I'm a real actor now!!!

I've decided to become a real actor......so I'm a waiter, and this is the actual conversation I had with my first customer ever. I keep waiting for you to dance.....Excuse me, what did you say to me !?!?!?!!! I keep waiting for you to do the Rumba or something the blue haired old lady repeated while sipping her soup. Now I just served this old white lady this soup and I'm now considering flipping her bowl of boiling hot soup into her old withered lap. Did you play football. Yes I did play football. Just like that guy on TV. You look just like him, doesn't he look just like him honey. "He sure does", her husband said with a wide smile. You should dance our food out to us, like the other big guy on tv. Who are you talking about lady. "What's his name", she says... Willie...... Warrick......No Warren, Warren Sapp. You look just like him. I look nothing like Warren Sapp, and I won't be be dancing your pot roast out to you this afternoon. Come on just one move please?? Now this is very serious. Why do these people want me to dance? Has Warren Sapp become the dancing Ruben Studdard? More importantly will doing the running man get me a bigger tip. It never ceases to amaze me the things people say to a very large man without fear of physical retribution.... Let's just say watch what you say to your waiter, you would be amazed at how many places on the human body you can rub a pot roast. www.idealvsreal.com www.lifeasablackdude.blogspot.com

Blogging is for Suckers

I never "Blogged" before. But I think I'll start. People should hear what is going on in my head. Even though I do stand-up, I still don't think people get enough of my B.S. So I'll give you more. I got layed off from my day job, and it was the best thing that ever happened to me. I hate working for people. I dream too much. That's what one Boss told me. In between Comedy Shows, performing in SKETCHWORKS, and my 3 o'clock office shows that my co-workers would beg me to do, he told me I gave the office to much to talk about. And I should quit.!!!! So I took his advice. I picked up my things, while a security guard watched with his hand on his gun, and I left that building with my head held high. Separation notice in one hand and stolen office supplies in the other. I have decided to be free. I will never work under system ruled by tyranny and injustice again. Not even one that didn't know I went on auditions when I said I was going to meet with clients. I'm still waiting on Tyler Perry studios to call me. So in conclusion, dream and dream big. Never forget that we were put here to be more than we ever thought we could be. Never forget that happiness lies were your heart resides, and never ever forget that the unemployment office opens at 8am Monday thru Friday.

F is for Frankie Baby

I'm glad Frankie wasn't my mama. For those of you who don't watch BET you wouldn't know who this Frankie is. Frankie is the mother of R&B singer Keisha Cole, and she's crazier than cat shit. If Tyron Biggums and Flavor Flav were the wonder twins they would put their rings together and say, "Form of an ice Frankie." By the way I'm watching this new Angie Martinez show on BET and...... nobody told me that Puerto Ricans are now allowed to put garbage on BET too. Thank you Viacom for giving other ethnic groups the chance to embarrass themselves just like you gave us. Any who, Frankie has got to be one of the worst parental figures in TV history. She was in jail for years, strung out on crack and now she looks like an extra on The Wire. The funniest thing that I ever heard her say was to one of her daughters by the name of Nefie, who happens to be one of  the angriest mutherfuckers since Mr T.  Frankie told her with all the indigence a crackhead who never took care of her
children could muster, " You never tried to be a daughter to me!!!." How the hell do you try to be a daughter somebody? What part of the birthing process is fetus optional? Crackhead logic is so funny.  So....the next time you see a crackhead doing the running man for a bag of cheese doodles, remember to thank god cause that dancing machine could have been your Mama.

http://www.idealvsreal.com/
http://www.lifeasablackdude.blogspot.com/

Sunday Night Fever

So I'm sitting here on Sunday night, watching The Transporter waiting on my personal stimulus package (unemployment extension) to kick in. The automobile industry and I really need this bailout thing to work, so lets keep our fingers crossed. During this cinematic master piece, I'm trying to figure out which bodily fluid would net me the biggest payday, when it really hits me. I don't have any money. Not like an I'm down to my last 20 kind of money. I'm talking about that.... there is nothing left, where did I leave that ski mask at....kind of money. I don't know where my next dollar is coming from and rent is pretty much up in the air. So you know what, I'm gonna ask Paris Hilton to pay my rent. Yep that's what I'm gonna do. Sure I don't know her and have no way in hell of contacting her but why not. I've emailed my resume to every job in the great state of Georgia, and nothing. Maybe Paris will look down on me in all of her blond skinniness and show mercy on my poor soul. Maybe after we speak I can be her first real BFF. She's rich and white and I'm broke and black so she has an obligation to help me. Right? I still have at least 2 months before Obama takes office, so I have a least 60 days to take advantage of white guilt for my own personal gains. I supported the bitch.....I mean Ms Hilton. I stayed at a Hilton before, I watched the simple life. I squinted at the grainy night vision images of her terrible blow job. She owes me. So the plan is to drive to LA, knock on her door and ask her 775$ not including gas and tolls. I really believe it would probably be easier to pull off this Macuyver than to actually find a job. 8 percent rate of unemployment in the state of GA huh? Well that figure is a little off in my house. My personal unemployment rate is somewhere in the neighborhood of about 100 percent. Just a thought for the night people.

www.idealvsreal.com