Damn.

Take a look at my passport picture.

Yea that's me. Long flowing hair. Every woman's dream. I finally managed to get someone to check the safe at the bar I was at the night I lost my passport. I thought it was a long shot but by some strange stroke of luck it was there. Both my passport and my "idea" book (I really need to think of a new name for that) were sitting there safely. Remember when I said I had some "gems" in my "idea" book? Well. Here are a few. (They are in italics. My present thoughts about these "gems" are in bold.)

• "You never really know someone until you digest their farts." That is the first thing written in the notebook.
• "There comes a point in every short man's life where you just need to face the facts. Too. Small. To. Rape." Yep. That sounds about right.
• "If Groupon offered a deal for cheap doctor's appointments what the hell would the line look like?" My guess? Fat. Brown. And Hilarious. Like Cedric The Entertainer.
• "List of things I could change to get more girls. 1) Body. 2) Money. 3) Penis?"
• "You'll never guess what happened!" That's right I'll never guess because I don't give a flying fuck.
• "This thing stopped the Cold War! - (my ass)" I have no idea what this means or why I wrote it down.
• "I let two girls sit down in one of those double seats on the train. They both stared at me for the rest of the ride. One was hot. The other was fat AND Asian. What would I do if I saw a "Missed Connection" that was obviously about me in this scenario if the description of the girl was really vague?" Sit around and think about it for years. And probably abuse myself to my mental picture of the hot one.
• "Why do fat/pale white girls who are into shitty "metal" (System Of A Down, Papa Roach) and wrapping their sweaters around their waists always end up dating short fat Mexican guys that are obviously into death metal (and nachos)?" Hmm. I wonder if I'll ever get desperate enough to try and pass off as a full-on Mexican to try and tap that lonely fat/angry white girl department. This is my LAST RESORT!
• "Free Courtney Tapper shirts." Pictured below.

• "He is so manly he probably has 2 penises. And one of them is probably connected to a female family member of mine." I hope this is in reference to this unbelievably manly Army dude I saw and not the bum who pissed himself on the train.

As you can see, I might need to give up on these dreams to "work in comedy." Who would ever pay me money to come up with this horseshit?

I lost my passport.

I lost my passport and my "idea" notebook which had some gems in it. Fuck.


I made this video a few years ago and it has over 200,000 views.

I mean SHIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEETTTTTTTTTT.

137 pounds.

I weighed myself yesterday. 137 pounds. It's the first time I weighed myself since being back home in Chicago. There I weighed in at about 145 pounds. I wasn't as lean as I am now but I was a lot stronger. The reason I'm bringing this up is because a lot of people have been commenting (to me in person, because you assholes don't know how to leave comments on this) about the pictures I've put up (especially the Hot ones). I'll let you know I'm doing alright and eating just fine. Actually, I'm eating more than ever which has been really fun and amazing! (That's what single lonely people do besides the other cool stuff Humans are capable of doing.) Here is what I ate yesterday:

Yogurt
Salad with a can of tuna (in olive oil)
A huge amount of nuts and raisins. (To the point where I had to lay down because I had such a bad stomach ache. I don't know how you gay guys do it. Nuts give me tummy issues...)
A half bag of Baked Jalapeno Cheese Crunchies
Soy Chorizo and 3 Eggs. (Soy chorizo because the real chorizo I've found does not compare to the shit we have in Chicago. I'm still on the hunt!)

See? My food game is on point.

Seeing what I weighed actually kind of bummed me out. Not because I give a shit about the number. Because of this...

I'm about 5'6", at least that's what they told me when I had good health insurance. If you notice the chart I'm about the size of a Medium Framed woman who is 5'6". Luckily I like the little brown girls with...well you get the point. I'm not exactly sure what "Medium Frame" means but I do like girls that are shorter than me (when you're this small, anything that makes you feel a little bit more like a man is a gift). I just don't know if a Large Framed 5'0" woman is something that interests me. Does that mean she's built like a beach ball? I know you're probably saying, "Marty you don't have to date a woman that weighs the same as you." And you're right. But here are 3 of my most serious Life Rules.

