Stand By Your Mang

If you just happened to stumble on this site and don’t know WTF is going on, click here to get wise to it.

I’m standing by the term ‘mang’. Some readers truly feel that it won’t go over well, but other styles establish themselves, despite not appealing to common sensibilities. So until I get chapter 2 up a little later on, check out these two awesome examples of how to use the term ‘mang’.

The term is first uttered @ 0:16 of this trailer:

Look for the term to come out of Al Pacino’s mouth @ 0:40

Now go see your boss and refer to him or her as mang. It’ll change perspectives.

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Chapter One – What Makes A ‘Mang’

If you just happened to stumble on this site and don’t know WTF is going on, click here to get wise to it.

***As promised I’ve highlighted changes in red for those who wish to follow the refining process without having to read the entire chapter over and over again. There been changes made all over the document, however, so who knows what you’ll miss if you don’t cover the whole thing. 😉

I watch the sex act performed about thirty eight times every day, sometimes more.   I know that some of y’all are probably thinkin’ that’s a lot.  Y’all are probably also askin’ yourselves if I actually went and called it the sex act.

Well, mang, ‘sex act’ is just something I heard some whitecoat say on a show I watched on the Learning Channel.  The show in question was about the science behind sex.   What I find so funny about it, I guess,  is that when you come from a black neighborhood like mine and everyone talks street, it’s a little weird to hear fucking bein’ referred to anything but that – fucking.  Thing is I couldn’t stop cracking up when I’d hear the narrator saying ‘sex act’ in a constipated British tone.  Just to be different I guess I’ll just go and call it rutting while I talk about it, which is a word’ you won’t hear around my hood either, but it’s got a nice nasty ring about it.  I like nasty.  Anyhow, y’all are probably wondering why it is that I watch horny broads gettin’ rutted on so much, aren’t ya mang?

This is one of my jobs, or at least it’s one of two personal gigs, neither of them I’m getting’ paid to do.  Y’all probably think that I’m pretty lucky.  Lucky don’t even begin to cover it.  The enterprises I created deal in porn and hip-hop, and I just so happen to have me an occupation that gives me the chance to try and build a business in both of those industries.  See what I mean about luck?  I consider myself blessed for finding myself in such a situation, especially after coming so close to losing it once. How does it work, y’all are wondering? How does a lucky fella like me get to operate on company time?  It’s called fallin’ through the corporate cracks, and it sure worked out in my favour when it happened to me.  Some people do all they can to get noticed their whole careers.  Me, I have nightmares about the day they start takin’ notice of my existence.  Shit, I don’t even ask for raises.  Ain’t worth it, really.  What’s four hundred bones a year gonna do for me if I actually gotta go and work for it?  Fuck that, mang.

I work for one of the biggest fast food supply conglomerates out there, and like a fat bitch at the buffet, this company just keeps on gettin’ bigger all the time.  I been here for about four years now and I can say I’m proud that all of five people out of the two hundred or so workin’ the two floors I operate on know my name.  About as many people even know I’m around.  When I first started working for this operation I was put in the archive department and got partnered up with Earl, this quiet old white dude who’d been around for like fifteen years.  I had no idea during the interview that I was goin’ to be in for one of the sweetest deals.  I thought I was just goin’ to be workin’ another shit job that would last a few months before I lost my head.

For the first two years, Earl and me just did our thing and spent good parts of the day reading, or in my case, screwin’ about on the internet.  It was in that time that I laid down the foundations for my present operations.  I was getting’ paid to school myself, mang, and I did a pretty good job of it.  It’s not like human resources went and spent any time in archives.  They only knew the department was given a budget for two bodies and since we were given the additional duty of keeping the office supply room for the twelfth floor stocked and organized, the chore looked even more intense, so it never got questioned.

Truth be that me and Earl had all of about one hour a week tops of work to do in the supply room.  Most folks would just head over and help themselves if they needed a notepad, staples or that kinda shit and that cut down on our work even more.  We’d just spend about two or three hours a day sortin’ the archives, a little bit more if an afternoon delivery arrived, but with no one around to supervise us, the average workday saw us billing the man for days of reading, netsurfing and pinching off loafs.  Hell, I even been teachin’ myself chess on the computer and I’m gettin’ up to that maverick level.

Then one day a partner bought into the company.  They insisted on their practice of having an independent third party handle archives off-premises, and I thought my dream job was about to come to an end.  I never had reason to love a low-payin’ gig before, but after tasting this, I couldn’t let go of it, especially after I had busted my ass building up my enterprises.  What they did do was offer Earl a comfy retirement and I got reassigned to being a full-time stock room attendant.  What was already a sweet deal became the score of a lifetime.  These days I have me thirty nine out of forty each week of paid time, free to do what I wish.  I started bringing in my laptop every day and by the time most peeps are taking their first sip of coffee and cursing through the workload that was left for them the night before, I’m watching some skank getting cornholed by some dude with a ten-inch dick.

