niggachang's Xanga

Monday, August 20, 2007

Mon, 20 Aug 2007 23:05:33 GMT

The Birthday Girl

As I rolled up to the curb around 7:30 in my solid platinum BMW 745 (to match my solid platinum grille), I noticed a lineup of mid-90s Honda Civics and riced out Acuras parked along the street. Must be an Asian party, I thought to myself, so this had to be the right place. It was going to be a peaceful, fun, wholesome night - much different than what I'm normally used to - so I told my entourage to leave their glocks in the car and to detach the rocket launchers that were bolted on top of my 745. We'll need them tomorrow for all those annoying school kids that keep trampling on my lawn - but not tonight. Tonight was 'her' night. My nigz and I limped towards the front door and made our way upstairs...

The company consisted of a couple dozen of the Xanga elite - ballas and ballettes who brushed eprops off their shoulders like it was going out of fashion. For the sake of their privacy, I won't mention any names, but Xanga whores - past and present - arrived for the special occasion. Lifestyles of the rich and famous? More like lifestyles of those who spend way too much damn time on their computers. Murmurs of conversation topics ranging from the number of subscribers to comment whoring resonated throughout the dimly lit room. I eavesdropped a little on two gals talking besides me:

"OMG is that HIM? That's Dan Chang, he's sooo cute, and check out that BULGE! lolz!"

"I slept with him a while back and that fucker gave me the clap: stay AWAY, girlfriend."

"Awww, that's a shame! Anyways, I finally made it to featured content on Xanga's front page!"

"Big deal... it's just because you spam comments..."

"Well at least I have some actual content instead of posting half-nekkid pics of myself up."

"Makeup tutorials?! You call that horseshit 'content?!' "
"Oh no you didn't, bitch!"

Before the ensuing cat fight could escalate, 'she' stepped into the room, and for a brief second, it seemed as if the world stopped. With all due respect to the late Tupac Amaru Shakur, all eyes were on her. Her magnetic radiance was undeniable, and it seemed to cause people to gravitate towards her against their will. A beacon of luminence that when shined on me, caused me to forget about the irritating rash that had developed in my pelvic region, if only for a moment. She was the center of attention, the life of the party. And why not? We were all gathered in her chic, metropolitan apartment for 'her' birthday after all.

I stood in the back, watching the whole situation - all the birthday wishes, all the presents, hugs, laughter... It all made me realize what a dumbass I was: I had forgotten her gift at home. Aww shit, playa, you done fucked up now. What to do...what to do... Ah hah! Clever is as clever does: I had the perfect gift for her. It was so ingenius, and the inspiration so spontaneous, that I felt like Isaac Newton when that famous apple fell on top of his head. But instead of spawning the origins of classical Physics, it spawned some nasty-ass gas that I was holding in. That shit wreaked, but anyways, I knew what I had to do.

She was in mid-conversation, surrounded by a circle jerk of some B-level Xanga celebs, when I gently grabbed her arm and whispered into her ear, "Elle, I need to show you something. Come outside with me." She abruptly ended the chit-chat and followed me to the balcony.

I put my arm around her as we looked up into the breathtaking night sky, which was as clear as one of my fake urine samples right before a drug test. "Look, Elle." I pointed to the various stars speckled across the deep, rich, blackness. I think I impressed her with my vast knowledge of constellations: "See, there's the big nigga, and right across from it is the little nigga."

"Uh, don't you mean the big dipper and little dipper?" Yep, she was DEFINTELY impressed.

"Elle, I didn't want to give you just any old birthday gift that you'd just forget about the following week. I wanted my gift to be memorable...and that's why I contacted the International Star Registry ( http://www.starregistry.com/) and named a star after you."

At first she was speechless, "Dan...I'm so touched. You shouldn't have... which star is it?"

I think she sensed it a little when a sly grin began to show on my face. I quickly turned around, unbuckled my belt, and pulled down my oversized FUBU jeans (and along with it, my matching oversized boxer-briefs), bent over, and spread my butt cheeks. "I named my brown star after you. Say allo to my stinky brown friend."

"You FUCKING jerk!!! Get your ass out of my apartment and take your low-life highschool buddies that you call your 'niggas' with you, you fucking ASSHOLE!!!"

I pulled up my drawers and ran out of there like I was being chased by the cops. I looked back at her one last time. "Happy Birthday, Elle." I think deep inside, a part of her appreciated it. It truly was a gift that wouldn't be forgotten the next week.