1) Never trust anyone as brown or browner than you.
2) Never touch a woman who weighs more than you.
3) If you eat Chipotle today. Make sure tomorrow's schedule is completely free. And make sure the toilet paper is soft.

So you see it is important. I guess my worst case scenario (a woman that weighs as much as me) is going to be a Large Framed mama that is in between 5'0"-5'5". Or. I could gain some weight and not be such a little bitch anymore. Nah. Ain't gonna happen.

Most Annoying Thing Ever.

What is the thing that annoys you the most? Lying? Cheating? Men who don't leave the toilet seat down? Is it the fact that McDonald's breakfast ends at 10:30AM? All of the above? It's a tough question to answer. Everything pisses me off and I think about all of it all of the time and I'm not even close to figuring out what I find the MOST annoying. It obviously has something to do with White People. Or Brown People. Or Fat People. Actually, it has something to do with People. I just don't know what.

Today at work a customer walked passed me on her phone yelling, "...and he always leaves me voicemails which is THE MOST ANNOYING THING EVER!" I was speechless. I'm sure we can do better than "leaving voicemails" as The Most Annoying Thing Ever. I mean c'mon. Doesn't this lady know there are whole races/ethnicities that revolve around being annoying? If she knew something about anything she'd know that this is 100% not the most annoying thing. Not now. Not ever. Actually, I bet this lady was just coming up with a bunch of justifications for why it was OK to dump her loving boyfriend. Just looking for excuses and the best thing she could come up with is voicemails. And it's obvious he loved her. He left her a voicemail which makes me believe he actually thought about her when he wasn't with her (which is more than most guys do) and he probably called to say "Hello" because he was having a shitty day and needed to hear her voice, well, there might have been a gun to his head and he might have been forced to leave her a voicemail which is also possible (and would be no surprise at all if it turned out to be the truth). He didn't stand a chance. She dumped her boyfriend because she got asked out for a drink by the guy at her job who is a complete fucking asshole but played college football and has amazing obliques. She's really trying to hold back her gut feeling that's telling her, "This work asshole doesn't care about you. He's just looking for a hole to fill." And so is she. The hole that is in her heart because she has played the Popularity Contest her whole life and can't accept the fact that the person she is actually in love with is a perfectly normal guy who has a few nerdy friends but is always there for her. He's just an average looking guy that just isn't the handsome guy with a perfect smile and great job security (and totally amazing obliques). "...and he always leaves me voicemails which is THE MOST ANNOYING THING EVER!" So she says.

The Most Annoying Thing Ever is that this is what people spend their time talking about (on the phone or online, never in person) because they are too afraid to deal with spending a few hours away from all of the people that tell them the things they want to hear in attempt to make everyone feel a little bit less alone. People like "Ms. Voicemails Are The Most Annoying Thing Ever" are the Most Annoying Things Ever.

Actually scratch that. Reggaeton is The Most Annoying Thing Ever.

Don't believe me?

Daddy [J]ankee < Voicemails.

Al-Truism.

I know I make fun of my dad a lot.

But sometimes he is right on the money.

Wedding Season.

IT'S WEDDING SEASON! Actually, wait, is it? I have no idea when wedding season is. Most likely because you need a DATE way before you have to consider marriage. So I really don't know why I brought up weddings. Now I'm all depressed and shit. Not because I'm a lonely white girl that wants to get married more than anything in life. But because I just realized I'm out of fresh Kleenex and don't really feel like going through the garbage to pick out some that are "good enough" (think peter scrapes and blisters).

