Everyday I'm Hustlin

You have no idea how hard. But it's more than your Grandpa, that's for sure. But maybe not as much as Rick Ross. That dude hustles pretty hard. Hard ass hustling if you will. It's hard to hustle as hard as that gentleman does.

Now play this krunk ass song and read my shit. It makes reading it better when you feel like jigalatin and thinking to yourself that you too in fact, are hustlin everyday.

REAL TALK:
Am I a dreamer? Yessir. I dream all the time. First thing I do before falling asleep is pray for all of my people. I mostly just pray for God to watch over my wife and daughter, and everyone else that's important (family and friends which = a shit ton) to me. That list takes like 25 minutes to run through but it's all good because I love my people. I then thank God for now. For allowing me to have made it this far in my life, because only he knows how many times I literally just gave up in a situation, where I honestly thought this was it for me and told him "Oh God, please take me with you in your arms and let my journey be fearless and easy as I cross over." I think maybe at least 5 times I just accepted my fate that this will be my last minute on this earth BUT it never happened. I thank him for learning to live for more than myself. Then I get to the greedy stuff, the stuff that I almost feel guilty for praying for. But I ask him, can you please shine a light on me tomorrow. Can you let something that I'm good at, be noticed by others. Can you help me find an opportunity to do what I love as far as labor is concerned. Because I've had some SHIT jobs. And a lot of them. I learned a few years ago that I have to start working smarter instead of harder, that's why I'm back at school and hoping to obtain a degree that will allow me to last physically longer than my Dad who worked his ass off and broke his back for his family, or my mom who went to work sick for years, even with Breast Cancer so that she could make it long enough to retire and reap some of the benefits (although not all that fantastic) that she deserves. I pray, NO , Beg...."God, please let me do something I love doing the rest of my life and let it be something that allows me to take care of my family and possibly others that are less fortunate." It's a lot to ask for considering I have so much more than a lot of people. And I also ask that even though my dream is something that some may view as umm 'Anti-Christian", I can still get some points across and the love I have for God is never in question. I think we live in a different time and messages have to be real and relative to what we are facing in the world. So I wake up everyday with this attitude that I'm a sponge. I take in every idea and observe everything and everybody and hope to turn it into something not only humorous, but for it to have an underlying effect that may grant someone else some wisdom inadvertently, and possibly a stroke of faith that will carry them through a tough time. I'm a Christian, but I respect Muslims. I worked with thousands of them and one of my favorite verses from the Qur'an goes something like, "He deserves paradise, who makes his companions laugh." I also believe Jesus to be a man that's not only perfect, but someone that appreciates those of us doing good in the world. I think he smiles when we make another human laugh uncontrollably. So I pray to God every night, to let me be that guy. Let me help change this world by making us all laugh a little bit. Like my best friend Trent...Who I know probably walks besides Jesus because they had a lot in common other than Trent drinking too much, but they both had the purest of hearts. And I sometimes vision Trent and Jesus hanging out on a beach somewhere and Jesus laughing at one of Trent's stories(hopefully telling Jesus about something funny I did, that would rule), even though he already saw it first hand. I feel in my heart, that Jesus wanted Trent early, so that he could hang out with him and admire one of his greatest creations.

OK, so today I almost got pelayed by an effing guy driving a Kia Spectra. I honestly believe if the Kia Spectra would have hit me, it prob would have totaled his car and I would have had a few scratches. But this fucking butt hole honked at me while I was using the crosswalk. Following rules and shit which I never used to do. I'm trying to do the right thing buddy and you fucking honk at me. So instead of it instilling a sense of urgency in me, I just completely stopped what I was doing in the middle of the road and started tying my shoe. In fact, it was already tied, so I untied it and tied it again, then I limped like Jay Cuttler in the 2011 NFCCG the rest of the way.

I used to be such a hot head that had he honked at me say in 1997, I would have jumped on the hood of his car like Mr. Furious from "Mystery Men" and beat the living horse fuck out of his Spectra. 

But.....never mind. I'm not violent and angry(as much) like I used to be. That and I'm already facing one strike for a previous Jaywalking ticket I got a few weeks go. This made me think about what it would be like if I had to go to prison?

So here's a Pro/Con list of what might happen if I ever have to go to the pokey. 

PROS: 
1.) I have a shit ton of tattoos, shaved head, goatee and an overall intimidating look.

 So yeah, maybe I'm not as ripped now at 32 as I was at 29...but Prison would allow me more time in the gym. So yeah.


2.) I have tough skin because I used to get in more fights than Shia LaBeouf.(I'd say my record was like 90-300)

Oh, I got my ass whooped a lot, but I always liked to fight people I didn't think I could beat. One time I got into a fight with Andrew Maggio when I was a freshman in HS and he was a graduating Sr with a full ride to McNeese State (he looks like that dude Dalip Singh from "The Longest Yard")

but he had me on the ground sitting Indian Style banging me on the head like it was a fucking bongo drum. It didn't really hurt me that bad, but it did break his hand so I kind of feel like I won the fight.

3.) Oh, that's about it. I'm pretty much effed in the B-hole, or I'd die trying not to be.  


CONS:
1.) Can't see my family, I'd miss my wife and daughter like crazy. Couldn't even imagine that.
2.) I'm not racist although I do tend to hate white people that act black.

I don't hate them but they annoy the piss out of me. That's so 90's. Now a days you can be yourself. Look at Eminem. He has more street cred than any cracker in the world and he is just himself. Black people respect white people that act normal and still appreciate the great things the African Americans have contributed to our society that are considered "Hip" by today's standards. You can listen to rap, and behind closed doors, day dream that you are a hustler running your block, packing a .380 on your hip and have the homeys paying you dividends on the dime bags they are all selling for you...

but then you need to wake the eff up, put on your KFC uniform and turn your hat back to the front and keep it real with yourself. Don't keep it too real, just keep it the perfect amount of real for your ass.

People respect that. And black people make fun of you when you imitate them because you suck at it and you make them sound ignorant, the ultimate insult. The black dudes in my circle are very bright, super educated individuals and you look like a joke to them. Even some of the best black people impersonators I've seen, are still doing it wrong. Just be who you are. Off topic, but good lesson.

3.)  My next point(still concerning race) I don't hate any race. But I'm probably gonna have to get a fucking Nazi sign tatted on my neck so that the BGF's 

 or the Nortenos or Surenos don't carve me up like a pumpkin. And what kind of shit is it where we have 2 groups of Mexicans in the system fighting for turf. The Nortenos are the Northern Mexicans and they are all Yankees. Very rude people like New Yorkers. And the Surenos are the Southern Mexicans, they are more polite and will invite you over for a glass of ice tea and they all speak to you in public instead of ignoring you like the Nortenos. So maybe I can get a tan and join the Surenos.

Then you have the Asian gangs and since my wife is Pacific Islander, they may give me a pass, or possibly kill me for marrying one of their own. Oh and then I'm fucked again, so now I can't even join the Nazi's or Aryan Brotherhood because I married outside my race. Holy Shit I'm doomed. My best bet would be to befriend a guy in a wheel chair like Augustus Hill from Oz, or maybe since I have Irish roots, I could tattoo more shamrocks and shit on my back and pretend I'm IRA.