I watch this shit most of the morning, then write about it on my website, AceOfAss.com and let’s just say the public is startin’ to take notice.  I get just enough extra green from online ruttin’ to fund a healthy portion of my hip-hop label, Wax Sabre, named for my respect for the Samurai.  Another reason I cherish this gig is because it covers just about all of the label’s overhead.  The challenges of pushing music in the internet age is rough, mang, and these perks make it more possible.  Whether it’s flyers for shows, postage for mailin’ out the merch, color photo copies of covers for the albums or burning advance copies of new beats for the media, I depend on these free resources.  Wax Sabre ain’t profitable yet, but with the amount of time I can spend on it, it shouldn’t be too long.  Hell, if this stockroom were any less supervised I could just set-up a studio up in this bitch and record my artists right here.

In the meantime, I got me a multi-level plan to stay off radar to protect my position.  Another show I watched on the Learning Channel got me wise to the five senses.  Weird though ‘cuz they were referring to the sense of smell as ‘the old factory sense’ on the show.  Well, I don’t know what old factories have to do with detecting the smell of food, but I picked up one important fact – humans tie memory with smell and if I start eatin’ delicious grub around the peeps in the office, they just might start taking notice of me and that’s attention I don’t want to be havin’.  So no matter what’s going on mang, I always eat out of the office and it works, which is good because I really don’t want to.

Another reason I gotta keep this gig is for ego.  When I meet new sweeties down at the clubs and tell ‘em I work over at my own office, eyebrows rise and body language gets looser.  Trouble is I can’t back it up by asking them to drop by for a visit.  What I can do is leave mail sent to my job with the company address on it layin’ all over my crib. Sure feels nice havin’ honeys seein’ mail addressed to Terrance Copeland, C.E.O.  Jerry, the supervisor of the mailroom, gets free Wax Sabre products for the trouble of interceptin’ any mail for the label and droppin’ it my way.  The boy sees to it that his eyes and my eyes are the only ones that see it.

That feeling I felt a couple of years ago, about being close to losing this arrangement, it’s coming back again, mang.  I’ve been sensing something in the air lately and I call help but feel odd about it.  There’s always change goin’ in this company, but Seth Pullman, a COO or somethin’ like that has been in some kind of a funk over the past few weeks.  They been shipping his ass out to Japan and somethin’ about it has been gnawin’ him.  He’s up and down, one day to the next and when bold men start losin’ their handle on things, it’s reason to start worrying.

Personally, I always liked the guy, even if he’s everything my mom warned about – a white man with lots of money.  I guess you could say one reason I looked past that shit is because Seth not only knew my name, but he would sometimes stop into my ‘office’ and start up conversations.  And we’re not talkin’ about small talk here.  He would tell me all about how he came from a family that was workin’ class.  He actually grew up close by to where my dad did.  This goes to say that with Seth bein’ where he’s at now, he is one of them self-made men, just like what I’m tryin’ to be.  You wouldn’t ordinarily figure a man of his stature chillin’ with a guy like me, but I figure it’s the fact that since he knows about my label and my porn site, he respects what I’m about.  Unlike Jerry, he doesn’t know I’m running these gigs out of the stockroom.  I got a feelin’ the cat might not like that very much.

The guy’s a good influence on me.  When he’d talk about all the different countries his job took him to, it would make me want to succeed even more.  He’s touched every continent and said he’s officially crossed over two hundred borders.  Damn, mang.   I get visions of Oktoberfest getting’ sponsored by Wax Sabre Records and the itch to have my label’s roster perform in Dubai.  It’s all about the largeness, mang.

When y’all look at it, I got one up on Seth.  I got something he never had – a sponsored source of free time and no overhead for my business supplies.  He spent his early days bagging groceries on weekday nights, and bussing tables on weekend nights and making extra amounts of his own spaghetti sauce when cooking for himself and sellin’ it to other students so he could put himself through one of the choicest universities in the country.  If only my momma was wise to that shit.

So then what’s this vibe I’m picking up off of Seth?  The guy is filled with something and I figure it’s the fear.  Whatever the case is, I can’t be wallowing too much on it.  If something is goin’ down I need to concentrate on the new act I just signed and get a marketing plan in together, should my last days be comin’ up.

DIY Writers At Work

If you just happened to stumble on this site and don’t know WTF is going on, click here to get wise to it.

As I toil away on revisions, I thought I’d post about two writers who are not only writing worthwhile material, they are taking their own approach to making sure it reaches the public.

