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All Up In Dem' Guts...Tenderly
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2/13/2007
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Yet another gem from blossoming blogger Derek Lawler.
Give it up.
True love is in the air. But it can be a very confusing emotion. Luckily, when it comes to matters of the heart, one can always turn to poetry and find reflections of their innermost thoughts and feelings.
And who better to shed a little swanky, red-light on the subject than a trio of romantics. Am I speaking of Blake, Shelley and Keats? No, fool! I'm talkin' 'bout three boys who really know what true romance is all about...gittin' yo freak on.
I'm talking about Ricky Bell, Michael Bivins and Ronnie DeVoe - better known as Bell Biv DeVoe. And now ya' know.
Slick, Biv and R.D. begin their lesson of lust in a poem known simply as "Poison." As we all know, before one can freak, one must mack, which is the equivalent of a peacock showing his plumage to a potential mate. Mack correctly, and a freak will surely follow. But you can't just freak on anyone. There has be a connection that's deeper than simply "getting up in dem guts." Let's read from Ricky Bell's first verse.
"It's oh, so (beautifuuuuuuuuul)
Relationships they seem from the start
It's all so (deadllllllllly)
When love is not together from the heart"
How true, young Ricky. How very true. Pick the wrong ho and you could be entering into what psychologists refer to as a "toxic relationship." The girl is your poison. P-P-poison. Next, the former New Edition lads pontificate on what happens when this poison enters your bloodstream. It goes straight to your heart.
"It's drivin' me out of my mind!
That's why it's hard for me to find
Can't get it out of my head!
Miss her, kiss her, love her
Wrong move you're dead.
That girl is POISOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOON!"
And in their most revelatory line, the boys let us in on a little secret that it took me years to learn.
"Never trust a big butt and a smile."
If only I had followed this mantra in my younger years, I might have not fallen into the deadly trap of a "low pro ho" who was "cut like an aaa-fro."
Only now can I see that she was simply "schemin on house, money and the whole show."
The un-whack wordsmiths also preach of the importance of brotherhood. If the subject of our poem had only heeded the words of his friends, he would have been able to avoid the entire ordeal. Observe.
"But I know she's a loser (How do you know?) Me and the crew used to do her!"
Oh, DeVoe! Why didn't I take your advice to heart? If the entire crew fornicated with this young fly girl, what could possibly make me think I could change her? For she is clearly poison...and there is no antidote.
Then, one sweet day, you'll fight your way through the throngs of fly, yet fatal honeys, and you might be able to find that one dope girl that stands out from the rest. And when you do, you can read her a passage from Bell Biv Devoe's second most famous work. Sit her down, look her in the eyes and say the three little words that every girl longs to hear..."Do me, baby."
But it's not always as simple as that. You have to know the girl is up to the task. Let's read together from the first few stanzas of this literary masterpiece.
"Take a look at me
Tell me do you like what you see
Do you think you can
Do you think you can do me?
Kiss me pretty baby
Touch me all over
Girl, what makes you think you can do me Do you think you can do me, girl?"
These questions are important. If she can't keep up, you might give her a heart attack, or worse, you could risk having a less than stellar freaking experience. So, they offer some advice on what to do to maximize your freakiness.
"Girl, let your hair down
Take off your clothes and leave on your shoes Would you mind if I looked at you for a moment Before I make sweet love?"
Notice the tenderness. Ask your lady if you can gaze at her beauty, for which there is no comparison. Then freak the shit out of her.
Also, feel free to whisper other sweet nothings into her various orifices, such as:
"I like to do the wild thing"
And...
"Oh, come on and sweat me."
Also, let her know it's not all about you. You're flexible enough that you can freak her at different hours of the day. Women love to know that a man is taking their needs into account before they flick the freak switch to the "on" position.
"Do me, baby (I like it in the morning time, yeah) Do me, baby (Sometimes I love it in the evening, baby, yeah) Do me, baby (Can you do me all over, girl, yeah, yeah)"
Once things get going, you’re going to need to know exactly what actions to take. Luckily, B.B.D. offers these detailed tips on how to please a woman.
"Smack it up.
Flip it.
Rub it down.
Oh, noooooo."
Sounds simple enough, right? Just be sure to follow their instructions in that order. I can't tell you how many times my lovemaking has been hindered by the fact that I rubbed it down first, then proceeded to flip it. By the time I was going to smack it up, she had fallen asleep.
