[***Yeah, yeah...it's long. Sue me. And this could very well be one of the most disjointed posts I've written in years. However, my sexxiness precludes me from stopping myself from putting it out there. Sadatay! ***]

There’s a popular clich?�d statement out there that goes a little something like this:

Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me. You may have heard that somewhere. It’s popular on schoolyards everywhere as future millionaires fend off the numerous taunts of usually bigger, cooler, or more assholish kids who make fun of each other during Act One of the omnipresent stage play, Life.

I know I’ve said it before to somebody. Probably to some girl who called me a name when I was six or seven. I’m guessing it was my best rebuttal. Either that or the similarly popular, “I’m rubber, you’re glue, whatever you say bounces off of me and sticks to you.” It’s funny how ridiculously ridiculous these statements are but how clear they are to children. I swear, there isn’t a kid alive who doesn’t know how to turn that statement around on another kid.

The main notion behind these statements is that words are just that, words. That they don’t necessarily hold much Oprah sometimes and that short of being bludgeoned with a Louisville Slugger, for the most part, you can just get up and move on past something someone has just said that you don’t necessarily agree with.

Well, me…I’m calling bullshit, especially the older you get. I don’t know which is a bigger lie: actions speak louder than words or Ken Lay’s actually dead.

And no, I don’t think he’s dead. There are times in life where death just seems a little bit too convenient. Ken Lay’s untimely demise? You bet your ass that’s one of those times.

And for the record, I do think actions speak loud. But I think that words carry just as much weight.

Now, I won’t be focusing on that “actions speak louder than words” segment, but more on how certain words really can totally get you in an assblender of trouble. One specific word actually. But since I’m verbose as a German bratwurst, I can’t just simply tell you the word. With that said…

…what’s the worst word you can call a woman who’s got any sort of interest in you?

Or shit a man for that matter?

You in the back.

No, it’s not bitch.

Though calling a woman a bitch is not recommended and calling a man a bitch can result in an asswhippin.’ Unless you’re friends of course and as along as its been discussed at some point that such language is okay and that all parties are in agreement that such okayedness is indeed alright, or alright with me, like Janet Jackson who has a new song out that really isn’t so stellar featuring Nelly produced by JD which sounds a lot like “We Belong Together” which sounds a lot like “Confessions” which was the partial title of a book by a woman with a son who is of school age who must venture everyday around a bunch of people who know that the best thing his mother has ever done in her life was fellate Shaq…well.

I mean, it’s a fucked up word to call a woman and all and probably will fuck you up in the game but by the point you actually were to call a woman that I’m guessing the interest has probably dissipated faster than a Halle Berry relationshiop.

But no its not bitch.

Ah, what the hell, just for good measure: Who you callin’ a bitch!!?!!?!!

U.N.I.T.Y.

You, over there scratching yourself.

No, it’s not cunt. Though…though, I REALLY don’t suggest calling a woman that, especially if she likes you. She will commence to un-liking you. And just…why would you do that?

You all are killing me.

The word?

Buddy.

Yes. It’s buddy.

Oh, you don’t believe me? You can case study this shit if you want to. Allow me to offer a situation from my own life as fodder for discussion.

Once upon a blue moon, I was a lovestruck idiot in college. I’d managed to find a woman who for whatever reason got me all in a tizzy. Now, despite my constant attempts to woo this woman, she managed to fend off my advances like she was practicing for the National DisANigga Time Trials. But she didn’t exactly want me to not continue to woo her since my woo-age was neither stalkerish nor annoying. My woo-age included flowers, poetry, trips to cheap dinners. Basically, I had your all around being a nice guy who really likes a girl thing going on. I’d do dumb shit hoping she’d take notice despite the fact that she’d made it clear she wasn’t really trying to be with me, though clearly she was interested but it might have just been in the way I treated her. Figure out if she’s worth it, then treat her like a Queen. I had that little equation backwards.

