I'm not much for polit(r)ic(k)s. I get in, obtain the necessary info, then get my ass out of the way. Politicians sling hella mud & mad shit, & fuck getting my shirt stained with rhetoric, propaganda, & empty promises. No dice. I'd rather do what I can, & watch the rest of these lobbyists, opportunists, & agitators make mountains out of mole hills. Not to say that unemployment, the national deficit, & the state of America in general should by any means be reduced to mole hills, but you smell my cologne. We, the people, vote for our president (to an extent-I'm aware of the electoral college), but once he's in office, there's not a whole helluva lot we can do about his choices. Thats why we elect a specific dude, as opposed to having some village democracy, where we're either all in compliance, or burn those who aren't at the stake.
Sure, President Obama hasn't been the perfect president. I think anybody that's not Jesus Christ would fall short of that expectation. But, that's a drop for another day. I'm starting to believe that American's love to love something, just because that way, they're guaranteed to have something to hate later on down the road. I also think that's the dynamic of an abusive relationship. See what I did there?
But, I digress.
There's a pretty good chance that the majority of Obama's work won't get noticed, or acted upon, until after his term has come & gone. I'm cool with that, though. "Running" a "powerful" country can't be as easy as George W. Bush made it appear, with vacations & made-up words & what have you. But, at least he's setting the wheels in motion, really though. There has to be a first Black president to open the doors & windows of America, & humanity alike, in order for non-traditional candidates of the future to ever have a chance at a possible candidacy.
Obama's promise/premise, before he was elected, was "Change we can believe in." I'm not sure even he realized the deep double-meaning of that simple phrase. He may not change the national debt, or the ban on gay marriage, or the status quo of nationwide happiness, but what he did change, immediately after inauguration, was what it meant to be a Black man in America, especially through the eyes of young, Black Americans. Think about it.
For all the novelty attached, being the first Black anything is a big deal. But, the first Black president is the biggest of deals (even if he's just a figurehead, he's THE figurehead...). Media coverage, the proverbial free world at his feet-so to speak, accolades & accomplishments that would be considered great regardless of the overachiever's pigmentation. He just so happens to be Black (African-American). At a juncture where athletes & musicians are idolized & martyr'd, here came a man who, by hard work & determination, literally changed the game. Not the basketball game, or the rap game, but the game of life, & how far it's limitations can actually be pushed. When I was a kid, the only young people who said, with any seriousness, "When I grow up, I wanna be the president!" were nerds & social outcasts whose parents forced them to learn to play piano in between chess club meetings. The problem wasn't their ambition, or inhibition, but the fact that such a dream was just that-a dream, of MLK proportions. & unless you live on Elm Street, dreams & realities can not co-exist. Until...
Little Black children worldwide look up to Barack Obama in ways they don't even understand yet. A child's aspirations have no governor, except for their own imagination. But when said imagination can be shifted to real-time achievement, it's like taking the red pill in the Matrix. An entire generation of babies has been unplugged, simultaneously, whether or not Universal Healthcare gets passed into effect. Whereas Dr. King has been more or less relegated to a life to be memorialized, & a holiday to be enjoyed, Barack Obama is the now. Right now. Turn on your TV & somebody, somewhere, is talking to, about, or for him. & the kids see this. They see a Black man without boundaries, without a microphone or a basketball, & this becomes their attainable, achievable reality.
To the willing recipient, the "change" comes in the form of pride. A pride that can't be provided by an NBA championship, #1 hit record or blockbuster movie role. A pride that made grandmothers cry in happy disbelief, & grown people here & there pick up their jaws, as they, WE, witnessed history being made. Grown-ups are so quick to get caught up in the odds, ends & implications of matters at hand, that we often lose sight of the bigger picture. Thank God children are the future. Now, their future seems a little bit brighter.
I thank you for that, President Barack Obama.
Showing posts with label salt and pepper. Show all posts
Showing posts with label salt and pepper. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Brains>Brain
Sometimes, you just have to envy the downtrodden. Mo' money, mo' problems, indeed. I imagine life is easiest when you're biggest worry is if you're going to eat later that day. Really though, worst case scenario, you could stand outside of a McDonalds, & look extremely pitiful, & some empathetic douche would buy you a McGriddle, or a McDouble, depending on what time it is. Either way, hunger knows no caloric intake. Tell a hungry man about his cholesterol, & he'll ask you if you're going to finish all of your fries. I make it a habit to give to the less fortunate, however I can. I save my aluminum cans for this homeless lady who trolls the neighborhood garbage cans, I buy this one dude a couple of burgers when I see him near my sons school, hell, if you need .35, & ask correctly, I may give you an entire dollar bill. Fuck what you plan to "really" do with it, as long as I know my heart is in the right place. That's why I try & feed somebody, as opposed to giving them cash. I'll be damned if a crackhead is going to smoke a .99 burrito. & if he does, God bless his lungs & throat lining. Point is, of all the people I come into contact with on a daily basis, the ones without much are usually the happiest. It may just be famine-induced hysteria, or a lack of nutrients has them unable to do much more than smile & nod, but they sure as hell seem content to me. Content beats contrite everyday of the Christian calendar.
As for these guys with assloads of dough, pause, their lives seem to be hell on wheels, floating in gasoline & nitroglycerin. One would assume that, given the opportunity to live life by one's own jurisdiction, that person would be diligent in finding peace & happiness. If a homeless man can do it, sleeping on a bus stop & eating what I throw away, surely it can be done if a man has the means to provide comfortably for himself. Now, I'm not pointing fingers, but I'm going to use two great examples. This has nothing to do with race, or profession. Any similarities are purely coincidental.
Shaquille O'Neal & Eldrick "Tiger" Woods. For all intents & purposes, these niggas are dumber than Katt Williams. For all the smarts that Eldrick seems to exude, he must not have ever read a book, watched a movie, or listened to a rap song. Otherwise, he'd know how counterproductive the wrong women can be. Especially when there's throngs of them, stroking your proverbial ball sack (pron: ego) to their benefit. I'm sure it's just the fact that guys who play Golf appear smarter than common folk, but I'm just saying. The more I watch, the more I see drunken hillbillies swinging sticks. As for Shaq, anything stupid he does, I just chalk up to him not being the curliest fry in the combo meal, per se. Dude may look like a dolphin, but by no means is he as smart as one. I know plenty dudes who play basketball for their respective schools, & not one of them is a math whiz. Or english, science or history for that matter, but again, just saying.
[tony's note: dolphins are mad smart, really though. flipper would kick lassie's ass...]
It's common knowledge that rich guys like toys. Side women, or jump-offs, are no different than a shiny new car or a ginormous television, or what have you. In a lot of cases, the toys can be detrimental. A motorcycle can kill you. A car can kill you. A woman can suck you dry-no pun intended, & drag your name through the mud like a plow mule. When cats get toys, especially real nice ones, they tend to neglect the important things. Now, in the case of inanimate objects, that don't mind the times when you walk away, that's not an issue. But, real-life, silicon/botox filled people? That becomes disastrous on several levels. What begins with wifey asking where you been, quickly becomes fancy plaything asking where are you going, & before you know it, Gloria Allred has you in the figure-four, sodomizing your bank account. Maybe it's my inner-poor person speaking, but that seems like an absolute bummer.
I rarely feel sorry for rich people, even when they're handicapped, but there's always a soft spot in my heart for a fool. When foolish behavior borders on absolute ignorance though, no dice. Even I know when to turn off the video games, & tend to my better half. I actually mean video games, that's not a euphemism.
Money can buy you brain, but it can't buy you brains...
As for these guys with assloads of dough, pause, their lives seem to be hell on wheels, floating in gasoline & nitroglycerin. One would assume that, given the opportunity to live life by one's own jurisdiction, that person would be diligent in finding peace & happiness. If a homeless man can do it, sleeping on a bus stop & eating what I throw away, surely it can be done if a man has the means to provide comfortably for himself. Now, I'm not pointing fingers, but I'm going to use two great examples. This has nothing to do with race, or profession. Any similarities are purely coincidental.
Shaquille O'Neal & Eldrick "Tiger" Woods. For all intents & purposes, these niggas are dumber than Katt Williams. For all the smarts that Eldrick seems to exude, he must not have ever read a book, watched a movie, or listened to a rap song. Otherwise, he'd know how counterproductive the wrong women can be. Especially when there's throngs of them, stroking your proverbial ball sack (pron: ego) to their benefit. I'm sure it's just the fact that guys who play Golf appear smarter than common folk, but I'm just saying. The more I watch, the more I see drunken hillbillies swinging sticks. As for Shaq, anything stupid he does, I just chalk up to him not being the curliest fry in the combo meal, per se. Dude may look like a dolphin, but by no means is he as smart as one. I know plenty dudes who play basketball for their respective schools, & not one of them is a math whiz. Or english, science or history for that matter, but again, just saying.
[tony's note: dolphins are mad smart, really though. flipper would kick lassie's ass...]
It's common knowledge that rich guys like toys. Side women, or jump-offs, are no different than a shiny new car or a ginormous television, or what have you. In a lot of cases, the toys can be detrimental. A motorcycle can kill you. A car can kill you. A woman can suck you dry-no pun intended, & drag your name through the mud like a plow mule. When cats get toys, especially real nice ones, they tend to neglect the important things. Now, in the case of inanimate objects, that don't mind the times when you walk away, that's not an issue. But, real-life, silicon/botox filled people? That becomes disastrous on several levels. What begins with wifey asking where you been, quickly becomes fancy plaything asking where are you going, & before you know it, Gloria Allred has you in the figure-four, sodomizing your bank account. Maybe it's my inner-poor person speaking, but that seems like an absolute bummer.
I rarely feel sorry for rich people, even when they're handicapped, but there's always a soft spot in my heart for a fool. When foolish behavior borders on absolute ignorance though, no dice. Even I know when to turn off the video games, & tend to my better half. I actually mean video games, that's not a euphemism.
Money can buy you brain, but it can't buy you brains...
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
*no thinking cap required
No shots. Not even warning shots. Just saying...
Hip Hop, rap music more specifically, is mad mundane nowadays. That statement alone is one of the reasons Raekwon's 'OB4CL2' & Slaughterhouse's self-titled albums were so well received by the critical public at large. Also, this is why they didn't sell an ass load of albums, either. More on that later...
The Hip Hop fan has grown accustomed to a certain formula. Brainwashed, perhaps. We've graduated from accepting a mediocre beat, if the lyrics were hot (the '90s) to accepting a bland mixture of okay rhymes & so-so tracks (the '00s) to now, the end of 2000's first decade, & rap music is boring as fuck, for the most part. Sans a handful of artists who genuinely craft witty raps without a bunch of unnecessary violence &/or fantasy lifestyle, & it's the same song, over & over again. It's common knowledge that to be a successful rap guy, your chains, your guns, your cars, & your ability to get bitches ranks higher than your song crafting skills. If we get nothing else, that we get. Multiply that complete lack of originality by some trunk-thumpage that the hood rats & socialites alike can shake their tail fur at, & best believe, somebody somewhere will play your shit, loudly & often, however uninspiring it may be.
"Rewindability" is virtually non-existent at present, unless we're talking about DOOM, Slaughterhouse (as a collective), U-God & Ghostface Killa. Ghostface, not so much because he astounds with the verbiage, but because I don't smoke dust blunts. & even with some rewinding, most dudes still have no idea what the hell he's talking about, unless it's his dick. Pause. If I did smoke the leaf that dare not speak it's name though, something tells me he'd be the illest MC ever to grab the mic. I guess Eminem earned a spot in that group as well, but unlike most rap fanatics, I'm willing to admit that somewhere along his audio journey, Marshall Mathers hit me in the brain with so much awesomeness that I'm now hard pressed to be in awe at the majority of his current masterpieces. His genius has leveled off into normalcy, so to speak. He's more Kobe, less Lebron, if you smell my cologne. Once "greatness" has ascended to such an unattainable altitude, we come to expect nothing less than the best. Which, oddly enough, is detrimental to a degree. I guess that's why you don't mack a female with unmitigated A+ game in the first few months. God forbid you two fall in love, & you used all the heavy artillery just to score some trim. When she gets bored, you can't blame anyone but yourself.
Of course there's more than just who's on my preemptive list, but I'm only attempting to scratch the proverbial surface, not take roll call. This is literally a conversation that could last days, & thousands of words, which neither I nor your attention span is willing to commit to.
Now, you have some artists who by all means have the propensity be great, but operate under such a self-defeating agenda that they refuse to let their own light shine. Lupe Fiasco comes to mind, but he's so much smarter than the rest of us that maybe all this is part of a plan, & his plan is coming together like 2 lesbians on a double-edged deluxe gyrating vibrator. Ha! Kid Cudi is cut from that same cloth, also. In a strange turn of events, his quasi-depressing, melancholy approach at Hip Hop music has become his way of life, knocking cats the eff out & getting thrown off of ridiculously lucrative tours all in the name of anti-love. Toss in a Charles Hamilton, & not only do we see the dark side of "the Force" that Kanye West exposed to the world, but also the reason gangsta rap is on life support. Emo-thuggery is running rampant. Skinny jeans may not be able to conceal weapons, but man-bags & Louis Vuitton backpacks can carry guns, as well as plaid ascots & cashmere mittens.
I, for one, miss the days where I almost had to concentrate on rap music to enjoy it. As of late, it's more like having public conversations with some of my terribly less intelligent homeboys, over loud-ass 808 kicks that only muffle their ignorant jaw-jacking, but unfortunately not quite enough to drown them out entirely. There's no imagination, no drive, no real competitive spirit, outside of viral campaigns, tasteless personal attacks, & episodes of 'Candid Camera', with *insert your favorite rapper* doing his best Alan Funt impersonation. Hip Hop has allowed itself to go from two young, amped up tough guys smoking weed & intensely playing Chess, to two lethargic older cats drinking cheap cognac over a game of Checkers, in between nods & space-out moments. Even when they pick up a piece (no pun intended), everyone knows their next move. It's no wonder people get bored & stop watching them play.
Before the hoopla starts, I'm not one of those golden age veterans, who rubs miscellaneous bottles in hopes that I can wish us back to 1992. Hell, in 1992, I was still a virgin, so, yeah. But, I do wish that more effort would be put into making today's rap a sport again. Not a contact sport, because niggas don't fight any more, but a battle of wits, war of words, per se. Legend has it that, in their hey day, MC Ren & Ice Cube would sit in the studio & write against each other, for the same song. Whoever won that impromptu challenge, won the right to pen Eazy-E's verse, in addition to their own. Or, picture Michael Jackson & Paul McCartney working on 'The Girl Is Mine'. Cats may not hit the bowling alley for beer pretzels & White chicks after the studio session, but best believe they pushed one another to do their best, even if their best was only second place. I'll take second place over last any day of the Christian week.
There seems to be a growing surge of rappers who embrace the basic ethos that separates entertainers from MC's. That's a good look for the culture, plus it's not like folks are running out to drop hard hustled recession dollars on physical albums anyway, even when the record is a genuinely good buy. Ask Raekwon & Slaughterhouse. Might as well give the people what they need, because what they want isn't always what's best for them. Like prostitute sex, regardless how good she looks, she's still a hooker, & we know you can do better than that, mayne.
Hip Hop, rap music more specifically, is mad mundane nowadays. That statement alone is one of the reasons Raekwon's 'OB4CL2' & Slaughterhouse's self-titled albums were so well received by the critical public at large. Also, this is why they didn't sell an ass load of albums, either. More on that later...
The Hip Hop fan has grown accustomed to a certain formula. Brainwashed, perhaps. We've graduated from accepting a mediocre beat, if the lyrics were hot (the '90s) to accepting a bland mixture of okay rhymes & so-so tracks (the '00s) to now, the end of 2000's first decade, & rap music is boring as fuck, for the most part. Sans a handful of artists who genuinely craft witty raps without a bunch of unnecessary violence &/or fantasy lifestyle, & it's the same song, over & over again. It's common knowledge that to be a successful rap guy, your chains, your guns, your cars, & your ability to get bitches ranks higher than your song crafting skills. If we get nothing else, that we get. Multiply that complete lack of originality by some trunk-thumpage that the hood rats & socialites alike can shake their tail fur at, & best believe, somebody somewhere will play your shit, loudly & often, however uninspiring it may be.
