Remember Who You Are

You are my son, and someday every piece of land the light touches will be yours.

Why The Lion King reference you ask? I don't know. I just know that racism is never going to go away as long as there are different coloured (woah, BRITISH!) people all over the world. And since there will always be different coloured (heh) people all over the world, pending the 2050 tanning scientists have predicted, we might as well learn to live with it.

We all stereotype and whether or not you let it out is your own decision. But aren't racist jokes the best jokes? I mean, if not for racism then there would be no successful comedian of colour. Chris Rock, Russel Peters, Richard Pryor; the list goes on and on. These comedians are funny because they REMEMBER WHO THEY ARE, maybe a little too much, but they are known for their uncovering of the unspoken conventions many people have and it's gee-golly-hilarious to hear it.

It's okay to laugh. It's okay to have biases. Just understand, Bobby Covert Racist, if you hurt a peoples or if you rub someone the wrong way, you're going to get kicked in the nuts. And coloured people, it's okay to kick Bobby Covert Racist in the nuts. Because if you don't, then they'll go around town spreading their covertly racist gospel. And I won't have that, not in my house. And one more thing Bobby Covert Racist: Don't come into my house telling me about all the Indian people you know. I don't give a shit. Thanks

P.S: Please feel free to kick me in the nuts, black peoples

Racists: Victims of Intolerance?

You might hear my opponents say, "Racism is bad," or "Racists are stupid."

Or my personal favorite: "Being racist indicates you are of a primitive, almost infantile mindset where you attribute false stereotypes to an individual simply based on the pigmentation of his or her skin, thus, preventing you from understanding said individual per his or her own merit."

If you agree with the aforementioned sentiments, you're nothing but a racismist. A dirty, rotten, good-for-nothing racismist.

Take a long, pensive look in the mirror and ask yourself, "Who is truly intolerant? The racists towards colored folk - or me, towards racists?"

Being truly tolerant (as in, Jesus-like tolerant) means you must accept a person with all of his flaws. His skin cells may generate a certain pigmentation or his brain cells my generate a certain demeanor.

If you racismists are as high-minded and accepting as you would have us believe you are, then you would welcome the next Star-of-David-eating, black-person-freezing Klan member you see with open, tolerant arms.

Next week we'll discuss an even bigger but under-reported problem: racismismists.



Jump ahead to 2:53 to see the good work of a non-profit organization mistaken for racism, usually by racismists!

Too Bad, 'Cause Love is Blind....

As beautifully stated by my girl Alicia Keys in Love is Blind, there are some ideas that cannot overpower the heart. I only say that racism is an idea because it has become a condition of some that is sadly still present today. It has proven to have stayed within society because of public violent acts or a quiet racial comment when it's assumed that no one is listening. It is also an idea because interracial couples, thankfully, still exist. There are not that many stories documented years ago to prove interracial dating and marriages, but I just have one that (sadly) only happened a few years ago…

While arriving back in Detroit, MI from San Diego, CA with my parents in 2007, we had a late and interesting flight. Once the plane touched down in Detroit, and the “seat belts on” light was off, everyone stood up to get their bags to get off the plane. As the crowds started to disperse towards our section in the back of coach, I noticed there were two cute little kids, a boy and a girl, that ran toward the front of the plane because they were excited that it was their turn to leave. In a panic, their mom, an Indian girl, ran and yelled after them to slow down. She just had a purse around her shoulder so I assumed her husband would be right behind her. I looked back and noticed the husband was getting another bag from a top compartment so I didn’t move out into the isle yet…but everyone else around me started to move into the isle assuming he wasn’t with them. At that moment…I didn’t really say, “Hey, the dad is right there, we should probably let him through,” but it also occurred to me that maybe they assumed he wasn’t the dad because he was black. I still to this day believe that the passengers in my section didn’t assume he was the dad because looking at the facts, if a mom runs after a couple kids without any bags, and there is another gentleman rushing to get a couple bags out of the top compartments behind them…is putting two and two together so difficult?

It is difficult to be in an interracial couple these days because of the idea of racism. Family, friends, and the media are what influence and help it spread. Heck, maybe more people should get ready and do the un-thinkable and get rid of prejudice.

I think that the first step to getting rid of racism is to blend all of these colors and cultures together. It’s not such a bad thing right? Let’s make more mixed kids like Halle Berry, President Barack Obama, Wentworth Miller, Alicia Keys, Jessica Alba, Vanessa Williams, Jason Kidd, Bob Marley, Mariah Carey, Lenny Kravitz, Keanu Reeves, Sean Paul, and Tina Turner (whew..to name a few of the famous ones) to make this world more beautiful. Since love is blind, and you cannot help who you fall for…it is just an eventual thing.

