A debate I had yesterday with some old friends and some new friends spawns this post.

We were debating the course and verisimilitude of astrology, its ins and outs, and its relevance to today’s modern world. Those who follow my blog know my opinions on astrology, so I won’t rehash them here. However, during our verbal volleys, I detected detest for anything “faith-based” (read: religion), which, though I abstained from using as philisophical fodder, was still pounced upon as a reason for my dismissive attitude towards their beliefs.

Now, the folks I debated aren’t confirmed atheists (not as far as I know anyways), but their argument certainly took an atheistic perspective. To them, my affirmation of God’s existence was license to dismiss my opinion as no more than Christian hardheadedness. To me, the reason for religion is much more than something to believe in. It serves many vital purposes in our society, from regulating the way our laws are shaped to giving those down on their luck the hope of a better tomorrow.

Still, atheists continue to label all religion as brainwashing, with the idea of God being a fairytale, created as an opiate for the masses. Settling this age-old dispute through the traditional views of a faith-based perspective is impossible, so I will, reluctantly, remove the idea of God from the equation, deigning to debate on atheists terms of logic to show them the futility of their ways.

Human beings have a need to believe, extending from the very first moment one is old enough to understand. Whether the need to believe manifests itself through a higher power, patriotism for one’s country, greed (or the belief that money is the most important thing [we can see the detrimental effects of this through the Wall St. protests]), or even more terrible ideas like Neo-Nazism, humans, when left to their own devices, must believe in something other than themselves.

The most basic example of this is seen in our interdependent communities: although it seems insignificant, the idea that everyone is not out to harm you is a kind faith. You have faith that when you go grocery shopping, the attendant won’t try to rip you off for your spare change. You have faith that your friends aren’t secretly plotting to rob you of your golden dubloons or whatever you have of value, and not because it’s a logical conclusion, but for no reason at all. That lack of logical reasoning, that unexplainable quality, that raison-detre is none other than faith.

An imaginary detractor I’ll invent for the purpose of this treatise might say, “Wait! But doesn’t the law prevent people from doing such things? Criminal activities are punished by the law, not kept at bay by beliefs.” He or she would be 100% correct in their analysis too. However, the law is inherently moral, and, at least in the United States, based loosely on religious concepts (“thou shalt not kill,” “thou shalt not steal,” etc., etc.). Even if there were no actual God, could you afford to ignore the value of religion as a moral compass for civilization? Methinks not.

Imagine, if you will, a culture without established rules or laws, besides the one inherent in every human: “survive.” Surviving by any means necessary eliminates almost every institution created by civilized man; education, government, the military, the concept of ownership and even the idea of literacy are not required for one to live. All these were motivated by man’s faith in himself, which produces the idea of cooperation (or faith in others) that we can create a better world.

Atheists, for all their shortcomings, do have a purpose in pointing out the faulty nature of man when it comes to God. Religion can– like every other human organization– become terribly corrupted, hypocritical, encouraging of ignorance while sugarcoating failure. So can welfare. But that doesn’t mean that we should eliminate one’s right to worship their creator or spurn the disenfranchised because some may abuse or rely on those institutions. The atheist’s major shortcoming is his inability to see the endgame. Getting rid of religion means abolishing the moral system on which the modern world is founded. In essence, the atheist, with all his qualms about religion, is bound to a system rested on religious principle– a system in which he actively participates and believes. The futility of the atheist, then, is his disagreement with principles he himself follows.

Now, back to our regularly scheduled programming.

Nintendo, I can’t tell you how impressed I am with your progress.

As an avid devourer of your products, my childhood–nay, my life, has been shaped by characters of your invention. From the fun, mustachioed Mario and his jumping adventures to Link and his eternally imaginative pursuits of the Triforce, I can honestly say I am, if nothing else, a lover of all things Nintendo. I am overjoyed with games marketed to children (most of whom will forget they played the game a few weeks after its purchase), old people (who will try out your console twice, and then, because they are old as dust, use it as a paperweight, or simply forget about it altogether), and women (who– and let’s be honest here– don’t care about video games). It makes my heart swell with pride to know that a company that practically created modern gaming has sold out to make a quick buck.