As my entourage and I stormed out of the apartment, the rest of the guests started throwing beer bottles and half-filled wine glasses at me. We got our asses out of there quickly, but still made time to bolt the Rocket Launchers back on the 745 before we peeled out. Damn, it ain't easy being a gangsta.

Thursday, July 05, 2007

Thu, 05 Jul 2007 03:11:28 GMT

Same Boy, Same Boy

I'm sure you've all heard the lovely hit duet "Same Girl" featuing R. Kelly and Usher (and if you haven't, just watch the music video above). Now I'm not the biggest Usher or Kells fan, but I gotta admit: it's kinda catchy, and I find myself humming its tune in the oddest of places (while taking a shit or jerking off in the shower, for example).

Now for those of you unfamiliar with the song and its lyrics, the basic premise is that "Ush" and "Kells" are "messin' with the same girl" without knowing it and from talking to each other, they discover that this beyotch has been two-timing both of them. Now the casual passerby might think to himself, "Hmm...what a novel concept for a song," However, if you happen to be an evil genius like me, you'd be thinking "Hmm...how would the song sound if instead of messin' around with the same girl, they were actually fucking the same guy. Hell, not only that: they were also fucking each other."

Since I know both Kells and Ush personally (I helped mentor them when they were young niggaz in Chicago and Atlanta, respectively), I ran my idea by them for a remix. To no one's surprise, they both loved the idea, but would do the remix only if I produced it on my label Nigga Chang records, and if I, myself, wrote the lyrics. Between you and me, I think they wanted to fuck each other anyways and this remix was just a way to not be so "gay" about it - since it was someone else's suggestion to do the song. Anyways, here's the preliminary draft I came up with. Lemme know what ya'll think:

Verse 1

Kells: Yo Ush
Usher: What up Kells
Kells: Wanna introduce you to this boy, think I really love this boy

Usher: Yeah
Kells: Man, he so fine
Usher: Straight up dawg
Kells: He stand about 6'4" with a 9 inch boner
Usher: Damn
Kells: He drives a black Pinto license plate say "Homo" tattoo on his ankle
Plus he's making pay so he got a crib on Peach Tree right on 17th street
And I call him "TT"

Usher: Wait a minute, hold on dawg, do he got a lisp?
Kells: Yep
Usher:.... he love some bukkake house?
Kells: Yep
Usher: Do he got a herpes zit on the left side of his mouth?

Went to RimJob Tech?
Kells: Yep
Usher:Works for CVS
Kells: Yep
Usher: Man I can't believe this dick… damn
Kells: Tell me what's wrong dawg. What the hell you talkin about?
I'm your lover so just say whats on your mind
Usher: Man I didn't know that you were talking bout him
Kells: So man you're telling me you know him?
Usher: Do I know him? like Dan Chang knows his turds

Chorus:
We messing with the same boy same boy
He's the apple of my eye, and your potential guy
Same boy same boy
I can't believe that we've been messing with the same boy
Same boy same boy

Verse 2

Usher: See I met him at this lambda party in Atlanta
Kells: Well I met him at this lambda party in Chicago
Usher: He came right to my crotch and gave me oral stimulation
I said, "Do you got a man?" He sad "no," with a giant erection
Kells: Well it must be a gay thing cause he said the same to me,
had his grundle all in my face, when I'm laughin and buyin him drinks
Usher: He whispered in my ear and said, "Can you drink my cum?"
Kells: Me too, man, he was in the Chi stickin his finger in my bum!
Usher: Is that true? and i thought it was a true confession when he said "I'd do you"
Kells: Man I thought his nutsack was calling when he said, "I'd buttfuck you"
Usher: Look I even got some pictures on my phone
Kells: Look here, there he is with his man-thong on

[Chorus]

Verse 3

Usher: He said he wants me on his scrotum
Kells: are you talking about the left one?
Usher: Unh-huh, the right one
Kells: Man he told me that one was too small
Usher: It's obvious that he been fistin us, fistin us
Kells: and constantly he's been lyin to us, lyin to us
Usher: Don't like the way that he's been goin bout it, goin bout it
What do you think we should do about it, do about it?
Kells: Call him up at his home, he won't know that I'm on your bone!
Usher: Yeah man that's a plan. Homie we about to bust his nut!
Kells: Man just ask him to meet up with you and I'll be fucking you.
And then he won't know what to do.
We'll be standing there singing this...

