Tuesday, June 30, 2009

Life Lessons... From Rappers

When we were little kids wetting the bed, we had Dr. Seuss nursery rhymes to teach us about the important things in life. Now that we’re badass muthafuckas out in the real world kicking the ass out of some Excel spreadsheet, we take our marching orders from black dudes with a lot of money. No, I’m not talking about that one token black partner at your law firm. I’m talking about rappers. These guys know their shit when it comes to having fun. These are some oldies but goodies, because quite frankly, I don't listen to rap anymore now that I'm quickly approaching middle age white guy age.

Move Bitch– Ludacris

When you and your boys go out to the clubs, take a lesson from Ludacris when it comes to getting a little R-E-S-P-E-C-T out on the dance floor. If some stupid ass motherfucker gets in your way, take one out of Luda’s playbook, tell the bitch to get the fuck out of the way, and then break a $500 bottle of Cristal over the asshole’s head. Then get the fuck out of the way and sit back as an all-out bar brawl breaks out around you. Feel free to take on the security guards too, because after all, they’re nothing more than a bunch of oversized apes with the IQ of that kid with Downs serving you fries at McDonalds.

Bling Bling – B.G.

If you want to have the baller lifestyle that you have wet dreams about, the key is to wear as much gold and diamond jewelry as possible. Your skinny white ass should, at a minimum, have several gold medallions, more carats on your knuckles than a Hamptons socialite, perhaps a gold toof’, and definitely 22-inch gold rims on your leased Escalade. Because you see, when you have lots of gold and diamonds, people assume you have a lot of money. Especially the ladies. It’ll be enough to make them forget for at least one night that you have the social skills of a flea, not to mention the fact that you look like that no-talent hack from Chili Peppers.

California Love – 2Pac

The key to the good life is to get your lazy ass off the couch in your Mom’s basement, pack up the Kia, and drive west until you hit the Pacific. It doesn’t matter whether you end up in San Francisco or San Diego, or even the LBC for that matter. Once you’re in Cali, it’s time to get yo’ muthafuckin party on. And since everyone thinks California is where it’s at, all of your hamburger flipping buddies back in Buttfuck, Iowa will think youse a true playa. In reality, California is an overpriced shithole where even a 1982 vintage condo will set you back 400k, even after the subprime mortgage crash. While there are certainly a decent number of good looking hoes, as 2Pac was fond of saying, they’re mostly out of your league champ, so take a number.

We Be Clubbin – Ice Cube

So let’s say you make it all the way out to LA, and are living in an overpriced shitbag studio apartment. Now what? I say throw on your best shit from Structure, put a little pomade in your hair, and make your way down to the clubbz. That’s where the ladies are at after all, if you’re to believe what Ice Cube is saying. Listen carefully though, because Cube is trying to tell you that unless you have the cash to blow on VIP and coke parties at the Marriott, you might as well just get obliterated at the bar and drive your ’91 BMW into a parked cop car on the drive home.

Hoochie Mama – 2 Live Crew

Well shit, Skippy. You finally did something right. You managed to get that girl’s number. Congratu-fuckin-lations. Now what? Listen to this song, and you’ll quickly understand that most likely that girl is nothing more than a tricked out skank who was busy blowing your buddy last week out behind the dumpster. You probably don’t care though, since the last time you got laid was at a frat party sophomore year when you convinced that Wildebeast with a mustache that you really did have a fish aquarium back in your pathetic excuse for a dorm room.

It Takes Two – Rob Base

Yep, that’s right. It does take two. Two to do what, you ask? Fuck if I know, but if I took a wild guess, I’d say that it takes two people to fuck. And two people to fuck without a condom. Which is probably what your drunk ass is doing after picking up that Hoochie Mama at the club. Enjoy forking over half your paycheck for the next eighteen years for a kid you will likely see twice a year at a court supervised Chuck-E-Cheese visit.

Pimpin’ All Over the World – Ludacris

If you’re lucky and won the lotto or happen to have a trust fund, take Chris Bridges’ advice, get your ignorant ass a passport, and hit the road. Not only will you have a friggin’ blast, but you’ll get laid doing it. As always, make sure you go VIP and drink plenty of Cristal and high-end vodka. The ladies really love it when you do this. They can get drunk for free. More importantly, it will make them forget that your breath literally smells like shit and your face is more pockmarked than those poor fuckers on Proactiv commercials.

