this year i will be Resolute! (that means at least 1080p)

Recently an old friend asked me what were my New Year's Resolutions, to which I laughed at her hubris to think that perfection was in need of improvement, but then I thought, “do I not owe it to my loyal subjects of these fair isles and cays...and the continent of Andros, to give them more, to erect myself as a standard for them to live their lives by?” (yes I am copying and pasting from a former post, deal with it). But let me not ramble, here are the things I hope to do in the upcoming year 2011.

• • Stop pretending to be Movado to pick up girls at Google Sundays.

• • I hope to use my laser vision only for good and the occasional recreational death stare, reserved for Senator Machala Smith for spurning my advances.

• • Stop being an overt racist. The Blacks don’t like it.

• • Give the workers in my asbestos and silica mine in Cat Island health insurance, a lot of them are getting sick and I feel as though I could put more back into the community.

• • Have a doctor look at that suspicious mole on my thigh

• • I resolve to double my vampire/zombie kill percentage and not allow the dark monster of regret for the death of innocent mortals to overtake me and hinder my job as local meta-human.

• • Clarify that by “the Blacks” I meant the rugby team “the New Zealand Blacks”, a team made completely of filthy Spanish Polynesians…darn it, that sounds offensive, um I meant…Nigerians? (Hey if District 9 can get away with it, don’t you give me that look!)  

• • Remove the “I love Peggy-Sue” tattoo on the small of my back and replace it with “I appreciate the friendship, maybe I should take it slower seeing as I’ve only known you for the past 3 weeks” tattoo.

• • I will attempt to make green the official colour of the Bahamas, it is complicated, but you must trust me. Green is a better metaphor for the Bahamas than existing colours. I am also proposing a new flag for the country. The black triangle representing the forward progression of the people will be replaced by a dark jade, and the gold strip will become a heavy viridescent and the aquamarine fields will be changed to emerald. I feel that this combination will better represent the diversity of the country.

• • Find an attractive female doctor to look at that suspicious mole on my thigh

• • Make freckles mandatory for all girls between the age of 18-23

• • Finally wrap up my fan fiction series, the Nassau Guardian and the Tribune. Recently its become quite depressing and i don't feel as though my heart is in it any more and besides, who reads newspapers besides stuffy politicians and the old men in Oakes Field McDonald's between the hours of 8am and 12noon.

• • Unexplode Machala and her sexy self.

my Christmas story...

My son, Khia, has spent the entire month quite excited about the arrival of Christmas, now I was not his first Christmas, but it is the first Christmas that he has spent with both his mother and me, (I had always been able to end any relationship with her prior to the arrival of any holidays or birthdays, but this year I may have gotten caught up with the idea of family and love, simply put I was motivated by the spirit of Christmas). 

So Khia, thrilled about the prospect of spending time with me informs me that he has gotten me a gift. 

And what a gift. 

I'm able to write this the day before Christmas because, last night after my first-born son had crept off to bed, I snuck downstairs to peak under the tree to see what he had gotten me. There in a inelegantly wrapped box, with the craftsmanship that can only be accomplished by anxious wide eyed seven year old, eager to make his first Christmas with his father special, was my gift. He'd written on the orange tag with a green marker in large letters "for Papa, love Khia" with all the clichéd backward letters, it quite nearly brought tears to my eyes to read the words on the box, (it didn't help that they'd left the tele on and Gremlins was on and I personally abhor the way the negative light in which Spike is paint in the film, but that is another story for another day.) At first I tried my best to patiently peel back the wrapping so that I could re-wrap it and Khia would never know, but the excitement overwhelmed me when I remembered his promise that it was exactly what I needed. What ever could it be? Where would a seven year old get $36,000.00 to payback the Cartels for losing their eleven packets of C ₁₇ H ₂₁ NO ₄? I could not be more surprised than when I opened the box. 

It was empty. 

I was confused. Quickly I ran up the stairs and threw open his door, of course the guttersnipe was soundly asleep so I boxed his ears and demanded to know the meaning of the empty box, why would he get me a box of nothing for Christmas? Surely the gamine didn't think that his father had everything and had no need of anything, he couldn't, unless his mother had been filling his head with hopes of child support and alimony. Then Khia said in calm voice that stunned me, with clear tenor and timbre beyond his years he told me, "Papa, it is not empty...I filled it with my love".

