Fugly Gets You No Wheres

So I was chatting it up with my coworkers, discussing the follies of the world we live in, and we somehow got on the topic of ugly people.

Now before you get all judgmental, let me tell you, it was not I who inspired this debate. Cause if you aint know, I am as cute as a button. So cute in fact, that many people have attempted to place me in their pockets…unsuccessfully. However, I digress.

It seems like research and development departments of huge biology firms and research labs and whatever else are generally focused on discovering new, unimaginable connections. Things like “is homosexuality genetic,” “is smiling a learned behavior,” this, that, and the other.

I mean that’s great and all but let’s get back to basics. Let’s justify the truths we know before we justify the truths we haven't learned. For instance, let us re-imagine the reasons behind things like genetics relating to success, i.e. how is it that ugly people tend to be so unsuccessful at life?

I mean, let’s be honest, if you are ugly, your life is pretty much ruined. For instance, all presidents have been easy on the eyes, especially as of late (yeah that’s a shout-out to the half chocolate chip, half macadamia nut leader of the free world). 

And then there's the correlation between attractiveness and difficulty of major. Oh, wait. You haven't noticed? No? Well then, walk on to the campus of the university of your choosing, without looking like a sexual offender please. Count the attractive engineers and then count the attractive criminology majors. Count the attractive physicists and then count the attractive marketing majors. Now, correlate success rates to major. . . Do you get what I am laying down?

The secret to life is simple, if you aren’t attractive, find another way. I mean seriously, the only unattractive people that have some success (relative to how you define success) are comedians, rappers, statisticians, geeks, athletes, and any other profession that requires you to be extremely talented in one area or another.

Vice versa is also true. Attractive people can let themselves go. If Brad Pitt became robust, I would still try and rock his World War Z. But if you see a fat chick with buckteeth and a GED equivalent, you have to wonder how are you not dead yet or when is your episode of Maury coming on? (okay, so that was wrong but ehh my blog. #SuckIt ). To be realistic, how can you possibly compete in a world rampant with the Cash Money DJing Hiltons of the world. I mean seriously. This girl is so over-accomplished it is disgusting.

Well anyway as mean as that was, it was a thought I had. If you’re attractive, you are pretty much set for success. Whatever. 

But if you are ugly, motivate motivate motivate. Cause you might not make it boo boo. #Fact!

Aint Going Nowhere - The Investment Strategy

Let's face it. My investment strategy, when I do ignore Sallie Mae long enough to invest, is to put money in industries that I deem "aint going nowhere." Novelties such as gold and sugar and paper. These are the staples of the world.

Everyone knows it and loves it and ... I am an idiot. Obviously not the savvy investor. But funny thing, there are crazier people out there.

As I review the sadness that is my decision to work for the Federal Government, as they work toward cohesion, I am now forced to re-reflect on my life. Doing so results in scanning various CNN and news websites (totally not searching for a FT j-o-b but I may spot evening and weekend money just in case the whole, deadlocked Executive-Legislative situation doesn't improve).

And on this voyage to converting my soon to be student loan debt into my soon to be riches, I find an article about Sean Hyman and his "Biblical Money Code." I jumped to the same conclusion you've probably jumped to, which is an obvious theFuk. But, give the man a chance.

The article, which increasingly looks more and more like a scam, turns out to be an exploitation of the Bible for the easy price of ...exactly. And that's when I had my thought.

This is our future.

I hope we don't get to a point where all we are going to be seeing is more of these sorry attempts at taking our money. And these attempts will get better and more convincing. Until finally, we, as a nation, are forced to fund the private dreams of the SeanHymans of the world. We deserve better. We, the people, have rights to pursue happyness. We, not just the clever website developers who can post a video on a website, but all of us.

So, please, don't invest just in gold. As I will not invest just in my 9-to-5. Diversify your investments as I will my various future odd jobs.

Note: When Australia had a government shutdown, the Queen fired all of Parliament. Monarchs. Cray!

Blog Recap

So I have been blogging for over a year (my Blog-versary was on August 27th) and I decided it is time to re-vamp my blog. Talking to my followers, i.e. that one person, a few changes have been recommended. The top two being content reduction and inconsistent posts. Well don’t that beat all. I get punished for Having A Life!

But other than that sorry excuse for an excuse, I have no excuse. All the thoughts I think are accumulating into my mind and falling out of my ears. The only thing I can do, to ease myself of this medical ailment, is to type.

Anyway, therefore, as a result, in conclusion, I will be blogging at least twice a month and will be writing shorter passages (I mean not like 140-character, Twitter-short but you get me). And yes I know it is sad and I know the one person following me is devastated but Quality over Quantity!

So get ready for a whole new year of me continuing to be crazy. I hope I can present my ideas in a digestible length every other week. And if not, then well, screw you.

I’m Out like the Lights on Prom Night!

DJing Stories: The Old Man in the Club

Bars are so much fun to work in because of the nights where you get the randomly specific set of locals who come in. Those who know college park are familiar with Cluck-U-Pac, the 2Pac look-a-like who works at the corner store chicken joint, aka Cluck-U-Chicken. Then you got the guys who show up with props tryna book chicks. I seen one man walk with a toy horse-head-on-a-stick. Then we got the old dude in the club who would roll up in his 1973, John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever, silk, V-neck shirt with grey taco meat on his chest. He staying picking up women and ballroom dancing to umm every song.

Honestly, most nights can be unpredictable. But beyond those nights of expecting the unexpected, you can find comfort in relying on the expected. Aka, the regulars.  Rarely do you find a bar where the crowd is dull and the regulars are lame. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it happens. But not that often.

The bar I DJed at had a host of normies that come in for their usuals and leave with fun stories to tell. To name  a few of the CP-flava, we had the following groups:

1.       Sororities – I swear these chicks had a competition to see who could spend the most of their non-academic hours at the bar.

2.       Jocks – you’re on scholarship so school is free, books are free, and there are drunk/horny/gold-digging sorority girls practically living at the bar. #ObvyChoice

3.       Locals – you were born and raised in Hyattsville and this is “going out” for you. A college bar for 19 to 21 year-olds.

4.       Perverts – scheming the dance floors looking for the freshman and the younger sisters who snuck in behind them.

Now I have had the displeasure of seeing a-many-a-drunk-woman get taken advantage of on the dance floor. I’ve seen finger rape and damn-near-gang-pile-ons. There’ve even been women who performed fellatio on the manager just to get in through the back door. It’s crazy what these drunk, desperate, young women do just to get in a bar (and not just any bar but a bar that smells like shit and is full of underage children and randoms. I’m sorry but no random penis in my mouth is #WorthThat . . .  But hey I guess I was raised different. Good parenting momma). However, I digress.

Despite the a-many-a-drunk-woman who were sexually mistreated and disregarded as a sexual object and nothing more, the universe has a strange way of evening the playing field. In addition to all the perverts that were checking out women, we had one dude who loved men. So, out of the handful of old men sprinkled around the bar, we had random disco guy, the owner, the manager, and the one who was taking advantage of men . . . sexually.

