Mystery Bag

Yester-year, my beloved roommate (for three more days), Christina, and I found ourselves in the musty hell pit that is Botanica. Botanica is a watering hole in Nolita, that is a dive among dives. This particular evening knocked the bar down even one more notch.

Christina and I were sitting at the bar, likely discussing politics or global climate change, when I noticed something. Just beneath the bar, sat a plastic bag tied shut. What could be in it? I was nearly certain that it was filled with something valuable: upcakes, or dirty money, or the Heart of the Ocean (from Titanic). I would gladly accept any of these things as a prize for my inquisitiveness, but I’d thought we ought to wait. What if the bag’s owner was still there? It would be embarrassing for a thug to walk over and find me laughing and rolling in his loot. I would be killed, without a doubt.

Some time passed, and we were both sure that the bag’s owner was long gone. I picked it up, and untied it. I felt a fear unlike any I’d ever felt, when I found its contents: A pile of eaten corn cobs. My mind was racing with questions:

  1. Who ate that many corn cobs? There were about 5—8 cobs in the bag, which suggests that there was either a gang of people enjoying corn together or that one individual has an unhealthy desire for c.
  2. Who eats corn at a bar? I mean, if you gave me corn at a bar, I’d eat it, but I wouldn’t bring corn to a bar, especially not cob style. That’s the least attractive form of corn (although not the least delicious…can you say ‘polenta?’), as it gets stuck in your teeth, and gets butter and its own moisture all over your hands.
  3. Who is uncouth enough to dispose of said cobs in a plastic bag, tie up, and leave under the bar? There are trashcans everywhere. That is not very neighborly behavior, and it will not be tolerated.

I don’t remember what happened after the cob sighting. It was all too much for me to handle, and I probably just went home and cried myself to sleep.

Listen, I love corn as much as the next guy, possibly even more. You’ve got popcorn, Cornflakes, cornbread, corn from a can, corn on the cob, etc. and so on, and so forth, as it continues into the future. But I’m not going to cross the line like that, and I don’t think anyone should. I hope the culprit woke up the next morning on his bed, surrounded by eaten corn cobs, and I hope he cried, “What have I done?!” But that is highly unlikely, and extremely confusing. In any case, I hope he feels some sort of remorse for his sick deeds, and I hope that no one ever has to suffer the way that Christina and I did on that night.

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R. Kelly: A Retrospective

R. Kelly. For some, the name brings to mind a timeless song in a children’s movie, for others, a classic episode  of Chappelle’s Show. In any case, the man has made a name for himself.

I have a theory, and that theory is that R. Kelly is one of the greatest comedians alive. He’s Punking all of us. There is little consistency in his work. Some songs are not allowed to be aired on the radio, while others are sung at Baptist churches on Sunday morning. Let us track the trajectory of his career:

In his first album, he released the singles Bump ‘N Grind and You Remind Me of My Jeep. R. Kelly, obviously, doesn’t see anything wrong with some light bumping and grinding, and he conveys this is in the fomer. In the latter, he tells a lucky lady “You remind me of my car. I want to wax it.” Should I be offended? Am I stubbly? Can I just bleach it? This song is very confusing. It is offensive no matter how it is construed, and I can’t get it out of my head. One day I will write a song called You Remind Me of my P.T. Cruiser, in which I will express my desire to sell my boyfriend in order to move to a major city.

Shortly thereafter, he released I Believe I Can Fly, which was featured in the Warner Brothers insta-classic Space Jam. This song was probably the greatest thing to happen to the American people since self serve butter at the movie theater. It is played at graduations and other inspirational ceremonies. And R. Kelly sang it. Just think about that next time. R. Kelly wrote that.

Then, R. Kelly urinated on a child. Now let’s all just stay calm. Perhaps it has been a while since you thought about this, or maybe you think about it every day. Nonetheless, R. Kelly had sex with and urinated on a 14 year old girl. This is the same man whose song you sang at the chorus concert in third grade.

It would actually take me too long to recall all of Mr. Kelly’s ups and downs, but below is a list of my favorites:

  • Half on a Baby
  • Gigolo
  • Feelin’ on Your Booty
  • I Wish (churchy)
  • Ignition (and the Remix…hot and fresh out the kitchen)
  • I’m a Flirt (“don’t bring no chick to the club when you just met her”)
  • Real Talk
  • The Greatest (Churcy. But 9 out of 10 people think when he says “I’m an eagle,” he’s about to say “I’m a negro.” I took a poll.)
  • Same Girl (he and Usher are dating the same girl! Awk.)
  • When a Woman’s Fed Up
  • Snake (“like two gorillas in the jungle…makin’ love”  what?)
  • Step in the Name of Love (For after church. A favorite at family reunions)
  • Happy People (almost the same as Step in the Name of Love)
  • Trapped in the Closet—All chapters (UNTOUCHABLE. This aired on IFC. Just watch it right now.)
  • Thoia Thoin
  • When a Woman Loves (His latest venture.  He hits notes that are not allowed. Really, it’s uncomfortable.)