It broke my heart. How could I argue with that? 

So I told him, "Listen you waif! This isn't a Nickelodeon special! I told your mother that that rubbish was going to pollute your mind with this gutter nonsense!" then I flung the empty box at him. it is unbelievable that i was going to give him a little brother or sister for Christmas, but now I refused to bring another ungrateful child into this world, thank goodness Happy Buddha had 3 for $1.50 special on prophylactics and Green Power energy drink, thank goodness for the Chinese we are all aware how good they are with birth/population control. 

I am annoyed. People have forgotten the true meaning of Christmas. At first it was fine when it was just the godless heathens of Ragged Island, but now the degenerate ideologies of the impious pagans have saturated our entire country, as you can see I have experienced it first hand in this episode with my 7 year old son.

i do not cry over spilled milk ( i wail inconsolably.)

(with fair warning this is not really going to funny...because its just me ranting but)
to the one that got away

some of us are not afforded the frivolous excuse of being hormonal nor afforded the benefit of being mistaken as the weaker sex. no some of us are cursed to be men, present company included. 

personally, i have never had the privilege of being able to curse someone, slap them purple and then blame it on the fact that i've only had 4 Midol tablets that day instead of to the traditional coma inducing, 2 and 1/2 bottles of sympathomimetic, cinnamedrine. (of course i have also never got angry at a group of people staring at a picture of my half naked body on Facebook that i took in my bathroom and then complain about feeling violated when the least attractive one in the lot remarks on the width of my bosoms and what noise they'd like to make "to" them.)

rant aside, this is why you must understand how it pains me so to come to the realization that i have lost you. 


you didn't do any of that crap, except the drug stuff... 


still, you knew that women were ridiculous and that men were stupid and for some reason despite your blatant misanthropic understanding of life you fell in love with me; me, premiere of idiotic sub-set 'b'.

why did we decide to...you know...not? 


typing this i'm quite sure i did something extremely stupid, but because i'm a dude the story i'm going with is, it was no doubt your fault. 


(this is where things get super specific, so people who know both of us and know that rum raisin, with the raisins picked out, is your favorite flavor of ice-cream, being second only to pistachio, will know who i'm talking about, but hey...that is why blogs exist, to share the darkness that no one knew but us and to make weird videos about being attacked by mutant weaves.)

i saw you the other day (and by the other day i mean today), i really wanted to roll my eyes but recently i have been crying so much over losing you that i was afraid if i tried to roll my eyes they would simply fall out of my head. 


yes as a male i once also subscribed to the whole "i don't cry as a matter of principle, but in theory i support the practice" then one day you were gone and seeing you brought all those wonderfully, painful memories back. 


the first time we held hands, the first time we kissed, the first time you said you loved me; (all those painful memories, not necessarily in that order.) 

it's seeing you all the way over there, 12 feet away, in the arms of someone else that i realize that you are perhaps the best thing that ever happened to me (and i challenge any of the girls from the 2008 Kalik Calendar to prove otherwise)


isn't christmas the most wonderful time to be alone? (and to the three gyals that slip me the numbers at the last Saturdays In The City it's not that you aren't quite attractive and won't make someone a wonderfully adequate single mother some day, but you know that you aren't her)

and now it is here choking on the exhaust from this #10 jitney, trying to steal some internet, hoping that you look at this i realize that one of us messed up...

it's probably you, i'm awesome

(... sigh)

...a day in the life of Schin Nguyen

Tuesday 12:01 am 
Schin Nguyen rises from his humble chateau in Lyford Cay where he goes into the early dew au naturel to  offer a prayer for the souls of his enemies. Sky clad, he burns incense to the god Allan Molech for the slow and painful death of the Justin Bieber, Trey Songz, Drake and K Jae as well as any other smooth singing bastards that when played, distract girls from the awesomeness of Schin and focus them onto these Proactive faced crooners. 


Tuesday 12:42 am
Schin Nguyen checks his Japanese stock portfolio and reconsiders trading so heavily in the "Walrus Pornography" market as recent complaints from animal rights activist as to whether the animals are enjoying it or are in the mood, or if they are simply doing it to pay their way through college and that it is wrong to objectify the Walrustic form simply for pleasure, have caused stock to plummet. Schin shakes his head. He's seen those Walruses, they know what they're into.




