Life, love, hip hop, humor AND instructions on how to cook a bangin'-ass meal... all in one place. I put the words here, make what you want of them.

Sunday, November 29, 2009


Lady and gentleman...

I will be back on the evening of December 6th, maybe the morning of the 7th.
All comments, emails and MOST calls/texts will be fielded at that time.

And yes, that is my real handwriting, make a font from your own here with FontCapture while I am gone.

Friday, November 27, 2009

Say it with me now...

Over an Alcohol - influenced Thanksgiving conversation, I led to explain to The Katie and the rest of the family why it is I clock out, then come back to my desk to eat lunch instead of venturing out to the break room.
"Because, I can't stand to hear those ignant motherfuckers babbling on about nothing and fucking up the language!" was my major peeve, always has and will be.
"Well, what in particular?" was the question aimed back at me, and I ran down my short list, all of which to be included below.

No, people, that is not it... See, the prefix '-irr' renders the word that follows it a negative, thus making the meaning of this word "not regardless,' which is unnecessary because if something is not regardless it matters not to be mentioned. In such, people fuck this up worse, as their intentions are usually just to say 'regardless' in the first place, but need to make a 4-syllable word out of the presentation.

The act of having 'conversation' is 'conversing'. I COULD go further in on this, but people will CONTINUE to fuck this one up.

Homeless people go to the LIBRARY to read books and get free water. I have no fucking clue what a 'lie-berry' is.

Similar... Similar... SIMILAR!!! How in the blue hell was the word allowed to mutate to 'sim-u-lar' and why does no one say shit to Charles Barkley since he is an apparent proponent of the word.

This is one I hear at work every day when one of these Bamma-ass nurses from YOUR doctor's office calls in all wrong and shit for some help with something. 'Specimen' is what she intended to say, but apparently there was a T at the end of that word that none of us knew about.

The L there is big for effect, here... The L in 'salmon' is silent. Look it up if you must, dictionaries mention pronunciation as 'sam uh n', which is to suggest the silence of that one letter. "Why is it there, then, if it is silent?" I can hear you asking, and I will not offer an attempt at explanation of that, just know that it is.

'Hospital' is what you're meaning to say, isn't it? Well guess what? You're doing it wrong!
More fun comes from the ones who THINK they're being a little smarter and pronounce it 'hospillar,' and it is near impossible to not laugh at this shit.

'Ambulance' is the intended, but not produced, result here. This is funny because I work in Alamance county, and strangely I hear mention of an 'ammalance' quite often here, compared to the county in which I live.

You mean 'oriented' right?
If you didn't know it before, now you do.

I keep nice cold beer in my 'refrigerator' and in such have not a fucking clue what a 'fidgerator' is, but for some reason I am forced to hear about this shit quite often.

No, motherfucker, you can't 'axe' me shit, I do not have a fireplace... You can ASK me a couple of questions, but I am not too sure how interested I am in conversating [heh heh, see what I did there?] with you.

"Thoat" (or "thoke," depending on the proprietor)
Pardon me, I need to clear my THROAT and have a glass of water.

Look, I know I ain't the most goodly-spokeded person we've ever met here. Regional differences in language patterns are one thing, but outright slaughter of the language with no regard is something wholly different.
I really wish people WOULD do themselves the favor of at least fuckin' TRYING.

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

A tale of 6 cities...

Scene I...

"Oh wow, my beautiful Black brotha, and note that I make a point of capitalizing that 'B'. I love your hair, it is beautiful and natural in every way imaginable... I love how young Black brothas are willing to join in on the struggle and free Mumia and be vegans and wear homemade or thrift shop clothes, 24-hour poetry readings in coffee shops, dream of starting our own non-profits for no cause or reason in particular. I love how we can all respect a world where everything smells like Nag Champa and Patchouli. I love everything about you my beautiful black brotha and I feel as if the non-denominational and never specifically-named higher power has put us both on this planet to share one another's presence at this time and space. I'm waiting until I am spiritually ready to start my locs, and no I will not fall into the white man's trap of calling them 'dreadlocks' or 'dreads' as they are not a mistake or dreaded. Peace my black king."

