Edited due to Rock Hijacking: Another Adventure in Bird Watching- Part 2

I needed a break..... damn job was stressing me out. My lack of summer dick is fucking depressing.... my son went away for 3 weeks and the IRS recently informed me that someone in Texas stole my identity which will take me months to clear up. yeah, shit is fucked up. However, even with all that being said, i still found the silver lining and continued to.....

BIRD WATCH!

These birds were out in full force this memorial day weekend. Wet Seal and Rainbow must've had a 2 for one deal on plus sized biker shorts, tank tops and jellies because I swear I saw three precious-like pigeons rocking the same torn legging shorts and glittered Baby Girl tank top like they were Sasha mufuggin Fierce. I soooo wanted to take pics this weekend and i swear that was the plan but... er uh... what had happened was Gary Coleman died..... and then.... so... i didn't get pictures BUT what I do have for you is another bird watching adventure with Khaki's National Ge-hographic! Say you love me... say you love me... go head say it then put it in a love song :) <--- Gay? I know, I know.

Khaki Irwin here again to take you on another whirlwind adventure of Bird Watching around the world wide web. We'll travel to the depths of the hood to capture pigeons in their natural habitat and still make it back home in time for Murry Steakhouse chicken fingers and red Kool-Aid. So, put on your bird protectors and follow me!

First stop... my home for the time being BALTIMORE where we find the Pigeon.

Look at her standing like so with her tatted up body in that 6.99 Body Basic "lingerie", wrinkled up leather-like ComeFuckMe Pumps fresh off the hanger with that cheap ass hair flowing. I'm thinking either pregnant or bloated from the Alize... thoughts?

Sidenote: I hate pigeons. Really- they are the niggas of the bird family... cant stand em... try to keep Alka Seltzer and bread with me whenever I go downtown just in case I need to explode them. Nasty ass birds walk the street like they own the place. They'll shit on you and the fucking savages will rob you for whatever food you have. I'll never forget the day I was coming home from school and saw a flock of pigeons fucking each other up over what I thought was bread. After some big burly 18 lb pigeon strong armed the smaller pigeons, it was then that I realized that 10 pigeons were fighting over a chicken bone. A fucking chicken bone. For real?!?!? Not only do y'all become lions and try to kill each other over food on some Animal Planet shit but then to find out its a distant cousin?!?!?!? I hate em. Point blank.

Somewhere on someones or some thing's bed in my birthplace and hometown Orange, New Jersey (hi REEESSSEEEE!!!!) we have... the Ugly Duckling. Now either that's some raw duck meat ate down to the first layer of epidermis in between her legs or she got her feather covered Crunch N Munch exposed.

Po thing will probably never be a swan but that doesn't mean she isnt stunting on you bitches with that Top Model pose.

Shit, I almost let her slide til I saw those hanger C.F.M's. CHECK!

Next up we travel south to Miami, Florida (waves to Stacie Ann) to capture the FLAMING-HO! Now, they're not lawn worthy and probably have Shrek's swamp water pussy sludge but everyone likes pink, no?

Yes, Rock, I know you'd hit shorty with the pink wig but for the sake of not ending up with a dick covered in sesame seeds, please say "No!".

Next up- we fly west to Mardi Gras in New Orleans and come across ... A PARROT. Look at this Crayola explosion of pure fuckery in her plastic jewelry and feathered prom dress. Polly don't want no fuggin cracker. Another bitch with bird flu in immediate need of a new get-up STAT.

While we're down south... let's swing over to the ATL for.... a COCK or Two?!?!!!! Doesn't matter, he wants them all. Oh, yeah... men can be birds too. This is somebody' first born son rocking his grandmother's wig and 5 o'clock shadow at 10am. I support the gays. Shit, I even went and wasted 10.50 on that Just Wright movie but, c'mon... this is a damn bird. I bet he rocking CFM's too! A real queen would not step out looking like this... CHECK!

Put your bird blocking goggles on and let's hop back on flight and travel north to somewhere near Bumfuck, Wyoming to witness...The Muslim man's wet dream and Tiger Wood's weakness.... the DOVE. This near-sighted bird with soft, white skin like Avirex leather got the bird game down. Sexy pose with finger in her mouth, two piece cheetah print "outfit" with hair tie around her wrist and 19.00 frames on??? CHECK!