Anyways. My cousin got married last summer and I never bothered looking through the pictures until today. Is that something people do? Look through wedding pictures and cry over their friends/family getting married? What the fuck for? I really feel out of touch with reality when it comes to this sort of shit. I mean seriously. Do you really care that much? I thought weddings were places single people went to try to get laid. And wedding albums were places where single people (and unhappily married men, which are all of them) lay themselves (goddamn empty Kleenex box!) while looking at pictures of all the women they tried to lay but failed miserably with. Am I talking too loud?

Am I bad person for not giving a shit about weddings? I mean I don't want to take anything away from my cousin. He married a cool girl (woman?) and I'm sure he's happy. I wish them the best. But seriously, the only reason I brought this up is to post the picture below. It always all comes back to Marty.

Where's Waldo? Oh he's over there. How hard is he stuntin? Hard. As. Fuck.

Oh. My. Goodness.

I usually don't like posting pictures of people who are not me (there are many). But look at Ms. Lauryn Hill. STUNTIN. SO. HARD.

Remember Ray J?

Look at the two top-rated comments I circled. They really went in two separate directions on why they love Ray J and his video/song. And get your ass out of the rain Ray J. Have some goddamn self-respect! Oh wait, you're Ray J. Nevermind.

Ray J is killing that shiny-ass-lip-game. Seriously. This guy doesn't even need a chain with that Bling Blaow. He's blinding bitchez with his lips.

Sunglasses are a must when Ray J's lips walk into the room.

It's a Photo, Shoot.

Depending on what day it is and depending on which girl I want to impress at work (and outside of work) you might catch me completely dressed down or completely dressed up. I never have set days of when I'm going to wear something nice or days I'm going to straight bum it. I tend to dress nicer towards the end of the week in a pathetic attempt to get the ladiez nice and slippery (for other dudes) for the weekend. And then there are some days where I'm having my diarrhea period and just feel like wearing a hoodie and some shitty ass shoes.

Since I've moved to New York I've been asked to have my picture taken probably around 10 times. Most times it's little girls from states that are just now getting into Abercrombie shirts and Von Dutch hats, who have never seen anybody wear a bowtie. Although I know their intent is harmless and naive, I don't ever let them take my picture. When they go back home and tell their boyfriends (who are just now getting into Lacoste polos and Affliction t-shirts) that they saw their first, "black boy with a bowtie" I want to force them to use their imaginations. I can't make it easy for them. A few other times it's been random people asking for a picture. I sometimes agree. It all depends on what country I think they are from. France, Japan, actually any Asian country is a "NO!" Any country south of the border is a "YES" and if the person is a cute woman (never happens) then forget all of what I just said, she's getting a picture. New York Magazine took about a hundred pictures of me (I'm not exaggerating) one day when I was dressed up and made me sign all kinds of waivers and fill out my information. I guess they (rightly) decided that I was too ugly for their Lookbook and probably went with somebody much cooler. Oh well. And today, my latest photographer was a cute girl who said she was doing a "fashion project" and would "really appreciate" it if I could pose for a picture. She could have asked me to sign over my will and I would have done it. (The joke would have been on her because all she would have gotten is about $42, an almost-done box of Kleenex, and a couple of glazed donuts.) I let her take a few pictures and I was on my way.

What are all of these people looking for? One day I can wear an outfit that makes me look like a Homo Pimp and the next day I can wear an outfit that makes me look like a reject and I still get asked to be photographed. I won't let myself change the way I dress in an attempt to be featured on some ridiculous fashion blog (yes I will) because I have no idea what these people are looking for and why bother? I guess what I've learned is that no matter what I am wearing, this "swag" doesn't pause. Believe that.

Homo Pimp.

Bum.

To Tweet or Not To Tweet.

I don't really understand Twitter at all. With all the @'s and the #'s and the RT's. I thought "RT" meant "Real Talk." I seriously did. So I thought people were just saying, "Yea, Real Talk" on the bullshit somebody else posted but nobody actually cares about. R. Kelly has forever ruined me. I occasionally look at some of my friends' Twitters (that sounds perverted) and find myself amused at what people use it for. It's usually used in an attempt to be clever and funny (which is what I'd use it for) or to pickup girls/dudes (what I'd be using it for, girls not dudes). What ever happened to calling people on the phone? Or not sharing every single thought you had with everyone?

