Screenshots.

Since I haven't been on here lately. I decided to treat you all to things I've saved on my computer for one reason or another. These are clips of screenshots I've taken. This is the stuff I save. The stupid shit. Obviously.

How does the Internet know we have a mouse problem? And since it knows, why the hell isn't it doing a damn thing about it? I hate technology.

Before I moved to New York, I would see this girl on the Opening Ceremony website and daydream about how lovely she is. I told myself that if I ever found her I'd marry her. Well I've found her and I've stared at her for several long periods of time. She hasn't said "Yes" yet but she also hasn't said "No." So you're sayin' I have a chance.

This guy just cried for exactly 30 minutes. That's art. And that's pathetic.

Here's a perverted idea I had.

Then took it to a whole different level.

Then quickly got back to hating myself. That's the storyline of my life.

Ashton Kutcher isn't cool. And apparently neither are we.

Apparently I told Courtney that these bitches are bitches. They are. Goddamn bitches

.

Look at me. Getting an A+ on the Urophobia final exam.

I know my buddy Jan did this just to try to get a free wedding out of it. Here's an idea Jan, don't sign your life away. Or do it. I love listening to some quality complaining.

Where's Josh? Oh there he is. Glowing in the dark.

Do I really look like Al? That's cool. He's a sexy motherfucker. Hmm. Inappropriate name to call him. Oh well.

Goddamnit. Insane homeless people are getting Missed Connections and I'm not. That's starting to sound about right.

You said it Courtney. Actually. I said it. Well. I made you say it.

The Internet knows that these two fat Mexicans need a trip to the mother country after being heroes.

Whistle while you twerk. Preferably out of your "rear end."

I'm in a gang. We're called The Minorities. Our gang colors are all shades of brown. From light to dark to extra crispy. And ignorance is our specialty. Believe that.

Mario thinks somebody is crazy enough to try to kill him. He could sit on half of Chicago if he wanted to. Actually he probably should, too many fucking hillbillies.

Who said Dominicans aren't good at anything? Oh wait. I did. I guess they are good at a few things. Making Josh smileys!!! And baseball. And bothering the shit out of me.

Workin' out while workin' it.

Close your eyes. Things are about to get a little bit disgusting. The other night I went out with a few friends to a place called SubMercer which is in the Mercer Hotel in SoHo. Let me pick up all those names I just dropped. I had a good time but the place isn't really my style. I don't feel very important when having to take an elevator and walk through a wine vault to get into some not-so-secret "lounge." I'll save that for all the cool people. The reason I'll remember SubMercer is because it will be the place where I came up with my MillIon Dollar idea.

The night was pretty laid back. I was feeling good and doing a good job avoiding people when my friend decided she wanted to dance. Now I know I talk a mean game about big butts and how much I fancy them. But let me tell you, I'm never prepared for them. I'm a small guy and I'm not very strong. Most people would call me a "pussy" and that's probably fair. I think if you weigh less than 140 lbs and you are male, you get placed into that category by default. So when she wanted to dance I thought we would leave enough room for the Holy Spirit in between us just so both of us would stay un-pregnant. (You know these Latinas are mad fertile.) So I was standing against the wall when she struck. At first it just started off as dancing but then the Jenny-From-The-Block came out of her and she started puttin' it on me. I was trapped. I couldn't move. Even though I had trouble breathing I let her do her thing and after it was all said and done I needed to take a seat because of how lightheaded I was. Stop being a pervert, it's not because of that. It's because when she was workin' it she really was suffocating me. It felt like a football player was giving me a bear hug. If you're having trouble picturing what it looked like. Here it is.

Sorry. I know this looks extremely perverted but we had all of our clothes on. And yes my waist is that thin. And yes she was giving a thumbs up! Well. Maybe.

I felt like the jaws of life was wrapped around me. (Why haven't Rappers called it the Jaws Of Life yet?) After limping home (with a huge smile on my face) I laid in my bed and passed out immediately. I was exhausted. After 8 full hours of sleep I woke up and tried to move. I couldn't. My abs were unbelievably sore and I had to roll instead of rise out of bed. The whole day I had trouble laughing and sitting up straight. This is when I realized that Brown Girls With Big Butts could be the latest Ab Workout.

