Iiiiiiiii Wanna Do Crack With Somebody!

So Whitney Houston went belly up. She took too many of something you shouldn't take too many of, chased them down with something you should chase things like that down with, and met her demise in a hotel bathtub. At least it wasn't death by ham sammich.

I was shocked...but not surprised.

We heard about it at work, and I think the general consensus of the nursing staff was, "Dumbass". Our second reaction was to kick ourselves because none of us had her on our Celebrity Death Pool list for this year.

You may question our cavalier attitude about her passing. Sure, I feel bad for her family. But here was a woman who was given a gift, and with that gift came a lot of benefits and perks. Wealth. Fame. The world laid at her feet on a silver platter. And what did she do? She pissed it away, like celebrities who burn too bright, too fast. Surrounded herself with enablers, ass-kissing idiots who go along to get along.

Meanwhile, I have lost count of how many patients and families I have stood with while their loved one died from something that was no fault of their own. Who am I going to save my sympathy for? A woman who should have known better, or the patient who had to marry her childhood sweetheart in a hospital because she would not be leaving the hospital alive to do so.

Yeah, she was a great singer, but years down the road, she will inevitably become the punchline. Just like Elvis. Just like Michael. Just like Mama Cass and her damn ham sammich.

Things I Don't Get: Hip Hop Pants

When that one guy popped on American Idol auditions and sang about Pants on the Ground, it only brought to light a serious fashion flaw that has spread across the country, like Paris spreads her STDs. They are called many things: saggy pants, droopy pants, ghetto pants, but one this for certain. They look tacky. I don't care how many celebrities say to the contrary.

And so it was, in my formative years, that Garth Brooks was IT, and it was mandatory that every roller skating rink played Friends in Low Places at least once a night. With the popularity of Garth Brooks, country fashion surged and boys sported Wrangler jeans so tight, that you had to wonder if their testicles were actually getting any blood flow.

I thought he was hotter as Chris Gaines.

The look was appealing only if you had a decent ass. Rodeo cowboys, have rather nice ones, and sadly, were pretty much the only ones who looked good in skin-tight Wranglers. Everyone else, you just felt bad for. Sort of like the flat-chested girl in a bikini.

And if you didn't hop on the country bandwagon, there was always MC Hammer.

Sadly, I owned a pair of these.

I really don't know what he was hoping to accomplish with the balloon pants, but it wasn't a trend that reached Garth Brooks proportions. Some people bought them, some didn't.

Remember Mark Walberg? Before he went into acting and had two looks: constipated and REALLY constipated. He was a Marky Mark. Tight little body with a huge Calvin Klein contract. What's the boy to do? He couldn't run around all day in his underwear. Women wouldn't leave him alone, not to mention how cold it would be in the winter. Things would shrink, and he would risk alienating his bulge-watching fan base.

Pardon me for a minute, I will be in my bunk.

Of course! Wear jeans just baggy enough to show some underwears. Not everything, but just enough to see they are not Fruit of the Looms, not the skidmark that occurred after too much Taco Bell, and certainly not enough to reveal any shrinkage. Keep the women guessing!

And so that trend took flight, and soon all the boys were buying jeans that were a couple sizes too big, and showing off their Calvins, or whatever they happened to pick up at Walmart.

As time passed, the pants got bigger, and lower and lower they fell...to plumber's crack, then mid-crack, then, below the ass cheek.

With a douche bag belt to cap the look.

But then they had to start wearing belts so they wouldn't randomly fall down. Because, ya know, THAT would be embarrassing.

At some point, someone thought it was a good idea to take it even further, and pulling them down to the knees. Because most underwears don't fall at the knee, boys had to get creative, and the invention of the long-assed t-shirt came to be.

Secretly, he has midget legs.

So, my question is: WHY, IN THE NAME OF GOD, WHY!?!?!? Someone played a cruel joke and said that fashions like this is what makes women swoon. Because if you look like you can't dress yourself properly, you gets all the bitches!

Even belts can't help, as evidenced by the countless men you see standing around holding their pants up, because the minute they let go, the puppies have now become ankle warmers. Some guys actually manage to walk in them in such a manner, that the pants don't fall down without a fight. You've seen them, legs all spread out, bow-legged, looking like they have a corn cob shoved up their ass.

Real women with any self-respect, can't possibly take a guy like this seriously. This certainly isn't sexy. Smart men don't go around looking like they need help dressing in the morning.

