"Success is commemorated; Failure merely remembered."
Friday, October 28, 2005
Easy Paper on the 31st
Many companies allow employees to dress up in costume on or around Halloween. My place of work is no different. Since Halloween falls on Monday this year, we get to dress up on Monday. I will not be dressing up, as I think that it’s silly, but I do not look down on people that do. Hey it’s all in good fun, and I enjoy seeing the outfits that people I regard as half-wits can put together for my amusement. There is an exception however. It is a costume that has seen an exponential increase in use for the last ten years. Components of this costume, nay full outfits, can now be found in almost any store. White guys rub their hands manically at their original and non-racist idea, and black guys for one day get to be something their not. It has been proven that 1 in 3 men under the age of 30 have at one time put on this costume for Halloween, and 5 out of 7 white men put on this costume every other year. Crushed velvet suit, large chains, a huge fedora, a cobra head cane… oh yes my friend, every year on October 31st, strutting into work is:
The most dreaded of ghouls. I have a betting pool going at work where you can guess the number of guys in pimp outfits that will show up on Monday. There are 17 men in my office, (including myself) and I have guessed that 6 will dress in pimp or quasi-pimp regalia. You should start a pool at work to make some quick money using this simple calculation:
(M*.7)*.5=P M=Males at work, P=Total Pimp Costumes (round up)
So if you have 30 males at work, you can expect 11 to show up as pimps.
I have a theory on the pimp costume phenomenon. To many 21st century men, the pimp is the epitome of manhood. The stereotypical pimp is tough, rich, stylish, smooth, and has good taste. The pimp can get laid on a whim if not at will. The pimp sells sex for a living, and does not have to answer to anybody. The pimp is in charge of all those around him. The pimp is the envy of every other man. What man wouldn’t want this life style?
Few men have what it takes to be a pimp in real life. Ice-T (Tracy Marrow) wrote a great description of pimps in his book, The Ice Opinion. In The Autobiography of Malcolm X, one of Malcolm’s best friends in Harlem is a pimp, and he writes about him in length. The whole Halloween pimp phenomenon is nothing more then an adult version of a childhood fantasy. When males are young, what do they want to dress up as? Ninja’s, pirate’s, Darth Vader, etc. People that they perceive to have great power over their own destiny and over other’s. All humans are almost universally “control freaks,” and this behavior is ingrained in our genes.
Since December 2004 The Lord God has blessed us with many spectacular demonstrations of his power and good works. First he sent the Holy Tsunami to crush the infidel Mohammedans on Indonesia, and the barbarian polytheists of Ceylon and the Subcontinent. For good measure, He also sent a stern warning to the Sodom of the South Pacific, Thailand. The good Christians of Australia were “strangely” spared. Plate tectonics indeed! This was nothing more then God giving a middle finger to the infidel Hindus and Muslims. And it was a warning: Come to Jesus soon or face more suffering! The Japanese were warned for years to change their ways, in fact the word “Tsunami” is Japanese. Their final lesson came when God blessed Albert Einstein, Enrico Fermi, Leo Slizard, J. Robert Oppenheimer and others with the intelligence to unlock His secrets of matter and energy to create the holy atomic bombs that sent 200,000 sinners, animalists and infidels to Hell in a flash. Japan now has a higher percentage of Christians then any other East Pacific Nation.
As America falls further and further into decadence, God has sent warnings and more warnings for us to change. First he allowed the hijacking of four of our airplanes by infidel Muslim radicals, then he allowed them to carry out their insidious plot to crash them into our buildings. Had we not degenerated into a nation of sex-crazed, drug addicted, alcoholic sodomites, he would have surely prevented the 9/11 attacks. Thankfully God allowed the plane heading for the home of the Christian George W. Bush to be retaken and crash before the infidels could do their terrible damage.
Earlier this year, God sent Hurricane Katrina to destroy New Orleans, second only to Las Vegas in terms of wickedness. Holy Katrina stopped the largest celebration of sodomy in the world that was to take place the next day, and she displaced hundreds of thousands of whores, drug-addicts, strippers, male prostitutes, wife beaters, adulterers, voodoo priests, and drug-pushers. As an added bonus, Holy Katrina destroyed dozens of gambling dens on the Gulf Coast. These sinners now have a chance to start over and change their ways. Katrina may be the most generous blessing that God has granted America in the last 50 years. God then sent Holy Rita a few weeks later as an exclamation point.
