When I was a kid and my friends and I got into some kind of trouble that landed us in a heap of shit my mom would inevitably ask the age-old question, “Well, if everybody jumped off a bridge, would you jump also?” And the answer, in my adolescent days, would probably have been “Yes, I would jump off a bridge if everyone else was.” Fine, you don’t know any better at that age, and that doesn’t make it ok, but you’re supposed to learn from your mistakes and the mistakes of others right? So you would hope that by the time you’re an adult you’ll have a decent enough filter to know right from wrong.

Apparently that’s not the case because somehow many adult men think it’s acceptable to take a picture of themselves with their shirts off to use for their Myspace profile when they’ve surly seen the tragedy that is the shirtless profile pic that is rampant on Myspace.

Dudes…..just because one guy did it….doesn’t mean you should too. Don’t jump off that bridge….please. Do us all a favor gents and keep your tops on no matter how ripped YOU think your abs are. If you’re snapping shots in your poorly lit, roach-coach basement apartment, do yourself a favor and keep the shirt on. No amount of Photoshop can hide your desperation.

Going bare chested won’t hide the fact that, sorry, but you’re kind of a loser. You couldn’t even find a friend to help you take your photo; you had to either hold the camera yourself or put it on the desk and hit the self timer. It comes off completely desperate and pathetic, like a little mouse that just ate a plate full of D-Con but has just enough life to claw his way under your radiator to die and stink up your apartment for a week.

There are exceptions to the rule though. If it happens to be a snap shot of you at the beach or something like that and you happen to have your shirt off….well I can deal with that. Or if it’s a joke, like this guy who took the time to set up a Myspace profile just to have this great snapshot of himself with “I love beer,” written across his chest. He doesn’t care, that’s what makes it funny.

Bottom line, if you find yourself asking the question, “Shirt or no shirt?” You SHOULD now know the answer! We can only hope.

Beasley J. Lichtenstein

Hey gang, Beasley here and so are the balls. Its been awhile since I’ve talked about something suckin balls but in all honestly, things have been pretty good. Well, that is until today’s news came across my desk. Besides the war in Iraq and the floods in the mid-atlantic it has come to my knowledge that the geniuses over at ABC have finally gotten rid of Star Jones on The View.

First of all, did it really take years to figure out that she sucked balls? According to Barbara Walters she says “research showed audience members were turned off by Reynolds’ dramatic weight loss and glitzy wedding to banker Al Reynolds in 2004.” How about this….I was turned off by her weirdness and the fact that her gay “husband” was also a weirdo. Oh and that she sucked. People hated her before she started to look like a skinny piece of mess. I mean, how many times did she have to let her audience know she was “a black woman”. She’s just the worst and I’m glad she died.

Alright guys, talk to you later!

So I’m leaving my apartment the other day to head to work in the morning and it was pouring rain outside. It was also 85 degrees out and friggin muggy as hell. Cuz hell is really muggy. Now of course I didn’t have an umbrella because they are really annoying and I always end up “accidentally” leaving them in the garbage because i’m tired of holding it when it stops raining. So anyway, I decide to put on my water proof Old Navy zip-up that I got for my birthday from my dear old brother. Good guy.

So I throw that baby on because I’m heading to work and I want to be dry as a bone. Bones are really dry so I used that anaolgy to better explain the level of dryness I want to achieve.  So I whip it on and pursue my 20 minute commute to work. As I continue to walk in the blistering muggy heat I start sweating my balls off. They were basically hanging by a string within 10 minutes of my journey.

As I make it up to my office I am disgusting. This water proof pullover that was supposed to protect me from the rain and keep me dry made me sweat through my shirt. There was absolutely no ventilation in this thing and I sweat like a pig that sweats alot. Long story long, I’m sitting there at my desk, completely soaked in my own stink and as wet as I would have been withouth the pullover. F this world!

I’m all for doing whatever the hell it is you want to do. If you want to pretend to be Akasha Queen of the Damn then go for it. Be the best damn dark princess you can be and suck blood till you burst. I don’t really get it but whatever, everyone’s got their quirks. And to have at these dark power, gothicy types who are really just well-to-do pimply kids trying to find a place to fit in, is just too easy because Myspace has them by the coffin full. But what killed me about Akasha’s web page, besides the obvious cheese of the whole thing, was a comment posted by her fellow darky, Dragon (Ravenclaw)  -represented of course by a photo of Johnny Depp. 