I was idiot, hear me roar. Actually, it should read like this. I was idiot, heard me roar (since this shit was in the past and all).

But one fine day, as we were on the phone, me in my non-chalant manner innocently said to her, “hey buddy…”

STOP.

Have you seen I’m Gonna Get You Sucka? Do you remember the part where the mother who is on her period turns into the monsterish thing who is doing back flips and shit when folks come into her house looking for Jack Spade? Yeah, that was this chick. Hell, throw a conniption in there too.

I felt like I had just shot her grandmother with a rusty barnacle. She went off on me. Now remember, this was a chick who didn’t want to be with me, but apparently she for damn sure didn’t like the connotation that comes along with being called a buddy.

“I am NOT your buddy.”

Sheesh.

I left that alone after that and had learned my lesson.

That was until the next time I used that term and the exact same shit occurred.

And you know what, I didn’t get it at first. Why would these women who seemingly don’t want to be with me get so offended at the use of the term “buddy”. Then it dawned on me.

Women fucking HATE that word because it makes them feel less special. “No he didn’t call me his buddy. What I look like? His boy Jim that he plays ball with!!! Shiiiiiiiiiiiiit…he better had get right in his mind!”

And in some ways I can kind of understand. Maybe its unintentionally intentional, but words like “buddy” and shit tend to pop up when people are dating and they’re in that limbo, where-are-we-going stage. Maybe we’re all just playing mind games with one another.

I prefer mind strip-poker.

While we’re talking about stripping, I actually played strip spin the bottle once. Talk about just TRYING to find a reason to get naked.

Mentos…the freshmaker.

Back to the point.

The dude is thinking that if he calls her buddy and he gets a reaction then he knows she’s feeling him definitely. Kind of like forcing the green light. On that stupid ass Love Jones shit.

I need to say this here…I fuckin’ HATE when people try to passively aggressively bait me into shit. I know some folks who go out of their way to force an issue by total beat-around-the bushage. I want those people to get hit by lightning.

Most people I know hate passive-agressive ass bastards too. It’s one thing if two dating people are passive-aggressively feeling each other out in hopes of, you know, feeling each other out later. It’s something altogether different when people say this:

“We might need to talk about something later on.”

Umm…the fuck does that mean? What do you mean might? If we might need to talk about it later on then we probably DO need to talk about it now.

Spit it out nigga!!!

Sounds personal, n’est-ce pas?

Wow, I’ve taken some tangents but that was some major tangential shit right there.

Ah yes, women hate feeling less than special. Especially if they like you. Even more especially than the past especially if questions are lingering about the direction two people are heading.

Yo, are you actually still reading this?

In some ways I don’t even think its deeper than that. An interested woman wants to know that you feel that she’s more special than other random folks in your life, whether its true or not.

Speaking of which, and since I’ve already written like a gazillion words, what in the fuck is up with some women really thinking that they should be the ace numero uno priority in a man’s life, above his family and shit. I had to cut a chick back before behind that. She actually told me that she felt she should have a higher place in my life than my momma(s) and sisters and just family over all.

After like 3 months.

Of knowing each other.

I thought she was joking. She was not. I thought it’d be best if she exited my life. She did not.

She went bye-bye.

I think at this point, my original point, whatever it may have been has gotten lost so let me just end with this nugget of advice:

Wear shower shoes in public showers.

Goodnight and goodluck.

Men do evil.

It’s sometimes referred to as the evil that men do.

I’m sure you’ve heard of it.

The men who do evil, who are notoriously famous for being the executors of the evil that men do, tend to be the rue of the Earth.

Let’s see. There was Hitler. No explanation needed there. There was Jim Jones, who despite his misgivings as a crazed lunatic who convinced hundreds of people to die in Panama, is responsible for making a ghetto brand a household name. For it is Jim Jones who caused the coinage of the now age-old adage, “You won’t get me to drink that Kool-Aid.”

