Tower Of Babel

Renaissance art?! That one is classic! You know, if I ever move to London, or paris or New York, somewhere with a fancy art museum, I am definitely going to use that one after a night of beating juice out at some bar. Speaking of beating juice in bars, here is a picture I snapped in a little bar!

How do you like the picture above? It was taken with my cell phone. I think its pretty decent considering…

Here is a little joke, its called “Wedding Night”.

Sipho gets married and on his wedding night he calls his Father for some tips on what to do, since he has never been with a woman before. “So what do I do first?”, he asked.

His father: “Take her clothes off and lay her on the bed.”. Five minutes later, Sipho’s on the phone again. “She’s naked and in bed, what do I do now?”.

His father can’t believe what he is hearing! “Take your damn clothes off and get into bed with her!”. After another 5 minutes poor Sipho is on the phone again. “Dad, I’m naked and in bed with her, what do I do now?”.

His dad’s patience is now running thin so he says, “Shyte son, do I have to spell everything out for you? Just put the hardest thing on your body where she pees. Good night!!!”.

Just when the old man starts snoring, his son is on the phone once again. “Ok Dad, I have my head in the toilet bowl, what do I do next?”.

The Father : “DROWN YOURSELF YOU BLOODY IDIOT!”

Ok, I know, its not all that funny. Thats enough for one day. Move along… I mean it! Disperse! Go on, look about your own business! Clear off!

When O.J. Simpson was on trial, I got caught up in all the hoopla surrounding the case… or not… I mean, not in the hoopla, in the disgust which arose because the American media decided that nothing else mattered and that everyone everywhere should be subjected to the long drawn out case and all the boring bullshit that surrounded the whole thing. I think I was so happy when O.J. got off because I felt like that lawyer, O.J., black people and all the fed up watchers of television got a chance to thumb their noses at those T.V. bastards who decide what we watch.

Still, when O.J. wrote that book, “If I had done it” or whatever the phuck he called it, I felt nauseated. I felt like saying to him, “Pussy, you get weh by the skin of your teeth and then you did this?!” and then putting on some heavy slaps in his face. The man is a total pussy, he isn’t good enough to do… anything at all for me, rasta! Nothing at all!

So when I heard that the Goldmans had been awarded the rights to his book, I laughed. “Yes, you little fucker you! I hope you didn’t see a dime from that book! I hope you get totally broke and you end up on the streets! I hope it gets so bad for you that you end up in such a hole that even other homeless people are pissing on you as you lie there in the gutter, you shameless little bitch!”.

Okay, how are you doing this fine Friday morning? Good? Cool, I wouldn’t expect any less. Yes, its true, Fridays always make me happy too. Hear what! I have a little joke for you. Check this one out:

We are a upper class Jamaican family, so last week, in keeping with our status we took some friends out to theeeeee new restaurant, and noticed that the waiter who took our order carried a spoon in his shirt pocket. It seemed a little strange, but I ignored it. However, when the headwaiter brought out water and utensils, I noticed he also had a spoon in his shirt pocket, then I looked around the room and saw that all the staff had spoons in their pockets.

When the waiter came back to serve our soup I asked, “Why the spoon?” “Well,” he explained, “well sah, the American restaurant owner dem recently hire some expert an’ dem lay dung procedure fi everyting whe wi duh. Them look at di statistics an’ find dat customers drop them spoon 73.84 procent more often than any ada utensil, sah, whe dem call a “drop frequency” of ’bout 3 spoon ah table ah hour. So ef di waitah carry spoon, we can reduce the numbah ah trips back to di kitchen and save 1.5 man-hours ah shift.”

As luck would have it, I dropped my spoon and he was able to replace it with his spare spoon. “Mi wi get a nex’ spoon next time
mi go inna di kitchen instead ah mi fi mek ah extra trip figo get it right now.” I was rather impressed, in the way that upper class Jamaicans are about these things. The waiter served our main course and I continued to look around. I then noticed that there was a very thin string hanging out of the waiter’s fly. Looking around, I noticed that all the waiters had the same string hanging from their flies.