Slow Motion – Juvenile

If you want to have the ladies keep coming back for more of your little fella, listen to a guy who calls himself Juvenile, and work it nice and slow. Kind of like slow motion on a VCR. Not only will this keep you from blowing your pathetic wad in 30 seconds, but you won’t look like a skinny white jackhammer pounding away on a blowup doll. Listen to the brotha on this one.

Yeaah – Usher

I really have no effen idea what this song is about other than the fact I used hear it at least twice at night every time I went clubbing in Vegas, but it sure does sound good, doesn’t it? The song that is. Not the clubbing. In fact, just using the word “clubbing” makes me want to kick my own ass. But I disgress... Listen to the guy who sleeps strapped to his Abdominizer. You might soon be saying "Yeaaah" too.

Pass the Courvoiser – Busta Rhymes

Drinking Cristal got you down? In need of something with a little more kick than Belvedere? Well shit son, you’re in luck. Get your ass a bottle of this shit, fork out some cash for the VIP (because only the playas and ballas go VI muthafuckin P), and get ready to have shit happen. Drink too much of it, and get ready to shit your pants after you pass out in the lap of that transvestite you picked up in front of Jack in the Box.

Monday, June 29, 2009

Rich CEO Needs Job... Pronto!

Yes, I am obsessed with AdWords. After my post yesterday about the OG muthafuckin Crips (I love saying it like that), I've started paying more attention to what shows up in my Inbox every morning when I login. Today's suprise -- Jim Harrer, CEO wunderkind and "skilled turnaround expert." After reading through his online resume, or CV if you are an executive (no exec worth his weight in gold has a resume... he has a CV!), his big claim to fame appears to be starting a company in 1986 and selling it for $290 mil in 2000... at the height of the dot-com boom.

This begs a couple of questions:

1.) If the dude founded the company and sold it for $290 mil, why the fuck is he still working? And if it's because "work is in his veins", then why the fuck is he advertising on AdWords to land a new gig? I thought these executive types were dialed in via their extensive Rolodex of other Type A hard-charging dudes.

2.) 14 years to start and flip a company? Shit fool! The YouTube boys did it in 18 months!

3.) What are the chances that some executive type dude is going to log in to Gmail on a Monday morning while sipping his Guatemalan roasted coffee blend, see this ad, and think to himself, "Now there's someone I need on my executive team, pronto!" I'd say about the same chance as Jim Harrer winning the Powerball or selling his next startup for $290 mil.

There are a lot of other things going through my sleep-deprived head right about now RE: this clown, but I'm going to keep them to myself on the off chance that Mr. Harrer ever stumbles across my blog.

Good luck to you, Chief!

Sunday, June 28, 2009

Staking My Muthafuckin Claim

So I just decided to sign up for a Technorati account. Seemed like a good thing to do. In order to "claim" this blog as my own, I have to post the following code:


Great, there it is! I feel like I'm hanging out with Hurley on "Lost". Thinking a few things right now...

1.) Should I go play these numbers on the Lotto?
2.) Since this "code" ends in "ape", should that tell me something?

Let's Collaborate

What is this guy thinking? Three guesses....

1.) I used to play hoops back in the hood with my boys TeRone and DeShaun, and now I'm working for some rich old white coot in an office with no windows. And wearing a pink shirt. What the fuck?

2.) I'm just warming up to collaborate with some cross-functional resources to engage in silo-busting knowledge share activities designed to align top line revenue growth with increased market share.

3.) Why is this fucking cartoon bouncy ball flying right at my head?

Oh, You're From Los Angeles! Do You Know John Smith?

If you've been to more than one cocktail party in your life, the following question will inevitably come up:

So where are you from?

Followed by...

Oh, you're from (insert large American city)? I have a friend who grew up there! Do you know (insert common name)?

Yes, I grew up in a city of two million people and I just happen to know you're fucking friend who has the same name as fifty other schmucks in the same city.