"Rewindability" is virtually non-existent at present, unless we're talking about DOOM, Slaughterhouse (as a collective), U-God & Ghostface Killa. Ghostface, not so much because he astounds with the verbiage, but because I don't smoke dust blunts. & even with some rewinding, most dudes still have no idea what the hell he's talking about, unless it's his dick. Pause. If I did smoke the leaf that dare not speak it's name though, something tells me he'd be the illest MC ever to grab the mic. I guess Eminem earned a spot in that group as well, but unlike most rap fanatics, I'm willing to admit that somewhere along his audio journey, Marshall Mathers hit me in the brain with so much awesomeness that I'm now hard pressed to be in awe at the majority of his current masterpieces. His genius has leveled off into normalcy, so to speak. He's more Kobe, less Lebron, if you smell my cologne. Once "greatness" has ascended to such an unattainable altitude, we come to expect nothing less than the best. Which, oddly enough, is detrimental to a degree. I guess that's why you don't mack a female with unmitigated A+ game in the first few months. God forbid you two fall in love, & you used all the heavy artillery just to score some trim. When she gets bored, you can't blame anyone but yourself.
Of course there's more than just who's on my preemptive list, but I'm only attempting to scratch the proverbial surface, not take roll call. This is literally a conversation that could last days, & thousands of words, which neither I nor your attention span is willing to commit to.
Now, you have some artists who by all means have the propensity be great, but operate under such a self-defeating agenda that they refuse to let their own light shine. Lupe Fiasco comes to mind, but he's so much smarter than the rest of us that maybe all this is part of a plan, & his plan is coming together like 2 lesbians on a double-edged deluxe gyrating vibrator. Ha! Kid Cudi is cut from that same cloth, also. In a strange turn of events, his quasi-depressing, melancholy approach at Hip Hop music has become his way of life, knocking cats the eff out & getting thrown off of ridiculously lucrative tours all in the name of anti-love. Toss in a Charles Hamilton, & not only do we see the dark side of "the Force" that Kanye West exposed to the world, but also the reason gangsta rap is on life support. Emo-thuggery is running rampant. Skinny jeans may not be able to conceal weapons, but man-bags & Louis Vuitton backpacks can carry guns, as well as plaid ascots & cashmere mittens.
I, for one, miss the days where I almost had to concentrate on rap music to enjoy it. As of late, it's more like having public conversations with some of my terribly less intelligent homeboys, over loud-ass 808 kicks that only muffle their ignorant jaw-jacking, but unfortunately not quite enough to drown them out entirely. There's no imagination, no drive, no real competitive spirit, outside of viral campaigns, tasteless personal attacks, & episodes of 'Candid Camera', with *insert your favorite rapper* doing his best Alan Funt impersonation. Hip Hop has allowed itself to go from two young, amped up tough guys smoking weed & intensely playing Chess, to two lethargic older cats drinking cheap cognac over a game of Checkers, in between nods & space-out moments. Even when they pick up a piece (no pun intended), everyone knows their next move. It's no wonder people get bored & stop watching them play.
Before the hoopla starts, I'm not one of those golden age veterans, who rubs miscellaneous bottles in hopes that I can wish us back to 1992. Hell, in 1992, I was still a virgin, so, yeah. But, I do wish that more effort would be put into making today's rap a sport again. Not a contact sport, because niggas don't fight any more, but a battle of wits, war of words, per se. Legend has it that, in their hey day, MC Ren & Ice Cube would sit in the studio & write against each other, for the same song. Whoever won that impromptu challenge, won the right to pen Eazy-E's verse, in addition to their own. Or, picture Michael Jackson & Paul McCartney working on 'The Girl Is Mine'. Cats may not hit the bowling alley for beer pretzels & White chicks after the studio session, but best believe they pushed one another to do their best, even if their best was only second place. I'll take second place over last any day of the Christian week.
There seems to be a growing surge of rappers who embrace the basic ethos that separates entertainers from MC's. That's a good look for the culture, plus it's not like folks are running out to drop hard hustled recession dollars on physical albums anyway, even when the record is a genuinely good buy. Ask Raekwon & Slaughterhouse. Might as well give the people what they need, because what they want isn't always what's best for them. Like prostitute sex, regardless how good she looks, she's still a hooker, & we know you can do better than that, mayne.
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 6, 2009
small things to a GIANT...
50 Cent's last album, 'Before I Self Destruct', isn't moving Fiddy's usual amount of units. Blame the downloads from the 'Net prelease(c), blame the egregious, self-centered behaviors exhibited by Curtis over the last 5 years, blame the decline of physical record sales for most artists, hell, blame the Hip Hopper's ear finally growing deaf to mediocre lyrics & less than stellar word play--just don't tell Gucci Mane that, because he won't believe you. But, I'll bet there's one thing that no man can possibly blame his current, lackluster status on.
Any. Other. Rapper.
In all seriousness, Curtis Jackson is a giant. Maybe not by Yao Ming implications, but definitely in his presence. People say his name like Candyman. Let it be the wrong nigga doing so, & the after effects would mimic those in the movie of the same name. There's no denying that 50 Cent is arguably the most popular rapper in the world, in the same weight class as Jay-Z, Eminem, & Snoop Dogg. Having such stature avails one's self to copious amounts of high self esteem, at borderline toxic levels. This is evident in his career-long taunting of lesser opponents, starting with Ja Rule who, coincidentally, hasn't been the same since. Those who chose to bite his bait, usually find themselves in a battle that's 20% rap records, 10% aggression, & 70% real-time humiliation. It's not so much that he defeats his enemies, per se, but their lives, played out for the public to nitpick & dissect, implode & cave around them. If there was some type of WBF-esque record, he'd be like 9W, 0L, 1T. That "tie" would go to Rick Ross, just because 50's flailing record sales coincide with their on-going rivalry. Indeed, 50 pulled all the punches in attempts to discredit Ross' existence, like any good bully should, but ultimately, Ross released the better music. & after all, this is the music industry, no?
Besides, something as small as record sales isn't going to stop Curtis from running his trap about how great he is. He's a "musical" monolith, word to the Washington Monument. The only man surly enough to knock him down to mortal standards isn't responding to his teasing. & rightly so, because as soon as Jay-Z utters the smallest non-subliminal word about 50, there's a more than slight chance that 50 would rip Shawn Carter's personal life to itty bitty pieces, then lay them out, one by one, for the (rap) world to see. I don't care how tough a rap dude believes himself to be, no cat (or kitten) wants all his backyard business sitting on front street. So who then, if anyone is in a position to strike a blow? David, thats who.
"David? Fuck is David, sun?"
I don't mean a nigga named David, unless it's sheer coincidence. I mean "David", as in 'David & Goliath'. A smaller, lesser known, everything to gain, nothing to lose-type guy, who can actually hold their own weight, lyrically, without a closet full of skeletons pining for release. The first name that comes to mind is Drake. Now, I'm the first one to tell you never trust a nigga without a mustache, but in his defense, this fella seems relatively harmless in the real world. What's the worse thing he could've done in his life? Aside from not concentrating on growing said mustache. Broken a few Mulatto hearts in Ottowa? Not answered some 'Degrassi High' fan's emails? He doesn't rap about anything that could be misconstrued as "lies", so where would that leave our protagonist? It would leave him with no choice but to actually have to engage in a rap battles, as opposed to making sitcom's based on celebrity lives like the MTV. Because, contrary to popular belief, if Drizzle puts down the vagina monologue & empty bragging, he can actually string some cool verbiage together. Maybe after it's all said & done, they can co-star in a remake of 'Forrest Gump. Lead role optional. No homo, just in case.
If not him, I've been hearing about this dude from Gary, Indiana. Word is he was addicted to Oxycodone, used to rob trains (yes nigga, trains!), has a few gun charges on his resume, was a certified hustler (which can mean a bevy of things these days), & was honorably discharged from boot camp for selling dope & getting drunk. Oh, & dude can rap a taste, also. His name Freddie Gibbs. Don't let the name fool you. Dude's tearing up the mixtape circuit right now, & the mere fact that he has facial hair makes him a more formidable opponent than Aubrey Graham, before he even starts rapping.
See, Ross went at Fiddy with the weapons he had. Rhymes, however unimpressed. Had he not had the team of producers (J.U.S.T.U.S. League), & instead just some home grown talent, looking to make a name for themselves, I doubt Rick's impact would have been so noticeable. He got "lucky", so to speak. Ross is far from a good MC, but good production is like an expensive weave. That shit can fool you long enough, & by the time you find out how bald her head really is, you're already knee-deep in fornication, so that shit no longer matters anyway.
Plenty of 50's targets either ducked & dodged or plead the fifth. Jadakiss was one of the few who decided to spar with the champ, & after they exchanged a few blows, the "fight" was over. Maybe 50 got scared? Maybe 'Kiss decided it may not be worth it. NaS found himself on the business end of a Curtis dis, & he maintained his solidarity until Fif got bored & found something else to sniff around. Of course, there's more people who had the sheer coconuts to stand up to him, but I think Fif knew when he was realisitcally out-"skilled". Like I've said dozens of times, he's a smart motherfucker.
My big homie Combat Jack wishes for a 50/Jay battle, but I'd love to see a young, up & coming rap cat 50 Cent Curtis Jackson.
[tony's note: see what I just did there...?]
[tony's next note: BISD is a good album. fuck what ya heard...]
Any. Other. Rapper.
In all seriousness, Curtis Jackson is a giant. Maybe not by Yao Ming implications, but definitely in his presence. People say his name like Candyman. Let it be the wrong nigga doing so, & the after effects would mimic those in the movie of the same name. There's no denying that 50 Cent is arguably the most popular rapper in the world, in the same weight class as Jay-Z, Eminem, & Snoop Dogg. Having such stature avails one's self to copious amounts of high self esteem, at borderline toxic levels. This is evident in his career-long taunting of lesser opponents, starting with Ja Rule who, coincidentally, hasn't been the same since. Those who chose to bite his bait, usually find themselves in a battle that's 20% rap records, 10% aggression, & 70% real-time humiliation. It's not so much that he defeats his enemies, per se, but their lives, played out for the public to nitpick & dissect, implode & cave around them. If there was some type of WBF-esque record, he'd be like 9W, 0L, 1T. That "tie" would go to Rick Ross, just because 50's flailing record sales coincide with their on-going rivalry. Indeed, 50 pulled all the punches in attempts to discredit Ross' existence, like any good bully should, but ultimately, Ross released the better music. & after all, this is the music industry, no?
Besides, something as small as record sales isn't going to stop Curtis from running his trap about how great he is. He's a "musical" monolith, word to the Washington Monument. The only man surly enough to knock him down to mortal standards isn't responding to his teasing. & rightly so, because as soon as Jay-Z utters the smallest non-subliminal word about 50, there's a more than slight chance that 50 would rip Shawn Carter's personal life to itty bitty pieces, then lay them out, one by one, for the (rap) world to see. I don't care how tough a rap dude believes himself to be, no cat (or kitten) wants all his backyard business sitting on front street. So who then, if anyone is in a position to strike a blow? David, thats who.
"David? Fuck is David, sun?"
I don't mean a nigga named David, unless it's sheer coincidence. I mean "David", as in 'David & Goliath'. A smaller, lesser known, everything to gain, nothing to lose-type guy, who can actually hold their own weight, lyrically, without a closet full of skeletons pining for release. The first name that comes to mind is Drake. Now, I'm the first one to tell you never trust a nigga without a mustache, but in his defense, this fella seems relatively harmless in the real world. What's the worse thing he could've done in his life? Aside from not concentrating on growing said mustache. Broken a few Mulatto hearts in Ottowa? Not answered some 'Degrassi High' fan's emails? He doesn't rap about anything that could be misconstrued as "lies", so where would that leave our protagonist? It would leave him with no choice but to actually have to engage in a rap battles, as opposed to making sitcom's based on celebrity lives like the MTV. Because, contrary to popular belief, if Drizzle puts down the vagina monologue & empty bragging, he can actually string some cool verbiage together. Maybe after it's all said & done, they can co-star in a remake of 'Forrest Gump. Lead role optional. No homo, just in case.
If not him, I've been hearing about this dude from Gary, Indiana. Word is he was addicted to Oxycodone, used to rob trains (yes nigga, trains!), has a few gun charges on his resume, was a certified hustler (which can mean a bevy of things these days), & was honorably discharged from boot camp for selling dope & getting drunk. Oh, & dude can rap a taste, also. His name Freddie Gibbs. Don't let the name fool you. Dude's tearing up the mixtape circuit right now, & the mere fact that he has facial hair makes him a more formidable opponent than Aubrey Graham, before he even starts rapping.
See, Ross went at Fiddy with the weapons he had. Rhymes, however unimpressed. Had he not had the team of producers (J.U.S.T.U.S. League), & instead just some home grown talent, looking to make a name for themselves, I doubt Rick's impact would have been so noticeable. He got "lucky", so to speak. Ross is far from a good MC, but good production is like an expensive weave. That shit can fool you long enough, & by the time you find out how bald her head really is, you're already knee-deep in fornication, so that shit no longer matters anyway.
Plenty of 50's targets either ducked & dodged or plead the fifth. Jadakiss was one of the few who decided to spar with the champ, & after they exchanged a few blows, the "fight" was over. Maybe 50 got scared? Maybe 'Kiss decided it may not be worth it. NaS found himself on the business end of a Curtis dis, & he maintained his solidarity until Fif got bored & found something else to sniff around. Of course, there's more people who had the sheer coconuts to stand up to him, but I think Fif knew when he was realisitcally out-"skilled". Like I've said dozens of times, he's a smart motherfucker.
My big homie Combat Jack wishes for a 50/Jay battle, but I'd love to see a young, up & coming rap cat 50 Cent Curtis Jackson.
[tony's note: see what I just did there...?]
[tony's next note: BISD is a good album. fuck what ya heard...]
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
past, present, future...
I remember when rappers were rappers. Nothing more than that. No smoke & mirrors, no ulterior motives, no snake charming [||], no chickanery. They were rappers, plain & simple, through & through. Jump in my Delorean for a moment...
In the mid-late 80's, most rappers looked like drug dealers or break dancers. Or some strange hybrid of the two, ready to toss loose crack rocks into the crowd mid-windmill, at the drop of a crumpled $10 bill. Point is, you could see a rapper, or one who emulated the rapper "culture" from a mile away. The last wave of truck jewelry was inspired by these days, thanks to Biz Markie, Big Daddy Kane & Rakim, to name a few. These guys were easily distinguishable from the forefathers, with the neo-funk, punk-rock space cowboy, post-Disco get ups. & even then, there was something about a Black dude in a technicolor mohawk that still registered as Hip Hop. No confusion.
The 90's brought forth a simpler uniform. Much more carefree; baggy clothes, unkept or braided hair, or a strange marriage of the two (see: ODB), mountain climber or construction boots, preferably manilla yellow, & that was that. & let us night forget the horrible spell of XXXL white t-shirt/nightgowns, that dangled so low beyond the belt line that I've even seen a nigga's knee get caught as he ran. More often than not, rappers of that decade looked like they smelled. Of either too much weed or not enough hygiene. But, it went over good, because there wasn't an incessant need for flash & glamour. They 80's cats took care of that. Now, cats had something to prove, verbally, & what says that more than looking like you didn't give a fuck about much else? HIp Hop was beginning the maturation process, & the music took the forefront. The only people who didn't look like rappers at the time were our parents. Unless your mom was only 13 years older than you, which was sometimes the case.
