Just one…Please…

To those who are unfamiliar, let me introduce a word: Regional Coverage.

Regional Coverage happens when there are several teams playing each other in a particular sport at once.  All of the games are broadcast on one channel — and you have no choice but to watch the game that is closest in proximity to you (i.e. your region).  For instance, this past weekend there was a great college football game on between Texas and Oklahoma State.  There also happened to be a game between UCLA and Cal (Berkeley).  Both of these games were on CBS.  I live in Los Angeles.  So when I turned to CBS — guess which game was on?  The game between the two California teams, of course.  Had I been in Texas, it would have been a different story.

But that’s why god invented sports packages and sports bars…

So I’m at the sports bar, nursing a hangover from the night before.

(speaking of which - Dear Girl I Met The Night Before — I gave you a call (after the necessary waiting period of course) and it rang through to voicemail.  As I was thinking of something funny and witty to say in my message — the computer voice informed me that your mailbox was full.  Really?  It takes a lot of messages to fill up a mailbox.  Why don’t you check ‘em?  I’m intrigued by this.  I’m also debating whether or not to ever call you again.  I’m not much of a chaser…)

But I digress…

So I’m at the sports bar nursing the hangover from the night before, and what do I see?  A lovely married couple in their 50’s who still look happy!  One of those couples that just makes you smile when you see them.  Do you know what else I saw?  Her LOVING the Texas game.  Living and dying on every play!  It was beautiful.  I’m not speculating as to whether her being a diehard fan had anything to do with their happy marriage.  I’m just saying…

The next day (Sunday) I was at another sports bar watching the Eagles and Ravens win me money, while motherf*ckin Brett Favre and the Jets decided that I’d won enough money and felt like they needed to help me piss some of it away (YOU BUMS COULDN’T BEAT KC BY 7?!?!?  REALLY!!!!  KC SUCKS!!!!).

But I digress again…

There again I saw the same thing.  Ladies there with their guys — genuinely giving a crap about the game.  Yelling when the refs made bad calls.  Cheering for the touchdowns… the whole nine.  It made me remember how SEXY CHICKS WHO WATCH ANY SPORT ARE.  I really love you gals.  Forget that old adage about cooking your way into a man’s heart.  The way into mine and several others is with a jersey!

C’mon ladies can you give us just ONE sport?  We’ll make it fun when teaching you about it if you don’t know.  But here’s the real question — I believe in compromise — so if you give me the one sport — what would you like in return??

–Pres

PS — Yeah I don’t think I’m calling that chick again…

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Who’s More Scandalous…

There’s always been back and forth about who’s more scandalous, men or women.  We never really stop to consider it, but this is truly a generational phenomenon.  When our parents were our age I don’t think anyone really discussed this.  I’m not saying that women in our parents generation were not scandalous.  And I’m not saying that men from that generation were more decent.  What I am saying is that they were certainly less overt.

We ARE the sexually overt generation.  There are several songs that have come out in our lifetime, but there are few that you could say defined us.  Few that began a trend for what we’ve become known for…

I contend that that song is R. Kelly’s Bump & Grind.  People forget now…but that song was HUGE!!!  R. Kelly is still spending Bump & Grind money……….well his lawyers are anyway…  And that one song led to a trend of increasing sexual blatancy in pop music.

From there we went from “Let me lick you up and down, til you stay stop…” (go ahead…keep singing it to yourself…).  To BET Uncut.  To “Gimme That!”.  To Bust It Babies…(ladies, apparently your new nickname is “wet wet”).

Our parents weren’t angels…they were just infinitely more discreet!!  But undeniably, this is us.  This is our generation.  So now that we’re here…and it’s ALL out in the open…who’s more scandalous….men or women?

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FRIDAY - Ladies jump on the poll

It’s another Friday so it’s time for us to humbly request our female visitors’ views, opinions and candor.  Fellas, as always, be ready to hop in the comments section and share, agree…disagree…whatever.  Let’s get into today’s question:

PORN!