The Art of Shitting in Public

Once or twice a day (more if you idolize Wilford Brimley and eat lots of Quaker Oats), we all get the urge to take a shit. Most of the time this happens in the privacy of our mildew-ridden bathroom at home, but on occasion, we’ve all had to take a shit while out amongst the unwashed masses.

The Office – Degree of Difficulty: 2.0

It’s 1:35 in the afternoon. Four hours to go until you’re at home spanking it to a mental image of Jenn in Marketing. Man, you can’t wait! I don’t blame you – she’s pretty hot. Except today you decided to be a badass and order the super burrito at lunch. Way to go Pancho Villa! It’s time to lay a stink bomb, but be stealth about it. Everyone knows where you’re going when you’re carrying a stack of industry trade magazines from 1997. So travel light, and be warned - if you are caught, chances are good that the asshole sitting near the restroom will notice the foul toxic stench and send out an email to Jenn in Marketing identifying the culprit. After all, he jacks off while thinking about her too.

Shopping Mall – Degree of Difficulty: 4.2

Those graphic T-shirts with idiot designs sure do make you look cool. Mom will be impressed now that you’re dressing yourself! Whoops, that General’s Chicken at Panda Express isn’t feeling so good in your tummy. Since the Abercrombie doesn’t have a restroom, wade your way through the sea of pimply-faced teenagers in search of the restroom. Since it’s a public restroom that every inbred trailer-dwelling hick has access to, there’s a good chance it’s a big shithole. Assuming at least one stall doesn’t look like it was sprayed with a shit-hose, make sure that there is enough toilet paper to wipe your ass. Let me say that again --- ALWAYS CHECK FOR TOILET PAPER!! If you don’t, you’ll be up shit creek when it comes time to wipe your shit-stained ass.

Airport – Degree of Difficulty: 5.4

Vegas Baby! Good thing you forgot to shit during all the excitement of packing for your first trip to Sin City. After making it past the vigilant security professionals protecting the skies from box-cutter wielding grannies, scan the terminal for that familiar restroom sign. Have fun trying to squeeze everything into a stall that was designed for a circus midget, especially when the stall floor is covered in piss. You’ll also become acquainted with Murphy’s Law (because this Murphy guy really likes to fuck shit up for people). Mr. Murphy dictates that you’ll have to take a massive dump ten minutes prior to the final boarding call of a five hour flight. You’ll be stuck on the shitter when the gate attendant announces they are now giving away your ticket to that Blackberry toting fucker who finds it “imperative” to catch the earlier flight even though he’s scheduled to leave in 45 minutes.

Airplane – Degree of Difficulty: 7.1

Do you like having sex with girls? If you do, I guarantee you’ve secretly wished that you end up sitting next to a hot chick on a plane. 99.9% of the time this will never happen. That charming SOB with the shit-eating grin will sit next to her and join the Mile-High Club mid-flight. You’ll get stuck sitting next to a fat bastard with B.O. worse than your average 7-Eleven cashier. For that 0.1% of the time that you end up sitting next to the elusive hot chick, you will have take a dump that will smell so bad the emergency oxygen masks drop. You’ll also get slammed with an unbearable stench when the lavatory door opens and out comes Big Fuckin’ Bertha in her polyester stretch-pants. Have fun holding your breath! Those swim lessons will sure pay off now! Keep your fingers crossed that the plane doesn’t hit turbulence. If that happens, be prepared for your shit to go flying if you forgot to flush. Whew, no turbulence!! You’re home free! Oh shit! The next person in line is the hot chick sitting next to you.

First Date – Degree of Difficulty: 8.4

You got the balls to get her number after slamming several Jaeger shots? You’re quite the ladies man. Congratu – fuckin’ – lations!! Time for the first date, Rico. You’re halfway to charming her pants off with witty conversation and tapas when disaster strikes. Since you don’t want to become some Sex & the City anecdote for this girl and her friends to laugh about over brunch, make sure that you take a dump fast enough so that it seems like you only took a long piss. Wash your hands while you’re at it, you filthy bastard. (Sidenote - wearing your cell phone on your belt and claiming that you had to take an “important client call” probably means you won’t be getting a second date.)

