Sometimes my brother uses my iTunes account to buy songs/albums. They’re usually not tracks I gravitate to. He bought Young Jeezy’s TM:103 Hustlerz Ambition (yes, I realize I’m very late). Though I’d never buy that album for myself, Young Jeezy intrigues me. One day I decided I’d listen to the joints while doing stuff around the house… why the hell did I do that?

So the 3rd song is called OJ featuring a couple more Rocky Mountain Oysters named Fabolous and Jadakiss. I’ll spare you the details of the track and just fast forward to my point of contention: the last line of the chorus goes “Killin’ that white bitch/OJ”.

Sigh.

Whatever you think about OJ Simpson, the trial, etc is whatever you think about it and that’s fine. However, it’s really messed up that family members of Nicole Brown Simpson can’t be fans of rap/hip-hop because any of its ambassadors at any point in time may make a horrific lyric about their slain loved one. Nicole Brown Simpson is a murder victim. She didn’t do anything justifying being killed nor her killing be used in a sick metaphor. What part of being brutally stabbed to death makes you a “white bitch” exactly? Moreover, why is that okay?

I imagine if I wrote that line to finish my hook, I’d say to myself ‘You know what, Ruf, that’s not cool’ and figure out some different rhyming words. Young Jeezy, though… nope. I bet he didn’t have a second thought. How stingy can you be with your damns not to give one just from a standpoint of empathy? What kind of foolishness are consumers on where knowing he probably didn’t think twice about that line doesn’t act as a deterrent?

It’s cool, though. Go ahead and support these knuckle draggers no matter what they do. I’ll be over here waiting for you to get mad when Young Jeezy says something dumb like “I’ll take your kids out/Sandy Hook” and ask why you’re surprised.

Well isn’t that nice.

I am completely enamored by the word “new”. When I see it, I must have it. So imagine how big my eyes got when I saw a jar of Jif with “New Jif Mocha Cappuccino Flavored Hazelnut Spread” emblazoned on the front. You know what I thought… IT’S FRENCH TOAST TIME! I got mad at my knife for getting to taste it before I did:

Since sugar was the first ingredient in the Jif, I didn’t even bother putting any in the egg wash. So I just stirred up 2 whole eggs with some vanilla extract. You know the deals after that:

Yeah, I know that’s 2 French toast sandwiches… how about you shut up. ANYWAY, the Jif had a warning on the back that said “may contain almond” (among other nuts). Though it may have just been an alphabetical thing, I figured, since almonds was the first thing I saw, it may as well definitely contain almonds. So I topped the French toast with sliced almonds, Sanders hot fudge and Cool Whip (this next picture may have you looking like one of Pavlov’s dogs):

WIPE YOUR FACE! This was absolutely delicious, friends. The almonds gave it a nice crunch. The fudge acting as a syrup substitute was wonderful. But, with all that being the case, the mocha cappuccino flavor was still the star. I mean, just look at it:

This is certainly one of my favorite ones to date. What I love the most about French toast is that it can be made to look pretty and taste illegally good but not take very long to make. I say that because I want you to make it and see if you agree with me. So do me that solid and have fun getting fat and feeling fine about it!

Guess what? I’m negative. I’m negative for AIDS, HIV, gonorrhea, chlamydia, gout, scurvy, all that shit, yo (okay, the last two aren’t sexually transmitted diseases and should be ignored)! You may be thinking “He hasn’t posted in so long… why is he telling me THIS?!” Well, it’s not because I want to have sex with you (no offense). It’s also not because I was the least bit worried I’d be positive for any of those STDs and felt like I dodged bullets. Nope. I’m telling you this because I’m a man.

On a grand scale, we don’t take care of ourselves. And frankly, it’s stupid. I need us to not be stupid. There are four things I hate more than anything else on this planet: roaches, centipedes, mosquitoes and AIDS. Until I can figure out a government mandated way to eradicate the first three, I want to help kick AIDS’ ass.

The only way to do that is to make people (specifically men) stop being fearful/wary/skeptical of getting checked. Only way to do that is to lead by example. So I got tested… but I got the whole kit ‘n’ kaboodle. That means my finger was pricked, blood drawn, a urine test and the dreaded “swab”.

Before I get into the particulars, let me relay this message: ALL THOSE TESTS COST ME $5! Some cases it’s even free! I’ve gotten the free HIV test before, but I hadn’t gone through this whole process until this go round.

I went mid afternoon and it still only took maybe 1.5 hours total. The doctor asked questions about my sexual history and simultaneously pricked my finger. I literally had no idea she pricked my finger until she started pushing blood out of it. It’s the most painless procedure possible and it’s the one that checks for HIV. Getting your blood pressure checked at a machine in CVS hurts more than making sure you’re HIV negative. Anyway, part of that 1.5 hours is the 15 minute wait it takes for the HIV test to finish. So on to other stuff.

Next was the blood draw. Honestly, we humans tend to psych ourselves out when it comes to needles. EVERY time I think it’s going to be this terrible stabbing and it’s nothing. If anything, the blood draw is equivalent to what I would THINK the finger prick should’ve felt like. That was probably over in 10 seconds. Sweet… I’m almost done. Then she says “This is usually when the guys run out the door.”

