Omar Bricks: Modest as a Motherfucker

A recent poll of girls hanging out in the food court at the mall has yielded this unexpected result: the words most commonly associated with Omar Bricks in the minds of teenage girls are these: cocky good-looking son of a bitch. Actually, those were three separate entries, but I like the way they run together. The good-looking part actually came from a guy working at the novelty gift store; I'm not sure how he got a hold of one of the ballots. But I kept it in the mix, for scientific reasons and because I think it was probably a back-up choice in the minds of most of the food court girls. Makes sense.

Before you jump to any ludicrous conclusions, let me first off say that the "son of a bitch" part didn't bother me. As far as I'm concerned, that's between teenage girls and Mama Bricks exclusively. If any bare-midriffed mallrats have a problem with the way Mama Bricks butters her bread, they know where to find her. As she's fond of saying, I'd just recommend bringing several friends and a first aid kit, that's all.

Nope, what really set off my bullshit alarm (I recently had to have it recalibrated after watching half of the State of the Union address on TV before I realized it wasn't Sesame Street) was the "cocky" bit. I mean, what a bitch. Whichever one of them it was. Omar Bricks is a lot of things, including the masked daredevil who jumped a dirt bike over the turnstiles at the State Fair last year (I would have got away with it if it weren't for the blabbermouth working at the cotton candy booth that broke my fall), but cocky? That really takes some imagination.

Omar Bricks is, and presumably always will be (unless I wake up with super powers one day or something, then screw it) one modest motherfucker. I haven't taken credit for half of the amazing shit I've done and haven't called out one-third of the fronting wannabes who don't deserve to lick the sweat off my balls. And not because I lacked the vocabulary to adequately explain my innate superiority, either. Omar Bricks has made up more words to describe his bitchin'ness than most suckers have ever even heard of.

Everyone seems to forget the time years ago when I saved all those little kids from the apartment building that burnt down after my porno collection caught on fire. They wanted to put my picture in the paper with this ass-kicking article about how I had braved certain exposure to uncomfortable temperatures to throw those kids off the balcony to safety. They would have been screwed if I hadn't been there, since the stacks and stacks of XXX magazines (and enough pizza boxes to build a fort) stoked the fire into some kind of special effects inferno, and nobody had hauled away the mattress I threw out that was blocking the hallway. But when the time came for my fifteen minutes of newspaper glory, I said no way, Jose (the guy's name, I think). Omar Bricks isn't in it for the glory. Saving those kids and making out with their mom behind a fire truck was reward enough for me.

What kind of cocky son of a bitch lets a cherry story like that go untold? (Before today, anyway.) Nobody I know. Most guys would have it printed up on a shirt that said "AWESOME HERO" on the back. But not Omar Bricks, Modest Motherfucker. Besides, that shit's expensive and they charge by the letter.

Clearly there's some player-hating going on down at the mall, and that's the kind of shit for which Omar Bricks cannot stand. Next time I see those girls they can buy their own goddamned frozen yogurt.

Bricks out.

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