The First Sleepover – Degree of Difficulty: 9.6

So she invited you to sleepover? Time for some sex bro! Don't forget to pack a jimmy hat or two. Hurry up before she figures out what a shitbag you are. Suddenly your stomach rumbles, and you realize that tapas dinner was a crappy idea. The smart guy would make up an early-morning client meeting that he needs to be well-rested for and get the hell out of there. If you don’t like taking advice from jackasses like me, you’ll decide to chance it and take a dump. You’d better pray to the porcelain Gods that you’re quiet and have matches. Shit louder than a 1993 Honda Civic with dual exhaust pipes, and you’ll be getting as much action that night as the tool driving this ode to 2Fast2Furious. Shit out a log that smells worse than morning breath after an all-night booze binge, and you’ll be getting even less action than a 30-year old guy with a 1983 Honda Civic who lives in the basement of his Mom’s house. If fact, the only guy getting action that night will be her fuck-buddy Tom after she realizes how “tired” she is while you’re taking your dump.

Concert Portapotty: Degree of Difficulty: 9.8

Dude, those Dave tickets were sure hard to score. You know what’s even harder? Taking a shit in a Portapotty. I’ve never actually done it, but I would imagine it must be pretty fun sitting on top of gallons of blue disinfectant and festering feces. It gets even worse when the location of the Portapotty is in an outdoor summer concert. Not only does the stink factor go up ten-fold, but you now have to contend with drunk rowdy frat boys who think Dave Matthews is the second-coming of Christ. Have fun listening to these assholes bang on the door while you sweat nervously, hoping they don’t get it in their heads to push the damn thing over with you in it! You’ll also have to contend with the fact that there is no toilet paper in the outdoor shit closet. Hope you brought your $30 concert T-shirt with you!

Crowded Bar/Nightclub: Degree of Difficulty: 10.0

Man, that Bud Select really tastes great. No aftertaste! And dude, those chicks are looking hotter by the minute! Uh oh, you’ve just been hit with a bad case of the beer shits. In some circles, it’s also known as the “Time to Call it a Night” dump. My recommendation – go home. There WILL BE piss all over the place, and there is a good chance there also will be shit or puke covering the toilet. Suddenly, taking a dump in a rural Alabama outhouse will look appealing. As if that didn’t suck enough, you’ll also be treated to a long line full of drunken “junior analysts” screaming at you to “squeeze it out” while threatening to kick in the door. Thanks to their dark jeans/striped shirt wearing asses, you will now be labeled for the rest of the evening as “That Guy” – i.e. the fuckin idiot who took a dump in a piss & shit covered stall. Like I said before - just go the fuck home alone. That’s what you’ll be doing at the end of the night anyway.

Crips on Adwords

Imagine my surprise this morning when I logged into Gmail and found myself staring at an ad for the Crips.

Yes, the Crips. Not a bunch of cripples. The Crips. As in OG, "muthafuckin kick yo' honky white ass" gangbangers from LA... or the 213 if you prefer.

Don't get me wrong - I figured the OGs of Compton, Crenshaw, and Ingleside have gotten a little web savvy over the years, but this takes it to the next level. I can just picture the conversation between the Crips' chief marketing officer and the AdWords rep.

Crip CMO: "Yo sup muthafucka! I need some mo' traffic to my site. What you got?"

AdWords Rep: "Well sir, first of all, good morning to you."

Crip: "Fuck this good mawnin shit, foo'. Just tell me what you got befo' I bust a cap in yo' fuckin ass."

Adwords Rep: "Sir, no need to talk like that. I can offer you a variety of revenue generating products that will match your unique needs and requirements."

Crip: "The only need I got right now is to get yo' ass off the phone, comprende biatch? Just tell me what you got."

Or something like that...

Either way, you've gotta love who corporations will do business with these days to make a buck, increase their revenue stream, drive shareholder value, etc, etc.

I WILL Get a Book Deal From This Blog

Howdy! And welcome to my little blog. Although it may be a total piece of shit right now, one day this URL is going to be driving some serious traffic that will ultimately result in me landing a book deal.

After all... isn't that what 99% of the attention whores on Blogger, Twitter, and various other "social media" website are hoping for?

So after much thought and little consternation, I figured, "why the hell not?" I have no idea what I'm going to write about, or why it will worthy of a book deal, but I guarantee that within one year, I'll have a goddamn book deal!

Ciao for now!