So quick synopsis, this dude was like in his 50s. Old, white man #SilverFox. Seemingly friendly to everyone. Men and women. Strange thing, this guy was rich. He had a lot of money and enjoyed buying drinks for everyone. Men and women. He even had a boat that he took out on the water on the weekend. If you were special he would even invite you on his boat. But not everyone, just men. He would take these jocks who loved to get shit-faced and they would set sail for an “adventure.”

And every guy who went on this boat would NEVER return to the bar. Dead? Nope. They would show up in school after the “adventurous” weekend. They would even show up at their perspective sports games. But not a-one would mention would happened on their sea “adventure.”

But we all know, he took them men out their and had a good ole sexperimenting time.

Okay, so maybe this is just some habitual rumor that gets spread every Fall season. .... Or maybe it's not. Either way, that is reason #2 why I won’t get drunk around people I don’t know. 

SOOOOoooo many life lessons learned at the bar!

Trayvon Martin Lessons

So this depressing-ass weekend has resulted in me saddened by the verdict. My first attempt at coping with this tragedy was to lessen the pain by creating a verb, either Trayvoning or Zimmermaning. But I couldn’t decide exactly what the situation meant to me. Does it mean being racially profiled? Or does it mean getting away with murder? Or does it mean shooting children? What exactly is being Trayvon-ed!

After a lot of reflection and with a lost for resolution, I, instead, have made a list of what I learned from the case:

1.       You will be judged not by the content of your character but by the bullshit of your social media. Be careful what you post.

2.       If you are a teenager, don’t fight adults. They may lose the fight but they won’t lose the war.

3.       If you want to get away with murder, fight a child, lose, kill them, and then plead self-defense.

4.       Racial profiling is inevitable. If you are a tall, muscular, Black man you should become shorter, workout less, become pale, and/or get a sex change.

5.       If you are Black, don't do things like wear hoodies at night.

6.       If you are Black, don’t walk toward your house at night.

7.       If you are Black, don’t go out at night.

8.       If you are Black and you’ve done nothing wrong, you are lying.

9.       If you are Black and you see a white man walking toward you, RUN AWAY.

10.   If you are Black and you are in a neighborhood, you should get down on the ground and place your arms behind your head so that the neighbors know you aren’t up to trouble.

11. If you are in the neighborhood watch, you have the right to police your neighborhood as if you were a trained officer with a gun. 
12. The State of Florida is not welcoming to Negro-kind.

So that last one may have been a little racist but this was a racially charged act. The 6 jurors all agreed that Trayvon was PROBABLY guilty of something and Zimmerman had the right to stalk him because of how suspicious he looked. And even though the 911-operator told Zimmerman NOT to leave his car, during his self-inspired pursuit of the most-likely-up-to-no-gooder, he was within his legal bounds to put himself in a dangerous situation. And no matter the result of said pursuit and said danger, his heart was in the right place. So he is innocent by conscience?!?

In short, I, as a Black person, should be okay with the Zimmermans of the world killing Blacks legally because they are good samaritans? Not to sound crazy but #FuckThatNoise.

The point is there are stereotypes against us all. Sadly, we can’t change everyone’s mind. And Black people repeatedly racking up the statistics for violent crime and filling up the prison system kinda looks bad on our part.

I guess the only thing we can do is be conscious of stereotypes against us, take the proper steps to avoid these situations, and hope for good circumstances.

Life sucks, and then you die. 

DJing Stories: The Veteran with the Red Lamborghini

So it was about 2007 and I was playing a weak night at the bar. I had just finished this Power Hour set (pretty much, you play a different song every minute of the hour and the people have to drink when the song changes. 60 shots of beer in 60 minutes = ReallyDrunk People) and was getting ready to pull out some actual songs that weren’t Power Rangers Theme songs and hits from the movie Grease.

The 30 or so people there were good and drunk and happy (again, 60 drinks in an hour). Unluckily, it was June-ish so all the college chil’ren were home pretending that they didn’t have a drinking problem. I was playing Christmas music and a little top 40 cause no one was there (yeah, I’m about that life), and people weren’t really paying attention.

The point is everyone was in a good mood . . . except for this one dude.

So, I put on one of those long-ass, white-people-love-it, bar songs that last like 15 minutes “One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer” (aka, my DJ has gone to the bathroom  song).I usually jump off the stage to chat with whoever is closest to me. This guy, who just happened to be in my vicinity, was at the bar, by himself, with a fresh scar on his head.

I ask him, in my “I’m a friendly, personal DJ that cares but seriously tip me or get me a drink” voice, how his night was going. He said well. And then leisurely explains how he is looking for a girl to take him home.

It turns out this guy is fresh from the Afghanistan war, thanks to our President at the time, and had survived a very serious bomb explosion.

I said something along the lines of “wow, it’s amazing you are alive.”

Then, he takes a moment to stare into his drink. He swivels it around and proceeds to explain how his surgery went. He says he was very fortunate that the doctors were able to remove the scrap medal from his head.  But while they were there, they found a malignant tumor in his brain. They gave him an estimated life expectancy of 8 to 12 months and sent him back to the US with six figures and hella veteran benefits.

I stared at him, shocked, as he sat there content. I told him how sorry I was to hear the news.

He goes on to tell me that he’s not sorry. He recognizes the fact that this will be his last 4^th of July, his last Thanksgiving, his last Christmas, his last everything with everyone. He doesn’t see a point in being regretful or maintaining poisonous friendships or focusing too hard on anything that causes stress. Apparently, when you only have so much time left in this world, you worry only about the things that matter.

Being the daughter of a veteran, my heart went out to this man. All he wanted to do was serve his country and prepare a better life for himself. In his effort to pursue happyness, all he received was the prediction of his untimely death.

I got on the mic and professed to the crowd that we had a veteran at the bar who just got back from 

Afghanistan who had NO BITCHES and a PARCHED MOUTH. He looks up at me and smiles as I point him out to the patrons of the bar.

In a few hours, the place gets packed and he ends up having a fantastic evening. (Noted, he didn’t get too much attention from the ladies. But he did enjoy talking to our busty bartenders. Smiling from ear-to-ear as only a man in lust can.)

At around midnight, when it was really starting to get crazy, he leaves surprisingly. He pays his tab, tips his busty beaut, and walks out to his car (with no woman on his arm, mind you). He jumps in this bright red Lamborghini, that is COMPLETELY uncharacteristic of College Park, and drives off into DC.

I tell this story to a lot and people always ask me “how do you know he wasn’t lying? Maybe he was just trying to get in your pants.” To them, I respond with it doesn’t matter if he were lying or not. Because at some point throughout this ridiculous war, we had lost men and women. Some of them never got the chance to finish their year with family. And regardless of whether his story was true or false, unbeknownst to him, he was telling an account of SOMEONE’s life.

So that was one of the most interesting nights at the bar. And plus, I got to see a lambo. And those joints are SHWEET!

DJing Stories: Shit Girl

So this story is by far my favoritest story to tell. Back when I first started DJing, I had the privilege of working at a crappy college bar (FYI, it literally smelled like crap. Not sarcastically smelled like crap or figuratively smelled like crap. It SMELLED like crap! Later on, I found out that they didn’t technically clean the bar. They just threw down hot water and bleach and swiveled the stuff around. #Disgusting.)