Well hello my queen Akasha as you have slept so long how are you finding the world of mortals? I am in need of fresh blood to fulfill my pleasures in darkness……well have a happy Easterand I hope to find you well….your dear friend D”

Have a happy Easter! Wait, wait, wait….Problem number one, Dragon goes from talking about drinking fresh blood to wishing his dark princess a happy easter. And problem two, that implies that the Queen of the Damned is Christian? Is she out back having an Easter egg hunt with the kids? I would imagine if she wants to maintain some dark princess credibility she would at least have to put some little bitey snakes in the plastic eggs, or dye some hard boils with her victim’s blood.  The image of  the dark princess sitting around a big dinner table carving up an Easter Ham with grandma just sort of kills her darkness….unless of course she stabs everyone in the throat and then helps herself to the Brussel sprouts.

Thanks Akasha and Dragon, you’ve spoiled my faith in the dark powers…..way to keep it real!p>

oh..I almost forgot…Here is Dragon……ooohhh 

This paper was turned in by an Oakland High school student who received the highest honors at the school district’s Ebonics translation competition.

Assignment: Please translate the following Rap song lyrics from Ebonics to standard English.
Artist: Notorious B.I.G.
Album: Ready to Die
Song: One more chance (remix)

Lyrics:
First things first, I poppa, freaks all the honeys
Dummies - playboy bunnies, those wantin’ money
Those the ones I like ‘cause they don’t get nathan’
But penetration, unless it smells like sanitation
Garbage, I turn like doorknobs
Heart throb, never, black and ugly as ever
However, I stay coochied down to the socks
Rings and watch filled with rocks

TRANSLATION:
As a general rule, I perform deviant sexual acts with women of all kinds, including but not limited to those with limited intellect, nude magazine models, and prostitutes. I particularly enjoy sexual encounters with the latter group as they are generally disappointed in the fact that they only receive penile intercourse and nothing more, unless of course, they douche on a consistent basis. Although I am extremely unattractive, I am able to engage in these types of sexual acts with some regularity. Perhaps my sexuality is somehow related to my fancy and expensive jewelry.

Lyrics:
And my jam knock in the Mitsubishi
Girls pee pee when they see me, Nava-hoes creep me in they tee pee
As I lay down laws like I lay carpet
Stop it - if you think your gonna make a profit

TRANSLATION:
I enjoy playing my music loudly on my car stereo. Apparently, women enjoy this also because they become sexually aroused when they see me driving. Oddly enough, when I visit the Native American reservations, some of the more sexually promiscuous Indian women attempt to seduce me in their homes. Their intent is to divest me of my earnings. Such actions are unacceptable.

Lyrics:
Don’t see my ones, don’t see my guns - get it
Now tell ya friends Poppa hit it then split it
In two as I flow with the Junior Mafia
I don’t know what the hell’s stoppin’ ya
I’m clockin’ ya - Versace shades watchin’ ya
Once ya grin, I’m in game, begin

TRANSLATION:
Understand this fact: you can have neither my money, nor my weapons. I suggest that you inform your peers that we engaged in violent sexual acts. Currently, I am rapping with my associates, the Junior Mafia. I’m having some difficulty understanding why you refuse to approach me. I am attempting to make eye contact with you through my expensive glasses, and as soon as you respond with a smile, I will approach you.

Lyrics:
First I talk about how I dress and this
And diamond necklaces - stretch Lexuses
The sex is just immaculate from the back I get
Deeper and deeper - help ya reach the
Climax that your man can’t make
Call and tell him you’ll be home real late
Let’s sing the break

TRANSLATION:
I prefer to open the conversation with light banter about my wardrobe and jewelry, then I like to discuss my collection of expensive cars. This is more than enough to convince you to have sexual intercourse with me. I am able to insert my penis further into you when I enter you from behind. Furthermore, you will be able to reach orgasm. I understand this to be a problem with your current sexual partner. He needn’t be concerned about your whereabouts. Please phone him and inform him that you won’t be home for a while. By the way, please sing the chorus of the song for me also. 