We Can Poop It Out, We Can Poop It Out

Are the stresses of your day getting to your head? Is the built up tension and chaos inside of you fit to burst? Well, you can poop it out. It's true.

Story time!:

So I'm applying to grad school and the applications have been really getting to me, especially getting the reference letters. On top of that I've been having problems at work and my lack of a degree-related job was just really pissing me off. So while I was waiting for letters to come in I decided to get a head-start on essays. Boy, what a headache that is . I mean, 1500 words about MYSELF? Yikes man, I can spin an essay on just about anything besides myself.

this paragraph uses the word "can" 6 times

So this is all what was spinning around in my head one morning. I hadn't been eating good breakfasts because of early work shifts and I hadn't been working out regularly. I was just feeling like poop. Well wouldn't you know it, after I had an amazing breakfast with a cup of amazing coffee, I had to visit the can. Now I don't know what miracle was taking place that day in the can but, man, my delivery to the can had pent up tensions and anxieties tied along with it. After I left the can-holding-station (or bathroom) I realized I had subconsciously made a to-do-list for myself for the day while I was in there, the room that has the can. This helped me face the day's disappointments with my head held high and my hopes held higher, since my visit to the can went so well.

Moral of the story?

We all have to relieve ourselves from stress to get by. There's just no other way. And for all of you hee-haws (yeah that's right, hee-haws) who claim you just don't have the time to make time for yourself, you're going to be going to the can anyway. Why not make the most of it? Bring The Times in there with you. Take your ipod. Call your friends. Invite your friends. Go and grab that cup of coffee or that chai-latte but I hope you realize caffeine is a natural diarrhetic. Why not plan ahead for that can-holding-station your cup of coffee is eventually going to take you to? I associate my dump with the dump of problems I have. Associate your dump with your in-laws, or your gambling problems, or your alcohol addiction, or your annoying taste of annoying women. I guarantee you you'll see life in a whole new light once you learn to POOP IT OUT (damn, isn't that in the title?)

You Know What I Just Realized...

...since we are all acknowledging our own bowel movements, there is another thing to point out too: women poop. The reason to bring it up is that it is supposedly an urban legend that women do anything of the sort. But, it’s true gentlemen, and animals…we do indeed, poop. Even the hot ones. You think that the hottie at the bar just goes home, passes out, and wakes up with a big smile after having those 10 tequila shots? Nope. She has a huge margarita dump in the morning and laughs about it…but by herself. Not many conversations between girls last very long about poop because the “ew”s start to catch on after a few seconds. I guess a visit to a female doctor would count, but it’s not like that happens often enough to say it’s part of everyday gossip. There have been literary breakthroughs like the popular children’s novel, Everyone Poops by Tarō Gomi, to teach kids at an early age but somehow it has been forgotten. I don’t think I’ve met one boy that hasn’t talked about his own poop, or even interrupted a conversation just to poop. As long as we can all start to admit it, the sooner the smell in the bathroom can be blamed on someone else besides the only boy present.

Although, I will miss the pointing and the “ew”s so maybe it can be a slow, gradual change…




Steve Carell knows.

"Theodore" or "Fecasualty: How I learned to stop hating the world and love myself"

I float in this ocean of white alabaster
Bobbing for what seems like eternity, alone
Unable to move, unable to speak
I sit, patiently
As the the snow falls in sheets atop of me
I stare up at the darkened sky
Blinded by a bright light
Before I am sucked asunder
The one bright shining moment of my existence
Before permanent blackness

Bowel Movement is...

...Important.

Go ahead. Squeeze out all of your giggles and finish thinking about whatever sexual things you were thinking about. Flush it all out of your system so that we can have a real discussion.

BM is IMportant. You know it to be true.

As part of kicking 2011's ASS, two days ago I made and drank three homemade smoothies consisting of orange juice, apples, blackberries, kiwi, broccoli, spinach and carrots. And wouldn’t you know, the results were nearly instant! The mixed cocktail of those fibrous foods made my every single trip to the shitpot a delight.

I enjoy a good poop.

And you do too. There’s nothing like it. When it’s a joy to poop - meaning no trouble at all, save a gentle push - a dark day can brighten. I feel healthy. I feel healthier than I know my stallmates feel, per the machine-gun sounds of their movements.

Mostly, I feel proud. Proud for having done something I wanted to do and then actually witnessing the fruits of my labor.

And the fruits of my smoothie.

Coming out the other end.