Moving right along, the bar I worked at had a mixed crowd. We had college kids, locals (who tend to be of the Negro variety), old playas (which tend to be of the retired variety), and your young escapees from the nearest military base. As a DJ, I had to keep these various folks and their various tastes in music entertained while maintaining civil interactions. Talk about tough titty.

One evening, as all evenings, a group of Caucasian females (coming from one trashy sorority or another) comes strolling in ready for a night out. This night out swiftly turns into White Girl Wasted part 456-delta-sigma-prime, aka too many to count. Anyway, one of the intoxicated patrons included a new recruit, nicknamed ShitGirl.

Ya see, one can only assume ShitGirl was new because one would want to volunteer an excuse for her actions. In actuality, she would need to be young or stupid from the way she handled her liquor. Talk about sloppy to the sloppiest degree, she was on the ground crawling to the music. And I don’t mean on beat or for any particular reason. Just kinda down there, chilling, enjoying the view.
RULE: The drunk person is entertainment to everyone, an embarrassment to their friends, and a lesson learned to ALL onlookers.

At one point, she disappeared into a different bar, unbeknownst to anyone (or mainly the people who cared). Yes, her own FRIENDS lost her and didn't really care to resurface her remains.
RULE: Friends don't let friends leave alone.

In her failed effort to be classy and not trashy, ShitGirl lost her phone. Accordingly, some college student, either ignorant to the profitable world of Ebay, Craigslist, or Amazon AND/OR practicing the basics of Karama learned from their World Religions lecture, decided to turn in her phone to the bartenders. 

At around 2:30 AM, ShitGirl reappears at the front of the bar. At this point, we had kicked everyone out. The bouncers are still around patrolling the last few straddlers, the bartenders are cleaning up the bar, the DJ is packing up her equipment, and the manager, keeping a micromanaging, stern eye on everyone and everything, has locked the doors. 

RULE: Shut AND lock the door if you want to count money. This should be logic, but hey stupider things have happened in College Park.

ShitGirl proclaims, through the door in her best, articulate, drunk slur of English, that she has left her phone inside. Being of masculine body and feminine heart, one bouncer feels pity and lets her in. #Mistake1

She stammers directly to the basement, bypassing the bartenders, and heads to the bathroom. Us remaining folks sit around, shoot the shit, and continue with our nightly duties. In 3 to 5 minutes, ShitGirl reappears with the most disgusting smells I have ever smelled in my life.

She appears with human feces, tampon blood, alcohol, beer bottle labels, and toilet paper on her arms where she had been blatantly digging in what is most obviously the women’s toilet(s). On top of that, she walks toward the bouncer who let her in, asking for her phone. He shrieks, as any person would with a drunk Zombie covered in other people’s blood, shit, urine, etc.

Although you think she was alone, she apparently had one friend left. Remaining in the bar, sitting near the coat rack with other bouncers, was a group of Navy men. These young gents did not want their night to end and sat peacefully with the bouncers, most likely discussing after-parties or politics (believe whatever suits your fancy). One of them, who will now be referred to as NavyPatron, takes ShitGirl back downstairs and cleans her up. Aww what a nice guy, right? Wrong!

In a few minutes, ShitGirl reappears less like a mess, but still troubled with a look of confusion and longing for her phone. NavyPatron walks up to the bartender and asks for a specific phone. Like magic, it appears. Apparently, it had been safe at the bar since 10PM. #Mistake2

NavyPatron hands the phone to ShitGirl and then receives a very gracious hug. Assuming he liked said hug or said girl, he asks ShitGirl where her friends were. In the bar? No. Neighboring bar? No. Picking up phones? No. Well, it looks like ShitGirl needs a ride home.

So NavyPatron takes ShitGirl away with him in his Ford Mustang of that year (yes, the military pays well). Anyway, she leaves with, not her friends, but a random male stranger to go “home.” #Mistake3

And when people ask me how I went 4 years without barely touching a drink in college, I tell them it's cause of ShitGirl. She is a true inspiration.

DJing Stories: The Basics

Lately, I have been writing a lot. Mainly emails to my friends who are extremely far away from me, travelling the world doing more interesting stuff. And whatever else. #SuperJeally

Anyway, I love writing and this blogging business is all chips and gravy. But, I do have another passion. Something I would do for free, if it wasn’t such a hassle. And that, my friends, is DJing.

So, since I have so much experience doing weddings, bars, clubs, private parties, whatever else, I have A LOT of great stories. Unfortunately, I have a lot of crappy ones too. And although the lessons learned are just as important with each success and failure, the failures are more interesting.

In dedication to my birthday month and the amazing Quarter Century of life I am celebrating, I am volunterring June to discuss the wonderful world of Disc Jockey (i.e. all the insane crap I have seen, dealt with, or sadly had to partake in).

Okay, so in this first one I am gonna explain the basics and what people often get wrong.

1.       It’s not what you think. Most people think the music business is a great way to make money, meet interesting people, and have a lot of fun. First and ironically so, the money can be crappy or late, if at all present. Second, 99.9% of people tend to be annoying, in a drunken manner. Third, it is more work than fun. To summarize, the general public OFTEN ignores #DJDownfalls such as the set up and travel arrangements, alcohol restrictions, early attendance, late departures, and the inevitable “working with people you don’t like.”

2.       You get to be creative. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. You have to play what people like. And if you turn on the radio, you will hear some unfortunate crap. Ironically, DJs tend to be music lovers who appreciate awesome guitar rips, melodic bridges, soulful harmonies, witty lyrics, comedic observations, powerful delivery, and classic masterpieces. And most nights, we end up playing 2 Chains… ALL NIGHT! The difference: In your car or at your home, you can turn it off.

3.       It is so easy. I hate it when people say DJing is easy. Don’t let that DJ Hero video game trick you into thinking you have some aptitude for mixing music. And on top of that, I get folks who think they know what people like. And when I ask for their basis of reasoning, I get a response along the lines of All my friends like what I play!  Well, that’s nice… But honestly, if you aren’t making $500 from cohesively streaming your iTunes list, how important is their opinion?

4.       The Music Industry is tough. This is not for the light-hearted. You will get booed. You will get fired. You will get strange looks. And not because you aren’t doing a good job, but you have to play to your employer AND your audience. At times, these two groups will contradict. When you decide that your money comes second to getting people to like you, you’ve failed. Simple rule, make the women happy, the bartenders happy, and the person paying you happy. Everyone else is just extra.

DJing is tough because you are SO restricted on what you can play. If you are like me, you are more correct than wrong. #GotThatGenius Again, it’s not about who’s right or wrong. Entertainment is one of the most irrelevant factors. It’s about crowd control (i.e. what a Kindergar teacher does). Having the ability to manipulate large masses of people is a rare skill and even more difficult to master in an alcohol-prevalent environment. You want to be a DJ? Ha! As said in Taken, #GoodLuck

Rap Lyrics Demystified – Kendrick Lamar

In celebration of World Turtle Day, I acknowledge my Terrapin Alma Mater. That truly has nothingto do with this blog. So yeah, I just began with a tangent.