Lyrics:
She’s sick of that song on how it’s so long
Thought he worked his until I handled my biz
There I is - major pain like Damon Wayans
Low down dirty even like his brother Keenan
Schemin’ - don’t bring your girl ‘round me
True player for real, ask Puff Daddy

TRANSLATION:
Your current love interest no longer wishes to hear your fabrications about the length of your member. After I had sexual intercourse with your woman, she became enlightened as to the proper way it is supposed to be performed; violently and immorally. It would be in your best interest to keep your woman away from me as my sexual prowess is very strong. If you are unconvinced, ask Puff Daddy.

Lyrics:
You - ringin’ bells with bags from Chanel
Baby Benz, traded in your Hyundai Excel
Fully equipped, CD changer with the cell
She beeped me, meet me at twelve

TRANSLATION:
Despite the fact that you attempted to win her at her doorstep with bags full of expensive clothes and a car (the lower end model Mercedes Benz which you financed by signing over your current vehicle) containing an expensive stereo and a cellular phone, your woman has contacted me through my pager indicating that we should rendezvous at midnight.

Lyrics:
Where you at? Flippin’ jobs, playin’ car notes?
While I’m swimmin’ in ya women like the breast stroke
Right stroke, left stroke what’s the best stroke
Death stroke - tongue all down her throat
Nuthin’ left to do but send her home to you
I’m through - can ya sing the song for me, boo?

TRANSLATION:
You, on the other hand, jump from job to job, barely able to maintain payments on the Mercedes Benz you purchased for your woman. Meanwhile, I continue to engage in sexual intercourse and commit lewd osculatory acts with your women. My only remaining option is to request that she leave my home and return to you because I have reached orgasm and no longer have a need for her presence.

Lyrics:
So, what’s it gonna be? Him or me?
We can cruise the world with pearls
Gator boots for girls
The envy of all women, crushed linen
Cartier wrist-wear with diamonds in ‘em
The finest women I love with a passion
Ya man’s a wimp, I give that ass a good thrashin’

TRANSLATION:
The ultimate decision rests with you. Whom do you choose as your sexual partner. I can take you on cruises around the world. I will dress you in the finest jewelry and footwear. You will be envied by women worldwide in your fine clothes and jewelry. There is a special place in my heart for beautiful women. I will defeat your man in an altercation because he is effeminate.

Lyrics:
High fashion - flyin’ into all states.
Sexin’ me while your man masturbates.
Isn’t this great? Your flight leaves at eight.
Her flight lands at nine, my game just rewinds.
Lyrically I’m supposed to represent.
I’m not only the client, I’m the player president

TRANSLATION:
You will be dressed in finest clothes on the runways of Paris. I will fly you to every state to shop for fine clothes and jewelry. You will enjoy sexual intercourse with me and your man will be forced to pleasure himself through manual stimulation. What a life! I’ll return you to LaGuardia in time to catch your 8 o’clock flight. The timing is perfect because I have scheduled a date with a second woman who arrives at the same gate at 9 o’clock. I’ll seduce her in the same way that I seduced you. I rap well and I am a positive reflection of my home town. Not only am I a sexually deviant, misogynistic, immoral, wealthy, male prostitute, but I also sit on the board of directors of the organization that governs others of my kind.

 Beasley J. Lichtenstein 

Hey gang! Beasley here again. Just to let you know before I start, this will not be about my balls. Ok, so I found out about an hour ago that submarine sandwiches are really only good for about a day. I bought a foot long sub from Subway on Monday (for those of you who don’t know Monday is Ham and Turkey day at Subway) and just ate it today after it sat in my cold dank fridge for 2 days. The worst part is not the fact that I want to kill myself right now because the pain in my upper intestine is about as nice as a BJ from a lawnmower, but it was that I got “the works” on it and the bun was completely soggy and falling apart in my hands. I still ate it for some reason.

Just thinking about it makes my want to vomit. Jared over at Subway didn’t warn me that his shit sandwiches don’t last 48 hours. It’s like when they serve the meat from that place its already on its last leg. No wonder the crap sandwhich only cost me 3 bucks.  

Thanks for your time people!

Beasley J. Lichtenstein

Hey gang, Beasley here. You ever take a #5 or even a 6-er? On your way to the bathroom, your buddy ever ask you, “Yo, you doin a #1 or #2?” and you look him straight in the face and just shake your head while trying to plug your butt with your cupped right hand like its a dam holding back the flow of the nile? Me too. That’s when its more than just a #1 or a #2. When it really has to come out. The mere force of the poop flow could pearce the back of the porceline john. The best part is at that point you really enjoy your own poop stink.