Anyone know where we can get a good... SMOKED Turkey? Me neither but let's travel to Chi-Town to take in the beauty of the Thanksgiving bird. I'd say pluck it, baste them ashy ass calves and elbows with some WD-40, roast it up and serve it up on a platter with dressing. Then again, I hate dry ass turkey and i wouldn't dare eat Stove Top out of anything that resembles this. Little ass jersey, booty shorts and Easter shoes?!?!? CHECK! Drop down and get your eagle on, girl!

and I'm tired so let's head back home to Baltimore to get a shot of the state bird... The ORIOLE CRACK BIRD. With class, grace and a body to die for(??), we have the Baltimore Oriole Crack bird perched up in a crack house with peeling lead paint. Just like pigeons, i cant stand the Crack bird. Wanna-be sexy whores strutting past you with 10 year old clothing on and red lipstick.UGH, where's my Alka Seltzer and wheat bread.

And because my husband is always lovingly hijacking my posts....Fresh out of Central California Women's facility for armed robbery, assault and prostitution comes the Compton Jail Bird. Complete with pit bull dark lips, tattoos of Ak-47's and tear drops marked on their faces and bullet holes that look like extra nipples, the jail bird is the most dangerous and vicious species of them all. That gelatinous one looking like "I wish a bitch would said somethin bout my gut" and for fear of losing my life or suffering slashes to the face, I wont say a damn thing.

Until next time...

How to Not Get Stabbed in the Throat: A Womans Guide to Avoiding Ignant Niggas

Ms. Eyes on the Prize asked a very good question in the comments section of the last post: " So WTF are we supposed to do?". Walk away? No, then he'll shoot you in the knees or call you a dumb bitch before spitting on you. Cuss him out? Absolutely not! The hoodlum would probably stab you in the throat with a rat tail comb and no one wants to be stabbed in the throat.



As the Mr. said previously, there is nothing wrong with a guy approaching you or "trying to holla". However, we aren't talking about the respectful regular guys that can take "no" for an answer. Today, we're going to go over some safety tips and rebuttals for those 78 degrees and over Ignant Niggas. Take out your notepad... or copy, paste and send this as a chain letter to all of your girlfriends. We're trying to save lives.

If you ever find yourself about to become a possible victim of hollarassment remember this word

I.G.N.A.N.T

I: Ignore- Novice I.N : This one is tricky and it takes time and practice to become a pro at nicely ignoring someone. The last thing you want to do is come off as a bougie bitch by looking at the I.N's then ignoring them. ironically, they don't like to be disrespected by being disregarded so doing so will usually end up with obscenities and/or violence. Simply put: preoccupy yourself = nicely ignoring. If you see yourself about to encounter an I.N or, worse, a GROUP of I.N's, pull out your cell phone and call somebody. I don't care who it is... call your grandmother, your auntie...shit, call the movie hot line or local carry out. Whatever you do... look busy, seem engaged in your conversation and don't give the I.N's any eye contact. Yeah, you'll feel like an idiot for laughing ridiculously loud at the pre-recorded time but you still have your face intact, now don't you? This will usually get you away from being approached by the novice.


G: Go the other way- Unless you are absolutely, positively stuck go the other way. Avoid, avoid, avoid. As soon as you see any sign of warm weather, put your "Ignant Nigga" radar on and when it starts beeping slowly and letting you know there's imminent danger, go the other way. Now is not the time to "keep it real". You wont look like a bitch by avoiding the thugs selling bootleg DVD's. As long as you look busy on your fake phone call laughing like you've never heard that joke before, they'll just think you changed your mind. Doesn't matter that you're a punk bitch and you cant pay for your gas... you're a punk bitch with no bullet holes and that's all that matters.


N: Nice Smile- Intermediate I.N's: There will come a time when you're caught off guard by an Intermediate Ignant Nigga. You wont be able to phone a friend, pick a clue or ask the audience... no lifelines just you and the Ignant Nigga. One of these times will be in the club- where the Ignant Niggas seem to be in sporadic clusters everywhere. They're unavoidable so if, and when, you get approached by one... give them a nice smile and go on about your business. Smile should be just enough to let them know that you recognize them--- 6 teeth maximum. Too little of a smile and you'll seem scared which you probably are BUT I.N's live off of fear so show no signs of fear. Remember 6 teeth only. Go head and be brave and show all your fronts, and then when you deny them, end up with none. if they see more than the 6, they see pussy. Don't question me. Head tilt- OK but body language should still speak "I'm just trying to be nice and not get robbed or shot". The Intermediate I.N will catch a hint and realize that there is too much pussy to be chased to worry about yours and will usually walk away defeated but not violent.