[Phlip note - Black hippies -- nothing like em]


No fuckin' thanks, chick -- and don't take 'chick' the wrong way because if you get too aggressive, I WILL defend myself physically -- I ain't into NONE of that shit other than getting Mumia out of jail, and I would rather use the common sense needed to exonerate him than to chance being jailed protesting. Besides I gotta be my black ass to work in the morning.
Sorry, you're looking in the wrong window."

For the record, a recent blog by Dallas Penn causes me to peg this chick as the "Lil' Bro" or "Non-Profit." Because I am an asshole like that.

Scene II...

"Aye dread, where the weed at?"

[Phlip note - sometimes the short, to-the-pointedness housed in ignorance is golden, but...]


"Sheeit, I bet the weedman got it. Me? Not the weedman and I could PROBABLY get one on the phone right now, but that relates more to the fact that we never venture far from the events that birthed the stereotype that we currently find ourselves involved in than it does the fact that I am willing to sell, or share, some weed with you right now. All I know is that you could be the police right now."

Scene III...

"Wow, young man...
Your hair is SO long!
How long have you had it?
How much of it is your real hair?
How long will you let it go before you cut it?
Can I touch it?"

[Phlip note - DAMN, I hate old people sometimes]

Make the angriest face I can muster, as I square my shoulders while backing up to make it readily apparent that this (usually) 70-something white lady has veered dangerously out of her lane and could be in great peril if any of her liver-spotted cold-ass fingers ever realize the event of touching me, location and audience be damned.

Scene IV...

"*walk up and fire off random gibberish about Rastafarianism and yaddayaddayadda*"

[Phlip note - this usually happens when I am somewhere with a large Caribbean/non-American-black population, I look forward to this shit ALL next week]

Just nod it off and exit the conversation while offering as little response as is politely possible, smile and exit without removing your eyes from the person who has just approached you.

Scene V...

"I don't know WHY you keep that stuff on your head, you looked so much better when you kept a nice short haircut and so much neater at that. I can't see why any girl would want to lay down with anyone with all that shit on their heads, I know I wouldn't.
I know I could NEVER be with a man with hair longer than my own."

  1. "Bye, mama... I'm hanging up/going home now."
  2. "So lemme guess, you're single right?"
  3. Muster the blankest stare you can form, do not even TRY to look anything other than painfully disinterested, not even enough to even bother responding unless doing so with some dry-ass joke.

Scene VI...

*Somewhere from 50-90 feet away, someone is yelling Bob Marley and/or Peter Tosh lyrics at me in the shittiest of manufactured pseudo-Jamaican accent, sounding more Australian than Jamaican*

Once my attention has been properly stolen, I am inundated with how much this guy -- who usually smells funny -- loves "the music" and "the movement," -- which he is never quite knowledgeable enough about to be more specific (no worries, I never cared enough myself to be specific), and various other issues that he thinks will endear himself to me. Inevitably, this conversation WILL turn to the legalization of weed, and this individual WILL ask you if you have some that you would be willing to smoke with him. That was what the whole song/dance was about to begin with, but it would have been too forward to just allow you to shoot him down and go on with your life without having 10-15 minutes of meaningless conversation with someone who smells like dirt weed and patchouli stolen from you.

[Phlip note - if it seems that I lost you with that one, look no further than the below-embedded video for SNL's 'Ras Trent']

This is time I will NEVER get back, and the sad fact is that the shit happens about twice monthly and has for over 9 years now.


Act as if you do not hear the original onslaught (an iPod or other music player used while in public helps this, this is also a good time to whip out the cell phone and start sending a text), and if this doesn't work then you are to appear to be FAR too busy to stop and hold superfluous conversation about nothing in particular. Hints? Look at your watch or phone frequently, as if to check the time, as if you have somewhere to be. DO NOT entertain this motherfucker, responses should be short, sentences including no more than 2 or 3 words no longer than 2 syllables. If this person is already high and doesn't get it, be a little more assertive and just straightup tell them you've got something you need to do.


As much as I hate to sound like Scene I above, I need to quote India.Arie and inform people that I am not my fucking hair. I am a generally approachable and eventually personable cat if the approach is right.
No, I am not here to save the world, no I will not sell or give you weed, nor do I want to buy any from you. No, I am not here for you to pet because my hair looks interesting and you've never touched anything like it, no I am not Rasta and no I am not interested in sitting and shooting the shit with you until you think we've made friends good enough for you to ask me for drugs.

