Is Dick Seriously That Hard to Come By?

(No pun intended with the title, by the by.)

According to this article, it can be inferred that as hard as it is out here for a pimp, the outlook is bleaker still for these hoes...

http://www.nydailynews.com/news/national/2010/11/02/2010-11-02_flirty_juror_almost_derails_death_penalty_trial_of_steven_hayes_convicted_petit_.html

If you decided to skip right over the article link above, I'll just give you the tea myself. Some obviously desperate woman, in the midst of being charged with the task of literally deciding a man's fate, thought it would be a good idea to kick game to an officer of the court. One may reason to say that maybe the paticulars of the trial weren't all that compelling so homegirl was easily distracted. In this instance, however, I doubt that would be so. This trial, in which she's acting as a juror, involves the rape, torture and murder of a mother and her two daughters, ages 17 and 11, and whether or not to "fry" the man convicted of carrying out these acts. Maybe this is due to all the SVU I watch, but something tells me that the details being presented in the courtroom at any given moment would easily command one's attention.

Not only is this lady guilty of being desperate to the point of extreme selfishness, but she's also a damn fool. She thought she would be able to slip the court marshal a note undetected like she's in third fuckin' grade or somethin'. I wish I knew EXACTLY how old this brizzle was to be so hard up for a man. She must have been lonely for a LONG mutha fuckin time to try something this pitiful. Dick is indeed a powerful lure but JEEZ. It hardly trumps life and death... at least for human beings with some GOT-damned sense it doesn't.

The fact that this woman is clearly dumb as hell should automatically make her far too incompetent to be in such a grave position. If I was the defendant, I might wonder what else they have in that damn jurors box determining whether I should live or die. Granted he is guilty of some severely heinous acts so I gather this is merely Karma nipping at his balls right up to the end. (Honestly there's no way homeboy isn't gonna get the needle. A jury of monkeys would hang em... after throwing pile after pile of their own leavings at his face.) I think the judge (who made a public mockery of this woman's display) would have thrown her out of the court if it had not been for the fact that for this trial they have completely expired all six of their back-up jurors (of which she is one).

Judge Jon Blue sounds like an asshole of the highest quality and showed little reserve in berating this juror who was looking for love in all the wrong places. If only I could have been there to hear him wail on her. She created the ideal atmosphere for a true asshole to take full form. Because she committed an act of such outrageously simple proportions in a setting which she had no heft and Judge Blue had it all, she essentially gave a man with a semi-automatic a never-ending clip. Needless to say, I don't feel any sympathy whatsoever for her embarrassment.

I do feel for the court official though. All he did was go to his damn job and this broad had to come and make it even more regrettable. Sorry, bruh. I know it wasn't your fault. You walk in to that court room with your head held high and if you think ol' girl is fine, do her and don't call her back. She will have learned her lesson and you will have your recompense...

My Writer's Block at Your Expense

In September of 2008 I (for lack of anything better to do at 2AM) very innocently embarked upon my first stab at a novel. I didn't realize that was what I was doing at the time but quickly it became just that. In November of the same year, employment brought that effort to an unnoticed halt. Unemployment once again reared its ugly head (as it usually does) and in August of the next year I was back at her, harder than ever. At this point I really thought I had it in me. I just knew that I would have a completed manuscript (edited and polished) come February 2010. I have yet to see that dream realized. In fact I have scarcely written a thing since January 2010. To date, this "book" of mine is only half written and entirely unedited. This entry is directly a result of today's failed attempt to move forward with the text.

Many efforts have been made on my part to continue the upward path toward a completed manuscript but all have yielded little to no result. The bullet train of my creativity that took off without impediment in the late summer of 2009 has derailed into a gorge of stagnation. It's writer's block like a mutha fucka and I've been using this poor defenseless blog to exact my own revenge against the written word which has left me to rot. I find profanity to be soothing to the savage cantankerous beast that dwells in the left side of my brain. This beast thirsts for an outlet, the likes of which I cannot now provide with the same literary dexterity I once had.

