So that's me. I'm not sure where this thing is gonna go but sit back, enjoy the ride, and we'll see what happens. Oh and by the way, this is my way of calling out Coby Isley  with his "From the Heart of a Lion" blog. If he's doing it, I want to too! Nothing wrong with following the crowd is there?

"Time to do the thing, that's word to your wristwatch."