4.) Yeah, I could do all of that, but I'm still getting effed in the B. There is no way around it. I fancy myself a warrior, but I don't like prison rules. I think they are unfair that you have to pick a gang based on race instead of things you might have in common. Why can't they have a prison gang that's all about Fantasy Football? Or a gang that likes to have ping  pong tournaments on the reg and they don't kill you for losing, like we used to try to do in Iraq when we lost at table tennis. Why can't they have a gang of regular people like myself that would rather just sit around and tell jokes and make fun of the dudes that dress like hoes and have kool aid for lipstick.

Why can't we just have Madden tournaments, stuff like that?

ALL I KNOW IS THIS THOUGH!

I once went on a tour of the Angola prison for a criminal justice class I was taking at Northwestern back in 99/2000 and while we were there, they were having some discrepancies or a "RIOT" if you will. Anyway, behind some glass there was a man with a balled up wad of his own feces (scientific word for SHIT!) looking one of my friends in the eye (He swears he was looking at me, but I'm way too hard for him to try to punk me) and he told him and I quote: "He would tie his dick to the back of his neck and rub hot sauce on his pussy!" That has absolutely got to be the most barbaric, gay terrorist statement I have ever heard in my life. That's the shit that makes us white dudes not want to go to prison. And the dude looked like Damian OG Triple OG.

Because we know 3 things can happen. We either get shanked or killed the first day because we don't give up our cornbread (or if you're like me, you'll stand up for yourself and get your intestines beat out of you.), we'll become such a bitch where we have to wear make-up and sit down to pee in those nasty ass toilets and eventually hang ourselves with the dirty ass sheets from our bed, or 3, we'll catch a knife in the back because someone blamed us for snitching when all we did was tell the guard that some Cholo named "little joker" or "Smiley" might have stabbed one of his homeys with a box cutter. 

I'd like to think I'd become this Super Bad Ass, that would adapt and overcome (maybe like Andy Dufresne)

And in a lot of cases in this world, I would do just that. But Prison isn't one of them. I have enough sense to know I'm not built for it. So you won't catch me Jaywalking anymore, shit, you won't even catch me littering my gum in the grass once it looses it's flavor. But I'll still talk like a bad ass and tell people that if I had to go, I'd start my own gang and probably be running cell block 4 with MC Gusto.

In my next blog, I will be discussing shit that confuses the hell out of me, and I'll tell the awesome story of how a lady cook that worked on our FOB in Iraq, stabbed NFL Great and Hall of Famer Eric Dickerson in the face with a track shoe, at a track meet in Texas in the early 70's I believe. It was so money. 

Til then, just keeping it realer than your sister who snorts 30mg Roxies on the reg and tells your mom that she needs 25 dollars to get her nails done. And we're gonna see this chick on scared straight on A&E talkin bout "Fuck you guard, you can't physically touch me. Whateva, I do what I won't!" 

   

OK, this is a throwback from my time in Iraq...

"The speakers on bump, the rappers on acne,
This track is what would happen if the rastas meet the mathletes,
Yessir, then the Chess Club got dressed up, straightened up the sheets,
And went and took all the bitches.... of the athletes,"--Lupe Fiasco 

Chess is the best game ever besides football, OK. My first year in Iraq in like early to mid 2004, I had shit. We had to wait in line for days to use the phone and call home (which I really didn't miss) but I did have the intrawebz. The negatives though, was that I had not the first effing clue on how to use the internet. I never had an e-mail. I thought computers were for nerds. I didn't play on computers back then, I just screwed girls and stuff. BUT then I slowly got addicted and have turned into the monster that I am today where I can't live 45 seconds without a computer. Anyway, in those beginning phases, I set myself up a yahoo e-mail account, learned how to play fantasy football, and then spent like 2-10 hours every night playing chess on-line. I absolutely loved Chess. Some of the best players in the world lived in our palace. We had Gary from San Diego who could have been a nuclear physicist, but I guess such simple academics were just too boring for him, so he was in charge of an Iraqi work crew instead. We had an Iranian guy named Asghar(who was a U.S. Citizen that owned a gas station in a hood in Houston, so he was in Baghdad on vacation), and we had this Filipino gentleman named Roel Mann, that was very good in his own right, but would come in every morning at like 3:30 am and catch me on line and he'd say in his thick Filipino accent "Ahhh, sooooo who do u tink u are sir Mike, Bobey Pisher) because real ass Filipinos that are actually born and raised in the Philippines can't pronounce "F." F becomes P. My right hand man Jay Aso (Aso is dog in Tagalog, and he was just that, a freakin pitt bull)  who was the enforcer for the Filipino mafia would always tell the other Filipinos "Shut the Puck Or!" translated "Shut the fuck up"....anyway I'm digressing. I wasn't on Gary, Asghar or Roel's levels so I'd just play chess all night on Yahoo. Eventually I got pretty good and I would play with those guys ever so often and learn tricks and use them on the intrawebz. 

For the longest time I'd play this little Russian fucker that had to be 10 or 11 and he called himself "Snizzle." Dude was a beast. He was ranked in like the 1800's+ and I was maybe a 1450 at the time(the higher the number the better, not like Golf). Between us, we both had logged over 3000 matches. Well this one particular night Snizzle didn't show up. I waited on his punk ass from like 8pm until at least midnight. I then decided I would just play this turd that was ranked in the 1100's and make the best of it. In a way Tonight I had arguably the best opponent I could ask for because they were ridiculously sorry and had no skills in trash talking.  I thought maybe this would be a great opportunity to do a study in human behavior.  Also some people I worked with liked reading the conversations I had during my chess games, first thing in the morning, so I would always save the conversations from the messenger.  It teaches you new and innovative ways to talk shit and that is a dying skill that coaches just aren't teaching our youngsters now-a-days.

Here is the conversation I had with a fella that calls himself "J-Solo" on the messenger. If you think I am an asshole, just remember I am not like this in real life I just do it on the computer because there is no risk of getting beat up or detained by the police. And I'm guessing J-Solo was like a 20 something year old asshole anyway (Puhlease, dude is ranked like Ole Miss in the Chess World and he wanted to get froggy and assumed he'd beat me lolololol)

OK so I'm mike_hicks_83 and he's J-Solo. I think maybe he was Mexican and he wanted to be like Han Solo, but since he was from south of the border his name was Juan Solo. Also keep in mind the conversation is authentic and there are no spelling or grammatical corrections.

mike_hicks_83: How are you?

mike_hicks_83: Hows it going?

mike_hicks_83: So whats up buddy?

mike_hicks_83: So uhh, how are you?

j_solo: fine

mike_hicks_83: Not very talkative are you?

j_solo: i am not hre to talk i am here to win

mike_hicks_83: ut oh Look out now

mike_hicks_83: But according to your profile you are terrible.  When is the last time you won?

j_solo: none of your businees

mike_hicks_83: and how old are you?

j_solo:  Why u want 2 know?