Today, I thought I’d do something worthwhile with my time, and so I went to the official R. Kelly website. I’m more confused than I’ve ever been. Please don’t go there. Instead, watch Trapped in the Closet, and thank me later.

Wipe Out

Hahahahahahahahah! What a loser.

The weather reports claimed that New York would awaken to a massive snow storm on Wednesday, but what we received was hardly a blizzard, even for the elderly and anemic. Despite the disappointing absence of a snow day, the streets and sidewalks have proven quite treacherous, and I have been the witness to many a slip ‘n’ slide.

My favorite instance, though, was a double feature I witnessed as I walked to C train at 14th Street. I was disarmed when a tall, handsome “Village” man walked past me. You know the type: listens to the national, snacks on edamame, wears vests on occasion. He quickly passed me on Hudson Street, laptop case over shoulder, enormo headphones covering his ears. A man on a mission. But suddenly, things went awry. His feet began to kick in front of him a light speed. His arms flailed in the air. This went on for a good ten seconds. Is he going to fall? I asked myself. Yes, uh, no, wait, ah…He put up a good fight, which only made his imminent fall more embarrassing. Just as he seemed to regain footing, he totally ate it. Before I knew what happened, he was back on his feet, hustling to get to his destination.  Soldier, I thought, as I audibly laughed at him.

Before I had time to require from the first clumsy gent, I heard a holler behind me.

“Oh God! Ahhhhhhhh!”

I turned around to find an obese black man (we’re talking Nutty Professor II: The Klumps) on the concrete. Now the screams made sense. He was in a sort of running stretch, one leg in front, and one bent behind him. I’m certain that he had never been in such a position, and his contorted and girlish screams confirmed my suspicion. A man ran over to him quickly, which clearly embarrassed Professor Klump.

“I’m ok!” he shouted, life drifting from his eyes, as groups of people turned around. “I’m ok.”

I don’t think he’ll ever walk again.

So don’t take this weather for granted. Sure, we may still have to go to work. We’re not building snowmen. But Mother Nature is out to embarrass each and every one of us, and if you are not wearing shoes with traction, you will be next.

The Year in Celebs

2010 was a year rife with celebrity gossip, but 2011 is really going to be one to remember. As many of you know, I say sooth from time to time, and if you can keep a secret or two, I’ll fill you in on the upcoming year in Celebrityville:

Katy Perry’s label will demand that she write a summer smash, specifically one revolving around the 4th of July. She will panic, as she has already released a song about fireworks. In June late May she will release a song about the only other 4th of July related topic she can think of…hot dogs. The song itself will be disgusting, even offensive at times, and Perry’s career will be over 12 months too late.

Nicki Minaj will be having dinner at the Clinton’s, just like any other Sunday, when a strange thing will happen. Amidst the laughter and merriment, a high pitched whistling will fill the room. Bill will notice Nicki sinking deeper into her seat. “It’s your booty,” Bill will say, as she stands up, her pink glow-in-the-dark cat suit hanging rather unflatteringly over what once was her golden treasure. She’ll place her napkin on her plate of half-eaten plate of chicken piccata and say, “I know my way out.”

Josh Hartnett will maybe make a movie.

The youngest Kardashian’s, Kanji and Keiko, will start their own line of bandeau bras. It will be a huge success, lifting them to the top of the Kardashian empire until one of them starts dating Corey from That’s So Raven.  

Is Kyle Massey the next Reggie Bush?

She will subsequently be flogged.

New Edition will release a new album. They will promote it with a nationwide nursing home tour.

Heidi Montag and The Situation will star in a new MTV reality dating show. Three minutes into the first episode, TVs around the nation will go fuzzy. Satan’s face will then appear on the screen, and he will laugh, “You fools! You fools! Muaahahahahah!” The show will resume and win five Emmy’s.

Fergie will pee her pants onstage again. And we’ll forgive her. Again.

So there you have it. 2011 is going to be a big year, so keep your TV tuned to E! and you eyes on Page Six.