The downside there is that Kool-Aid, on its own merits isn’t exactly a nutritious morning supplement, but still, it’s Kool-Aid. How can you ruin Kool-Aid for everybody by killing people with it? That’s just evil. Seriously, on the list of fucked up things to do in life, using Kool-Aid to kill people (despite the poison added, it was still Kool-Aid) just seems wrong on a fundamental level. Luckily, we’ve moved on past the Jim Jones Kool-Aid connotation and children everywhere are able to enjoy it without thinking of cults and mass death, but still.

As you can see, the whole Kool-Aid things really bothers me.

You’re probably thinking to yourself right now, “Self, what in the hell is this uber-sexxy fellow speaking of?”

A-ha.

Well, amongst the throngs of evildoers who have passed over this Earth, there are a few men (and women) who do not get enough attention for their evil deeds. And I for one don’t think that’s fair. As any God-fearing, justice driven individual would do, I feel that it is my duty to bring those deeds to the limelight. I’m speaking of the creators of…

…low-rise jeans.

Evil.

Let that Titanic for a second.

*listening to “My Beautiful Sinking Ship” by Devics*

Maybe it’s just me, but a cool 97% of women who wear low-rise jeans needn’t wear low-rise jeans. I don’t know? Any takers?

In America, we have a problem. There’s a reason Arnold “The Governator” Schwarzenegger was placed on the damn committee for physical fitness back in the day. It’s because we tend to be largely out of shape. Low-rise jeans exploit this losing effort in the Battle of The Bulge by causing women who know good and got damn well that they have no business wearing anything that will accentuate their mid-sections to wear them and mushroom around their jeans. I mean extra back fat and shit that forms a muffin-top like effect surrounding the jeans.

Essentially I’ve seen women walking around looking like mushrooms.

And that is just wrong.

Yes, this might offend some of you. But no, I don’t give a shit. Granted it’s mostly younger white women who seem to not get the memo on when it is appropriate to wear certain clothing, but I’ve seen black women do it.

And even worse, I’ve seen MEN wearing low-rise jeans. And I don’t mean niggas sagging either (which seems to have almost pretty much fallen to the wayside everywhere except in the South).

Hmm…

I’d like to personally put out a moratorium on niggas starting clothing lines. I don’t mean printing up t-shirts, I mean full fledge clothing lines. Just stop. I just read yesterday that F-A-B-O-lous has started a new clothing line called “Ric Yung” (pronounced “rich young”). All these niggas swear they’re doing something different.

They.

Are.

Not.

They all wear the same shit. Whatever Jay-Z says to wear. With the exception of Kanye, Pharrell, and Andre 3000, I don’t want ‘nan other nigga to start a clothing line ever again.

Stop it.

So yes, low-rise jeans and their creators are just evil. They know that women want to expose themselves. Before the Great Apple Incident of Way B.C. men and women were frolicking through the garden bucky-nakey doing cartwheels and jumping jacks. I find it hard to believe that some of that free-spiritedness that resurfaced in the 1960’s hasn’t managed to make its way into our collective eternal psyches. So women will continue walking around looking like mushrooms, making fashion faux pas after fashion faux pas.

It’s just not sexxy. And it counters that whole, “I don’t want to look fat” mantra that so many women wear so proudly. Know your body and know your limitations. It’s one thing to not care what people think. I applaud that spirit. It’s something altogether to not care what people think at the detriment of other people. Not wearing deodorant, or not bathing regularly, or not being able to wash clothes come to mind. Similarly, I can’t not look at a chick with her midriff exposed, especially if it makes me want to go buy some fungus.

Further, your thong does not make me happy if its been lost amidst a roll or two. And I’m not talking dinner rolls.

Though your bad decision might make me want to go eat a dinner roll since that’s what you’re sharing, rolls.

Don’t you see the evil here?

Similarly vying for a place in Hell would be the makers of clothing for little girls that has writing on the hindparts.