Maybe it's an unwitting red flag for women, because you can spot saggy pants from a greater distance than a sign that says "I can count to potato". Perhaps this is Darwin telling us that these men are not the choice of the herd, because in the event of an attack, they are obviously not going to be able to run away.

Don't get me started on socks and sandals...

I Want My Meh-TV

I remember when MTV made it's first debut. I loved it. If I had a choice, I would watch it ALL. THE. TIME. I loved the music. Loved the videos. Nina Blackwood? Kurt Loder? Downtown Julie Brown? Yes! Yes! Yes! Big chunks of time dedicated to nothing but music videos. All Music, All the Time. Then, they started adding shows, but those shows still centered on music videos, so I went along with it. Headbangers Ball, The Grind, Club MTV.

Then, they introduced Real World, which had nothing to do with music. The genesis of reality television, teenagers ate it up by the truckload. I was lukewarm about the show because it seemed to be an hour of angst-ridden, adult-wannabes whining about how they were misunderstood.

At some point, MTV realized that they could crank out more of this drivel, and those chunks of music videos just kept getting smaller and smaller.

A look at MTV today illustrates why foreign countries would like the United States to be consumed with nuclear fire. You have a couple of shows that glorifies unwed, teenage mothers. A couple shows that offers a glimpse into the lives of spoiled teenage brats, and the pussified helicopter parents who pander to them. A show that tries to convince everyone that being a Guido douche bag is actually cool and something everyone should strive for. The flagship Real World is still being broadcast, but probably should change the name to The Gay, The Angry Minority, and The Skanks and Douche Bags Who Shag in the Hot Tub.

Hell, I can't say as I blame them. I currently would like New Jersey to be bombed off the face of the earth as a result.

So, it came as no surprise to me when MTV decided to revamp the logo and completely drop the Music Television part. They haven't been about music in years, why mislead people with false advertising?

So, if MTV doesn't stand for Music Television anymore, what does the M stand for? I thought of a couple suggestions:
Mediocre
Meh
Merde
Moronic
Miscreant

What are some other good ones?

Other Things That Happen Late at Night

I don't usually watch late night television. Hell, I don't normally watch television. But I am up on the whole Conan-Leno thing. Sucks that Conan got the short end of the stick, but I'm sure he will come out of this okay.

So, in honor of Conan's departure, I have found some fun nuggets to share. I laughed pretty hard, so I may have to check out Conan when he goes to his new home...wherever it may be.

Shocking News is Shocking

Everyone is all agog at the Tiger Woods and the steaming pile of crap he has found himself in. And all he did was crash into a little fire hydrant.

But in crashing into the defenseless fire hydrant, it opens a pandora's box of secrets into his alternative life. Tiger Woods a serial cheater? No, say it isn't so!! Who ever heard of a multi-million dollar athlete married with multiple girlfriends?? Inconceivable!!

I'm going to guess that the imprint of the nine iron on the side of his head tells us that he didn't have an "agreement" with his wife.

Is this really news? Is this really worth obsessing over??

Tiger, perhaps you should google Steve McNair, mm'kay? Dumbass.

And golf still isn't a sport.

Stupid is as Stupid Does

You know, I never understood why some women would be complacent in a relationship where her partner abused her on a regular basis. In my nursing school psych class, we even spent a fair amount of lecture time going over this very thing. On paper, the theories made sense. In reality, I still can't wrap my mind around it. There is no excuse in the world that would remotely justify standing by some guy who routinely put your life in danger.

I can stand up for you if this was a first time incident and you dump the guy, never to speak to him again, despite the pleas and promises. You go back to him, you're on your own. Don't come crying to me the next time he breaks your nose, or arm, or ribs, or causes a brain bleed.

So, imagine my disgust upon hearing that Rhianna took Chris Brown back. Just when I thought my opinion of a woman couldn't go any lower, I read this.

According to a detective’s affidavit, Brown and Rihanna got into a fight after the Umbrella” singer checked her boyfriend’s cell phone and found a three-page
text message from another woman.

Brown pulled his car over and tried to push Rihanna out, but she was still wearing her seatbelt, Los Angeles police Detective De Shon Andrews wrote. He said Brown pushed Rihanna’s head against the window, punched her with his right hand, and then continued driving while hitting her, the affidavit states. He also bit his girlfriend on the ear, the affidavit states. At one point, Brown reportedly put her in a headlock and she nearly lost consciousness, the report says.