After looking at the Top 10 "Most Followed" I laughed (and cried) at what I came across. Apparently Lady Gaga and Justin Bieber have cooler shit to say than Barack Obama. I don't mind Lady Gaga and I'm sure she uses it to promote her music and g-rod rights. But Justin Bieber? Really? What does that little lesbian really have to say? He doesn't even know what German is. I think more people should be bothered that Americans (and some people across the world) are "Following" Britney Spears, Kim Kardashian, Taylor Swift, and Ashton Kutcher. Do you actually think any of these people have anything to say in real life? Well I guess they don't have to say anything interesting because they're all rich. The amount of money you have usually correlates with how much people will listen to you. So will my broke ass be able to get people to listen? Probably not.

If I do sign up, I probably won't be "Following" anybody, not because I'm avoiding it but because I don't have a smartphone and I won't get your little updates anyways.

The Skit.

Courtney about to kill it on the mic. (From Josh's Tumblr)

Yesterday we had our first day of shooting for our new short called "The Skit" and I must say things went well. Of course it never goes exactly the way you envision it but I think we got some funny shots. I was nervous as shit beforehand mostly because I knew I was going to have to act. If you know anything about me then you know that I'm terrified of acting. Looking back on it though, I thought I did an alright job and it was actually pretty fun. We still have a few more things to shoot before we can piece it altogether. I hope to have it all shot within the next week or two.

Washing The Stank Off.

To be honest, I don't know how to take care of myself. I mean I know how to take a shower and wipe my own ass but there are basic things that most normal people know how to do that I just guess at. For example, no one ever taught me how to shave. Now this isn't an "I Hate My Dad" moment. I don't lie awake in my bed thinking, "The least that little Chinese dude could have done for me is showed me how to shave this neck-stache thing I got going on." No I'm proud to say that he had more important things to do and I'm happy he thought I could figure out how to shave by myself. I think I got it. But when it comes to laundry I don't think I have as much insight. I put my clothes in, pour some soap on them, and hit the "Go" button. (There is no "Go" button.) And most times, everything comes out alright. I mean sometimes the colors fade or things get permanently creased, but for the most part, everything smells a bit better and that's what matters most. So if there is a small stain that isn't taken care of by simple detergent then I'm lost. My mother had a way of getting out any stain in the world. Polish Sausage juice, Chorizo grease, or donut glaze (obviously the only stains in the world) would always be taken care of by her. For me, it's different. I just throw the shit out because I don't have a clue.

This is my dilemma. A female object at work yesterday thought it would be funny to rub her crotch on my backside while I was standing at the Check Out. Of course I didn't know what was going on because it's never happened to me before, but I can't say I hated it. (I loved it.) When I turned around she was laughing and I laughed too.

I didn't have a brown crayon to color her in. Sorry.

I then realized that I was wearing my nice jeans and that I was never going to be able to get the Stank out of them. I mean any other pair of pants fine, just throw them shits in the laundry machine, pour some soap, and hit the "Go" button. But these jeans aren't produced anymore. And they're selvedge. Which means you don't wash them. And I can't afford to have them dry cleaned. The way I usually kill the smell is by waiting until I get rashes on my legs, then I throw them into the freezer to kill the bacteria. I can't throw jeans that have Puerto Rican Stank on them in the freezer where my food (and Josh's) is. The food that I put into my mouth and chew and swallow and digest that's then turned into Energy that keeps this misery going. Could you imagine if I was fueled up on PR Stank? What kind of person would I be? I'm already pissed off and filled with bullshit. Add a little of that Stank and who the hell knows what would happen.

