A self-satirical train wreck that you can witness word by word...
And for those who doubt my son Armand Bovoso, indeed he is part Black. I'm Black and Italian. Armand is Black, italian, and Ukranian Jewish. Send me an email if you can't accept this.
And for those who doubt my son Armand Bovoso, indeed he is part Black. I'm Black and Italian. Armand is Black, italian, and Ukranian Jewish. Send me an email if you can't accept this.
For my 35th birthday my ex-wife came up with a very beautiful gift for me. Seeing as we were still together at the time she custom made me an incredible flower arrangement. Beautiful flowers (I could tell you what kind but I'm a straight male. We have no clue.) with bamboo, a gorgeous pot, several helium filled balloons, a card, and an engraved rock. On the rock it said: "You are my love". I was the envy of the office. People would gather at my cube to fawn over my wondrous gift. The balloons would reach up and scrape the ceiling to let the world know that Alessandro indeed had been given some love. (In your face! Who da man? I'm da man.)
I decided to keep the arrangement as is on my cubicle shelf. I would take some of the flowers out and let them dry and keep the petals. Little did I know that the flowers were somehow mystically tied to my marriage. As things got worse between us the arrangement died a little more. Fast forward a few months to the end of my marriage. The arrangement had long been dead but I hadn't decided to move it. In my haste to grab some papers one day I accidentally knocked the pot off of it's shelf. Dried flowers went everywhere. Putrid green water spilled down all over my shirt. Months old pollen filled the air. Last but not least, something very hard hit my head. I looked up and the pot was still on the shelf, tipped over. While rubbing the newly forming bump on my head I looked down and saw the culprit staring right up at me.
"You are my love"
Nice one universe. Have to love it when god has a sense of irony.
I decided to keep the arrangement as is on my cubicle shelf. I would take some of the flowers out and let them dry and keep the petals. Little did I know that the flowers were somehow mystically tied to my marriage. As things got worse between us the arrangement died a little more. Fast forward a few months to the end of my marriage. The arrangement had long been dead but I hadn't decided to move it. In my haste to grab some papers one day I accidentally knocked the pot off of it's shelf. Dried flowers went everywhere. Putrid green water spilled down all over my shirt. Months old pollen filled the air. Last but not least, something very hard hit my head. I looked up and the pot was still on the shelf, tipped over. While rubbing the newly forming bump on my head I looked down and saw the culprit staring right up at me.
"You are my love"
Nice one universe. Have to love it when god has a sense of irony.
10. You actually remember her name in the morning.
9. The UPS man decides to deliver you a "package."
8. Her husband doesn't get home until 8.
7. Your husband doesn't get home until 8.
6. You actually pull off a 68. (You do me and I owe you one.)
5. Rover can't speak.
4. The goldfish can't speak either.
3.Two words: midget wrestling
2. This one sort of doesn't count but in high school you convinced a substitute teach that your name was Ivan Cutchurcokoff.
1. She doesn't have it in the hips but she's got it in the lips.
9. The UPS man decides to deliver you a "package."
8. Her husband doesn't get home until 8.
7. Your husband doesn't get home until 8.
6. You actually pull off a 68. (You do me and I owe you one.)
5. Rover can't speak.
4. The goldfish can't speak either.
3.Two words: midget wrestling
2. This one sort of doesn't count but in high school you convinced a substitute teach that your name was Ivan Cutchurcokoff.
1. She doesn't have it in the hips but she's got it in the lips.
A monkey is sitting in a tree smoking a joint when a lizard walks past and
looks up and says to the monkey "Hey! What are you doing?"
The monkey says "Smoking a joint, come up and have some."
So the lizard climbs up and sits next to the monkey and they have a few
puffs. After a while the lizard says his mouth is 'dry' and is going to get
a drink from the river. The lizard is so stoned that he leans too far over
and falls into the river.
A Crocodile sees this and swims over to the lizard and helps him to the
shore, then asks the lizard, "What's the matter with you?"