The affidavit was filed as part of a search warrant request for the phone records of Brown, Rihanna and her assistant. While beating Rihanna, Brown allegedly told her "I'm going to beat the s--- out of you when we get home, you wait and see." Brown allegedly threatened to kill Rihanna after she either left or pretended to leave a phone message with her assistant, telling her to have the police waiting at her house. He reportedly then said, "You just did the stupidest thing ever. I'm
going to kill you."

Andrews described Brown’s blows as causing Rihanna’s mouth to fill with blood. He also writes that Brown tried to choke Rihanna after she took the keys to his car away.

Really? Even after all this, she not only takes him back, but rumors swirl that she married the guy because she thinks that with him, she will have the Fairy Tale. What does this tell abused women everywhere? That it's okay for a guy to beat you? That he didn't really mean it and that he loves you? The darker the bruise, the deeper the love??

(I'm not talking about women who try to beat on a guy, then act all righteous when he pops her one in return. No, I'm talking about the guys who hit women for power and control issues. The guys who are too big a candyass to try to hit another guy, but rather take their aggressions out on the one who does his laundry. Raises his children. Maintains his home.)

It makes me ill. I don't listen to the musical offerings of either artist, but I'm sure as hell not going to start now. What kills me even more is how the Hollywood community is just rolling over and pretending it never happened.

So, dumb Umbrella singer, the next time your True Love actually succeeds in putting your head through a window, don't look to me for sympathy.

You have made your bed. Good luck sleeping in it.

Pop Culture Blather and the Shower

Mr. Recommendation has been working hard on my new shower. Who knew such a small space could elicit such colorful language. And not in a good way. We'll not even talk about the water damage we found when we pulled out the old shower.

But at the end of the week, I have a lovely new shower. The only thing missing is the door, which is in the box in the garage, and I am told will take many hours to install because my tile is harder than the ACTs to Kansas City School District high school students, and drilling through such will take time and lots of specialized drill bits.

Because I'm an impatient sort, I wanted to try my shower out AS SOON as the sealant was dry. So, I put the shower curtain back up and took my new shower for a test run.

Thus far, I'm not impressed with the handheld nozzle. Something is rattling around in side it, so I suspect that could be the reason water just trickles out of it like piss out of an 89 year old man with prostate problems. Meh. I'll be replacing it. However, everything else...the fixed body jets, the overhead rainfall head...work beautifully. I can already tell I'm going to be spending some quality time in this shower.

Earlier, while Mr. Recommendation was working, I happened upon the NAACP Image Awards on television. Right about the time Mohammed Ali was being presented with his award. Was it just me, or did anyone else find that him sitting in that chair, shaking all over the place, extremely painful to watch? I cringed outwardly whenever the camera would pan to him.

I find the whole stink about Chris Brown somewhat interesting. First off, I don't even know who Chris Brown is, and I couldn't even pick out his song if I heard it. I do know that he beat up some other artist who happened to be his girlfriend, and that his "career" is at risk for going down the crapper. Radio stations are banning his songs right now, people are up in arms. Chris Brown should take heart and look at R Kelly. The man had sex with and pissed on a minor...and FILMED IT...and still managed to not get into trouble. AND...America still loves his music. Except me. I still think he's a pig.

Don't even get me started on the one-man circus that is Michael Jackson.

There's hope for Chris Brown yet. Even if it is true that his girlfriend gave him herpes.

However, I do hope that the next woman he slaps around has a good right hook. Or a cast iron skillet. Or a good right hook while holding said cast iron skillet.

Or just a good, old fashioned case of gonorrhea.

Take Note

Patrick Swayze went home after only being in the hospital for one week with pneumonia. One week of PNA for someone who is immunocompromised with chemo and has pancreatic cancer.

And the publicist's only comment is that he's "well enough to be released".

Sounds more like going home to die to me. Ask any nurse/doctor you know, and they will probably agree.

I'm going to go watch Dirty Dancing now.

Nobody puts Baby in a corner.

A Town Worthy of a Darwin Event

I rolled my eyes when I read about that town where a large number of teenagers got pregnant, making a pact to do so. Just when I think the pubescent demographic couldn't get anymore retarded, stuff like this happens and completely blows my mind.