By now, you probably realize that I hate you all where this post is headed.

But before I try my best to slander you in the most spiteful way possible, let us remember the good times; skip merrily down memory lane with me to a place where motion-sensor controls weren’t a substitute for entertaining gameplay.

Nintendo Entertainment System

The system that started it all.

The video game industry had crashed, and the future of gaming was uncertain. Look! There, in the heavens! Could it be? Yes, the clouds parted, the sun shined through, and riding that ray of sunshine was Nintendo Entertainment System. The NES came right out of the gate  with hits like Mario Bros., Mega Man, Donkey Kong, and Duck Hunt. People everywhere fell in love with this plastic casing with only 8-bit capabilities, and like Japanese magic, the “video game fad” became a multi-billion dollar industry. Nintendo was gettin’ sexy on ‘em.

Super Nintendo Entertainment System

The SNES, or, if you lived under a rock, a nice thing that makes shiny colors.

The SNES was… it was… just… *sobs uncontrollably*… the greatest system of all time. OF ALL TIME! Seeing as I was more than a devious glint in my father’s eye at the time, I had a real attachment to the SNES. Nintendo was competing with the Sega Genesis and more mature content when it came to games. Out of the console wars spurned games better than a sweaty orgasm, such as: The Legend of Zelda: A Link to the Past (boner), NBA Jam (“he’s on FIIIIIIRE!!!!!!”),  Street Fighter (where one’s sh*t-talking skills were perfected), Super Mario Kart (major boner), Donkey Kong Country, Killer Instinct, Madden… the list goes on and on. Because Nintendo was above marketing to snotty four-year-olds still suckling at the teat, they ventured into new places in gaming, and made Sega kneel and kiss the ring.

Nintendo 64

Nintendo 64, also known my its less popular name, Melter of Faces

With the advent of the wildly popular PlayStation, Nintendo was in trouble. Playstation was everywhere with mature games, a steadily growing fanbase, and CD-ROMs that allowed much more room for programming. Nintendo fought back with Nintendo 64, which boasted more brainpower than an Asian kid on Ritalin. The addition of two more controller slots was a catalyst for multiplayer mayhem, and the rigid casing meant that turd who dropped my system didn’t have to be slaughtered, scalped, and his body dragged behind a flaming chariot of my rage. And the game selection! More fun than eating McGriddles in front of the homeless. Super Smash Bros., GoldenEye 007, Starfox 64, Mario Kart, and one of the greatest games ever made, The Legend of Zelda: The Ocarina of Time. The downfalls were the decision to stick to memory-deficient cartridges and some of the more lackluster games. For every game that had you glued to the couch, reeking of several days’ worth of body odor and excitement, there were five more that you rented, then threw away out of spite.

Gamecube

There's a handle on the back, just in case you need leverage to pick this thing up and slam it into your skull.

While companies like Sony continued to innovate with their Playstation 2, Microsoft saw the gaming sphere weak enough to enter with it’s Xbox. With all the delicacy of a sledgehammer, Nintendo rushed out the abortion known as the Gamecube. 12 virtual failures accompanied the Gamecube’s release, so of course the platform didn’t sell. (Who gives a damn about Luigi’s Mansion anyways?) Fantastic Nintendo-specific titles like Super Smash Bros: Melee, The Legend of Zelda: The Wind Waker, and Super Mario Galaxy couldn’t stand against the multitude of actually fun games on other systems. Nintendo’s reliance on a younger audience to line their pockets had begun, and fans of the original Nintendo (you know, the non-gay one) were abandoned like a prom night dumpster baby. Still, our blind loyalty led us to buy this disappointment, if for no other reason than to support Nintendo in hopes that they would make a real system.

Wii

I'm sorry, but "Wii" just sounds like another way to say penis.