But, if all goes well, the "Oh noooo." you hear is the precursor to a successfully timed climax and not the disappointing shout of premature new-jack-swingulation on your part.
But most importantly...
"Kinda wet, don't forget
The J, the I, the M, the M, the Y, y'all I need a body bag."
That's right. Ricky, Michael and Ronnie want us to remember to always practice safe sex. Or possibly necrophilia on a guy named Jimmy. The lyrics are a little vague. But I like to think the body bag they're referring to is that of the Magnum variety.
Well, I hope we've all learned a little something today. Stay away from toxic hoes and make sweet love whenever you can, for the booty is as fleeting as time itself.
And if anyone would like to join my popular fan club, The Bell Biv DeVotees, we meet every Tuesday night in El Bar, behind El Azteca.
I'd like to conclude with a practice that no early 90's R&B jam would be complete without...the shout out.
"Yo' fellas, that was my end of bloggin.
You know what I'm sayin'?
Yeah, D-Law in full effect
And I can't forget about my boy, Bobby Brown and the whole New Edition crew.
Another Bad Creation for-eva! Uh. Uh. What.
Peace.
And I'm gone."
 Yours truly, Derek Lawler (still not my picture)
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posted by Dusty at 3:10 PM |
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Like Salami Tsunami, but Funny
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2/06/2007
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Listen up, kids. We're auditioning new talent here at AI, and this guy is one of the most promising thus far. Sure, he's no Dusty- he's young, good looking, and talented. That might take some time to get used to, but he comes with my stamp of approval. With that said, please enjoy some words he typed. Please forgive him for referencing Seinfeld. He's new.
About three years ago, I decided it was time to upgrade my phone. At the time, I had the giant blue Nokia phone that everyone had, except by this point most normal human beings had moved on to smaller, cooler ones. I got tired of lugging around a cellular device that would put Zack Morris' behemoth to shame. Plus, small children with plastic cell phones full of bubble gum were making fun of me.
So I headed to the Cingular store with a few requirements.
1) I wanted it to be small enough to fit in my pocket.
2) I wanted to be able to see who was calling me without opening it.
3) I didn't want to spend a lot of money.
I found a really small Samsung phone with an outside screen that was fairly cheap, so I bought that badboy and brought it home.
Little did I know, that badboy was actually a girl. Remember the episode of Seinfeld where George buys glasses with ladies' frames? Yeah. That was pretty much what happened. Except one of my friends didn't shout racial slurs from a comedy club stage years later. But other than that, pretty much the same.
That outside screen that I wanted so badly? Well, it happened to double as a mirror. Probably useful for applying makeup. Not so useful for doing manly things, like trimming nose hairs or getting girls to actually speak to you.
The small size? Well, it turns out it wasn't just small. It was cute. Every tiny fiber of this phone's being was built to be cute. It rings and purple, blue and yellow lights flash on the screen. You charge it and a tiny duck walks across the screen, announcing the extremely high dosages of estrogen emitting from my little silver friend.
Perhaps I could redeem myself with normal ringtones and wallpapers? Nope. It's all yawning bunnies with tulips behind their ears, kittens on tricycles juggling even smaller kittens and happy little songs about puppies and weddings and puppy weddings.
I had to spend half a fortune injecting my phone with some semblance of manhood. For three years, my ringtone blared "Feelin' like a pimp, then go on brush ya shoulders off." As if to scream to the world, "I am a man's phone! Treat me as such!" I was afraid to change songs, because if I did, any slight dip in testosterone levels might have caused my phone to actually grow breasts.
I downloaded UGA-related wallpapers for my background to take the place of happy sunshine-covered daisy fields. I was essentially giving my phone a sex change, whether it wanted it or not. And we were ok with it. It wasn't always easy, but I actually grew to like my phone. Even though it was confused about its orientation, it held up well. That is, until last night.
I know it's gone to a better place. A place where people won't judge it. A place I hope we can all go one day.
And now it's time for a new phone. And you can rest assured that I won't make the same mistake twice. My contract is over, so I can choose from a plethora of free phones, which is good, because I'm a cheap bastard. I have my pick of tons of phones that even Paul Bunyan would consider a little too manly.
I've made up my mind that the RAZR is the way to go. It has everything I'm looking for. It knows exactly what it is. And as I now go to the Cingular website to order it, I see that the free RAZR I want is available in only one color...
Pink.
Derek Lawler (not my picture)
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posted by Dusty at 3:27 PM |
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