Two weeks ago, God turned His attention again to converting the unbelievers that follow Mohammed and whatever deity the Hindus were praying to that day. He caused an earthquake that sent as many as 80,000 wicked infidels to Satan, and destroyed hundreds of towns and villages. If these people continue to worship Allah and the dozens of Hindu gods, they can expect more peril. The final warning will be a nuclear war between India and Pakistan that will surly send millions to a fiery grave, only to find that they will live forever as supernatural beings in a fiery Hell.
This week, God sent Holy Hurricane Wilma (the strongest Tropical Cyclone ever recorded in the Atlantic basin) to destroy the Sodom and Gomorra of the Caribbean: Cozumel and Cancun. These two wicked cities-of-sin would be wise to take heed: “Change your ways, or the wrath of the Lord will again be upon you!”
I was born and raised just before the era in which parents could be jailed for frowning at their children. That means that when I was a child, if I did something bad, I was getting punished, sometimes physically. Every time I was beat, (3 times) I deserved it; and you know what?
I never spit on my mother again, I never again said “fuck you” during Thanksgiving dinner, and only once did I shoot my sleeping father in the eye with a ping-pong ball gun. I learned all these life lessons by the time I was seven years old.
These were the major incidences, and I remember many, many other minor occasions where I was smacked or restrained, and even then I still can not think of an instance where I didn’t have it coming. My Lord! You should have seen my mother when I was five, just before I got my first bicycle, and tooling down the parking lot in Louisburg Square in my sit-down pedal-powered fire truck! I was booking down the lot and about to come to the cross street, where I was supposed to stop. Did I stop? Of course not! I saw there was no traffic and cruised on through the intersection, grinning all the way*. I pulled up to the house and parked my ride, while I watched my mother stride toward me, anger and fear in her eyes. She pulled me into the house and spanked my ass but good for that! I did not understand that she was scared at the time, but I did later on, and I never rode my fire truck across the street again; but I digress: This is supposed to be about what my Father taught me.
When I was in pre-school, he would pick me up at about noon (he worked a midnight shift) and we would go home (at that time) to the Quivira Place apartments. He would make ham sandwiches, and we would sit and watch Sanford and Son while we ate. That was my favorite show at the time other then Scoobie-Doo. After we ate, he would rest for awhile, then, if it happened to be the summer, take me to swim at the pool, usually with the Jay Giles band blasting through the speakers, until it was time to pick up mom. At the time she was a waitress at this restaurant called Samples on 87th street, in old Overland Park. **
While I was alone with dad, he would teach me how to fight and be male, and he encouraged me to play with my Tonka trucks and slot cars, etc. I remember when the training wheels came off my bike, and he would push me down the hill… fast. I learned to control my bike just as fast, and it did not take long for me balance myself: The alternatives were bruises and scrapes! We watched professional wrestling whenever possible. My father LOVED the fact that my hero’s were Hulk Hogan and “Hacksaw” Jim Dugan. I ask you…what’s more American then Hulk Hogan and “Hacksaw?”
I learned these lessons, but even when I was very young I was a troublemaker. I thought that it was fun to talk somebody into doing something for me for my amusement. I did this often, but that is a whole other story.
When I was somewhat older we moved to Lenexa. There dad bought me a BB gun, and taught me how to shoot a target. It was during this period that my parents divorced and thereafter I did not spend much time with my dad, until I eventually came to live with him in my high school years.
For the most part, he let left me alone and let me do my own thing. He knew that my friends were the most important thing at that time and respected that. He knew that I would not do anything REALLY dumb: But just in case, He was there to correct me if I did.
I was with a muscle car and all American clique’ during the last two years of high school, and my father tacitly approved. He knew I was different then him, but was pleased that I wasn’t gay or a “pussy.” I was a creator with an abstract thought process, like my close friends. Not like my father and his friends, but close enough. We created art that contained muscle cars, fighter planes, mushroom clouds, naked women, etc. We were of the right mind. I had the right idea, modified for the 1990’s.