The 90's saw 80's flash, with a rich nigga twist. Everything had to shine, not just jewelry. & sunglasses were requisite to the get up; the brighter & glossier, the better. Cats went from t-shirts & hoopties on their album covers, to linens & luxury coupes in their videos. Puff Devil Combs played a large part in this transformation, & even had the grimey-as-fuck Lox looking like walking packs of Now & Laters for a brief period. That was before he had sex with their bank accounts. Plenty of heads across the bored blame the "Shiny Suit" era with the downfall of rugged rap music. All of a sudden, everyone was a millionaire, supposedly, so we all dressed accordingly.But even then, you could still separate the rap cats from the normal folk.
Starting in or damn close to the new millennium, something happened. The rapper stopped being "the rapper" & became "the entertainer". The shackles of stereotype had been broken sequentially over the last couple or so decades, & Hip Hop, now the formidable genre of music, was allowed to express freely. Gone were the baggy pants & gaudy jewelry. Individualism sprouted from state to state, & even country to country. It's now hard to tell the difference between a rap cat, an R&B cat, the gangster rapper, the neo-soul poet, etc. The situation then becomes an oxymoron, where as everyone tries so hard to be different, they all look the same. The tattoos, the hairstyles, the bright colors, the lack of shiny jewels, & as it happened with (cream) Puff, this heightened sense of individuality may be taking it's toll on the collective soul that drives rap.
Good or bad, Hip Hop is moving beyond mere "rap music", & our respective attitudes & styles of expression are indicative of that. I'll be getting more in-depth about this as the month progresses.
Where it goes from here is anyone's guess, especially with the decline of the last POPular gangsta rapper left (see: Curtis Jackson). I think dudes don't want to be hard anymore [||]. They just want to be, whatever that may entail. But, no matter how you slice it, it's all Hip Hop, with the same differences, like ice cream at Baskin-Robbins. Regardless of what the label says, it's still ice cream, no? NaS said "hip hop is dead", and we all know that that's not true, but big ups to Nasir for getting niggas back on their p's & q's again, really though.
In the mid-late 80's, most rappers looked like drug dealers or break dancers. Or some strange hybrid of the two, ready to toss loose crack rocks into the crowd mid-windmill, at the drop of a crumpled $10 bill. Point is, you could see a rapper, or one who emulated the rapper "culture" from a mile away. The last wave of truck jewelry was inspired by these days, thanks to Biz Markie, Big Daddy Kane & Rakim, to name a few. These guys were easily distinguishable from the forefathers, with the neo-funk, punk-rock space cowboy, post-Disco get ups. & even then, there was something about a Black dude in a technicolor mohawk that still registered as Hip Hop. No confusion.
The 90's brought forth a simpler uniform. Much more carefree; baggy clothes, unkept or braided hair, or a strange marriage of the two (see: ODB), mountain climber or construction boots, preferably manilla yellow, & that was that. & let us night forget the horrible spell of XXXL white t-shirt/nightgowns, that dangled so low beyond the belt line that I've even seen a nigga's knee get caught as he ran. More often than not, rappers of that decade looked like they smelled. Of either too much weed or not enough hygiene. But, it went over good, because there wasn't an incessant need for flash & glamour. They 80's cats took care of that. Now, cats had something to prove, verbally, & what says that more than looking like you didn't give a fuck about much else? HIp Hop was beginning the maturation process, & the music took the forefront. The only people who didn't look like rappers at the time were our parents. Unless your mom was only 13 years older than you, which was sometimes the case.
The 90's saw 80's flash, with a rich nigga twist. Everything had to shine, not just jewelry. & sunglasses were requisite to the get up; the brighter & glossier, the better. Cats went from t-shirts & hoopties on their album covers, to linens & luxury coupes in their videos. Puff Devil Combs played a large part in this transformation, & even had the grimey-as-fuck Lox looking like walking packs of Now & Laters for a brief period. That was before he had sex with their bank accounts. Plenty of heads across the bored blame the "Shiny Suit" era with the downfall of rugged rap music. All of a sudden, everyone was a millionaire, supposedly, so we all dressed accordingly.But even then, you could still separate the rap cats from the normal folk.
Starting in or damn close to the new millennium, something happened. The rapper stopped being "the rapper" & became "the entertainer". The shackles of stereotype had been broken sequentially over the last couple or so decades, & Hip Hop, now the formidable genre of music, was allowed to express freely. Gone were the baggy pants & gaudy jewelry. Individualism sprouted from state to state, & even country to country. It's now hard to tell the difference between a rap cat, an R&B cat, the gangster rapper, the neo-soul poet, etc. The situation then becomes an oxymoron, where as everyone tries so hard to be different, they all look the same. The tattoos, the hairstyles, the bright colors, the lack of shiny jewels, & as it happened with (cream) Puff, this heightened sense of individuality may be taking it's toll on the collective soul that drives rap.
Good or bad, Hip Hop is moving beyond mere "rap music", & our respective attitudes & styles of expression are indicative of that. I'll be getting more in-depth about this as the month progresses.
Where it goes from here is anyone's guess, especially with the decline of the last POPular gangsta rapper left (see: Curtis Jackson). I think dudes don't want to be hard anymore [||]. They just want to be, whatever that may entail. But, no matter how you slice it, it's all Hip Hop, with the same differences, like ice cream at Baskin-Robbins. Regardless of what the label says, it's still ice cream, no? NaS said "hip hop is dead", and we all know that that's not true, but big ups to Nasir for getting niggas back on their p's & q's again, really though.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
a Tiger in the doghouse
How long did Tiger think this fantastic voyage would last?
Certain forces cannot be contained forever. Especially one with such fortitude & resilience as being a Black man, regardless of what other race he's cut with. Tiger stopped acting like a Black man years ago, but there was never any denying that he's a nigga, through & through. All that Nike money helped replace menthol loosies with Cuban hand-rolled cigars, & backyard bbq's are now literal backyard golf tourneys, but high society snobbery is no match for nigganomics. That type shit is universal, like the word "no".
When Tiger Woods first burst on the scene, the commotion wasn't from his god-like golfing ability, but rather is dual ethnicity. What began as murmurs of "How dare this jigaboo play our game so well?" evolved into "Oh, he's only half-Black. Never mind, it's cool". & like that, America forgot that it's newest, club-swinging sweetheart was in fact a Black dude. For the longest, I really didn't see what was all that "Black" about him until I saw his Snow Bunny wife. If getting rich & wifing a white chick doesn't scream "successful Black athlete", then I don't know what does.
[tony's note: wife whips that ass for cheating, busts out your car window & not snitching on her=nigga shit...]
See, I call it the "Werewolf Theory". No matter how white-washed & multicultural a brother may be, certain situations are like a nigga full moon (Wesley Snipes, anyone?). Enhanced White chicks notwithstanding. For all we know, Tiger has his own Popeye's built into his mansion. That would possibly explain why he always appears to have eaten his chap stick. Chicken grease is the most hardbody lip gloss ever. I've seen that shit go head up against Ivory soap & emerge victorious.
The White women are out the bag, the police are lurking around, Tiger has no choice but to sip some cognac & let the transformation take place. What goes ignored, however, is that he's half Asian also. Theoretically, he's probably 3 steps ahead of the cops by now, with scientific notions & mathematic equations to keep his boo out of harm's way, like any real nigga would.
In all his successful year's as America's poster boy mulatto, he might've forgotten that he was half-Black. I'm sure he was reminded as his wife haymaker'd him & chased him down their luxurious driveway with one of his signature golf clubs in tow, though. & I'm positive the sentence "Ya Black ass!" had to be muttered at least once. It's only right. She must not be familiar with the beloved antics of one Orenthal James Simpson. Or maybe even she forgot he was par Black as well, & by the time she remembered, it's was too late.
Now Tiger has called off of his own Tournament. I guess that was easier than wearing some big ass sunglasses to hide the black eye she gave him. Domestic violence is real people, & if you don't believe Tiger's doctors, ask Al Green's face. Then again, this could all be one big misunderstanding, & if that's the case, then Tiger my money's on Tiger being a tremendous closet drunk, & it's the White woman who truly came to his rescue. Which is probably why he got with her in the first place.
Certain forces cannot be contained forever. Especially one with such fortitude & resilience as being a Black man, regardless of what other race he's cut with. Tiger stopped acting like a Black man years ago, but there was never any denying that he's a nigga, through & through. All that Nike money helped replace menthol loosies with Cuban hand-rolled cigars, & backyard bbq's are now literal backyard golf tourneys, but high society snobbery is no match for nigganomics. That type shit is universal, like the word "no".
When Tiger Woods first burst on the scene, the commotion wasn't from his god-like golfing ability, but rather is dual ethnicity. What began as murmurs of "How dare this jigaboo play our game so well?" evolved into "Oh, he's only half-Black. Never mind, it's cool". & like that, America forgot that it's newest, club-swinging sweetheart was in fact a Black dude. For the longest, I really didn't see what was all that "Black" about him until I saw his Snow Bunny wife. If getting rich & wifing a white chick doesn't scream "successful Black athlete", then I don't know what does.
[tony's note: wife whips that ass for cheating, busts out your car window & not snitching on her=nigga shit...]
See, I call it the "Werewolf Theory". No matter how white-washed & multicultural a brother may be, certain situations are like a nigga full moon (Wesley Snipes, anyone?). Enhanced White chicks notwithstanding. For all we know, Tiger has his own Popeye's built into his mansion. That would possibly explain why he always appears to have eaten his chap stick. Chicken grease is the most hardbody lip gloss ever. I've seen that shit go head up against Ivory soap & emerge victorious.
The White women are out the bag, the police are lurking around, Tiger has no choice but to sip some cognac & let the transformation take place. What goes ignored, however, is that he's half Asian also. Theoretically, he's probably 3 steps ahead of the cops by now, with scientific notions & mathematic equations to keep his boo out of harm's way, like any real nigga would.
In all his successful year's as America's poster boy mulatto, he might've forgotten that he was half-Black. I'm sure he was reminded as his wife haymaker'd him & chased him down their luxurious driveway with one of his signature golf clubs in tow, though. & I'm positive the sentence "Ya Black ass!" had to be muttered at least once. It's only right. She must not be familiar with the beloved antics of one Orenthal James Simpson. Or maybe even she forgot he was par Black as well, & by the time she remembered, it's was too late.
Now Tiger has called off of his own Tournament. I guess that was easier than wearing some big ass sunglasses to hide the black eye she gave him. Domestic violence is real people, & if you don't believe Tiger's doctors, ask Al Green's face. Then again, this could all be one big misunderstanding, & if that's the case, then Tiger my money's on Tiger being a tremendous closet drunk, & it's the White woman who truly came to his rescue. Which is probably why he got with her in the first place.
Monday, November 23, 2009
Rap Crap: The Beef Edition
How come no rappers have fought yet? Really though. With the amount of beef circulating though Hip Hop, all the WWF-esque tactics that have gained popularity over the 'Nets, & all the blatant disrespect, you'd think that somebody would've gotten their ass handed to them by now. Sure, a WorldStarHipHop clip with some disgruntled weed carrier holding a gun & barking at the camera is entertaining, but how much of a point does that prove? That energy would better be spent throwing rocks at random rich nigga whips, in hopes that the target is in one of them.
Now, it's obvious that some beef is just a couple of blow hards exchanging witty unpleasantries (see Jay-Z/NaS or Kanye West/Taylor Swift), & I don't expect it to go any further than slapping & scratching, per se. Kind of like Michael Jackson's 'Beat It' video; you knew damn well none of those dudes were going to stab anybody, & run the risk of messing up their mascara. Eminem/Nick Cannon is one of those where, although physical threats have been made, I don't see it going beyond amusing little videos & blog disses. I'd put my money on Mariah slapping the shit out of Marshall backstage at a video awards show before Nick ever Tae-Bo's the rapper. Nick is like the consummate stand-up guy, & for that stereotype alone, he should've stepped to Em. Instead, he rattled off rants about Marshall being racist, as if Nick is any Blacker than Marshall. No dice.
Others are just a couple of guys, reaching middle age & wanting to show the world that Hollywood hasn't sprinkled fairy dust on them completely yet (Ice Cube/Common), or a situation where an older, seemingly out of touch MC is threatened by a younger, more virile MC & has to defend his position (LL Cool J/Canibus).
Some "beef" is the chosen vehicle for whatever unknown douche nozzle rapster thinks that swinging blindly at the competition will garner them popularity. 50 Cent's 'How To Rob A Industry Nigga' is the successful anomaly to this group, & it almost worked for a group back in the days called 'Illegal', who came out blazing at Another Bad Creation, Da Youngstas & Kris Kross. But with not one mustache between the entire bunch, spectators didn't trust them or watch for very long. & 50 has based an entire, successful career around that ethos. & I won't even go in on Jay-Z/50/Beanie Sigel/Game. That particular beef is being dissected everywhere right now, my 2 cents wouldn't even register. But 50 has single handedly changed the face of rap beef, taking it away from the recorded disses & darts & bringing it to cats' houses. Literally. His most memorable, yet distasteful, was sending his goons to videotape a rival's (DJ Khalid) mother asleep at her workplace. Oy vey.
Arguably, the illest rap beef ever was Tupac Shakur versus Notorious B.I.G., simply because of the outcome. Not so much that the so-called war was especially spectacular, but the surrounding dramas were eventful, & outcome was devastating, like the Vietnam War.
Then, some dudes have actual problems with one another, & thusly, some type of fist fight should've occurred already. Take 50 Cent & Game. The longer I don't here about them running into each other & boxing, is the more I don't believe they really have beef. Or Young Jeezy/Gucci Mane, a beef that extends beyond diss records & subliminal darts over banging tracks. There was an actual altercation, that has already left a man dead by Gucci's own hands. I grew up in South L.A., where niggas die. Hopefully those two brothers can be men, fight if necessary, but come to a conclusion to their problems for the safety of all parties involved. As far as the 50 Cent/Rick Ross fiasco, if I were Ross, I'd be hitting the gym daily, still recording (the better) music like I've been doing, but at this point in their bromance, Ross can't do or say anything to this man that can't be said through an ass whooping. 50 has teased & taunted this dude in ways that would've broken a weaker man long ago. I've often suggested that Rick is possibly the dumbest guy in Hip Hop, & by that standard, he's unable to fathom what Curtis does. Even still, it's about time to punch him in the nose, even if Rick does get his ass kicked. It can't be any worse than what 50's been doing all this time.
I'm not advocating any beef whatsoever, but, for all the mouth running & show boating, I sure do wish somebody would fight already. We remember fighting, what dudes with problems with each other did before cowards started throwing bullets instead of punches? I've said it before, & I'll say it again; Hip Hop is the only genre where you make enemies as quickly, if not more so, as fans. Other forms of music are just competitive, everybody wants to be the "winner", everybody wants to make the big checks & bring home numerous trophies from irrelevant, redundant award shows, yet, I'm positive that Carrie Underwood won't be dedicating any studio time to telling Taylor Swift that she sucks as a singer & her parents are closet racists. There's plenty of social stigmas as to why this is so, & all the psycho-babble in the world can't help me to understand why rappers feel they have to shit on each others space boots to get ahead. Back when I was under the impression that I could make noise on the rap scene, some nameless buffoon started beefing with me, & for the life of me, I couldn't figure out what his deal was. In hindsight, it was probably the same thing that other cats do, where they see an opportunity to piggyback another man in order to further their "career". But, the jokes on him, because I stopped rapping (sort of).
The thing with rappers fighting is that we know it won't progress to any street-level bullshit, & I doubt a cat would press charges. Domestic laws wouldn't apply if two "famous" jerks bumped heads in the parking lot of the Louis Vuitton store. So, why not? The era of the "diss record" has about run it's course, & frankly, it's about time for it to be taken to the next echelon, or abandoned altogether. Hip Hop is a completely different sport now than it was when I was coming up.
[tony's note: i'm sure I forgot some "important" beefs. feel free to remind me.]