Tuesday 1:45 am
Schin Nguyen reviews the second draft of his letter to Bodine Johnson calling off their engagement. She's pretty, but his heart belongs to another... if only Sherice would return his calls. Schin comments that he is fully willing to change his last name to Major if that is what it takes and shows the stenographer his/her towels he already has monogrammed with "S.M." on it.




Tuesday 2:15 am
Schin Nguyen drunk dials Sherice, and laments for 45 minutes to her voice mail about her rejecting him, he promises he can change and that he'll do anything to be with her.




Tuesday 3:09 am
Schin Nguyen realizes that he has drunk dialed Bodine.




Tuesday 3:35 am
Drives to Bodine house with the hope of destroying her phone before she has a chance to check her voice mail, passes "On The Run" and realizes he has a hankering for some fried chicken. The fresh batch will be done in 10 minutes, Schin waits and to pass the time he kills a gang of Unicorns that are harassing a Wallaby.




Tuesday 4:20 am
Half way through his second 3 piece with wedges, Schin remembers why he left his house. Realizing he'll never make to Bodine's house in time to destroy her phone before her palates class at 5 am, he takes the second option afforded him. Pretending to be their Union President, Schin arranges for members of BTC to go on strike that morning, giving him enough time to hack into the data base and erase her voice mail.




Tuesday 4:45 am
Crisis averted, Schin stands outside of TAP's window watching her sleep, not in weird way, like a stalker or nothing, just because she crinkles her nose in the cutest manner when she is REM sleep. Schin gets a text, his ringtone is still '08 Shadowlaw, "You Just Got Specialed"  The message is from Bahamas Local.com, they have rejected his application for a listing as a full service Live in Chef/Man-whore. Schin mutters a series of curse words in his native tongue of German Polynesian, this wakes TAP. Schin ducks behind the ficus.




Tuesday 5:07 am
While the embers glow with sweet satisfaction, and the smoke and haze give a beautiful glare in the light of the rising sun, Schin Nguyen realizes that the sign does not say BahamasLocal.com at all. Regretting never finishing grade 5, Schin quickly gets into his car before the police arrive.




Tuesday 5:08 am
Schin returns to the burning building to move the business card that he has left with a scathing 12 page letter rebuking them for their elitism. Where is Bee going to buy her shoes from now? Shakes head, he'll figure that out when he crosses that bridge, "the Bridge! Darn it the Bridge!" Schin remembers that one of his numerous alter egos is both Perry Christie and Hubert Ingraham and part of his plan is to sell the Bridge leading to Paradise Island to a fiscally irresponsible company with part of the agreement being that no creature using less than 3 legs or more than 5 or any number of legs equal to or greater than the sum of x when x is a variable congruent to y can use the bridge.


Tuesday 5:30 am
Schin receives a phone call from Bodine, breaking off their engagement, apparently she has received several calls from Sherice complaining about his 3 am calls. Schin has a nervous break down which causes a disruption in the time-space continuum resulting in him not only being the kid that took your money in High school, but also you Grand Father, Sammi Starr

is it late or did i just change the day that i post?

No one reads my blog (except the people who complain about the speling errors), and so in order to assure that I fulfill the contributory requirement of my contract with my Editors, I will write a 600-word column, but you will neither like nor find it humorous. If you wish to abandon the pursuit of reading, the rest of this piece, now is the time.

Go ahead, remember failure is always an option, as a matter of fact, failure is always option 2 in my book; superceded only by quitting.

Why are you still reading? (Note that I said Why are you still reading? And not Why are you still reading! Although you are signaled by the word ‘why’ to the fact that I’m asking you a question, the use of a question mark as opposed to an exclamation mark, suggest a politeness  and acceptance in the tone of the question. Alas I do not think it expresses fully the level of sardonic intonation in the question… and why are you still reading this!)

Alright truthfully,  I’ll be honest, but for real this time, the only reason that I’m still writing because I’m trying to steal your girlfriend, and she seems rather impressed with the fact that I’m literate. I don’t expect that she’s going to read past the  the byline, she’s rather easy that way, but you know that. All it takes is one DRAKE song and you’ll be raising someone else son while she tries to convince you that its her grandfather’s hazel eyes and lumber jack beard that the baby inherited.

Wait, oh flip, I don’t have hazel eyes either, boy I guess she got us both. Boy, that  Melissa is a wily one.