mike_hicks_83: Because I am hoping you are younger than 14 with a response like "none of your business." And just so you know Snizzle rules. he could kick ur ass

mike_hicks_83: Pretty quiet.  So you don't love me anymore?

j_solo: what r u talking about? who is snizzel?
mike_hicks_83: I'm talking about my man Snizzle. And the fact that our relationship isn't what it once was between me and you.
mike_hicks_83: and some say that snizzle is really Man Bear Pig! but i'm not buying it.

mike_hicks_83: And please never use the letters r or u to ask me something again.

mike_hicks_83:  I hate you

j_solo: fuck u

mike_hicks_83:  WHOAA very rude. I hope you don't kiss your boyfriend with that mouth

mike_hicks_83: shouldn't have done that.  I got your queen bitch

j_solo: no u dont

mike_hicks_83: BAM, what now bitch.  I told ya.

j_solo: screw you. how old r u anyway because you act like u r 12

mike_hicks_83: I am 26 and I'm an OG. Rolling 60 Crip. But I also joined a mexican gang called the El Quapos.Now since I am honest how old are you?

j_solo: 19

mike_hicks_83: WOW, you are 19 and this stupid.  Mind if I ask where you are from? wait let me guess, West Virginia. No, Mississippi. Wait, yeah, west virginia.

j_solo:  you r a real asshole.

mike_hicks_83:  what did I tell you about that shit

mike_hicks_83: thats why you don[t have any friends and you are at home playing chess on a Friday night.

j_solo: its not even night time yet retard and whut r u doing? friday night for u too

mike_hicks_83: I know, but I'm in jail in Angola and I don't get out til tomorrow morning for good behavior

j_solo: wtfrutb where ru

mike_hicks_83: uhhhh what the fuck is all of that jiberish

mike_hicks_83: I am from the country I don't speak that shit

j_solo: what the fuck are youtalking about

mike_hicks_83: I bet you look like that girl from Dodgeball, not Christine Taylor but the ugly one. I'd still hit.

 j_solo: whoaa im not even a girl dumb fuck

mike_hicks_83: I never said you were, I just said I bet you look like that ugly girl from dodgeball. You don't have to be a girl to look like one.  Look at Freddy Mercury from Queen

j_solo: well u lost me there  jus stop talkn

mike_hicks_83: I figured I would, it's because you lack a normal level of intelligence and I hope you feel good about yourself now

mike_hicks_83: u there

j_solo: ueah

j_solo: Yeah

j_solo: feel god about what

mike_hicks_83: about wasting my fucking time thats what.  I can't believe they let people like you go home on weekends, they should have you on chains in a basement or something.

mike_hicks_83: so why are you quiet again. You can't win you might as well forfeit. 2 more moves and you are finished you bitch you!

j_solo: u suck

mike_hicks_83: Good one. Very original comeback. Ur a quick one

mike_hicks_83: it's been 4 minutes, make a fucking move ass sniffer

j_solo: u r probbly a queer thats why you r talking sodenm much

mike_hicks_83: will you listen to yourself, just read what you wrote.  I was only joking about you being a retard but now I'm not sure. I might actually go to hell for calling you tarded because you mite be legit

mike_hicks_83: so tell me the truth

mike_hicks_83: won't be long now

j_solo: truth boutu twhat

mike_hicks_83: you know, just tell me, I promise I will keep it a secret.

mike_hicks_83:  Bad move ass wipe, you really suck.  at least say something witty. Like Snizzle would. I miss Snizzle. Snizzle would make you sit down to pee, that's for sure

j_solo: well if u r so good whats takin u so long to finish me
mike_hicks_83: what is this, mortal kombat? finish you?

mike_hicks_83: I feel like I am just getting to know you and maybe I can take you out or something

j_solo: im not gay u pervert

mike_hicks_83: easy man, I'm not gay neither but I like to try new things

mike_hicks_83: maybe if you send me a picture or something, i will send you one of me

j_solo: I don't wnat a pictre of u

mike_hicks_83: but I am very sexy

mike_hicks_83: ok it's been real. You are a horrible excuse for a human being and I am in the CIA and I have your myspace account password and I am telling all of your friends you are gay and tried to meet me tonight.  Later bitch.

 j_solo: no u odn't u are prob a fucing 15 yr old loser from north dakota

mike_hicks_83: Way off buddy, I'm from South Dakota. So are you saying you want to play again because if you beat me I won't tell all your friends how gay you are.

j_solo: if u ar really cia you would alredy know who i am and not ask questions like that

mike_hicks_83: well I can't fool you can I. Damn you are a sly one.  Really I am an out of work actor but I used to be on Miami Vice in the 80s

mike_hicks_83: hurry up, i don't have all day

mike_hicks_83: Im going to go take a piss and then make me a ham sammich then I will come back and beat you in 2 moves. Just after I finish wrapping up my r. kelley video

 j_solo: go

j_solo: hurry up I dn't have all day

mike_hicks_83: Fuck You don't tell me what to do, i told you I had to go take a piss and make a sandwich. A video and when I was pissing, I had to shake it 5 times instead of 2. shit happens. you should know that. look in the mirror

j_solo: i bet your mom must be proud

mike_hicks_83: i bet your mom is a bull dyke that donates sperm to gorillas on weekends.  she probably looks like the baby of Whoopi Goldberg and Kenny Rogers.

j_solo: fuck you

mike_hicks_83: again, nice comeback, and I don't appreciate your vulgar language, I'm trying to play an honorable game here and I don't need you talking so filthy.

mike_hicks_83: I think maybe we need some time apart.

mike_hicks_83: I just feel like this relationship isnt going anywhere and maybe we should see other people.

j_solo: ur a dujmbass

mike_hicks_83: Whats a dujmbass, is that like a fish or something?

mike_hicks_83: uhh I caught you a delicious Dujm Bass!

j_solo: just hurry up and go ur startn to annoy me

mike_hicks_83:  Nope, I'm going to take my time. If you don't like it you can quit.

mike_hicks_83: Say you're sorry

mike_hicks_83: If you don't apologize I am breaking up with you.

mike_hicks_83: OK nice game.  Good Luck with that Gay Porno thing and maybe we can do this again.

 j_solo: I'll never play with u again. ur an huge asshole and ur not even that good.
mike_hicks_83: You know what, I am good, and ur a lousy kindergarten teacher, I seen those finger paintings you bring home and they suck.

mike_hicks_83: I'm sorry baby I think they're excellent finger paintins.

mike_hicks_83: hello? dammnit. I miss Snizzle.

• 

Drive for show, Putt for dough.

Probably the funniest scene from the Sopranos ever, was when Tony went to a Golf Course to strong arm Dr. John Kennedy because he'd been ducking Uncle Juniors phone calls (lolz Uncle Junior used him because he was a big fan of President Kennedy and even though the guy was a complete dick, Junior Soprano thought he was like Jesus just because of his namesake) and during the course of the intimidation, Furio.....

