Let's get down to it...I went to Don Hill the other night to watch my friend Sarah's band perform. The band is called "In Interview" and they play pop music.  Sound in Don Hill's sucked,  could hardly hear the leader singer at all. But Sarah, who was on percussion, rocked!

On top of seeing the band play, there was an after party where it was said that "Resident DJ's spin New Indie Rock & Pop, Brit Pop, Post-Punk, Swedish pop, Girl Groups and more every 1st and 3rd Fridays of the month!"

Well shit everyone that knows me knows I can't turn down music, like The Cure, The Smiths, ABBA (that is the only swedish band I know) and the Spice Girls (the only girl band I know).  And the best thing of all is that I get to see White People Dance! 

White people dancing in a club is a phenomena, there are rules as too when white people can dance and be free:

1) There cannot be other ethnic groups around. I still don't think white people have gotten over the Eddie Murphy, dance like a white person skit from RAW. Cause they really do dance like that.

2) Weddings, notice only white people like "The Chicken Dance."

3) Grateful Dead concerts...I would necessarily call it dancing, but more like flailing around trying to swat the bees you think are chasing you cause you dropped bad acid.

Don't get me wrong, dancing can be a wonderful form of expression, but I draw the line between dancing and thrashing about like you have a gerbil crawling up your legs and he is about to take a nibble out your testicular area.

All of these different dances were being done at this after party at the same time and by the same people.  So I decided to embrace the "white part" of my ethnicity and party like it was 1987!

BTW I'm black from the waist down, I mean my knees get all ashy and I gotta use cocoa butter on them all the time.

There are some really good local urban legends, that I want to get you up to speed on:

If you are pregnant and you drink a glass of hot "Malta" you can give yourself an abortion. For my white, non new york sexy readers please click on Malta and you will know what it is.  This urban legend is FALSE I went Mythbusters style and tried it, hot, the only thing it did was keep me on the toilet for 20 minutes.  So if you are constipated, I have just given you an alternative medicinal remedy for it.  Your Welcome. The fact that I am not nor ever will be pregnant, lest an Act of God should not stand in the way of true science. 

A couple of years ago I tried out for the show and missed it by two questions. Pissed and determined, I have been trying ever since unfortunately with no success.  This year I decided to go in with no preparation to see if I could just wing it. WRONG! At PM I was sitting on my computer ready to type out answers to useless trivia questions with my awesome four finger typing style (who would have thought that the typing class I slept through in high school would actually be the only class that would be any use to me now. 

I know, I know, there are the book nerds out there among my sexy readers  who are screaming what about English and Math. Well if you are a reader of this site you see that english is definitely a second language when I write and hello Bill Gates invented spell check.  Math, addition subtraction multiplying stuff, shit you learn that in the fourth grade.  Long division doesn't count as math, that was created by the devil. Truth...you can look it up.

So I go to take this test and I breeze through the first 10 questions pretty easy, they have to do with politics and movies, I am good at those things.  But then they got to throw in the Goddamn opera question and the only answer I know is Luciano Pavarotti (R.I.P.), and that was definitely not the answer to this man wrote his only opera (I can't remember the name) in 1803.  Then there was the Ernest Hemingway question, there is always an Ernest Hemingway question. Problem was this time Ernest Hemingway was the answer and for the life of me I couldn't pull old Ernie out of my head.  Which then messed me up for two questions in a row. Then there were like two more book questions which I missed, one was a self help book question and if you know me you know that the best thing a self help book can do is help you wipe your ass if you run out of toilet paper.  Second question had to do with Jane Austin, not my favorite author in the world in fact she is not in my favorite 100 authors in the world and I really only know like seven.

Long and Short I think I did lousy, I only got to answer 42 out of 50 questions and for 2 of those answers I don't think my hairless white ass was the right answer.

So on Christmas Day I cooked that pork shoulder whose picture was in my last post. It was HUGE and it took almost 8 hours to cook. It fact it took so long and I was so tired of looking at it ALL DAY! We didn't eat it on Christmas and had leftovers instead. Nice...right?

So basically I have been eating it every meal since, giving some away to friends, feeding random guests who stop by Etc... Out of this one shoulder so far I have managed to make the following dishes: pork tacos, cuban sangwiches, Ramen soup with chopped pork and scallions, Rice with peppers and little chopped up pieces of that juicy delicious pork.

So I am down to the bone and with that I make a black bean soup. In said soup I put in a myriad of ingredients one of which is a spanish long pepper. So I am chopping up this pepper removing some of the vein and seeds so that the heat doesn't overpower the soup and I add it into the pot and the same time I have an overwhelming need to take a piss. So I put down the knife, go to the bathroom and take care of business.

