Category Archives: things i hate

“you know who you look like?”

table1

En route to work today, while listening to my ipod (who I’ve named “Damita”), trying to remember all the choreo I learned in this week’s classes, I noticed an Island woman glancing in my direction.

I brushed it off, concluding she must be overwhelmed by my beauty. No big deal, right? So she kept looking, and finally signaled for me to remove my headphones. Okay fine. She had beautiful locs, so I obliged.

“You know who you look like?”

Oh fuck. My stomach tightened.

“You…look a little like Spike Lee.”

Aww shit.

Again? The damn Spike Lee comparisons…in 2009? Still?

Apparently, something about me resembles the brilliant filmmaker.

“Something in your eyes…your face. You could be a close relative.”

I’m thinking: “Girl, you’re pushing it.”

I dropped my head, sighed and offered, “…maybe the glasses…?”

“No…more than that. Are you sure you’re not rela…”

I smiled and re-inserted my headphones. Girl, bye.

Thinking back, she’s probably the 6th or 7th person since I’ve been in New York to draw this comparison. And…I just don’t see it. So…if any of you can locate “proof” of any alleged similarities, I’ll take it under consideration.

Until then, I stick with my original conclusion: it’s a consipiracy.

thatisall.

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…and white people everywhere are smiling.

….You, of course, read my blog about my favoritest nigra on earth, Orenthal James “white girl slayer” Simpson. If not, I’ll look the other way as you click here. Well, it appears all the voodoo dolls, rain dancing, prayer, and virgin sacrifices have finally paid off.

OJ was just found guilty of twelve felonies. Twelve. The minimum sentence he faces is 23 years, thanks to the presence of weapons during his brave adventures. Now, add that with his likability factor (0) and multiply the effect of Johnny Cochran’s absence (-62) and it looks like the Caucasian Coochie Smasher is facing 34 life sentences.

Okay, maybe just one. But at any rate, he is definitely fucked. Think of it: every bearded, tattooed white supremacist on D-Block will finally get to split that chunky, murderous booty of his open, Nicole Brown style. Ole!

Before sending the jury away to deliberate, the judge alluded to the possibility of waiting days or weeks for a verdict. After all, a pretty well-known man’s life is in their hands. A wrong decision (in the public eye) and they would be forever linked to this trial as the fuckups who freed OJ. Again. It was reported that Mr. Simpson had that same stupid ass, infuriating cocky grin plastered on his chubby, 61 year old face as the jury received their instructions. Then, he strolled out of court cool as a fan, chatting confidently with reporters about his plans to spend the next few days at a friend’s house while the jury deliberated. Hell, he probably had some pretty young blond thang waiting for him in the back of his SUV.

Surely, his feelings were hurt when he was called back to court thirteen hours later. It took him longer than that to plan the heist of his dusty ass memorabilia last year. Upon re-entry, he mentioned being “apprehensive.”

Then…

Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. And….Guilty.

Same for his dickface of a sidekick CJ Stewart.

When the verdict was read, he gave one of those “Aww, shucks” reactions.

Surprised, Orenthal? Did you really think Amerikkka would let that ass walk free? What you don’t realize is that they have been waiting to catch you the first time you ran a red light, littered, or looked hungrily at a nice, white woman.

And they got you. Signed, sealed, and delivered. For life, hopefully. Sentencing is in December. He’s 61. So, with the combined sentences he faces, he is pretty much done. In the mouth. He and CJ get to sit in a cell and blow each other for the next 40 or 50 years while they reflect on better days. He won’t even be seen as the cool, Teflon rebel from 13 years ago to his future cellmates, because at the core, even they probably know he should have become a monk or just quit life while he was ahead. But…the jig is up, sir. Party done.

Today, one of my coworkers jokingly tried to convince me that OJ should be freed.

“I’m about to print up some FREE THE JUICE shirts.”

(Sad face from me)

He then said I’m rejoicing in the misfortune of my people (….but not as eloquently.)

Wrong, sir.

I’m simply pointing out the stupidity of another human. And just because we both:

1. Had ancestors in Africa, and

2. Avoid blackwomanvagina,

doesn’t mean I am to excuse this fool. Wrong is wrong. Guilty is guilty, whether black, white, gay, straight, fine, hideous, or Ashanti–a fool is a fool. The same group crying out for America to cut OJ some slack are the same jerks who pity Michael Vick, support and root for Rapist Robert Kelly, think Mariah Carey still makes good music, and actually supported Al Sharpton’s presidential bid. Losers.