Ladies, will you watch it with us?  Are you watching it whether we’re there or not?  Do you hate it?  As usual, you can keep it anonymous if you’d prefer—we just want you to keep the opinions REAL! (Note: if the type of porn makes a difference — then note that in the comments section.  Like if it’s girl/boy you’ll watch and if it’s girl/girl you won’t…)

*** The Results Of Last Week’s Poll — Ladies have you faked an orgasm in the last 365?***

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Ask A Guy - What Are You Looking At??

Q: Women always obsess over their bodies naked; what do men really look at when a woman is undressed?

Ladies, if you can catch it, a lot guys will give themselves away from the first time we size you up.  Some men will just stare directly at their favorite body part — especially if you have ample amounts of it.

A rookie mistake.

The majority of men though, start at one end and work their way to the other.  We size you up from head to toe, or from toe to head.  The direction we go in usually will give you a clue as to what we like — because we want to see that first.  Eyes, lips, and especially breast men will start at your head and you’ll see their head slowly move downward.  It’s the opposite for feet, legs, and hip/ass men.  If your curious you can test him.  Walk up to a guy and strike a pose.  Tell him your wearing a new outfit.  Ask him what he thinks and then watch his head…

Question answered.

Now if you’re naked our eyes are going straight to our favorite part of your body.  We will not be passing go.  We will not be collecting 200 dollars.  This is essential to the daydream!!

The daydream??  Yes. The daydream.  The mental picture we take of you naked is stored in the long term memory bank and can be called upon for daydreams for up to years afterward.  In fact, the only thing stored in this area of our brain is mental pictures of you naked and mental pictures of us while doing the hibbity-dibbity.  There’s no room in this area of the brain for anything else like your birthday or favorite food or favorite flower.

Sorry…the system just wasn’t wired that way.  You should direct questions about this to the manufacturer.

Another added bonus is that now when you walk by us with clothes on, we can undress you in our minds and it’s accurate!!  It’s like having x-ray glasses.  If you’re our ex-girlfriend and we bump into you at the mall–it’s happening.  If your our current girlfriend and you come over after work–it’s happening–and then it’s really happening.  But this is certainly not a bad thing.  Ladies when you get dressed and head out to work or play, don’t you like a little attention?  Don’t you like the head moving slowly up…..or down….??

Yeah…you like it

–Pres

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You don’t need to be celibate, you need to be selective…

Most women have either done this or know someone who has.  EVERY guy has run into this at some point or another (it’s most aggravating when a jumpoff pulls it).

I’m celibate right now…

When a girl decides, for whatever reason, to slow down, put on her flashing lights, and pull the car off the road for a little while.  This typically happens after one, or a string of bad relationships/sexual experiences.

It’s also completely asinine and utterly ridiculous.  I’m sorry to be so blunt, but this needed to be said.  It’s the equivalent of telling the mechanic that you’ve heard a sound coming from the engine, and then watching him walk over to the trunk.  You’d look around and think, “what the fuck”??  Well ladies…

That’s what I’m doing right now…

If you are upset with the quality of man you’ve been running into…well that’s a legitimate concern (a sound coming from your engine).  So why don’t you realize that the problem isn’t THAT your fucking…it’s WHO your fucking (take your head out of your trunk — pun intended).  The key to catching a good man is not between your legs.  Don’t let Ashanti fool you!  That “good, good” can be found any “where, where”.  That doesn’t make you special…and it doesn’t make you better.

YOU MAKE YOU BETTER!

If you want to find a better man, take off the chastity belt and work on YOU!  Start by not hitting the same clubs, bars, corners, etc. to find your man.  Every place you found a loser…STOP GOING THERE.

Next, be selfish.  What do you love to do?  What inspires you…motivates you?  What have you always wanted to learn about?  Figure out what it is, and go do that shit!  Do you, girl!  Take a yoga class, or a web design class, a cooking class or gardening class.  Join a community program or volunteer somewhere.  Learn to play an instrument or speak another language.

