My girlfriend saw a mouse yesterday.
She doesn’t do mice. At all. Needless to say, she showed up at my place in some house shoes and a smirk that said, “We’ll go half on your rent from here on out.”
Now to me, mice are cute. And we’re bigger than them. If we don’t like them, we can kick them into 2nd Orbit or for us–we have a cat–we can let our feline have at it. Which is what ended up happening. In the midst of our conversation, after me having made it abundantly clear that mice just do not scare me she said that “not much scares you”.
Hmmm…though mice don’t really scare me (rats on the other hand are the devil spawn), that’s not completely true. I can think of lots of things that scare me. Follow me.
Panama’s Phobias – If I See It, Imma Do Me and Be The Fuck Out
Suge Knight – I’ve never met the man nor do I have any intention of ever doing so. In fact, I never want him to know my name. There’s a reason he’s the most feared man in hip-hop – he killed Biggie, Tupac, and probably had something to do with Mother Theresa questioning her religion. Of course, I can’t prove the latter, but you can’t prove that I can’t prove the latter.
Except that I said I can’t prove the latter. Le sigh.
Pythons - And I’m not talking muscles either. Let’s say that I got off work and showed up at my home. I walk up to my door and pick a little yellow flower from the flowerbed neslted near my entryway. I smile. Look up at the sun and bask in the glow of the rays of the sun. The world is good. Life is good. I turn my key and open my door. I step inside. If I see a python I’m screaming like a bitch. And I mean I’m registering somewhere near dog-whistle on the sharpness scale. Not only am I screaming, I’m running and vowing never to return to my home. I don’t care if they do a Discovery Channel special on removing that python from my home and I have visual proof that it ain’t there. Pythons eat people.
And I mean really, why the hell was it in my place in the first place? What if I show up and a Boa Constrictor is there chilling watching the 4th season of The Wire or some shit? I’d totally concede the apartment…AND still pay rent. For some reason, I just can’t really see a good reason to piss off a boa constrictor. His first name is already Boa, I’d imagine he had some kind of self-esteem issues from Snake Elementary School. Python screams power. Boa? Not so much.
The IRS - There’s an age old adage that says, “The only certain things in life are death and taxes.” Well, you can escape death. That is unless you go see Miracle Max and he gives you one of those chocolate coated Miracle pills. But even then you have to only be mostly dead, not all the way dead. It helps if you’re white and lived in the 1400′s too. Anyway, we know death is coming so the IRS can’t be far behind. Hell, the IRS even shows up AFTER your dead. They scare me. This is how gangsta the IRS is; peep game.
You have a job and before you even see your paycheck, the IRS has ALREADY taken their cut. It’s like they’re on a daily punk mission. You don’t even get your money until they get theirs. You know what we call that in the real world? Bitchmadeness. You know what we call that in the legal world? Extortion. You know what the IRS calls it? Their just due. Bitches.
And let’s not even get on the subject of an audit. You can’t run from that shit. Hell, sometimes you have to have a heart attack and die for them just to get off your case. Word to Ken Lay.
Getting stranded with no gas on the middle of a stretch of highway in Utah or West Virginia - I’ve got an active imagination. I envision a cadre of white people that hate Black people descending upon me while I walk 80 miles for a gas station and getting eaten alive by the zombies who can’t stand day light. I’m a survivor, I’ll never give up. Destiny’s Child meet I Am Legend.
Hmm…am I the only person who is surprised they never played that in the movie? But Bob Marley? Destiny’s Child…so much hotter than Bob Marley. Speaking of Destiny’s Child. Kelly’s new boobage? Me likey long time. Fill out those shirts girl. Fill ‘em out! I know a chick who recently got a boob job. She touches them all the time. Can’t keep her hands off herself.
There’s no story there, I just felt like sharing.
Sharing is caring. The more you know.
Getting kicked in the nuts with some steel-toed boots – Not sure this needs explanation but that scares the shit out of me. I’ve had some 5 pound weights thrown at me before that landed right where the sun don’t shine. I. was. done. for. two. days.
I wonder if I’ve ever brought this up before. I know people have their different theories on what Hell is really like. I envision that Hell is where your worst fear happens over and over for eternity. I’d HATE to be the dude who’s worst fear is getting kick in the nuts. Imagine that shit a bazillion times over. I’m trying to be afraid of flowers or something.
More nuttage: Getting my nuts caught in a door - Say I’m doing naked cartwheels in my house one day…and I’m having a dinner party. Why would I be doing naked cartwheels during a dinner party? I have no clue. Anyway, say I’m doing a carthweel thru my hallway and somebody goes in the bathroom and because I’m King Beef, they slam the door and my shit gets slammed in the door. Seriously, that’s some scary shit. That’s on par with clowns.
Clowns - Okay, so I was only scared of clowns for a year after I saw Stephen King’s “It”. But what a year it was. Fucked up shit is that the day I saw it, I was at my uncle’s house in Alabama and I was sleeping in my cousin’s room. And what, oh what, did she have painted on her walls? Fucking clowns.
Ugly aggressive women – This is an actual fear of mine. There is nothing more scary than an aggressive ugly woman. Throw in portly and I’m shaking in a corner with a blanket and the Bible. I’ve been accosted by a busted bold broad before and she just wouldn’t take no for an answer. And seemed to get visibly upset that I wasn’t interested. So I ran her over with my car.
People who like Soulja Boy as an actual rapper - They might get you killed.
Tarantulas - Look. Daddy Long Legs don’t put the fear in my heart. But a spider that needs a haircut? Fuck that. Spider’s with locs are Black spiders and Black spiders might be packing heat. If I see a random errant Tarantula in my house, fuck it, I’m gone. I saw Arachnophobia. I also saw Charlotte’s Web. So you can add spiders that can read and write to the list of shit that scares me. No Seuss for you!
That’ll do it for now. Hug me.