So, if terrorists decided to drop a bomb on this entire town, I think they would be doing the world a favor. So many stupid pro-creators, living in one small area, is just asking for a Darwin event to help thin out the herd. Especially that one girl who got pregnant by a homeless guy. Ewww. This baby is pretty much screwed. How does one cope with the fact that you mom was a blatant whorette who slept with some homeless guy so she could get pregnant??

When I was a teenager, yes, teen pregnancy existed, but it was still considered something of a major screw-up. I don't want to say it was a "dirty little secret", but it was. The teenage moms were certainly not proud of it. They just had their babies, quietly. If they were lucky, they had supportive families and they were able to finish high school. There was no in-school daycare. Girls did not get pregnant just because they thought babies were cute and they would like have one, and having a baby shower and get free shit would be totally awesome. No, pregnancies usually happened because birth control failed or they just didn't use any.

The stigma of being an unwed pregnant teenage mother was enough to terrify me into not having sex when I was in high school. I had a great, big fear of the penis. (A fear, that I am happy to report, that I have overcome.) I think the stigma that came with being an unwed pregnant teenager was enough for most girls to take extra measures to prevent it, or just abstain from sex altogether.

I don't know when the stigma of pregnant teenagers changed. It's not a big deal anymore (of which I think is bullshit). Maybe I'm just old fashioned, but I still believe that there is something fundamentally wrong with society being okay with a 16 year old getting knocked up. Girls, lacking the maturity to care for a hamster, are getting pregnant because they think it will be fun, or it will fill some kind of void in their lives, or because some dumbass celebrity did it and it would be so cool, or for some other asinine reason.

Whenever I read about the Pregnancy Pact and the details that are emerging, I just can't wrap my mind around it. I don't even want to think about what is going to become of these babies. It's a sad story, and it makes my hope for humanity die just a little bit more.

Fuck You, George. RIP

George Carlin, one of the best comedians ever, has died. One of the few comedians I actually liked because he originally funny. His voice was instantly recognizable. His humor was smart.

When I was in college, I had to take a speech class. During this class, we were asked to give speeches on various things. There was this one girl, who annoyed the hell out of me. She was a wannabe hippy...didn't use soap, dressed in hemp, and all that other crap. For our comedic speeches, she chose to do hers on swear words. Basically, she just stood in front of the class and spewed "fuck" and "shit" in no context whatsoever. It just wasn't funny, and the laughter heard in the classroom was more of the embarrassed variety. Most everyone was embarrassed her speech sucked something awful. I felt bad for the Muslim girl who sat in front of me.

Number one rule of public speaking...know your audience.

I, however, was incensed. As far as I was concerned, only one person could speak solely on swear words, and it actually be funny...George Carlin. I wanted to walk to the front of the class and smack her upside the head, then take a metal comb through her dreadlocks. That would teach her for defecating on an American Icon.

So, the as the world wakes up today, it will find itself a less amusing place to live because George is gone. Prudes everywhere may breathe a sigh of relief. Today, I challenge every one of you, in honor of his memory, to drop the "f-bomb" in conversation.

Godspeed, George Carlin. Heaven just got a whole lot more interesting.

Pack Your Knives and Go (Cut Your Wrists)

In the land of reality television, there is really only one show I watch religiously. That is Top Chef. For those of you who don't know, Top Chef is a cooking show which pits chefs against each other for a grand prize through various cooking challenges. I started watching during the middle of season two, and here we are now with season four. It took me a while to warm up to the new chef-testants, but now I have my favs, and my most hated.

First...I want to have Richard's babies. Or at least practice. Lots and lots of practice.

Second...As much as I love Richard, I'm pulling for Stephanie to win. Tonight's episode pretty much clinched that for me. Besides, if Richard is upset about not winning, I will make him feel better.

Third...I used to not like Andrew, but he's grown on me. Like mold. I liked him the instant he said "culinary boner". I've yet to use that in conversation, but the opportunity has yet to present itself.

And last...Lisa is the biggest crunt to ever curse a kitchen.

Why she is in the final three, I will never know. She must have made a deal with Satan. Or maybe she's one of those people who have the kind of luck where they fall into a bucket of shit (probably something she cooked) and comes out with the Hope Diamond in hand. She's consistently been in the bottom for worst dishes. She never takes responsibility for the crap she churns out. Not to mention blaming other people. Greasy McBitchface is only in the top three by sheer dumb luck. I can list at least 9 other chefs on that show who were far more deserving to be there...even that one chick who was the very first to be eliminated.