Then came a system with all the power of the Gamecube, all the third-party, third-rate, sub-par gaming diarrhea of the N64, and all the capabilities of a Dreamcast. And if you don’t know what a Dreamcast is, count yourself one of the lucky ones. Instead of battling for their rightful place at the top of the industry pyramid, Nintendo chose to whine and base their system around fickle remote control-style nonsense. I’ll admit, it was a novel idea, and Wii Sports was cool the first dozen times or so, but it got old faster than “I’m Rick James, bitch!” and was equally as annoying. The stunning absence of decent titles was depressing, and churning out kiddie gook nonstop made many real gamers look elsewhere for entertainment. The worst part of Nintendo’s sellout was that they made a ton of money off this crap. Little Danny Dogoods everywhere were begging their parents to buy Ice Age 2, and little Fiona Fartley bought 10 damn copies of whatever drivel some developer slapped a Barbie name on. Fanboys lined up to buy a next-generation system, and instead they got a last-generation system, a remote, and a kick in the ass.

Wii U

The 'U' stands for umbilical cord, which is about how much fun this system will be.

The Wii U has got to be the worst idea since flashing a titty on Superbowl Sunday. Nintendo clearly refuses to learn from its mistakes by vomiting up this excuse for innovation. What am I going to doing with that big clunky thing besides break it because I forgot it was on the couch? Who in their right mind would play a a video game with an iPad anyway? The Wii: Special Olympics Edition has what looks like a NeoGeo Pocket to play with, which is supposed to distract me from the same lame games we’re used to seeing. They tried demonstrating the graphics this year, which look– unsurprisingly– not any better than XBOX 360 or PS3 can do now. Nintendo, in 6 or 7 years when this system fails, do gamers a favor and don’t release any more consoles. Instead, line us up and bend us over; at least that way, we know what we’re in for.

Nintendo, I write this on behalf of gamers everywhere. Stop giving fake gamers the reach-around, because their lack of loyalty will cost you more in the long run. Toddlers who can barely walk now won’t care about Nintendo when they grow their first pubic hair because you squashed yourself in a potentially dangerous (albeit lucrative, for the moment) box. You are stealing candy from babies, and that trick never lasts long (trust me, I’ve tried). Instead, try to remember gamers like me, who’ve slept outside in the rain, sleet, and snow for your newest gizmo, only to be harangued for purchasing a console reserved for those who poo in their diapers. Get back to your roots, and perhaps I’ll stop making fun of you although chances of that are slim to none.

I, for one, have forsaken Nintendo to enjoy the exploits of Xbox 360. I don’t care if the Wii U comes with a butt naked Puerto Rican chick lathered in baby oil, I’m still not buying it.

The second chronicle in a collection of quotes from my days as a college youth. Like the first edition of quotes, these names have been changed. None of these should be taken seriously, so don’t go having an aneurysm over them. Enjoy.

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“I think God, Jesus, and the Yankees are all on the same level. And Wilt Chamberlain is up there too.”

-PomPom, on religious figures

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“You wanna come to my room? I’ll do wild things to you.”

-Finger, to random female passerby

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“Don’t look at me like that man. That felt like an intimate moment.”

-Gunner, on eye contact

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Infamous: “Belgian waffle? What is that, German?

Science: “No mo’f*cka it’s Belgian!”

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“And now, a homo moment.”

-Pride, with the precursor

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“So I’m trying to give him the hotdog while he’s sleeping because he’s drunk and he needs to eat, and he wakes up, looks at the hotdog, looks at me, and says, ‘Pause.’”

-Gunner to Pride

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“I understand why Chris Brown be slappin’ these bitches.”

-Jay, on T.L.C. for the P.Y.Ts

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“I guess the reason I can do things other guys can’t is ’cause I beat my women.”

-Hype, on the rights of domestic abuse

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“If you need a pad…”

-Illmatic, about Will’s constant bitching

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“It’s cool, my girl’s not a dime either, but she has a nice personality.”

-Hype, on settling

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Illmatic: “Cypher Organization should be a major.”