(Tonys number one enforcer at the time) Took out a golf club from Dr. Kennedy's bag and Dr. Kennedy was like "oh, do you like Golf?" and Furio responded in his thick Italian accent "Estupid efucking game!" I was like "YES! Exactly"

Golf is clearly not my sport. I love any competition. I watch poker on ESPN2. Table Tennis whenever it's on. Jeopardy(especially when Ken Jennings was kicking ass) it hasn't been the same since.

but I still watch it. I'll sometimes watch over-hyped WNBA games. Of course I watch every NFL, CFB and arena league games I can find. College Basketball and NBA(til these effing crybabies make a season happen), I watch weird shit late at night on ESPN Channels like The deuce, classics, spanish etc. I watch a lot of weird shit. As long as there are points. Life is all about competition and points. Now with Golf, it is in deed competition, but the points go backwards. It's already weird for me because the person with the least amount of points win. I hate that shit. I also hate that I suck at golf, one of my best friends Clint Skinner is awesome at it and I respect that, but I still hate this stupid fucking game.I try to act cool and act like I know whats up when people are talking, but most times I'm reading mobile results from the intrawebz just so I sound in the know.

THE NEGATIVES: I'll never rub elbows with rich, oligarchy types that run the world because I refuse to develop a golf game when there is so much other shit going on for me.  I admittedly know I'm in the minority and a lot of you that read this, love it and all of my friends that read this know that I've tried and sucked. Maybe that's why I hate it. My first experience came with Aaron Woods at a 9-hole course in Jennings, LA with him and his late, great Step dad Ricky, which I appreciated because it was a legit lesson and they really tried to teach me how to play, it just wasn't in the cards for a non golfing mother effer like me....and I don't think I hit a straight ball the entire time, so Ricky was like, yeah, stick with football. I go to putt putt golf courses and fucking tee off on the first whole with the putter and the white ball and drive that bitch to the moon. Way better than I can when actually driving on the course. Once I got us kicked out of the putt-putt course in Galveston for rocking that bitch like 300 yds with the putter and then having to go tell the guy I lost my ball(umm 4 times because I just kept doing it on the reg, but I told him I think my ball keeps getting stuck in hole 1, like a mouse must be in there or something) They kicked us out eventually. I guess I forgot to yell "fore", or "Four", I'm still not sure the correct spelling of that. Then this fat fucking guy with 2 kids said I was a real asshole for teeing off like that in putt putt to which I replied, "you're just jealous because I'm the amazing golf ball whacker guy."  And he got froggy, so then I'm over at the batting cages with my shirt off thinking about how am I gonna kick this guys ass that outweighs me by like like 70 lbs and 10 years(and he must have been a dick to want to fight in front of his kids.) I'd never fight in front of Mariah unless Melissa steals the last piece of cornbread. Good times.  I think I really pissed Clint, Jack and Martin Driscoll off that night until I went to the batting cages and started letting the ball hit me in the face like in "Happy Gilmore" and I was like EEE-YESSS, that hurt a little bit, but I'm ok. "364 more days til hockey practice I have to toughen up."

All was forgiven and we shared some lolz which was way better than Golf. But that's pretty much been my experience with Golf. I don't know shit about it and I just disappear when big wigs at work are talking about it. I'll never fit in that way. My only hope at success is for this blog thing to blow up and buy me a foot in the door for some comedic writers that hopefully don't play golf, or I can become smarter and sexier. Both are highly unlikely but crazier things have happened. Like Mother Fucking Hot Air Ballons. Those things are nutts!

OK. so for the rest of this I'm going old school random. No points. No agendas. Just shit that's current events, pop culture, Yahoo front page etc. I'll drop a note and who knows what else and umm yeah. 

1.) Serious issues today/yesterday, Qaddafi got his grape busted. Oh well thought he was dead or captured since like August. One of those things I hear on TV and think, "Thought that shit has been over. Oh well I have more pressing issues!" Oh and when I was a kid and he was still a tyrant, I'd watch the world news at like 7/8 years old which was mid to late 80's then he bombed that plane Pan Am flight 103, I learned then that we could take out these evil dictators but as long as the US still had an agenda with them, they would be protected. The Scotts ran a harsh investigation and let the main terrorist go. I learned at a young age, politics is more than becoming President. It's running these fucked up countries until we don't need their dictators anymore. Oh and I thought his name was Boomar Gaddafi lolz. Boomar was a pretty effing cool name. Too bad it wasn't his. 


2.) If you get pulled over for weaving and a cop asks you to say your ABC's backwards just tell them that Mike Hicks's dad Red would be like, Say your dame ABC's Backurds, bitch. Just because. Red don't like cops either. He's always arguing with them over tickets and once I even watched him punk a state trooper out. It was awesome. Oh and my dad thinks the people occupying Wall Street are a bunch of hippies that all they did was play the God Damn Intenda(Nintendo) their whole life and this is why they can't find jobs. Never mind most of them have master degrees, but dammit, too much Intenda is what fucked em. 

3.) Our neighbor, well not ours exactly he lives about 4 houses up next to my aunt. He's gonna chloroform my cousin Billy one day and bury him in his basement. It scares me, but we know this guy is a legit psycho. At least Billy is aware of the situation and hopefully he'll escape with his life when that day comes. So yeah. 

4.) Yahoo had an article about how to cut 7,000 calories from your diet. I also had an idea. Stop eating 7,000 calories for your diet everyday, you fucking butthole.

If you walk on a treadmill like fat people do at .00001 mph on a 1 inch incline, you can still not only ruin the treadmill for me (When it's the last one in the gym), where I gets legit and try to do intervals that make professional boxers throw up...but I have to wait for Big 4hunned to finish her 2 hour stroll walking at a snails pace that she could do back n fourth in her living room. But you can still be fat and cut 4 calories a week from your routine and every bit helps. Do your thang. Oh, and we used to have these 2 fat women that swam at our pool in our apartment in Cleveland. That one summer me and Melissa wasn't doing anything except for planning our wedding and kind of taking some time off, so we had a tight routine where we'd play like 2 hours of tennis, then run for like 3 miles afterwards, do a tight arm work out at the playground and wind down by going swimming. From like 11am til 12pm it was adult swim, then all these booger eating morons would show up and you'd have to leave. But for that hour we shared the pool with what we called the "Weight Lifter Sisters", 2 broads that weighed like 220+ and carried these water/sponge weights across the pool in a very slow motion.

Then one of their husbands was scuba Steve. Dude was 60 and would straight wear his snorkel and mask and swim laps underwater, back and fourth.

It made it hard for me and Melissa to swim laps and eventually Melissa got tired of going because of the Weight Lifter Sisters and Scuba Steve, so one day I was just down there chillin trying to get a tan and Weight Lifter Sister one befriended me and started talking to me. She was telling me of her fall home in the Myrtles in the Carolinas. She told me she surfed in her off season. I'm not the most skeptical person in the world but watching her bounce back and fourth across about 10 meters of swimming pool barely able to breath from her "water weights" I wanted to call bullshit, bad. Instead all that came out was "Oh yeah, I rob Ahhmud cahs in Charlestown Boston in the off season. Then I put the whole town in my rear view!" Good times. 