And that’s when it’ll happen.  That’s when you’ll meet him…at that class, or outreach meeting, or music store.  And you’ll already be ahead of the game because you have a common interest…a common passion.

I can’t guarantee that he’ll be perfect.  Hell, I can’t guarantee you’ll meet a guy at all while you’re doing these things.  But odds are…

You will.  And if worse comes to worse and no men come of this new strategy.  You know what does???

A better you…

–Preston

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Swagger Like Us…

So my man Swagg used to extole the virtues of the Blackberry he got from his job. Being competitive, I set a small goal of getting to a position so that I could get some sort of smart phone. Much to my chagrin, my company made the switch from Blackberries to Palm Treos and Swagger eased in the small jabs about my clunky Treo. Sure it has a touch screen but I’d rather touch my remote on Sundays to watch football. He had the Blackberries with the side wheels and I grew instantly more salty because I had to use a stylus.

Later, Swagg becomes a world traveler and hits me with the Blackberry World Edition and I had been pushed to my limit. I promptly copped the Blackberry Curve and now life is sweet. For no apparent reason I check emails all day long, chat with people on the built in Blackberry messenger, and rib Haight about his Blackberry or lack thereof. (Note: Swagg cannot take pictures or videos with the World Edition).

Sure taking pictures are what cameras were built to do but how do you take a picture of the guy falling down the steps while simultaneously smashing his hot dog into his fleece sweatshirt at the football game? Those moments are priceless and are conveniently captured on camera phones. Also of note: I couldn’t take a picture of the guy with the mustard and ketchup on his shirt because I didn’t want to spill my beer.

Well, in surfing for the new Blackberry Storm, I ran across an application named “Vlingo,” and it’s like going from Yayo to Crack. This whole voice recognition has been taken to a new level. Here are the features you can now control by voice:

* Voice Dial-Initiate calls to anyone in the address
* Text Message-Send text messages without typing
* Email-Simply speak “Email John Smith” to start an email on-the-go, and you can speak the body of the message as well.
* Applications- Open calendar, maps, etc
* Address Books-Search for contacts without typing
* Web Search-Look up anything online in one step. Just say, “Web search: concert tickets in Boston,” and the results are displayed.
* Note2Self-Send yourself a reminder in the form of an email, task, or text message.

I have been f-ing with this program all weekend. Of course with the voice recognition texting piece, you really have to pay attention to your enunciation. Some people have almost gotten some “Best Sex” messages instead of “Test Text” messages. To my co-writers, I am giving the super nullus now just in case I hit the send button by mistake on an errant message.

Check it out. It’s pretty flipping sweet.

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Ladies - Are you faking?

Happy Friday.  Welcome back to another edition of the Ladie’s Poll.

To our lovely lady readers — I think I can speak for all of the Merchants when I say we don’t think you should be faking the big “O”.  You’re cheating yourself and letting some guy think his lame performance was something other than what it really was.  But we understand that sometimes the situation calls for it.  He’s wack, you’re tired…it’s time to put an end to the nonsense.  So here is today’s question:

How many orgasms have you faked in the last 365?  As always, elaboration is encouraged.  We’ll see you in the comments section.  –Pres

RESULTS OF LAST WEEK’S POLL - Ladies: Would you date outside of your race?

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Where Are Your Nuts - The Series

A few weeks ago I wrote an eye-opening piece entitled The Feminization of Men - Part 1.  It was followed by Where Are Your Nuts? - Male Feminization Part 2.  Both articles dealt with the stunning trend of guys becoming effeminate at alarming degrees and speeds.  I traced this issue’s origins and how widespread it has become.

Put simply: It’s a problem.

So I’ve decided to begin to catalog the things that guys are doing that are really estrogen-laden.  Hopefully, this series can help these guys make changes one at a time and we can begin to conquer this problem slowly but surely.  Worst case scenario I can say I did my part.