The lizard explains to the crocodile that he was sitting smoking a joint
with the monkey in the tree, got too stoned and then fell into the river
while trying to get a drink.
The crocodile says he has to check this out and walks into the jungle,
finds the tree were the monkey is sitting, finishing a joint, and he looks
up and says "Hey you!"
The Monkey looks down and says "Fuuuuuuuuck! Duuuude...How much water did
you drink?!!"
looks up and says to the monkey "Hey! What are you doing?"
The monkey says "Smoking a joint, come up and have some."
So the lizard climbs up and sits next to the monkey and they have a few
puffs. After a while the lizard says his mouth is 'dry' and is going to get
a drink from the river. The lizard is so stoned that he leans too far over
and falls into the river.
A Crocodile sees this and swims over to the lizard and helps him to the
shore, then asks the lizard, "What's the matter with you?"
The lizard explains to the crocodile that he was sitting smoking a joint
with the monkey in the tree, got too stoned and then fell into the river
while trying to get a drink.
The crocodile says he has to check this out and walks into the jungle,
finds the tree were the monkey is sitting, finishing a joint, and he looks
up and says "Hey you!"
The Monkey looks down and says "Fuuuuuuuuck! Duuuude...How much water did
you drink?!!"
Full Circle Jujitsu represents in NYC!
Dont ever fall asleep in front of Alessandro Ashanti and JB Mr. White NIpples Himself
Published by Alessandro Ashanti.
This could have gotten us our ticket to hell but we didn't go all the way out.
http://homepage.mac.com/aledro/PhotoAlbum9.html
http://homepage.mac.com/aledro/PhotoAlbum9.html
The incredibly talented and gorgeous AR (*sigh* She's married. Boo hoo.) made a suggestion to replace Kali on my site with this image.
It feels right. I'll do some research on this god/goddess and get back to you. Thank you AR!
It feels right. I'll do some research on this god/goddess and get back to you. Thank you AR!
There are few experiences more miserable than being human wallpaper. Let me explain. During my trip to NYC this weekend I had a glimpse of what it must be to be good looking, skinny, and white in the USA. I spent a good deal of time in NYC with JB Mr. White Nipples Himself. He has all four of these qualities. He also attracts women of color like he has the scent of a 50 dollar bill permanently tattooed on him. He refuses to abide by the basic three S's of man hood. Shower, shave, switch your clothes. Dirty, unkept, and unshaven, the women were falling over themselves to get a look at him; like it was some lost episode of Sex and the City. There I was, working the sexy, hair freshly cut, face professional shaven at the barbershop, breath mint in my mouth and my million dollar smile. I was Human Wallpaper next to the reincarnation of Jack Kerowack. It was humiliating. I am tempted to try out JB Mr. White Nipples Himself's method but I know it will get me arrested on GP alone.
(Black to Anglo translation: GP=General Principle)
(Black to Anglo translation: GP=General Principle)
Wow. OK. What the fuck just happened? I'm sitting home back in LA and most everything is a blur. Or more like it feels like I had one incredibly long day in New York. Within the first 24 hours I had managed to hit the town with a vengeance normally only seen in Kevin Costner movies. I have many events to talk about but no order with which to tell them. Let's start with who is now my favorite cab driver of all time.
Cabs in NYC can take a maximum of 4 passengers at time, unless the cab is a minivan style one. Our luck in East Harlem during a torrential downpour was leaving us very cabless. I manage to hail down a regular sedan style cab and we all (5 of us) pile in. He asks how many of us there are. I tell him and he looks disappointed. I promise him a big tip if he can help us out. He reluctantly agrees and we drive off. Most of our cab drivers to this point had been of Middle Eastern decent. On the radio they usually played great music in Arabic, political discussions on BBC, or engaged in very protracted cell phone conversations. This particular cab driver was a cobalt skinned black man with striking features. On his radio he was playing some great dance hall and raggae. I think not 15 minutes earlier I had take half a double strength (rhymes with "vote for vin"). It started to kick in big time as I caught the groove of what my cab driver was playing. I bounced my head up and down to the hypnotic island music pounding out of this speakers.
