"On Some Nine Lives Shit"
Here's the dilly. I was on my way back from a fully kill lunch with my man Neil (Extraplegic) Richter. We were cruising in one of his many many (some would call it a fleet) cars. I was dealing with some mixed feelings cause like, lunch was the bomb (good slice, got to see my peeps) but I was headed back to work. When some middle aged, balding, tint-windowed (that's right, his baldness came shining through his tinted windows) motherFUCKER in a black Corvette FULLY ran a stopsign and started into me and Neil's righteous path. This is a time when you're actually GLAD to be with Neil. 'Cause usually? Not so good, I hear. Nah, I'm playing. Neil's golden. Except he's known to hit on any girl you like. ANYWAY. Neil and I don't wear seatbelts. I don't want nothing hindering the blood supply to my Porno zone, dig? So, the 'vette is rolling into our lane at like the WORST possible time. But Neil's a P. R. O. pro. A little brake, a little swerve, release brake. Shit, he even got the HORN in. I was still getting my shit straight and Neil's already on the gas, cussin, middle finger out the window in the general direction of Dr. Dipshit.
Which brings me to my point. A threat on your life is COCK BLOCKING (or hoo hoo blocking, in the case of my many many deliriously lovely female readers). I ain't gonna stand for it. Can I talk about terrorism for a minute? I know, I know, you don't wanna hear about this from Porno Rico. You're like, "Porno, talk shit about Post Stardom Depression, already!" Patience, I'll get to that, I promise. But yo, I got some steps that I believe almost guarantee survival. I'm a smart motherfucker. Man, am I smart! You know this. Anyhow, all the literature I've studied leads me to some sound, easy to enact solutions to all kinds of possible attack.
#1) You better just stay drunk. Or at least keep a buzz on. Alcohol in the bloodstream is pure POISON to anthrax spores, smallpox, and lack of initiative with the ladies. If the opportunity for panic/terror sex comes up, you don't wanna be caught out, thinking, "Ehhh, is this a good idea?" If you had a good head of whiskey rolling, that shouldn't even cross your mind. So do YOURSELF a favor, for god's sake. Get, and STAY, loaded. This is pure fact. You could ask your doctor, but if I found out about it, I'd be hella insulted. And come ON, you know how uncool that would be.
#2) If you see suspicious shit? Just go kung-fu nuts on whoever's doing it. This'll be a LOT easier if you've followed Dr. Porno's advice on tip #1. If you crack the whip on some poor, innocent motherfucker you've still done some good. You taught this person a valuable lesson about acting shifty in a tough time. It's really time to get with the program. Uncle Rico knows how to spot a wrangler! Trial and error. Here's what I've learned: Cops are really REALLY unlikely to be terrorists. Cops don't hesitate at ALL to use those billy clubs they got. Man, they have those fucking things out and swinging in a second. Uhhh, what else? I forget. Maybe #2 isn't very helpful. All it's gotten me is a night in the KCJ, a dangerous and sexy looking black eye, and a newfound respect for the fighting ability of our men in blue. (I know, Rule #2 doesn't say "Pick fights with cops." But that guy fully looked like he was gonna take the beer out of my cab driver's hand and that WAS NOT cool.)
#3) Be vigilant. Keep your eyes open. Know your surroundings. There's foxes EVERYWHERE! Is it just me or are the ladies looking ESPECIALLY fly since September 11th? So we're all gonna die! That doesn't mean you can't put the mack down. Try new stuff! I was chillin' with this foine, evil looking officita from the bus, and in the middle of Porno playtime, she fully goosed me right in the boo boo! Now, in peacetime, that might not fly. But I can overlook that, now. Did I like it? No comment...
Okay, follow these three rules. Or two of them, at least. Don't be a pussy.
Now, I'd been cooking up a special section of my much-loved column called "Fantasy Plane Crash." This is where I listed who I would like to see go down in a jet liner. Then all this shit went down and I back-burnered the whole thing. Then I was gonna revive it as "Fantasy Bus Wreck," and there was some drama down South. So, I'm giving up on the whole transportation genre, or milieu (if you will) and I'm calling this new, permanent addition: YOU'RE ON MY SHITLIST, MOTHERFUCKER! Without further a-doo doo...
YOU'RE ON MY SHITLIST MOTHERFUCKER! Vol. I