Yes, those fuckers deserve to be shot.

For one, it almost seems to ASK for pedophilistic attention. For two, as the educated, reading rainbow pushing brotha that I am, I read everything. And unfortunately, that has included checking out the words sprawled across women’s derriere. I do my best to not pay attention to words written on the asses of what seem to be young women because I feel like somebody might be looking at me and point and yell and then the next thing you know, I’m on some damn registry in Vermont.

Thing is, I don’t even understand it as a fashion thing. Women claim to hate when men only pay attention to their assets, yet if you have words written on them, or are wearing a skin tight shirt with writing on it…well, you’ve given me an excuse to check you out. If you get pissed off that I’m not paying attention to your eyes but your ass, then that’s your fault. Don’t put the words “Enter here” on your ass.

Just don’t do it.

Ass writing = no-no.

The creators of said fashion designs and the like deserve to be backhanded with rickets. They have caused undue pain, offense, and confusion to many a person and they are just wrong. Thank you.

For the legions of women who can wear low-rise jeans, keep bangin’. You are a testament to gyms or good genes everywhere. I appreciate seeing your thongs and the way your jeans hang off your hips. In fact, thank you for having discernible hips. It’s clearly an art, not a right.

I salute you.

[***Thanks to everybody who sent me birthday wishes of some sort. I appreciate it. I had a great birthday and I might have to write about how not to throw a high school graduation party in the future. Trust me, it's an art form. ***]

There are a few laws or mandates that I think should have been placed in the U.S. Constitution.

For one, I think that all short men must be nice. I’ve said that before on this site, but it requires mentioning at least once a month. I pray that if I say it enough, I will speak it into existence which will make everybody’s life better since you won’t have to deal with the moral dilemma of having to stomp out a jackass midget dude because he’s talking shit and doesn’t realize that Napolean actually lost at some point.

I also think that ugly women must be nice too. It does not serve you well to already be an unattractive woman AND be an asshole. People will not feel bad about talking shit to a woman who looks like the busted version of Grace Jones.

And that’s saying something.

Ugly men should be nice too, I agree, but for some reason it always stands out more when an unattractive broad is especially personality-flawed. At that point, her only hope in life is to get knocked up and have children who will hopefully love her, except she’ll be such an ass to them because of her own problems that love won’t live there anymore. It will relocate across the street…at the crack house.

Bleak picture right? Hmm…has anybody ever realized how Memphis Bleek has really grown into his name? The nigga’s career? Bleak like shit. Talk about your self-fulfilling prophecy.

Well, in true Panamanian form, another addendum to the list of things that certain groups should be has been discovered.

And its very contrary to the others, but still an important one for a few groups of women nonetheless.

You ready?

I don’t think you are.

You think you know, but you have no idea.

Okay…

New Rule: Attractive women should be barred from taking ugly pictures. Further, attractive women need to recognize that they took ugly pictures and make strides to keep them from invading the public realm.

Reason-being: The running law is that pictures don’t lie. According to Shakira and Wyclef, neither do hips. And I like Shakira’s hips. But that’s irrelevant here. Back to the point. If a beautiful woman takes ugly pictures, can she indeed be attractive?

Think about that.

[***Sidenote: I know that we are born and stuck with the attributes we have. However, I believe that a lot of women just have no clue how to take pictures. Especially pretty but not famous chicks. It takes a certain level of confidence and narcissm to be able to maintain your flyness and/or sexxy in photograph form. Just being hot and taking a picture does not equate to a hot picture. You too can end up on Hot Ghetto Mess.com. The more you know. Ding. ***]

And what is this public realm I spoke of previously? Places like MySpace. That needs no explanation, but I’ve seen some women that I know are attractive in real life take some uberfugly pictures and place them on MySpace.

Not.

A.

Good.

Look.

But let us revisit this notion that if an “attractive” woman consistenly takes “unattractive” pictures, is she truly attractive?