Now, it's obvious that some beef is just a couple of blow hards exchanging witty unpleasantries (see Jay-Z/NaS or Kanye West/Taylor Swift), & I don't expect it to go any further than slapping & scratching, per se. Kind of like Michael Jackson's 'Beat It' video; you knew damn well none of those dudes were going to stab anybody, & run the risk of messing up their mascara. Eminem/Nick Cannon is one of those where, although physical threats have been made, I don't see it going beyond amusing little videos & blog disses. I'd put my money on Mariah slapping the shit out of Marshall backstage at a video awards show before Nick ever Tae-Bo's the rapper. Nick is like the consummate stand-up guy, & for that stereotype alone, he should've stepped to Em. Instead, he rattled off rants about Marshall being racist, as if Nick is any Blacker than Marshall. No dice.
Others are just a couple of guys, reaching middle age & wanting to show the world that Hollywood hasn't sprinkled fairy dust on them completely yet (Ice Cube/Common), or a situation where an older, seemingly out of touch MC is threatened by a younger, more virile MC & has to defend his position (LL Cool J/Canibus).
Some "beef" is the chosen vehicle for whatever unknown douche nozzle rapster thinks that swinging blindly at the competition will garner them popularity. 50 Cent's 'How To Rob A Industry Nigga' is the successful anomaly to this group, & it almost worked for a group back in the days called 'Illegal', who came out blazing at Another Bad Creation, Da Youngstas & Kris Kross. But with not one mustache between the entire bunch, spectators didn't trust them or watch for very long. & 50 has based an entire, successful career around that ethos. & I won't even go in on Jay-Z/50/Beanie Sigel/Game. That particular beef is being dissected everywhere right now, my 2 cents wouldn't even register. But 50 has single handedly changed the face of rap beef, taking it away from the recorded disses & darts & bringing it to cats' houses. Literally. His most memorable, yet distasteful, was sending his goons to videotape a rival's (DJ Khalid) mother asleep at her workplace. Oy vey.
Arguably, the illest rap beef ever was Tupac Shakur versus Notorious B.I.G., simply because of the outcome. Not so much that the so-called war was especially spectacular, but the surrounding dramas were eventful, & outcome was devastating, like the Vietnam War.
Then, some dudes have actual problems with one another, & thusly, some type of fist fight should've occurred already. Take 50 Cent & Game. The longer I don't here about them running into each other & boxing, is the more I don't believe they really have beef. Or Young Jeezy/Gucci Mane, a beef that extends beyond diss records & subliminal darts over banging tracks. There was an actual altercation, that has already left a man dead by Gucci's own hands. I grew up in South L.A., where niggas die. Hopefully those two brothers can be men, fight if necessary, but come to a conclusion to their problems for the safety of all parties involved. As far as the 50 Cent/Rick Ross fiasco, if I were Ross, I'd be hitting the gym daily, still recording (the better) music like I've been doing, but at this point in their bromance, Ross can't do or say anything to this man that can't be said through an ass whooping. 50 has teased & taunted this dude in ways that would've broken a weaker man long ago. I've often suggested that Rick is possibly the dumbest guy in Hip Hop, & by that standard, he's unable to fathom what Curtis does. Even still, it's about time to punch him in the nose, even if Rick does get his ass kicked. It can't be any worse than what 50's been doing all this time.
I'm not advocating any beef whatsoever, but, for all the mouth running & show boating, I sure do wish somebody would fight already. We remember fighting, what dudes with problems with each other did before cowards started throwing bullets instead of punches? I've said it before, & I'll say it again; Hip Hop is the only genre where you make enemies as quickly, if not more so, as fans. Other forms of music are just competitive, everybody wants to be the "winner", everybody wants to make the big checks & bring home numerous trophies from irrelevant, redundant award shows, yet, I'm positive that Carrie Underwood won't be dedicating any studio time to telling Taylor Swift that she sucks as a singer & her parents are closet racists. There's plenty of social stigmas as to why this is so, & all the psycho-babble in the world can't help me to understand why rappers feel they have to shit on each others space boots to get ahead. Back when I was under the impression that I could make noise on the rap scene, some nameless buffoon started beefing with me, & for the life of me, I couldn't figure out what his deal was. In hindsight, it was probably the same thing that other cats do, where they see an opportunity to piggyback another man in order to further their "career". But, the jokes on him, because I stopped rapping (sort of).
The thing with rappers fighting is that we know it won't progress to any street-level bullshit, & I doubt a cat would press charges. Domestic laws wouldn't apply if two "famous" jerks bumped heads in the parking lot of the Louis Vuitton store. So, why not? The era of the "diss record" has about run it's course, & frankly, it's about time for it to be taken to the next echelon, or abandoned altogether. Hip Hop is a completely different sport now than it was when I was coming up.
[tony's note: i'm sure I forgot some "important" beefs. feel free to remind me.]
Sunday, November 22, 2009
...Howard Cosell would be proud.
I don't usually drop about sports. Those conversations can be as circular as "who's the best rapper?" or "could Wendy Williams get it doggystyle?". Since I'm a creature of habit, this won't be about sports either, per se. More like sportscasters.
I'm a Lakers fanatic, so no broadcaster will ever touch the microphone of the late, great Chick Hearns. My man had more one-liners than Jay-Z. Following the vein of a true Lake Show supporter, I hate the Clippers. Always have. When they moved to Staples Center, I laughed at them, & hoped that somehow, Mike Dunleavy would have to drop a log in the same stall that Phil Jackson just pissed in, without bothering to lift the toilet seat. What was I thinking? The soft-ass Clippers probably use those paper butt guards when they squat. The Lakers, on the other hand, just shit on the competition.
See what I just did there?...
The best thing about the few Clips games I've watched has always been the announcers, Ralph Lawler & Michael Smith. They really appear to enjoy their jobs, with witless banter & personal conversation like two niggas waiting to be called at the Family Court building. I mean, neither of these guys are as incoherent as Stu Nahan, but entertaining nonetheless. Sportscasting has to be one of those "approach with caution" professions, because all you do is talk about what's going on to whoever's listening. Cats smoke weed & get drunk & do the same thing all weekend long, for free. & I know for a fact that I make off-color remarks all the time (like when Howard Cosell said "look at that monkey run" about a Black running back), so why would these dudes be any different? Plus, there's a 50% chance that one of them drinks heavily, word to John Madden. I'm surprised they're just now getting in trouble. I wouldn't have lasted a full season, especially in major league baseball. Eventually, the league would've grown weary of my "how many Dominicans does it take to..." jokes, & like that, I'd be narrating cat food commercials.
Ralph & Michael received a one game suspension during a game versus the Memphis Grizzlies last week. It probably wouldn't have gotten noticed if it wasn't for some douche nozzle viewer who emailed Fox Sports Network to voice their displeasure of the conversation. How much do you want to bet that it was some 50-something year old white lady, who calls midgets "little people" because it's PC? Fuck all that, they're
midgets. So, Grizzlies player Hamed Haddadi entered the game off the bench, & the two classy gentlemen did what two bros watching a basketball game would naturally do--talk to each other about it:
Smith: "Look who's in."
Lawler: "Hamed Haddadi. Where's he from?"
Smith: "He's the first Iranian to play in the NBA." (Smith pronounced Iranian as "Eye-Ray-Knee-In.")
Lawler: "There aren't any Iranian players in the NBA." (repeating Smith's pronunciation.)
Smith: "He's the only one."
Lawler: "He's from Iran?"
Smith: "I guess so."
Lawler: "THAT Iran?"
Smith: "Yes."
Lawler: "The REAL Iran?"
Smith: "Yes."
Lawler: "Wow. Haddadi, that's H-A-D-D-A-D-I."
Smith: "You're sure it's not Borat's older brother?"
*pause*
Smith: "If they ever make a movie about Haddadi, I'm going to get Sacha Baron Cohen to play the part."
Lawler: "Here's Haddadi. Nice little back-door pass. I guess those Iranians can pass the ball."
Smith: "Especially the post players."
Lawler: "I don't know about their guards."
If you're anything like me, that shit was funny, especially when Lawler spelled Hamed's last name out, as if Homeland Security needs to be notified that the dude was here, in case there were pipe bombs in his locker. For all the, umm, greatness that America has achieved throughout the years, we sure can be some whiny ass babies. Whoever sent that email is surely an asshole. & what's worse is that FSN could've emailed her back a cordial "Blow us, sperm bucket!", & thanked her for her concern. Hell, I should've sent them an email that said, "ROFLMMFBAO!", but I was too busy laughing out loud.
We clearly need to get over playing poker with race cards all the time, & learn how to laugh when shit is funny. That shit was funny, & Howard Cosell would be proud.
I'm a Lakers fanatic, so no broadcaster will ever touch the microphone of the late, great Chick Hearns. My man had more one-liners than Jay-Z. Following the vein of a true Lake Show supporter, I hate the Clippers. Always have. When they moved to Staples Center, I laughed at them, & hoped that somehow, Mike Dunleavy would have to drop a log in the same stall that Phil Jackson just pissed in, without bothering to lift the toilet seat. What was I thinking? The soft-ass Clippers probably use those paper butt guards when they squat. The Lakers, on the other hand, just shit on the competition.
See what I just did there?...
The best thing about the few Clips games I've watched has always been the announcers, Ralph Lawler & Michael Smith. They really appear to enjoy their jobs, with witless banter & personal conversation like two niggas waiting to be called at the Family Court building. I mean, neither of these guys are as incoherent as Stu Nahan, but entertaining nonetheless. Sportscasting has to be one of those "approach with caution" professions, because all you do is talk about what's going on to whoever's listening. Cats smoke weed & get drunk & do the same thing all weekend long, for free. & I know for a fact that I make off-color remarks all the time (like when Howard Cosell said "look at that monkey run" about a Black running back), so why would these dudes be any different? Plus, there's a 50% chance that one of them drinks heavily, word to John Madden. I'm surprised they're just now getting in trouble. I wouldn't have lasted a full season, especially in major league baseball. Eventually, the league would've grown weary of my "how many Dominicans does it take to..." jokes, & like that, I'd be narrating cat food commercials.
Ralph & Michael received a one game suspension during a game versus the Memphis Grizzlies last week. It probably wouldn't have gotten noticed if it wasn't for some douche nozzle viewer who emailed Fox Sports Network to voice their displeasure of the conversation. How much do you want to bet that it was some 50-something year old white lady, who calls midgets "little people" because it's PC? Fuck all that, they're
midgets. So, Grizzlies player Hamed Haddadi entered the game off the bench, & the two classy gentlemen did what two bros watching a basketball game would naturally do--talk to each other about it:
Smith: "Look who's in."
Lawler: "Hamed Haddadi. Where's he from?"
Smith: "He's the first Iranian to play in the NBA." (Smith pronounced Iranian as "Eye-Ray-Knee-In.")
Lawler: "There aren't any Iranian players in the NBA." (repeating Smith's pronunciation.)
Smith: "He's the only one."
Lawler: "He's from Iran?"
Smith: "I guess so."
Lawler: "THAT Iran?"
Smith: "Yes."
Lawler: "The REAL Iran?"
Smith: "Yes."
Lawler: "Wow. Haddadi, that's H-A-D-D-A-D-I."
Smith: "You're sure it's not Borat's older brother?"
*pause*
Smith: "If they ever make a movie about Haddadi, I'm going to get Sacha Baron Cohen to play the part."
Lawler: "Here's Haddadi. Nice little back-door pass. I guess those Iranians can pass the ball."
Smith: "Especially the post players."
Lawler: "I don't know about their guards."
If you're anything like me, that shit was funny, especially when Lawler spelled Hamed's last name out, as if Homeland Security needs to be notified that the dude was here, in case there were pipe bombs in his locker. For all the, umm, greatness that America has achieved throughout the years, we sure can be some whiny ass babies. Whoever sent that email is surely an asshole. & what's worse is that FSN could've emailed her back a cordial "Blow us, sperm bucket!", & thanked her for her concern. Hell, I should've sent them an email that said, "ROFLMMFBAO!", but I was too busy laughing out loud.
We clearly need to get over playing poker with race cards all the time, & learn how to laugh when shit is funny. That shit was funny, & Howard Cosell would be proud.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Conquer & Divide
Last week, my wife invited me to see the movie 'Precious'. I reminded her that I don't do well with emotional movies, & the subject matter that the previews alluded to made it clear that it was one of those kinds of movies that make me uncomfortable. So, I've been reading a lot of reviews on the 'Net, & boy, I'm sure glad I stayed at home & chilled with my son instead. Oprah & Tyler Perry don't need my money anyhow. Now, had they been giving out $10 with every ticket purchase, I'd have seen it at least 5 times by now.
The complaint I've heard the most referenced the contrast of the dark/light skin characters. You know the timeless "dark is bad, light is good" propaganda. I'm not one to play poker with race cards, so I'm sure that's not what I would've gotten from the movie. But, the child producing incest? That would've stuck with me, or at least tied with HIV being passed from father to daughter sexually. As I said, an uncomfortable movie.
Without getting overly critical, I've heard this light vs. dark argument within an argument my entire life, from both sides of the fence. See, I'm a light skinned dude. Your "typical" light skinned dude. I've been called Puerto Rican, Mexican, White Boy (I'm not that light...), the whole gamut of "insults". Not really insults, per se, but they were intended as such. The majority of my friends have always been of a darker persuasion. I'm not sure if that's some psychological kickback from being surrounded by a bunch of crazy-ass, gumbo cooking, 1/3 Black relatives growing up or what, but I've been like that since I was a kid. Basically, I've never once equated negative behavior with dark skinned Black people. If anything, I could say that light skinned Blacks are genuinely crazy, as a result of what I concluded started back in the slave days, when the slave master's slave children, who were light skinned, were separated from the slaves & forced to only mingle with each other. By that theory, however far-fetched, at some point, cousins would have had sex with one another in order to pro create. We've all heard about two-headed babies & other ridiculous birth defects as a result of relatives conceiving children together, which are mostly fabled stories that could be plots of science fiction movies. However, there is some truth, in that mental problems have been discovered in children that resulted from incest.
Regardless, at the risk of sounding like a bigot, some of my best friends are dark skinned. Some good, some bad, but there's no over tipped scale as to where the amount of melanin in their skin has anything to do with the amount of exhibited stupidity, or lack of for that matter. For every light skinned person that's perceived as "good" purely off of their appearance, I can show you a gorilla's handful of conceited yellow bones who think the sun rises & sets on their douchebaggery. For every dark skinned person viewed as evil primarily from the color of the skin, I can show you twice that amount of good people who just so happen to be a darker hue of brown. Good vs. Evil, Smart vs. Dumb, but definitely not Light Skinned vs. Dark Skinned, at least from my vantage point.
That's a definitive trait of the slave mentality at work. Conquer & divide, if you will. Especially if we base it off of a movie, which is only as forthcoming as it visionaries (director & producer). In that case, do Oprah & Tyler Perry truly feel this way about Black people? Isn't Oprah dark? I do think she's evil, but it has nothing to do with Africa, & everything to do with America, but that's a blog for another day.
& I can't partially mention Ms. Winfrey without pointing out that Tyra Banks & Wendy Williams have both appeared on their nationally syndicated shows in make-up that gives them a much lighter tone than God intended. Factored in with outrageous wigs & (for Wendy) admission of numerous plastic surgeries, what messages are tomorrow's women of color receiving? I'd be hard pressed to make an argument against Wendy not being the embodiment of Black female self-hatred. No shots, though. To add to that pot, baseball legend Sammie Sosa has undergone a process that has him looking like Ricky Ricardo's present-day corpse, hair & all. Just saying...