The first is J.C. Hutchins, a novelist based out of Florida. After writing sci-fi material that failed to gain the interest of agents, J.C. launched his own website, and offered his writing in the form of serialized podcasts. The results were incredible and he received so much traffic that his books are now available in print. Check the website out here.

The second writer is Cory Doctorow. What’s different about Cory is the work he offers for free download is previously published. his downloads also happen to be DRM-free. Aside from offering  content to visitors, his site Craphound.com has taken on a community feel.

Seeing what authors are getting accomplished in the internet age has given me renewed hope as a writer and proof that a reading audience is alive and well.

Hope you enjoy these two sources of entertainment.

Day 2 – Changes in store

If you just happened to stumble on this site and don’t know WTF is going on, click here to get wise to it.

Good morning all!

Since putting the writing up online yesterday, this temporary blog managed to get close to 100 hits and visitors have sent their comments and critiques both in the comments section and by email and to them I say thank you!

We live in a very busy world and as crazy as it may seem, some people don’t have the time or the mental energy to spare for even just 12 pages of content.

To keep things fresh for those coming back I will be doing a couple of things: I will change the WordPress skin every evening so that y’all have something nice and fresh to visit in the mornings.

The second thing I’ll be doing is putting changes in a specific color for the day. Today’s revisions will be in red. Tomorrow’s will likely be in blue.

I figure this way, you won’t get bored reading the whole text over again, instead you’ll have the option of checking precisely what has changed.

A couple of people have expressed interest in seeing more, which was not part of the plan, as this is supposed to be about refining the pages you presently see here to perfection for presentation to the QWF. But I’ll likely throw up a couple of random favorite chapters tomorrow.

So here we go and the first changes ought to be up in a couple of hours.

Once again, my thanks and good day to you all.

Chapter 2 – All For A Good Drink

***And here is chapter 2. If you just happened to stumble on this site and don’t know WTF is going on, click here to get wise to it.

Several years ago…

The alarm rang on a Tuesday morning, but Seth Pullman was already awake and let the crude buzzer sound off for a while. He’d been staring at the ceiling for just under an hour. Now’s the time, he told himself, arched his upper body up into a sitting position. His unusually wide eyes, often mistaken as being black, absorbed the red circle around the fourteenth day of September. Everything will change in his career. As of two in the afternoon, he would no longer just be a man by age. In a few hours, his stature was to be gauged by the corporate meter stick. He was too excited for his morning coffee and also took a pass on any form breakfast. He had called his parents the night before and did his very best to appear aloof and leave the excitement to them, but his faced beamed unseen pride he heard in their voices as he gave them the details of his trip.

Seth adjusted his blue shirt as dynamically as possible in his pants and fiddled with his tie to allow no margins of shifting. For good luck he removed the brass cufflinks he had inherited from his grandfather from the false panel in the back of his dresser and tightened his sleeves around his wrists with the heirlooms. After pulling his coat over his suit and buttoning the top button, he looked back at himself for five minutes in the mirror. When he felt right about heading out the door, he did so with a lift that was not found in his shoulders just a few hours before.

The pre-trip meeting with the manager regarding the itinerary was the only bit of time in the long-dragging day that helped bridge the gap between showing up at the office and leaving for the airport. When the clock did finally strike two, a very restless Seth and his equally-excited cohorts were barrelled down to the building’s lobby to meet the small shuttle bus with a bright white airplane silhouette painted along its side.

Of the seven man team, Seth was the greenest of the bunch and the only one on-hand attending his first conference. The other six men had all been to Houston before for the same conference held for the foodservice management and were quite animated about arriving there and living like sailors on leave. The ride on the shuttle bus served as a half-hour cacophony of giddy man-boy reps yelling one over the other, each of them trying to come off as the most well-lived of sages. Each felt he had the tales of debauchery to tell the rookie. The lad didn’t know who to listen to first. The missives came from all directions in varying pitches. What tracts to follow for the most ideal pub crawl, where to find the most pernicious callgirls and who to talk to for some of the primest bumps of blow. One of the sages even knew of a dry cleaning service that would bill blow to the company credit card. Excesses of exuberance aside, Seth didn’t fail to get swept up in what appeared to be the party of a lifetime.

In three days, Seth got only got about twelve hours of sleep and his vomit ratio reached the double-digit mark. He also suffered the humiliation of getting swindled by a callgirl who pushed her way out the bathroom window. She did so only seconds after coyly pocketing the payment that had been place on the nightstand prior to service. Still, Seth knew all about keeping up appearances and managed to conceal every case of the pukes he endured during the pub crawls and through the deceitful hooker. He chose to save face at a strip club by paying a dancer to fellate him in front of the other Monte Food Brand delegates, while sipping back on a full tumbler of straight whisky.