[Chorus]

Friday, June 15, 2007

Fri, 15 Jun 2007 10:12:57 GMT

Dan Chang's Company Speech

A few of you faithful readers may have remembered a startup company I
founded a couple years back by the name of HoTech (read about the company
history here)

Well, mid-year reviews came up and as the President and CEO (Chief Erection
Officer) of HoTech, it was my job to brief our stockholders of the present state
of company affairs (while at the same time informing the cockholders of the
present state of sluts). I'll be honest: HoTech has been in a downward spiral
lately Our research has been stagnant; after a couple of long, arduous years,
we have yet to streamline the process of picking corn out of one's own shit;
our fisting facility had to be sold since it was losing money; and our
Collaborative Laboratory of Ingested Testicles division (CLIT) was hit by
Hurricane Katrina (which was then moved to Thailand; a blessing in disguise,
really, due to all the lady-boys, but I digress). Overall, it was a shitty year
and the drop in our stock price reflected this. I had to do some damage control
before things got even more out of hand - starting with the company-wide speech
at the mid-year convention.

Admittedly, I'm not the greatest of speakers: I slur my R's, don't
annunciate nearly enough, and absolutely butcher the concept of subject-verb
conjugation. Blame it on growing up as a po' Negro on the streets of Compton,
forced to communicate by way of Ebonics. My speech impediment, combined with
the gloomy forecast of the company's status made me less than confident in
addressing HoTech's stakeholders.

But you already know I'm a pimp that don't give a fuck: I do what any
responsible leader of a Fortune 500 company would do. I party hard the night
before at the club, not getting any sleep, and start pre-drinking and smoking
weed before my speech. I show up to the company convention and stumble my way
towards the podium drunk and high as hell... you know I be ballin around the
world, mang. You know that boy be in the club almost about to hurl, mang. Even
though I'm Changs, and I got all these chicks chasin' me. See I only want you,
though life is so perfect for me.... uhh, anyways back to the matter at hand. I
cleared my throat and addressed the congregation:

"Ya'll niggaz must be here to listen to yo boy preach on about the status
of HoTech. Well how about I give you the status of my dick instead? Last time
I recall, it's still about 9 and a quarter without the foreskin. With the
hoodie, it'd be like 18 inches long, ya huuuurd? It'd be expanding to different
markets on a monthly basis, too! Last night I outsourced it in some bitchez ass
which effectively increased HoTech's jizz to fixed nut ratio by a phat 69%
hahaha Uh, well th-th-that's all, folks!"

At that point, I was so fuckin high and drunk, I puked over the podium, the
projectile vomit splashing the first 3 rows of the crowd. I tripped over myself
and fell off stage. The crowd gasped and tangible franticness filled the
auditorium. I think I passed out and they had to call 911 or some wack shit
like that. It certainly was an embarrassment to HoTech that their revered and
respected President behaved in such a manner, but I didn't give a shit. I had
skillfully avoided giving anyone the bad news by creating a massive diversion.
I care about all of you, the stakeholders of HoTech, and therefore, I'm willing
to look like an ass, rather than dissappoint you. Hey it worked: the company's
health hadn't even crossed anybody's mind, and the water-cooler talk was all about
my brilliant speech. This gave me enough time to turn the company around, behind-the-scenes, without much intervention or press coverage. In the business world, any sign of weakness attracts the vultures.... and shit, owning a company that wasn't at the top of its game would be so unballer of me.

Monday, February 26, 2007

Mon, 26 Feb 2007 20:51:34 GMT

A Prelude to Spring Break

I reached an epiphany this morning in one of the most unlikely places you would expect: the gym. And just in case any wise-ass was inquiring, it wasn't the old guy walking around naked in the locker room with his shrivelled up balls flopping around that caused it. No, 'twas not an elderly man's nut sack that caused such a revelation; rather, it was the influx of college-aged men and women that crowded an already packed fitness center. It had to mean one thing: it was the week before spring break.

As a young college lad growing up, I distinctly remember the mad rush to the gym the week before... the height of superficiality, where image and physicality were everything... guys looking to get that ever coveted peak on their biceps, chicks hoping to work that extra junk in the trunk off, and everyone rushing to tone up their wannabe 6-packs, remorseful of the 6 previous months of drinking responsible for their half-ass abs to begin with.

I couldn't help but smile. I was in the same situation when I was their age, and back then, without another care in the world, that's all that mattered at that moment. It was a time of getting high off 8 mile chronic, figuring out which bitches my homeboys and I wanted to holla at in the clubs, whether to cruise in my 64' Impala or my nigga's Escalade...and it was a time to refine our chiseled physiques aided by our God-given Negro genes in the hopes of impressing fly shorties on Spring Break.