And now you’ve probably wondered if you missed something. What message is the writer trying to get across. You should know better than trying to assign meaning by presuming what is the authorial intent.

What are you a formalist?

Of course not, if you were you wouldn’t care about my intent, you also would have stop reading  because you would have taken ENG 311 already an known better than to read a blog by an English major online.

English Major’s don’t have a sense of humor, just an unshakable sense of entitlement and arrogance, and why shouldn’t we, we are better than all the other Schools (yea I’m talking to you Natural Sciences).

Wait hold on, I got to watch this episode of Robot Chicken….lsssrkjn;wsrffd vaeoaev,,j.

Oh, you’re still here…I would also like to take this time to recommend the fictitious character, Philip Meryl Tompkins, for  President of the College.

Which returns me to my original point

No one reads this blog, except you apparently. Well congratulations, you elitist. Do you feel like you better than the people who skipped over this  and just went looking for bootleg manga online, (you should feel better than them, pictures are to stop illiterate people from driving off cliffs. (I apologize if I have offended anyone whose parents may have been a road side sign, it is an honorable profession, and your father did that so you could have it better than him. I promise you that he did not spend 60 hours a day wearing a sign that says “this way to Diamond Intl” so that you could not look down on him.)

Come let us feign intelligence by discussing words that neither of us can pronounce, the other day when I was wearing my Prussian blue cardigan and listening to an audio book of my favorite ghazal artist…and this makes 600 words, here.

…another angry German in the beer hall.

This letter passed across my desk, speaking so strongly that, despite its barking manner it begged to be read. And because this is the people I vow to express this voice no matter how asinine,* with that said, I  present this an open letter from, Comrade Ogilvy.

Tall people, what is their use? Has nature made a more accursed creature? They wish to be recognized and admired for their stature but it is this very thing that sickens me Bahamas. You’ve seen them walking among us, as though they are equal to us, but if you look carefully you’ll notice that none of them can look the average Bahamian eye to eye.  For some time now we have been silent on the issue that is the source of all of our great nation’s ills, but my beloved Bahamians, silence will take us nowhere but further down the road of destruction. In the words of Edmund Burke, “all that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing.”

Think for a moment how much capital is wasted on these giants, that could have gone towards the average Bahamian. How many yards of cloth was wasted to create their basket ball jerseys? How many animals were slaughtered to provide enough leather to cover their size 14 shoes? How many trees cut down in their prime to provide extra wood to prevent them from bucking their overextended heads against the doorways of the righteous?  Are our doorways not high enough for you to avoid thumping your nose against it? These giants perpetuate a culture of excess and indulgence; a life style of waste and greed.

Tall people are undermining our society, using our precious few resources. How it often aches my heart to see a good Bahamian child turn away from education or health care services simply because one of these tall wretches has taken the seat meant for our children.  I challenge you Bahamas, name one person over 6’2 who has ever done anything substantial or productive towards the well being of the country? You can’t, because it has never happened. It is not within their nature, we are beneath them. 

Oh what a proud and arrogant vestigial race that evolution has wrought.

Too many of our children have began to accept these monsters as their own, as though the difference of four inches is no more offensive than a gradation of skin color, but I will not have those liberal surfactants and universal suffragists deceive you my Bahamian brothers. So what if they were born here, grew up here, speak our language, worship in our churches, pledge allegiance to our flag… as long as there is an “us” and “them” there will never be true harmony.  They are an unnatural abomination that, as I have already stated, is  debauched with no hope of redemption, there is only one response that we can take as proud patriots of this fair Bahama land. 

Root these sky scrapping, bean pole, girl stealing, monstrosities up and out of our country, or send them to an appropriate hard labor camp where they can be re-educated and reformed from their beastly manner.

Open your eyes Bahamians before it’s too late. These giants are looking down on us.

...Because The Government Doesn't Know What They're Doing; or The Mech Solution

It has become apparent that Tourism in its present state, will not sustain us forever. Everyone in the Caribbean can offer sun, sand, sea, and smiles, some even better than us, but we as Bahamians are not quitters. Sure traditional tourism is failing, perhaps then it is time for us to expand our reach, and invest in other industries that could save us from economic disaster. A lot of people speak about returning to agriculture and fisheries, and while that is all fine and dandy, I am proposing brand new initiatives that will push the Bahamas into the 22^nd century. The Bahamas is a Small Island State, but that is no reason for us to dream small. Japan is also an island state, and look how advance they are. What is stopping us from being as great as the Japanese? As Bahamians what do we have that is our most precious resource outside of Bamboo Shack and Stevie S? 