As I type this, racism is being edged out by socialism. Look around us. Between schools, jobs, & helthcare, the rich will definitely be getting richer, while the poor are left to either starve to death in the street, or die of 'Swine Flu'. If you think this has no direct, hands-on effect in the Black community, you should think less & read more. Even if the revolution is televised, half of us won't be able to afford the television sets needed to see it, much less be a part of it. We need to observe the conquer & divide strategy for what it really is. Beat "us" down, then keep us away from each other, that way, there's no chance of uprise & retaliation.
America is the hotbed for racism. We all know that. It's part of our history as Americans, & it's embraced as much as it is reviled. But, to acknowledge it, as Black people, & then turn around & allow it to fester within our own confines is self defeating, to say the least. Personal preference is completely different than blatant bigotry & ostracism. Once we can separate the two, perhaps there really will be some form of Black Power. Not money, or wealth or fame, but solidarity, knowing that we all have the same struggle, regardless of our respective pigment. Obama is just the tip of the proverbial iceburg...
[tony's note: i didn't say "nigga" one time...]
The complaint I've heard the most referenced the contrast of the dark/light skin characters. You know the timeless "dark is bad, light is good" propaganda. I'm not one to play poker with race cards, so I'm sure that's not what I would've gotten from the movie. But, the child producing incest? That would've stuck with me, or at least tied with HIV being passed from father to daughter sexually. As I said, an uncomfortable movie.
Without getting overly critical, I've heard this light vs. dark argument within an argument my entire life, from both sides of the fence. See, I'm a light skinned dude. Your "typical" light skinned dude. I've been called Puerto Rican, Mexican, White Boy (I'm not that light...), the whole gamut of "insults". Not really insults, per se, but they were intended as such. The majority of my friends have always been of a darker persuasion. I'm not sure if that's some psychological kickback from being surrounded by a bunch of crazy-ass, gumbo cooking, 1/3 Black relatives growing up or what, but I've been like that since I was a kid. Basically, I've never once equated negative behavior with dark skinned Black people. If anything, I could say that light skinned Blacks are genuinely crazy, as a result of what I concluded started back in the slave days, when the slave master's slave children, who were light skinned, were separated from the slaves & forced to only mingle with each other. By that theory, however far-fetched, at some point, cousins would have had sex with one another in order to pro create. We've all heard about two-headed babies & other ridiculous birth defects as a result of relatives conceiving children together, which are mostly fabled stories that could be plots of science fiction movies. However, there is some truth, in that mental problems have been discovered in children that resulted from incest.
Regardless, at the risk of sounding like a bigot, some of my best friends are dark skinned. Some good, some bad, but there's no over tipped scale as to where the amount of melanin in their skin has anything to do with the amount of exhibited stupidity, or lack of for that matter. For every light skinned person that's perceived as "good" purely off of their appearance, I can show you a gorilla's handful of conceited yellow bones who think the sun rises & sets on their douchebaggery. For every dark skinned person viewed as evil primarily from the color of the skin, I can show you twice that amount of good people who just so happen to be a darker hue of brown. Good vs. Evil, Smart vs. Dumb, but definitely not Light Skinned vs. Dark Skinned, at least from my vantage point.
That's a definitive trait of the slave mentality at work. Conquer & divide, if you will. Especially if we base it off of a movie, which is only as forthcoming as it visionaries (director & producer). In that case, do Oprah & Tyler Perry truly feel this way about Black people? Isn't Oprah dark? I do think she's evil, but it has nothing to do with Africa, & everything to do with America, but that's a blog for another day.
& I can't partially mention Ms. Winfrey without pointing out that Tyra Banks & Wendy Williams have both appeared on their nationally syndicated shows in make-up that gives them a much lighter tone than God intended. Factored in with outrageous wigs & (for Wendy) admission of numerous plastic surgeries, what messages are tomorrow's women of color receiving? I'd be hard pressed to make an argument against Wendy not being the embodiment of Black female self-hatred. No shots, though. To add to that pot, baseball legend Sammie Sosa has undergone a process that has him looking like Ricky Ricardo's present-day corpse, hair & all. Just saying...
As I type this, racism is being edged out by socialism. Look around us. Between schools, jobs, & helthcare, the rich will definitely be getting richer, while the poor are left to either starve to death in the street, or die of 'Swine Flu'. If you think this has no direct, hands-on effect in the Black community, you should think less & read more. Even if the revolution is televised, half of us won't be able to afford the television sets needed to see it, much less be a part of it. We need to observe the conquer & divide strategy for what it really is. Beat "us" down, then keep us away from each other, that way, there's no chance of uprise & retaliation.
America is the hotbed for racism. We all know that. It's part of our history as Americans, & it's embraced as much as it is reviled. But, to acknowledge it, as Black people, & then turn around & allow it to fester within our own confines is self defeating, to say the least. Personal preference is completely different than blatant bigotry & ostracism. Once we can separate the two, perhaps there really will be some form of Black Power. Not money, or wealth or fame, but solidarity, knowing that we all have the same struggle, regardless of our respective pigment. Obama is just the tip of the proverbial iceburg...
[tony's note: i didn't say "nigga" one time...]
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Mighty Earl & The Boss Bacon
Racial profiling has been a long standing problem in Los Angeles, as well as most "urban" areas across the U.S.A., for quite some time. I just love how "they" give racism technical sub-divisions, like how they split up the areas of Disneyland. In short, police monitor/harass specific "types" based solely on appearance, with the bias that said individual is most likely doing wrong because of who/what they are. I don't agree with racial profiling, partly because I'm Black (a favorited target of the profile), but mostly, because I'm not a bigot (well, in most cases, at least).
Los Angeles has a new police chief in Charlie Beck (by his name, he sounds like he should be an alcoholic cartoon character), & his first order of business is to address civil rights leader Earl Ofari Hutchinson's allegations that the LAPD has ignored 8 years worth of complaints regarding the matter. I'm sure other major cities will soon follow suit, granted it has tangible effects towards resolution.
I don't subscribe to any fascist views, but I do, however, live in a city that's quite dangerous depending on location/date/time of day or night, etc. In other words, some parts of L.A. are screwed the eff up (including the well-to-do spots). If you own a television set, you have a general idea of where not to be when the sun leaves the sky. Hell, maybe not even when the sun is up, either. That just gives more people the opportunity to witness something they don't plan on "snitching" about to begin with. Funny thing about that though, is whenever family from other states come to visit, they always want to see Compton, Watts & the Slauson Swapmeet; three places where people I know personally have been shot, shot at, & beaten up severely, respectively.
Like most folks in urbanized environments, I've been the victim of a crime a couple of times myself. Some anonymous, like car burglary, & others, hands-on & personal, like being robbed at gun-point. I've also been privy to seeing quite a few crimes of various natures happening right before my eyes (life in the Big City, am I right?). Not to mention the amount of criminals I happen to be related to. There on my "side", per se, but that's just a matter of happenstance.
Every time I was a part of or witnessed a crime, the person committing the crime looked like me. I've never been held-up by a white boy, asian person, or a gay dude. Well, you can't really tell who's gay nowadays, but, you smell my cologne. My question is, is it racial profiling if all the people in the area happen to be one of two shades of brown? Theoretically speaking, if all the folks in a 10 mile radius are either Black or Hispanic, who the hell else are the police supposed to pull over to meet their monthly quota?
Like most Americans, I don't like domestic terrorism, & a lot of the goings-on in plenty of middle-lower class communities could easily fall under that umbrella. At the same time, I don't need the coppers running around town like The Gestapo in cold world Prussia. It's 2009, & there's only one minority; poor people. & within those environments of poverty, of course the crime rate will be higher. Does that mean that the police are coming down unnecessarily harder on the coloreds of these neighborhoods, or are they earning the income that we, the people, pay them?
I've never been a "Fuck the police" type guy, even when N.W.A. had me singing it on the school bus. I understand that some are good, & some are bad, like any other organization of differing humans. Perhaps Earl will get to the bottom of this before too long, but in the meantime, don't get it twisted.....I won't be riding around Beverly Hills all willy nilly after sunset, either.
I've been bumped up in basically every major metropolitan area of Southern California. Literally, dozens of times I've had to prove my innocence to the business side of a shiny badge. I'm aware that some coppers are misguided man-children who got bullied all through adolescent life, & feel the need to regress when they see a nigga minding his own business. That said, I tread lightly when they're around. At the least, I try not to give them extra reasons for bothering me, such as smoking weed in my car without my seatbelt on doing 75 in a school zone. All jokes aside, a lot of cats take no precaution as to what the poe-poe's job requirements are, then cry foul as their unregistered weapon lands them in the pokey.
That, friends, has nothing to do with the profiling of a race. That's what we call "slipping", & there's not too much of a justifiable agrument against that, especially not in a court of law.
With the race divide transitioning into the rich versus the poor, I'm curious as to where the one time's priorities will shift to. I'm sure they are as well.
Los Angeles has a new police chief in Charlie Beck (by his name, he sounds like he should be an alcoholic cartoon character), & his first order of business is to address civil rights leader Earl Ofari Hutchinson's allegations that the LAPD has ignored 8 years worth of complaints regarding the matter. I'm sure other major cities will soon follow suit, granted it has tangible effects towards resolution.
I don't subscribe to any fascist views, but I do, however, live in a city that's quite dangerous depending on location/date/time of day or night, etc. In other words, some parts of L.A. are screwed the eff up (including the well-to-do spots). If you own a television set, you have a general idea of where not to be when the sun leaves the sky. Hell, maybe not even when the sun is up, either. That just gives more people the opportunity to witness something they don't plan on "snitching" about to begin with. Funny thing about that though, is whenever family from other states come to visit, they always want to see Compton, Watts & the Slauson Swapmeet; three places where people I know personally have been shot, shot at, & beaten up severely, respectively.
Like most folks in urbanized environments, I've been the victim of a crime a couple of times myself. Some anonymous, like car burglary, & others, hands-on & personal, like being robbed at gun-point. I've also been privy to seeing quite a few crimes of various natures happening right before my eyes (life in the Big City, am I right?). Not to mention the amount of criminals I happen to be related to. There on my "side", per se, but that's just a matter of happenstance.
Every time I was a part of or witnessed a crime, the person committing the crime looked like me. I've never been held-up by a white boy, asian person, or a gay dude. Well, you can't really tell who's gay nowadays, but, you smell my cologne. My question is, is it racial profiling if all the people in the area happen to be one of two shades of brown? Theoretically speaking, if all the folks in a 10 mile radius are either Black or Hispanic, who the hell else are the police supposed to pull over to meet their monthly quota?
Like most Americans, I don't like domestic terrorism, & a lot of the goings-on in plenty of middle-lower class communities could easily fall under that umbrella. At the same time, I don't need the coppers running around town like The Gestapo in cold world Prussia. It's 2009, & there's only one minority; poor people. & within those environments of poverty, of course the crime rate will be higher. Does that mean that the police are coming down unnecessarily harder on the coloreds of these neighborhoods, or are they earning the income that we, the people, pay them?
I've never been a "Fuck the police" type guy, even when N.W.A. had me singing it on the school bus. I understand that some are good, & some are bad, like any other organization of differing humans. Perhaps Earl will get to the bottom of this before too long, but in the meantime, don't get it twisted.....I won't be riding around Beverly Hills all willy nilly after sunset, either.
I've been bumped up in basically every major metropolitan area of Southern California. Literally, dozens of times I've had to prove my innocence to the business side of a shiny badge. I'm aware that some coppers are misguided man-children who got bullied all through adolescent life, & feel the need to regress when they see a nigga minding his own business. That said, I tread lightly when they're around. At the least, I try not to give them extra reasons for bothering me, such as smoking weed in my car without my seatbelt on doing 75 in a school zone. All jokes aside, a lot of cats take no precaution as to what the poe-poe's job requirements are, then cry foul as their unregistered weapon lands them in the pokey.
That, friends, has nothing to do with the profiling of a race. That's what we call "slipping", & there's not too much of a justifiable agrument against that, especially not in a court of law.
With the race divide transitioning into the rich versus the poor, I'm curious as to where the one time's priorities will shift to. I'm sure they are as well.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Seinfeld's Law
Remember the last episode of 'Seinfeld', where Jerome, Cosmo, Lainey & George "T-Bone" Costanza were arrested for watching the fat guy get robbed & did nothing but videotape it & make "fat guy" jokes?
[tony's note: yeah, don't front like you've never watched it...]
They were charged with breaking the imaginary "Good Sumaritan Law", which made it illegal to witness a crime without making any attempts to stop it. For the sake of the show, it was a means to an end, signifying the last hurrah for the 'Seinfeld' cast & crew. &, it was funny to see the morbidly obese man squeeze his swollen body from that compact car. Not that morbid obesity is comical, but, you smell my cologne.
Now, to parallel that with reality, a 15 year old student at Richmond High School, in San Francisco, CA was robbed, beaten & raped after the school's Homecoming dance last Saturday. Ironically, she was crowned Homecoming Queen. The West Contra Costa Unified School District has had it's fair amount of controversy lately, with a truancy rate of 69%, & last year's homicide total at 19. Investigations at Richmond High have revealed that only a small number of the school's surveillance cameras are operable & numerous fights on school grounds have been posted on YouTube.
So far, for the reported crime, a 19 year old ex-student & a current 15 year old student &a few more kids have been formally charged, with more arrests undoubtedly to come. Which in essence, sounds about right, but considering the fact that roughly 20 individuals participated makes that horrifying event that much more appalling. Reports say that about half of the participants were witnesses who did nothing to aid the girl, & perhaps some even videotaped it on their cell phones. That's more than likely, given America's voyeuristic approach at life. Eerily though, a very similar situation happened recently in Chicago, IL, to a young man named Derrion Albert, which resulted in his brutal, possibly avoidable murder had someone just stepped in. You may have heard about it. Instead, people either stood around, joined in the barbaric activities & recorded the event for prosperity. Perhaps the one good aspect of the paparazzi mob mentality is that criminals are stupid enough to get caught on tape red handed, some even amplifying their idiocy for the camera man.
We've all been there at least once, where we found ourselves in the midst of something that seemed to be going to far, yet waited on the next person to intervene or hoped it would just go away. Maybe it did go away, it probably didn't, but we see what happened in the cases of this young lady & Derrion Albert. No one said anything, which, at the very least leveled the playing field between witness & perpetrator. & if it didn't, it should have. Otherwise, only prison walls, as opposed to mental stability, truly separate the criminals & the civilians.
Currently, California has no laws that makes it illegal for one to witness a crime without at least notifying the authorities. They do have the "accessory" charge, but watching doesn't necessarily translate into "helping", as much as driving the car or signaling if someone approaches. Maybe they should implement such an ordinance. Granted, it wouldn't sit well with the boisterous "no snitching" ethos that shadows the inner-city, but life exists outside of the fabricated world of gangster politics & subversive criminal activity, so it is a possibilty.
The victim was rushed to a local hospital for her injuries, yet the mental scars of "multiple offenders, multiple people raping over [a] prolonged period" will still be fresh wounds even when stitches are removed & bruises disappear.
No shots, but very few things separate the human race from the rest of the animal kingdom. Judging by the news & urban legends, that line dwindles daily. At this rate, jail will literally be just another version of the zoo, if one doesn't consider it that already. That's not to say that all the dudes who ever experience jail are sub-human, but, again, you smell my cologne. We need to take "Love Thy Neighbor" a little more seriously, folks. If "we" don't like/trust the police, & the government is secretly plotting to destroy our shallow existences with hidden agendas & conspiracy theory actualities, than the least we can do, as a race, is watch each other's collective back. This isn't to say that everyone needs to don a cape & become hero's to anonymous prey, but super powers aren't needed to dial 911. How much of a douche nozzle are you really when you don't feel the incessant need to help keep another person safe? Although, I guess that's beyond douchery. That's more like evil, pathetic cowardice. Without dwelling too deep beneath the surface of societal ailment, there's always two sides to a story but usually only a singular outcome.
[tony's note: sorry for the lack of "comedy". i don't find anything funny about this bullshit.]
[tony's note: yeah, don't front like you've never watched it...]