I like any man
As long as he's an African
If you are a Jamaican
Then you are an African
If you're from Poland
Then you are an African
I love everyman
As long as they are African
Noticing that I am enjoying myself, Mr. African decides to turn up the music Spinal Tap style all the way to 11. He leans over to me and yells out.
"I want to be fucking rich mon! I can take care of me motha for evah. Just give me a meeleeon dollahs. You know what I mean?"
He tells me he is from Ghana and hopes to bring his family over at some point. He stops his conversation abruptly as Bob Marley's voice begins to croon and reverberate throughout the car. "Get Up/Stand Up! Stand up for your rights." By now I'm high as a kite thanks to my vote for vin. I'm thinking, "Yeah, right on. One love, one people. I'm a black Italian, that makes me and African!" The cab driver must have been having similar thoughts because he points to his CD player and yells out: "Bob Mar-lay! I love dis Nig-Gar! Dis is my Nig-Gar!"
Now if i didn't have my high school reunion to go to I might as well have ended the night right there. It wasn't going to get any better than this. We get out of the cab and I give him his fat tip as promised. As the cab takes off Mr. White Nipples J.B. Himself says to me, "Did you catch his name on his hack license?" It hadn't even occurred to me to look. I tell him "no".
"Ibrahim Gonga." (I shit you not)
Immortal.
Cabs in NYC can take a maximum of 4 passengers at time, unless the cab is a minivan style one. Our luck in East Harlem during a torrential downpour was leaving us very cabless. I manage to hail down a regular sedan style cab and we all (5 of us) pile in. He asks how many of us there are. I tell him and he looks disappointed. I promise him a big tip if he can help us out. He reluctantly agrees and we drive off. Most of our cab drivers to this point had been of Middle Eastern decent. On the radio they usually played great music in Arabic, political discussions on BBC, or engaged in very protracted cell phone conversations. This particular cab driver was a cobalt skinned black man with striking features. On his radio he was playing some great dance hall and raggae. I think not 15 minutes earlier I had take half a double strength (rhymes with "vote for vin"). It started to kick in big time as I caught the groove of what my cab driver was playing. I bounced my head up and down to the hypnotic island music pounding out of this speakers.
I like any man
As long as he's an African
If you are a Jamaican
Then you are an African
If you're from Poland
Then you are an African
I love everyman
As long as they are African
Noticing that I am enjoying myself, Mr. African decides to turn up the music Spinal Tap style all the way to 11. He leans over to me and yells out.
"I want to be fucking rich mon! I can take care of me motha for evah. Just give me a meeleeon dollahs. You know what I mean?"
He tells me he is from Ghana and hopes to bring his family over at some point. He stops his conversation abruptly as Bob Marley's voice begins to croon and reverberate throughout the car. "Get Up/Stand Up! Stand up for your rights." By now I'm high as a kite thanks to my vote for vin. I'm thinking, "Yeah, right on. One love, one people. I'm a black Italian, that makes me and African!" The cab driver must have been having similar thoughts because he points to his CD player and yells out: "Bob Mar-lay! I love dis Nig-Gar! Dis is my Nig-Gar!"
Now if i didn't have my high school reunion to go to I might as well have ended the night right there. It wasn't going to get any better than this. We get out of the cab and I give him his fat tip as promised. As the cab takes off Mr. White Nipples J.B. Himself says to me, "Did you catch his name on his hack license?" It hadn't even occurred to me to look. I tell him "no".
"Ibrahim Gonga." (I shit you not)
Immortal.