Awww shit. I asked if it was because of the idea of what was about to happen or because of actual discomfort. She said it was mostly the latter. Awww shit squared. [Here is the point where I'm going to be very specific; if you don't want to read, go to the next paragraph, but know that all was good] She grabs a very thin metal rod that’s coiled at one end and has a swab at the other. She tells me I’ll need to pull my pants down so she can put the swab inside the immediate opening of my urethra (aka the tip of my junk) and use the coiled end to turn the swab. Awww shit cubed. Though nervous as all of the hell, there was no turning back. So I tried my best to relax and let her do what she had to do. But, just like everything else, it was much ado about nothing! I’m thinking it would be all types of archaic savagery and I’d be writhing in pain during and after. Instead, I believe ‘That was it?!’ was my exact quote. That was, indeed, it.

Last thing I had to do was pee in a cup. After all that other stuff, the finish line was peeing in a cup?! There’s NO WAY checking for STDs is this easy… but it is. And, yeah, that was it! Those tests went off to a lab. By the time I was done with them is when she told me I was negative for HIV and gonorrhea. Even when you know for a fact that you’re HIV negative, unless you’ve been tested, you have no idea how good it feels to be told you’re HIV negative and have it backed by actual facts. Five bucks for a clean bill of health. Five bucks to know I’m not a statistic. Five bucks to let you know this shit is easy as pie. I can’t stress enough how foolish it is for us to rather go being unsure than to spend $5 and 60+ minutes taking virtually painless tests.

I wrote this so you can understand that it’s nothing. Seriously, it’s incredibly easy. And you’ll know. And you’ll feel great knowing. Imagine having a Hot ‘n’ Ready along with documented proof that you’re HIV negative and having only spent $10. That’s the reality. So please just go get tested. It’s nothing. Listen, it’s nothing. Practice negativity. Be safe out here.

I bought the brick of Hershey’s with caramel a loooooong (the extra Os indicate an extended period) time ago with the intention of eating it as is. Then @CarmElectronica and @AshleeBaracy both randomly suggested I should do a turtle French toast. I just decided to listen. This time I didn’t make them sandwiches first. I put 2 pieces of bread in the egg wash on both sides, put them in the frying pan and then topped them with chopped pecans before turning them over:

I turned each piece of bread over so the pecan side could cook. While that was happening, I haphazardly put the Heshey’s with caramel on one piece of bread and topped it with the other piece:

After topping the TMNTT with Sander’s fudge and Cool Whip, I got a heavenly sinful treat! One warning if you make this. With that amount of chocolate, the TMNTT was rich enough to outbid Facebook for Instagram. So I’m probably going to need that figured out for next time. But, y’know:

But, yeah, the crunch of the pecans really set it off. Let me know if you make it and how it was. Heroes on some French bread… TURTLE POWER!

Q. What does a classical music fan have a lot of at her bachelorette party?

A. Pianists

Mmhmm. That absolutely did just happen and you are so welcome.

First of all, yes, I know I still have a blog and I know the username and password to get into it. I’m fully aware it’s been a LONG time since any update or Feature 5000. You have my sincerest apologies. I’m working 2 jobs now while working on new CYDI music and doing shows. I’ve been unable to keep up here. I’m gonna try my best to change that. Back to the matters at hand…

I went to the store thinking I was going to make some more Strawberry Cheesecake French Toast. I went to get some graham crackers and, well, you probably know what was in the same aisle. I figured what better way to partake in the 100th birthday celebration of Oreo than to try to make some French toast with it. Here are the new ingredients that changed my life:

As you can see, I got the whipped cream cheese this time. It made everything so much easier. I crushed up the graham crackers as usual (those cinnamon graham crackers are so damn-hell-ass good). Then I put 6 Oreos in a Ziploc bag and crushed them up too. I added my crushed Oreos to a cup with the cream cheese and stirred them together. I didn’t add any sugar since I crushed the Oreos with the creme still in them:

I painted my French bread with the spread made from the token cookie of togetherness and solidarity. Tell me that doesn’t look beautiful and I’ll slay a sphinx with toothpick:

You know the drill… dipped the sandwiches in the egg wash, covered it in mashed graham crackers, tossed in hot buttered pan. I wasn’t sure if it would make it to the plate cause I was so excited to eat it (that’s what he said, kinda):

I didn’t use any syrup. I dressed it up with some Sanders fudge and French Vanilla Cool Whip and dusted it with more crushed Oreos (this might be the most product placementiest post in my history… I want my check, suckas!) and ate and smiled and cursed and blasphemed and whatnot:

Look, I don’t know what else to tell you. That made me feel love for my fellow man. I guess all I can think of is if you make this, try not to mess up the flavor of the ingredients by getting tears of joy in the mixture. As you were.

HEY, I CAN DO THAT!

I decided my blog is a perfect way to make a curriculum vitae for any open New York Post sports headline writing positions. If we are allowed to say/do/write anything nowadays, I believe I’m great for the job. I hope these help my consideration…

1. Dwyane Wade’s dunk saves The Heat’s season:

BLACKNIFICENT!

2. Eduardo Najera’s new contract said to be exponential: