The Book of Leon

by Leon Black

  DISNEYLAND AND WORLD

  Here’s my philosophy on fake ass thrills: some people need them, but I don’t! I deal in real thrills, ones that have a payoff!

  Wanna know what a real thrill sounds like? A real thrill is shit like putting your name on a waiting list for that space shuttle trip to Mars! Or going all cryogenic and freezing your ass for the future like Walt damn Disney. That was one interesting man. That crazy ass visionary created Disney World, and Disney World freaks me the fuck out. Now, I’m not trying to discourage anyone from partaking of the Disney empire, be it Disneyland, Disney World, Disney Cruise, Disney Island, Disney Universe, or whatever the fuck they have, because I would have no problem dropping my nieces and nephews off and picking them up later. I know they would enjoy the fuck out of it because for kids Disney is magic—it’s just not for me. I just don’t like costumed people dancing around and shit when I don’t know who the fuck is underneath.

  Plus I get thrown off by the logistics of shit. See, I’m a very logistical thinker, and when the reality of shit is out of whack I get thrown off immediately. For instance, the fact that Mickey and Minnie are mice and are supposed to be way smaller than Goofy, who is a dog, and yet they are all the same size—see the proportions are off . . . logistics.

  Not to mention that Goofy and Pluto are both dogs, but Pluto is a real dog on a leash, while Goofy walks and talks and shit. Being Goofy does not exclude the fact that you’re a dog. You telling me that they never had a beef as to why Pluto is on a fucking leash? Is Goofy just a dog walker for Pluto, ’cause that’s fucked up. Or is Pluto just the sex slave in the scenario?! If Goofy wants to keep it real, he should be walking on all fours. That’s commitment to your fucking job.

  That being said, I love me some goddamn Minnie Mouse, with her short ass skirt showing a little hint of panty and her big ass shoes. She’s clearly a beautiful black woman with just a touch of vitiligo around her face; that’s a sexy lady. And she’s got her own place. Shit, if I went to Disney, I’d fuck around and have Mickey catch me at her place coming out of her bedroom in a Disney souvenir towel, one of those ones with Tinkle Bell flying over the castle shooting off that sparkly shit . . . that little bitch ain’t bad either, sticking her little booty out all the time, waving that little wand, she could catch it! Anyway, I would be like, “You better lock that rodent ass down, Mickey!” See, I don’t get their relationship. It’s not like they’re married. They are both single, but nobody ever talks about that shit. Nobody ever says, “Is Minnie your wife?” “No, she’s my side bitch.” Which is the truth, of course, but he can’t say that in front of the kids. So he just says, “She’s my friend.”

  I mean, don’t get me wrong, I know kids have fun at Disney, but don’t kids deserve the truth? I’m sure Walt would have agreed.

  SOUPED-UP

  These days people love themselves some damn superheroes! I’m not gonna lie, man, I love that shit too, I dream about that stuff all the time! Who wouldn’t want to be a damn superhero? There’s so many of them I like that I can’t pick a favorite. To be honest, I’m already kind of a superhero myself because I have a superpower: I have the power of persuasion. You understand what that is, right? I have to the ability to talk a man into believing in me, and talk a lady out of her panties. That shit is a gift, the gift of gab! Superman couldn’t do that! Batman couldn’t do that! Then again, that muthafucka is a bad ass millionaire, he might be able to do that—shit, he is the Dark Knight!

  Like I said, I already have a superpower, but if I was gonna add some more abilities, here’s what I would want:

  1. Density—I would look like myself, normal appearance, but I would be as fuckin’ heavy as an elephant. If I caused trouble in a restaurant over some cold soup and security came to remove me, they wouldn’t be able to budge me. And don’t fuck around and make me step on your damn foot—I would flatten your shit. One problem, though: I would have to shit standing up ’cause I would break any toilet if I sat down. I’m sayin’ I would be fucking solid! Also, like an elephant I would have an excellent memory, I would be my own villain database; they all would be in my head. My only weakness: mice.

  2. Flight—I would have the power of flight but I would only be able to fly two feet off the ground; see, I’m afraid of heights. It would work out well, though, because being on street level would help me be able to see shit with more detail. I would have the ability to find small shit like contact lenses. Do you know the kind of evidence I could find?! A chewed-up piece of gum, bullet fragments, shiiiit! Plus if you fly two feet off the ground, you are more accessible to ladies; you would be there right at waist level making it easy to flirt and get some numbers. Also, if a muthafucka owed you some money, you could fly right at pocket level and chase him down till he paid up. My only weakness: parked cars, fences, hydrants, parking meters, Great Danes, bags of garbage, dwarfs—actually too many obstacles to list, so I’ll just say et cetera.

  3. Overhearing—It’s not that I would have great hearing, it’s that I would always be in the right place to overhear shit. Good shit, bad shit, bullshit—I would be able to hear it all. Also, I would have selective hearing, which means I would have the ability to only overhear the shit that I wanted to, meaning I would be able to focus on one specific thing and block out the rest. Do you know how cool that it is? Other superheroes with superhearing have to listen to everything, all kinds of bullshit, but not the kid. My only weakness: a muthafucka catching me all up in his business.

  4. Shadowing—I could turn into your shadow on the ground, that way I could follow you without you knowing. And if you made love to your lady outdoors in the sun, I would fuck the shit out of your lady’s shadow. My weakness: obviously, darkness.

  5. Vision—See, ’cause my last name is Black, I would have Black Light vision. I would be able to see all types shit, DNA, cum, semen—I think those three are the same but I still had to mention each one of them. Also, I would see piss, urine, fecal matter, bodily fluids . . . I would be able to see all that mess on walls, on floors, on ceilings, on people, yes on fucking people! My weakness: dirty ass hotel rooms. What? As useful as that power would be, do you understand the curse that comes along with it? The world is a filthy fuckin’ place! Imagine staying in a hotel room if you had Black Light vision? Seeing all the shit that’s splattered all over that damn hotel bathroom? And the mattress!?! Don’t get me started on that! That’s why I would have to wear a utility belt filled with super cleaning products so that I could clean shit up for my own sanity! All kinds of cleaning products, Kaboom, Mr. Clean, sponges, Handi Wipes, a retractable Swiffer! All that shit! That being said, I would be able to solve the fuck out of some crimes!

  CAMP FUCKTHAT

  Someone suggested I watch some show called Naked and Afraid. I figured it had “naked” in the title, so it was worth me checking it out. On the show, they put a sexy couple of naked strangers in the forest and they challenge them to survive the elements for twenty-one days. I watched the first ten minutes of the show and thought to myself that the hardest part of this show wouldn’t be to survive nature for twenty-one days. No, the hardest part for me would be to not bring the ruckus to that sexy naked ass stranger. I’m like, “How do these people not have sex all day long?” Until I started to realize those naked people don’t have any soap, any damn toilet paper—that’s why those nasty ass naked people don’t fuck.

  With the idea of fucking out of the way, I just sat there and watched these people try to survive. Throughout the show, all these two filthy naked ass people did was complain about how hard things were. Hard to survive in nature? Are you kidding me? Sitting there worried about some wild animals? Why? What’s that animal gonna do to you? Eat you? Maybe, but at least that’s all he wants to do. An animal’s motives are straightforward, which is easy to navigate. Now, a person—any person—is way scarier to me than any damn animal! People commit premeditated crimes, animals don’t. I have never heard of a raccoon taking a person’s wallet at gunpoint. You will never re
ad about a kangaroo stealing someone’s identity and using it to get a credit card, go on Amazon, and buy a Fire TV Stick. Man, I watch this other show, The First 48. On that show, you see a detective trying to solve a murder within forty-eight hours. Not once on that show have I ever seen them bring a warthog in for questioning, not once. Now, I did read online about a silverback gorilla that tore a man’s face off. But as horrible a crime as that was, it doesn’t compare to the time I heard about a man who meticulously cut this other man’s face off and was caught wearing it when he got pulled over driving the man’s Jeep Cherokee. Give me a damn animal any day.

