Category: end of days

Okay see now… 


I’m just as worried as the next American about the sky-rocketing costs of medical care.  Shoot, truth be told, probably a little more so considering I got the nerve to be a self-employed liver transplant recipient and whatnot. HOWSOMEVER, what we’re NOT gonna do is blame fat people for all of our problems in the 23.5 hour.  

Uh-uh, all these recent recent reports about obesity-related health issues costing the US $147 billion dollars a year?  No ma’am, I will not co-sign…

Why? Cause real talk? We’re all responsible. Those of who watched bedridden people get lifted out of homes with a crane and the lil’ Maury kids roll themselves on and off the stage every week like it wasn’t a big deal are just as guilty as the individuals who allowed themselves to become overweight b/c of sheer laziness and then developed health issues (as opposed to a medical condition being the REASON they were overweight to begin with).  Yeah, I said it.

Our country didn’t JUST become the land of the steroid-infused chickens, triple Whoppers and Diet Cokes.  We’ve been overindulging for YEARS!! So don’t get mad now that the babies you raised on Twinkies, packaged sandwich meats and watching TV instead of going outside to run around don’t have the slightest clue how to drop those extra HUNDRED or so pounds. 

Jesus be the government that put half as much energy into making sure folks have just as much access to affordable healthy foods/ information on how to live better/ gym memberships as we do a $1 menus/frozen dinners/ happy hours at the local bar. 

Maybe then, things might truly be a whole lot different.

I’d be wrong for not posting about the hot ass mess that was the BET Awards, wouldnt I?   


‘Cause I’d really rather not talk about the tomfoolery that snatched almost four hours of my life away and left me utterly depressed. On some- so this is what we’ve been reduced to, huh?

And it’s not even so much the whole T-Pain accepting his award with a red plastic cup in hand, ya girl Beyonce selfishly choosing to sing a lackluster Ave Maria instead of a MJ song when she’s probably one of only 4 people in the entire place that could’ve done it justice, Zoe Saladano’s no home-training having self announcing to the world that veteran actress/Star Trek icon Nichelle Nichols was delayed the show up because she was in the bathroom TWICE or even Ving Rhames violent crackhead-esque outburst.
 
Naw, it was the subtle screw-ups that made my nerves bad. 

Like, this many years in the game and your tech guys still can’t get the sound system situation together? Err-um, why in the world weren’t the nominees in the various categories named? Who the hell didn’t realize that Don Cornelius is a thousand years old and anticipate his obvious need for the size of letters on the telepromter to be EXTRA, EXTRA LARGE? And most disturbing- Where was the Michael jackson bio?? All the energy put into Jaime’s wardrobe changes and nobody realized that there wasn’t a complete career bio/ montage prepared? Sigh.  

Jesus take the wheel, ’cause I. Can’t.

There are no words to adequately express the shock I felt upon seeing the confirmed news reports about Michael Jackson’s death. I literally had to sit down on the couch and catch my breath. I haven’t felt this dazed since I found out that I was actually going to receive my much needed liver transplant eleven years ago. That’s deep, right?


Be clear: Michael Jackson has been a friend in my head FOREVER. Since my certified tone deaf ass could screech a out, “A-B-C, easy as 1-2-3,” MJ and his music have been a part of my life. And trust, our friendship was hardcore.  

It spanned his rise to superstardom, the freak accidents, a complete ethnicity/race change and yes, even the recent controversial fall from grace.  Forreal, forreal, me and Mike been through it: He’d make me happy, he’d make me sad, he’d humble me, and then leave my jaded self in complete disbelief. 

And still, I jammed on.

So riddle me this- how does a man who’s musical genius changed the WORLD die of cardiac arrest at freakin’ 50?  

Not for nothing, people like MJ are supposed to either: A) live forever or B) die in some unexplainable event like an airplane disappearing over the Bermuda Triangle. NEVER, EVER the mundane heart attack. I mean, wasn’t that the point of the hyperbaric-oxygen-tank-thingy that he’s allegedly been sleeping in since the 80s? Sigh.  I can’t.  

Raise your glove in the air…

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