(climbs down from soapbox)

exhale.

i’m not some crazed negro-hating dude (as someone “jokingly” called me earlier), but i have grown tired of those who feel obligated to support the brother just because he is a brother. same for those who are voting for Obama JUST because he’s black (and NOT because his opponent is on social security and the next in line can probably name more hockey teams than she could former presidents). we throw stones at white serial killers (because…you know…we don’t do that) who sit on Oprah’s couch, but we watch Rapist Robert Kelly piss on kids then go buy his CD’s “because he makes good music.” where’s the logic?

wrong is wrong is wrong.

so….in closing…(cue superhero music) I call on my competent, brilliant, self-respecting readers to proudly punch the next person to speak out in defense of OJ, Mike Vick, or R. Kelly (or…Mariah Carey) in the top of their head. and repeat these words, “fuck.you.in.the.mouth.” don’t get mad, though. it’s a lost cause. it is an unfortunate truth that you can’t fix stupid, but, goddammit, you can shut it the fuck up for a few minutes.

thank you and goodnight.

~chris.alexander

seen in manhattan.

while walking in manhattan with dre and irwin the other day i spotted something that spoke to my me, intensely. and it inspired me to write a beautiful piece to show the raw emotion that the subject of this photo stirs within my soul.

here it goes:

girl, i hate you.

the end.

a call to action.

hello fam.

i just got in from an unsually stressful, yet unlucrative shift at work. snooty guests. obnoxious corporate protocol. infectious stupidity among coworkers. unwanted sexual advances from the feminine muscular boy. dumb shit. i come home, expecting to relax and take my mind off the day, chill in my room, safe from retards and fuckfaces.

apparently that is too much to ask.

first of all, i walk in to find my weedhead ass roommate (and his weedhead friends) lounging around, sipping ghettojuice, and listening to bad music….

not USHER bad music or AKON bad music….but…

khia.


like…”my neck, my back” khia.

the same khia that is three and a half rungs below trina on the talentless, gutterbutt ass hoodrat female rapper scale.

the khia who’s ancestry received scraps during the process of evolution.

this underservingly confident, softball-nippled nubian gutter-bred goddess:


beetlejuice.

beetlejuice.

beetlejuice.

nope. still there.

anywho, THAT was not the purpose of this post.

i write to you all with a heavy heart. i received some news that has miss sofia and i feelin’ mighty down. [slave voice] i’se feelin miiiiiighty low. [/slave voice] once again, a mindless, wealthy jigaboo has duped a chain of fools and been acquitted of a vile, horrible crime which he definitely did commit.

if you’ve been living under a rock (or the Bronx) i’ll lay it on you real easy-like:

this man:


robert kelly, the virgin pussy crook

has been found NOT GUILTY of 7 of 14 charges of videotaping himself having sex with an underage girl.

let that sink in for a minute.

the jurors were charged with deciding whether they believed the creep in the video was R. Kelly. the defense used EVERY low down, dirty, half-assed excuse and gamble from every bad movie to spare this guilty coon. several days of testimony were spent debating over a mole that may or may not have appeared on the back gentleman in the video. next, said mole apparently changes positions on his back.

then, these grown, college-educated, salaried “lawyers” claimed that robert’s wretched face was “imposed onto the head of the body using technology similar to that used in the movie little man.”

THIS movie??

really?

that’s your defense, robert?

i hang my head in shame. sadly, i’m not surprised though. yet another deseprate black man, reaching to the heavens for an exit to this shitty predicament. what does surprise me is the half decade that’s passed between indictment and this circus. apparently, the “victim” wouldn’t testify, greatly damaging the prosecution’s case.

what
the
fuck?!?

now. i know i’m not the only pervert who’s seen that goddamn video of robert losing his religion inside that lil girl’s coochie. don’t lie dammit. i seentchu watchin! helen keller could see that robert is the jerk in the video. what more proof did they need?

i’m just confused by it all. robert. orenthal. both guilty as fuck. two guilty, free jerks.