So I looked at the tag when I got home for cleaning instructions. Nowhere does it say how to get the Stank out of your jeans. I mean I'm assuming you'd have to heat water far past the boiling point and still add all sorts of rare minerals to even begin to combat the Stank-ness. I don't have that option. We live in a shitty apartment in Brooklyn, our water doesn't get that hot. So I'm totally screwed. Jeans need to start putting these warnings on their tags. (I always love their little iron icon.)

This symbol would be a good warning. "Do not get Stank on this denim" should be one of the instructions.

So these jeans are as good as done. I'm about to throw them in the garbage. I guess it's not a big deal in the grand scheme of things. They're just jeans. My real worry is that this girl rubbed her crotch on my backside. Now I've come to understand that brown people are a lot more fertile than white people (see "Mexicans") so now I worry that she might be pregnant. I mean we were in public so of course we both had clothes on. But I'm just not sure about how strong Stank is. Does it absorb into your skin like this creepy shit?

(Way to fuck up the soap situation Josh.)

Or is it more like this?

Frightened Ching Chongs. I can relate.

Beware Of Stank.

Straight Huggin' It.

What once started as a joke in high school has lead to something very serious. Don't Touch Me. In high school I remember being confused when guys gave girls hugs for no apparent reason at all. Well I wasn't naive, I did understand that the apparent reason was to rub mid-pubescent privates on the stomachs (chins if the girls were short) of fully developed girls. It just wasn't my style. So before long when somebody would even pat me on the back I'd stop mid-sentence and say, "Wait. What was that? What just happened?" And they would almost always reply, "What? What happened? What do you mean?" I'd make a big deal out of it. "Did you just touch me? What just happened there? That shit is going to cost you. Who do you think you are? You think you have the privilege to go around touching any part of my body with any part of your body?" Of course the Toucher would become confused and nervous at which point I'd laugh and say I was kidding. Well, I'm all grown up now. And now I'm serious. Don't Touch Me.

Since I'm back in high school (my job is High School 2.0) and meeting new people every day, I've once again experienced Touching. (Lord knows not a single soul was trying to Touch me in my College Years. Ladies I'm talking to you. But not really, because I know you don't read this.) Once again I see guys offering up hugs like it's still in style (is it?) and I'm still puzzled. Not because I don't know the intentions but because the girls are comfortable with it. Ladies, THEY ARE TRYING TO RUB THEIR PEEPEEz ON YOUR TORSO!

What's different now is that some girls (obviously the ones that aren't right in the head) are coming at me with their arms extended. I have no idea how to respond. Not only have I not experienced being called "Hot" before but I've also never been offered hugs from strangers. OK. That might be a lie. I've hugged a homeless dude once (a few times). But it's not the same. They weren't trying to rub their privates on my chest (or chin, I'm short) and I wasn't trying to rub mine on them (except for that one time). So what do I do when these girls come at me like freight trains? I hug them. It might be the most awkward, fidgety hug they've ever experienced but I haven't really gotten any complaints. But then again I'm not allowed to read the suggestions in the Suggestion Box. I can see it now, "Why does the little weird looking guy gyrate his hips when he hugs then walk away hunched over with his ass sticking out? Inappropriate! Next time I'll be sure to ask someone else what the return policy is."

So you see I'm already lost. What made things even more confusing was the fact that a dude came towards me with outstretched arms the other day and I totally freaked out. I mean nobody ever has a crush on me but I would bet what little money I have that this dude has a crush on me. Why would I want to hug a dude I barely know? I have a hard enough time hugging hot girls that for some totally fucking crazy reason want to hug me. So what did I do in that situation? I gave him the Brown Girl 4-Snap and screamed. Let me show you what I mean.

This is a reenactment of what I saw. Oh yeah, I should mention the dude wears heels...

This was how I initially responded.

And here starts the Brown Girl 4-snap. It works in every situation. 1) "No."

2) "No."

3) "No."

4) "No. Girl, who do you think you're rollin' up on?!"

Make sure you say "No" as you snap. It's more dramatic. Oh yeah, use your best "Jenny From The Block" accent.