My curiosity got the better of me and before he walked off, I asked the waiter, “Excuse me, but can you tell me why you have that string right there?” “Yes sah!” he answered, lowering his voice.

“Nobaddy else eva notice di string! Di consulting firm mi tell you bout, dem fine out sey wi can save some time inna di restroom.”
“How?” I asked. “Yuh see,” he continued, “by tying di string onto di tip of wi you know what, we can pull it out over the toilet widout we haffi touch it and that way we noh haffi wash fiwi hand, an we cut dung pon di time we spen’ inna di restroom by 76.39 percent.”. “Okay, that makes sense,” I responded. “But . . . if the string helps you get it out, how do you put it back in?”.

“Well,” he whispered, lowering his voice even further, “Mi noh know ’bout dem ada one, but yu see me, sah…ah di spoon me use fi put it back in.”

Oh my God! What a ting! Anyway, I am not so sure why they stress upon the “upper class Jamaican”. I would think that this could happen to ANY Jamaican. Anyway… I am not fighting them.I found it funny still…

It being a Friday, I am going to give you a little extra. I saw a couple of talented ladies over at PartySurfers. Apparently these ladies were at the Extreme Glow party at Margueritaville in Montego Bay, Jamaica. Anyway, Mr Cedric, (the webmaster of Partysurfers), he currently allows people to pull the images from his website straight, so I will give you the pictures here.. I am not sure how long he will be allowing this, so if the pictures don’t appear, a nuh fimi fault. They ARE worksafe, BTW…

Read more »

Ok, Ok, ok… I am building a lyric for a song… trust me, this one will make me BUSS (become famous) like Weird Al Yankovic… This is the beat I am going to use…

Ok, here are my lyrics! Run di track!

“Awww, this is the way I fart,
When I fart, people say “Pussy Clart!”,
What the PHUCK is that SMELL?
It smells like it comes from HELL!!!
Awwww, this is the way I… ” Ok jump in now!

Trust me, I just know this one is destined for the top! I will share the money with you, just help me build this one, cool?

By the way, this post was sponsored by Absolut & Ocean Spray, otherwise known as Vodka and Cranberry juice… Peace out…

Hey Yo! Whattup? Guess what? One of the non-Caribbean blogs I read is BACK! Yeah, I always found the Company Bitch to be an interesting read, but then recently, she made her blog a private blog! Now today I stopped by, just to see what was a gwaan, not really expecting anything, and I saw that she has opened the blog back up to the public! I am really glad too, because I saw this little gem!

Overheard in New York: Office Edition

Due to a bit of an emergency, I was in the office photocopying at 8pm last night.

Thankfully a co-worker was also there, with the important task of paper-clipping, and she was just as irritated as I was.

When two people are irritated about a work-related situation, the only thing to do is blame it on someone who isn’t there. Continue reading her post here…

I swear, she does write some interesting ish, man!

You know, I just dreamt that I was playing badmington in this tournament. I used to play badmington lots when I was younger, though just for fun, and I used to fancy that I was a respectable “D” level player (Thats the lowest level in the league) and that if I worked at it, that I could advance up in the league.

So last night, in my dream I tried out playing in a tournament. Do you know what happened? I played like crap! I was missing lots of easy shots, I was flailing at air with my racquet. I found that while I had a good idea of where the shuttlecock was, I couldn’t reallly see it. The lights on the court were just too damned bright and my eyes were not what they used to be.

I played a singles match (knockout) against this guy and I got creamed. I went off court feeling a bit depressed, and I grabbed a soda, then I heard that I was in a doubles match immediately following! (it was a dream, I tell you!) I didn’t even get to drink much more than a gulp before I was back on court, running hard and flailing away at the air, always near to where the shuttlecock was, but still, always missing. My partner and I lost that game too. Did I mention that this was also a knockout game? Well, it was. I was effectively out of the tournament!

Anyway, at the end of that game, someone came up to me and asked me if the lights were bothering me. I told them that they were. They then loaned me a pair of those sunglasses, you know, the silvery ones they have nowadays that block a lot of glare but that you can see through very easily?