5.) Have a good weekend. Thanks for all your inputs, but the best advice is "I'm just gonna be me." I'm gonna write the same random shit I've been doing for years. May start out with a legit premise then take you miles away from that topic. But that's just what I do. 

Keeping it realer than your old ass neighbor that just moved in 4 months ago and needs help everyday and wants you to go into his basement so he can kill you. Just don't go into the basement or attic. And Pray for my cousin Billy til this weirdo leaves him the eff alone. He waved at me one day and I was like "Uh, my arm is hurt, can't wave, but hope your having a stupendous day." That's how you handle serial killers.

I ain't scared of nothing, man.....

Except for ghost. Eyeballs. Cancer. Porcelain dolls. Clowns. Jack Nicholson. Snakes. And lots of other shit.

(I've said this before and anyone that reads my stuff has heard this before, but remember when people would argue about who they were more afraid of, Jason or Freddy? I'd be like "Neither, I'm afraid of Jack Nicholson, bitch.)

Halloween is coming up, so it's a good time to reflect on my fears. Any of my facebook friends, Google Plus friends or Twitter followers and real life friends that are too ignorant to learn how to use a computer but say it's because "I just hate computers, it's for nerds." ...are probably aware of the added pressure I've acquired over the past few weeks. I found out a while back that Kenny Powers is following me on twitter. "Vutever, No big deal!"

and then I recently received a flattering e-mail that appears to be pretty legit, letting me know that people in circles that I want to be in, are reading my shit. It's almost the same feeling of knowing there are college scouts in the stands before a major high school football game and instead of just going out there and doing what you do, you spend the hour before the game telling yourself how unworthy you are, how you're either too short or too slow to matter. Well G-Dammit, this time I'm not gonna buy into the fear. I'm 32 years old. I've switched careers about 74 times. I've gone back to school and already decided 3 times in less than 2 semesters on changing my degree plan. I'm more indecisive than a retarded rottweiler not knowing if I should attack a cat, or sit here and lick my nuts until someone decides I deserve attention and starts rubbing me on my head while I contemplate either killing them, or just going with the massage they are giving me and let them live to pet me another day. 

TRUE STORY: When I was a kid, there was this yard full of straight up killers. They had a Doberman Pincher (and they used to be the most feared killing machines of all dogs, but now you never see them because the Pitt Bulls and Rottweilers have taken all the good security jobs.) 

They had a Rottweiler puppy who was born evil, you could just tell he wanted to bite my throat off every time I looked at him. 

And then they had this big Golden Retriever looking dog (and normally I'm a huge fan of any Labs or Retrievers), but this one wasn't full blooded. He was mixed with something. Probably Satan, but I'd have to do a DNA test to be sure. 

Anyway, if I had to pick a dog in that yard that was gonna kill me, I probably would have went with the Doberman. I'd rank the Rottweiler number 2 and the Golden Retriever a close 3rd. This was the summer before I was going into 7th grade. My cousin Shawn who is about 3 years younger than me was being a dick and taunting the dogs for several minutes by kicking the fence and barking at them etc. I had no idea he was doing this though. Anyway, we were all playing Hide and Go Seek or Manhunt, and we used the entire neighborhood, there were no boundaries. Sometimes I would just go back to my house and watch "Wild and Crazy Kids" on Nickelodeon starring Cuba Gooding Jr's younger, fatter, less talented brother Omar Gooding,

while the person was counting at the tree about 4 houses up from mine. Oh, but since I'm on the topic, the funniest shit ever was when "Baby Boy" came out with Tyrese and Omar Gooding played his gangster best fiend "Sweetpea." How in the eff are you gonna go from hosting a kids show on Nick to being a straight head buster that's gigoloing your girlfriend for her moms house and they are buying you X-boxes and shit. Then you decide to clip Snoop Dogg, who was also pretty hilarious in that movie. For the record, Baby Boy was probably the funniest, unintentional comedy ever written (besides maybe "Piranha" that I did a spoilers blog on a few weeks ago), and I watch it every time it's on BET because it's even more hilarious when it's edited. 

So anyway, I'd go back to my house, fix myself some of the generic Kool Aid that I think was just called "Coolade", watch either "Wild n Crazy Kids" or "Hey Dude", whichever happened to be on at the time, finish it and figure I'd been hidden long enough. Then I'd hit the back alley, jump a few fences and sprint to the tree that we called "Base." Well this particular time, Shawn was fucking with these evil beasts in the yard next to the one I used to jump the fences to make it home free. As I put my arm on one of the fence posts, to leverage myself so I could jump over the gate, I felt my arm being tugged HARD in the opposite direction. I've never been attacked by a shark, but I'd imagine this is what it would feel like. Once I got a handle on the situation and realized what was happening, I started fucking petting the dog and scratching him behind his ears saying "aww, nice puppy, nice puppy," while he is chewing the fuck out of my arm like a caveman eating a caribou. By now the blood is splattering everywhere and I think I'm seeing my bone a little bit in between his biting and regaining leverage so that he can rip my arm off. I then decide being nice to him isn't gonna work so I start banging my arm and the bottom part of his mouth on the fence spikes thinking he'll let go from the pain of having sharp objects stabbing him through his mouth. 

Then I think Shawn might have thrown something at him and he let go for a brief second, just enough time for me to grab my arm back and throw up in my mouth a little bit. This situation was terrible enough, but what made it worse was the fact that my mom was gone for a month to a school for her job, up in Virginia or D.C. or something, I don't really remember because all I can remember about that summer now is thinking I'm gonna look like the Terminator when he cut off the skin of his arm to prove to Miles Dyson that he was in deed a robot sent from the future to protect John Connor and kill the fuck out of everyone else. 

So the next step in this saga is to sprint home. I ran faster than Usain Bolt the full 200 meters or so to my house. I swear to God I wish someone would have timed it because I know for a fact I set some kind of record.

This incident occurred at about 6:25pm. My Grandma was staying with us that month to help with the womanly things around the house like cooking, washing dishes and clothes, nagging, complaining etc. My dad had his own shop at the time and he'd work from like 5am til usually dark, but he happened to just be getting home on this night a little earlier than usual. My Dad's only mission or goal that summer was to not let me die. He wanted my mom to think he could control me and nothing bad would happen because it's no secret I was a little hellion. I used to jump on the back of a train and ride it for miles until my Gran caught me about a week before this dog bite incident and she beat the living piss out of me with a switch all the way home talkin bout "My brother Jimmy lost his leg playing on trains like that back in the 50's. My brother Jimmy lost his leg playing on trains like that back in the 50's. My brother Jimmy lost his leg playing on trains like that back in the 50's." in between spanks of the switch. The only thing I really learned from that experience was that my Grans brother Jimmy lost his leg playing on trains back in the 50's and that I should never get caught doing it again, because it was just way too fun to completely stop doing it.  So as soon as I walk in the house my dad asks me whats wrong and I'm all "Uhh nothing, I just have to use the bathroom." I figured that if I went into the bathroom and put some peroxide on it, it would be fine. 