About three minutes later I begin to feel a "burning sensation" on my wedding tackle.  And no, it is not "fire shooting out my dick" for all you Eddie Murphy fans out there.  This burning is starting to become really uncomfortable to the point where I am adjusting myself to try to find a position that doesn't hurt. And wouldn't you know it, it starts to burn hotter and in different places along my genitalia region/area/zip code.  

For the life of me I cannot figure out why my dick is burning really bad. Did I have sex with a Thai street hooker that I wasn't aware of.  Did I black out and spray Ben Gay on my nuts for shits and giggles?

After another five minutes of what can be described as pure agony I go to wash my hands and I realize that I have the pepper that I cut all over my hands.  GENIUS!!! I basically rubbed my meat and two veg with the scoville equivalent of a lit can of sterno.  So into a cold shower I go to remove this bane of my existence and I would like to inform of all of you that everything still works..in case you were wondering.

Even though we now have things like supermarkets and fresh, delicious, wonderful pork available to us 365 days a year, my parents and relatives still find it necessary to "Kill the Christmas Pig"  Don't get me wrong, I like this tradition, there is something primitive and satisfying about killing and butchering your own meal.  It is like hunting except you don't have to cover yourself in deer piss and sit in a blind freezing your nuts off trying to convince yourself that its fun.

I have taken part in this tradition and I kinda enjoyed it. I mean you have a whole different respect for your meal if you took part in the killing and butchering of the animal.

For those of you who say that pigs are smart animals and they can be just like dogs. Well if a dog was able to give us bacon, pernil, smoke pork shoulder...lets just leave it at that.  Oh yeah here's are some pictures for you my sexy carnivorous readers:

                                       AND DEAD!!!

                                         He's Huge!!!!  

               There is my Christmas Pork Shoulder

                         Not really edible 

The reforms were voted down by a margin of 51-49 percent.  Polls have indicated that there was a 20% no show of people from the poorer sections of Venezuela.  Chavez has garnered most of his support from the poor of Venezuela (where they outnumber the middle and wealthy class by 3 to 1).  They have also benefited the most from Chavist reforms, He has turned some of his petro-dollars to give them housing and education. 

I don't have enough space in my blog to debate numbers and why 20% of the people didn't turn out to vote; maybe they were up too late the night before at a pro-chavez rally and couldn't be bothered to show up.  Maybe the education that Chavez has given to them has taught them that "power tends to corrupt and absolute power corrupts absolutely" Many thanks go out to my parents for spending a god-awful amount of money on my college education so that I can finally use that quote.

Quick aside, my cousin was working the voting tables in Caracas where the votes from the entire country were tallied and the vote was a bit larger than 51-49, but the Chavistas "told" them as soon as they knew the referendum to be lost to "keep it close".  So there you go another rigged election, this time it was so that someone didn't lose that bad. Go figure.

BTW unless someone gets this man out of power soon, he will get this referendum passed by hook or by crook, mostly crook though. 

Sad story, right? Well maybe for you, my sexy readers, but not me, I laughed my motherfuckin ass off. Revenge had come although it did take two years for it to arrive. Allow me to elaborate, two summers ago I was up at the cape with Melanie and we decided to go jet-skiing. Problem 1, there was only one jet ski. Problem 2 she wanted to drive.  OK I though to myself she drives, I ride bitch but I do get to cop a feel on her lovely new breast implants. WINNER. ME.

We ride around for a while and all of a sudden she makes a sharp turn at top speed that I wasn't ready for and I go tumbling off into the water and POP! goes my shoulder. The pain is blinding due to the life vest tugging on my shoulder further pulling it out of place. 

Mel comes sweeping around looks at me and tells me to get in. When I tell her what had happened, she answers with something like, "take your tampon out and get on the ski" Manhood challenged, I get on the ski with considerable pain as every movement causing shooting pain through my arm and chest. After what seemed to be a the most bumpiest ride ever, every bump was so painful that I started to laugh because of the shooting pain.  BTW my defense against intense physical pain is uncontrollable laughter. Masochistic, I know.

We get back to the dock and she says she has to go inside to put some shoes on so that we can go to the hospital and put my shoulder back into place. TEN MINUTES LATER! She comes out with her shoes, a cute sun dress that shows off her boobs and makeup.  I look at her with the biggest WTF faces in the history of WTF faces and she goes, "what if I run into someone I know."  My first thought was, don't worry it God will even this out somehow, somewhere.  So what did we learn from this? Yes I have supernatural powers. 