Hate: “I’d pass.”

Cheeks: “I’d have Magna Cum Laude.”

-On making the grade

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“I tell that bitch it’s a man’s world. Dick run this. When you take notes, you take DIC-tation. When you look something up, it’s in the DIC-tionary. When you run a country, you’re a DIC-tator. Dick runs the world!”

-Gunner, on MAN-nerisms

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“I’m tryna stick my finger in someone’s ass tonight. No homo.”

-Roberto, on first moves

Good times.

Below are some quotes from my tenure in college. None of my friends’ real names are used, mostly to spare their pride at having uttered such foolishness. Of course, all is said in jest. Feast your eyes and imaginations on the debauchery that is college life.

_______________________________________________

Illmatic: “What’s your favorite candy?”

Kay: “Penis!”

-The best girlfriend ever

_______________________________________________

“Oh, you’re in a fraternity. That’s how you get all the bitches, then.”

-PomPom, on picking up chicks

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“I would so sh*t on the person who got fired because of Facebook!”

-Richard

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“You look nice in this picture. I can masturbate to this one.”

-Steph, on photogenics

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“Can you tell [my girl] to lose weight so I can do this to her?”

-Finger, while lifting Amy

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“He was going mad hard on eating my p*ssy. I’m like, ‘Nigga did you have lunch?’”

-Dime, on vaginal hilarity

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Hype: “I’ll take the fat one.”

Gunner: “You’re a team player.”

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“Fuck that. Two pumps and a grind and I’m done.”

-BobMarley, on going the extra mile

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“I was pseudo-courting her.”

-Science, on the smash-n’-dash

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“I’m so happy to have a job. My nigger is getting turned up to level 30.”

-Gunner, on recession-proof fun

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“I’ve never tasted snake or baby. I’m curious for both.”

-Finger, on awesomeness

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Illmatic: “Having a motorcycle is like having a second penis.”

Finger: “Or in my case, a third penis. I’m not even gonna tell you about it.”

-Imagine overhearing this

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Gunner: “Let’s get a cavalry and go out Thursday night.”

Illmatic: “A cavalry?”

Gunner: “You know, a cavalry. Black people call it gangs, Jesus called it disciples…”

-Bringing the team together

Have you ever gone on a blind date, only to find out that the person is a troll? The first thing you want to do is leave.

Or not.

For the sake of people everywhere, and to stave off a new slew of botched matchmakings, I have taken it upon myself to create a simple five star scale of hotness. Pretty sure part of the credit goes to Tucker Max for the idea, but since I can’t find it on his website, it’s up to me to save humanity.

The One Star:

This cretin is found only in the darkest of dungeons, which explains why she has the complexion of Gollum. Usually foul-breathed, laden with coarse chest hair, and covered in more excess skin than Star Jones, beware of initiating physical contact with the dreaded One Star.  If, by drunken chance, stupidity, or force, one of your own sheep ventures into the territory of the One Star to mate, be a good shepherd and return him to the flock. However, ruthless teasing, relentless barbs, and bringing it up years after the fact are all well within your rights as a friend.

Yikes.

The Two Star:

Contrary to popular belief, most women are two-stars. Usually, they resemble the One Star in several qualities, including a pallid, uncomfortably pale or dark countenance, a Luigi-style mustachio, or bowlegs that make her look like Motaro from Mortal Kombat. Still, the Two Star is accepted into the ranks of the decent for one reason. She, by some power of aggressive plastic surgery luck, has been blessed with one outstanding, redeeming quality. That quality, whether huge knockers, DSLs, or a Buffie the Body-style caboose, makes her at least passable. A comrade, however foolish he may be to find himself in her company, can only be warned once of his indiscretion. After that, he must be left to his own devices.

Are her abs hiding the ugly yet?