Anyway, recently, the songbird of the name Gaga Lady has remixed the lyrics of the occasional, unoriginal, essentially boring rapper Kendrick Lamar. You can hear him on such trashy songs like Hood Gone Love It, Fuckin’ Problems, and the remix to Black Lip Bastard.
Note: You can tell from his discography what kind of trashy, ratchet, often incompetent rapper he is. I mean, the man rarely puts together lyrics that inspire thought. And I say rarely with extreme emphasis.

To better prepare ya’all for the wreckage that is Mr. Lamar’s words, I have broken down the lyrics to a song, Bitch, Don’t Kill My Vibe, from his premiere album:

Look inside my soul and you can find gold and maybe get rich
Look inside of your soul and you can find out it never exist
He is saying that he is obsessed with money and jewelry. And that people who aren’t obsessed with this concept have no soul. I mean, what a jerk! I tend to have a soul based on true wealth, which we all know is generosity, sincerity, and humor. #TakeThat

I can feel the changes
I can feel a new life
Change, as explained in Saturday morning cartoons, is the science fiction action of transformation. Senor Kendrick is saying he can feel a new life within his science fiction. Umm, can you say pothead?

I always knew life can be dangerous
Now, he is saying Transformers are dangerous. Well, no shit Sherlock.

I can say that I like a challenge and you tell me it's painless
You don't know what pain is
Challenge, as used in this context, is synonymous with duel. Now, this “genius” wants us to believe he likes duels because they are painless. Obviously, I don’t know what pain is because I thought a duel was a standoff between pistol-swinging cowboys from the era most often associated with the 1850s Gold Rush. In SAT terms, a duel is to pain as Kendrick Lamar as to naptime.

How can I paint this picture
When the color blind is hanging with ya
First, you can paint a picture with a paintbrush. Ask a stupid question and get a stupid answer. Second, being color blind does not necessarily mean you can’t doodle. Picasso, for instance, was thought to have been afflicted with this ailment. Oh Lamar with your broken logic!

Fell on my face and I woke with a scar
Again, what uninspiring crap is this?

Another mistake living deep in my heart
Guilt trip huh?

Buried on top of my sleeve in a flick
Okay. You can flick things off of your sleeve, but can you flick a flick? Well, if it’s buried no. Thus, Mr. Kendrick is saying he attempts removing the immovable, which is failing at life. #WellDone

Well I am POOPED. If I have to look at any more of these lyrics, I will simply implode. I mean, this guy is soooo lame. He is no Gucci Mane. No Waka Flocka. No 2 Chainz, for sure! And he is definitely missing the power of Bieber.

Anyway, sorry to have bored the masses with this horrible excuse of an artist. To make up, I present a joke:

What do turtles say when they pick up the phone?
Shhheeeellllloooooooooo!! #ComicRelief

Consulting 101: Projecting

Sooooo last week was great. I got $1 in reparations, which I immediately spent at the McDonalds dollar menu. #BuildingTheEconomy #ImBlack #ScrewYou #JudgementFreeZone.

This past week, a little stressful. I feel like the world, mainly Court-Dawg, has been beggingme to right this blog.

Maybe I feel this obligation because I haven’t consulted in a while. Maybe it's cause I haven’t manipulated any particular group or set of individuals all week. Maybe I just miss wearing Business Cash to an office where I spend half the day worrying about what I haven’t drank at Starbucks and the other half conversing about financial blah blah blah and market value blah blah blah.

In truth, I miss mind control (what Smokey had on Debo). It is this type of self-righteous empowerment that makes consulting such the self-esteem picker-upper that it is today. And don’t get me wrong. Consulting isn’t the only profession where tricks and techniques of this kind are used. It’s just the one the readily comes to mind.

Any-who, the fundamentals can be used in your everyday life. To get your kids to clean their room. To get your roommates to clean the common areas. To get your parents to get off DeseNuts. No matter what the purpose, I am here to provide these helpful tips.

So I start my consulting 101 with this infamous concept known as Projecting. Projecting, as defined in my Goodwin-Webster, is the act of broadcasting one’s deepest insecurities to everyone. In some ways, this is perceived as a cry for help. Conversely, it is simply poor hiding. Either or, it is something we as humans all do. A good observer will be able to pick up on these hints quickly. Please find famous examples below:

1.       The seemingly queer guy who goes on and on about his girlfriend in Canada that no one has ever seen or met

2.       The residually-attractive, overweight, shy girl who is a whore and will do something strange for a little change

3.       The newly-employed, college graduate who, after landing a job, refuses to show her ID at the club because of how obviously important she is

4.       The single man who is constantly bragging about his late-night sexual exploits with hundreds of women

5.       An entire album of only 10 songs named 20/20, apparently inspired by some average chick

Okay so that last one isn’t fair. Obviously, #JessicaBiel is a perfect match for #TimberlakeTheGod and he loves her (I guess), BUT when a man wants to dedicate an entire body of work to a girl, to me myself personally, I see it as a red flag for OVER-doing it, aka HIDING something.

As I learned from Waldo, that candy-cane-looking mother clucker, the best place to hide is in plain sight. And again I reiterate, we, as in ALL people, have insecurities. And naturally, we don’t want to broadcast our secrets. So we overcompensate, ultimately acting and doing the opposite of how we feel.

So we realize this and we want to do better. How do we change? Why thank you for asking! To conquer this feat of NOT broadcasting, I see two options:

-Either become secure in your crap or
-Continue to lie to yourself.

Both of which are viable solutions. At the worst case scenario, the world will get another Facebook. And yeah, the kid with no friends would start the greatest social media craze ever. #ImJusSaying. In the best case scenario, there won’t be male prison inmates taking advantage of female prison guards. #DMV

So, win-win!!

Reparations

So before you come at me talking that stuff, I would like to say that yes I do know it is no longer Black History Month. In fact, I am sure we skimmed past Women’s History Month, April 20^th (i.e. Reflection on the Positive Impact Cannibus Has Had in our Society Day), and some other insignificant, but somehow important celebrations. Regardless, im gonna bring some knowledge to your attention, that is #frightening to say the least.

A good friend of mine, Trinidad Mary, 180-degrees from Trinidad James (mainly cause she enjoys Platinum, Diamond, Silver, and Gold on occasion), sent me a very interesting bit of news. This information, which I am not endorsing because the source is unknown AND because she’s a bit of a conspirator, broke some crazy ish down. Here’s the synopsis:

1.       The US has paid Reparations to various racial groups including but not limited to Japanese Americans, Ottawas, Chippewas, Seminoles, Sioux, Klamaths, and Alaska Natives.

2.       States such as Michigan, Wisconsin, Florida, South Dakota, and Oregon have paid reparations to various racial groups.

3.       The only group to receive national reparations was the Japanese Americans, an amount totaling $20,000 per person.

If you haven’t caught on to the point I am trying to make, let me try again:

The US has NOT paid Reparations to Blacks/African-Americans despite the 400+ years of slavery, billions of dead people, systemic oppression, and a semi-psychosis of self-defeat inherent in slave descendants, better known as Post Traumatic Slave Syndrome.

