I am a little bit out of sorts right now. Last Saturday, my friend Hassan gave me a Dominican cigar, out of the kindness of his overgrown, Al B. Sure-looking heart. So me, being the grateful and ever so wonderful friend I am, I decided to smoke it tonight, despite the fact that I am not huge on smoking anything. However, folks that know me well, know that I’ll treat myself to an occasional cigar every few months or so if I feel so inclined. Well, tonight, I felt so inclined.
I learned a valuable lesson tonight about a certain mathematic equation: Imported cigars x cheap carryout fried chicken = your body reaching an almost comatose state. I swear to all that is good and right about the world, I am just now beginning to feel my legs again. I heard that the best athletes in the world have very low resting heart rates when their pulse is taken. Somewhere around 40 beats per minute or so. Maybe my count was wrong due to my Dominican tobacco buzz, but mine was about at 12bpm. That means, either I’m in good enough shape to record a triple-double in an NBA game against Tony Parker, or I was clinically dead for part of the time that I was taking my own pulse.
Either way, I have learned my lesson. I plan on sleeping like a newborn baby tonight, but still, I think I was a little TOO relaxed after all of that unhealthy consumption. While smoking that cigar and eating my chicken on the front porch dring this beautiful 74 degree late night in Petworth, a couple of crackstitutes walked by the house and said hello. Instead of just ignoring them, I decided to pretend I was actually a Dominican immigrant and said “Me no speeky the Englass! Leee-me lone!”
Then, a Hispanic one walked by, looked up, and I retuned to black all of a sudden, by saying “No habla Espanol. Beat it.” to her. She kept it moving, but I realized that I really didn’t need to acknowledge either group in order for them to leave me be. It just seemed like the right thing to do, in my smoke-filled mind. Once I realized that chastizing crack hookers and losing count of my own pulse are both signs of impending disaster, I decided to come upstairs and write something about it before going to bed.
If you take nothing else from this, let it be this pearl of wisdom: Do not mix good cigars with cheap carryout food late at night. I fully anticipate having another Star Jones nightmare once I lay down. Hell, it might even be worse this time. I might get raped by Star, while Serena Williams holds me down, then rips my tonsils out with her bare hands and plays hackey-sack with them.
Someone e-mail or call me tomorrow and make sure I’m not somewhere in the corner, crying in the fetal position. Thanks in advance.
Oh yeah…Image courtesy of cigarinspector.com
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in case you die…this is the funniest shit i read today…
I’m alive and kicking @ Bellasbiz, but thanks for checking up
Your most critical mistake was ingesting anything given or sold to you by a dude named Hassan!
I graduated from T. Roosevelt–right in your back yard–by the way, and I think those same street walkers trolled that area back in the late 70s when I graduated. Or maybe the legacy continues and it’s their daughters.
As soon as I saw the title of today’s post,I automatically put my hand over my mouth so I could get ready to crack up here @ work – again. Only this time, I also needed a tissue to wipe the tears running down my face while my boss tried to ask me a question. Do you EVER have a ‘normal’ day and/or night? (LOL!) Thanks for the big belly laugh – I needed it!
“Crackstitutes”, I am so stealing that one. Ilive in Trinidad right off of West Virginia Ave. and Florida and I believe this is actually where they warehouse the DC crackstitutes before sending them out to their respective routes. I actually caught some old dude in my alley, in a Cadillac Escalade at 8 o’clock in the morning, getting the business from one of these sunken eyed, pock-faced, purveyors of pestillence. I knocked on the window and told him to get his horny Maryland ass outta my neighborhood. I actually stood there and waited for them to get out the back seat as I wrote down his tag number and made sure he got his nasty ass out of my alley. He probably got some wife somewhere who thinks he is the shit and don’t know he is copulating with these skanks. Not in my backyard dammit!!
Wow, Common, we share an unfortunate common bond. We moved out of 1290 Morse St. in Trinidad about 7 years ago. (The African lady from across the street bought it and now sells snow cones from the front porch. How quaint, right?) The dead bodies piling up out front and in the alley got to be a bit much. The day I almost had to fight a 10 year old for throwing a rock through our window was a sure sign that I was either gonna have to get out or be willing to participate in a street spectacle of my own for news the media. Gentrification Smentrification!!!
Back to you, Leon.
@ anonymousnupe, OMG!! I live(d)(moving out tomorrow) at 1144 Morse St. NE. And, guess what, I lasted only 7 years…lol!! I know the African lady that you are talking about and quaint is a clever way of putting it. BTW, she has expanded her enterprise to include, water, cookies, chips, sodas etc. Basically, she is running a fullscale corner store from her porch. The real kicker is I was stupid enough to rent out the top of my house to Section 8 recipients because, my crazy liberal ass thought I would be helping the “community”. Big Mistake!! I wish I could go into the horror story this became but, Leon is a good friend and I cannot and will not use his blog to vent.
lol the term for abnormally slow heart rates is bradycardia, I know, cause I’ve had that since I was a youngin. Only means we’ll live longer, the body doesn’t have to work as hard to get the done LOL.
I had a hand rolled cigar in New Orleans once, felt like that BOSS Brawd walking down Bourbon St. LOL
Common, hit me up at anonymousnupe@gmail when you get a chance. Where you movin’ to?
I ain’t mad at her for giving it the ‘ol African entrepreneurial try (but whomever spent more than a million dollars–from what I heard–gutting and renovating the house next door to her–the corner house–[which we discovered was the crack outlet after we moved in] proly ain’t too happy ’bout it, though). Sad thing is, there are some really good folks in that neighborhood. They’re just skurred. We were over your way a couple weeks ago–with 7 other churches–to pray over the ‘hood after all the killings. 72 hours later…and arrest.
Holla at me when you get a minute.
Thanks for being such a willing conduit and facilitator, Hustlemania.
makes a note not to smoke with you on my 30th….
@ Mr. 6’5″, as long as I leave the carryout chicken out of the equation, I’m good.
@ Anonymousnupe and Common Share, glad to see you two have a common bond…Too bad that common bond is life in one of th emost f*cked-up hoods in DC! @ Nupe, Hassan is an upstanding individual. He actually reminds me of the stuff you type here, because his smartass sense of humor is similar to yours.
@ Tracey, I have normal days. I just don’t write about them because they’re boring.
@ Phoenix7, here’s to our longer lives!
Thank goodness I saved your posts to read at home…….I’m no good @ “Me no speeky the Englass! Leee-me lone!”
yeah…I had a dream about smoking a cigar and it put me in a deeper sleep…so I thing it has something to do with cigars period….as for the crack whores…lmao, that is funny.