  TIME TRAVEL AGENT

  Anyone who wants to travel back in time is a stupid ass motherfucker. Who the fuck would want to go back and see shit that’s already happened? The only reason to travel back in time is after you’ve gone forward, and that’s just so you can get back to where you were. No, I want to see some new shit. I would love to visit the future, but just for a quick look. I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise for myself. I want to see how ladies conduct themselves in the future. What outfits are they gonna have on? Futuristic movies have told us for years that people will be wearing metallic spandex jumpsuits and shit. I’m hoping that’s the case. I’m hoping the future is like it was in another one of my favorite movies, The Fifth Element. Woo, that movie turned me on! What?!! Milla Jovovich was sexy as hell in that movie! You damn right I remember her name! Crazy thing, I don’t remember the names of people in my life, but I damn sure remember the names of actors in my favorite movies! Rounding out that damn film, my man Bruce Willis, my dude Chris Tucker, and the man who always plays a good ass bad guy, Gary Oldman!

  I’m telling you, I love that movie! Milla was so damn sexy—simple but sexy. She spoke very few words, no nagging, no complaining; she said everything with her eyes. I could definitely get with a woman like that! Now, I’m not saying I could live the rest of my life with a woman like that, though. I mean, I’m sure she would be a pain in the ass when we’re trying to pick a place to go to dinner, but I guess there’s a trade-off in every relationship.

  One crazy thing, though: That movie about the future was made back in 1997 . . . Ain’t that some shit? The future movie is now an old part of movie history. I still love the way they made the world look. See, that’s why I would love to go into the future and then come right back. I just wanna visit long enough to see how people party. And fly damn cars—Fifth Element has flying cars all over the place. Since they started making movies about the future, they’ve been showing us flying cars. You might ask yourself, “When are we actually gonna get ourselves some flying cars?” I’ll tell you—when ignorance is abolished. Really, think about that shit! With all the crazy people in the world, would you really want the average person to have access to a flying car? Besides the terrible accidents, can you imagine the road rage? Two people crash and one hops out of his car to talk some shit, forgets he’s in the air, and falls two thousand feet to his death. Or better yet, since it’s the future, he gets out of his car, turns on his jetpack, and hovers over to the other car to curse that dude out . . . which leads me to this question about the future: Why would someone with a flying car be wearing a fucking jetpack? Doesn’t make any sense, does it? And that’s exactly why I wouldn’t stay in the future!

  COUGARLAND

  I’ve tapped some old ass ladies. Plenty. People call them “cougars.” I don’t. First thing I think about when I hear the word “cougar” is a Buick or a Pontiac or whoever manufactured that fucking car in the 1970s. I’ll tell you the biggest perk of tapping old ass ladies: They doze off early. You don’t have to siphon off the entire evening. You make love to an old ass lady and then let them doze off while you do the other shit in the meantime: watch basketball, or if you’re at her house, you can do laundry and shit. I’m not talking about any old lady, I’m talking about the ones that took care of themselves. Sometimes while they’re sleeping, the grandkids are gonna call. And then you gotta tell them, “Sorry, Johnnie, Grandma is sleeping.” “Why?” they’ll ask. And you gotta be honest: “Because I tore your grandma’s ass up. I’ma be honest with you, your grandma’s fast, meaning she’s vivacious and she can hang with a man half her age.” Now, don’t let anyone tell you that’s bad parenting, ’cause you’re not their parent, you’re just the dude tapping their old grandma.

  I don’t want you to think I just take from old people, I also give back. I used to give lectures at old-age homes about how to get laid. On another subject in my experience, I’ve noticed that old folks’ homes either ironically have “Shady” or “Sunny” in their name. And don’t quote me, but the old people at the Sunny ones seem happy and energetic, while the ones in the Shady ones seem sneaky, unhappy, and vindictive. It’s not like I did a study or anything, I’m just saying.