They were charged with breaking the imaginary "Good Sumaritan Law", which made it illegal to witness a crime without making any attempts to stop it. For the sake of the show, it was a means to an end, signifying the last hurrah for the 'Seinfeld' cast & crew. &, it was funny to see the morbidly obese man squeeze his swollen body from that compact car. Not that morbid obesity is comical, but, you smell my cologne.
Now, to parallel that with reality, a 15 year old student at Richmond High School, in San Francisco, CA was robbed, beaten & raped after the school's Homecoming dance last Saturday. Ironically, she was crowned Homecoming Queen. The West Contra Costa Unified School District has had it's fair amount of controversy lately, with a truancy rate of 69%, & last year's homicide total at 19. Investigations at Richmond High have revealed that only a small number of the school's surveillance cameras are operable & numerous fights on school grounds have been posted on YouTube.
So far, for the reported crime, a 19 year old ex-student & a current 15 year old student &a few more kids have been formally charged, with more arrests undoubtedly to come. Which in essence, sounds about right, but considering the fact that roughly 20 individuals participated makes that horrifying event that much more appalling. Reports say that about half of the participants were witnesses who did nothing to aid the girl, & perhaps some even videotaped it on their cell phones. That's more than likely, given America's voyeuristic approach at life. Eerily though, a very similar situation happened recently in Chicago, IL, to a young man named Derrion Albert, which resulted in his brutal, possibly avoidable murder had someone just stepped in. You may have heard about it. Instead, people either stood around, joined in the barbaric activities & recorded the event for prosperity. Perhaps the one good aspect of the paparazzi mob mentality is that criminals are stupid enough to get caught on tape red handed, some even amplifying their idiocy for the camera man.
We've all been there at least once, where we found ourselves in the midst of something that seemed to be going to far, yet waited on the next person to intervene or hoped it would just go away. Maybe it did go away, it probably didn't, but we see what happened in the cases of this young lady & Derrion Albert. No one said anything, which, at the very least leveled the playing field between witness & perpetrator. & if it didn't, it should have. Otherwise, only prison walls, as opposed to mental stability, truly separate the criminals & the civilians.
Currently, California has no laws that makes it illegal for one to witness a crime without at least notifying the authorities. They do have the "accessory" charge, but watching doesn't necessarily translate into "helping", as much as driving the car or signaling if someone approaches. Maybe they should implement such an ordinance. Granted, it wouldn't sit well with the boisterous "no snitching" ethos that shadows the inner-city, but life exists outside of the fabricated world of gangster politics & subversive criminal activity, so it is a possibilty.
The victim was rushed to a local hospital for her injuries, yet the mental scars of "multiple offenders, multiple people raping over [a] prolonged period" will still be fresh wounds even when stitches are removed & bruises disappear.
No shots, but very few things separate the human race from the rest of the animal kingdom. Judging by the news & urban legends, that line dwindles daily. At this rate, jail will literally be just another version of the zoo, if one doesn't consider it that already. That's not to say that all the dudes who ever experience jail are sub-human, but, again, you smell my cologne. We need to take "Love Thy Neighbor" a little more seriously, folks. If "we" don't like/trust the police, & the government is secretly plotting to destroy our shallow existences with hidden agendas & conspiracy theory actualities, than the least we can do, as a race, is watch each other's collective back. This isn't to say that everyone needs to don a cape & become hero's to anonymous prey, but super powers aren't needed to dial 911. How much of a douche nozzle are you really when you don't feel the incessant need to help keep another person safe? Although, I guess that's beyond douchery. That's more like evil, pathetic cowardice. Without dwelling too deep beneath the surface of societal ailment, there's always two sides to a story but usually only a singular outcome.
[tony's note: sorry for the lack of "comedy". i don't find anything funny about this bullshit.]
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Calizonamexitexana (...now say it backwards)
My people, I'm back! California to Arizona to New Mexico to TEXAS to Louisiana.
&, wow...fuck a road trip. I won't even ever watch "National Lampoon's Vacation', or any movie kin to it again in this lifetime. I lived it. Dude, if the situation to travel cross-country arises, & the method of travel is a car (or van), do yourself the biggest favor & say no go, word to Hall & Oates. Actually, I'll say be hesitant & leary; make sure that you travel with like-minded individuals. There's nothing worse than being held captive in a vehicle, miles from home with a bunch of folk who don't understand you & probably don't like you much anyway. I speak from fresh experience.
My "fam" & I left L.A. for Shreveport, LA last Friday morn. We arrived that Saturday night. Easily the suckiest, most uncomfortable 30-something hour experience of my life. Shit, if it wasn't for my homies over at XXLmag.com, I might have thrown myself under the bus (or van), literally. But, I did enjoy Shreveport, though. It's a quaint, countryside city; a far cry from the horrible, war-torn pictures that Lil Wayne & C-Murder paint about their respective state with their abysmal *ahem* music. It could just be that I spent the majority of time around my wife's Louisianian family, with their daily home cooked meals & adorable ebonical speech. Me being a city boy & such, I thought the bigger the family, the bigger the ratio for convicts to mental illness. Imagine my surprise when I meet people who genuinely spent time with each other doing nothing at all because they chose to, as opposed to a few uncles on house arrest & some cousins who can't leave the house because "the streets is watchin'". My wife's Grandma, who was the reason for the trip, is the coolest, nicest lady in the world. She's what a seventy-something year old Black women should be, rather than Tyler Perry's uberpopular homoerotic manifestations, seething with self-hate & ignorance. No shots at today's Black women, but you gals can only hope to eventually become that type of matriarch. Nah, fuck that, shots fired! Black girls (who become women, sort of) are in a state of emergency; lemmings diving off the cliff of practicality into pits of certain doom at breakneck speed. & most are either too stupid, too proud or too busy chasing children & various types of checks to see what lies ahead. I would feel sorry for said Black women, if I wasn't so put-off by their shitty attitudes & lack of self respect. There are exceptions though, & you know who you are.
Anyways...
I spent a week trolling around town, trying my hardest to look like I'm from Los Angeles & still blend in simultaneously. If you know about Lewzanna, you know light skins are a dime a dozen, so 50% of the time, I fit in perfect with the homegrown Creoles, or "Geechies" as their refered to by the older crowd. But the other half of the time, gold teeth & dreads were noticeably absent from my person, which had your boy sticking out like a nipple ring through a bra-less wife-beater. I'm calling niggas "bruh" & "dude", which had to be some sort of dead giveaway, what with their "fowkz" & "playaz" & the occasional "shawty". One could also assume that, because none of my clothing had dollar signs plastered across it, or an "LSU" insignia, I probably didn't buy my clothes from the same swap meets that they did. I didn't see one pair of True Religion's or Ed Hardy's. Except what I was wearing. But I saw lots of Dickies. Whole suits, like niggas got them tailor-made in every color imaginable. With fedoras & cowboy hats & drivers caps & doo-rags, etc. We went to church & the preacher had on a Dicki-nah, I'm bullshitting. But, he had gold teeth though.
[tony's note: i'm joking. in actuality, the methodist church we attended had a lovely female pastor. service that day consisted of prayer & communion. unfortunately, no "down home" fire & brimstone heathen hate. guess we chose the wrong sunday.] At the risk of sounding tourist-y, the landscapes were breath-taking. Even the dilapadated houses appeared regal; rife with history & a story to tell. & the state is covered with moisture & lush greenery; I hadn't seen that much water & trees since my uncle stopped selling dope.
Black people in major cities always seem to have hidden agendas. There's always crab's that need to be pulled back down to the bottom of the barrel. But, out there, it seemed like all the crawfish (as opposed to regular old crabs), or mud-bugs, were comfortably resting where they may, waving at strangers & kindly smiling at one another. It was quite beautiful. Me being born & raised in Los Angeles, a nigga smiling at you means he's about to rob you, he's with the cat who's about to rob you, or he's about ask you for your phone number. My apprehension withered away though, as the days passed & I realized that this was just a laid-back, relaxed city amongst a country of contrite narcissists & ego-maniacal know-it-all's. Right, wrong or indifferent, folks in Louisiana were just chillin'. Can't be mad at that at all.
Normally, unfamiliar surroundings automatically activate my pretension, like some time-release, douche nozzle, anti-personality pill. But, it never went off down there. Maybe because I was too busy hoping a tornado didn't rip through our parrish. Or was preoccupied with slapping big-ass mosquitos away from my ears & mustache. I mean, BIG-ASS mosquitos. I can only imagine what their roaches must look like. Like shiny-ass hamsters that probably run as fast as a three year old.
As for the music, I didn't get to hear much, but when the occasional hooligan drove past, he was playing 'Gucci Mane'. Not that the guy's an exceptional lyricist; on the contrary. Dude's as basic as you can get, topic-wise. Lyrically, he blows [||]. Wack juice must stain his sheets when he sleeps on his back. Definitely not what one would get an earful of in the City of Angels, but don't tell him that. For what it's worth, I'd rather hear my son freestyling to a beat from 'Mario Kart'. No really, my son can actually bust a rhyme or two. Gucci, nah. No Dice. But God bless his gold-toothed heart for trying.
All-in-all, I don't have too much to say bad about Louisiana. Even the police are pretty down to Earth. You'd never catch a cop in a big city like Los Angeles texting while on duty (no dry snitching). L.A. cops are too busy racially profiling coloreds & looking for the next young nigga (or ese) to shoot in the back. You know, doing their job. But, I guess when every other person isn't potentially wanted for attempted murder, there's more time to chillax like normal folk. Don't get me wrong; there were a couple of shootings not too far from where we were. It's not like niggas are down there trying to rekindle the civil rights movement or anything. If a group of people were marching, it was most likely to Sam's Seafood. If you're ever in Shreveport, do your mouth a favor [||], & indulge in some of their delicious cuisine. It'll make your tongue slap your brains out.
Perhaps the most, umm, slighty hypocritical facet of the "down south" experience was the amount of love swirls I saw. See, in Los Angeles, it's not uncommon to see people paired up in a variety of unnatural ways. Black/white, girl/girl, sickly/obese, etc. But for all of America's southern racist complexities, I didn't expect so many bi-racial couples. I saw a nappy head Hip-Hopster & a blue-eyed (yet well-endowed) she-devil making out under trees where I'm virtually positive an ancestor of his was hung from at some point in the state's history. But, it didn't faze him. I had the urge to yell out, "Obama for life", but decided against it. Now, if dude were smart, he'd use that race card throughout the entire relationship, making her his sympathetic, guilt-stricken slave. Reparations, per se. Nothing says "40 acres & a mule" like brand new Jordans & a PS3 from a white chick who you've convinced is related to your Great grandfather's owner. & If he were even smarter, he'd break out the sex-whip during Black History month. Just saying...
Eventually, the time came to head back home. Ugh. Piling back into the dreaded van I'd grown to hate a week before, I asked Jehovah to once again grant us safe passage through America's dangerous highways. The irony of that prayer is that as soon as we pulled off of the 10 freeway onto Normandie Avenue, we barely avoided an accident. I guess I should've expanded the prayer a little, to include "all the way to our front porch", or something. For the most part, fuck Los Angeles & all the asshole denizens I share it with. But, there's no place like home. Really though.
**HONORABLE MENTIONS**
I met what may have been the oldest living white dude at a Texas truck stop. & he seemed as intrigued to talk to me as I was to him...
The outskirts of New Mexico at 2:30 am is colder than a vampire's vajayjay. Not only was I the only Black man at that truck stop, but I was the only guy wearing a jacket. Go figure...
Skunks really stink. Like in the cartoons, when they have radiation waves of ass funk emanating from their body's. Yeah, that shit is for real dude...
The cemeteries in Louisiana are so God-awfully close to the homes that no one can convince me that those folk's ain't living on top of dead people...
Monster energy drink + truck stop black coffee + blood pressure medicine = what the halfway mark of a crack high must feel like...
Shouts out to Tricie, Feewee, Collin, & Sean for making us feel at home...
&, wow...fuck a road trip. I won't even ever watch "National Lampoon's Vacation', or any movie kin to it again in this lifetime. I lived it. Dude, if the situation to travel cross-country arises, & the method of travel is a car (or van), do yourself the biggest favor & say no go, word to Hall & Oates. Actually, I'll say be hesitant & leary; make sure that you travel with like-minded individuals. There's nothing worse than being held captive in a vehicle, miles from home with a bunch of folk who don't understand you & probably don't like you much anyway. I speak from fresh experience.
My "fam" & I left L.A. for Shreveport, LA last Friday morn. We arrived that Saturday night. Easily the suckiest, most uncomfortable 30-something hour experience of my life. Shit, if it wasn't for my homies over at XXLmag.com, I might have thrown myself under the bus (or van), literally. But, I did enjoy Shreveport, though. It's a quaint, countryside city; a far cry from the horrible, war-torn pictures that Lil Wayne & C-Murder paint about their respective state with their abysmal *ahem* music. It could just be that I spent the majority of time around my wife's Louisianian family, with their daily home cooked meals & adorable ebonical speech. Me being a city boy & such, I thought the bigger the family, the bigger the ratio for convicts to mental illness. Imagine my surprise when I meet people who genuinely spent time with each other doing nothing at all because they chose to, as opposed to a few uncles on house arrest & some cousins who can't leave the house because "the streets is watchin'". My wife's Grandma, who was the reason for the trip, is the coolest, nicest lady in the world. She's what a seventy-something year old Black women should be, rather than Tyler Perry's uberpopular homoerotic manifestations, seething with self-hate & ignorance. No shots at today's Black women, but you gals can only hope to eventually become that type of matriarch. Nah, fuck that, shots fired! Black girls (who become women, sort of) are in a state of emergency; lemmings diving off the cliff of practicality into pits of certain doom at breakneck speed. & most are either too stupid, too proud or too busy chasing children & various types of checks to see what lies ahead. I would feel sorry for said Black women, if I wasn't so put-off by their shitty attitudes & lack of self respect. There are exceptions though, & you know who you are.
Anyways...
I spent a week trolling around town, trying my hardest to look like I'm from Los Angeles & still blend in simultaneously. If you know about Lewzanna, you know light skins are a dime a dozen, so 50% of the time, I fit in perfect with the homegrown Creoles, or "Geechies" as their refered to by the older crowd. But the other half of the time, gold teeth & dreads were noticeably absent from my person, which had your boy sticking out like a nipple ring through a bra-less wife-beater. I'm calling niggas "bruh" & "dude", which had to be some sort of dead giveaway, what with their "fowkz" & "playaz" & the occasional "shawty". One could also assume that, because none of my clothing had dollar signs plastered across it, or an "LSU" insignia, I probably didn't buy my clothes from the same swap meets that they did. I didn't see one pair of True Religion's or Ed Hardy's. Except what I was wearing. But I saw lots of Dickies. Whole suits, like niggas got them tailor-made in every color imaginable. With fedoras & cowboy hats & drivers caps & doo-rags, etc. We went to church & the preacher had on a Dicki-nah, I'm bullshitting. But, he had gold teeth though.
[tony's note: i'm joking. in actuality, the methodist church we attended had a lovely female pastor. service that day consisted of prayer & communion. unfortunately, no "down home" fire & brimstone heathen hate. guess we chose the wrong sunday.] At the risk of sounding tourist-y, the landscapes were breath-taking. Even the dilapadated houses appeared regal; rife with history & a story to tell. & the state is covered with moisture & lush greenery; I hadn't seen that much water & trees since my uncle stopped selling dope.
Black people in major cities always seem to have hidden agendas. There's always crab's that need to be pulled back down to the bottom of the barrel. But, out there, it seemed like all the crawfish (as opposed to regular old crabs), or mud-bugs, were comfortably resting where they may, waving at strangers & kindly smiling at one another. It was quite beautiful. Me being born & raised in Los Angeles, a nigga smiling at you means he's about to rob you, he's with the cat who's about to rob you, or he's about ask you for your phone number. My apprehension withered away though, as the days passed & I realized that this was just a laid-back, relaxed city amongst a country of contrite narcissists & ego-maniacal know-it-all's. Right, wrong or indifferent, folks in Louisiana were just chillin'. Can't be mad at that at all.
