"With great power comes great responsibility" - Peter Parker's Uncle Ben or somebody else, but I'm just gonna give him the credit
I'm not even really sure how to apply that to this, but mostly, a nigga's always wanted to say that in regards to myself. Ha!
Anyway, January 1st, & guess what? I have news to share...
I've been recruited for the war to bring truth, justice, & the (light-skinned African) American way to more screens, by way of Daily-Math.com.
The General himself, Combat Jack, has put together a team, in an effort to put boot to neck of this blog shit! Needless to say, I'm honored that he'd fuck with your boy in such a capacity, & I have something to truly appreciate in 2010, & I haven't even been awake an hour yet. As well as yours truly, there's:
Riggs Morales-former writer at The Source & A&R for Shady Records
Epiphany-of 'I Am The Life', at iamthelife.wordpress.com
Danja-of 'Danj Loves The 90's' at danjlovesthe90s.wordpress.com
Amp Geez-of 'Amplified Grammar' at amplifiedgrammar.blogspot.com
Dom Corleone-of 'Hold the Throne' at holdthethrone.com
Ice-of 'IceDotCom' at icedotcom.blogspot.com
He put the call out, & I, along with a handful of other talented cats, answered, & as we gather the weapons & map out the strategies, rest assured I'll be repping to the full, keeping it absolute, & taking my niggas (& niggettes) with me in to the stratosphere. Hopefully, y'all will continue to ride with your boy wherever this road is leading, because as I say like at least once a month, I do this shit for y'all. Talking to myself all day wouldn't hold quite as much weight, & people tend to shy away from schizophrenic dudes.
The schematics are still being worked out, so I'm going to let cats know when my first bomb drop's over there, but that's not going to change Reading & Writing, but rather expand the horizons & definitely make it do what it do. I guess I learned one more thing; important people notice you're grind when it's absolute. Or, in laymen's, real recognize real, if you will.
Happy new year, y'all.
Official announcement here:
http://daily-math.com/weblog/?p=2097
Showing posts with label happy holidays mf. Show all posts
Showing posts with label happy holidays mf. Show all posts
Friday, January 1, 2010
Monday, December 21, 2009
The Night Before: A Holiday Poem By Tony Grands
'Twas the night before Christmas, & all through da hood,
one time stayed on watch for cats up to no good,
The stockin's were hung up with tacks by the door,
'Cuz it ain't no damn chim-a-neys on the first floor,
All day there was clamor & noise in the street,
'Cuz the gas man done came & he turned off the heat,
But that's not enough to stop niggas from blazin',
What potheads will do to get high is amazin',
They gathered their quarters & counted their nickels,
But left out the pennies 'cuz the weed man is fickle,
Who cares 'bout the weather-the rain & the breeze,
As long as there's Swishers & bags full of trees,
Egg nog is for squares & the taste makes 'em squimish,
So real nigs celebrate by sippin Olde English,
All they want from Santa is intoxication,
& not to get knocked for parole violation,
Too high to sing carols-the words they'd forgotten,
Called up a few hoodrats & asked 'em what's poppin',
"Ain't nothin'" the rats said & bid them farewell,
Cuz broke dudes can't help them with their hair & nails,
No gas for the heater-but they still had power,
& all the Doritos 4 dudes could devour,
They played PS3-Madden 10 as always,
Then heard heavy footsteps stomping down the hallway,
The rent was past due & the landlord was comin,
They sobered up quickly-tried to think of somethin',
He banged on the front door confusin the thugs,
That spent all their rent money on booze & drugs,
"Hold up!" they yelled out & started to panic,
Not knowin' what he said 'cuz he's speakin' spanish,
"It's Christmas, amigo-show us some compassion!",
What he said translates into "Fuck your Black asses!",
"By this time tomorrow you'd better be gone!",
"Or you'll sit on your couch while it sits on the lawn!",
They pleaded but he wasn't moved one iota,
They offered him weed, chips, even a soda,
He said "Never mind this-I'm calling the cops!",
Then a noise from the roof caused the landlord to stop,
"On Dancer, on Cupid, on Donder, on Blitzen",
Niggas ran to the broken window in the kitchen,
"On Dasher, on Prancer, on Comet, on Vixen!",
