Happy Birthday To Me

Birthdays are when we all celebrate the fact that we’ve made it another twelve months without dying. It should therefore come as no surprise that I consider the birthdays of blacks a much more impressive accomplishment than that of whites. Why, just this morning I was listening to the weather report and it predicted clear sunny skies; except if you were black, in which case you could expect thunderstorms, flooding and a freak tornado.

When I was younger, I would always wish I could live to be the oldest person on earth. But that was before I learned that the title is actually cursed. Haven’t you noticed that every time someone is declared the oldest person on earth, they die like within a year!

Now that I’m only two years short of three decades old, I’m crossing that ephemeral line between young adult and adult adult. (That’s where you still want to eat fruit loops, but at the same time you're concerned about its fibre content.)

Shout-Out to My Homeslice, L-Nizzy*

So I’m finally back in kilt country. I know for a while it seemed like I wasn’t coming back, but I had some biz-nez to take care of. What kind of biz-nez you ask? Well, none of yours.

Unfortunately, I was so excited to be back that I forgot my luggage on the plane. I can’t begin to tell you how embarrassing it was walking through the airport with all my clothes and things in my hands. Then there is the utterly depressing ritual of changing my US currency to pounds. America may be the only remaining superpower on the planet, but the dollar is still the pound’s bitch.

Finally, as I exited the Edinburgh airport, I was greeted by the shrill cacophony of the McCloud Bagpipe Band; a clan of twelve skirt wearing men who derive sadistic delight from musically assaulting hapless passengers exiting the terminal. Naturally, this immediately took me back to my days as a wee lad growing up in the Caribbean islands (it is a little known fact, but bagpipes have long been a central part of Caribbean culture; along with ice-fishing and Bobsledding). But as you may have already guessed, I’ve never really fancied Scottish music; though I have to admit that it is much better than it sounds.

But I know what you’re thinking: "wow Nubian, you mean to tell me that you’re not only brilliant, funny and unforgivably sexy, but you’re West Indian too?" Yes, yes, it’s true…I’m just all kinds of awesome. (But I swear, if you ask me to say "feelin' eiree mon" just to satisfy your perverse desire to hear an exotic accent, I won't hesitate to slap you!)


*For some background on the L-Nizzy reference, see my Pulitzer prize winning post: Break out the Kilts

Pfizer's New Penis Advertising Campaign: Got Dick?

Ladies,
Are you anxious? Do you have problems sleeping? Are the many stresses of life getting you down? Then perhaps it’s time to try Penis.

Clinical studies have shown that women who regularly use Penis lead longer, less stressful and more emotionally fulfilling lives. Penis has been shown to trigger the release of oxytocin (also known as the ‘cuddle chemical’), which heightens feelings of affection and the production of mood enhancing endorphins. Other benefits of Penis include improved sense of smell, cardiovascular health, increased amounts of immunoglobulin antibodies that ward off disease and (if used strategically) lifelong financial security.

Penis now comes in a wide variety of shapes, sizes and flavours—including French vanilla, butter pecan, hazelnut and dark chocolate. All Penises are specially designed for easy insertion into the orifice of your choice.

Negative side effects of Penis may include guilt, regret, unwanted pregnancy, or the person the Penis is attached to. Use caution when driving, operating machinery, or performing other hazardous activities.

Penis is not for everyone. If you are a lesbian, you may find Penis aesthetically unappealing and the very sight of Penis may give rise to uncontrollable laughter. Laboratory tests suggest that for most males, Penis can seriously impair judgement, be a constant source of embarrassment when in the company of women, and in certain extreme circumstances (such as prison) be a literal pain in the arse. Penis is not approved by the FDA for use by children. If you are over 60 the use of Penis is still warmly encouraged, especially since the unwanted side-effects of Penis tend to sharply decrease with the onset of menopause.

Please consult your doctor to determine if Penis is right for you.

Penis: is it in you?

Sorry Dude, but the Rapture is Not an Exit Strategy

It’s been five years since 9/11 and there still hasn’t been another major terrorist attack on US soil. What greater evidence do we need to show that Bush's strategy of sending our men and women to die 'over there' so they won't have a chance to die 'over here' is working? We would also do well to remember that there hasn't been another devastating hurricane in the United States since Katrina; no doubt further evidence of the success of Bush's war on terror!

So what if Bin Laden is still free? So what if Iraq is a complete disaster, with upward of a hundred civilians dying every day? Oh, and don’t you dare call it a civil war! Why, that would be like calling a woman a prostitute just because she slept with men for money! You can’t believe everything that guy Webster tells you, you know!

Statistically, One out of Every One Person will Die

So the results from last week’s check-up are finally back and it turns out I’m going to die. (Not necessarily anytime soon, but it’s bound to happen eventually.) And thus ends my long futile bid for immortality. Now there is no need to worry, I’m not ill and the doctor assured me that I’m in normal physical condition for someone my age. But that’s precisely the problem. Since most blokes my age are mortal, being normal (i.e., just like them) means I must be mortal too. I realise this may seem like a trivial matter to many, but I’ve long had my fingers crossed that somehow the first law of thermodynamics didn’t apply to me. Don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I think I’m special or anything; it’s just that I happen to be severely allergic to dying.

Unsurprisingly, this has put me in a rather sour mood. I feel grumpy, hungry, sleepy… hell, I’m all seven dwarfs combined! And since I don’t believe in a hereafter, being dead would pretty much ruin my sex-life. (Then again, if we were judging from my sex-life, you would probably conclude that I’ve already crossed The River Styx. You hear that Diane! Dead man talking!) But seriously, I don’t ask for much…all I want is the sweet sweet loving of a good woman and to live forever. (Oh, and sharks with freakin’ laser beams attached to their heads … that would fucking rock!)