What was done to the Native Americans was truly horrible and recognized globally as wrong. What was done to the Japanese was painful and even more recent. However, the African-slave trade is an accepted mistake that is constantly ignored and whose effects are prevalant in today's society ("don't believe me, just watch" . . . BET. It's #coonery at best).

Maybe it’s because there are way too many Blacks/African-Americans to track. Maybe it’s because we are in so much debt that paying generations and generations of affected descendants wouldn’t stimulate the economy enough to provide a financial benefit to the US. Maybe it’s because no one cares.

So that brings me to my actual point: Will we ever get reparations? No, probably not. But the bigger question is Who in Black America is working on it???? Okay, I’ll wait. Nothing yet . . . I know. You can quit thinking because I am about to tell you something, NO ONE IS WORKING ON IT.

A pastor in Des Moines, Iowa told me that God doesn’t judge us on our actions, but rather our thoughts. It is your thoughts that dictate your actions. Then, he played some Kirk Franklin and I was done. B-T-dubbs, Iowa is kind of the shiznit. However, I digress.

Anyway, reparations are a complaint that has been reduced from a powerful consensus to a bashful annoyance. Yes, obviously, Blacks/African-Americans deserve it. It would be morally incorrect to disagree. But what self-less Colored/Negro is going to nail out the process of determining how to pay that out to every “Black” or “Afro-American” in the Continental US and possible territories? Should we just tell the Census that every registered Black gets a cut of $2,000,000?

I mean seriously, I would be mad, but I am realistic about it. America, unfortunately, is changing from the Salad to the Melting Pot. More and more care less about their "race/ethnicity/origin" and more are concerned with just being American. And as we plummet deeper into fiscal foolery, we will be more US vs. THEM.

But sir-eously, I want a check. . . #BoutThemFranklins

Snow White and the Huntsman Part 2: The Shocking Truth

So, a friend from work, by the name of Christopher Culbert (no relation to the Stephen Colbert of the #ColbertReport. Trust me, I have already asked like a thousand times), told me something that was nothing short of mind-blowing.

To paraphrase, Snow White is a cunt whose fairy-tale's purpose is to shit on any ethnicity with color. So yes, if your native land receives sun, this includes you. Whether your skin be olive, yellow, brown, tan, or black, a drop of color puts you at the bottom of the barrel.

To give a simple overview of Snow White, the childhood tale that we all have grown up to love, it is essentially a tale about a fair queen who wants to be the fairest one of all. She gets jealous of anyone who is more fair than her. At one point, midgets get involved (I am sure just for diversity) and then the queen dies. End of story. #Tragic

Secret Lesson Learned:fair does NOT equate to beauty.
As I mistakenly wrote in my previous blog, Charlize Theron isn’t looking to kill all the pretty bitches in her #thronedom so that she can be deemed attractive by default. No! She just wants to be the most pale female. So my bad! I'm sorry. I apologize K-Stew. The director chose the correct pale-face to fulfill the Cinderella prophecy. The pale queen who wants to be the palest broad in the kingdom can’t because a damn-near-vampire-chick stepped into her territory. And so on and so forth.

And then I began to consider, how many people made the same mistake I did? I was obviously brainwashed to believe pale and beauty were the same thing. This seemingly-innocent tale, with the 2 albino females fighting over who is whiter, is about much more than finding the man of your dreams. The theme of Snow White is to shame the working class. Clearly, if you are pale, you don’t get out much. Therefore, if you are a worker, aka a laborer, aka a blue-collar-average-day-Joe, aka a non-royalty member, then you will most likely come across a couple of sun rays in your day.

And that my dear friends is a mind-blowing week I had of hating Snow White.

Snow White and the Huntsman Part 1: My Re-Write

So it is Sunday afternoon, and I have the displeasure of watching the fairest one of all, some broad by name of Sir Kristen Stewart, battle her way through the classic fairytale of Snow White. #WholeTime I thought I was watching Game of Thrones but apparently I was wrong. Anyway, the supposed runner-up in the beauty contests, aka the HoneyBooBoo of all the land, is actually the gorgeous Queen, Charlize Theron. Aint yall ever heard the saying “the older the berry, the sweeter the juice” (SmokeyFromFriday)?

In truth, this story was unbelieveable from the second the Mirror-Mirror-On-The-Wall told us Charlize Theron is uglier than K-stew. Next thing, we had Gollum-looking fairies crawl out of pigeons and fly up in the air, like the man of Steel, except with mad fairy dust or ecstasy powder (your guess is as good as mine).

The film stars:

-Bambi’s dad, who looks like Rudolph without the red-nose 

-7 Irish midgets who get drunk splitting a six-pack AND fight like miniature Jet Li’s
-My main man Thor, who spent most of the movie swinging an axe, instead of his usual hammer; regardless, he was sexy
-And William, who is random and truly has no purpose

At one point, Charlize is crawling on the floor in black sludge, like she came out of a well similar to that of the Ring. So yeah, #WholeTime this movie was involved.

Despite the many problems I had with this movie, it wasn’t unbearable. BUT, I think with my creative input, it wouldn’t have been better per se, but definitely more interesting.

!!MY VERSION!!

Bella, the pale-faced vampire, is done with the Jacob/Edward debacle that has become her life and seeks refuge in a land far, far away.

Thor, PMSing over another fight with brother Loki, seeks solitude in the sweet wilderness.

Of course, Bella comes and fucks up his plan with her presence. So, he volunteers 7 friends to come fight her away. She seduces them to the point where they shrink and sing.

Thor then goes out of his way to hire Charlize to get rid of her. Charlize sadly declines because she is staring in an Action-Romance-Suspense-Comedy with Gerard Butler…again.

Consequently, Thor gives up and just kisses Bella. She literally wakes up and realizes she still loves Edward. So, she goes back to him, crying vampire glitter. And Thor returns to whatever planet he is from.

-End Scene-

Resurrection Sunday

Life is a beautiful struggle once said Talib Kweli, a phenomenal inspiring rapper from the new city of York. And he is show white (aka “so right” with some teeth missing). Me, myself, personally, I often wonder about why I have these constant, internal debates about the many subjects of life. Why do I hate flip-floppers and hypocrites when I myself grew to appreciate a change in opinion? And why do I preach change and revolution, when I hate updating my outdated way of life?

I have come to the conclusion that I am either insane or normal. For real-io, struggle is necessary. Actually its more of a necessary evil, but aren’t all evils necessary? (Quick answer, no!)

Anyway, struggling with oneself is the beginning of change. And we all know change is good. Because change leads to improvement.

I mean, can you imagine the person who is not capable of improvement? What perfect person must he/she/hermaphrodite be? This specimen, who obviously has it all figured out, like many narcissistic ass holes claim, MUST have nothing left to learn. And if that were really true, they should kill themselves. . . But if you know narcissists like I know narcissists, and I know #HellaNarcissists, they love themselves WAY too much to even consider the thought of self-infliction. However, I digress.

Sitting in Church on Resurrection Sunday (or to the non-believers Easter aka Peter Cottontail’s Annual Visit aka Get Chocolate and Peeps for Hallmark Purposes and No Other Reason Day), I have had the opportunity to reflect. One thing Christianity claims is the belief that we have the only eternal-living Messiah, aka our God can not die. This is emphasized on Resurrection Sunday when the human-form of God, which is also his Son (I know confusing), is killed and then returns in 3 days.