By then he's banging on the door demanding to know what happened after seeing a trail of blood from the front door leading into the bathroom, so I had to open the door. Once he saw my arm, he almost fainted. There is nothing worse than other peoples reactions to your own injuries. I've learned that through time. I've been hurt pretty seriously about a million times in my life and each time I could take the pain pretty well, until someone looked at me and was like "DAMN, Oh Shit, you're gonna die, we have to get you to the hospital." Then that's when I fall apart and start shaking and going into shock or whatever they call it. So now my dad makes me get in his truck and he's taking me to the hospital. One sentence he's demanding to know what happened, then he's hitting/spanking me on my good arm(Nice Parenting Dick) because he's so worried my mom is gonna kill him when she gets home(like all of this was his fault or something) then he'd be real quiet, then flip out again. I was thinking to myself "Thanks for the comforting words asshole, now I know everything will be ok thanks to your calming demeanor." There is just something special about watching your parents lose their shit when you do something wrong, when they lose their composure, it's the scariest thing in the world. And the more I thought about it, I really didn't even do anything wrong except for getting eaten by a dog. I was thinking "what the fuck is gonna happen when I really mess up in the future and total my car or get caught egging people?" Things that are actually my fault, ya know? So we get to Sparks hospital and at this point I'm not even hurting anymore, I guess I was kind of worried that I was gonna lose a limb, but compared to watching my dad flip his shit, I was perfectly ok with that. The doc was cool, he told me he used to stitch up gangbangers out in Phoenix and LA and that this was nothing. That's all I needed to hear. I ended up getting like 30 stitches on the top part of my arm, and another 20 or so on the bottom. I survived. I should be on one of those fucking shows on Discovery or whatever channel it comes on where women survive being shot in the face by their estranged husbands or whatever.  

So the dog that bit me wasn't the Doberman or the Rottweiler. It was the freaking Golden Retriever mix. If I was laying money on which one of those dogs would kill me first, I would have lost my ass. Oh well, I suck at gambling anyway, but I do still have a left arm and it was good that it was my left arm because I don't use it a lot anyway. I broke my right hand and wrist which required surgery my Senior year of High School and that was a huge bitch. You take for granted all the things you use your dominant hand for, until you can't use it at all. That did allow me to become somewhat ambidextrous, but I still have a lot more fun with my right arm. 

That's all I got for now. If you haven't already subscribed, please do so and leave comments. The more traffic I get, the more of a valuable commodity I'll look like. And that's important. Because I want to do a fun career to put my baby through college and buy my wife a Benzo. I don't want to work for it the hard way like most people do. 

Keeping it realer than your Uncle Steve that buys 200 dollars in scratch offs on the reg and tells people he once hung out with Michael Douglas at a strip club and almost got a part in "Wall Street" because of it.     

Check my ID, Bitch. Please check my ID.

Because I look young as hell, so you better check that shit and not be taking chances on selling Thunderbird to a minor.

FRIEND: "Whats up Mike? Happy birthday brah! You guys have any plans tonight? I know you will be doing big thangs. Ain't no party like a Mike Hicks party."
ME: "Oh yeah. Most def. I think we're gonna rent Horrible Bosses and probably go to taco bell and get one of those Chalupa's like in the commercial where that weirdo retard Brian Wilson acts like he's black ops and tries to rob that nerd for his chalupa. And quite honestly, that chalupa is probably the most beautiful thing I've seen on TV since Lyla Garrity in season one of Friday Night Lights. So Yeahhhh Booyyyyy. Looking fwd to a pretty fun evening!"

 FRIEND: "umm, Oh, sounds awesome man. Sounds like you're gonna have a crazy weekend.

 ME: "Well check that, I think I have heartburn real bad right now, so I'm just gonna exnay the taco bell thing and have pork chops and macaroni and catch up on all the shows I've got on the DVR that I've been too sick to watch the past few weeks. So I guess we won't be partying so hard after all."

FRIEND: "Oh, umm yeah. I feel ya dog. I hear heartburn sucks. My dad gets it." 

Does this dialogue sound fucking depressing? Does it make you think I'm a total loser that shouldn't be turning 32 but probably 61 instead? If you say yes, then I kind of agree with you, but instead of being depressed, I'm having way more fun right now listening to the Leesville/Peabody game on KJAE via the intranets and thinking about how, "Effing A! there is still some of those gangster ass pork chops left over and I'm gonna smash it in a few."

Flashback 7 years ago. I was being shot at on the reg by insurgents from every part of the middle east while riding down route Irish from the Green Zone to Camp Liberty, about 2-3 days a week. For fun in my off time I'd hang out on the roof of a building with my fun as shit co-workers and sometimes some of the most elite warriors on the planet, less than 100 meters from one of the most dangerous streets in the world and drink 16 oz Heinekens, and laugh at the celebratory gunfire after some random Iraqis won their soccer game. One time a British guy we often hung out with and usually got us the best beer in the International Zone got shot by a celebratory AK round in the neck. Until then, we just thought it was either a myth or you had to be extremely unlucky for that to happen, and since he didn't die, we thought it was hilarious and just continued hanging out on the roof counting the bullets we heard hit the cement. I'd sleep about 3 hours a day or night, depending on what shift I was working because I was afraid I might miss something awesome happening if I slept too long, and even with the severe lack of sleep I had more energy on a daily basis than most Olympic athletes. I worked and lived to go on the most extravagant vacations, in some of the most exciting, amazing and romantic places in the world roughly every 4-5 months. I did whatever I felt like doing and really had no one to answer to but myself and I was a pretty easy boss umm on myself, too. I scuba dived in several of the best underwater locations in the world, jumped out of planes, fast roped or rappelled down ropes sometimes 200-400 feet high. I would raft through class 4-5 rapids and hope to fall out just to see if I could beat drowning (which we all did once in crocodile infested waters in Costa Rica). 

I'd go to bars and once I got bored with drinking, I'd hope for a fight. Anything to bring excitement to my life and like any drug, the more you get, the more it takes to receive the same high. To say I was an adrenaline junkie was a severe understatement. I lived by the motto that you had to test yourself everyday, and if I didn't do something on a particular day that would scare the complete shit out of me, then that day was a huge fail and I couldn't even fall asleep for those 2-3 hours that I was accustomed to, due to a mixture of disappointment and the thoughts of "What am I gonna do tomorrow to make up for this failure?" It may have been 6-7 years ago when I lived like this, but now it seems like almost a century ago.

I turned 27 on October 14th, 2006. I can almost pinpoint the exact moment when I changed completely. I met Melissa about a month before I turned 27(September 6th 2006 to be exact) and that was probably the first step in me thinking/realizing there are better things in life than close calls, copious amounts of alcohol and the confirmation pain that makes you feel alive. Although we were only talking at that time and were becoming pretty good friends, I spent the night of my 27th birthday in a club in Australia (while Trent and Half Nut had just about every girl in the southern hemisphere bringing us free drinks and treating us like rock stars), thinking about Melissa. For one quick moment I relished in the attention or somewhat spotlight we were in, but then that veered off when I had an epiphany that looked a lot like Melissa. Just a vision of her, or really a vision of her not being there and realizing how bad I wished she was there. I guess I was falling in love and that was changing everything. That was pretty much the last hoorah for me. By the end of that 3 week adventure, all I could think about was getting back close to my future love and planning an escape plan for the life I was living, and a strategy to start a new, better one. 

