categories: BOK!, IWPS, Muppet Face

Okay, white people…bring it in. Team huddle.

Black people, I heard there’s a new video of Wocka Flocka gettin’ a face tattoo of Kat Stacks  smoking weed out of a cereal box made of purple diamonds and kool-aid dust…go check that out.

Go’n! Git!

Whew. Now that we’ve gotten rid of the Jefferson’s, white people…level with me.

You jivin’ us, right?

I promise I wont tell.

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Once upon a time…I was ballin’, hoe.  I would do things only true ballers do. Like, go to the dentist on a Tuesday. Not because I had raging gingivitis, or any of those other inhumanly disgusting mouth follies people get from not being listed on somebody’s payroll…but simply, because I could. Because I had a job. With a dental plan. And I like the taste of bubblegum fluoride. It’s delicious.

See, I think what people fail to realize, is that having a job is some beautiful shit. It’s like an eight hour handy  from an angel whose palms are made from cherry-lanolin and butterfly milk (I’m not certain if either of those exist, but I bet they smell amazing), and after an arduous days effort creates an intense build-up, and the clock on the wall finally hits 5:00pm……………………………………….SKEET!!! Got dammit, SKEET!!! 

It’s awesome.

You know what’s not awesome?

Not having a job.

You know what else is not awesome?


But, I’m willing to bet that if the two of those not awesome things were to  fight each other over who was the most not awesomest, Not Having a Job would whoop the monkey piss out of Slavery. It would stand over  Slavery’s bruised body, with its foot on its chest, victoriously holding its fist in the air, and yell some grossly  unsportsmanlike shit like, “BRIIIIIIICKSKWAAAAAAAD!”

…and then it would go home and post the video on

Not Having a Job is an asshole.

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The big secret in life is that there is no big secret.  Whatever your goal, you can get there if you’re willing to work. –Oprah Winfrey

What a crock of sh*t.

You know what else is a crock of sh*t? A ceramic pot,  filled generously with prodigal bales of human excrement. Which I’d assume is the derivation of that phrase. Which is gross. Because it implies that at some point in colonial history, there lived a Crock-of-sh*tter and a Crock-of-sh*ttee. And in all of his repugnant trickery, the Sh*tter convinced a starved Sh*ttee to eat a bowl of what he said was “Brown Bison Chilli.”  The Sh*ttee eagerly tasted from the pot, and upon first spoonful he belted,  “BLECH! This is not delicious Brown Bison Chilli at all! THIS IS A CROCK OF SH*T! I have fallen for your flimflammery once again!” And thus, birthed the phrase, “Crock of sh*t.”  The Sh*tter was probably French. The French are disgusting. I hate the French.

And while that itself may be a crock of sh*t, there’s still no crock sh*ttier than that sh*t crock of a statement Oprah just said.

And thats why Harpo beat her.

See, here’s my plight…. This isn’t my first blog. I’ve been writing blogs for quite some time now. Truth be told, Im pretty good at it. I mean, not to toot it my own boot it, but sometimes, I’ll write a blog so irreverently opposite of terrible, that I’ll immediately run downstairs, stick my entire desktop to the refrigerator with a blue ribbon magnet that reads 1st place for  “Got damn, n*gga! Datshitcray!” and just stand by it…smiling. All. Damn. Day.

That boy good.

Problem is…I still cant manage to garner a reading audience large enough to make other bloggers jealous of the number of facebook likes I get. But alas, isn’t short for Alaska. My shortcomings in the reader department are nobody’s fault but my own. I’ve been reading and researching you other bloggers who blog on your successful  blogs, and realized why your blog is so much more successful than mine…

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categories: BOK!, Muppet Face, Re:Post


If you’re anything like me, congratulations.  Also, I’d assume you have a problem with staring babies. By that, I mean, babies that stare. In restaurants, parks, planned parenthood, beaches, and sometimes, even through bathroom windows.  Babies are jerks. They have no sense of decency or tact, and take no consideration to the feelings of others.  I be like, “What the ufck is you lookin’ at baby!?” But they just just stare at me with that dumb anus, wide eyed, “Im so new and inquisitive of the world” look. #Dontgimmedatshit.

Often times my reaction is met with a clenched fist, but then I think to myself, “Self, you cant punch a baby. Its not socially acceptable. But self, what should I do?”
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Y’all n*ggas hatin’ on what, now?

Fried Kool-aid balls?


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Apparently, with great power comes great responsibigotry.

Spiderman, you a**hole.

I’ve never been so let down in my life. This must be what it feels like when snitches get stitches. I say that because I imagine getting stitches hurts. As a child who treated major lacerations with a pound of Vaseline, band-aid, and subsequent a**whoopin’ for doing whatever dumb sh*t it was that got me injured in the first place, I wouldnt really know what getting stitches felt like. But if it’s something that snitches get, I don’t see it being a pleasurable experience at all. I also aint no snitch. Cause as I previously mentioned…snitches get stitches. And stitches hurt.

Anyway. Point is. You really hurt me, Spiderman.

You a**hole.

I cant believe I still used to wear you on my underwear. My booty-balls are disgusted right now.

You guys are probly wondering what happened, huh?

Oh, you’re not?

Well, this what happent.

I retire from an arduous days work, in hopes of easing the tension with a good read, and come across an old issue of Marvel Tales: Featuring Spiderman, where I found this ol’ Clint Eastwood-in-Gran Torino- Super spade hatin’- a** bulljive…

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You know how whitefolk can be so  inquisitive about the nuances of black culture…to the point where it’s like watching a baby lamb trying to do the stanky leg? If thats even a thing. Is that a thing? Probably not. I just needed a simile to express the combination of adorability and painful ignorance that are both displayed when whitefolk ask questions like “How do you wash your hair?” or  “If you don’t like the team, why do you wear the hat?”

Actually, the sentiment posed in the first paragraph may be a bit misdirected, as I’m positive most of my readers are white. Which is a paradox. Which is not a Parrot-Ox. Which is either some funky Dr. Moreau experiment, or undoubtedly the coolest character ever on The Wuzzles. Anyway, what I’m saying is…even in the whole wide world of  world wide webs…I’m still the only black guy in the room.

I’m sorry. This intro is really spiraling out of control.  What Im trying to say is…


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categories: BFC News, BOK!, Muppet Face

On January 24th, this year, possibly a Tuesday (or not…I’ono), at a campus safety presentation held at Osgoode Hall in Toronto; a police officer turnt his swag on, stepped to the stage…and proceeded to speak the realest words he ever wrote.


“Women should avoid dressing like sluts in order not to be victimized. [Bublé, b*tch. Im out!]”

He then kicked a hole in the speakers and jetted.

The comment was made in regards to crimes of sexual abuse, and quickly became the subject of much antipathy amongst those of a Uteral Nation. The statement, almost acting like the Sword of Omens,  summoned a collection of Toronto’s Sluttiest slutbag sluts to exact revenge. While there is emphatically no record of this, at all, whatsoever…it’s said that they all came together atop a giant moose, and beckoned to all the world, “Hoochies, Hoes, Trollops, Skip-skaps, and Skollywoggs! Cease and desist that koochie pop! Pick up those fishnets and glass heels…we’re going for a walk! A SLUTWALK!”

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