The Three Star:

The three star woman is relatively good-looking, with perhaps one or two personable flaws. A lover’s gaze would see past that little snaggletooth or her two-tone weave without a problem. Although her looks are fair, the three star is usually woefully inadequate in the mental or personal capacity, whining at the slightest problem, nagging without the slightest provocation. Her disdain for any form of fun had without her sucks the soul of even the most boisterous suitor, leaving him a dried, fragile husk of his former self. Knowing this, one of your team shall fall to her clutches. Honor his sacrifice.

Be honest: you could do worse.

The Four Star:

Sometimes, the illustrious four star will grace mankind with her presence, resulting in many a drink bought, many a pick-up line said, and many a man rejected. Oh, you might find her in the usual locations, like bars and clubs, but more often, she strikes fear into the heart of men by surprising us in Barnes and Nobles, or by wearing tights to the supermarket. No amount of “hey baby” or “how you doin’?” works there, so the four star usually stands alone, waiting for her Prince Charming to scoop her onto his white stag.

Yeah, you're pretty much going to need one of these.

The Five Star:

On a clear night, if the moon is in the seventh house of Aquarius, wait in hushed tones, and peer into the mist. If you’re lucky, you may witness the glory that is the mystical five star. Although few have ever seen her, it is rumored that a five star’s appearance is enough to warrant stares from men and women alike, complete with spilled coffees, “readjustments” (for the male populace), and subsequent slaps from your girlfriend you forgot was on your arm. Confirmation of a five star sighting must be authenticated by a fellow team member before the designation can be bestowed. If, by some chance the gods smile upon your comrade and he is lucky enough to grasp one, no matter how much of a douchebag he is, buy that man a beer.

I'm still not buying Jigga a beer though.

And thus concludes my scale of hotness, from the grotesque to the smolderingly beautiful. Hurrah!

Saw Colombiana yesterday.

A female assassin? *gasp*

All in all, not a terrible movie.

If you’re the average American moviegoer with the IQ of a goldfish, this movie is for you. It’s got explosions, sex, shooting, more sex, and Zoe Saldana in the shower. Honestly, I’d pay $10.25 to see Zoe Saldana bake bread.

However, if you’re expecting more than a half an erection from this movie, I suggest you look elsewhere.

Colombiana doesn’t have many problems, but the ones it does have make it a sub-par film. Realism is the first issue. The movie flirts with the idea of being real, which is a terrible idea. Be realistic, a la True Grit, or be spectacularly over-the-top like Kill Bill, but don’t skip merrily between the two. On one hand, Cataleya (Saldana’s character) is an lithe, lethal mercenary, but on that same hand, she never gets cut? Never bruised? Injured? Anything besides a bloody nose? Right.

There are also plot holes that Colombiana doesn’t even attempt to cover.  For example, how does a ten-year-old get from Miami to Chicago without an ID or money? Or my personal favorite: everyone finding out information through the mystery of computers.  The FBI locates Cataleya from half of a grainy iPhone photo? I can’t believe it’s not a poorly thought-out script butter.

Finally, the some of the acting in this movie was egregious. Amandla Stenberg played a young, catatonic Cataleya… Wait, so she wasn’t catatonic? Oh. Well, I’ve seen more expression on stroke victims. Bert and Ernie would’ve been more believable as Colombian criminals than Cliff Curtis. And Callum Blue? Callum Blue was… in the movie. Let’s just leave it at that.

To sum things up, Colombiana was asi-asi. For the hacks that thought up this masterpiece, that’s Spanish for “so-so.”

What in the f*@# is wrong with Republicans?

Maybe you enjoy running candidates that are stupid, have ridiculous policies that would never be considered, or are just plain batsh*t insane. Let’s take a look at some of these so-called candidates, shall we?

Rick Perry:

He’s a little smarter than President Bush, but that isn’t saying much. This blockhead doesn’t believe that the United States should have an income tax. Ignoring the fact that income tax accounts for an unfathomable amount of our nation’s revenue, how would we climb out of debt without any money? He also encourages old people to go choke on a Werther’s Original, as Social Security is nothing but a “Ponzi scheme.” Way to go, Texas.