However, to the dismay of many Christians, this is not true. The idea of a dying/resurrecting/reincarnating God is prevalent in religions as old as ancient (yes I did just say that).

Example #1:  Persephone from Ancient Greece. She was the daughter of Zeus, abducted by Hades, and eventually became his wife (So yeah, Hades married his niece, which makes him a #perv). She dies and goes to Hell every year, but returns to bring fruit to the world.

Example #2:Ishtar is a Babylonian goddess, who was worshiped in northern Mesopotamia. She is associated with sex. So this chick threatens the Underworld’s gatekeeper to let her in. When she descends into the depths of hell, all sexual activity on Earth stops. The Gods decide that this is bad (thank you Gods) and forces her to leave. So her and her sister are on this rotation of who gets to be in Hell. Essentially, if you aren’t getting laid, Ishtar is in hell.

Example #3: Osiris from Ancient Egypt. The God of the afterlife, or King of the Living, or Merciful Judge, this dude was killed by his brother (like Mufasa and Scar) because his brother wanted his throne (like Mufasa and Scar #ToldYou). His wife puts him back together (Down Ass Chick) in enough time to get pregnant (he obviously got that good good) and then he dies again. His son is considered the reincarnation of the father (sound familiar?).

Anyway, some psychoanalyst, Carl Jung, suggested that resurrected pagan gods who preceded Christ were a foreshadowing of Christ’s death. And you may disagree but I find this interesting and compelling to debate. Either these pagan deities were a prediction that came true in the form of Jesus OR Christians have stole this concept and inserted it into Christianity.

Tick, tick, tick, BOOM! Mind blown!

Diarrhea of the Mouth

So, I am from the DMV area (DC and Maryland and Virginia for all of yall who aint in the know) and I have spent a large portion of my life with Kane, Sarah, Sammy, Eric, Melanie, Intern John, and some forgettable broad who I have once again forgot. If you don’t know you better ask somebody. . . I can tell by the blank computer stares that you don’t know so I will answer. This is the “extended” cast and crew of the Kane Show, appearing Monday through Friday on Hot995 from 6AM to 10AM (then followed immediately by the Sarah Show).

Anyway, this obnoxious, rude, sexually-frustrated cast and crew present commentary on a crap-load of random subjects. If you are a fan of my blogs, I can say I have been partially inspired by the randomness of the Kane Show. I have dubbed my writings and their recordings a stream of consciousness hereby defined as the Little Wayne syndrome. (Definition: You pretty much just say whatever’s on your mind and then switch to another topic with no cohesion.)

Recalling one of their latest conversations, after Celebrity Gossip and before the War of Roses, they were discussing Diarrhea of the Mouth. I mean, who doesn’t like a #PoopGag? Anyway, have you ever said/asked something and had not realized you were actually offending someone? Then you had to stop, back up, bend down, and put your foot in your mouth (metaphorically, not literally. That would be extremely painful and amazing if you are that flexible #roar).

Take this instance as an example:
Woman A: O-M-G Bitch. I hate you. You look so skinny. What are you doing?
Woman B: Chemotherapy.

To wrap that in a nice little tortilla for you, the frienemy just gave her coworker a compliment for having cancer. #FcukedUp

Yes, I know. But haven’t we all been there. You probably thought you were making a joke, solidifying a connection, or having innocent fun at another person’s expense, and you find yourself insulting the very person you were trying to relate to. I know it’s a tough pickle to crack but pickles are meant to be cracked. #Stupid

Very recently, I have been that person. I mean yeah, I stutter. And yeah I kinda talk like a country bum who got lost in the valley but only after travelling a few years overseas. So my accent is pretty much impossible to place. And yeah, I even have a pair of shoes I refuse to take off, despite the fact that they no longer match anything in my wardrobe. So yeah, I got a couple flaws. But overall, I am pretty confident and secure in my package.

But somehow, a person I barely know, mind you, made a comment that struck a chord. And it really hurt. I mean, I didn’t cry, cause I am not a vagina. But the thought crossed my mind. And then an air of awkwardness floated between us, and will probably remain until the end of time.

In short, that sucks. In truth, I found myself at a crossroads. What do you do if someone blatantly disrespects you to your face, but by accident?

You MAN THE HELL UP, explain to them that you were offended, and hope they have enough guilt to buy you dinner or something. . . so yeah. Lesson learned: quit your bitching and use your basic, kindergarten communication skills. It makes me X when you Y because Z.

Example:

It makes me feel bad when you call me fatbecause I am overcoming anorexia.

And if they feel no remorse and continue to piss you off, vaginal punch.

Rap Lyrics Demystified - Justin Bieber and Drake

First and foremost, Just Beiber had always been the crush that made me question my sexuality. Now that I know his balls are dropping and his man hormones are kicking in, the androgyny is dying (see Mom, I told you I was straight #ParentsJustDontUnderstand).

Anyway, not only has Mr.Beiber found his manhood, he has picked up a not-so-legal recreational activity (the devil’s lettuce). JB is now transitioning into yet another boy band role (from “the cute one” to “the heartthrob” and now to “the bad boy”). All he has to do is reserve himself (the shy one) and then get old (the older brother) and he will be a one-man-Boy-Band. However, I digress.

JB has teamed up with the half-Jew, half-Black, half-singer, half-rapper, partially-attractive Drake. So, JB has more than one Black friend, a nickname, weed, and R&B. I christen you Negro. Welcome Beebz.

So this track, known as “Right Here” features the main man JB with the less talented Drake singing about being right here. But this actual metaphorical title implies a truth cleverly disguised by the Biebs (obviously Drake isn’t smart enough to come up with metaphors. All those rappers have ghostwriters to think for them). View as I breakdown the cosmic meaning to the song Right Here, starring Justin Bieber and scarcely including Drake:

Baby I'm here, I'm here to stay
I ain't going nowhere,

Baby refers to the track that JB wrote with the one and only, Ludacris. This reference to himself states that Justin is here to stay, or a type of security. Nowhere is a synonym for anywhere, which is a synonym for somewhere, which is over the rainbow. In conclusion, Justin Beiber is saying, in a conversation with himself, to be secure with the arch of colors. Essentially, this pep talk is preparing our man Justin for the overwhelming diversity of the world, or the universe!

I know you're scared, cause you've been hurt
Baby it's alright

You are damn right being hurt is scary. And Justin would know that because he has survived an alien attack. And No, he has not been anally probed. He states immediately afterward that it is alright, in reference to the late and great Bob Marley. To those who do not know, Bob Marley sought peace, even on an extraterrestrial level.

Lost in your eyes, every time that you look in mine

Stars are the eyes of the universe. And Justin, after surviving his alien attack, has traveled through several light-years to prove this.

Promise to be, all that you need

This reference is to mankind. He faces this journey alone, but the promise of survival is not emphasized. The promise of effort is all we need. Thank you for being so brave Justin!