Ok, I know what your thinking. Those last three items aren't Thanksgiving food, they are part of what Italians call "Sunday dinner" in Staten Island, New Jersey or whereever Italians are living these days. BTW I want to throw a social experiment out there, this week go up to any real italian person you know, we should all know at least one and ask them what they are going to eat for Thanksgiving. They will mention at least one if not all three of the italian dishes mentioned above. When you ask them about the Turkey, their answer will probably be, "oh yeah we gots one of dem too, the Turkey will be about 12 pounds." Here's the catch though, this turkey will feed about 30 people.

Here is the abridged italian version of the Story of Thanksgiving (translation in parentheses). When dose (those) pilgrims guys sat down with da (the) indians for their Thanksgiving meal togedah (together), Nonna (Italian Grandmother, who should be sainted even though she is still alive) brought out youge (plentiful) helpings of ziti with meatballs, broccoli rabe, some antipast (a platter that contains some cured meats such as salami and prosciutto with an assortment of italian cheeses such as provolone and parmesean). Oh yeah and the Indians brought the turkey.

Anyways, I figure whats a night without water, I can get through it, it won't be that bad.  Boy was I wrong.  I have a certain ritual that goes on once I get home: first, I go to the bathroom, wash up and handle whatever business doesn't get handled throughout the day. Which usually means taking a dump, I don't /can't go at work cause it would involve waaaay too much prep work.  You gotta build a nest of toilet paper and you have to make sure that no one is in the stall next to you.  BTW this is an unspoken "guy rule" for all the sexy ladies out there who read my blog.  Only in case of a dire emergency can you take a dump next to a guy in a stall, there has to be a one stall barrier between you and a fellow dumper and if there is only two stalls then you must wait for the other guy to finish before you go.

Well now I can't go, thank god there wasn't a pressing need so I don't feel that bad, but I still have to take a piss, now I realize that I only have one good flush for the rest of the night and  have to decide right then and there what do I do. Do I take a piss and follow the "if its yellow let it mellow, if its brown, flush it down" rule of water conservation or piss in the tub and aim for the drain and clean up any spillage that may occur.  If any of you are taken aback by this, stop right there, we have all pissed in the tub, whether it has been taking a shower or if you have morning wood and you know that if you try to piss in the toilet you are going to hit everything but, you piss on the wall the floor, the back of the toilet. Not a drop actually hits water. So the tub is a much bigger target and you are going to be in the shower shortly anyway so what the hell. There was also the brief though of opening the window and pissing out of it, hey it was misty that night anyway so why not add to the mist. I decided against it, it was cold and breezy and I didn't want to deal with the shrinkage issue. I went with the toilet, less clean up afterward.  

Now that one potential disaster was averted, I began to realize that we really use water for alot of things, like washing things, I had a plate and pan left over from breakfast that morning that needed to be washed, or else there would be some unwanted guests in the form of unkillable NYC roaches paying a visit to my kitchen, but I had no water and I already used the toilet so my reserve of water was already tainted. So logically I broke out the cleaning products and used good old Formula 409 and a paper towel to clean up. I figure hey it's good for cleaning the kitchen so why not kitchen items. 

So for the rest of the night, I couldn't shit, cook, clean or piss with an erection, Great!!! 

1. Game was fun even though South Florida lost, I was in the South Florida cheering section which consisted of Me and Tom.  Tom was cheering wildly, I was keeping an eye out for any Rutgers fan who wanted to kick his ass.

2. The Rutgers fans (a few assholes spoil the soup) threw stuff at us, fortunately they would keep hitting the guy who happened to be standing between Me and Tom, so that was cool.

3. The hot and talentless Jenn Sterger and The hot and somewhat talented Erin Andrews were at the game, so you know it had to be a big game.  Erin was working the sidelines for ESPN and God knows what Jenn was working at the game.  All I know what that it wasn't me and yes I'm bitter. MOVING ON...

4. No alcohol inside the stadium cause it is on a college campus. (Oxymoron Alert!)  So that meant that Me and Tom had to shotgun about a six pack of beer apiece in 15 minutes just to get some kind of tailgate going. In case you were wondering, the beer was Coors.  (Jessica will be happy about that), and it tasted like crap. But it was cold and it was beer and when it is all said and done that is the most important thing isn't it? 

There were five cases heard before mine, all of them were found guilty. This guy was prepared, he was talking about how all of his machines were calibrated correctly. He talked about his patrol route, the weather and road conditions, his lines of sight. In other words I knew I was in for a fight. Everyone's defense was meager at best, hell I was waiting for someone to just use the Eddie Murphy defense and say, "Hey, it wasn't me!" just to see if it could fluster him a bit.