Reminiscing on those good ol' times was bittersweet, and the incredible stories (which I'll save for another time) created the man that stands (and writes) before you today. It just makes me wonder sometimes... where did my youthful exuberance go? What has changed and why do I feel the prime of my life has passed me by? I was becoming an old man before my very eyes... an old, senile man with disdain and regret at what he couldn't accomplish in his younger years... disgruntled enough to walk around with his limp wiener exposed to the public in all its flopping and flaccid glory. I was becoming what I mocked. We truly are reflections of what we see in others and unfortunately, the mirror image I saw was that of a crab-infested uncircumcised cock, worn and battered from the penetration of many women and animals.

"Fuck it," I told myself. I decided to do it again for old time's sake. I'm taking the week off and going on Spring Break. College hoes, here I come. The thought almost made old-man balls bearable. Almost.

Sunday, February 11, 2007

Sun, 11 Feb 2007 13:03:10 GMT

A Valentine's Day to Remember

Ok, here's a cheap repost of Valentine's day 2 years ago... but everytime I read this story, it just breaks my heart. You never forget your first true love.

It happened so long ago, but I still remember it like it was yesterday... my first Valentine's Day crush.

It was during recess in gradeschool when I finally worked up the courage to ask the hottest bitch in the 2nd grade to be my Valentine. Amanda Wang was her name, and she was the finest 9-year-old slut that the Tupac. A. Shakur GradeSchool for the Mentally-Impaired ever saw. Shit, did I say mentally-impaired? I meant "mentally-gifted" ......and um, "extraordinarily-endowed." Anyways, I digress.

This bitch was fine...standing at a model-like 3 foot 11, her long, illustrious, flowing black hair reflected the sunlight beautifully in my direction as she was playing by the swingset. I think she was even beginning to grow some titties. Even as a young lad, Dan Chang had game overflowing out of his rectum. Shit, I had fuckin 4th graders all over deez nuts and one time even the substitute teacher wanted to ride the cock... but like a virgin waiting until she got married, I held out for Ms.Wang.

I was at the monkeybars when I decided to limp over in her direction. I told my posse of 6th and 7th graders to stay back. "Dis is strictly 2nd grade business, my niggaz. I gotta roll like dat. Dun hate." I put away my AK and my fat sack of chronic because I figured a little bitch-girl might be afraid of such manly-gangsta things. I headed on over.

"Yo slut. You's obviously da finest thing walkin around here without a dick. And Im obviously the finest thing walking around here with a dick. So how about you be my Valentine and we make our way to the slide and maybe make some babies?"

She was confused..."Ummm....what's a dick?"

I responded accordingly. "Bitch, what you say?! THIS is a dick!" I yelled angrily as I unzipped my Sean John's and whipped out mini-Chang. I thought I heard some white kids in the background making fun of the fact that I was uncircumsized. "Ewwww... it's hooded."

"Hey honkeys, quiet the fuck down while I make my move on the ladies, capiche?" I retorted, loading up my 12-gauge shotgun. The white kids got the point and quickly dispersed amongst themselves. Anyways, back to the matter at hand.

Amanda thought for a moment and replied. "So you want me to be your Valentine? Aren't you supposed to bring me chocolates? Yummy, I like chocolates!" Her face was glowing with happiness, and she looked like she was definitely ready to take it up the ass.

I grinned slyly. "Yeah, bitch...I gots your chocolate." I quickly dug my hand down my pants, in the back by my ass. I slid my hand between my crack (I never wiped), and pulled it out to reveal a set of sticky, brown fingers. I quickly rubbed the shit in her eyes and backed away.

Amanda stood there for a moment. Her face contorted, and she started crying uncontrollably. She bawled..... I balled.

There's nothing that gets me more upset than seeing a pretty girl in distress and being so helpess trying to comfort her. So many things I wanted to share with her, so many things I wanted to say...but I was at a loss for words. I would have given up the world for her at the moment, to get her to stop crying, to see her radiant smile and to hear her charming laugh.. "Please...don't cry." I whispered.

She ran back to homeroom and got the Principal to come out to berate me. Needless to say I served like a month in detention. Stupid bitch ratted me out

Sunday, December 03, 2006

Sun, 03 Dec 2006 03:31:53 GMT

http://www.myspace.com/niggachang

Monday, February 20, 2006

Mon, 20 Feb 2006 18:55:29 GMT

Dan Chang, Hot Dog Eating Champion

It was right before lunch time, and all signs pointed to a normal day at work. I was tired, my foreskin was itching, and I had spent the entire first half of the day putting together this presentation for this schmuck of a manager who obviously still believes in Asian slave labor in this day and age. Shit, one of these days, I wouldn't be surprised if he asked me to make him a pair of Nike shoes...