The landlord was too shocked to continue bitchin',
"Whoa Rudolph" the voice said-it sounded so odd,
& niggas was so high they thought it was God
The voice started laffin'-so seemingly jolly,
One nigga said "That's Joe the Crackhead, prolly",
They opened the door & looked at the front entrance,
A White man? Around here? That's quite suspicious,
No badge on his jacket-no gun in a holster,
He had a big velvet bag over his shoulder,
He said "Ho Ho Ho"-they looked 'round for Renee,
But that Hoe was home, she don't work holidays,
The niggas stared at 'em-wide eyes & dropped jaws,
One said "What the fuck? Is that Santa Claus?",
Just then Santa waved-turned around & he vanished,
The landlord amazed, mumbled somethin' in spanish,
The landlord just walked off, clearly in awe,
& the niggas couldn't figure out what they just saw,
Went back inside-looked at the clock & their watches,
12am, then they saw all types of boxes,
With laughter so nervous-like something was funny,
First box that they opened had bills & rent money,
They counted & counted it-like they were rich,
That really WAS Santa? Damn-ain't that a bitch?
They called up the landlord & told him no worry,
Your money's right here-come get it & please hurry,
He said he'll be there in the mornin'-"I'm tired",
That shit freaked him out-he went home & got wired,
Just then they heard *pop pop*-a thud in the bushes,
They ran to the window-all shovin' & pushin',
Some car tires screechin & somebody yellin',
Laid out was poor Santa-got shot in the melon,
Headed to the rooftop, he started to fly,
Just as some young knuckleheads did a drive-by,
The reindeer had fled-scared away by the sound,
& their master-dear St. Nick-was dead on the ground,
They dialed 911, but what could they tell 'em?,
That Santa caught a hot slug in his cerebellum?,
Even when it's real people cops take 'bout an hour,
So they got Santa's corpse & put him in their shower,
Some hours passed by & cops finally came,
They told them what happened-with no one to blame,
So the cops called for back up & pulled out their cuffs,
No witnesses either, they were shit outta luck,
In back of patrol cars-headed down to the station,
Charged with murder one & parole violations,
The coroner took Santa to the morgue in his van,
To perform the autopsy that was part of the plan,
But when they arrived & opened up the back,
The stretcher was empty & the white sheet was flat,
"This is some kind of joke, it must be" it was weird,
But the joke was on him, Santa just disappeared,
But still, the cops kept them niggas in cages,
They been doin' this type shit to Black folks for ages,
The moral of this story-to say the least,
is follow your gut & don't trust the police.
one time stayed on watch for cats up to no good,
The stockin's were hung up with tacks by the door,
'Cuz it ain't no damn chim-a-neys on the first floor,
All day there was clamor & noise in the street,
'Cuz the gas man done came & he turned off the heat,
But that's not enough to stop niggas from blazin',
What potheads will do to get high is amazin',
They gathered their quarters & counted their nickels,
But left out the pennies 'cuz the weed man is fickle,
Who cares 'bout the weather-the rain & the breeze,
As long as there's Swishers & bags full of trees,
Egg nog is for squares & the taste makes 'em squimish,
So real nigs celebrate by sippin Olde English,
All they want from Santa is intoxication,
& not to get knocked for parole violation,
Too high to sing carols-the words they'd forgotten,
Called up a few hoodrats & asked 'em what's poppin',
"Ain't nothin'" the rats said & bid them farewell,
Cuz broke dudes can't help them with their hair & nails,
No gas for the heater-but they still had power,
& all the Doritos 4 dudes could devour,
They played PS3-Madden 10 as always,
Then heard heavy footsteps stomping down the hallway,
The rent was past due & the landlord was comin,
They sobered up quickly-tried to think of somethin',
He banged on the front door confusin the thugs,
That spent all their rent money on booze & drugs,
"Hold up!" they yelled out & started to panic,
Not knowin' what he said 'cuz he's speakin' spanish,
"It's Christmas, amigo-show us some compassion!",
What he said translates into "Fuck your Black asses!",
"By this time tomorrow you'd better be gone!",
"Or you'll sit on your couch while it sits on the lawn!",
They pleaded but he wasn't moved one iota,