  One thing I would preach to those old people is the importance of stretching. What I told those old ass people goes for anyone over fifty reading this book: Stretch every part of your body. I’m serious, I cannot emphasize this enough. If you can’t stretch yourself, have a buddy stretch you for you. The last thing y’all need is to pull a muscle in the middle of fucking. You’re already both at risk for heart attacks, slipped discs, and strokes. Try to minimize the risk and just move your body around a bit, simulate the back and forth of fucking if you have to.

  For anyone under fifty reading this book, you might be surprised to know that if you can get past all the clicking and cracking sounds, old people are pretty damn flexible. It’s easy to understand why, though: Old people love going to classes. They love themselves some tai chi and yoga! Oh, and mall walking. They really love the fuck out of some mall walking! They get up early, put on some old Al Sharpton or Tony Soprano jogging suits, and walk briskly around a mall. They move their arms like they’re running, but the fact is they are walking, slow as shit. The irony is that some people call sexy old women “cougars,” but I ain’t never seen a cougar walk that damn slow!

  I wish old people did have the characteristics of a real ass cougar, though. Criminals would think twice about mugging a sweet little old lady if they had to worry about being mauled by her.

  VINTAGE SEX POSITIONS

  Don’t get it twisted! The internet would have you believe freaky sex shit is new. Hell, your grandparents were filthy! You’re having a hard time believing your grandparents were beatin’ it up?! I’ve got a whole list of shit Percy and Bernadette were doing back in the day. Now sure, the Cotton Gin, the Wheelbarrow, and the Reverse Wheelbarrow are so famous they can be found in Urban Dictionary. But there are some lesser-known ones that were pretty damn good:

  Donkey Style: Just like doggie style, except when the woman was done, she double-foot kicked the man in the chest to get him off her. People were busy back then, they didn’t have time to lie around for some post-coital cuddling.

  Polio: When the woman acted like her legs didn’t work. You know how much fun you could have working the dead legs? Hours. Hours, I’m telling you! I know that shit is dark, and no offense to any physically challenged individuals out there. On the contrary, I know you’ve been doing kinky ass shit for years and not sharing it with us, so kudos to you!

  Model T: A rough hand job, where the Johnson was rotated like a crank. Hey, don’t judge. People liked that rough shit back then—it matched the times.

  Woody Woodpecker: Like a blowjob, but from a woman with buck teeth and a nervous ass laugh.

  Fried Baloney: The lady sat her ass on a stove top and turned it on low heat, then the man kept sliding his Johnson in between her and the stove top until they both smelled liked fried baloney. That one was fucked up, but fun! That one kept the ER busy.

  There were also a few racist ones that never caught on, for instance:

  The Colored Fountain: This was when a black woman would pee on a chocolate-loving white man. While colored fountains were legal in the South, ironically the Colored Fountain Shower was not. Shit, I don’t wanna even tell you what would happen if they caught you peein
g on someone of another race. Shit was bad back then, on all levels. It would be some time later, after many years of illegal interracial sex peeing, that golden showers would be born. I’m telling you facts here!

  SPEAKING OF OLD ASS PEOPLE

  I’ve always been told, as you get older, don’t be so picky when it comes to picking a partner, because the last thing you want to do is grow old alone. I get it. Nobody wants to end up old and alone. I’m a meat eater, and lemme tell you, people should never eat meat alone. Especially your dark meats! Meats like beef, lamb, goat, bison, bear, wild boar. Now don’t confuse a wild boar with a pig. A wild boar is stubborn and stuck in its ways, which causes it to have some tough meat, while on the other hand pigs are indecisive. Shit, I read a story where three of them muthafuckas couldn’t decide what to build their house out of: twigs, straw, or bricks. What kind of fucking choice is that? And really, with all the affordable developments and nice gated communities out there, why build at all? At least make that wolf have to check in at security and ride an elevator before he eats you.