I didn't magically wake up one day with a severe disdain for people I have not allowed into my circle, it took years upon years of training, and that of the last 10 or so years has been the most intense of it all.

And DAMN, do I fucking DETEST the smell of Patchouli.

Monday, November 23, 2009

Random acts of immaturity

Slow news week, lol.
Michael Jordan went on and actually agreed with me about how wrong LeBron was the other day. No need to speak on that, because confirmation of my aversions to anything LeBron says makes people who can't think these things through fully call me a "hater," so I will leave it there...
Ramping up to vacation next weekend after Thanksgiving, so I will not be doing much cooking this week, posting will be quite sparing, I think.
I am in the mood for some photo phun, this time I shot the pics.

I am a sorry example of an individual so addicted to wristwatches... Of these 10 watches, only 4 are NOT in need of batteries, same applies to the two my brother has at current as well.

Wait, what?

Went to the flea market this afternoon to look and see if there were any White Jesus or Michael Jackson t-shirts, or perhaps some Obama Air Force Ones that interested me.
All we got out of this was a hearty chuckle at this hunk o' shit Civic.
Laugh with us.

Looks like they're raising VANS now for this shit, this is fucking CRAZY!!!

See, raising vans, and promoting the shittiest artists ever fucking invented.

Here, we find a man on a bicycle on a Sunday morning/afternoon in an all white suit in November with his pants tucked into his brown socks... Jesus, please take the wheel!

Not much happened during yesterday's adventures, then it started raining and we had a family dinner with my family and extended family and called it a night.
I will come up with something more to post before bouncing for vacation this coming weekend.

Thursday, November 19, 2009

Classic Automotive Pr0ns -- 1965 Pontiac GTO

Born in a time where badass cars actually got greenlighted, then produced and actually appreciated, in 1964 Pontiac was allowed to go forward with optioning their 2-door Tempest model, where for an additional $296 (yes, less than three hundred bucks!), you would get engine upgrades, limited slip differential, upgraded suspension and cooling and a choice of automatic or manual transmissions and the requisite "GTO" badging. This would top you out STILL under $5grand for the car.
In 1965, the GTO was broken out of the Tempest/Lemans family and given a slight makeover and it's own model.
More weight, more options and surprisingly less money were all a part of the equation. Luckily, so was more power and better looks (in my opinion, of course). Unfortunately, this came at the cost of performance, as the engine redux caused the cars to be not quite as fast as the initial ones, and the issue of brakes that are not befitting a car of this stature had not been addressed.

Fast forward about 20something years and the 1965 GTO, aided by the benefits of ability to upgrade of items on them -- like those brakes and minor things to help the engine along -- became my favorite car. We will mark this as my first favorite car ever and will qualify that to mean that it is STILL my favorite car in spite of what I have come to like and/or love since.
My love of the car in general can be applied to the styling of the entire first generation (1964-1967), but I was never much a fan of the ones that came after, so this blog will be about the 1965 model.

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

In the kitchen with Phlip -- "Breakfast for dinner" edition... Hashbrown casserole

I have mentioned this on the forum, via text message and on FaceBook and the last time I did it and took pictures I was under the residuals of having been EXTREMELY intoxicated the night before the night I closed on the house, so the pictures weren't very good...
Here I am, 2.5 weeks later, new stove and a new plan.

Let's cook!
Start with the new knife that The Katie bought you while you were at work having your soul removed slowly today:

and use it to dice up ONE russet potato (or two small Yukon Golds, do NOT use a different kind of potato, I warned you):

dice one half of whatever onion you should so choose, today I chose a yellow:

and dice ONE of these:

Like so:

Oil your largest pan nicely and start in on the potatoes on medium-hi heat:

Work over the potatoes in the pan until soft, and browning to a crisp:

... and add the meat and onions:

Stay on this until the ONIONS are soft and cooked.

Crack 4 eggs:

Then SCRAMBLE them sumbitches:

Line the pan with foil:

[Phlip note - lining it with foil makes cleanup less of a pain in the ass]

Spread the meat/onion/potatoes across the bottom of it, then pour in the eggs and move pan around until they're spread across the entire bottom of the pan:

*Photograph forgotten*
Sprinkle cheese of your choosing on top of this and set the oven on 350 or 375, then put it in there.



Quick, simple as hell to make, damned tasty and feeds four.

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