Yes, all signs pointed to a normal day...but who would have known that today would be the day that I make history? Who would have known that after lunch, the name 'Dan Chang' would be a household name, and that every lowly serf in the company would grovel in reverence at my feet?

"Yo pimp, you headin to lunch?" the guy in the next cubicle inquired. "Some niggaz are going for the company's hot-dog eating record...it's at 25 right now."

If it got me out of working on this piece of shit project for the next hour or two, then it was worth it to me. "Damn straight, I'm ready. We'll take my Escalade, aight? I'll even bring me some bitches," as I motioned towards the 60 year old secretary at the corner of the office.

As I was driving to the local hot dog joint, your everyday hole-in-the-wall place that claimed to have the best dogs on the planet, I learned of today's participants: Mike, a 400 pound lard-bucket that worked in human resources and Enrique, alias "El Burrito," the hispanic eating sensation and the reigning taco-eating champion (rumor has it he's into the brown taco as well). Normally, they needed 3 participants to hold the company-wide event, but they couldn't scrounge up another volunteer.

As you can imagine, the metaphorical light bulb above my head turned on. Hell, isn't the world's greatest hot-dog eating champion some Jappo guy who ate 50 hot dogs in like 10 minutes? Kobayashi was his name, right? If he can do it, why not me? Kobayashi was my inspiration: I became the third man in the eating competition.

I made my intentions known once we got there. It created a buzz amongst my coworkers to say the least:

"No SHIT! Homeboy! You's phorreal?!!"
"All right nigga Dan, you DA MAN!"
"Chang, if you win, we gonna smoke us up a bowl, and if you lose, we be smokin up anywayz. Den we gonna phuck some bitches in the azz, G!!"
"OMG Dan, your cawk is like, SOOOOO BIG!"

I have no idea why the people at my company talk like that; none of them are black. But believe me, from the most senior executive to the lowest cube-monkey, that's how they speak and that's what they said, verbatim.

Anyways, I sat down next to the two beached whales at the competition table. Right away, they brought out trays of 40 hot dogs apiece. The time limit was 10 minutes. The company emcee prepared his opening statements, and then it was time to begin: "Gentlemen, get ready, set, GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

I immediately start scarfing down the weiners, Brokeback Mountain style. But in this case, no gay cowboy was going to ruin my coronation as the Hot-Dog King. One after another after another after another... I eventually mashed the hot dogs into a ball and soaked them with the pitcher of water besides me, forming one viscous, homogenous clump of smush that my face dove into... the gooey mess was being sucked up, and my mouth was just tubing transferring the large amounts of mass from the tray to the inner linings of my stomach...it was almost surreal, and like a well-oiled machine, I just kept going at it with reckless abandon... I couldn't tell if I was puking it back up, it all looked the same anyway and went down the same way it came back up...and it did it again...over and over again.... hot dog after hot dog....until I heard the words:

"GENTLEMEN, STOP! Time's up!!! We will begin the hot dog count." There was a bit of controversy surrounding the initial count. El Fatso demanded a recount, Florida-election style, because they couldn't tell what I had eaten due to the mess I had made, but in the end, there was no doubt about the results.

The company emcee made the announcements:

Mike from Human Resources: 22 hotdogs
"El Burrito:" 28 hotdogs

And the winner... DAN CHANG with 38 HOT DOGS, a new company record!!!"

The applause was deafening, the homies were hootin and hollerin, and the bitches threw their bras and panties at me. The company president came up to the podium and congratulated me. I shook his hand, still soaking with the hot-dog-puke mixture.

He couldn't have said it any better:

"I am here to certify that DAN CHANG has the capacity to ingest inordinate quantities of gastrointestinal punishment. His prodigious consumption prowess equals that of the most disgusting in world history so much that he hath no shame, and fewer dining companions. He is indeed amongst the last to depart the vomitorium. Mr. Chang is neither weak of constitution, nor meek of glutteral gaseous warfare. In fact, he holds these attributes to such a degree that he was able to suff his swollen gullet full of 38 HOT DOGS, a NEW COMPANY RECORD."

Dan Chang, the man, the legend, the hot-dog eating champion...

Monday, January 09, 2006

Mon, 09 Jan 2006 23:02:16 GMT

Remind me to Use the "Keylock" on my Cell Phone next time

An embarrassing thing happened to me during work last week.