If you were paying attention you would have noticed that the dude came up to me with closed fists. I thought only high school girls who had crushes on you and wanted your privates to give them a tummy (or chin if they're short) massage went in for a hug with twisted closed fists. I mean it's never happened to me but I'm an observant guy. I've been (unsuccessfully) researching women the past 20 years and the closed fists is theirs. I have never seen a man approach anybody with closed fists unless they're trying to whoop that ass. Was I wrong to respond the way I did? Now the dude won't look at me. Should I care? Do I need more dudes in my life? Of course not.

I need more little brown girls with big butts in my life. I thought I told ya.

Why I Am The Way I Am.

I've decided to give you an idea of what I liked growing up. Things that have had a profound impact on my life. Things that have shaped me into the person (idiot) I am today. Are you ready?

I loved In Living Color when I was a kid. I still do.

Mother's Day.

There were so many "Happy Mother's Day" Facebook status updates today that I actually felt guilty that I considered waiting until tomorrow to call my mom and give her an update about how shitty my life has been. I mean it's "White People" shitty in that it's not really shitty at all but I have to make up problems just so I feel relevant. I mean if it was "Brown People" shitty I'd probably be rubbing my ball-sack (is ballsack hyphenated?) against the side of a tree (not in a perverted way, but in a pollinating way, how do you think new trees grow?) and drinking that Bumpy Face. But since calling your mom and telling her how much you appreciate her is what is expected, I made the phone call and...talked to my family.

My mother. My weird father. And that little girl is the baddest Puerto Rican in town. Always up to no good. It runs in the family.

Were all of those Facebook updates sincere? Shouldn't we show our parents respect everyday? I mean that's assuming we have good parents. And most of us don't. No seriously, most of our parents are totally fucking worthless. Mine aren't, that's why I'm not in the park fertilizing trees with my pecker or drinking Gin on a Sunday for no apparent reason. But let's look at the amount of assholes in the world. The greedy, worthless life ruiners that only think about themselves and contribute nothing to society besides headaches and more ignorant people. It's a vicious circle. Ignorance breeds ignorance. Do those mothers and fathers deserve a day? Probably not. Let's put some government money together and throw a big party for all of the fantastic mothers out there who raise their children to be respectful, hard-working, caring individuals who want to make the world a fun and better place. So maybe we should do some screening to see which moms actually deserve a day. If we did that, we'd probably only have to rent out a small banquet hall and get some Domino's (or do moms prefer Pizza Hut) pizzas to cover the "worthy" moms nationwide.

If your mother is loving and pleasant like my mom is, then by all means go out and scream "Happy Mother's Day!" as loud as you can. And if your mom doesn't deserve the "Greatest Mom In The World" plaque, respect her and treat her well anyways. And even if your mom totally sucks, wish her a "Happy Mother's Day!" and mean it, maybe she'll turn things around. Just make sure that if you are ever a mother (or father) that you deserve that day. Make sure the world would be a worse place if you were gone. Trust me, we have enough shitty mothers and fathers out there. We could use a few more great ones. I'm lucky enough to have both. I hope you are too.

Hot? Who? Me?

I'm not sure if I've been hesitating to take the job hunt more seriously because I'm lazy or because I secretly love my current job. There are very few things I like in life. That should be obvious. But I do like little brown girls with big butts (duh) and I do like diversity. My job has a good amount of both. So when I do leave, I'll be sad to go. Not because I'll miss all of the condescending remarks from the managers or the shitty customers but because I'll miss talking to all of the different characters I work with.