Ingenuity. 

The Bahamian people are ingenuiteous, and through our ingenuitiabilities we have weathered many storms.  Case and point the invention of ‘chicken in the bag’.*

While sitting in the computer lab waiting to print out my 215 page Super Sentai  fan fiction, this very thought crossed my mind. So what is it that separates us from being as great as the Japanese?

Giant Fighting Robots.

We need to involve ourselves in “Mech Warrior Tourism” it is as simple as that. What other country has 60 foot tall robots running around destroying each other? None. We would be a first, and according to my research, Mech-Tourism is a $5 Million a year industry. Shouldn’t we be getting a part of that delicious robot pie? There are pundits out there who would suggest that we need to leave tourism alone and they offer the adage “you’re beating a dead horse” but to them I offer another  maxim, from the quill of the great Greek  Philosopher, Epeius, when speaking to the Trojans “don’t look a gift horse in the mouth”. And if we are beating this horse, as they say, let us continue, perhaps it is not a dead horse, but in fact a piñata, and then who shall be laughing as we feast on the sweet, delicious innards that our industry will offer up to us.

*In the early 1900’s on the island of Acklins there was a chicken farm that was half a mile from a Mazola corn oil factory, one day an accident at the oil factory resulted in an explosion that sent gallons of hot oil rushing towards the chicken farm. While no humans were injured in the ordeal, there was the vexing problem of what to do with the scores of delicious fried chicken carcasses that littered the Acklins’ streets. Luckily a  young man, who happen to be the manager of small wax and brown paper bag factory came up with the solution to drench the departed fowl in ketchup and wrap it in his product and sell it to Nassuvians, who by his estimation would eat just about anything.  Well the rest is history and today we have a thriving fast-food and renal clinic industry in Nassau.

Even the advice i give my lil sister ain't free...

If someone is to be slapped it should be niggas. 

I'm not saying that because I'm a closet feminist, I'm saying that because I'm a closet racist. But seriously,  think about it, women get nothing out of getting slapped, (except the rights to a Lifetime movie and a guest appearance on Tyra Banks show where they can sit on a panel and plead with Riahnna to leave Chris Brown...or is that just reruns.)

...let me tell you what guys get when they get slapped, they  get a pat on the back. The man that has been slapped,(and I am talking about the Bahamian hyperbole, "head flicken tear off" slap), will live forever in infamy as the dude who get he head flicken tear off and just walk off like it ain happen. 

Don't let it be a gal who slap him.

If  a gal slap a nigga and he just look at her and all he do is  "sigh" and  shake he head dejected then walk off, that nigga set for life. 

Who can deny his manliness? 

This is part of the reason that I have high blood pressure and put so much salt in my food now. I have had the taste slapped out of my mouth so many times, by so many girls that I am now immune to the taste of Bamboo Shack. No effect on me.

At first it was just a misunderstanding, but now its a vicious cycle. One gal slap me thinking i was her boyfriend. When I tell the next gal how my face get swell so, she slap me for cheating on her, and so on and so on, till I don't really have to tell the story anymore they just is tear my head off cus they see the other gal do it. 

The more woman that slap me, the sexier I get to rest of the woman, (because women are inherently violent) now everyone want...

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The Life and Times of the Venerable Schin Nguyen: Lord High Chancellor of the Emerald Isles

People have often accused me of being narcissistic but history will no doubt vindicate me, because I’m awesome. Some day my supposed arrogance will be revealed as a misunderstanding of greatness before its time. Time is of course too slow and inefficient, and because I refuse to go the way of Van Gough and Mussolini I will not have some casual observer/historian write any biography of me unaided, so I have began to write my own obituary so that the true story will be told when the time comes. Think of it as a blue print for you to live your life by; something to aspire to.

Thought of by many as the 16^th reincarnation of Buddha, it was the quiet morning of January 5^th 1987 when in the laboratory of Nobel Prize winners, Barak Obama and Oprah Winfrey, Schin Nguyen was born. At his birth, the cries of the baby shattered all of the glass in the building, inadvertently killing all of the other test tube babies; at that moment Barak and Oprah knew their experiment had been a success.