These things are so 90's! Get a 6-pack instantly with a Brown Girl With A Big Butt! All you have to do is stand there and put on some rap music! If you want to bring your workout to a higher level just put on rap music that is more gangster! You'll feel the burn instantly!

Greg Oden, you idiot! This girl ain't brown enough to give you the ab workout you're looking for! Step yo game up!

So you see. I'm currently in the market to sell off Brown Girls With Big Butts. Maybe I'll have an infomercial where there will be a few before and after shots and some big butt'd women puttin' it on some dudes. Actually I don't need an infomercial. I'll just play every rap video ever. You get the idea.

Either this guy is really eager to get his workout in or he's just a pervert. Or maybe both.

Justin Bieber and Post-racial America.

Ah Justin Bieber. You little lesbian-looking thing. How did you get here? How did WE get here? When Barack Obama got elected President of The United States of America we constantly heard people say, "I never expected to see a black president in my lifetime." I don't think anyone expected it because even though most Americans are delusional, most aren't THAT delusional (yes, they are, but in different ways). So it was indeed a wild shock. Recently I have been thinking a lot about what has happened since and I begin to wonder if it is/was one of the most shocking moments of my life. It isn't. You know why? Because of this Justin Bieber thing.

Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined a world where badass Black Rappers and Teenage White Girls would have had anything in common. I just couldn't picture little teenage white girls basing their entire lives around Clothes, Bank Rolls, and Hoez. And I couldn't picture gangster ass black rappers whining to their Mom's about allowance money or trying to figure out how to install a tampon. Real Gangsters don't use tampons. They use rolled up Benjamins. OK, that's a lie! I have no idea what they use. Not only do these rappers and girls have something in common these days. They share a LOVE for something. And that something is Justin Bieber.

Ludacris, Lil' Twist, Soulja Boy, Raekwon (The Chef), and my main man Kanye West have all collaborated with Justin Bieber. Lil B has made a song about him. And I'm sure in the near future we're going to see much much more. So what does all of this mean? Well for now, it's a good example of what Hip-Hop has turned into: Pop music. Not all of it is that way, but it seems to be the direction it's going. But what's next? Is there something bigger on the horizon? Is Justin Bieber going to start saying, "nigga"?

Think about it. Is Justin Bieber the key to Post-racial America? Are historians going to look back one day and say, "That great artist Justin Bieber not only blurred the line between male and female, he also made it alright for overprivileged white people to say 'Nigga' and black people got over it pretty quickly because all of their favorite rappers quickly signed on to the Bieber-movement." I would really love it if Bieber would drop the word into one of his songs about eating too much candy, or not having permission to have pop with dinner. We could hear Raekwon (The Chef) and Kanye say, "I mean it's just a word. C'mon. Give the little guy...girl?...a chance." And before you know it, all these little bitches will be saying it.

You can barely even see Kanye in this picture...

“He’s not really an a--hole like everyone makes him out to be. I mean, he can, he can do bad things, but he’s really generally a good guy.” Bieber continued with, ““He can make bad decisions, you know, as well as everyone can but generally I think he is a good guy." - Justin Bieber

That's great Bieber. The world should hold your little 16 year-old opinion of Kanye West as a true testament of the man's character. The sad thing is, we do. If all of these rappers approve of this kid then where are we at as a society? Are we blurring the lines of class and race? Let's put it this way. Can you imagine Notorious B.I.G. saying, "This Bieber-thing motherfucker is where it's at. I wanna collaborate with that lil nigga." Of course not. The only thing that those two would have in common would be their love of candy.

I don't think Justin Bieber is going to start saying 'nigga' anytime soon. It would just be bad business. But I wouldn't be surprised if he let it slip and everyone came to his rescue. I hope that day comes in my lifetime (you got 6 years Bieber). Not because I think it would actually contribute anything to "Post-racial America" but because I don't know if I've ever heard a little white Canadian/guy/girl/lesbian/singer thing say the word "nigga." Has it ever happened in history? And will it happen in the future? Only time will tell.