I won't leave you baby

Even if the worse happens, Justin will be in our hearts. He will never leave. In fact, he sits in our hearts between Jesus and the deceased relative who gave you sweets at church. Boom! Right there.

No, cause I just wanna love you
I will never ever put nobody up above you

This part is stupid and written by Drake.

I just wanna kiss you baby I just wanna hug you 'til the end
Baby 'til the end

Using the tool of irony, Justin promises to spread his non-sexual love to the aliens. In return, they will give him eternal life. Hence, the “to the end” refers to the exchange between the aliens and our savior, Justin Beiber.

So there you have it! Better than a Will-Smith-Tommy-Lee-Jones duo, Justin Bieber is an alien attack survivor. Instead of responding with brute force, he sends the aliens peace and well wishes. Oh what a huge, cosmic heart you have, Justin. "All the better to love you with, my dear!"

Believe in the Imaginary

It amazes me when I meet people like me. Truly childish, yet functioning, adults. Although it may not be true, I like to think that I bring the strangeness out of others. It’s like HEY, I’m weird. Be weird with me. It’s okay, come on. Yeah! Now, isn’t that better. Now, smile. Hold your arm out and then stick out your tongue. Perfect!

Anyway, the fantasy world that I live in, where people believe anything is possible and do all sorts of crazy unimaginable things, is coming in to fruition. Maybe this is just blind optimism, but I believe everyone in the world is insane. Wonder why I say that? Cause I finally understand stocks . . . I think.

Stocks.

It’s been about a year but I think I get it. . . . I think. Ever since I got this one job with these business people and their finance degrees, I never truly grasped this concept.  Ya know, they just explain things so strangely. But I got some physcisists to explain it to me and then walah! #Comprehension

Scenario:

So pretend you are a person trying to buy a house. You say you want to purchase it from a merchant. You give them money and they give you a receipt, a deed, and a set of bricks. Boom! So what in this purchase is analogous to a stock?

A.      The receipt

B.      The Deed

C.      The bricks of the house

D.      The idea that you own the house

Correct answer is D.
- See a stock, from what I think I know, is not proof of purchase. So, it’s not the receipt.
- And you don’t get a representation of your purchase. So, it’s not the deed. (think like a birth certificate and a birth are not the same thing. One is a little administrative proof of a person being born, the other is a little human).
- The stock isn’t the bricks of the house cause that would be the actual company.

- So, the stock is just the idea that you own something.

Moving away from the scenario, a stock is the monetary exchange for a pretend portion of a company. To own Apple, for example, you only need to purchase stocks. You don’t necessarily own Apple, but the money you give them will grow or un-grow, depending on the world’s perception of Apple.

See, initially, I thought stocks were like a gamble. But it’s much worse. Gambling is based on odds of dice, cards, horses, or a spinning roulette top. Stocks are based on what people think about a company. And you know people are stupid so good luck predicting that.

Then, I thought stocks were analogous to insurance. But insurance is placing money into a pool of other people’s money, for a price. But the money you get back is based on what’s in the pool. In stocks, since the ownership is fictitious, the money you get back is based on what someone else is willing to pay for that ownership.

So really stocks are betting your real money on the opinions of people you don’t know, based on a set of imaginary valuation. It’s kind of confusing, especially my over-complicated train of thought, but I think that’s the gist of it. And here it is simply:

“Stocks are like money.”

You know why? Because money isn’t real. Money is fictitious. Money is tree bark that we gave some fictitious representation. When we moved away from exchanging 2 lambs for a daughter and a box of apples (before Jesus but after cave people), we created money! We said this tree bark with the inked version of the side profile of a dead, old White Man is worth $100. Your ox is worth $100. I will exchange this tree bark for your ox. . . sucker!

Seriously though, it really is that simple. Money represents ownership. Stocks represent ownership. Money isn’t real. Stocks aren’t real. Both are used to purchase things. Both are concepts that are kind of insane if you sit and think about it. #MindBlown

BASE-ically, the world has convinced itself that these little pieces of tree are worth the same as a television that took 2 days to manufacture, ship, and sell. I mean, it makes sense sort of. Anyway, I have to go now. I am using my money to buy a unicorn so I can visit Santa and talk about the Japanese word for Love. 

The Freud Theory on Heteros

So I was listening to this Katy Perry song about one of her ex-boyfriends. The lyrics are “you’re so gay and you don’t even like boys.” Instantly I had a newfound appreciation for Mrs. Perry. Why are so many straight men soooooooo gay?

And no I am not saying that the majority of males in the world have a secret alternate life where they dance in mirrors to Madonna with their penis tucked. That would be insane. I am referring to the double-standard of homosexuality.

SO there was this article released some time in the Spring-ish of 2012 about how all women are bisexual. My first immediate thought was errr WRONG. This is another one of those ploys that men with degrees make. I can guarantee a gang of geeks with Revenge of The Nerds on VHS and PornoTube.com as their most visited Mozilla Bookmark got together to make this “scientific justification,” proving for once and for all that the most popular sexual fantasy is REAL and happening all around them. The claims in this article make assumptions like:

Women kissing women is an act of lesbianism. Incorrect, some whores do this only to attract men. Fact: they wouldn’t dare try this with an out-ted lesbian or bisexual female. That would be gay.
Women saying another women is attractive is an act of lesbianism. Incorrect, being honest about how attractive another human is, male or female, is okay. Men do this all the time but aren’t vocal about it. Why else would a grown man get pictures of another grown man (Scarface, Bob Marley, David Beckham, etc.) and put it on their walls? By the way, gay is about intention. I know Arabic men who kiss each other on the lips and sit on each other’s laps. Gay and affection, not the same thing.
Women dating women is an act of lesbianism. This is one of those part-time lesbian tricks. It’s closer to being gay, but kinda not really. It is the same as working at Wal-Mart cause you got fired from your corporate job. I mean, yes, technically, you are working there. But, it’s out of desperation. Believe me, when it’s all said and done, that little in-between-job won’t make it to the final cut of your resume.

I know that all of the above may seem strange and complicated (if you think this, you must obviously have a penis) but women are strange and complex. Let me put it simply: a lesbian is a woman who wants a long-time, loving, heartfelt relationship with another woman. Lesbians buy houses with their girlfriends. Lesbians plan their lives together. Those women above, who are lustfully attracted to women due to some agenda either for or against guys, are just crazy bitches.

And another thing I hate about this article is how one sided it is. Let’s get real. Men are just as, if not more, gay than women are, on like a daily basis. Please review the following queer norms of men:

Men who pat other men on the ass. How many times have you seen a man slap another man on the ass? How the hell is that acceptable? And why do men do this? Where did this come from? Is it like one of those leftover traits that was a sign for gay-sex back in Ancient Rome, and now heteros have converted it into a sign of acceptable admiration. I mean seriously, the fuck?
Men who want to fuck women in the ass.This one I really don’t get. How dare you call yourself straight and you want to stick your penis up the poop shoot? There is nothing more gay than that. It is the literal act of a homosexual man. Take some time to have a honest conversation with yourself about why this is one of your fantasies. Then, get back to me.
Men who want to wrestle other men.This is one of the gayest things that straight men do. And the worst part is it especially happens when they are drunk. You know what they say about a drunk mind committing sober thoughts. I’m just saying.