Today’s Offense: Fellas, stop gettin mad when other guys look at your girl!

Hey idiot — it’s a problem when NO ONE looks at your girl.  Not the other way around.  When a man looks at your woman and you get all uptight about it — you might as well be wearing a t-shirt that says any number of things on it:

I’m insecure

I’m definitely not hittin this right

I’m WAY out of my league

I’m just as surprised as you are that she’s still around

You may be able to take her from me

I have a vagina

Now let’s lay out a few basic assumptions.  Let’s assume that you’re girl isn’t dressed like Pam Anderson on Halloween or Ice-T’s wife on a Wednesday.  Let’s also assume that no one is making cat calls or licking their lips as your girl walks by–that’s just disrespectful.  I’m talking about you and her walking through the mall…down the street…whatever…and a few guys sizing your girl up.

I mean, what did YOU do when YOU first saw her??  You looked!  You sized!  Now since your with her every other person is supposed to look away or look at the ground as if the drill sergeant just walked in the room??  Get the fuck outta here!

When I’m out with my lady and dudes look at her…I sometimes stop to dap them up.  I’m not kidding. I appreciate it, dog!  She was looking good.  I spoke to her correctly…I showed her what was going on with me…she liked it…I liked what was going on with her…and here we are.  That’s my baby.  She’s not going anywhere because she’s happy.  She’s happy because I keep her that way.  You’re looking because she looks good.  She looks good cause she’s bad as hell!  And the things that you’re imagining will be a reality for me when we get home…

TWICE!

Yeah…that’s what my T-shirt says on it!!!

I’m not sweating your looks.  In fact it’s the opposite — that’s why I’m dappin you up.  You see I love your envy.  Because envy only occurs when you have something others WANT.  And maybe that’s why despite being with your girl…you’re looking at me all bent out of shape.  Because I have something you want.  It’s called pride, esteem, and a penis.  Unfortunately you’ll have to get them on your own…

MAN UP FELLAS!!

–Pres

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Rodeo Clown of the Month - O.J. Simpson

OJ DID IT!

And got convicted.

The train wreck that is Orenthol James Simpson finally found out that karma is a biatch.  To get off on a double murder rap (you did it too nigga…don’t front!), and then get convicted of armed robbery is absolutely mind boggling. I’ve seen local athletes do stupid things and it cost them their future. You cost yourself a legacy. How do you go from Heisman winner and NFL Hall of Famer to a future thugnificent in the shower dick taker? I mean there are small things in life I could do and it would be considered a catastrophe for me. My car insurance could not be paid. The rent check could bounce. I could even leave the milk out of the refrigerator. None of these are things I want to do at 30. At 60, I don’t want to be a stick up kid. That’s a joke.

Over the last 13-15 years, you’ve racked up stats that solidify the legends of great idiots. You claim you didn’t kill your ex-wife and her boyfriend yet you enlist Al Cowlings to drive you down the 405 at 35 mph. For anyone who has been on the 405 in LA, you will realize that point in and of itself is a travesty. What were you going to do when that thing dumped in the I-5? Ask AC to take you to Jack in the Box for a Jumbo Jack and two tacos?

You beat a murder rap because of Cochran (RIP) and bad DA preparation but lose in the civil case. One has to make ends meet so let’s write a book called “If I Did It.” Nigga, you did do it.

Hey, let’s start a prank show called, “Juiced.” Really? OJ, if you played a prank on me and thought it was funny, I’d cut your nuts off. (Shouts out to Jesse Jackson on that one).

Was it early this year when your daughter duked you out? Isn’t it bad enough you sully your family’s name with idiocy? At least have the courtesy to pick a woman good enough for your daughter to respect.