Normally, unfamiliar surroundings automatically activate my pretension, like some time-release, douche nozzle, anti-personality pill. But, it never went off down there. Maybe because I was too busy hoping a tornado didn't rip through our parrish. Or was preoccupied with slapping big-ass mosquitos away from my ears & mustache. I mean, BIG-ASS mosquitos. I can only imagine what their roaches must look like. Like shiny-ass hamsters that probably run as fast as a three year old.
As for the music, I didn't get to hear much, but when the occasional hooligan drove past, he was playing 'Gucci Mane'. Not that the guy's an exceptional lyricist; on the contrary. Dude's as basic as you can get, topic-wise. Lyrically, he blows [||]. Wack juice must stain his sheets when he sleeps on his back. Definitely not what one would get an earful of in the City of Angels, but don't tell him that. For what it's worth, I'd rather hear my son freestyling to a beat from 'Mario Kart'. No really, my son can actually bust a rhyme or two. Gucci, nah. No Dice. But God bless his gold-toothed heart for trying.
All-in-all, I don't have too much to say bad about Louisiana. Even the police are pretty down to Earth. You'd never catch a cop in a big city like Los Angeles texting while on duty (no dry snitching). L.A. cops are too busy racially profiling coloreds & looking for the next young nigga (or ese) to shoot in the back. You know, doing their job. But, I guess when every other person isn't potentially wanted for attempted murder, there's more time to chillax like normal folk. Don't get me wrong; there were a couple of shootings not too far from where we were. It's not like niggas are down there trying to rekindle the civil rights movement or anything. If a group of people were marching, it was most likely to Sam's Seafood. If you're ever in Shreveport, do your mouth a favor [||], & indulge in some of their delicious cuisine. It'll make your tongue slap your brains out.
Perhaps the most, umm, slighty hypocritical facet of the "down south" experience was the amount of love swirls I saw. See, in Los Angeles, it's not uncommon to see people paired up in a variety of unnatural ways. Black/white, girl/girl, sickly/obese, etc. But for all of America's southern racist complexities, I didn't expect so many bi-racial couples. I saw a nappy head Hip-Hopster & a blue-eyed (yet well-endowed) she-devil making out under trees where I'm virtually positive an ancestor of his was hung from at some point in the state's history. But, it didn't faze him. I had the urge to yell out, "Obama for life", but decided against it. Now, if dude were smart, he'd use that race card throughout the entire relationship, making her his sympathetic, guilt-stricken slave. Reparations, per se. Nothing says "40 acres & a mule" like brand new Jordans & a PS3 from a white chick who you've convinced is related to your Great grandfather's owner. & If he were even smarter, he'd break out the sex-whip during Black History month. Just saying...
Eventually, the time came to head back home. Ugh. Piling back into the dreaded van I'd grown to hate a week before, I asked Jehovah to once again grant us safe passage through America's dangerous highways. The irony of that prayer is that as soon as we pulled off of the 10 freeway onto Normandie Avenue, we barely avoided an accident. I guess I should've expanded the prayer a little, to include "all the way to our front porch", or something. For the most part, fuck Los Angeles & all the asshole denizens I share it with. But, there's no place like home. Really though.
**HONORABLE MENTIONS**
I met what may have been the oldest living white dude at a Texas truck stop. & he seemed as intrigued to talk to me as I was to him...
The outskirts of New Mexico at 2:30 am is colder than a vampire's vajayjay. Not only was I the only Black man at that truck stop, but I was the only guy wearing a jacket. Go figure...
Skunks really stink. Like in the cartoons, when they have radiation waves of ass funk emanating from their body's. Yeah, that shit is for real dude...
The cemeteries in Louisiana are so God-awfully close to the homes that no one can convince me that those folk's ain't living on top of dead people...
Monster energy drink + truck stop black coffee + blood pressure medicine = what the halfway mark of a crack high must feel like...
Shouts out to Tricie, Feewee, Collin, & Sean for making us feel at home...
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
How I Could Just Kill A Man
We've all heard Derrion Albert's tragic story. Not tragic because he was a relative or personal friend, but tragic because we had the privilege of witnessing his beating. A beating that led to his death.
Things like this occur regularly, throughout inner-city war zones all across the glorious U.S.A., on any given day. However, reading about them in the newspaper or online doesn't force us to attach a human life to the victim. Having the luxury of viral video gives the poor kid a personality, a presence, a life, so to speak. These are the images that build legends, more so than eyewitness accounts & empty anchor person rhetoric.
I try to imagine what he was thinking; put myself in his unfortunate shoes during the last several heartbreaking minutes of his life. I would like to think that, somewhere in the earlier part of the violence, he blacked-out & wasn't aware of the horror he was experiencing. Knowing the resilience of the human brain, he was probably cognizant of his predicament, if only in a haze, but knowing the fortitude of the human mind, the whole episode was most likely funneled into some dark, solitary place, in case he survived the attack.
I saw on some news outlet, where the relatives of the accused were denying their respective family member's involvement, even going so far as to call Derrion a "gang member" & saying insensitive things like "it was just a gang fight, they're all gang bangers" & "my son was defending himself". How do you say that to the mother who must not only avoid the media, and the video being forced down society's collective throat, but also has to bury her son? Even if that were God's truth, it still doesn't justify the lack of compassion that we, as humans, have for one another.
Not that this incident has a monopoly over societal ills; parents are killing their own children (& vice versa), fathers are raping their daughters, the list is a bottomless barrel of inequity with no foreseeable future other than annihilation. & regardless to whatever, it's not a race issue as much a people issue. Impoverished people, to be exact. The detrimental cycle of poverty breeds a different kind of creature. "The Cosby Show" was merely a fun house mirror, designed to distort the wicked actuality of our genuine reflections. So contrast to that fantasy, when despair is all you know, there's basically no chance at creating anything else. Of course there are exceptions to the rule, but within that rule is Murphy's Law (anything that can happen, probably will), & the mathematics just don't work in most "exceptions" favors. They wind up as statistics or innocent victims to the reality they're forced to digest routinely.
Any possible solution goes beyond tax reforms & job markets. There's no political advisors or government officials with the ability to change the hearts of man. Even if the most unfortunate, misguided soul was taken from his natural environment & thrust into the richest, most beneficial environment with every imaginable bell & whistle life has to offer, that wouldn't necessarily change generation upon generation of programmed misinformation, struggle, & survival of the fittest ethos. & truth be told, the real skills one need to "live" in today's society aren't taught in school. That's why so many youth's become disenchanted with education by 10th grade. Their education comes from the street. The same street where their ignorance was conceived, waving good bye to them as they leave, & subsequently, saying "Hello" to them when they return home.
& I'll tell you this; these rappers aren't helping matters one bit. Even the one's with a voice are usually to wrapped up in their own personal battles to lend a hand. It all begins at home, as we should already know, but think about the conditions of said homes in a lot of instances. So, what we can do, individually, is reach out to those tangible, be it boy or girl. Help those still within arm's distance. Now is not the time to be innocent bystanders, but willing participants in whatever avenues need to be traversed. Again, it all begins at home...
Broken homes, drug abuse, desensitization, racism, classism, depression, alcoholism, violence in general are all fueled by a harsh poverty that many may never escape. Those that succumb rarely make it through to the finish line. I'm not here to preach, but, wow. Something's gotta give.
*RIP to all those whose untimely, unnecessary deaths remind us about this turbulent life we live daily*
Things like this occur regularly, throughout inner-city war zones all across the glorious U.S.A., on any given day. However, reading about them in the newspaper or online doesn't force us to attach a human life to the victim. Having the luxury of viral video gives the poor kid a personality, a presence, a life, so to speak. These are the images that build legends, more so than eyewitness accounts & empty anchor person rhetoric.
I try to imagine what he was thinking; put myself in his unfortunate shoes during the last several heartbreaking minutes of his life. I would like to think that, somewhere in the earlier part of the violence, he blacked-out & wasn't aware of the horror he was experiencing. Knowing the resilience of the human brain, he was probably cognizant of his predicament, if only in a haze, but knowing the fortitude of the human mind, the whole episode was most likely funneled into some dark, solitary place, in case he survived the attack.
I saw on some news outlet, where the relatives of the accused were denying their respective family member's involvement, even going so far as to call Derrion a "gang member" & saying insensitive things like "it was just a gang fight, they're all gang bangers" & "my son was defending himself". How do you say that to the mother who must not only avoid the media, and the video being forced down society's collective throat, but also has to bury her son? Even if that were God's truth, it still doesn't justify the lack of compassion that we, as humans, have for one another.
Not that this incident has a monopoly over societal ills; parents are killing their own children (& vice versa), fathers are raping their daughters, the list is a bottomless barrel of inequity with no foreseeable future other than annihilation. & regardless to whatever, it's not a race issue as much a people issue. Impoverished people, to be exact. The detrimental cycle of poverty breeds a different kind of creature. "The Cosby Show" was merely a fun house mirror, designed to distort the wicked actuality of our genuine reflections. So contrast to that fantasy, when despair is all you know, there's basically no chance at creating anything else. Of course there are exceptions to the rule, but within that rule is Murphy's Law (anything that can happen, probably will), & the mathematics just don't work in most "exceptions" favors. They wind up as statistics or innocent victims to the reality they're forced to digest routinely.
Any possible solution goes beyond tax reforms & job markets. There's no political advisors or government officials with the ability to change the hearts of man. Even if the most unfortunate, misguided soul was taken from his natural environment & thrust into the richest, most beneficial environment with every imaginable bell & whistle life has to offer, that wouldn't necessarily change generation upon generation of programmed misinformation, struggle, & survival of the fittest ethos. & truth be told, the real skills one need to "live" in today's society aren't taught in school. That's why so many youth's become disenchanted with education by 10th grade. Their education comes from the street. The same street where their ignorance was conceived, waving good bye to them as they leave, & subsequently, saying "Hello" to them when they return home.
& I'll tell you this; these rappers aren't helping matters one bit. Even the one's with a voice are usually to wrapped up in their own personal battles to lend a hand. It all begins at home, as we should already know, but think about the conditions of said homes in a lot of instances. So, what we can do, individually, is reach out to those tangible, be it boy or girl. Help those still within arm's distance. Now is not the time to be innocent bystanders, but willing participants in whatever avenues need to be traversed. Again, it all begins at home...
Broken homes, drug abuse, desensitization, racism, classism, depression, alcoholism, violence in general are all fueled by a harsh poverty that many may never escape. Those that succumb rarely make it through to the finish line. I'm not here to preach, but, wow. Something's gotta give.
*RIP to all those whose untimely, unnecessary deaths remind us about this turbulent life we live daily*
Monday, September 21, 2009
Stop me if you've heard this one...
I went to a gathering at my in-laws this weekend, & I'm not too partial to the majority of them in the first place; I was just there to keep an eye on my son (yeah, I'm over protective but so the fuck what? Too bad more Black fathers aren't). Anyhow, as soon as we get there, it was drama. You know Black folks can't get together for 15 minutes without some neck-rolling & finger-pointing. *cue the obligatory racist joke* Somebody either drank the last of the Kool-Aid or bad mouthed Tyler Perry.
The incident itself was completely irrelevant, but one aspect of it kind of made me chuckle, in a bad way. My brother-in-law's baby momma got into an argument with some bird that lived in the apartment complex. Luckily for me, my (sort of) sis-in-law had her gay lover with her. As the confrontation ensued, the gay lover jumped in, & was told by the bird, "Oh, you wanna act like a nigga, I got somebody for you!". [tony's note: bird = wild haired, bra-less baby factory] Normally I ignore those types of things, especially when it doesn't involve any of my real family members, but I couldn't help but laugh at that. It amused me well into the evening, & for a few minutes this morning when I woke up.
See, I have no real problem with gay peoples. In fact, without sounding like a bigot, they are some of the coolest folks I've come across during my travels (recovering alcoholics can be a delight as well). & God knows I prefer lesbian porn over watching some hairy-assed dude shafting poor, defenseless white girls. But, as with most things in life, there's always a boundary. Being a lesbian is one thing; attempting to actually be taken seriously as an equal counterpart to Men is another ballpark (no pun intended).
I've noticed that, at least in Los Angeles, the butch dyke has taken on a new role. What was once the female companion to a woman who's chosen to explore her sexual options has now become a pants sagging, wave-capped corn rows wearing, sports bra to hide the chi-chi's ass anti-feminist, who's wholeheartedly adamant on edging out men in their quest for empowerment. Let us not forget what James Brown said. In case you did, this is a man's world. That doesn't mean that we don't need women, but we don't if said female is insistent on awkwardly standing in front of a urinal to create the appearance of peeing while standing.
It's to the point where two girls occupying the same personal space nowadays get automatically labeled lesbians. In my younger days, it was a case of figuring out which one I'd rather have casual sex with & mostly likely it would be both. Now, it's like trying to sneak peeks at some fresh-outta-prison cat's girlfriend. When Women's Liberation spoke to equal rights, I assume they didn't mean getting knocked the fuck out like a man, but if it walks like a duck, by all means, quack quack.
Perhaps the most mystifying facet of all this is that gay women always seem to have upwards of three children in tow. So first, I'm sure they soured their kids' heads with talks of how useless their fathers are, & next, to add insult to injury, they open-mouth kiss their women friend(s) in public as if it's a normal occurrence. On top of the fact that mommy's woman friend dresses like daddy, but has a period like mommy. Only in America people. If this were the Middle East, heads we be on sticks next to curb side mailboxes. Again, I don't judge, because that God's responsibility & it would behoove me NOT to step on Jehovah's sandals, but this can't be the way it was supposed to be. I doubt my grandmother had any bisexual experiences. Yet, I have a cousin who has/does, & thats okay, too. When I met her girlfriend, I could've sworn she looked at my mustache & got mad at it. As if she doesn't get enough hair on her lips already.
It's not necessary to prove how manly one is, unless of course, they're not. It's overkill, ladies. If you want to munch carpet, feel free to do so until it gets caught in your respective throats. But, don't piss on my Air Force 1's & tell me it's drizzling. Whatever your parents did or didn't do to you can be discussed on therapy couches that span as far as the eye can see. & with this looming health care initiative, I'm sure said help isn't far off. But I beg of you, don't impose your hostilities on us real men, who father your children, kill your spiders & move your furniture. Even if we are just your cousins & uncles.
Really though, I'm just saying. Don't shoot the douche nozzle, I'm only delivering the message. Speaking of douche nozzles, I wonder how a dyke butch (see how I did that there?) keeps the pipes clean? Never mind, no I don't...
The incident itself was completely irrelevant, but one aspect of it kind of made me chuckle, in a bad way. My brother-in-law's baby momma got into an argument with some bird that lived in the apartment complex. Luckily for me, my (sort of) sis-in-law had her gay lover with her. As the confrontation ensued, the gay lover jumped in, & was told by the bird, "Oh, you wanna act like a nigga, I got somebody for you!". [tony's note: bird = wild haired, bra-less baby factory] Normally I ignore those types of things, especially when it doesn't involve any of my real family members, but I couldn't help but laugh at that. It amused me well into the evening, & for a few minutes this morning when I woke up.
See, I have no real problem with gay peoples. In fact, without sounding like a bigot, they are some of the coolest folks I've come across during my travels (recovering alcoholics can be a delight as well). & God knows I prefer lesbian porn over watching some hairy-assed dude shafting poor, defenseless white girls. But, as with most things in life, there's always a boundary. Being a lesbian is one thing; attempting to actually be taken seriously as an equal counterpart to Men is another ballpark (no pun intended).