A: Acknowledge and Listen: SuperIgnant Niggas- The super Ignant Niggas are not going to read your body language. Most of them cant even read so they will go on with their lame lines, requests for your number and not even notice that you are backing away slowly. More than likely, if they're with their boys, you wont even be able to back away because they'll have you surrounded like pit bulls around kitten. So, do what you have to do... acknowledge him and listen to what he has to say. If he's trying to "holla", take him out of his routine and extend your arm for a handshake. Listen to whatever it is that he's trying to say. Don't blow him off. Plain and simple- be nice but not too nice. Hear him out and go to the next step.


N.No... T. Thank You: After he's offered to take you to the motel or commented on your phat ass, its time for the rebuttal. Don't go getting long-winded with excuses an shit. "i have a man/woman" means nothing to the ignant nigga. He's going to ask you if you can have friends. If youre dumb, youre going to say No and then... the ignance is going to start. I.N's are simple therefore your rebuttal should be the same. If I'm in the club, I'll hit a dude with "Sorry, but Im not here for looking for anyone; just trying to be here for my homegirl who's going through a rough time. Thank you coming over here though" smile, walk away and SAFE. Whatever you say, begin it with some form of "no" and end it with a "thank you". No one is going to hit you with a beer bottle if you're polite. Well, maybe them Wire niggas but you'll never run into them unless you live on the block so you're safe.


and just because I care... here's three more tips for you.


Stop claiming gay unless youre really gay or paid your gay dues: Now, I don't use the "I'm Gay" excuse for two reasons... 1. I'm not gay and gay people work too hard to be gay for me just to claim gayness to avoid unwanted penis. Eh, I got morals an' shit. and 2. Most I.N's don't care. Most of them would invite you and your girl. Then, if you get the Super I.N's, you could end up like the ending of Women of Brewster's Place with some thug trying to change your sexuality with forceful penis. No, maam - I'm good. I would say that if you can pull it off, go for it.


Turn the music up: I fucking hate red lights for this reason: I.N's will disrupt your traveling to say something ignant to you and you cant do shit without getting a 75.00 red light ticket. Two options: pace your slow down to avoid coming up side to side with them or turn your music up loud enough to drown them out. The key is to see them before they see you and already have your music up so you wont seem like you're trying to ignore them. Remember, politely ignoring = no stitches. I've heard of niggas throwing piss filled bottles into a chicks car so don't think because you can speed off you wont be disrespected.

Giving out wrong numbers is old school: I.N's have gotten hip to the whole "give a nigga the wrong number"play. They'll ask you to call their phone so they can store you or they'll dial your shit while you stand there. Now try walking back to your car after you just lied to an ignant nigga. Best bet is to not give in. Now, if you feel like this mufucka isnt going to budge and you fear for your life, go ahead and give him your number but make sure you take his so you know when to not pick up. If he's pressed and calls you from a different number, you can always hang up or stop answering. I wouldnt do that to someone that you may run into frequently though.

This is an excerpt from the higly anticipated best seller "A Womans Guide to Avoiding Ignant Niggas" by Khaki La'Docker. Copies will be on Craigslist for all those interested in the full copy.

Coming to a corner store near you: Khaki's Decoy Kit for Avoiding Ignance.

Fuck you then Bitch! Part 1

As much as i despise cold weather, rain and snow- there's a small part of me that gets annoyed when the warm weather starts to break. I don't like to be hot and I don't like to sweat.The thought of top lip sweat and HotPockets (vagina sweat/oveheated vagina) makes my skin crawl. My eyes are punished whenever I see some ill proportioned woman rocking a tank top with princess written on it in glitter and a miniskirt. Dont get me started on the 2.00 Old Navy flip flops that get smashed in the back from the 300 whopper Jr strutting around in them 4 summers in a row. Ok, getting off topic....

In addition to the hygenic reasons and wardrobe fuckery, I've grown to hate the summer for another reason:

IGNANT NIGGAS.

No... not ignorant black men and women. IGNANT NIGGAS. The coons that put their cell phones in their kids names. The niggas that spend 100 to get their car detailed but live in the projects. The niggas that have pool parties in the front yard of their apartment. Them niggas!

