CHECK YOURSELF BEFORE YOU WRECK YOURSELF

HERE'S HOPING FOR BETTER BEHAVIOR IN THE NEW YEAR

I have two roomies.

One, Gawdzeera, is a total prick.

So am I.

So are you.

Sometimes.

He never passes up chance to tell you how much money he makes.

I never miss a chance to tell you that I am hung like a Lipizzaner or whatever the fuck those horses are called. I'm porno star big. Choke on it from Canada huge. Thick as a can of Australian beer gigantic. Blessed by the Gods of Wang ginormous. Swangin' like a member of the Big Pinga bois club major Peenie. Omg, does it come with a carrying case schlong all mighty donkeydick.

See?

Gawdzeera is also one of the most caring and nicest guys you would ever want to be friends with.

So am I.

So are you.

Sometimes.

When I ended up at Summerlin Hellspital after an unfortunate incident with seven or eight or how the fuck many, I don't know, it's not important, tumblers of vodka, it was Gawdzeera who rushed to my moms house, picked me up off of the floor and rushed me to ER. This was after I had evidently been quite memorable at his friends house the night before.

He could have left me in the street (which he did) and never talked to me again (which he didn't).

My eternal gratefulness has he.

But he's a prick.

So am I.

So are you.

Sometimes.

My other roomie, Clownika, is terribly loud and wears far too much makeup in a very vulgar fashion and never shuts the fuck up.

Ever.

I swear.

Really.

I wear my clothes 1/2 size too small and talk way too much about me. If your mom is dying I tell you about what it was like to lose my dad. If you got a ticket I tell you about the time Chris (R.I.P. my bitch!) and I got arrested with Kevin and we were in our cell and I realized Chris had eaten the ounce of weed that we had just bought and was trying to choke down the last of the zipper from the ziplock baggie (ok, your ticket story is never going to be as good as that, so, deal with it).

Clownika doesn't have a bad bone in her body.

She loves her little dog. I have no idea what it's name is because I call it Furball. It looks like one of those Tribbles from Star Trek, I try to hate it , but, secretly love it.

Oh damn! Now you know.

Clownika was not offended when I told her to go back in her room for less makeup and more tits before she left for work.

Listen folks, always work with what you got. If you got big boulders, unleash them. Especially if you aren't blessed above the neck.

Especially.

Clownika always thanks me when I feed her. I can't imagine cooking and not offering some to anyone around me.

Gawdzeera doesn't think twice about it. He's a prick.

So am I.

So are you.

Sometimes.

Well, it all came to a head this week.

Oh did it ever.

Clownika is going through hard times. She originally told me that she was a "cocktail waitress" at a "gentleman's' club" down on the wrong end of the strip.

Uh huh.

Bitch please. If I know one thing, it's people. There was no way with her, um, looks, and those big ole Exxon tanker titties she was a cocktail waitress.

What am I? Straight? Stupid?

I know. Same thing. I aint either.

So anyways, it seems in the current economic climate, the girls down at the club had started performing certain services and, God bless her heart, Clownika aint that type of "cocktail waitress".

So, after giving her a few lessons on pole dancing (I am an aficionado of the Copacabana school of Pole dancing from my days back in East Hollywood. No, I wasn't a Celia Cruz impersonating stripper! I just like watching the skanks that "perform" at lunchtime work the pole. But, I digress) and teaching her that less was more when it came to makeup (a lesson she refuses to learn) I sent her back into the club to do battle!

Alas, the whores, uh, other "cocktail waitresses" won out. Clownika decided to go legit and found one of those jobs that always turns out to be a scam. I felt sorry for her.

I still do.

Gawdzeera could care less.

You see, Gawdzeera makes good money.

If middle class is what you aspire to.

Gawzeera has reached the summit. As far as he is concerned, if you don't have "your shit together" it's your fault.

Well, Clownika has had some hard times, like so many people (hellooo, me!). The stress has been building.

When the teapot is screaming at you, take it off the stove.

If stress is building up, chant, pray, finger bang yourself raw. Just don't let 'er blow!

I don't know how it happened, but, Clownika lost it. She proceeded to tell Gawzdeera about himself. In the most unflattering terms.

Truly. Unflattering. Terms.

Bitch went off.

Loudly.

Now, you can say what you want to whomever. However, make sure your little red wagon is packed and you and your little Furball have a place to go before you start talking shit.

Hopefully, Gawdzeera will understand that not everyone is doing as well as he is and take a bit of pity on Clownika and not kick her, and her little dog too, to the proverbial handicap accessible curb.

Why do suburbs have no sidewalks? Is it to keep black people from walking in front of your house? Or worse, stopping to admire your P.C. desert landscaping?

Ok, so, today I arranged for the people at the "Almost But Not Quite Important" Film Festival that I am a judge for to meet my liquor hookup. As I waited in the production office, some balding slab of a white guy decided to get all up in my business with the guy I was there to make the introductions to.

"What EXACTLY is she coming here for?" Baldini said to me in a "tone". "We're really only interested in cash sponsors at this point", he announced without looking up from his, I'm sure, "Teenage Asian Pussy Bangs Galore!" website on his laptop.

Let's understand something.

Right now.

You, nor your mother, nor anyone that you know, is to ever speak to DEREK LA VAUGN WASHINGTON (yeah, I'm WAY black) in a "tone".

I will make a bitch cry and call his mother for speaking to me in a "tone". If you want to find out how it feels to have your dick shrink back up into your mommies uterus as you lay in a fetal position on the floor whimpering, SPEAK TO ME IN A "TONE".

Rather than go all "Black Gurl" on him (if you ever see my head start to subtly vibrate, LEAVE THE AREA! STAT!) I simply picked up my cellie and began texting my client to abort the mission. I then informed the office that my work there was done. I headed towards the door, which may have closed sharply.

Quite. Sharply.

Out side I found my client and informed her of the events. She looked at me and said, "it's not like they are CineVegas. Let's get out of the snow". She turned around, got her designer self into her BMW and took off.

Class.

No fuss. No muss. Just done and over.

I called the office and informed them that I felt Baldini had behaved in a rather boorish fashion and while I would still worked with them, I was NEVER TO BE TALKED TO IN A "TONE" AGAIN.

No fuss. No muss. Just done and over.

Class.

What is the point of this long (You don't like it? Go read Perez Hilton, "Lindsay Lohan walked through the Standard today with her BFF SaMANtha..." Bore.) post is thus:

Always remember that everybody got their something.

Remember to be nice to others, even when you're not feeling it.

Always mind your manners.

NEVER SPEAK TO DEREK LA VAUGHN WASHINGTON IN A "TONE"!

Some people are Pricks.

So are you.

So am I.

Sometimes.