They offered him weed, chips, even a soda,
He said "Never mind this-I'm calling the cops!",
Then a noise from the roof caused the landlord to stop,
"On Dancer, on Cupid, on Donder, on Blitzen",
Niggas ran to the broken window in the kitchen,
"On Dasher, on Prancer, on Comet, on Vixen!",
The landlord was too shocked to continue bitchin',
"Whoa Rudolph" the voice said-it sounded so odd,
& niggas was so high they thought it was God
The voice started laffin'-so seemingly jolly,
One nigga said "That's Joe the Crackhead, prolly",
They opened the door & looked at the front entrance,
A White man? Around here? That's quite suspicious,
No badge on his jacket-no gun in a holster,
He had a big velvet bag over his shoulder,
He said "Ho Ho Ho"-they looked 'round for Renee,
But that Hoe was home, she don't work holidays,
The niggas stared at 'em-wide eyes & dropped jaws,
One said "What the fuck? Is that Santa Claus?",
Just then Santa waved-turned around & he vanished,
The landlord amazed, mumbled somethin' in spanish,
The landlord just walked off, clearly in awe,
& the niggas couldn't figure out what they just saw,
Went back inside-looked at the clock & their watches,
12am, then they saw all types of boxes,
With laughter so nervous-like something was funny,
First box that they opened had bills & rent money,
They counted & counted it-like they were rich,
That really WAS Santa? Damn-ain't that a bitch?
They called up the landlord & told him no worry,
Your money's right here-come get it & please hurry,
He said he'll be there in the mornin'-"I'm tired",
That shit freaked him out-he went home & got wired,
Just then they heard *pop pop*-a thud in the bushes,
They ran to the window-all shovin' & pushin',
Some car tires screechin & somebody yellin',
Laid out was poor Santa-got shot in the melon,
Headed to the rooftop, he started to fly,
Just as some young knuckleheads did a drive-by,
The reindeer had fled-scared away by the sound,
& their master-dear St. Nick-was dead on the ground,
They dialed 911, but what could they tell 'em?,
That Santa caught a hot slug in his cerebellum?,
Even when it's real people cops take 'bout an hour,
So they got Santa's corpse & put him in their shower,
Some hours passed by & cops finally came,
They told them what happened-with no one to blame,
So the cops called for back up & pulled out their cuffs,
No witnesses either, they were shit outta luck,
In back of patrol cars-headed down to the station,
Charged with murder one & parole violations,
The coroner took Santa to the morgue in his van,
To perform the autopsy that was part of the plan,
But when they arrived & opened up the back,
The stretcher was empty & the white sheet was flat,
"This is some kind of joke, it must be" it was weird,
But the joke was on him, Santa just disappeared,
But still, the cops kept them niggas in cages,
They been doin' this type shit to Black folks for ages,
The moral of this story-to say the least,
is follow your gut & don't trust the police.
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Some Coal For Your Stocking.
Or Merry Christmas, Motherfuckers!
How would you feel if, as a kid, you heard rumors of a happy, fat, possibly drunk White dude who, on Christmas Eve, goes from house to house to drop a load of goodies on good kids? To add to the legend, this guy has countless movies, TV shows & sightings, starting the day after Thanksgiving, so there's no doubt in your young mind that he exists. You may even see him at the mall or the grocery store with a friendly smile & an inviting lap, & even if your parents warned you about personal contact with costumed adults, they make an exception with this cat, even leading you by hand to receive his embrace. Really though, I'm not too partial to my own kids sitting on my lap, so one can't help but wonder about this type of guy's agenda. Never mind the fact that your "house" is covered in security bars & devoid of a chimney, urban mythology says that this clown will be there, satisfying all you material needs, no matter the obstacles. My aunt used to tell my cousins that Santa had a spare key, & that's how he got in. No dice. My uncle had the spare key, & in between crack cocaine binges & trips to the pawn shop, he was nowhere to be found. Anyway, if Santa's not there to deliver the goods, you're left with 364 days to ponder your apparent wrong doing, & correct your mistakes.