This young baby, who lay in a halo of broken glass, was no ordinary infant. He had been genetically engineered to be perhaps the greatest human/dolphin ever. His superior abilities came as a result of drawing from various great men in history.  The deep, soulful baritone of Barry White, the rugged good looks of George Clooney, the virility and stamina of John F. Kennedy, the alcohol tolerance of Ted Kennedy, laser vision from Superman and Mahatma Gandhi’s levitating powers. Many thought the ability to fly was over kill, but  Oprah had the foresight to give the baby the I.Q. of  Albert Einstein to keep the child humble.

At two days old, the boy child uttered his first word, “interpolation” after which he wrote a 64 page dissertation on the eminent crash of the stock and housing market 20 years prior to its occurrence. At the age of five, Schin created the Macintosh Computer Company as a social experiment, not only did he fabricate almost 15 years of back story, he set about, proving that with proper marketing you could make the masses think anything is ‘cool’ . After teaching TuPac Shakur how to rap, the young Schin would build a time machine with which he would travel to the 1500’s spending 7 years as English writer and spy, Christopher Marlowe, and in his spare time invented and refined the myth of Shakespeare.

It was upon his return to the 20^th Century that he met with his first wife, Halle Berry. The two fell madly in love with each other almost instantaneously. Halle Berry wanted to consummate their love the day of their meeting, but being the upstanding man of high moral fiber that he was, Schin begged her not to ravage him without committing to the sacred bonds of marriage. Sadly because he had the wickedest slam, Halle Berry’s mind was exploded, that is literally blown, leaving her with no memory of her short lived romance.

At the lost of the woman he loved Schin sank into a state of depression, from which he barely rebounded in time to save the world from Y2K.

to be continued...

Chapter 5: The Zombie Invasion

Assuming that the future does indeed exist then this must be a true story. Found here is a page from the a primary school history text book written in the year 2050 about an apparent imminent threat that we are unaware of.

 No one knows exactly when Nassau’s zombie problem began, mostly because no one really noticed when zombies arrived. Most historical records pin the first official zombie sighting at around 11:45pm July 9^th 1973, but many people assumed that was simply the last of the British officials. In fact most persons did not become aware of the existence of zombies until December 2009. It is not surprising that the undead menace went unnoticed for so long. There is a certain degree of difficulty in identifying a sluggardly zombie getting your order wrong at Burger King and forgetting to give you a packet of ketchup and a sluggardly Bahamian getting your order wrong at Burger King and forgetting to give you a packet of ketchup.

 According to the 2010 census, between 2001-2009 zombies made up 36% of the Bahamian work force, not surprising as it is a well known fact that zombies are notoriously good at preparing cover letters and resumes. So accepted were zombies as a part of the working masses that in the 2002 and 2007 General Elections, some 10 elected officials to the House of Parliament were in fact zombies. Of course looking back at the speeches given during the rallies most should have picked up on their undead presence. Aside from  the rotting teeth and stench of decaying flesh, which  for anyone that spent a week in New Providence  knows is not that strange, it was the frothing at mouth while not saying anything in particular, but still grunting and moaning to contemporary Bahamian music that should have cued Bahamians in.

So how then did the ‘issue’ of the zombies come to light? It began with a sensationalized news story published by a COB student that would be picked up by local media houses.

“The F-Block on Tuesday was the scene of another grizzly mauling as zombies attacked their third victim in as many months. The victim, 3^rd year English Major, Bradley Worrell, attempted to defend himself from his attackers by first engaging them in interpersonal discourse, but it was ineffective as the flesh eaters could not….”

Interestingly enough had any dailies or television stations had bothered to read the by-line they would have notice that it was in fact Bradley Worrell, 3^rd year English Major, who wrote the story. If you are old enough to remember 2009, you will recall that it was not uncommon to find a mangled human torso with parts of their brains missing but until that story came out many people thought that it had something to do with Tourism and so no one said anything. 