Before I got to this point of outright counter-productivity, I employed many other devices to aid me in my stupor. I tried developing other written works I'd begun, not knowing what they were or what they would become, with the goal of being swept up in a current of creativity the way I was before. I succeeded only in starting three other books and two graphic novels which I may also never finish. (Who knew writer's block could be so ubiquitous?) I begged the aid of many others who I knew had some sensibility when it came to literature. They all at some point agreed to be of service but none of them actually manifested their claims. I also solicited the advice of other writers who before me had been snared in the jowls of writer's block. I enacted their devices to no avail. With no more bright ideas, I could but only turn to the ever open ear of the indiscriminate blog for it accepts all who come, no matter how crass or talentless in the realm of written language. Sometimes I feel that this medium of mine is more of an aversion than a diversion but fuck it. I gotta get my authorial fix somewhere, regardless of the blatant vanity that may or may not be involved.

I must leave you now as I thirst for yet another daunting endeavor...

I'm No Bitch... I'm an Asshole

EX: You were a bitch when we were together.

ME: Correction: I was a jerk and I obviously didn't do my job well enough.

EX: Why do you say that?

ME: You're still calling me.

If you all haven’t noticed by now, I’m an asshole. I’m pretty much at peace with that so I gather you should be too since we're so cool and all. In fact I don’t mind the appellation one bit. I even prefer it to other labels that may be placed on a woman of my particular demeanor. Those labels like "sassy" and "bitch." Those labels meant to reflect the cattiness that is so say "inherent" of womanhood while completely demeaning all that it is to be a real woman. Real women have no cause for these labels while the weakest of the female sex relish in their stereotypical overtones. Then there are those monikers like "edgy" and "risque" which would reflect a certain intangible rebellious nature but in truth it reflects a desperate need to be widely accepted.

I do not like to be called “sassy” for a number of reasons. Domesticated animals and drag queens are named "Sassy". Clearly I qualify as none of the above since I am a full-on chick and not easily housebroken. I do not like to be called “edgy.” In my life that doesn’t even exist as a real word and if it were I would use it to describe a rock formation. (I.e., The Grand Canyon is edgy.) I, as a soft, supple and curvaceous woman, have no known “edges” to speak of. That whole "risque" thing is just a fancy French word for somebody who takes pleasure in the shock value of their aberrant, hoe-like behavior. Finally (and most important) NEVER call me a bitch. Ever. These other bitches take it as a compliment, not me—at least not in that regard. Bitches do what they do for attention or because they’re socially limited enough to think that they might be more entitled than the next bitch.

“Not I,” said the cat. Women like the two-dimensional caricatures depicted on "The Real Housewives" fit those molds. I know I’m not entitled and it is that knowledge which makes me an asshole to begin. In life I am owed nothing, thus I owe no one. For me there is nothing more gratifying than knowing that I am the most efficiently offensive person in the room without even having to outdo myself, much less anyone else. That’s an asshole. We don’t care if we piss you off or not, that’s just a bonus. Our satisfaction comes from knowing that whatever we say, it is the unabridged honest to God truth and you, as the unassuming bystander, have to just eat that dick if it should happen to slap you in the face. Whatever we said to offend, we only did it because we absolutely meant that shit. No apology is forthcoming so spare yourself the wasted time of anticipation.

A sassy, edgy bitch says what she says to "one-up" someone else who makes her feel insecure. (At least that's how I see 'em.) She does it to superficially assert her dominance over another who appears to be more apt. It's the same phenomenon as a dog pissing on your furniture. "This is my territory and this is the crude and vulgar way I choose to express it because I honestly don't know any better way to do so." We forgive these sassy, edgy bitches in same way we do dogs. We beat them with a rolled up newspaper then feel pity for such a lowly unintelligent creature. Send the bitch a fruit basket and you're her best friend again.

If one should run afoul of an asshole like myself, however, the outcome is much different. A real, true to form jerk doesn't play those catty nonsense games. An asshole like myself doesn't care if you recover from her scorn. In fact I would prefer that you didn't. That way maybe you would think twice before opening your mouth to give foolhardy Icarian wings to the outright bumfuckery that lies in wait in every crevasse of your "mind" ever again. Bitches need to learn that silence is their best defense against those of us who would not hesitate to make (figuratively or literally) a bleeding example of their ignorance.

Jerks also enjoy fine wine, the arts, stimulating company and Bruce Lee movies. It would behoove you to engage us... but only with sincerity.