Opie & Anthony: Patrice O'Neal, the Black Dr Phil

Patrice O’Neal: Black Phillip’s Origin on O&A

This is the quintessential Patrice O’ Neal right here.  The information he shares is as insightful as it is hilarious.  It’s all in one’s perception how they’re able to receive and embrace what he has to say, but dammit…it can be revolutionary when applied properly.  Have a laugh and some new thoughts.  Thankfully there are a LOT of these gems on youtube.  Good shit, Mr. P.

Holy crap.  I didn’t even realize my lil’ thing had turned 1.  How cool!  Xavier Symes’ OMEGA turned 2 today!

Holy crap.  I didn’t even realize my lil’ thing had turned 1.  How cool!  Xavier Symes’ OMEGA turned 2 today!

(Source: assets)

George Carlin: Last Words (FAN EDIT)

Ah, my favorite comedian, social commentator and undeniable genius George Carlin presented in a way that just allows his true awesomeness to shine.  Here’s the audio book of his life (read by his brother!) mixed in with some of his bits that tie into his story.  Whoever took the time to put this together should get a hug and a high five for this shit. 

Corey Holcomb - Your Way Ain't Working

Ladies, if a man eats your pussy and puts a condom on before sex…that just means he don’t want his dick to go through what his mouth just did.-Corey Holcomb

10-12-2012 Thought

I have plenty of good friends that I’ve known for 10, 15, even 20 years. I’m very much looking forward to adding another 30 years on top of that to when we’re in our 50s and 60s where we start losing our minds just a little. I figure it’ll be a LOT of fun when we congregate and start conversing about things…but never remembering the minute details of ANYTHING. Just a bunch of “…you know” and “Y

ou remember that girl, dummy…” and “That thing…” and “…the other one” and “No, Stupid…that OTHER guy.” Couple those with a few “Oh, goddammit…” and “Son of a bitch…” and “Oh, what the hell was the name of…?” with PLENTY of groaning. I can see the conversations getting totally out of control and as we start grabbing our inhalers, cursing up a storm…and FINALLY, SOMEBODY remembers an actual detail or name. And then, as we catch our breaths and wipe the spittle and formulated foam from corners of our mouths…we revel in our LONG-LIVED friendships and long-vested camaraderie. And I know some HILARIOUS people…so I already know I’m really going to LOVE it.
10-10-2012: Friday Morning Shot

And so the show begins right before the workday starts. I grabbed a fresh batch from my man last night and his shit is always good. I look down at the massive vein in my forearm as I push the needle deeper into my flesh. I always enjoy watching the bit of blood that enters the syringe as I force the drug into my bloodstream. I think it’s probably the same for a baker seeing their bread rise.

You know you’re doing something right. In a few minutes I’m going to be the best thing on this planet and ready to start the day in full God Mode.

Times like this I’m glad I’ve been at the job so long. It’s too late for drug screening at this point. Fuck it. Not like it’d matter anyway since I know the place like the back of my hand. Ohhhh shit. There we go. First there’s that quick dizzy feeling…and now…KABOOM!!! THERE is my rush. Ohhh, yes. Time for big fun again!

Loosening the band with my teeth and removing the needle is unto an art form at this point and I can execute like an Olympic-level Water Ninja. Damn this is a good high. I almost want to take the day off to enjoy it without any interruption, but it’s Friday. The day’ll be over soon enough. Where’s my music? Might just dance all the way to the train station. Ha. I’ll be on my Kevin Hart flow and just start Hula Hooping. Coke heads ain’t the only ones who have fun doing that shit. Ahhh, I crack myself up.

SIDEBAR: This is a random humorous “story” from my head…NOT my life. I’m still drug-free until I hit 50. Easy.
10-09-2012 Thought

I’m pretty sure I can come up with a status complaining about how cold it is, how comfortable I am in bed, how much I hate my alarm, how amazing sleep is or how awesome it would be to start work at noon…EVERY…single…morning that it happens.

10-07-2012 Thought: An absolutely wonderful truth I discovered long ago on my own: Food cannot spoil later if I eat all it right now. #fatboyslimbody #wastenotwantnot #youarewelcomestomach
I never gave a fuck, but I often cared."
“I’ve never given a shit even when I gave a damn.”
“For those times I could care less, I sometimes wonder if I should have cared more.
10-04-2012: Surviving Next of Kin

The next time he kissed her would be during her funeral. She was dead. For all intents and purposes, to everyone else, she already had been. Never to him though. After a year spent in a permanent vegetative state, her husband made the painful and difficult decision to take her off of life support. He always knew that she would not have wanted to live via machines, but he couldn’t let her go.

She was all he had. For years, she had been all he needed. She was his ultimate compass in life and any good he accomplished he would often relate to her. She drove him. She inspired him. And they had always done this for one another. It was just their way. So how could he cope with losing his?

For so long, both his family and hers urged him to let her go. Initially, he felt as if they betrayed her by giving up. The incident that caused the brain injury happened two years prior and the coma followed almost immediately after. More than 365 days of hesitating and waiting passed before he could even bring himself to consider the option. In his entire 53 years of existence, he was sure it was both the most difficult thing he has ever had to do but also felt as though it was the worst thing he’d ever done. Each day since the accident was spent in the hospital for as long as he was allowed and able to stay. When others offered to go in his stead, his response was always “I have to be the one there next to her when she wakes up just like I’ve been for the last 25 years.”

To his perpetual sadness, it was never meant to be. Even when doctors informed him she had slipped deeper into her coma and would likely never come out, he waited anyway. He held on to the hope that it was all a misdiagnosis and she’d eventually be okay.

Now, it has been two weeks he’s spent sitting in the house in silence and darkness. The funeral had long since passed and his new reality as a depressed widower continues to sink in. The quiet is suddenly broken as the home phone rings. Figuring it to be another regular check-in or condolences of a family member or friend, he doesn’t bother checking the Caller I.D. Walking into the kitchen, he slowly answers, mustering a barely audible sigh of “Hello?” A voice responds, “Sir, my name is Frank Parish. I’m calling from WIWALO Life about your wife’s policy. Is this an alright time to speak to you?” Overcome with yet another wave of his recurring grief, he breaks down yet again, falling to his knees, as he tries to explain between unchecked sobs, “I don’t want any damn life insurance money. I…I just want my wife. I just need her back.”