*Disclaimer for white people:White people, feel free to laugh or even say it out loud. No, don't say it out loud but you can whisper it to yourself. This isn't a race thing because the white race has some ignant niggas on the roster as well. Furthermore, please note that I'm not saying nigga like Klan-man "i want you dead you nappy headed nigga/ nigga go back to Africa" nigga. Its a bad word, yes, but nonetheless applicable.

I don't know what it is about the heat that makes simple minded men even more simple. As i sit here eating my 3rd Butterscotch Snack Pack (wisdom tooth diet), I'm recounting my Saturday afternoon.

It was almost 90 degrees and I couldn't wait to put on my maxi dress and sandals. I had on my summer-proof face, hair was curled and moisturized and I felt better than I had the last few days. Now, not going to lie, i still had a semi-stroke mouth going on from the wisdom surgery BUT I was still fly. Shrek jaw and all...

I pull up to the gas station, realize i don't have my card and grab my cash to pay the attendant. About 15 feet from me were Ignant Nigga#1, IgnantNigga #2 and little Ignant Nigga #3... All wearing wife beaters, shorts, and some expensive sneaker that they sold a few pills for. I shook my head because I knew it was going to be some bullshit. Either they were going to ask me for money or ask me for ass. Never fails- niggas need money for crabs, snowballs and white tees when its hot and asking for ass is always in season. I did the "gotta-hurry-and pay" walk past them while they mumbled some "hey lightksin" shit and paid the attendant. Entry down- exit to go.

As I walked back to my car, one of them grabbed my arm. :insert oh, no you didn't face:

Ignant Nigga #1: Damn, shorty. Why you in a rush?

Me: I have somewhere to go. You mind letting go of my arm so I can get back to my car? :insert smile: *Gotta smile so you wont get shot in the face or robbed*

Ignant Nigga#2: You look good ma. You should give my mans your number so we can kick it with you?

Me: No, I'm good. Thank you though.

Ignant #3: You good? :laughs:

Ignant Nigga #1: So you not gonna give me your number?

and as I walk away...

Ignant Nigga#2: Fuck you then bitch! Bitches stay thinking they better than somebody.

The hell??!?!?!? No, why? No, really. Can someone please explain to me why all of that was necessary? Does the extreme heat and humidity cause an imbalance in the brain that would effect ones manners?

I pumped my gas with an attitude and went about my business. Unfortunately, that could have went another way and I wouldn't be here typing this blog right now.

And now for another THE MORE YOU KNOW!

Did you know that Ignant Niggas are shooting women because they refuse to give them their phone number? You ask... where they do that at? DC, apparently. (go ahead and click that).

to think... I still have 4 more months of this shit. Im sure Part 2-300 will come shortly.

Pouring out a little liquor

My enthusiasm and desire to venture out to the clubs with my freakum dress, 4 inch heels and drink all types of over-priced mixed alcoholic concoctions are dead.


I was never the type of girl that got excited for Friday night just to go the club. While my friends and classmates were raiding the racks for cheap polyester outfits from Rainbow and Wet Seal to booty shake at the Kiddie Disco and The Tunnel, I was strapping up my field boots to do the typical movie, dinner, or arcade with my boyfriend. After having a friend get killed going to a club, i was convinced that I wouldn't end up as one of "those".

Baltimore is big on the clubscene. So big that Baltimore has a tradition that involves having Kiddie Discos on Easter where kids as young as 2, dressed up in the most expensive shit from CitiTrends, get their early lesson in soft porn dancing. Baltimorians have their own "club music" and I use that term loosely as i dont think repetitive statements, overly energized beats with someone yelling "K-Swift, if you dont mind, can we get freaky?" in auto-tune is music but eh... to each his own. For further explanation Youtube Baltimore club dancing. I'll wait.

Now that you have the "what the fuck was that?" face, we can move on....

On any given day, you are bound to encounter at least 30 different fliers with slutacious women posted to the local carry out windows or sitting on top of a Downtown Locker Room counter promising you the "hottest party in Baltimore" with the "hottest women that Baltimore" has to offer. First of all... the only thing hot about Baltimore clubs are the clubs itself. They don't believe in fans and I'm sure the 1000 people occupying the 600 square foot basement club is not only a fire hazard but the main reason why it smells like boiling bacon. Secondly, those chicks on the fliers are not fair representation of most of the women that frequent the Baltimore clubscene. I'm sure the producers of the flyers edited some bullet holes and teardrops off the face of those "models" or copied and pasted something from King Magazine (R.I.P King) . Trust me- there are a lot of offspring produced by crack-infused ovaries in Baltimore and... I'm just saying... I've never seen a cute crack baby. Sorry???