I was never allowed to buy into the Santa stereotype, as a kid. My father & mother worked damn hard all year long, too hard to hand over credit to some imaginary character for any possible happiness I may receive. That would be like if I was complemented on how cute I was as a kid by a stranger, them pointing at me, & saying "hey, he did all the work!" Some of my fondest Christmas memories are me looking at my gifts, & always finding a few that said "from Santa". Word? To my mom's credit, though, she used to drink a lot. Personally, I think the real reason the Santa myth was created was to be a convenient scapegoat for the masses. Not only could immeasurable amounts of children's behaviors be modified, but if mom &/or dad can't afford gifts, blame it on Santa, or in essence, the kids themselves. That's some fucked up shit.
"Sorry Propecia, I guess you were bad this year. Santa didn't bring you anything."
Maybe my parents did themselves a disservice by not letting me believe; perhaps they would've saved tons of money Hot Wheels race car tracks & gadgets that wouldn't survive to see the summer. I've always been fascinated by how America chooses to "control" it's child populous by means of boogie men, but fear is indeed a powerful tool in brainwashi-I mean leadership. Santa may have been the lower classes "get out of Christmas free" card, & they didn't know it. Goes to show the long reach of capitalism, word to Valentine's Day. The whole ideology behind gift-giving is for the gifter to express to the giftee whatever sentiment is implied. In laymen's terms, I want you to know that it's from me.
Or, as my dad always said, "Santa Claus my ass..."
& to think, on a day sanctioned to celebrate Jesus Christ, we expected to buy our bad ass kids $200 worth of reward. I say, fuck Santa, fuck Christmas, & buy your kids all the bull shit they deserve when they deserve it, i.e. good grades. If, as a society, it's up to a stranger to motivate our kids to be the best they can be, we are failing miserably.
When my kids were small, we would go outside & look at the neighborhood Christmas lights on our block. One year, one of them asked me where our Christmas lights were. I pointed at our house, & said "you see those lights on in the house? Merry Christmas." A little later, they unwrapped dinner. All jokes aside, although I've never celebrated what some would call a traditional Christmas, I've always attempted to make sure my kids were happy when they woke up that morning. My parents did it for me, so if nothing else, it's a learned response. Condition stimulus, if you will. A psychological reaction to ambient jingle bells & faux snowfall draped over anything from store window displays to front yard nativity scenes. But, also, as tradition demands, my kids have never received a present from Santa. You haven't lived until you've watched a requisite Christmas movie with a sarcastic six year old who knows better than to believe in this St. Nicholas dude.
Sometimes I forget how gullible & naïve people can be, in regards to what real life is. My son & I were having a rather detailed conversation one day, in a Burger King, about how & why people allow their kids to believe in Santa. I never stopped to survey the folks around us, which there was quite a few, & a mother decided to not only listen, but include herself into our conversation. In front of her kid, she started actually rationalizing why Santa might be real. Instead of dismissing her with a "crazy bitch" label, I engaged in the conversation, with the same intensity as I did with my child. Her final statement, obviously out of sheer frustration was, "Well, you gotta let a kid be a kid though, right?", to which I replied "True, & I teach mine not to lie. What type of example would I be if I didn't follow that simple instruction?". He son was intently listening the entire time. End game.
Happy holidays, people.