Grrrr.

So, in case you are wondering where I will be, I will be over at the Television Without Pity site, bitching more about tonight's episode on their message boards.

Huh?

Madonna scored a place in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

When was she ever a rock star???

Sure, she's cranked out tunes through the ages. Sure, she looks good for an 80 year old. But I was always under the impression that she was a Pop star.

I think the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame has officially jumped the shark.

Heath Ledger!!

Holy Shit!

No one saw this coming. My friends and I are shocked and dismayed.

Nobody had him on their Celebrity Death List.

At 28, that's MUCHO points.

Toxic

By a show of hands, who is tired of all the media coverage concerning Britney Spears?

I've long held the belief that Brit-Brit is either bi-polar, or has some kind of schizo-affective disorder. These things usually manifest themselves in the early twenties. Think about it...what person in their right mind would exhibit the kind of behavior that she has??

I totally want props if I am right.

So all this has culminated in a fiasco that was replayed over and over on major news networks. A standoff with police, her carted out on a stretcher looking like she's a few floats shy of a parade. That isn't what grabbed my attention. No, what I found most disturbing about the whole thing was the mass of photographers present. Running after the ambulance, a couple even managed to jump on the back in an effort to get a clear shot in the rear window. I found myself hoping the ambulance driver would gun the accelerator and take a couple of them out. For a moment there, I kind of felt sorry for Britney. Your complete psychological collapse, and a throng of photographers hovering around like buzzards, seemingly delighted at your misfortune.

If she ends up killing herself, I won't be surprised. I think the pressure of having bottom-feeders breathing down your neck, just waiting for your next flub-up, would drive anyone to do something rash. Someone with a severe mental imbalance, even more so.

It makes me glad that I'm not a celebrity.

The Most Craptastic Thing This Week

I was home, recovering from Sunday's festivities, flipping through some channels, when I stumbled upon this little gem of a show on CMT. It's called Mobile Home Disaster and is essentially the equivalent of Extreme Makeover for the trailer park crowd. Because of my unhealthy obsession with trailer parks, my eyes just glazed over and I watched.

The family featured a mom, a dad, and their six children...all living in the crappiest trailer I've seen. Well, maybe not the crappiest, but certainly in the top five...top ten. It was really crappy. The three sons slept on the couch, the three girls slept in their own little room on beds that didn't have sheets. Instead of curtains, they had blankets and sheets up. The place was as stereotypical as one could get as far as mobile homes go....so was the family, whom I am confident could tell you the glories of government cheese.

So, Bill Engvall and his team go in and pretty much rebuild this trailer and make it southern fried fabulous. The boys get their own room, the girls get their own room (with sheets on the bed!). The parents get their room redone with curtains (it looks like a hotel room). The end result doesn't look bad, and it's a HUGE improvement from their living conditions before.

The family returns to the trailer park for the big reveal. The entire trailer park turns out and you'd be hard pressed to spot a woman wearing a bra in that group. Mother (in her bleach-blond, black-rooted goodness) blathers about how she's a new person with this new house. She's a new Mom now!!

What?!? They just redid your house, they didn't give you a personality makeover. You're still a dumbass on welfare.

With all the new things that came with the newly remodeled trailer (flat panel plasma television, computer, gas bbq grill, all stainless appliances in the kitchen, furniture, etc), the thing that the parents are most excited about...they have their own soda dispenser in the shed.

I've only seen the one show. I don't know if they have any others, but I checked the website. If the show wasn't entertaining enough, you can peruse the message boards. Everyones got a sad story to tell, and everyone wants to know how they can get their trailers made over as well. It's enough to make me salivate over the prospect of new trailer park shows on the horizon. It's like being able to observe life in the park, without the fear of being caught.

It's awesome!!!

A New Calling

Pop culture is now spurning the dollar because of its losing value. It's not cool to have dollars. You are not trendy unless you are dealing in Euros. JayZ is now flashing euros in his new crappy video instead of dollar bills.

I understand that the dollar isn't as strong as the euro. I understand that. However, I don't need dumbass celebrities telling me that I'm not cool because I still deal with dollars. I care about that about as much as I care about Sean Penn telling me who he's voting for and why I should vote the same way.