NOW: October 14, 2011. I'm 32. I just got out of the hospital with probably my 11th kidney stone. For adrenaline rushes I stalk the fantasy football boards and hope to catch the next great, yet current nobody that will flip out and go for 200+ yards on Sunday and get me like 40 purnts. I stalk my daughter like I'm the CIA and she's Osama's courier, waiting on her to say real words or to discover her doing something I've never seen her do before. I want to be there for her first everything. So far she's learned to say "Football" or "Touchdown" as soon as the TV is turned on a game and that gets me just about as krunk as any action adventure I've ever experienced. Instead of GTL on the reg to go to the clubs and pick up hoes, whoops, I mean girls. I only do cardio workouts in the privacy of my own home and some push-ups so that I don't develop heart problems like my dad, and so I can somewhat impress Melissa and hear her say "You are looking sexy!" it's all the approval I really need.

I'm not sure that if the Me I am now, ran into Mike Hicks back in like 2004 and told him of my new hobbies as well as let him see that I've gained like 40+ lbs and am bald not because of style, but because my hair is thinning on top anyway, so I beat it to the punch.....I'm not sure I'd walk away from that meeting.

I never would have imagined that all the things I chased for so many years looking for happiness, would have been washed by the true happiness I have now, because I'm not sure I could have justified it to myself back then, how truly lucky and blessed I am today. It's just in these short moments of reflection that I think about what I have and smile, thinking back on how ignorant I was to true happiness. There isn't a good time I had in the past, not even the best time I ever had back then, that I wouldn't gladly trade for what I have now.

So in conclusion, getting old and broken sucks. In so many ways. But waking up every morning at 6am and kissing Melissa on the forehead, and then smelling Mariah's hair while she's still sound asleep is the only reason I'm here. The cycles of life are important. Without certain experiences, certain failures and extreme pain, you can never appreciate the good, no, great things in life. So on this 11,680th day of my life, instead of being resentful for losing some of my youthful exuberance, feeling like a pinata that hasn't busted yet, and no longer having the motivation to live life on the edge like I once did, I gladly take the trade I was granted. I thank God everyday that I have such a beautiful family and so many great friends. The memories are great, but the present is much better. When I say I'm depressed about my physical depreciation, clearly I'm joking. Because I have everything I could possibly want or need at this stage of my life. A gift so awesome, that I never even imagined it in my daydreams of my younger days. A wife so perfect and beautiful that she exceeded anything I could have ever imagined in my own mind, and a daughter so perfect, I still look at her and can't believe how perfect she is, or the fact that YES, she's real.  

This is why October 14, 2011 is the best birthday ever. And as long as I have my 2 M's, every birthday from here on out will be the same, perfect day.  

I no longer look at the old or even middle aged people in the world, that look somewhat beaten down by life and say to myself, "You Poor Bastard!" Because chances are they have everything in their life that I have. Even if we are a little older, slower and uglier.

BUT if they don't have a Melissa and Mariah like I do, then hell yeah, their life really must fucking suck lolz.

Happy Birthday To Me! 

I probably used to be a huge bully before people thought it wasn't cool to be one.

But I wasn't like a big, dumb, mean, unoriginal bully like Officer Farva. I'll just say that. 

Damn, it's been almost 2 weeks since I posted anything and that was just a remix from something I did a long time ago...and almost a month since I did anything original. Life has been hectic though. School is in full swing, I had 4 tests in 3 days last week and all of them were study worthy, there were no gimmies, like there used to be in Mrs. Kinsinger's class my Sophomore year of HS where me and Greg Burns disrupted her class so bad that we got kicked out for the entire year in like October. She was like "Get the Eff Out! Both of you!" and when we asked her where we should go, she said "Anywhere, just get out of my room!" So we would basically spend second hour walking around the school, hiding out in bathrooms whenever we saw Mr. Clay or Coach Williams or we'd go to play Nintendo with the special needs kids in Mrs. Cryer's room until Greg got in a fight over losing to one of them at Sports Jeopardy and wore out our welcome. But we were still allowed to come into her class on Fridays to take her vocabulary tests (although we had to get out immediately after) and those were the "Gimmies" I referred to. So we still passed with like an A or a B after attending only one month of her classes for the entire year, and like 7 or 8 classes when we had a sub and we were then allowed to hang out in the class we were not only supposed to be in, but were required to. 

I look back now and I feel really shitty about how we treated Mrs. Kinsinger. We pretty much (me and Greg) would just talk to each other or blurt shit out about whatever was on our mind, no matter what it was, even while she was teaching. Then she tried to split us up, so he was in one corner on the south side of the room and I was in the other corner on the north side of the room (she set the room up where the desks were facing each other, 15 desks on one side and 15 on the other, like Miss Bliss did on the shitty episodes of the junior high saved by the bell), so then we started our own Mafias. I was Nino Brown from the North Side, 

and Greg was Sal Margurito from the South. We pretty much split up both sides of the class into our respective mafias and had our own gang signs and everything. I realize this sounds really unfunny and juvenile when reading it, but you have to believe it was pretty hilarious just because of the reasons I stated, it was so juvenile and really unfunny. She made it where we couldn't talk so we'd always find a way to communicate. I'd pull out my wallet and pretend it was a cell phone (and this was 95, when the only people that had cellies were Zack Morris, single 40 year old dudes perpetrating in the bars like they were rich like your uncle does now and dickhead Hollywood Agents)

and we'd just scream across the room like black people do on their phones at the movies. Then when she shut that method down, we'd open our books and act like they were computers or fax machines(and this was way before AIM Instant Messenger and shit, we were pretty fucking innovative if I do say so myself) and I'd act like I was typing something (from my rigged up lap top)

and Greg would pull out a paper, imitating how a paper does when it comes out of a fax machine and read it out loud. I can't remember some of the things that led up to the final straw exactly, but I know that she did lose total control of us. (I'm not bragging by saying this, but later I will tell you how I know she lost total control). Anyway, if I remember correctly, she was playing a "book on tape" of some Shakespeare shit or something, I think it was Julius Caesar. It was so boring, that we would spend the hour throwing our pencils into the ceiling trying to make them stick. Then we ran out of pencils and would throw pennies. I know we started this, but at some point the entire class was pretty much doing it. Like 2 days before this she noticed like 7 dollars worth of pennies in her ceiling and she asked the entire class who was doing it. Before she finished her sentence I was like "Not me! You blame me for everything!" then she just busted out screaming "I DIDN'T EVEN BLAME YOU" and her tone literally sounded like a fucking dog barking at me and I think she freaked herself out so bad by her sudden outburst of anger that she just dropped it and moved on to something else. So 2 days later, we're listening to the tape, everyone in the room is just throwing all the shit they own at the ceiling trying to get it to stick. She eventually looks up and sees me trying to throw a ball of paper at one of the pencils already stuck in the ceiling. I was trying to knock down my pencil so I'd have something better to throw than a piece of paper up at the ceiling basically. For what it's worth, if she hadn't looked up, my next attempt was gonna be my English book because it was way heavier and I knew I'd knock that fucker down with that. So she looks up, catches me and just completely loses her shit. She pretty much bum rushed me and grabbed me by my ear like Veronica Vaughn did Billy for making fun of the stuttering kid in "Billy Madison." 