It would be easy to mistake me for a human train wreck these days. I was far too reserved in my 20's so it had to come out sometime. Right now I'm on a plane ride with three students on the way to NYC for a dual purposed trip. One is for my high school reunion, the other is to teach a seminar. Both of these occasions are monumental. For my high school reunion it has been 18 years since I've seen anyone. It just so happens that I am still looking muy sexy. I hope to rub that in the face of everyone who wouldn't pork me back then and who isn't looking so hot now. That especially means you ER! I will make it my mission to break up what ever damaged relationship you're in now! Call the fire department because if I get in I'm not getting out. For the seminar this will be the prodigal son returning home to teach. In your face CZ!
On the way to the way to airport my students were all in the backseat sipping on gin and juice (with their mind on their money and their money on their mind). Talk about a headstart. Lapping behind I made a beeline to one of three bars at the Burbank Airport. It was here that I shared the magic words with the bartender: Long Island Ice Tea. So much for the Junior Snoop Squad's lead in the game, I was now in the zone..
Sooooo.... One hour in to the flight I have so far managed to:
Ask one student and her boyfriend if they were both thinking about the same guy when they were kissing.
Tried to stick my tongue in the ear of the same student.
Fell asleep on the shoulder of JB. (Yes Mr. White Nipples himself.)
Well, 4 more hours to go and my flight attendant is looking pretty cute.
"
On the way to the way to airport my students were all in the backseat sipping on gin and juice (with their mind on their money and their money on their mind). Talk about a headstart. Lapping behind I made a beeline to one of three bars at the Burbank Airport. It was here that I shared the magic words with the bartender: Long Island Ice Tea. So much for the Junior Snoop Squad's lead in the game, I was now in the zone..
Sooooo.... One hour in to the flight I have so far managed to:
Ask one student and her boyfriend if they were both thinking about the same guy when they were kissing.
Tried to stick my tongue in the ear of the same student.
Fell asleep on the shoulder of JB. (Yes Mr. White Nipples himself.)
Well, 4 more hours to go and my flight attendant is looking pretty cute.
"
California is an interesting place for natural disasters. We don't get tornados, tropical storms, or hurricanes but boy do we get fires and earthquakes. Funny that Cali is known for its earthquakes when its fires often cause so much more damage.
I teach a class in the city of Tarzana. This class was pretty close to the recent fires. Air quality was horrible and it was literally raining ash. Some of the students from my class couldn't make it due to the need to stay close to their homes in case fire should touch down too near. I received a voicemail from one of my students that I decided to save. Thanks to my Vonge service I can download all my voicemails as WAV files. So the following link is what I've taken to call:
The Last Will and Testament to MAJ
He was fine by the way. But I honestly did think that I was in possession of the final MAJ message for a minute there.
I teach a class in the city of Tarzana. This class was pretty close to the recent fires. Air quality was horrible and it was literally raining ash. Some of the students from my class couldn't make it due to the need to stay close to their homes in case fire should touch down too near. I received a voicemail from one of my students that I decided to save. Thanks to my Vonge service I can download all my voicemails as WAV files. So the following link is what I've taken to call:
The Last Will and Testament to MAJ
He was fine by the way. But I honestly did think that I was in possession of the final MAJ message for a minute there.
Man, can I manufacture a faux pas. These days I have 3 dominant personalities. Alessandro, Daddy (or Dad), and Sensei. Daddy remains quite neutral to it all, Sensei is in control and quite focused, Alessandro is a ADD ridden kid who loves to open his big fat mouth. Alessandro can get the other two in biiiigggg trouble sometimes. Alessandro loves to say anything (no matter how outrageous) as long as it is funny. Just two days ago Alessandro left a message on one of Sensei's student's voice mails that was hilarious. Now I wish to god I could give you more details on the message and the back story to it (believe me it's a great one) but it is far too painful and personal for the student. The message, which was funny as all hell when I left it, wound up being devastating to him two days later when he finally picked it up. How was I supposed to know that the message would suddenly hold life changing relevance. Fuck me. Life does imitate art.