My thinking is…no.

A picture by definition is a freeze frame moment. It is what you look like at that exact moment. Now say you attempt to look fly in a picture, and fail horribly. Then also say you just take a picture, candidly, no frills or anything, and you still end up looking like a daffodil. Constantly, constantly, constantly smoking trees. I’m going to be loathe to call you hot.

You know, let me just take it a step further. If you are a woman who takes consistantly bad pictures, even if 9 out of 10 men say you are…

…you cannot be a dime. To be a dime, your true beauty will transcend all. Everybody has off days. But truly beautiful women, even on their off days, look ridiculously gorgeous.

A few weeks ago, while riding with my boy in Atlanta, we drove by a chick in a Hyundai. Now we both looked into the car because we saw a chick who looked like she might be cute, and she had on a scarf. Not a headwrap…a scarf. Clearly, she was intending to go from Point A to Point B, with minimal stops in between. But you know what? That chick looked HOT in her little scarf. Me and my boy concurred that that is what you want in a woman, appearance wise. Even with scarf on and no makeup and whatnot, she still had her sexxy going.

For the record, I’m not a fan of makeup. Never have been.

I also happen to think that she might take a good picture because she was just looking like herself. If you can look good just waking up, and you take good pictures, AND you’ve been called a dime before.

You just may be a dime.

The other part of this is that many attractive women don’t know how to take good pictures. They try to take poses and shit that make them look extra fly or something. I think the problem is that not enough people practice posing. Me, I practice. You never know when you’re going to have take a model-esque picture. Then again, I also think that I’m the sexxiest muhfucka on the planet, so I’m GOING to take good pictures.

Then again, I’m not a woman. For the most part, an attractive woman can get by with taking bad pictures because they have been proclaimed attractive, which might be why they don’t put much effort into it. They’ll do asanine shit like run their fingers thru their hair in strange ways thinking that their baseline beauty will makeup for the utter fucktasticness of the pose they just provided.

If I have to explain to others that you’re really hot when they look at your pictures, well, you need to step your damn picture game up. Just because you’re in it doesn’t make it good. It makes it a picture with you in it.

And if the picture makes you look like a horse, then you should really reconsider making those pictures available.

Either that or you’re really a horse.

But it’s okay, I don’t judge.

Time you spent reading this: 5-7 minutes

Time you spent trying to figure out just what in the fuck was the point: 10-20 minutes

Time it took you to realize that it was an exercise in futility: 25 minutes

Realization that the beauty is in the randomness of the love that Panama shares with all: Priceless

[***ADMINISTRATIVE NOTE: This is actually pretty short by Panama standards. Don't worry...no need to skim today!!! I'm sexxy. And I've been working my buns of steel off lately. I'm back like velcro and Hammer-pants. Isn't it just arrogant to tell people you're back, which assumes they were missing you? Aren't I so so sexxy? Go visit Tom's Diner and drink a Mimosa. ***]

“With great power comes great responsibility.” ~ Uncle Ben, Spiderman: The Movie

And before him, some especially insightful fellow/fellowess who probably died penniless but who’d be happy to know that some 100’s of years later, their words would help others.

I’ve been jostling back and forth with a particular notion lately. It’s one that has affected everybody at least once at some point in their lives.

Hmm…I like the word jostle. It’s up there with the word supple and splackadocious as words that don’t get used enough but should be used whenever possible. In fact, I charge everybody to find a way to use the word “supple” in a conversation today. Ten points if you can do it and the person you are bequeathing doesn’t think you’re a perve.

On to the next one…

So, this idea for which jostlage has occured is the idea of responsibility. Moreso…responsibility when it comes to other people’s feelings and emotions in the context of a relationship. The only way to get straight to the heart (no one could…ever doubt…my loooooooooooove) of what I’m discussing is to lay out an example. I shall sacrificially lambsterfy myself for this (actually I won’t…this is a very general discussion here). Watch closely.