I've noticed that, at least in Los Angeles, the butch dyke has taken on a new role. What was once the female companion to a woman who's chosen to explore her sexual options has now become a pants sagging, wave-capped corn rows wearing, sports bra to hide the chi-chi's ass anti-feminist, who's wholeheartedly adamant on edging out men in their quest for empowerment. Let us not forget what James Brown said. In case you did, this is a man's world. That doesn't mean that we don't need women, but we don't if said female is insistent on awkwardly standing in front of a urinal to create the appearance of peeing while standing.
It's to the point where two girls occupying the same personal space nowadays get automatically labeled lesbians. In my younger days, it was a case of figuring out which one I'd rather have casual sex with & mostly likely it would be both. Now, it's like trying to sneak peeks at some fresh-outta-prison cat's girlfriend. When Women's Liberation spoke to equal rights, I assume they didn't mean getting knocked the fuck out like a man, but if it walks like a duck, by all means, quack quack.
Perhaps the most mystifying facet of all this is that gay women always seem to have upwards of three children in tow. So first, I'm sure they soured their kids' heads with talks of how useless their fathers are, & next, to add insult to injury, they open-mouth kiss their women friend(s) in public as if it's a normal occurrence. On top of the fact that mommy's woman friend dresses like daddy, but has a period like mommy. Only in America people. If this were the Middle East, heads we be on sticks next to curb side mailboxes. Again, I don't judge, because that God's responsibility & it would behoove me NOT to step on Jehovah's sandals, but this can't be the way it was supposed to be. I doubt my grandmother had any bisexual experiences. Yet, I have a cousin who has/does, & thats okay, too. When I met her girlfriend, I could've sworn she looked at my mustache & got mad at it. As if she doesn't get enough hair on her lips already.
It's not necessary to prove how manly one is, unless of course, they're not. It's overkill, ladies. If you want to munch carpet, feel free to do so until it gets caught in your respective throats. But, don't piss on my Air Force 1's & tell me it's drizzling. Whatever your parents did or didn't do to you can be discussed on therapy couches that span as far as the eye can see. & with this looming health care initiative, I'm sure said help isn't far off. But I beg of you, don't impose your hostilities on us real men, who father your children, kill your spiders & move your furniture. Even if we are just your cousins & uncles.
Really though, I'm just saying. Don't shoot the douche nozzle, I'm only delivering the message. Speaking of douche nozzles, I wonder how a dyke butch (see how I did that there?) keeps the pipes clean? Never mind, no I don't...
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
...like salt & pepper shakers.
Wow. This has been some week (give or take) for us, ay niggas? Allow me to recap a few events, before I continue...
[tony's note: by no means does my usage of the term "niggas" mean I'm alienating everyone else, so please, continue reading...]
*Senator Joe Wilson yells out that President Obama is a liar during an(other) address regarding health care, subsequently becoming the new "Joe Six-pack".
*During a tournament match, Serena Williams threatens to shove a ball down a line judges throat for a call that could've easily been disputed, thus is disqualified from the game.
*Kanye West rudely interrupts 19 year-old country singer Taylor Swift, as she makes her acceptance speech for the Mtv VMA Moon Man trophy for best female video of the year.
Perhaps there's some strange, twice-in-a-lifetime planetary alignment that allowed for so much public blactivity to be witnessed worldwide in such a short span. Nonetheless, racism has exploded with new reverence. Twitter, the world's leading boulevard for mouth running, has been a flutter with the N-word & the phrase "white bitch" much, much, much more than usual. The great divide that separates us by color has been breached, with both respective proponents taking no prisoners. Do or die, if you will.
There hasn't been this much Black/White separation since Barack Obama & John McCain were in the same room. Or since Michael Jackson debuted the video for that song "Black or White". Or since yesterday, when I pulled my Oreo cookie apart prior to eating.
It's almost funny how closest racists & brown-nosed bigots jump at the first opportunity to hurl epithets like water balloons filled with haterade. Now that each side is flinching at the other, it's merely a matter of time before the first proverbial punch is thrown.
When Gil Scott-Heron said, "The revolution will not be televised", he had know idea that it would be because YouTube, Twitter & Facebook would become the only way information gets transferred. It's not that idiocy, of all hues, hasn't always existed, it's just that now, it's a double-left click away.
Speaking of the first punch, it may be closer than we think. & it's a hay maker, to say the least. It turns out that, according to ex-girlfriend Christie Pody, Orenthal James Simpson, a/k/a OJ, who was found innocent of the murder of his ex-wife Nicole Brown-Simpson & her lover Ron Goldman, actually did do it. By "it" I mean murder them. Immediately, this brings to mind the title of his book, "If I did it", & how White America used said book as a stepping stool to put his noose back on the tree from which it hang during his trial. But, to the dismay of probably 90% of America's caucassion community (& some Black people, too), "double jeopardy" states that he'll remain innocent for the rest of time. Then the dumb nigga robbed some cats in a hotel room & got sentenced to roughly 33 years. Go figure.
This potential situation is what's referred to as a "powder keg". At this rate, if by some misfortunate turn of events Pody provides any (more) damning evidence that O.J. actually did kill his White ex-wife, that single incident will slingshot any notion of a post civil rights movement-based society back to the days of chains & whips. & I'm not talking about jewelry & automobiles here.
As more details emerge from his ex-snowflake love toy, we can only assume that the same voters who scoffed at Pres. Obama's election will be equally disgusted & overjoyed that, even though a court couldn't condemn him, "they" still got him. This is sad, if only because it will further separate a nation that was once a place people fled to to escape the harsh realities of injustice. Now, foreigners will start bypassing us & head straight to Canada.
Seriously, we've got a Black president, & a White rapper dominating the charts. If thats not progress, then I'm wasting my time writing this. Let's not start backsliding here, y'all. I'm not saying hold hands with strangers &/or "love thy neighbor", but I am saying that, as a people, America can't revert to the days of self-imposed segregation just because a handful of pessimistic douche nozzles decide to show their asses to anyone willing to look.
Fuck it; love thy neighbor.
[tony's note: by no means does my usage of the term "niggas" mean I'm alienating everyone else, so please, continue reading...]
*Senator Joe Wilson yells out that President Obama is a liar during an(other) address regarding health care, subsequently becoming the new "Joe Six-pack".
*During a tournament match, Serena Williams threatens to shove a ball down a line judges throat for a call that could've easily been disputed, thus is disqualified from the game.
*Kanye West rudely interrupts 19 year-old country singer Taylor Swift, as she makes her acceptance speech for the Mtv VMA Moon Man trophy for best female video of the year.
Perhaps there's some strange, twice-in-a-lifetime planetary alignment that allowed for so much public blactivity to be witnessed worldwide in such a short span. Nonetheless, racism has exploded with new reverence. Twitter, the world's leading boulevard for mouth running, has been a flutter with the N-word & the phrase "white bitch" much, much, much more than usual. The great divide that separates us by color has been breached, with both respective proponents taking no prisoners. Do or die, if you will.
There hasn't been this much Black/White separation since Barack Obama & John McCain were in the same room. Or since Michael Jackson debuted the video for that song "Black or White". Or since yesterday, when I pulled my Oreo cookie apart prior to eating.
It's almost funny how closest racists & brown-nosed bigots jump at the first opportunity to hurl epithets like water balloons filled with haterade. Now that each side is flinching at the other, it's merely a matter of time before the first proverbial punch is thrown.
When Gil Scott-Heron said, "The revolution will not be televised", he had know idea that it would be because YouTube, Twitter & Facebook would become the only way information gets transferred. It's not that idiocy, of all hues, hasn't always existed, it's just that now, it's a double-left click away.
Speaking of the first punch, it may be closer than we think. & it's a hay maker, to say the least. It turns out that, according to ex-girlfriend Christie Pody, Orenthal James Simpson, a/k/a OJ, who was found innocent of the murder of his ex-wife Nicole Brown-Simpson & her lover Ron Goldman, actually did do it. By "it" I mean murder them. Immediately, this brings to mind the title of his book, "If I did it", & how White America used said book as a stepping stool to put his noose back on the tree from which it hang during his trial. But, to the dismay of probably 90% of America's caucassion community (& some Black people, too), "double jeopardy" states that he'll remain innocent for the rest of time. Then the dumb nigga robbed some cats in a hotel room & got sentenced to roughly 33 years. Go figure.
This potential situation is what's referred to as a "powder keg". At this rate, if by some misfortunate turn of events Pody provides any (more) damning evidence that O.J. actually did kill his White ex-wife, that single incident will slingshot any notion of a post civil rights movement-based society back to the days of chains & whips. & I'm not talking about jewelry & automobiles here.
As more details emerge from his ex-snowflake love toy, we can only assume that the same voters who scoffed at Pres. Obama's election will be equally disgusted & overjoyed that, even though a court couldn't condemn him, "they" still got him. This is sad, if only because it will further separate a nation that was once a place people fled to to escape the harsh realities of injustice. Now, foreigners will start bypassing us & head straight to Canada.
Seriously, we've got a Black president, & a White rapper dominating the charts. If thats not progress, then I'm wasting my time writing this. Let's not start backsliding here, y'all. I'm not saying hold hands with strangers &/or "love thy neighbor", but I am saying that, as a people, America can't revert to the days of self-imposed segregation just because a handful of pessimistic douche nozzles decide to show their asses to anyone willing to look.
Fuck it; love thy neighbor.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Kanye West: Douchebag Deluxe
If Taylor Swift has never had any Black friends, she sure as hell won't now. Thanks to Kanye, she probably believes every stereotype her grandparents ever tried to instill in her regarding n-words. I could've sworn I saw her flinch, when he broke into his estrogen-induced tirade, like she was preparing to get slapped across the face & have her purse stolen.
[Blogger's note: For those that don't know (what rock do YOU live under?), Taylor Swift, country singer, received the MTV Video Music Award for best female music video. Appalled, Kanye West stormed the staged, snatched the mic from Swift during her acceptance ramble, & declared Beyonce Knowles the unofficial recipient of that award. Later in the show, Beyonce allowed Swift to finish the speech Kanye so rudely interrupted.]
That MTV video award was hers. She rightfully earned the coveted Moon Man, whether Blacks had heard of her or not. & to think, she was most likely semi-prepared with her victory speech, family watching anxiously, & suddenly, Kanye lets the fishsticks out of the man-bag. It seems that all those years of wearing clothing that prevents proper blood circulation has rendered him unable to think straight. Either that, or it's true what "they" say about White woman.
I think he just wanted everybody to see his new haircut before his naps grew back & covered up the road map he had carved into his head. Like dudes who wear fire engine red tennis shoes just so you'll look at them. Kanye's always been a glutton for the spotlight, & let's face it; ever since Drake wheel-chaired his way into our collective hearts, Kanye's been relegated to "that guy who's dating Amber Rose.". That has to do mean things to an ego that big. Perhaps, behind those shades he never removes, he's weeping, gently, like a child who watched her drunken step dad beat a kitten to death with a Barbie doll.
It would seem that, after that traumatic car accident that left him with his jaw wired shut, losing his moms, & that girl leaving him, Kanye would have achieved some higher level of humility. No Dice. He's still stepping over the little people to piss off of a balcony ledge.
Taylor Swift, on the other hand, is being viewed as the damsel in distress, who was rescued by a very bootylicious Beyonce Knowles-Carter, & returned to her perch so she could continue to sing. In that 5 minute interval, she probably gained every older, white female fan that Kanye lost. You know, the ones who liked his music because they thought he was one of "the good ones", & danced to "Golddigger" as they drove their kids to soccer practice. Now, he's one of "those people", & TMZ will be accusing him of smoking crack rocks by Friday.
See, I'm all for artistic expression & personal opinion. But, this was a clear-cut case of the kid who gets picked on finally finding someone "smaller" than him. He may have been accurate with what he said, about Be's video being better (if only for all the ass cheeks bouncing around on screen), but he wouldn't have done that to a more formidable opponent. Say that had've been Mary J. Blige. She would have probably shot him in the stomach. Even Jennifer Hudson would've handed him his ass on a platter, or suplexed him, since her husband is a wrestler & has undoubtedly taught her a couple of moves for a situation just like this. Though he's wise enough to pick battles he can win, exactly what type of war is he waging when the enemy is a 19 year old country singer?
Rappers already have a bad name, & once America feels they can't even trust the sensitive ones, not even the mighty Barack Obama himself will be able to stop the anti-civil rights movement. Face it; Serena's putting hits out on a line judge & Jay-Z has been outed as satan. It's been a hard few days for Americans of African descent. My buddy P! just informed me that he'd received a chain text that said "Kanye hates white people. Go back to Africa". My advice, stay away from any "picnics" for the next couple of months, niggas.
So what did we learn today? Nothing we didn't already know. Celebrities are mindless douche nozzles & America waits on any opportunity to rear it's racist under-belly. & according to Kanye, even gay black men aren't harmless anymore.
[Blogger's note: For those that don't know (what rock do YOU live under?), Taylor Swift, country singer, received the MTV Video Music Award for best female music video. Appalled, Kanye West stormed the staged, snatched the mic from Swift during her acceptance ramble, & declared Beyonce Knowles the unofficial recipient of that award. Later in the show, Beyonce allowed Swift to finish the speech Kanye so rudely interrupted.]
That MTV video award was hers. She rightfully earned the coveted Moon Man, whether Blacks had heard of her or not. & to think, she was most likely semi-prepared with her victory speech, family watching anxiously, & suddenly, Kanye lets the fishsticks out of the man-bag. It seems that all those years of wearing clothing that prevents proper blood circulation has rendered him unable to think straight. Either that, or it's true what "they" say about White woman.
I think he just wanted everybody to see his new haircut before his naps grew back & covered up the road map he had carved into his head. Like dudes who wear fire engine red tennis shoes just so you'll look at them. Kanye's always been a glutton for the spotlight, & let's face it; ever since Drake wheel-chaired his way into our collective hearts, Kanye's been relegated to "that guy who's dating Amber Rose.". That has to do mean things to an ego that big. Perhaps, behind those shades he never removes, he's weeping, gently, like a child who watched her drunken step dad beat a kitten to death with a Barbie doll.
It would seem that, after that traumatic car accident that left him with his jaw wired shut, losing his moms, & that girl leaving him, Kanye would have achieved some higher level of humility. No Dice. He's still stepping over the little people to piss off of a balcony ledge.
Taylor Swift, on the other hand, is being viewed as the damsel in distress, who was rescued by a very bootylicious Beyonce Knowles-Carter, & returned to her perch so she could continue to sing. In that 5 minute interval, she probably gained every older, white female fan that Kanye lost. You know, the ones who liked his music because they thought he was one of "the good ones", & danced to "Golddigger" as they drove their kids to soccer practice. Now, he's one of "those people", & TMZ will be accusing him of smoking crack rocks by Friday.
See, I'm all for artistic expression & personal opinion. But, this was a clear-cut case of the kid who gets picked on finally finding someone "smaller" than him. He may have been accurate with what he said, about Be's video being better (if only for all the ass cheeks bouncing around on screen), but he wouldn't have done that to a more formidable opponent. Say that had've been Mary J. Blige. She would have probably shot him in the stomach. Even Jennifer Hudson would've handed him his ass on a platter, or suplexed him, since her husband is a wrestler & has undoubtedly taught her a couple of moves for a situation just like this. Though he's wise enough to pick battles he can win, exactly what type of war is he waging when the enemy is a 19 year old country singer?
Rappers already have a bad name, & once America feels they can't even trust the sensitive ones, not even the mighty Barack Obama himself will be able to stop the anti-civil rights movement. Face it; Serena's putting hits out on a line judge & Jay-Z has been outed as satan. It's been a hard few days for Americans of African descent. My buddy P! just informed me that he'd received a chain text that said "Kanye hates white people. Go back to Africa". My advice, stay away from any "picnics" for the next couple of months, niggas.
So what did we learn today? Nothing we didn't already know. Celebrities are mindless douche nozzles & America waits on any opportunity to rear it's racist under-belly. & according to Kanye, even gay black men aren't harmless anymore.
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