The other day my co-worker, a very small, very Puerto Rican, very big butt'd girl called me "Hot." I mean I guess the quote was, "Marty you know you're hot." So I guess that's not directly saying, "Marty you are hot!" but I'll take what I can get. I replied with the 5 W's (Thank you 2nd grade!). "Who? What? Where? When? Why?" That's how confused I was. Me...hot? What the hell is that supposed to mean? Now you might think I'm playing stupid but I was seriously perplexed. I didn't understand it. For hours I stood around thinking, "What could she possibly be talking about? Do I have something on my face? A booger in my nose? Is my fly open? Oh my fly is open! Ha. Well that couldn't possibly be what she was talking about. No human's vision is that good to notice that thing. What is 'hot'? Maybe it's Spanish for 'piece of shit pervert loser hobo-fucker asshole-smooch.' Yea that's probably what it is. God I want Chipotle." Again, I'm not kidding. This is pretty much a perfect example of the way my mind works.

The past few days I've sat around thinking about how this experience is something completely new. (If you're struggling with the idea of an experience being completely "new" think of a white guy dancing with rhythm to his favorite song one time in his life. Think about how he would feel.) I have never been called "Hot" in my entire life. Not once. Not even as a joke. Is that pathetic? I don't really think so because I guess most people are as ugly or uglier than me and they too probably have never experienced this phenomena. Well actually they probably have because most people are delusional and have delusional friends who always say the "right" thing. I can't stand when I see a group of hogs in the fitting room at work saying, "Wow you look so hot in that." Yea you look HOT. It's all the sweat pouring down your face and the fact that I can smell you from over here. It's 47 degrees out! What the hell are you sweating for? AND WHY DO THEY MAKE TIGHTS IN XXXL???

Let's look at the facts. I call women (and occasionally men) "Hot" on the regular. I think everyone everywhere knows the Victoria's Secret models are Hot. So let's compare. I tried to take relatively normal pictures of these 3 ladies but they are hard to come by because no picture with these heavenly creatures is "normal" to avoid the argument, "Well everyone can look hot after Photoshop." Totally not true. Photoshop is not Jesus. It can't make miracles.

Bar Rafaeli. Hot.

Marty. Not.

Adriana Lima. Hot. And she's pregnant.

Marty. Not. And I'm not pregnant. Yet.

Alessandria Ambrosio. Hot.

Marty. Not.

So there you have it. I've just proved that I should never be called "Hot." Ever. I still feel weird about the whole thing. I mean does it eventually wear off? Do Hot people get used to it? Actually probably not because they get whatever they want. Man.

I want Chipotle.



Since I haven't been putting too much effort into this blog I've decided to treat you to an essay I wrote when I first moved to New York City and couldn't believe the amount of Hot people I saw. It's called "If I Looked Good" please tell me what you think. I'd love feedback. Unless it's negative. Then fuck you. You think you can do better? I'm Hot. What are you?

Oh yeah. Don't read this to your kids as a bedtime story. Actually, please do. Maybe they'll never stop dreaming.

BHB. Big-Headed-Bitch? Big-Headed-Breezy?

I'm pretty sure Kelly Ripa lives next door to my job. I saw her TWICE today. That's about twice more than I wanted to see her. The first time I had to get out of the way as some idiot paparazzi snapped a photo of her. The last thing (or is it the first thing? I can never remember) the world needs is me ruining a shitty picture of Kelly. As soon as I stepped into work I regretted not acting like a minority. I really need to be more vigilant and turn up the ignorance when I come across celebrities I don't give a shit about. It just so turns out that when I left work she was outside again. This time she was dolled up and with twenty of her friends who probably can't read. (Not because they're women but because they're stupid.) So I seized the opportunity and yelled, "Kelly Ripa in the muh-fuckin' HOUSE!" Don't worry I added the Kanye-accent to it, which is really just me sounding even more like a Chicagoan. She didn't respond but as I walked across the street I turned around and caught her smiling at me.

You know what? I always thought she was a BHB. But I think her head just seems big because she is so skinny. I thought it'd be like an orange on a toothpick but it seemed proportional. Oh well. I hope I've inspired her to yell, "KELLY RIPA IN THE MUH-FUCKIN' HOUSE!" every time she enters a room. Those boring white people won't know what to do. Then again, they never do.

Osama.

What does Ja Rule think about all of this?