Now, you’re a convicted stick up kid facing the prospects of being Otis the Molester’s bedmate? Couldn’t you just wait for the next Naked Gun or Hertz Commercial? Meager fare it is indeed but here is where hindsight is a biatch too. DON’T KILL WHITE PEOPLE AND ROB PEOPLE IN VEGAS. BOTH ARE ILLEGAL.

Yes, O.J. you’re a rodeo clown.

To lighten the mood…here are my favorite “Juices”:

1. Jungle Juice, you know the sweet ass juices in the one pint boxes
2. “Juice” the movie and soundtrack. Tupac RIP.
3. Mtume’s song “Juicy Fruit’
3a. B.I.G. “Juicy”
4. Juicy Fruit gum
5. Project Juice…The Legendary North Spencer PJ (Editor’s Note from Preston — Carolina Greensboro STAND UP!!!!)
6. Jamba Juice
7. Barry Bonds
8. The Juice on a sports bet
9. DJ Juice
10. Any of the fruit juices i.e. orange, pink grapefruit
11. Juice Williams, the QB from Illinois
12. Ben Johnson, Marion Jones and all the track Juicers out there

Tobias….I’m out.

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Memorial Par-Tay

Memorial-(noun)-Something designed to preserve the memory of a person/event

That’s according to Webster (The rat bastard! Once again…another blog). I’m going to get a bit personal here for a moment and I hope you don’t mind. I think about death quite often. Not in a Sylvia Plath or even Steven King like manner. I think about it because it has been a major part of my life. My mother died my freshman year of college, my father passed two years later and my grandmother, the matriarch of the family, left us three years after that. Who knows the numerous ways that has affected me. I was forced to deal with mortality at a time when I was trying to deal with myself and find out who I was. I can’t say that the search is over but dealing with these deaths did teach me a lot. And also forced me to re-evaluate some things. Small things lose their urgency and big things don’t seem as big. I even stopped giving a damn about life for a few years (yet another blog).  What I want to speak on today deals with how we memorialize or in my opinion trivialize death.

When Memorial Day rolls around some look at it as just a long weekend. Some take the time to mourn the troops we have lost (rightfully so). While others spend the day paying tribute to lost loved ones. Me, well I have a problem with Memorial Day. Don’t get me wrong I completely understand and feel the need for such a day. My problem is with us only taking one day out of the year to celebrate the lives of those who have left and the way we celebrate. One day for cookouts, bike rally’s and sleeping in is not the way to show our loved ones that we remember them.

A memorial, by definition, is supposed to be a remembrance of that person’s life on earth. With the number of troops who willingly sacrificed themselves (not just this war…and don’t get me started) for reasons we can never judge, even 365 days isn’t enough to do them justice. One day is almost insulting. Everyday should be a monument to their selflessness. Most people will step on an old lady to catch a cab or subway, and we’ve had soldiers who have thrown themselves on grenades to save one person. We celebrate them with floats and char-broiled food. And not just the troops, we all have lost loved ones that deserve recognition. Am I the only one who sees something wrong? Not only do we just designate a day to remember, we don’t even truly celebrate.

Now this is a personal philosophy of mine; but why mourn? I lived with my grandmother for four years and I’m still realizing to this day that she was right about most things. She said to me once, “I have a ball everyday that God allows me to see. So, when he calls me home I want to have a ball then too!.” Please believe that we partied at her funeral. It was a celebration of seventy-seven wonderful years of life. My grandmother could never be described as somber or sad; so why should her funeral be that way? Why not take the time to truly relish in the good memories that you still have, champion their life, and give it celebrity? Those who willingly put themselves in harms way for the sake of others deserve the red carpet and lavish ceremonies. Your loved ones deserve parties with people dancing in cages and ice sculptures of whatever. Give them the biggest party they have ever been to, dead or alive.

Instead we fawn over celebrities and when their getting married…or having a baby…or gaining weight. Think about it.

So, I’m saying it now. Stop Memorial Day. Make it a Memorial Party all year!

I.M. Haight

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