My name gets called and its the moment of truth, I walk up to the bench trying to give the cop my most menacing stare, exuding confidence. Officer whateverthefuckhisnameis does his spiel explaining how he saw me driving and tapping my brakes and that the traffic conditions were moderate so he found that to be strange so he pulled up alongside of me and that I happened to be tailgating a car in front of me on top of that I was yammering away on my cell phone.  Now for those of you who know me this is how I drive all the goddamn time so it is nothing new. I will admit that I was talking on my cell at the time so I decided not to fight that. and focus my defense on the tailgating.  

I ask the cop what car I was driving and what car I was tailgating and he answered both questions. This cop is good, hell I didn't even know what car I was tailgating. I asked him how fast was I going? He said, "50-55 miles per hour" You can only be tailgating if you are going over 45 another correct answer. Finally I said to him, "Hey are you sure it was me?" WHAM! Guilty, both charges, $220. Thanks for playing! 

I have a fun theory on dying (oxymoron alert!) Ok when you die and go to heaven and you walk through those pearly gates, give Peter a pound, in my case it would probably be a six step handshake, you are taken to a room with three doors. Behind these doors are one of three things, 1. All the socks you have ever lost in the washing machine, I mean where else do they go! 2. All the sunglasses and hats you have lost in your lifetime.  If anyone has ever found a pair of sunglasses they lost please let me know. True story, I had a pair of Wayfarers that were on my head at the beach, fell asleep, woke up and they were gone and why do we always lose the expensive pair, but the cheapos that you got on the street for five bucks could get thrown into the ocean and the tide would just bring them right back to you. Behind the third door would be all the money you ever lost. Loose change would just come pouring down on top of you if you chose that door.

So I ask you, my sexy readers, this question. What door would you hope you would choose and why?  I myself would want the door with all the money, so that I could buy cool stuff in heaven, like sunglasses or a hat. 

As I was watching the Yankee victory on Sunday night alone, cause we all got together as a group to watch the first 2 games and the Yanks lost. I was eating dinner (chicken Parmesan with spaghetti that I had made just in case any of my sexy readers were wondering) Yes it was really good. Yes, yes I made enough for two in case you were wondering even more. But since I was watching the game alone, I wasn't sharing.

Where was I? Oh yeah the reason why I was watching the game alone was because I was superstitious, I thought that by watching the game alone without anyone else would somehow have an effect on the big picture and somehow the Yanks would figure this out and win because I was watching the game in my apartment on the couch, eating dinner. 

To take it a step further, I was in the middle of dinner when the Yanks were rallying and for those of you who have had the privilege of breaking bread with me know, I eat kinda fast. I mean I eat like my head is on fire and the only way it stops is if I finish the entire plate. So getting back, I was eating dinner when the Yankees were taking the lead and I was finishing when the Yanks were still batting, so I started to think of things to do to prolong dinner; i.e. lick the plate.  So picture this, Johnny Damon is at the plate, me licking my plate clean, Damon hits a homer, Yanks win the game! If anyone can't see how I effected the outcome of that game, they got to be crazy. 

For those of you who TIVO or Bittorrent your programs so that you do not have to watch commercials, Click here and you will see what I am talking about.  Looking like you just ate out a bag of peat moss is not that appetizing to me.  I mean seriously that guy looks like he gave oral to a tar monster.  Sorry Domino's stick to brownies. If I want Ores I'll buy a bag and if I want pizza, I'll order from the 500 or so places that aren't Domino's. This is, after all New York; home to the greatest slices in the world.

BTW if Jessica Alba was naked and trying to feed me Oreo cookie pizza, I'd eat 10 of them, whole. I would even bother chewing. 

I figured out that there is alot of things that you can say that will automatically turn a guy off to a girl.  Example, NEVER and I mean NEVER call a woman a cunt.  (only if you truly mean it and you never want to sleep with her again.)  Now I am one of those people whose mouth thinks just a hair faster than their brain and sometimes that gets me into trouble, hence why I know the consequences of adding cunt to your vernacular. 

Here is the another thing that will probably not get you laid in the near future, my female friend, lets call her Jamie is sitting down at a bar (surprise!) with a guy that she is seeing for a couple of months; who happens to be a doctor and he looks at her and says, "you know you could use some Botox to remove those lines around your eyes and those creases in your forehead". "I could do that for you."  TADA! That beats cunt by a country mile.  If anyone has ever had or has ever said anything worse to a person to whom you are either A. not married to or B. Family, and by family I mean close family not second or third cousins, they don't count.

I would like to add another thing to this, Jamie (again not necessarily her name) you do not need Botox, and your ass is not big, its perfect!