INT. – NIGHT – THE BEDROOM
Jon is awakened by The Feath’s stirring. He knows the drill: she needs to pee. As a reflex, Jon knows to tuck in his legs so she’ll be able to lumber over him without much incident. Jon doesn’t dare try to fall back to sleep until The Feath returns. As she doesn’t care to turn on the lights on bathroom excursions in the middle of the night, Jon pays particular attention when The Feath re-enters the room, just in case he needs to swoop into action. The Feath makes it back to the bed without incident. As she settles in, she speaks…
The Feath: I was having a weird dream before I got up.
Jon: Oh yeah?
The Feath: Yeah. We were in the delivery room and like, the baby was getting ready to come out, but you wouldn’t let me push until you put some music on.
The Feath: Yeah, man. You wouldn’t let me push until you put “Livin’ On a Prayer” on.
Jon: …That’s weird.
The Feath: (Shrugging, rolling over) Yale.
I told you it was only a matter of time before the buddy cop movie starring myself and Kriss from Insanity Report surfaced. This is Part I.
INT. – NIGHT
Detectives Pitts-Wiley and Kriss pore over case files. The humidity in the room is stifling, but they continue to rifle through dossiers, newspaper clippings and photos. Both look as though they haven’t slept much in the last few days. Ties loosened, they dangle about the necks as though the gallows call. Perhaps it does. This case isn’t like that others. There’s a wrinkle they know they’re missing. But both Kriss and Pitts-Wiley are determined. They know the Tiger Woods press conference is a career bust and they can’t let it slip through their fingers. Suddenly Kriss slams down a folder. He’s fed up. Read the rest of this entry »
Above we see The Franchise, aka The First of the Mohicans, poppin’ off at the mouth, proving the child is indeed mine.
In recent weeks, The Feath and I have taken to calling the kid Juice or Juicy Fruit, not merely because I’m like Diddy with these monikers, but also because home skillet starts gettin’ buck every time The Feath drinks juice.
But what kind of skillet is Juice? A he or a she?
Let’s allow Prince Rogers Nelson to croon a bit
Could you be
The most beautiful girl in the world?
Plain to see
You’re the reason that God made a girl
So, there you have it.
And, in honor of my unborn child, a song which she will be convinced is a nursery rhyme until she becomes the wiser and feels mildly ashamed of her father.
In light of the possibility of a John Edwards sex tape, this post from June ’07 seemed appropriate.
So, one of the more odd things about yours truly is my peculiar interest in and ability to retain information pertaining to pop culture. Perhaps it’s a sad commentary on society in the post-modern era (whatever the fuck that means), but I would feel infinitely more confident entering a pop culture show than I would a history one. It’s not to say I can’t fucks with some Jeopardy!, but it is to say I remember a lot of worthless information.
What’s particularly weird is, though I semi-actively seek to stay hip to the game, unless a pop topic is brought up, I don’t really discuss it with other people. More often than not, it is unlikely I’ll open up a conversation with, “Did you see what so and so was wearing at the Emmy Awards?”, but I’ll absolutely know what so and so was wearing. I just generally keep the information to myself. Is it out of shame? I don’t think so. I suppose it’s just one of those quirks about your boy.
Anyway, I was perusing one of my favorite website, thesuperficial.com, and the most recent post on the site was devoted to pictures of Kim Kardashian living her life. To bring up to speed those of you who have better things to do with your lives than know who she is, Kardashian is the daughter of Robert–one of the lawyers who proved O.J. was innocent, friend to Paris Hilton (though I’m not sure they’re peoples anymore) and the vagina of Ray J’s sex tape. In these pictures on the website, Kardashian’s booty looks other-worldly. Literally, it just looks so good that it’s not to be believed. Now I don’t know how half-Armenians get down, but this was just absurd. I needed a consultation.
Talking to my home girl Ms. Thomas-Littleton, I sent the link to her for her perusal. I tend to believe girls have a better eye for certain things than dudes, mainly because the straight ones don’t want to have sex with what they’re looking at. Upon inspection, MTL thought her ass was a cosmetic fakery, noting that the thigh to butt ratio just didn’t add up.