List of Known Zombie Sympathizers

• Terneille Burrows
• Farreno Ferguson*
• Vega Truth Bethel
• Cassius Stuart
• Tracey-Ann Perpall*
• Everyone in Track Road Theatre
• Stephen Hanna
• Rashad McPhee 
• Travon Patton*
• The Guys that did Stop Likin Man
• Sammy Starr
• Deon**
• Bodine Johnson 
• Henry Jenkins

*Potential Zombies

**All persons named Deon 

...didn’t realize that so many people use Opera on the MAC like me

"Why," you may ask yourself,  "...is Schin Nguyen, creating a blog in the already saturated Bahamian blog market?"

The question you should ask is , “who the hell is Schin Nguyen and why is the guy who shoots music videos writing a blog? Isn’t he functionally illiterate?”

(scoff!)

Nothing that  copying and pasting random words from Wikipedia can’t solve my For other uses, see Schin (disambiguation)

Well friends…I’m assuming that the 12 views last night are actual people and not me checking for spelling errors in my first post…(darn it, forgot to click “Don’t track your own page views”)

Not important…

Friends, I looked at the Bahamian blog market and I realized something was lacking. There were all of these,

“fashion blogs”

“music blogs”

“I had orange soda with two cubes of ice blogs”

…blogs that weren’t really blogs at all, just weird Facebook post of girls talking to their web cameras, then they pretend they're Spanish and replace the ‘b’ with a ‘v’.

…but where were the crappy blogs?

Where were the pretentious self serving blogs that only exist to make the creator feel like he was popular because he got …13 views? 

(WHOOT!! WHOOT!! moving up in the world)

All the other blogs have high production value and facts, and interesting pics of swim suit models, but this my friend …this is real.

This is the last bit of unwashed truth available on the Internet!

The people needed the truth, and as such I have come here to provide it…with all of its spelling and syntactical errors, because the world needs my brand of logic

Also my cable is off so …yea

Letter to Sherice Major

Dear Sherice,

As we have never formally met, I would like to apologize for staring at you like you are a piece of meat. Perhaps if I were a vegetarian my glances would convey a longing for some sort of coconut tart or decadent fruit filled pastry, but let us not dance around the issue with flowery words.  Assuming that the pictures on Facebook are actually you, then you are, if not the definition of beauty, the most apt description of it. From your ample 32 C’s to the mole 6.7cm from your belly button, are the personification of physical perfection, (your feet are kinda weird, but I’m completely willing to over look that. )

Sherice while there is no doubt that I can write about your beauty till it begins to sag, crease and develop sparse amounts of weird facial hair that you tweeze away in the car on the way to work, that is not the purpose of my letter.  I have discovered of late that, not only does my loins burn for you, but also my heart and liver. Assuming that I have not contracted an exotic strain of hook worm, I will venture to say that I am perhaps in love with you. My friends have tried their best to convince me that you are the worst possible choice for me. See they think that you are shallow depraved person, but they don’t know you like I know you. From your profile on Facebook I can see you are a Leo.  I too am a fan of the Detroit Lions team.

Now I have carefully assembled and annotated a list of reasons why you should accept my proposal for us to engage in more personable relations.

1.     After watching the film, “The Day After Tomorrow”, I began preparing for the impending apocalyptic, cold snap that would plunge us into the second ice age. For several years I have been procuring subcutaneous fat, enough to keep both you and I warm with said apron of belly fat. (It also works as a Polar Bear deterrent.)

2.     I am a writer, which aside from the vocation of cartoonist is as close to a scavenger that modern life allows. So in the cold summers to come, I will be able to forage for food, from the left over carcasses of vultures and hyenas. Aside from writing, I am also a fledging movie director. Some of my work has been described as “Uwe Bol meets Ed Wood…” so the work obviously speaks for itself.

3.     In my spare time, I have uncovered 8 of the 11 secret herbs and spices to some surety, with an official letter from the main KFC branch in Kentucky validating at least two of the ingredients that I have uncovered, these being chicken and salt. You can read more about it in my blog.

4.     I have a small underground cult following, (like literally a ‘cult’ there are statues and incense burnings in sacred groves with vestal virgins in all white, it’s really cool you should hang sometime. We meet on Thursdays at the Hub, it’s really a hip scene with the chanting and such.)

5.     I’m a Cartoonist.

There are of course many more attributes that undoubtedly would convince you of my suitability as a suitor but they are too numerous for me to place in this 500 word column, but I think that I have stated enough to get you whet (sic) …your appetite. Sherice, I’m not asking you to marry me, just for you to bear my young.

Love,

Steve Nguyen