i almost wanna have kids so i can teach them things

but as the replacements once sang, kids wont listen

i was not lucky with the ladies in high school.

not only was i the only Black guy in school, but i had no male figures to say ok heres what you do.

the first kiss i got in 6th grade was during spin the bottle at a party where one of my best friend’s girlfriend spun the thing and when it pointed at me she grabbed my hand and took me to the bathroom

before i could say what about Dave, she was kissing me the way they do in France.

i was shocked, i felt like i had stomped all over the Bro Code, and i was also alive like i had never been before.

about a half hour later i spun the bottle, got her, and we marched in there and went at it again.

long live italian girls.

but life, it turns out, is not like that.

you gotta hustle. and when you do, sometimes you literally kiss the air as the woman ducks out of the way.


which is why isla vista was so magical.

you could be kneeling at your bed with your nightcap on, saying your prayers good night

and the prettiest girl youve ever seen taps on your sliding glass door

to ask if she could be the little spoon real quick.

was this how life was going to be?

just show up and have your teeth brushed and

miracles would happen to your undeserving soul?



i met a nice German girl from Germany yesterday

kneeling santashe isnt Catholic but volunteers at this Catholic save the world place.

she met my man Ben at a soup kitchen.

she looked at me and said, you’re beautiful.

i said, look at my heart.

she did and couldnt control her scowl.

but smiled anyways.

heart of gold.

on the side she helps out with the gangs in South Central.

i said you do what?

she has a delightful German accent because she spends most of her time in Southern Germany near the Swiss border but comes to LA to volunteer whenever she’s saved enough money.

when she’s in Germany she studies Theology and writes letters to gang members in jail.

i was all, what do those jailed dudes write to you?

she was like, everything.

i was all, do they ever get out of control writing to such a pretty girl who lives so so far away.

she said, do you know what they ask me the most for? they ask me to tell their family to write them.

and i gave her all of my money.

are you a pipe?

Magritte's Pipei feel like im a pipe, but around some people im not at all a pipe

and i cannot help it.

i feel like they have wrong me in some way and i dont wanna be a pipe.

i wanna clog that ish. i wanna put off a bad taste.

i wanna say, why are you packing it so full or why do you gotta slobber on it

or bite it.


and if they see how i am with other people they might say, see, he is a pipe. in fact he’s the greatest pipe in this whole damn world. whys he gotta be a big jerk to me and a wonderful pipe to everyone else?!?

and i say let me count the ways.

and i say are you a pipe to me?

are you a wonderfully looking smooth handcrafted made in the USA perfect pipe to me or are you something lesser than?

are you a pipe or are you something that clogs the pipe? are you who you say you are? are you who we hoped youd be or are you just a painting of what we wanted.

me im just a former xbi agent trying to shed all the crud ive picked up along this long strange trip.

but for safety sake, just pretend im not a pipe.

ceci n’est pas une pipe, aussi, magritte.