I admit that most of this is just reminiscing on my part, (which I have guiltily enjoyed) so I will skip ahead to the point; what I really learned from dad:
1.) Do not spit on your mother, curse at the dinner table, or shoot sleeping people. 2.) Real men like Red Foxx, MOPAR’s and ham sandwiches. 3.) Men twice your size can kick your ass, even if you think they can’t.
*I still have that exact same smile; my mother pointed this out a few weeks ago when she showed me some pictures that were taken when I was a kid.
** The building that this restaurant was in still stands: It is now the armed forces recruiting depot.
The following is a true story. I will try not to embellish the facts too much.
Back a few years ago in the post 9/11 months I moved from my personal Hell in Vernon, TX, back to my home: Johnson County, KS.I had a great job when I got back that was taken away from me in early August of 2002, and I did not work much until January of 2003.
I had been working at this new place about nine months this chick came to work with me. I was 27 and she was 19. She was a Jugglette, (a hard-core female fan of The Insane Clown Posse) and I was…well, me. She was exactly what I go for in a woman, and I made it a point to get in good with her. I am very good at this sort of thing. It DID help that she was hot, and we got along great, but that’s beside the point.
I hung out with her and her boyfriend, got them drinks at local bars, and they would tell me about Violent J and Shaggs2Dope. At one of these occasions, I asked her about a movie ad that I saw in an ICP CD cover: Big Money Hustlers. She told me that she that she had it, (she had everything that had to do with ICP) and would let me borrow it sometime.
For some reason that I do not remember, she left about two months before I quit the job myself. Before she left we exchanged numbers, and vowed to keep in contact. I invited her to my birthday party, where she almost died (literally) making an ass of herself. I had to carry her out to her car, and her friend drove home. After this incident I figured I was owed something. Big.
The Saturday before Christmas in 03’ we talked and set up a thing where she would come over and bring Big Money Hustlers for us to watch. In return, I would buy some booze (She was 20). She came over about and we went downtown to go to some head shops to look around. She claimed that there was this legal herb that we could buy (I don’t remember what it was called) and trip on, if smoked. She bought some, a very small glassine baggie for $25. We drove back to the OP, stopped by the liquor store, picked up supplies to make Tequila Sunrise’s, then rolled back to my house. It had snowed the day before; there was still slush on the streets.
It was about when we walked in my door, dirty shoes and all. She poured us some drinks, and then we smoked this “mystery” weed: it did nothing. We smoked some more. Nothing.
We decided to make some more drinks and watch the movie.
The movie was fantastic. It was every thing I thought it would be. I knew that I had to have it for my self, but how could I get it???
After we had had several drinks and watched the movie once, something came to me.A line from Braveheart: “A king must find the good in any situation.”
From Edward I’s advice I came up with my plot:
I want to nail this chick, but I also want her movie. I will try for both: If fortune favors me, then I can have the movie and the pussy. If fortune fails, then I can still have her movie, no matter what. She is young, and is likely naive enough to think that I am not after her ass, or is at least deluding herself that she can play me. If I make some moves, she will respond or freak out. If she responds, then all is well, and I can take her to bed. Then in the morning I will ask to “borrow” the movie, and she WILL leave it here.
If she does not respond to my advances, then she will want to leave quickly. In her haste I can ask to “borrow” the movie and she will agree. She will see this as a “clean exit” and view the movie as a “ticket” out of my web. I then can keep the movie forever. When she calls me again, I will make sexual innuendos at every opportunity, so she will never want to pick up the movie.
This whole thought flashed through my head in about a ½ second when I conceived it.
We restarted the movie and watched it again.
We were having a good time, feeling the tequila and some weed-like effects from the $25 bag when the movie ended. Time to make my move. It’s a checkmate either way, I can’t loose!
Were both lying on the couch, when I ask her if she wanted to kiss me. She stared at me blankly, so I asked her again. She started to tense up and pull away; that’s when I knew the movie was mine! By this time I had a good amount of booze in me, so I slid over to her and tried to get it for about 15 minutes.
She felt the sudden need to call her friend on the cell, and tell her she was about to come over. When she was about to leave my arrogant abode, I asked her if could borrow the movie. She was more then happy to let me keep it, it was her ticket out: My ticket as well.
I still have the movie, and I am in fact watching it right now. I have had it for almost two years, almost 8x longer then I would have had the jugglette.