Appearances were important indeed and what the six other delegates were not aware of was that earlier in the day Seth had stopped by the Fred Meyer’s to pick up some food coloring and mastered the brown-tint required to simulate the copious-looking amount of whisky in his tumbler. Having flown his flag, Seth was able to enjoy the rest of the night drinking watered-down beer while the rest of the guys pounded back martinis and attempting to score audacious blowjobs of their own.

Those three days in Houston set the cadre by which Seth would be known by the upper echelons of the company. Since that first trip, something else was cemented – a preference for solitary travel, whenever such was possible, was what Seth came to enjoy most when dispatched. That was almost thirty years ago and the sentiment has not wavered since.

Seth was slated to travel alone in a couple of hours, yet he found himself in the company of a small man. His name is Tanaka Ichi and he’s one of the local reps who helped Monte Foods acquire the final property required to the giant to become the definitive industry leader. His presence was an intrusion to a very beloved ritual of Seth’s. Aside from being partial to solitary travel, Seth also greatly relished the experience of arriving early to airports and indulging in much drink in VIP lounges. The hum of the runway matched with the drink lulled him into welcome trances. After any job well done in a foreign city, he always looked forward to downing gin-and-tonics or straight scotches while watching the planes come and go. Just about any drink would do for the ritual. With the most important deal of his career now done, Seth felt he could not permit himself his precious favourite indulgence. This aggravated him.

For the sake of company face, Seth felt he needed to nurse his drink for an extended time while in Tanaka’s presence. It was considered a courtesy to be escorted to the airport by a local rep, but Seth viewed it only as an unwanted presence, offensive to his personal rhythm. Seth and Tanaka had been together forty minutes, forty of the longest mintues. Seth had already grown bored with the rare and inane small talk within by the ten minute mark.

He turned his head left and faced Ichi and politely, but coldly told him his company was not required. The small man’s eyebrows raised a moment and Seth could read it in the creases of his face that he had taken offense, but he could care less. There was to be no consequence for this mild infraction against the escort. Ichi insisted that he really didn’t mind waiting by his side, but Seth insisted he preferred to sit at the bar alone. Begrudgingly, the conversationally inept man removed his coat from the nearby coat hangar and offered a lukewarm handshake to Seth and wished him well. Before the small man was even two steps out of the lounge bar, Seth called for a pint of malt and a rum-and-coke.

The first mouthful of rum lingered in Seth’s mouth as he looked into a mirror on the side of a thin rectangular pillar that faced him at an angle. Since that first trip all those years ago, he had lost little hair. His hairline had yielded a few follicles, but remained stately all the same. He had actually lost far more freckles than hair since the time of that first trip. He didn’t have any remaining spots left on his cheeks. The rusty-colored hair he had on his head at that time has long been supplanted with an artificial chestnut-brown, Seth’s color of choice after the sides of his shortly cropped mane began graying prematurely. Unlike most of the men his age, he had a rather unnoticeable paunch when measured up to the potbellies of most men he held company with. His face had grown a little more terse with age, but he could easily lie about his age and cheat his way into a slightly lower bracket. Whenever he sported his carefree jester’s smile, he lost more years from his age. His frequent laughter also helped keep the features from his face from stoning over anymore than they had. Now that he had now idea what he was coming home to, he was going to need every grin and chuckle he could muster.

Chapter 1 – Pimpin’ Made Easy

***So here is the first chapter. If you just happened to stumble on this site and don’t know WTF is going on, click here to get wise to it.

I watch the sex act performed about thirty eight times every day, sometimes more. I know y’all are probably thinkin’ that be a lot. Y’all are probably also askin’ yourselves if I actually went and called it the sex act.

Well, mang, ‘sex act’ is just something I heard mentioned by some whitecoat on a show I watched on the Learning Channel. It was some show about the science behind sex. Thing is I couldn’t stop cracking up when hearing the narrator keep saying ‘sex act’ in a stuffy British tone. So I guess I’ll just call it ruttin’. Can’t remember where I picked that one up, mang, nice ring about it, though. Anyhow, y’all are probably wondering why it is that I watch horny broads gettin’ rutted on so much, aren’t ya mang? Read the rest of this entry »

This Blog Has A 7 Day Shelf Life

Day 1 of 7

My name is John and a couple of years ago I tried to snag myself a mentorship through the QWF (Quebec Writers Federation), only to come up snake eyes.

Well, no hard feelings…

The contest is on again and hot off the heels of writing a novel for a recent contest, I feel I have a manuscript worth refining.

What I hope to accomplish with this temporary site (BTW, FTLP is short for the tentative title of the book – For The Little People) is to gather as much criticism and user comments as possible prior to the deadline (December 7th) so that I can submit the tightest material possible.

Thank you to all who take the time to read/love/hate what is contained here.

This site will be deleted come December 6th @11:59pm.