She marched me to the office, made me dial my moms work number and ask for her, then she jacked the phone out of my hands while I was saying "umm Mom she's about to lie to you about everything, it wasn't me lolz."...She then goes on to explain to my mom what an asshole I am and how I'm robbing all the other kids of an education (yeah right, there wasn't one person in that room that gave a shit and they enjoyed watching me and Greg's shenanigans way more than listening to her psychobabble about God knows what..well maybe this one nerd that used to roll her eyes at us, but she didn't matter), and my Mom was like "OK, well I was in a meeting so I can't talk right now, but I'd be glad to talk to you later concerning the matter", this pissed her off thinking my mom didn't give a shit about what she was saying, so she just hung up the phone (that really pissed my mom off and she wasn't even mad at me then, she was mad at the teacher for being rude and hanging up on her, AWESOME!) and marched me back in the room. We got back in the room and she told me not to say another word or she'd tell Coach Smith about my behavior (which I have no idea why she never went to him for assistance in the first place, had she told him in September that I was a fucking butt hole, I would have been a church mouse for the rest of the year). Once everything is settled down and the entire class just looks surprised that I didn't either get sent home or stabbed in the face, she then proceeds to press play on the old ass tape recorder from the fucking Brady Bunch era 

and instead of Julius Caesar resuming where it left off, that Junior Mafia song "Get Money" comes on and it's on the part where lil Kim goes "Grab on your dick as this bitch gets deep, Deeper than the pussy of a bitch six feet." Mrs. Kinsinger just really lost it at that point. She lost it more than when she flipped out on my ear like 20 minutes earlier, or even 2 days before that when she barked at me like a jack russel terrier. This was a different kind of "Lost It." She just got completely quiet and as pale as Michael Jackson when Conrad Murray killed him. Then her hands started to shake like an alcoholic that's in his first 24 hours of sobriety. Then, I just got up and said "I did it!" and of course because I wasn't in the room at the time it happened, it garnered me a cheap, although huge laugh from everyone. I literally kicked her while she was down and my heart broke a little bit (Well not then, but now it does). Then she just gave up. You could see the look in her eyes, it was the same look that Saints fans used to get every October when they were already eliminated from the playoffs. She reaches into her bag for her cigarettes, and HOLY FUCK! those were gone too. One of the other hoodlums in the classroom snatched them while she took me to the office. I'm not gonna say who did it, but his name rhymes with Treg. She left the room quietly and I really don't know where she went. But it was like 20 minutes before the bell rang and she didn't come back. 


The next day she was there and as soon as me and Greg showed up. She made a huge spectacle out of us, and that's when she banished us from her room. At first we thought it was cool and hilarious, until we found out how effing hard it is to dodge the laws in the Leesville High School hallways without a hall pass. After all the ducking and dodging I did that year, I felt like what Bin Laden must have felt like since 9/11. The thing I never understood was after that day, she never told any higher authorities on us, never called our parents back and pretty much never said another word to us. At all. We were just forgotten. Out of sight and out of mind. This had to be like the 2nd week in October and we spent the rest of the year thinking this is an odd situation, but we must not be in trouble. Then me and Greg were both going to the Jay Novacek camp that summer and a thing came out in the paper about it that April. She saw us both in the hallway one day and was like "Oh, Congratulations guys, I guess you both aren't losers after all." whatever that meant? About 5 weeks goes by and we took her final the next to last day of school and skipped the entire last day. I can't remember what we did that day, but it was probably like play a scrabble tournament all day and discuss educational shit or something similar. So I get home that night at like 7 to change and take a shower and wash all that scrabble playing residue off of me and I hear my mom on the phone repeating "No way. No way. I can't believe this. I can't believe he'd do this. This isn't how I raised him etc." I ducked into the hallway thinking "Oh Shit!" In my mind I was wondering is this about the time we egged that guys house a few weeks ago and he happened to come outside and started chasing us so we were just pelting him in the face for like 5 minutes with eggs until he quit chasing us? Was this about the time we stole 40's from shoprite but left a few dollars at the door so it wasn't "Technically stealing?" or was it about one of the many million fights we had been into. There were probably another 70 or so options I'm not gonna mention, but I knew it was bad. About an hour later my mom screams at me and tells me "You are not going to Dallas next week, you aren't doing anything all summer. You have embarrassed me for the last time blah blah blah." Then she pretty much regurgitates everything I'd ever done wrong in Mrs. Kinsingers class that year. She spent almost 2 hours talking on the phone, telling her everything we did in her class (some of it I didn't even remember doing, but apparently it was worse than anything I mentioned on here), and other things she heard we were doing outside of school. I couldn't believe it, but I knew it was too good to be true that nothing initially happened to us when we got kicked out of her room in October. I then called Greg up and the same thing had happened to him. Anyway, it was just temporary. I convinced my mom that the lady hated all jocks and she hurt my feelings the first week of school because she called me a retard in front of everyone and I wanted to cry. I flipped the script again and I also feel bad about that now, like 15 years later. But this is how I know I really got to her. I never thought of myself as a bad person that could ruin the life of someone. I just thought I was a mischievous jokester, that was relatively harmless. 

Also the next year, Woods had her class and the first day of school he said "Did Mike Hicks used to be in here?" and her response was "Get Out!" and she hated Woods all year just because he was one of my best friends. He didn't even do shit. She was such a hater. And apparently it was illegal to ever say my name in that room again, kind of like in Gangs of New York how Bill the Butcher would kill someone for mentioning the Dead Rabbits.

Sorry this is so long, but I had another episode of kidney stones last night. One of the awesome blessings I inherited from my dad. I couldn't get his height or his strong arm or anything good, but I did get his messed up ass kidneys. So I'm pretty much doing nothing today but watching football and bored out of my mind (like way different than most Saturdays lolz). I was actually gonna do a blog about way more intellectual shit, discussing how I now totally agree with Thomas Hobbes and how he thinks humans are inherently evil and prone to do bad things like Latarian Milton. And after I've been seeing all this shit posted on facebook about "Stop the bullies!" I was kind of doing a self assessment of my life hoping that I've never been a bully. So you got my story about how I pissed off Mrs. Kinsinger instead because it was a combination on Thomas Hobbes theories of me and my bullying memories. 

To Mrs. Kinsiger, if you happen to read this. I am very sorry for ruining your life that year. I was very nice to you in the hallways the next 2 years because I felt very guilty that I ruined a whole year of your life and I sincerely hope you forgive me. I can't speak for Greg though because you pissed him off pretty bad by calling his dad. But I'm cool with it because I deserved to umm, uh, well not really get in trouble or anything, but I did get yelled at for 5 minutes by my Mom.  


Your Grandpa still watches Porn and erases the history immediately after and acts like he doesn't know shit about computers.