So it was the week after New Years and not a lot of people were in the office. Those lazy crackers were still on vacation; they just don't have the work ethic of the Asian man or the Indian man. In fact, I think it was only me and the Indian guy at work. And before you correct me, yes, I know: Indians are technically Asian, in the same sense that OJ "technically" didn't kill his wife, Kobe "technically" didn't rape that girl, and how Michael Jackson "technically" didn't have sex with little boys.

Needless to say, I didn't have my normal lunch entourage, so I had to go solo. The decision on where to go was easy: Hooters, where all desperate, lonely, middle-aged men go to get the slightest amount of female companionship... err, scratch that, I'm a pimp, no really.

So I head to Hooters by myself. Some black chick with huge knockers greets me at the door and sits me down. As I was getting ready to order my usual (30 Wings with celery and a few sides of 911 sauce), I notice a cute girl sitting by herself across from me. Shit, a chick, by herself, at Hooters?! Was I in the Twighlight Zone or what?

Being the natural baller and ladies man that you all know Dan Chang is, I move over to her table, and to use a negro term, start "conversating" (the real word is "conversing," you idiots!). She was really digging the game that I was spittin'. I told her stories of my aspiring rap career, how I owned palaces in Bangladesh, and how I had lunch with the Queen once and joked around that Prince Harry was a homosexual. I also told her I was the first Asian to land on the moon, how I found the cure for SARS, and how I like to volunteer at homeless shelters in my spare time. GOD DAMN, I'm smooth :)

It was only a matter of time before we were about to get it on. I paid the check, and led her to my riced out Honda Civic in the parking lot. (I told her my 745 was in the shop.) We ride around for a little and stop behind an alley by a mall.

"Well," I told her, "my dick isn't going to suck itself." She knew what she had to do. So as she was doing the deed, I was sitting back, enjoying myself and apparently, I enjoyed myself so much, I managed to accidentally lean into my cell phone, still in my pants at the time, and speed-dial my boss's work phone.

-------

Fast forward to today, my boss's first day back from vacation.
"Dan," he calmly inquired as he stopped by my cubicle, "can you explain to me this message you left on my answering machine last week?"

He turned on the speakerphone and hit "play old messages." The following are brief tidbits of the things that his answering machine recorded me saying:

"It's called Foreskin. Just pull it back, like this, and surprise! See what pops out? Kinda like a turtle coming out of its shell!"

"OH YEAH! RIGHT THERE! RIGHT THERE!!! DADDY LIKE!!"

"WTF BITCH?! I said ONE finger in my ass, not TWO! ONE!!!"

"I'd really appreciate it if, while licking my nutsack, you move your toungue in a counter-clockwise motion. I dunno, I just ain't feeling it when it's clockwise."

"BEHOLD! Mount Chang is about to errupt! Clear the villages! Save the women and children! BURN BABY BURN! MUHAHAHAHA!"

"Umm...sorry about that stain on your blouse. I honestly think it's nothing OxyClean can't handle.... so uhhh, I'll give you a call after work?"

*click*

-----------------------

"So Dan, what do you have to say for yourself?"

I paused for a few moments. "Sir, I was trying to broaden our target audience for that new marketing strategy we came up with, how we'll be using more sexual innuendo to attract adolescent males at the height of their sexual prime. I was just giving you some examples of off-the-wall catch phrases that might just work. After all, who would have thought the mundane McDonald's 'I'm lovin' it' campaign would be so successful?"

Wow, I have never sputtered more bullshit in my life.

"Dan, that's EXACTLY what I was thinking when I heard your message. You are brilliant, indeed, and a true asset to our company! Cancel my 4'o clock. We're revising our whole marketing strategy to include your suggestions. I personally like your 'Mount Chang' slogan."

------------

And just like previous negroes OJ, Kobe, and Michael Jackson (borderline negro) before me, I got away scott-free.

Tuesday, January 03, 2006

Tue, 03 Jan 2006 10:37:07 GMT

Happy New Year, everyone. Yes, it's been a while. I'm sure most of you have gone through a phase when you just needed a break from Xanga. To me, Xanga's like that habitual masturbating problem we all have: sometimes you do it frequently; sometimes you do it in spurts; other times, you've sworn to yourself that you'd stop only to be overwhelmed by blue balls. Well, folks, right now I have Xanga blue balls. As I'm feeling the need to write, I'll give you the "411," in the words of Mary J. Blige. (On a related note, I really like her new single "Without You" and yes, I'm comfortable enough in my masculinity to admit that. Besides, I used to produce beats for her before NiggaChang Records went down, so it's always good to see her doing so well.)