WHERE IS THE JUSTICE?!?!?

as my Uncle Ruckus would say:

i vote to bring back lynching in these cases. rid society of two sick ass, scatter-brained, white woman-murdering, teenage vagina-loving, aging embarassments to the race.

and MOTHERFUCKERS STILL BUY R. KELLY’S MUSIC?!?!?

again…confused.

maybe it’s a cry for help…?

yes. that’s it. is THAT the face of sanity? would a level-headed, straight-thinking person do that to themselves?

fuck no.
clearly, this man is not alright. he doesn’t “need some prayer” or a break or sympathy or his freedom. he’s not “a little touched” or going through some “little issues” as i’ve heard ignorant negroids claim.

let’s not mince words. don’t minimize what has proven to be a BIG problem for this beast. there’s nothing little about this issue. robert kelly is great-wall-of-china crazy. latoya jackson crazy. crazy in the name of grace jones and old dirty bastard.

and needs to be destroyed.

Robert, you should quit life.
SO.

i humbly ask you, intelligent human being, that if you see him, or have any connection to anyone with “capabilities”….do the following:

1. find him.
2. lure him with the promise of virgin pussy.
3. trap him.
4. castrate him.

5. and beat him to death with a bag of broken ashanti cd’s.

that’s not so hard, right?

besides, what are friends for?


you will be smiled upon come judgement day, i promise.

i’m off to join the KKK.

goodnite comrades.

signed,

chris.alexander
President, Robert Kelly Death Squad

HATE is such a strong word….

…but i HATE the fact that fuckface’s mother missed her abortion appointment 26 years ago.

i’m attempting to move this week. hasn’t been as smooth a process as i would like. as i said before, Alex is a horrible procrastinator. like…pitifully so. THAT, my beloved nutsacks and bleeders, is my tragic flaw. (dramatic sigh) all of this frustration is multiplied by the fact that fuckface (the crackish college student/dancer/dickwarmer) that I rent from is FINALLY back from college. my goal was to be gone before he showed his night terror-inducing mug around these parts. again, i was already convinced my first week here that we could not occupy the same space.

and he proved my theory correct. again. lemme splain.

(cue dream sequence music )

after days of endlessly searching craigslist, the internet, and EVERY classified ad printed in the state of new york in hopes of finding a new apartment, i spent the entire night packing and bullshitting on the computer. awake. not sleep. i had an early appointment to view a place and figured i could work best if i just…went straight through the night. no biggie. morning came. still awake. saw the place, LOVED it. the other two roommates are dancers. the apartment is two blocks from where my father grew up. the block was quiet, clear, and consisted mainly of 2-4 family houses. no crackheads in sight. no public lover’s quarrels. no stray cats meowing in agony for hours on end. no pissy hallways. the TOTAL opposite of my current environment, where I avoid doped out, toothless jamaicans and duck insurgent missiles. AYE COÑO!

the apartment definitely falls within my price range…and….the guy who’s room i’d be occupying…is…muy fuckable very cool. we spoke for a while: he’s also from virginia, also a dancer, also thinks that living near white people = safety. we totally clicked, i thought. and i could see myself in this space for a few months.

upon departing, i got that whole “well i have two other people coming to see the place, so i’ll let you know by friday” thing. whatevers. who else SHOULD have that room, but ME!?!??

anywho, after that, dealing with incompetent islanders at Uhaul, more incompetency and blatant miscommunication at the storage facility, and being awake for thirty hours, all i wanted to do is sleep.

i circled the block fifty-leven times looking for a spot for this stupid ass Uhaul truck. then died in bed for a few hours.

THIS fothermucker comes in just as i awoke, tombout:

“so….yea. the apartment people are coming tomorrow morning to inspect the apartment between 10 and 12:30. and….nobody can be here. so…”

sidenote: my room is STILL full. the moving just DIDN’T happen today.

“are you going to help me move before ten…..?”

“…..um…….okay…?”

“right.”

and i rolled back over to sleep.

(end scene)

then i jumped up to write this.

i hate HATE hate this dude, y’all. and to make myself feel better, i think i shall play ashanti in his room while he sleeps.

so i can melt his brain.

….this just popped into my head: mother, may i shoot him in the face??

that made me chuckle.

i’m over this day. i’m going back to snore.

….another herpes outbreak. shit.

so my herpes came back. i thought that Buckley’s has killed it off, but no. and now, it has a face.

 love in this club

 he wants to make love in this club. in this club. in this club. in this club. and i want to drag him out back behind the club. and rape him in his vagina. with a chainsaw.

no me gusta. he makes me feel like suicide isn’t all that bad. does jack kevorkian have a facebook page you can link me to?

one word. ten fingers. around the neck.

fool.

i’m going to buy a noose. goodnight.