I think when it comes to the gay question, I have to agree with Sigmund Freud. He had this idea that every person is born bisexual. I think there is a lot of truth to that. It explains how both genders are able to commit homosexual acts and it not be so absurd. I mean how else do you explain that both sexes have two erogenous zones producing orgasmic climaxes?

1.       Gräfenberg Spot –female sexual organ associated with heterosexual intercourse. Found inside the vagina

2.       Clitoris – female sexual organ associated with lesbian intercourse. Found outside the vagina

3.       Foreskin – male sexual organ associated with heterosexual intercourse. Found on the penis

4.       Prostate gland – male sexual organ associated with gay intercourse. Found in the rectum

Fact: Both genders have sexual organs that encourage both homo and hetero sexual intercourse.

You kinda have to ask yourself WHY GOD would give us that option. I mean, HE doesn't make mistakes right? #Deep. 

So really the gay question is more of a preponderance of evidence than beyond reasonable doubt. It's not murder yall. Its just a rainbow.

When A Black Person is Not Black

So I end the month with a summary. Black History month, as it comes and goes every year, feels like a highlight on all Black/African-American people and all things Colored. Cautious white people now get to ask those questions they always wanted to know but dare not ask: What is Kwanzaa? How do you do that with your hair? Do you actually find Lil Wayne attractive? And so on and so forth.

For all who don’t know, I am Black (as if my name doesn’t say it enough). What always surprises me is when someone tells me that I am “not Black.” For instance, a White person will call me “not Black” because it means they feel comfortable around me. 10 times out of 10, I take it as a back-handed compliment that doesn't leave a mark (ya'know, firm but not too unforgiving). And sometimes Black people call me “not Black” because . . . umm . . . I guess it's because some things I do are anti-belligerent. I don't know. #MovingOn. 

At this point in my life, both are equally hurtful but whatever. Life sucks and then you die.

I think what is most confusing, especially to me, is how someone can tell you what you aren’t. Just to give you all an idea of how stupid people are, please find a short list of the stupidist shit I have heard (and yes, people have actually said this to my face. Prepare yourself!):

1.       I was not pregnant at 18 so I am not Black

2.       I know who my daddy is so I am not Black

3.       I enjoy pop, rock, and techno so I am not Black

4.       I don’t drink Malt liquor so I am not Black

5.       I don’t say nigga (or an equivalent) in every sentence so I am not Black

6.       I enunciate and use correct grammar so I am not Black

7.       I haven’t been to prison so I am not Black

8.       I don’t smoke weed so I am not Black

9.       I don’t use slang often so I am not Black

10.   Ignorant rap discourages me so I am not Black

11.   I don’t support Tyler Perry so I am not Black

12.   I think the government is here to helpminorities so I am not Black

13.   I don’t dress in urban clothing so I am not Black

14.   I have a savings account so I am not Black

15.   I know how to deal with cold weather so I am not Black

I could probably go on for days but will actually stop there. #Whew! Now that I got that ignorant shizah out of the way, let me tell you why I am Black:

16.   My biological parents are Black

BOOM! See how easy that was! Why can’t the world understand that there is ONE and only ONE way to be Black? Damn people like to over-complicate things!!!

All in all, being Black is just that, Being Black.

And another thing, since you got me going, Black a LOT of times can mean being underrated. But we still do things like save a country in Recession (President Obama), start a revolution (Negro press of the 1920s), and revive a dying Catholic Church population (Cardinal Peter Turkson from Ghana). #JustAGuess

Well, to tie this knot, stupid is as stupid does. And Black is as Black is! Bring on March!!

The Truth About Ebonics

We are now entering Round 3 of random topics in Black Culture and I am ‘bout to drop a heavy load on ya. . .  And no, not in the sense of I am going to poop on you (like that scene in #Movie43. BTW seriously don’t waste your time or money watching that movie. You will have more fun drowning kittens.) . . . And again, no, I don’t mean it in the spermal sense of load dropping. #Perverts. I mean it as “dropping some knowledge.”

In-tee-ways, this week is particularly interesting because I am going to defend something I mostly loathe: slang.

To me, slang, particularly Black slang, is one of those #thangs that are an innate contradiction. It is simultaneously constructive and destructive. It is incorrect English but yet an excellent tool for expression. On one hand, it can define a mood perfectly, but on the other hand it may also not make any sense. Ya see (or ya don’t) it’s all about communication.

Definition: SLANG is a type of language that consists of words and phrases that are informal. These phrases are more common in speech than in writing. It may be used as a means of identifying with one’s peers.

In short, it is bad English used circumstantially to build familiarity and create sociability. Or even simpler, shit you say to keep friends. But that’s not the interesting part. Oh no no. It gets better.

The attraction is despite the fact that slang is used as a tool to unite people, in general, humankind has re-defined it as a communication disorder of the remedial, undignified, lower class… or minorities. So, to those of us who actually have communication disorders, stutterers such as me, Winston Churchill, James Earl Jones, and Marilyn Monroe, to name a few, this is quite offensive. (FYI, a communication disorder is NOT a representation of someone’s intelligence. Check my Blog Game. #Burn)

People, mainly people who don’t speak in slang, enjoy scoffing at Ebonics, which is a hilarious word so innately I can understand why you won’t take it seriously. But other than that, there is something to appreciate about its creativity and growth in popularity. Let me give you some examples:

1      One hunnid – slang for one hundred. Typical Ebonic move, just drop some letters. This is also seen in phrases such as “gangsta,” “aye gurl,” or “mon fucka.”

2      Hellyoutalmbout – slang for “what the hell are you talking about?” The technique used is to slur the words together, analogous to legato in musical performances.

3      I heard that! – honestly, I don’t even know what this means or why. Really, it’s just fun to use after someone else speaks. Maybe its acknowledgement or agreement. Whatever!

4      What is you wanna do? – I am not sure of the exact moment in time, but one day it became acceptable, gangster even, to drop verbs or use the incorrect conjugation of a verb. “I is,” “you is,” or “we the best” are a few examples.

5      HAM – This is an acronym that is actually spoken. It stands for “hard as a mother**ker” but sounds stupid. Me, myself, personally, I was so happy when they retired this word.

The point I am trying to make it that the ability to create a language and simultaneously stream that into another language is tough. But if you have ever played this minority game before (I kinda have the high score), then you understand the skill required to play both sides of the fence.

As said in Selena (1997 film about Mexican-American superstar), you have to be “more Mexican than the Mexicans and more American than the Americans, both at the same time!” This sort of thinking is called Double Consciousness, a term created by W.E.B. DuBois. This idea, paraphrased, says that we have to consider (with our movements, thoughts, sayings, and the like) how BOTH Blacks and non-Blacks see us. Then, we have to determine how each perspective will be affected. For example, it may stop us from saying “nigga” in mixed company. Other times, it may encourage us to walk with #swag. No matter what, it is a constant game of thinking, doubting, re-thinking, determining, deciding, second-guessing, reflecting, and so on and so forth. 

Okay, so maybe it's just me and I tend to over-think.  But whatever! You can take your bamma ass up out my face. #Church