New Year's Eve, I was hanging with the usual crew: Young Jeezy (and his bitchboy Akon), Lil Wayne (He hates it when I call him Lil 'Wang'), and of course, the one and only Mike Jones. My entourage and I hit up this get-together that P. Diddy was throwing. At first, I was a bit reluctant. Me and Diddy had some beef in the past.

"Dat punk ass nigga Diddy be stealin my stylez and shit. He always be poppin up in my rap videos like he all dat. Hiz boyfriend Mace's dick is too small so he be crabby and shit," I reflected aloud while my group of friends listened attentively.

Jeezy spoke up: "Dan, don't let Diddy get the better of you. This is exactly what he wants you to do: second-guess your every move. If you decline his public invitation, then he'll make you out to be the bad guy. Just go, have a good time, and don't worry about him."

Man, that shit was deep. If he wasn't such a talented rapper, he could have been the black Dr. Phil. Mike Jones nodded, "I'm Mike Jones." We all gave him this collective look that said "Shut the fuck up." Mike can be such an idiot, sometimes.

So it was to Diddy's we went. I arrived with the rest of the nigz fashionably late as usual. I was sporting my cream-colored pinstripe suit, complete with the top-hat, matching gloves, and mink-fur coat. The "who's who" of the black community was in full attendance.

We chilled for a while in his front lobby, downing some shots, smoking some bowls, chit-chatting with some bitches. I saw Beyonce walk by in a stunning Versace gown and grabbed her ass when she passed by me. "Baby got BACK! HoLLa at your BOI!!" I said, complimenting her on her fine figure. She smiled. I don't think Jay-Z appreciated it very much, but even he had to admit that black chicks like to snack on some Chinese-sausage from time to time.

It was nearing midnight, and I was still having a blast. The thought of Diddy barely crossed my mind. But then, my sixth sense kicked in: I knew he was around. It's just one of those things. Diddy's presense can completely change the way I was feeling at any moment: if I was having an orgy with super-models, he could make me feel as if I was getting plunged up the ass with a wooden stick; and if I was getting plunged up the ass with a wooden stick, Diddy's presense could make you feel like you were getting plunged by that same wooden stick turned sideways. What a party-pooper. But when I turned it around to see him, it wasn't even the beginning of it.

What the fuck? Diddy was wearing the same exact outfit that I was. This whack nigga was stealing my stylez again. "Nigga, you can't be serious!" I snapped my fingers in a Z-formation. Diddy shot a piercing glare right at me. The crowd stopped in its tracks; the DJ stopped the music and they all turned to me and Diddy, who at this point were face-to-face in the center of the dance floor. "Thiz shit haz gone too far. It's going down tonight NIGGA. Your nuts won't see the new year, punk ass beyaaaatch." I screamed a Japanese samurai battle-cry (even though I'm not Japanese).

I quickly dropped to the ground in a split, a la Johnny Cage in Mortal Kombat, and shot my arm up between his legs. I grabbed his nutsack, twisted it, pulled it, and then forced his balls up his own rectum in one fluid, effortless, motion.

The crowd was stunned. And almost inexplicably, they broke into simultaneous applause and cheers. They chanted my name while Diddy lied on the floor in agonizing pain. What I did was so manly, all the bitches were nearing orgasm already and all the homies came up to congratulate me. Everyone thought Diddy was a little bitch but never had the nuts (no pun intended) to do something about it.

It was perfect timing too, because the the countdown to midnight was almost over. 10...9...8...7...6...5...4...3...2...
Balloons, confetti, and vibrating dildos fell from the celing. Shit. Diddy was a punk, but the man could throw a party, I'll give him that.

I eyed Beyonce, walked up to her, and made out with her as 2005 turned into 2006. Afterwards, we all held hands and sang "Auld Lang Syne."

Well, that's my New Year's Eve story. Let's make 2006 the best time of our lives. Together, we can make it happen.

---------

And with that, my verbal load has been shot. Hope none of you bitches received that one in the eye and were blinded by it.

Friday, October 14, 2005

Fri, 14 Oct 2005 01:05:55 GMT

"E-Propping" with Dan Chang

I'll be honest: I haven't been surfing Xanga that much and have drastically cut back on my commenting and e-propping. However, the comments I do end up making usually offer insight or a fresh new perspective that aids in the spirtual growth of both me and the reader. Just kidding, that was gay. Now I've done an entry like this before, (http://www.xanga.com/item.aspx?user=LPhiE_NiZzLe&tab=weblogs&uid=171397044) where I look back on my own comments and give you guys some highlights; otherwise, you would have missed out on Dan Chang's notorious wit and charm...or rather, Dan Chang's inane stupidity. Take your pick. Here's a little offering of the type of things I say when I'm surfing random Xangas and some side commentary.

if ur a female in my family, ur guranteed to have major health issues or have a major operation at some point in ur life. fun shit. i'm predicting that my turn will come after i've stupidly walked in front of an oncoming automobile.