How would you feel if, as a kid, you heard rumors of a happy, fat, possibly drunk White dude who, on Christmas Eve, goes from house to house to drop a load of goodies on good kids? To add to the legend, this guy has countless movies, TV shows & sightings, starting the day after Thanksgiving, so there's no doubt in your young mind that he exists. You may even see him at the mall or the grocery store with a friendly smile & an inviting lap, & even if your parents warned you about personal contact with costumed adults, they make an exception with this cat, even leading you by hand to receive his embrace. Really though, I'm not too partial to my own kids sitting on my lap, so one can't help but wonder about this type of guy's agenda. Never mind the fact that your "house" is covered in security bars & devoid of a chimney, urban mythology says that this clown will be there, satisfying all you material needs, no matter the obstacles. My aunt used to tell my cousins that Santa had a spare key, & that's how he got in. No dice. My uncle had the spare key, & in between crack cocaine binges & trips to the pawn shop, he was nowhere to be found. Anyway, if Santa's not there to deliver the goods, you're left with 364 days to ponder your apparent wrong doing, & correct your mistakes.
I was never allowed to buy into the Santa stereotype, as a kid. My father & mother worked damn hard all year long, too hard to hand over credit to some imaginary character for any possible happiness I may receive. That would be like if I was complemented on how cute I was as a kid by a stranger, them pointing at me, & saying "hey, he did all the work!" Some of my fondest Christmas memories are me looking at my gifts, & always finding a few that said "from Santa". Word? To my mom's credit, though, she used to drink a lot. Personally, I think the real reason the Santa myth was created was to be a convenient scapegoat for the masses. Not only could immeasurable amounts of children's behaviors be modified, but if mom &/or dad can't afford gifts, blame it on Santa, or in essence, the kids themselves. That's some fucked up shit.
"Sorry Propecia, I guess you were bad this year. Santa didn't bring you anything."
Maybe my parents did themselves a disservice by not letting me believe; perhaps they would've saved tons of money Hot Wheels race car tracks & gadgets that wouldn't survive to see the summer. I've always been fascinated by how America chooses to "control" it's child populous by means of boogie men, but fear is indeed a powerful tool in brainwashi-I mean leadership. Santa may have been the lower classes "get out of Christmas free" card, & they didn't know it. Goes to show the long reach of capitalism, word to Valentine's Day. The whole ideology behind gift-giving is for the gifter to express to the giftee whatever sentiment is implied. In laymen's terms, I want you to know that it's from me.
Or, as my dad always said, "Santa Claus my ass..."
& to think, on a day sanctioned to celebrate Jesus Christ, we expected to buy our bad ass kids $200 worth of reward. I say, fuck Santa, fuck Christmas, & buy your kids all the bull shit they deserve when they deserve it, i.e. good grades. If, as a society, it's up to a stranger to motivate our kids to be the best they can be, we are failing miserably.
When my kids were small, we would go outside & look at the neighborhood Christmas lights on our block. One year, one of them asked me where our Christmas lights were. I pointed at our house, & said "you see those lights on in the house? Merry Christmas." A little later, they unwrapped dinner. All jokes aside, although I've never celebrated what some would call a traditional Christmas, I've always attempted to make sure my kids were happy when they woke up that morning. My parents did it for me, so if nothing else, it's a learned response. Condition stimulus, if you will. A psychological reaction to ambient jingle bells & faux snowfall draped over anything from store window displays to front yard nativity scenes. But, also, as tradition demands, my kids have never received a present from Santa. You haven't lived until you've watched a requisite Christmas movie with a sarcastic six year old who knows better than to believe in this St. Nicholas dude.
Sometimes I forget how gullible & naïve people can be, in regards to what real life is. My son & I were having a rather detailed conversation one day, in a Burger King, about how & why people allow their kids to believe in Santa. I never stopped to survey the folks around us, which there was quite a few, & a mother decided to not only listen, but include herself into our conversation. In front of her kid, she started actually rationalizing why Santa might be real. Instead of dismissing her with a "crazy bitch" label, I engaged in the conversation, with the same intensity as I did with my child. Her final statement, obviously out of sheer frustration was, "Well, you gotta let a kid be a kid though, right?", to which I replied "True, & I teach mine not to lie. What type of example would I be if I didn't follow that simple instruction?". He son was intently listening the entire time. End game.
Happy holidays, people.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)