Because I'm a kind and generous person, I am willing to step up to the plate and offer a home to the unwanted, unsavory American currency. I will open my home to all the Bens, Georges, Andrews and Abes who want a warm place to stay, roof over their heads, and food in their bellies. And when they regain their strength and self-esteem, they can happily resume residence in my checking accounts.

Heather's Home for Unwanted Dollars

I'm sure I could come up with some people who would also be willing to volunteer their time, even their own homes. It might be a struggle, but I'm sure we could get by.

A Plea

Dear Amy Winehouse,

I've been reading about your problems with a morbid interest. Don't get me wrong, I really like your music. In an age where entertainers are more for looks than actual talent, your singing is like a breath of fresh air.

But really...manic depressive that doesn't take meds? An open affinity for illicit drugs and alcohol? Horse tranquilizers? Knock down fights with the hubby? Your in-laws are even commenting that if you and your husband are both alive within a year, they will consider themselves lucky.

As a nurse, I know that vomiting blood is not a good thing, and left untreated, can result in what we call "a negative patient outcome".

So, when you sing "They tried to make me go to rehab and I said no...no...no"...I BELIEVE IT!!

Why, oh why, didn't I put you on my Celebrity Death List this year?

So, if you could just hang on until 2008 before you decide to self-destruct, that would be GREAT! Mmm 'kay?

Sincerely,
H

He's a Bigger Cold-Hearted Bastard Than I Am

Paul: I'm sad.

Me: Why are you sad?

Paul: That Owen guy...

Me: Owen Wilson??

Paul: Yeah...he tried....

Me: To off himself??

Paul: Yeah...it makes me sad.

Me: It makes you sad...

Paul: That he didn't do it right the first time.

Me: Oh...uhhh...

Paul: You'd think with all that money, he'd have the resources to get it right the first time.

Me: I'm going to blog this.

Off to a Good Start

Imagine waking up to the pictures of a inconsolable Paris(ite) Hilton being hauled back to the clink in a police car. Boy, did she look a mess.

It's going to be a good day.

We'll see if she stays there. I don't know who this judge is, but he sounds like someone I wouldn't want to piss off.

Maybe while she's in jail, families of people killed by drunk drivers should stop by and have a little talk with her. A new family, everyday, for 40 days.

After doing some more digging, I found that Dina Lohan's show will be on the E! channel if it comes to fruition. That's right, the Famewhore Network.

So, I'm boycotting the E! channel. I should drop them an email telling them of my decision and why. Hell, maybe everyone should.

Anyone else interested?

Nevermind!! Found a Translator!!

This paper was turned in by an Oakland High school student who received the highest honors at the school district’s Ebonics translation competition.

Assignment: Please translate the following Rap song lyrics from Ebonics to standard English.
Artist: Notorious B.I.G.
Album: Ready to Die
Song: One more chance (remix)



Lyrics:
First things first, I poppa, freaks all the honeys
Dummies - playboy bunnies, those wantin’ money
Those the ones I like ‘cause they don’t get nathan’
But penetration, unless it smells like sanitation
Garbage, I turn like doorknobs
Heart throb, never, black and ugly as ever
However, I stay coochied down to the socks
Rings and watch filled with rocks

TRANSLATION:
As a general rule, I perform deviant sexual acts with women of all kinds, including but not limited to those with limited intellect, nude magazine models, and prostitutes. I particularly enjoy sexual encounters with the latter group as they are generally disappointed in the fact that they only receive penile intercourse and nothing more, unless of course, they douche on a consistent basis. Although I am extremely unattractive, I am able to engage in these types of sexual acts with some regularity. Perhaps my sexuality is somehow related to my fancy and expensive jewelry.


Lyrics:
And my jam knock in the Mitsubishi
Girls pee pee when they see me, Nava-hoes creep me in they tee pee
As I lay down laws like I lay carpet
Stop it - if you think your gonna make a profit

TRANSLATION:
I enjoy playing my music loudly on my car stereo. Apparently, women enjoy this also because they become sexually aroused when they see me driving. Oddly enough, when I visit the Native American reservations, some of the more sexually promiscuous Indian women attempt to seduce me in their homes. Their intent is to divest me of my earnings. Such actions are unacceptable.