I digress...

It wasn't until my days in Delaware that I went to a club. It was exhilarating. Bright lights, loud music, liquor, grown men that whispered "fly shit" and I was just experiencing freedom that I didn't have back in Baltimore. Even the fact that I waited 25 minutes in the line just to get in for free was exciting to me. I made sure to spend my damn Pell grant refund and load up on some club friendly outfits. Those were the days *sigh*

After moving back to Baltimore, the club hopping died down but still lived in my soul. I was working full time and going to school full time all while paying my bills to my own apartment and brand new car. I was a responsible adult now and thought that I had not time to party anymore. In addition to my new found sense of responsibility, I had a relationship that I thought for sure would succumb if I continued to booty toot on some random individual. I hung up my plastic hot pink pumps (don't laugh, ya'll know they were hot) and fell back from the club scene.

Fast forward a few years and I decide that maybe I should get back into clubbing, grinding and two stepping. Da fuck was I thinking? At first it was cool. i was going to the club damn near every weekend- spending my hard earned 8:30 to 5:30 paycheck on a new outfit, shoes, hairdo, acrylic nails, fee to get in, parking, gas to drive to DC and drinks. Now that I'm typing this, I'm thinking "Damn, that sounds quite hoodrattish".

Anyway, the last time I went to the club was Halloween and while I'm standing there sipping on my 13.00 Ciroc and Lemonade AKA Devil's Semen, I come to the conclusion that I partied myself out. Yeah, I'm the girl that stands near the wall and texts or only grinds on my boo-boo Sunshinestar and with damn good reason- I DON'T BELONG THERE. I don't fit into any of the club categories...The drunk party girl- the drunk as a damn skunk girl screaming shit like "fuck niggas" and exposing titty just for attention only to not remember what the hell happened the night before. I'm not the Coat Check girl standing by myself, against a wall just because my friends don't want to spend 10.00 to have their belongings left at coat check. I've never been the Desperately Looking for Love chick with pre-written napkins with my phone number on it ready just in case Tyrone wanted to hook up later and NEVER have I been the Music Video girl desperately waiting for the opportunity for me to flaunt my dance skills and pre-made up routine to Single Ladies.

I'm the weirdo at the club and I see that now. I'm OK knowing that my club life has lived its term to the fullest. I've experienced all that clubbing has to offer. The good- posing like I'm Tyra Banks with smiling eyes an' shit for my Myspace gallery- and the bad- the drunken fights that I got tangled into.

So with all of that being said... Rest in Peace club life. It was a fun ride but I'm tired of mufuckas stepping on my shoes, getting charged ridiculous amounts of money to drink and dance, the bullshit D.J's advocating one night stands, the bad breath men that don't know how to take a hint, the under-dressed-overly-stank bitches spilling drinks on me, the 20.00 parking space, the guest list that closes at 10, the 40.00 celebrity sightings that never happen, the non-existent open bar from 9pm-10pm and fuckery that I force my eyes to endure every time. We've had our time and sadly it's time to put you and my club socks (I love SimoneDior) to rest.

*Cue 'It's so hard to say Goodbye'*

You're from Baltimore If...

You pronounce Baltimore like Bawdamore. Negro- its Baltimore. I'm not white- I just know how to pronunciate

You pronounce Fayette Street like Fay-it. It's Fay-yet! Got it?

You know what the Kiddie Disco is or you've been to one. I've never been to one... wont take Fat-Fat to one and I refuse to believe the shit that I hear goes down there actually happens.

You're from Baltimore If...

I've been here long enough to point out a true Baltimorean and I can pick em out from anywhere. Bad thing is- I've also been here long enough to pick up on a few things... So, anyway, here's the first list.

• You got K-Swift (RIP) C.D's in your car, crib and at work
• You remember walking to the corner store before school to get a twist donut, rap snacks and a 60 cent quarter water with the sports top.
• You know what a half and half is
• You drink half and half's with a Lake Trout Dinner or Chicken Box
• You know what a Chicken Box is
• You know that the Chicken Box came from Tyrone's
• You rep either East Side or West Side
• If you live on neither side, you rep one of the sides cuz "thats where my family lives"

OK- that's it for now...