Mitt Romney:

This snorefest of a candidate is like a pre-pubescent teenaged boy: still finding himself. He flip-flopped on abortion, he flip-flopped on gay rights, and he flip-flopped on stem cell research too. The reason you’re at least 35 when running for president is because you’d run on established policy by then. He’s also Mormon, which means he believes that one day Jesus is coming back on a spaceship for a rock concert, and then Zanzibar, Destroyer of Forgotten Dreams will forge the magical Triforce and grant him eternal life. Or something like that.

Sarah Palin Michele Bachmann:

I don’t take her seriously, and neither should you. By the way, ain’t neither of them got sh*t on Hillary.

Ron Paul:

By far, the most conservative turd on the planet. He doesn’t like NATO. He doesn’t like NAFTA. He doesn’t like the UN. He doesn’t even agree with the Civil Rights Act of 1964! I’ll give you a second to pick your jaw up at his astounding disregard for African-American rights. He’s also a doctor, which explains his policies: he’s clearly been self-medicating.

The Republican party used to be the party of fiscal responsibility, advocates of smaller government, and, you know, sanity. What happened to that? Are you willing to run candidates who care more about their political futures than about the future of this country? Are you willing to let pretend grassroots movements like the Tea Party actually wield political power? You might be thinking, “but what about the other Republican candidates? Surely they have something to offer.” Well they might, but they won’t win the primaries. So to quote the illustrious Jay-Z, “y’all only get half a bar / f*ck y’all n*ggas.”

God I love the suburbs. The trees are infinitely relaxing. Can you tell I grew up here yet?

This post is for you ignorant city-dwellers, you lower life-forms who don’t understand the allure of living in a neighborhood minus the homeless. What is with the homeless anyways? Do they wear dirty sports jerseys as a way to signify their vagabondage? I don’t know, but muttering gibberish and faking a tic usually lets me escape without coughing up my last $1.79 in spare change.

The city is also too loud. Like, really, really loud. All the time. I don’t enjoy pausing mid-conversation every time I’m deafened by a passing bus. Or shouted over by street vendors passing off pigeon as halal. Or accosted by a naked cowboy with a guitar. Erm, not that I know anything about that.

Why live in a place so crowded? Everywhere you’re headed, you have to swim through the mass of lard that is other people. For some, that’s fun. For me, it’s a plethora of germs, complete with the snotty seven-year-old licking the turnstile. Yuck.

But the ‘burbs? They’re wonderful. When you take that five-minute walk to your mailbox, white people will smile, wave, and say hi to you. If hurricane Irene stops by to take a sh*t on your lawn, the streets will be cleaned in a day or two, at most. And “criminal” to us is just an Eminem song. Seriously, when we hear speeding sirens, we all look around curiously for the source, then think: “Someone had a heart attack.” I think that’s far better than, “Damn, another triple rape-homicide. Oh well, back to setting up these roach motels.”

Don’t get me wrong though. A suburb is not a utopia. We do have to make some minor sacrifices to live the way we do. As far as pests, city rats are nothing compared to suburbian racoons. Rats will chew the crumbs you leave after your midnight snack. Racoons will chew through metal garbage cans and leave last month’s Playboy scattered all over the neighborhood! Worse are the deer, who I’m convinced are the most mentally challenged wildlife creatures. These jerks wait for you to speed down wooded, unlit roads, then leap out in front of your SUV, making you swerve madly to avoid shish-kebabing them.

There is one problem that most suburbanites don’t have to deal with: fear of the doorag. Now, I myself, as a certified uppity Negro, no longer wear these, but when I did, you should’ve seen the reactions. It was like I had gotten a prison record tattooed on my face. People would cross the street to avoid me, avert their eyes if we came in close proximity, and choose different aisles to shop in Wal-Mart. And at no time was I screaming, “My .44 make sho’ all yo’ kids don’t grow!” and waving around a gun. I did find it funny to say, “boo!” to old women and watch them drop their ice cream though. Good times.

In short, the city sucks. Suburbia… can also suck. I can’t get no satisfaction.