Lyrics:
Don’t see my ones, don’t see my guns - get it
Now tell ya friends Poppa hit it then split it
In two as I flow with the Junior Mafia
I don’t know what the hell’s stoppin’ ya
I’m clockin’ ya - Versace shades watchin’ ya
Once ya grin, I’m in game, begin

TRANSLATION:
Understand this fact: you can have neither my money, nor my weapons. I suggest that you inform your peers that we engaged in violent sexual acts. Currently, I am rapping with my associates, the Junior Mafia. I’m having some difficulty understanding why you refuse to approach me. I am attempting to make eye contact with you through my expensive glasses, and as soon as you respond with a smile, I will approach you.


Lyrics:
First I talk about how I dress and this
And diamond necklaces - stretch Lexuses
The sex is just immaculate from the back I get
Deeper and deeper - help ya reach the
Climax that your man can’t make
Call and tell him you’ll be home real late
Let’s sing the break

TRANSLATION:
I prefer to open the conversation with light banter about my wardrobe and jewelry, then I like to discuss my collection of expensive cars. This is more than enough to convince you to have sexual intercourse with me. I am able to insert my penis further into you when I enter you from behind. Furthermore, you will be able to reach orgasm. I understand this to be a problem with your current sexual partner. He needn’t be concerned about your whereabouts. Please phone him and inform him that you won’t be home for a while. By the way, please sing the chorus of the song for me also.


Lyrics:
She’s sick of that song on how it’s so long
Thought he worked his until I handled my biz
There I is - major pain like Damon Wayans
Low down dirty even like his brother Keenan
Schemin’ - don’t bring your girl ‘round me
True player for real, ask Puff Daddy

TRANSLATION:
Your current love interest no longer wishes to hear your fabrications about the length of your member. After I had sexual intercourse with your woman, she became enlightened as to the proper way it is supposed to be performed; violently and immorally. It would be in your best interest to keep your woman away from me as my sexual prowess is very strong. If you are unconvinced, ask Puff Daddy.


Lyrics:
You - ringin’ bells with bags from Chanel
Baby Benz, traded in your Hyundai Excel
Fully equipped, CD changer with the cell
She beeped me, meet me at twelve

TRANSLATION:
Despite the fact that you attempted to win her at her doorstep with bags full of expensive clothes and a car (the lower end model Mercedes Benz which you financed by signing over your current vehicle) containing an expensive stereo and a cellular phone, your woman has contacted me through my pager indicating that we should rendezvous at midnight.


Lyrics:
Where you at? Flippin’ jobs, playin’ car notes?
While I’m swimmin’ in ya women like the breast stroke
Right stroke, left stroke what’s the best stroke
Death stroke - tongue all down her throat
Nuthin’ left to do but send her home to you
I’m through - can ya sing the song for me, boo?

TRANSLATION:
You, on the other hand, jump from job to job, barely able to maintain payments on the Mercedes Benz you purchased for your woman. Meanwhile, I continue to engage in sexual intercourse and commit lewd osculatory acts with your women. My only remaining option is to request that she leave my home and return to you because I have reached orgasm and no longer have a need for her presence.


Lyrics:
So, what’s it gonna be? Him or me?
We can cruise the world with pearls
Gator boots for girls
The envy of all women, crushed linen
Cartier wrist-wear with diamonds in ‘em
The finest women I love with a passion
Ya man’s a wimp, I give that ass a good thrashin’

TRANSLATION:
The ultimate decision rests with you. Whom do you choose as your sexual partner. I can take you on cruises around the world. I will dress you in the finest jewelry and footwear. You will be envied by women worldwide in your fine clothes and jewelry. There is a special place in my heart for beautiful women. I will defeat your man in an altercation because he is effeminate.


Lyrics:
High fashion - flyin’ into all states.
Sexin’ me while your man masturbates.
Isn’t this great? Your flight leaves at eight.
Her flight lands at nine, my game just rewinds.
Lyrically I’m supposed to represent.
I’m not only the client, I’m the player president

TRANSLATION:
You will be dressed in finest clothes on the runways of Paris. I will fly you to every state to shop for fine clothes and jewelry. You will enjoy sexual intercourse with me and your man will be forced to pleasure himself through manual stimulation. What a life! I’ll return you to LaGuardia in time to catch your 8 o’clock flight. The timing is perfect because I have scheduled a date with a second woman who arrives at the same gate at 9 o’clock. I’ll seduce her in the same way that I seduced you. I rap well and I am a positive reflection of my home town. Not only am I a sexually deviant, misogynistic, immoral, wealthy, male prostitute, but I also sit on the board of directors of the organization that governs others of my kind.