And for the record, Dick and Jane are soooooo passe.

Guatemala (my cousin) meets young lady. Let’s call her Bashley. Guatemala meets Bashley. The begin a courtship of sorts. There is no discussion of a commitment or anything, yet their actions and dates signify (like a monkey) that they might could be heading somewhere…together. However, it is clear that Guatemala’s feelings for Bashley are far more intense than Bashley’s feelings for Guatemala. Guatemala, in his love-induced stupor, maintains doing the things he would to show her he cares, and Bashley is accepting and even encouraging of such behavior. Unbeknownst to him, Bashley is dating other people, etc. Guatemala finds this out, asks her what’s going on between them and if they are headed anywhere to which Bashley indicates that, currently, she doesn’t want more, nor can she give more…and had Guatemala not been stuck in a love-induced stupor, he might realize he wasn’t getting much in the first place. However, she still wants to continue seeing Guatemala because she loves the time they spend and the attention he adorns upon her. He is devastated and jumps out of the second story window of his basement apartment and breaks his toe. The end.

Yes, I’m aware that was long and probably could have been shortened. But are you aware that in the time it took you to read that last paragraph, somebody’s car was stolen in this country?! Don’t be a statistic. Get insurance.

The more you know.

*ding*

Now, I know that in all truthfulness here, Guatemala’s predicament is largely his own making. Potentially he didn’t see the signs and was so caught up in his own romantic thoughts of a future with Bashley, that he was just blind to the facts being laid out before him. However, Bashley was encouraging of him to fall into this stupor. It was one of appreciation for her and adoration and other words that begin with the letter “a” that mean good stuff. She didn’t want to lose that so she might not have been 100 percent forthcoming with information and simultaneously encouraging of him to essentially, fall in love with her.

This all begs the age old question, how responsible should Bashley be for Guatemala’s feelings in this matter? You see, as people, self-interest is our taste du jour. We are, at our core, the most self-interested, agenda-toting, personal pleasure concerned, bastards on the planet. I know everybody wants to think that they are great people and their heart bleeds benevolence, but in all honesty, even in our most generous of moments, there is a hint of self-appreciation in it. Which is why people want credit for the things that they do. It is human nature and there is nothing wrong with that. So maybe it is non-sensical to think that anybody should bear the burden of considering another person’s feelings in their own dealings.

But…

…if you are aware that one person is head over heels in love with you and you do not feel the same way, should you consider the other person’s feelings and just cut them off? Yes they enjoy doing things for you and being there for you, but it’s all done in hopes that one day you will see the light and decide that you want to be with them.

Hmm…it’s a damn shame that this person is hoping that you’ll deem them good enough. But that’s another talk show.

Though they do things for you to make you feel good with the best of intentions, they want something from you. And something that you more than likely do not want to give them. Yet you keep them around because they make you feel special. Is that fair? I can see both sides on this one. If you aren’t responsible for other people’s feelings, then why should you cut them off. Hopefully, they’ll figure it out at some point that they aren’t going to get very far. But what about the hopeless bastard on the non-receiving end who is hopelessly and haplessly waiting around for the day you decide to be with them, exclusively?

It’s really a double-edged sword. In orer to consider other people’s feelings, you have to look past your own innate self-interest. Which is admirable. At the same time, being the you that you are, as long as no (visible) harm is being done, why ruin a good thing? He’s happy and you’re happy (or she’s happy, yada yada yada), what’s the loss?? Aside from the future hurt that might come, is there any downside? And if you’ve been honest at some point, isn’t it more or less, his fault if he gets hurt?

Should we make decisions for other people if we know they are leading themselves down the path into BET and ultimately into their own self-destruction?

Where do you draw the line and what are we really responsible for when it comes to affairs of the heart? I wish I knew, so I’m asking the question.

Inquiring minds would like to know…