Mustafio I
Mustafio II
Mustafio Has No Comment
Mustafio Forbid!
Blast Off!
Rats & Weasals
The Hollywood Years
The Family Bastard
Mustafio T-Shirt (Large & X-tra)
All ten bucks each
Back in my hometown, I was a local celebrity. I would perform at
clubs, tell jokes, sing a few songs. It was nothing for me. I always
had the prettiest girl on my arm and good, close friends. My career
was blossoming. I did voiceovers for some cartoons and I had parts
in a few commercials. One day, after a shoot about a paint sale, the
lighting man handed me a card and said if I wanted to make real
money, I should call this number. If I knew then how one phone call
could change the course of one's life! I called this man, Laszlo, and
he said to come to his house the following day to shoot a movie! I
said, "But I don't know the script!" He laughed and told me he would
pay me 500 leva for a day's work, which was a lot of money back then.
It's all a blur to me now. Probably, I was drugged, but I fell in love with
my co-star right on the spot. I played a fighter pilot and it was our last
night together. The words of love I spoke to her felt real. I forgot about
the cameras. We made mad love over & over again. I was confused
when the director yelled cut and everyone started to leave. What was
happening? Disoriented, I went home and had a deep sleep. A few
weeks later, my father came back from the cinema in a rage, saying
that I was no longer his son, that as far as he was concerned, I was
dead. And one month later I was in New York, alone and flat broke.
I say, I said h0Wdy mustafio. It has been a while since I wrote to you my friend. I was just wondering if you any extra w0mbats laying around? If so it would be co0l of you to lend them to me. Thank you in advance, I will return them safely.
If you don't gimmie something new soon, my tax-dollar gravy won't be springing your mother out of the institute soon, and that I will tell you free of charge!
BOXER: John Grant, who is the CEO of 100 Black Men of Atlanta, quote: "Clean energy is the key that will unlock millions of jobs and the NAACP's support is vital to ensuring that those jobs help to rebuild urban areas." So clearly there is a diversity of --
ALFORD: Madam Chair, that is condescending to me.
BOXER: Well, if I... Well --
ALFORD: I'm the National Black Chamber of Commerce and you're trying to put up some other black group --
BOXER: -- if this --
ALFORD: -- to pit against me. That's condescending --
BOXER: Well, sir --
ALFORD: -- and I don't like it. It's racial.
BOXER: What's racial?
ALFORD: I don't like it.
BOXER: Excuse me, sir --
ALFORD: I take offense to it.
BOXER: Okay.
ALFORD: As an African American and a veteran of this country. I take offense to that.
BOXER: Offense at the fact that I would quote...?
ALFORD: You're quoting some other black man. Why don't you quote some other --
BOXER: No.
ALFORD: -- Asian or somebody.
BOXER: Well, let me be clear --
ALFORD: I mean, what... You are being racial, here.
BOXER: Okay, let me be clear. Let me be clear.
ALFORD: And I think you're getting to a path here that's going to explode.
Now, let me translate here what's happening. The National Black Chamber of Commerce is not all sold on this "green" energy business, and Barbara Boxer at the Environment and Public Works Committee, a hearing on "green" jobs, starts quoting all these other black groups while the witness at the time is the chairman of the National Black Chamber of Commerce, Harry Alford. So she starts talking about the
I was born a deaf lesbian. My body is mature, roundish I would say, sigh, but the 38 D’s keep the dogs at bay. I love Billy Joel, putt putt golf, and mutual masturbation. Smokers, please move to the next window: I am already on fucking fire. My name is C. Ugeliew, half Rwandan half naked. I am looking for a long-term relationship. My first lover, Cindy Tan, and her horizontal snatch, used to sign me these words: twp fingers upraised means OK; one finger, mmm, now I am married to The Man With Five Penises and His pants fit like a glove, and yet jealousies erupted: Mr. Johnson wanted the Jamaican next door, smoke and beads and all, Oscar switched back and forth, and Peter yearned for scholarly silence, art books from the 1920's, pics of Monty and Brando. Still, all in all, a happy bunch, a group universally admired as crowd pleasers and intransigent jesters. Grooming, moreover, was easy: all demanded top shelf, weeping over men's products from Macy's, being shock cleaned by the finest bottled water. The Man had deeper concerns--sideway glances at Weehawken's Y, strange, breathy ramblings from a foreign, European tongue left anonymously on his over busy cell. He dreamed of the swampy country, fresh air, a place the boys could run riot over pastoral happenstance, but instead daily sucked in Madison Ave busses and their choking fumes. Perhaps he should get married, like his cousin from Passaic, the famed trapeze artist with a permanent partner underneath, safety net, patience, and serving spoons intact nightly; here in Hoboken the Man would need more than one woman certainly, multiple digits each midnight that could help stifle then smooth over the yelping screams from heart-wrenched hotties outside the cheap seats of gasp-amazed audiences.
Wife number two at shop say need oil change but also confess love Flapjack. Sheesh! Big problem. I say "Viscosity OK but OC have only minimal feeling." Then say she on bad trip, take many shroom, maybe one too many, HA! Then hide in bathroom, lock door. Peephole no problem, woman stare mirror, say "What happen to face?" Tap tap tap no answer. Flapjack bust in soon say "rest room employee only, HA!"