They then arranged for me to have a “warmup” match against the guy I had lost to in the doubles match just played. I know, I know, if we had just had a game, why would he need a warmup match, right? I don’t know why! It was just a dream!

Anyway, I played SO MUCH better it wasn’t funny! I was getting to the shuttle now, making great returns to all corners, over the guy’s head, dropshots, everything! I still didn’t win, but it was a really close battle, so much so that the crowd gave me a lot of applause! I guess they were cheering for the underdog, you know? After I almost won lost that third match, I woke up. You know what I was thinking? “Lawd! Even in my dreams I am getting old! Cho man! Now even my eyesight is going!”. (n)

Have I ever mentioned that the very, very first time I met Natty, I was eleven years old? No? Well, yeah, its true. She was sister to Nicolette, who happened to be a friend of one of Ciya’s friends, Sharie. They came over to my house one day, and I was out on the front lawn playing badmington with someone, I think it was Seven. Natty hung out on the lawn with us, chatting and watching us play. She even took a turn with the racquet herself too, playing against me.

I didn’t see her again until I was about eighteen, but that is another story, one I am sure I have written about, somewhere back in time on the Mad Bull’s Blog. You can go search for it if you like. I will too, just not right now.
Talk to you later, my peeps.

Ok, Y’all! Its Friday night! You should all be out drinking and looking to get laid! Unless you reach the stage where oonoo cyah do dem tings anymore, for whatever reason! If so, don’t bother to sit down and pity yourself! After all, there is still shit for you to do, for instance you could read my blogs, right?

I have a couple of laughs for you.

The Story of Tugs

This is the story of a former work acquaintance. For the sake of discussion, let’s call her Tugs. Mrs. Crash reminded me of the story of Tugs after a posting by my friend Kimba.

Tugs was a contract worker who I met about 8 years ago. She would fly in on Monday to work with us, then fly out on Thursday to go back to her home for the weekend. Tugs was young, single, and not unattractive … a bit of a flirt as well.

One summer weekend, Tugs decided that she was in need of a bikini wax. But this time, she’d apparently decided that she could save some money by doing the job herself. She’d bought the kit over the weekend, and for some unknown reason had come to the conclusion that the perfect time to wax herself was Monday morning before she flew out of her home airport. The story continues yahso!

It wicked, wicked Wicked. Oonoo fi read it, you know! Awoah!

Here comes another one, good like the first one!

Things NOT To Try At Home!

During a long car trip with a boyfriend we became overwhelmed with the need to.. stop.
I think it had something to do with the fact I was going down on him while he was driving.. Apparently that is distracting..

He pulled the car over to the side of the highway.. and we moved it to the backseat. What he really wanted to do was give me a nice quick session of oral (he was very efficient and very very good..) People, the story continues over dehso!

LOL! My gosh! She say him good, but I say he is a “prento” (an apprentice).

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed those… the link to the Story of Tugs was via the Love Quote and the link to “Things NOT To Try At Home!” comes via “Memoirs of a Dater“. Enjoy, seen?!

The World’s Best Blonde Joke

A blind man walked into a bar one night. One of the patrons at the bar saw him and helped him to a barstool and got him a drink. After a few minutes, the blind man leaned over to his new friend and said, “I just heard the world’s best blonde joke. Would you like to hear it?”

The other man said, “Friend, before you say another word, there’s something you need to know.”

“What’s that?” the blind man asked.

“There are five people besides you in this bar. The bartender is blonde. The bouncer is blonde. There are two women sitting at the end of the bar. One is an off-duty police officer, and the other is a Marine Corps gunnery sergeant, and they’re both blond. I’m six-foot-four, two hundred and sixty pounds, and I’ve got a third degree black belt in karate, and I’m blonde.

“So,” the man concluded, “Are you sure you really want to tell that joke in here?”

The blind man thought about it for a minute and said, “No, not if I’m going to have to explain it five times.”.

Taken from Michael.

Bwoy, is long time I haven’t told a joke on my blogs, you know! I am going to rememdy that rass right now though!

A Preacher is explaining that he must move on to a larger congregation that will pay him more. There is a hush within the congregation, no one wants him to leave.

Joe Smith, who owns several car dealerships in the city stands up and proclaims,…. “If the Preacher stays, I will provide him with a new Cadillac every year, and his wife with a Honda mini-van to transport their children!”.

The congregation sighs in relief, and applauds.

Sam Brown, a successful entrepreneur and investor, stands and says, “If the Preacher will stay on here, I’ll personally double his salary, and also establish a foundation to guarantee the college education of all his children!”.

More sighs and loud applause.

Sadie Jones, age 88, stands and announces with a smile, “If the Preacher stays, …. I will give him sex!”.

There is total silence.

The Preacher, blushing, asks her, . “Mrs. Jones, whatever possessed you to say that?”.

Sadie’s 90 year old husband Jake is now trying to hide, holding his forehead with the palm of his hand, and shaking his head from side to side, while his wife replies, “Well, I just asked my husband how we could help,
And he said, “Screw the Preacher!”.

Bwoy, Sadie wicked to Jake eeeh? Murdah!

A Jamaican lady pregnant with twins was in a car accident and went into a coma. During the coma she gave birth to twins, a boy and a girl.
Some time later when she awoke from the coma, she was told that she had given birth and that her brother had been nice enough to name them.
The mother was extremely upset to hear this. She told the nurse that they never should have let her brother name the children because he was an idiot from the country.
The nurse assured her that he had done rather well; he named the little girl “Denise”. The mother seemed to be okay with that, so she asked what he had named her son. The nurse replied, “Denephew”.

This one comes your way courtesy of the Chocolate Lover. In payment, check out the sistren’s site nuh… I don’t really like leaving you without anything from me personally, so I decided to give you my answers to last Fridays’ Friday Feast.

Appetizer
If you could take lessons to learn any musical instrument, which would you want to learn?
I was going to say a drum machine, but after careful consideration, I think I will go with the steel drum.

Soup
Have you ever mistaken a person for someone else?
Uh huh. More than once, actually. Yes, I am human
The worst one probably was when I went to visit my girllfriend one time. She always used to wear these short shorts and sit on the couch in the living room. Anyway, on the day in question, I came through the fron door and there she was, in her short shorts and sitting on the couch waiting on me to arrive. Seems like while she was waiting, she had fallen asleep. I decided to creep up to her quietly and awaken her with a long, lusty, very wet, kiss. I bent at the hips and turned my face sideways as I moved down to kiss her awake. As I was moving in for the kill, (seriously, I was about four inches away from contact, I realised that this was not my girlfriend, but her mom! Man, I backpedalled so fast I nearly fell on my ass!

Yeah, she and her mom looked a lot alike and they were shaped alike too, trust me! :thumbsup:

Salad
On a scale of 1 to 10 with 10 being highest, how well do you keep secrets?
Maybe I am a seven… still, if I feel it is really worthy of being a secret, if anybody finds out is not me! Ah mus’ you, because I not telling NOBAHDEE!!!

Main Course
What’s the closest you’ve ever been to a dangerous animal?
Well, I have stood up right next to a lion, but it was behind some really thick glass (at Busch Gardens), so that doesn’t count. Hmmm… Well, if you accept that pit bulls are dangerous, I have stood beside several… I have even patted a couple.

Dessert
When was the last time you lost your patience?
Probably too long ago… it was Christmas 2005, actually. I blew up on a security guard at the airport who passed his place with me. When he then told me that he wouldn’t let me board the flight, I told him that if I didn’t board the flight, NOBODY was going to board it! I was ready to attack the man, rasta… Lucky for me the Air Jamaica Customer Service Manager overruled him. (He knew I was in the right) I am glad still, because if he hadn’t intervened, the best I could hope for was that I’d have missed my flight, and the worst was a short stay in Northward Prison, so…
Still I fear that another eruption of impatience, anger, rage and truculence is near… its bubbling up, just below the surface, like molten lava… who knows when the pressure will get the better of me? Who knows who will be the victim? Who knows if we’ll both survive?