My good friend Dan.

Strange Teddy.

One thing I like about my job is that I get to talk to strangers all day. Of course, like everyone else, I hate strangers, not because they're strange but because they're not strange enough. The only people I tend to be short with (holy shit, that is one expression I can never use...for obvious reasons) are the people that say, "Can you hurry up? I'm in a rush." Those words automatically trigger my 'hangin' out' mode and I take 3 times the amount of time I would normally take to ring them up and send them on their way. If you're in a rush, what the hell are you doing shopping? Why is anyone in a rush? Do you really want to get back to that mediocrity you call Life in such a hurry? Does cutting out coupons really need to happen right this instant? Well, I guess it might if they're about to expire, but you get my point.

I guess I like talking to these strangers because I know it's only going to last a few minutes, then with a bit of luck I'll never see them again. Occasionally, there will be someone so strange that I'll find myself thinking about it hours after our conversation. It's usually when a person comes up to the register who could either be a guy or a girl or both. The other day it happened and I had no idea if I should say "she" or "he" when I was talking to my supervisor in front of her(him?). Those meetings get old though. My favorite are the top-notch weirdos.

It's policy at my job to check an ID if the back of a credit card isn't signed. A few days ago a very Chinese looking woman plopped down a bunch of bullshit she didn't need and handed me a credit card. After scanning everything and folding it, I took the card and looked at the back. No signature. I asked for an ID and it became quickly apparent that she had no idea what I was talking about. (Most people don't.) So I made my best attempt at sign language, but how do you mime "Identification Card"? You just end up drawing a rectangle with your fingers and smiling a bunch which is actually sign language for "Box. Smile. Box. Smile. Box. Smile. I Am A Fucking Idiot." She giggled a bunch and then waved over a really strange looking guy. I liked the guy immediately. He was kind of fat, wore mid-calf white sock, New Balance shoes, and an amazing American Flag shirt on. Oh yea I forgot to mention this. He had a Teddy Bear.

Yes. I said it.

A Teddy Bear.

It wasn't one of those obnoxious Teddy Bears that guys win for their girlfriends at the carnival. Even though the guy had the necessary outfit on, I don't think he had just come from any sort of amusement park or carnival. No, I think this Teddy Bear of his was HIS. It looked worn, like it had seen better days. As he handed me his ID, I fumbled it and found myself unable to look at it. I was too enamored with Mr. (Mrs.?) Teddy Bear. As they walked away hand in hand my mind wondered and wandered. I had so many questions.

• When did he start carrying this Teddy Bear around?
• Did he take it into the bathroom with him?
• How did he hold it while he was taking a leak? A dump?
• Where did he get it from?
• Did he ever have to wash it?
• Is it considered a carry-on when he travels?
• Did he talk to it?
• Did he fake feed it?"
• If he walked around with this Teddy Bear all day can we assume he didn't sleep with it at night? Because that seems kind of selfish if this Teddy Bear never got a break.
• What if he had a job interview? Did he bring it with him?
• Was it from his childhood? Why didn't his parents tell him it wasn't a good way to pick up chicks?
• Or was it?

Obviously it's not a good way to pick up chicks. It was really obvious to me that this guy bought his wife from China. And by the looks of her, I assume he got quite a deal out of the 'Clearance' section of the catalogue. Maybe it was Buy 1 Get 1 Half Off. Or maybe it was just part of the agreement. Some little Chinese guy (maybe the woman's father) who thought it would be purely evil to make the pervert carry around an embarrassing Teddy Bear for the rest of his life. Then again, a guy who is ready and willing to buy a wife from China is probably not easily embarrassed.

This Antique Steiff Teddy Bear (whatever that is) is going for nearly $1000. I can't even imagine what kind of trim a Teddy Bear this expensive would get you. Actually, in a logical world, the more expensive a Teddy Bear, the less chance a woman will talk to you. But we all know this world is far from "logical." Actually it's a lot more like a nightmarish bullshit fairytale where everyone is pretending and avoiding reality. I guess this guy was the first to realize it. And he deals with it as best as he can. By carrying his Teddy Bear around and loving every second of it.