I’m no one’s doctor, so I can’t really tell you if you can fake a donkey butt. What I do know is happening across these photos piqued my curiosity about her sex tape with Raymond Norwood (which is something of a porny name when you think about it), brother of Brandy. After searching the world wide web for a bit (Sidebar 1: Sometimes, the internet is utterly unhelpful) I discovered the tape in full. Eager to see what the sex tape gods had wrought, I clicked on the link. My date with destiny had begun. Read the rest of this entry »
INT. – NIGHT– THE BEDROOM
Jon is seated on the bed, plugging in his cellular phone. The Feath enters the room, freshly showered. She has a look of mild astonishment on her face as she feels her belly, a belly that contains the ever-growing Franchise.
THE FEATH: Dude, I can’t see my vagina anymore.
Jon ponders this a moment. He beckons The Feath over, smiles and rubs her belly thoughtfully.
JON: Well…it is kind of kind of in a cave now.
Twitterin’ (heeey) sing-le
Oooh, In a 1-0 kind of world
I’m glad I’ve got Twit-ter!
Confession: My Twitter feed is fairly one-note. There’s a spectrum certainly, but even that spectrum falls under the category of “Stuff I’ll tolerate reading 140-characters at a time.” Thus, I don’t have too many people who are, in my opinion, batshit crazy and perpetually insufferable. I once referred to Twitter as the college dining hall for grown-ups and that still applies. The people whom I follow are people who I would sit at a table and shoot the shit with. Read the rest of this entry »
The above is a bit of timeless parody. This is not. I’m gonna have to be the bad guy and say it’s…mildly uncouth to nominate a man’s funeral service for an NAACP Image Award, even if it’s Michael Jackson.
As you’re probably aware, Plaxico Burress is going to be spending some quality time with the New York State correctional facilities for doing various dumb ass things while concealing an unlicensed firearm–not the least of those things being shooting himself in the leg.
Since he was offered a three month plea and rejected it, I have no problem with him getting the two years he agreed to after realizing prosecutors were going to throw the book at him.
Others do have a problem with this, feeling that Burress is getting a raw deal and a too-harsh penalty. Those who feel his stupidity only warranted a few months in jail–a few months that was rejected by Burress in his initial plea bargain–cite an outrage at the justice system, particularly with regard to minimum sentencing.
While I see the flaws in minimum sentencing–many seem arbitrary; others so obviously racially-motivated that you would laugh if it wasn’t so despicable–I still see far greater flaws in leaving the administration of justice to a case-by-case basis system. Why? Because those who support such a reform seem to do so under the assumption that, without guidelines, judges and prosecutors will be inclined to handle each case as unique and, in doing so, do the right thing.
That seems unlikely. Why? Because most people, good and bad alike, don’t have the energy to even attempt to bring an unbiased approach to sentencing based on facts particular to each and every case. And even if they have that energy, to expect them to not be affected by precedent is borderline foolhardy.
There are far too many laws and far too many people breaking laws to think that the few on the side of justice would be either effective or just if left to their own devices.
My concerns aren’t about the cases that warrant multiple decades in prison; I’m concerned about the crimes that warrant sentences of ten years or less. In a case-by-case system, can we really expect officers of the court to put forth the energy it takes to examine each and every case as special? The fact that they are human beings leaves them open to bias and the eventual comparing of cases for the purpose of “perspective.”
Simply put, prosecutors and judges would eventually start coming up with their own sentencing standards anyway, thus making the lack of guidelines not only irrelevant, but possibly dangerous. Police could say “Well, it’s illegal to go over 65mph and today is Thursday, so that ticket’s going to be $250 instead of 75.” (Obviously, some cops do this anyway, but without standard they could do this with near impunity).
And let’s not forget: the tossing out of minimum sentencing would have to necessarily toss out maximum sentencing as well.
Sentencing falls under ranges because there are two many laws, too many criminals and far too few people really willing to do the work that individualized justice requires. It’s just unrealistic. So what can be done?
In my mind, minimum (and maximum) sentences should be under constant and rigorous review (as should the laws that precede such sentencing); a living, breathing system that changes with the times. Such a system requires sweat, but seems realistic in approach.
The question then becomes: Well who is doing the reviewing and revising? In my (hopeful) system, this is an area in which the people could–and should–participate passionately. This is a way to make votes really count in a particular way. I’m not so naive as to forget ours is a representative democracy, but input from the people doesn’t seem entirely unreasonable.
What does seem unreasonable is the doing away with minimum sentences and the assumption that those in power would suddenly do the right thing.