Posted 10/12/2005 at 3:38 PM Posted by: klutzgirl514

My response:

I'm predicting a set of balls in your mouth.

Posted 10/12/2005 at 4:08 PM by niggachang

Commentary: Here's a girl who's obviously had a history of unfortunate things happen to the women in her family. She's predicting that she gets hit by a car. In response, I try to change the subject to something on a lighter note, such as a pair of testicles in one's mouth. She feels better. I feel better. Healing by means of absurdity.

Sienna Miller and Jude Law. Jude admitted to cheating, eventually Sienna took him back...Would you get back together with somebody after they cheated on you? Posted by: MissJilly

My response:

If some ho cheated on me, I'd bitch slap her, take her back, and give it to her up the ass.

Posted 10/12/2005 at 7:05 PM by niggachang

Commentary: My response depicts a side of me that is often hidden by my glamorous and seemingly superficial lifestyle. I'm a compassionate and forgiving human being. If my better half was to somehow "stray," I would understand and welcome her back. To stay angry would be the human thing to do. But forgiveness is divine.

gloomy days like this make you wanna stay home with the one you love and cuddle... sigh... i miss the cuddling...Posted by: illuzn

My Response:

wanna cuddle with my dong?

Posted 10/12/2005 at 7:01 PM by niggachang

Commentary: All too often in today's society, the image of the "manly man" prevails. The macho man who can hold his alcohol, goes to "gentleman's clubs," and who watches his football Sunday, too afraid to show his sensitive side, to bring flowers, to hold the door, and yes, to cuddle. But lo and behold, chivalry still exists in the form of Dan Chang. "Illuzn," like countless women out there, became the recipient of my charm. I show her how a real man treats a woman.

and for those of you nosy people... no... there's no one special in dc. i just love dc... the city, the shopping, the food, and just friends who happen to be there. Posted 8/15/2005 at 7:38 PM Posted by: ReiRei124

My Response:

there's no one special in DC....just your dildo.

Posted 8/15/2005 at 8:38 PM by niggachang

Commentary: A natural assumption since if there's no man in DC, there's got to be something, correct?

Some other randomness:

I'm not gay, but Im a big Sarah MacLachlan fan.

Posted 10/8/2005 at 8:42 PM by niggachang

Commentary: Just kidding. About the gay part.

YOu say you're the ugly duckling, but I'd still hit it.

Posted 10/5/2005 at 8:26 PM by niggachang

Commentary: Fugly bitches need loving too.

is there any exercises on the bowflex that works out your foreskin?

Posted 10/2/2005 at 6:24 PM by niggachang

Commentary: My foreskin can rep two plates on each side 6 times.

You say you're a "breast" man, but I honestly believe you're more of a "pec" man.

Posted 9/13/2005 at 8:53 PM by niggachang

Commentary: Calling out homosexuals. Gotta love it.

I like to "relieve stress" every night...just me, my hand, and a box of kleenex.

Posted 9/2/2005 at 6:33 AM by niggachang

Commentary: Blowing my nose relieves stress, what can I say?

I take it you like dogs. Well, I like doggystyle, so we've got something in common.

Posted 8/12/2005 at 3:18 PM by niggachang

Commentary: Friendships first begin by sharing what you both enjoy.

so did your hand put out when you took it to the beach?

Posted 8/6/2005 at 5:02 PM by niggachang

Commentary: I usually expect a little something by the 3rd date.

Xanga's rigged. You have to suck the right cock to be on Featured Content.

Posted 7/27/2005 at 8:28 PM by niggachang

Commentary: Hence, why I haven't been on "Featured Content" in a while....oh, I mean I've never been on "Featured Content."

what's a girl? is that the same thing as a bitch?

Posted 7/15/2005 at 10:50 PM by niggachang - delete

Commentary: I get the two mixed up all the time.

Damn, that brought back some memories. I made this entry just flipping through the comments that I made. Note: a lot of these heinous comments were made during my young and immature days (like in July 2005). I like to think that I've grown up since then, but then again, some things never change.

Cheers,

Dan Chang