Mr. Steiff Teddy Bear might be 100 years-old but he still has a goddamn crotch.

Shining Brightly.

Skin cancer is deadly. I'm brown so I never thought I'd have to worry about it. That was until I read an article that stated that even though brown people are less likely to get skin cancer, the cases are more severe when they do get it. We're better than white people at staying away from cancer but we're far worse at surviving. Actually we're just better at dying.

I spent the past 13 summers standing outside slaving away for white people at Ridgemoor Country Club. Listening to them talk about cheating on their wives and screwing people out of millions was never really entertaining, but I'm greedy and I got paid well so I stuck it out. Every single day I was out in the sun, not wearing sunscreen thinking, "I hope this sun roasts these asshole white people." Then I forgot all of these people had the antidote to all sicknesses. It's called MONEY. (Brown people might know it as "Illa Scrilla" and all sorts of other crazy names we've come up with mostly because we never see it and need to come up with a new name for it when we come across it.) I don't have any money so I'm not well-suited to having a skin cancer career, even though I've been building my resume for the past decade caddying. This summer I decided to make sure I didn't get a tan. I've been wearing long sleeves and a straw fedora with a big brim to make sure I'm in the shade all of the time. And so far it's worked. Not only am I not super tan like I usually am in the summer months, I kind of think pale Marty doesn't have to worry about people thinking he's going through their pockets, fishing around for their wallets. I feel trusted.

Ain't gonna get a job with all that color.

My whole, "Stay Light Brown" campaign came to an end today. I hung out in the sun all day with my new brown friend. We walked and talked and laughed and sighed. It was great. I really enjoyed myself. But why did I feel this way? Then I remembered. What do we do best? (Don't you dare say 'Fail at school' or 'Take advantage of government assistance.') We hang out in the sun! We're really good at it. Just go to your local park and watch all the brown people barbecue, play sports, and talk shit. Brown people love being in the sun. We're solar powered. So, it's inevitable. I'm getting browner. And I'm starting to feel more like myself. The Sun is shining down on me. Brighter than ever. And boy does she feel marvelous.

You think it's a game?

I'm going to keep this short and sweet. I am so insecure that when I turn off my iPod I make sure it is playing a gangster ass rap song. If you can guess why, then I owe you a kiss on the lips because you've really figured me out. I do this in order to make sure that if I happen to lose my iPod, whoever Finds it will think, "Man, this dude must have been one badass motherfucker."

This is one of my picks. As soon as the Finder puts this on they'll think, "Goddamn this is my fucking jam." Then they'll think, "The dude who owned this iPod musta been a real soulful ass crazy motherfucker." I like that.

Here's another one of my recent favorites. The finder would put this on and think, "This dude must love thinking about what's in his closet. I bet he's got clothes, bank rolls, and hoez in his closet." Nope. Crunchy balled up Kleenexes. Mouse traps. And old Dorito bagz.

These are just a few examples. So you see I'm not nervous that I'll be devastated if I lose my personal property. I'm worried what the person who Finds my iPod will think of me. I'm afraid of what the hypothetical Finder might think of me if a completely hypothetical situation (that I created in my little stupid mind) unfolds exactly the way I think it would. Is that the 7th degree of separation?

Are you wondering why I have to change my music in the first place? You think I just listen to badass Hip-Hop 24/7? I used to. But I can't. I need Ray J. Yea I said it. Unfortunately, his picture shows up every time I play it. I can't let a Finder think I'm some sorry little brown girl with a big bumper. (I wish.) I have to change the song. I can't stand to think that One Wish is the soundtrack to my life. Unfortunately it is.

Change the song. You never know who might be listening.

Don't look so sad Ray J. You'll find your shirt.

You might be asking, "Well what if someone steals your iPod and knows it's yours, they'll know you're just a little 4-eye freakazoid." You're an asshole. Real Gangsters don't get robbed. We rob. Bitch.