My Knowledge of BET Makes Me Smarter Than You Monday, October 19, 2009

I was at a cookout recently and somehow the topic of BET came up; don't ask me how... maybe the fact that we were eating chicken, drinking liquor, and listening to Gucci Mane inspired us to discuss other pertinent aspects of black culture. At any rate, one of my guys goes on a rampage that since being sold to a non-African American entity, BET has went down the crapper.

All in agreement so far.

But then he goes on to say that it has only been a few years since this selling of BET took place. I paused for a minute.

Was I in the jig version of the Twilight Zone? I responded that it has been more than just 'a few' years since Plymouth Rock landed on BET; but with a confidence that shook my belief in some shit I thought I knew for sure, he replied that it has only been a few years (a few meaning three, four at most). I looked around for at least one other colored person to back me up (because I expected all of our white friends to stare uncomfortably at the floor; which they did), but they all shook their heads in agreement with him.

Had it all been just a terribly prophetic dream I had back in 2000 that BET was sold to Viacom? Did it in fact not happen until 2006, meaning I had time to warn my fellow Negroids of our impending doom and chose not to? Had I taken the blue pill after all? Will there be enough chicken left after the cookout to have for lunch the next day?

A couple of days later (after the itis from the cookout wore off) I did the most astonishing thing; I decided to read about it (cause normally I don't be reading for fun). And indeed (and as usual) I was right and the rest of these fools were misinformed (but that has never prevented anyone from opening their mouth to give a firm opinion).

Now I nearly wrote this incident off as me hanging out with a bunch of people who know nothing (which I sometimes do in my efforts to feel smarter and/or gooder about myself), but I decided to bring up BET in random conversations with people whose intellect I respect. Believe it or not, most of them got it wrong. The consensus was that it happened back in 2005 at the earliest.

What in the Dixie-Birth of a Nation-Diff'rent Strokes hell has this country done to the Negro? It's been nearly a decade since BET sold us out and yet somehow in the collective minds of the average spook I spoke with, it's been a few years tops. I mean I know my attention span is short, only because I smoke weed and hate listening to other people while they're talking, but I will never forget the day Robert L. Johnson admitted that his name was Toby so massa would stop hitting him sold BET to Viacom (I bet some of you will also fail to remember that he backed Hillary and not Obama).

And check this out if you're really interested in how greasy BET is nowadays (or maybe you just want to read a good old-fashioned airing out).

Shit like this makes me so upset, that I'll probably barely enjoy the next episode of Frankie and Neffe.

How to Legally Choke Kids Thursday, October 15, 2009

As many of you may already know by now (and by many, I mean the twelve of us who bother to read my blog; sometimes even I forget to read it), I am back working in the education system; because times are hard and education is always looking for more black men to jerk around. School ain't what it used to be not even in the four or so years that I stepped away from working with kids.

Part of the problem is that there is way too much damn coddling going on with these little bite-sized terrorists. The fact of the matter is they need less Mr. Belvedere and more Mister Joe Jackson. Say what you will, but he raised two musical icons in the forms of Janet and Michael; even Jermaine had a shot, but he didn't know how to tell his stylist 'That's too damned much vaseline you be putting on my face!'. I'm tired of watching one of these little brats punching the little brat sitting next to him, and then the principal wants me to pull him to the side and discuss his feelings about punching his neighbor.

Eff yo' feelings nigga! They don't need their feelings to be discussed.

They need to be told '... sit the eff down, shut the eff up, or someone's going to come through and beat the eff out of you!' But alas, that isn't allowed when other adults are present.

I remember the last time I worked for the school district, I got into trouble for breaking up a fight between two sixth graders; not for breaking up the fight, but because of how I broke up the fight. One student was trying to stab another student with a pencil, so I horse collared the lil' sum'bitch; similar to what they outlawed in football, except I yanked this heathen by his soul. The principal pulled me into a conference, I thought to give me a medal for saving a life, but instead he wanted to talk about the life I almost took. Douchebag.

They got too many first year teachers in the schools these days. They're the opposite of neva scared... they're always scared. I can't tell you how many times (this week) I've had to personally escort a student to the dean's office, all because his/her teacher was a punk and a half.

Here's a new rule: you are not allowed to be scared of someone that you could literally sit on to death. Write that one down.

Eff yo' segue nigga! Brief tangent alert.

I run into a lot of jigglets that act like our president can do no wrong. I support Obama still, but here's something he did wrong; he took the CEO of a failing education system, and put him in charge of all the failing education systems. If two students get shot a week (notice that they don't keep stats on all the students who were simply shot at) in your school system, I feel like you've forfeited any promotion that may have been coming your way. Could you imagine me consistently burning the apple pies at McDonald's, yet still getting promoted to fries? Ronald McDonald would turn into Homie D. Clown over some shit like that. But what isn't good enough for fast food is apparently good enough for our kids.

Ironically, at the rate we're going, most of these little shit stains won't be able to get jobs at McDonald's. Oh yeah I almost forgot, I believe children are our future.

Police Show Up to Fenger High School Late As Hell Monday, September 28, 2009

[via ChicagoBreakingNews] Chicago police lined up in a show of force outside Fenger High School this morning in the wake of the beating death of 16-year-old Derrion Albert last week during a melee nearby.

Of course they're going to show up the first school day after the beating death; but where were they to prevent this? And where will they be to prevent future occurrences like this? This happened less than a mile from my parents' house where I grew up, and unfortunately this isn't as uncommon as it should be. The only thing that sticks out is that A. this young dude lost his life (RIP) and B. there were no guns reportedly involved.

The shame of it all is that this happened outside of a community center, where children should be able to find some sort of sanctuary.

"We want to provide reassurance to the public that there's a police presence and they can feel safe in the neighborhood and kids can feel safe at school," said Morgan Park District Commander Michael Kuemmeth. [via ChicagoBreakingNews]

Unfortunately, either Cmdr. Kuemmeth doesn't know the area he's responsible for or he's flat out lying just to calm the public. The fact of the matter is that kids don't feel safe at that school (in particularly Fenger, but other schools on the South Side as well), they don't feel safe in that neighborhood, and there's next to no police presence (basically the opposite of everything he said).

I remember when it was time for me to graduate middle school and go to high school, the last place I wanted to go was Fenger High School (or Corliss High School, which was the second option for dudes in my neighborhood). I had heard stories; which inspired me to keep my grades up and get into someone's gifted program for high school. That's not a knock against Fenger per se, but it is a knock against the idiots who were known to hang out around Fenger and cause problems. Dudes who dropped out of high school, hang out at the high school everyday all day? Didn't make sense to me then either; I wonder if they took attendance in the parking lot.

Also, here's an interesting tid bit for those not acquainted with how the hood really works.

This incident happened around roughly 3pm, around the time school lets out basically. But what you may not know is that also around this time is when police in the area have their shift changes, which grossly affects their response time to anything happening around 3pm.

True story. There was incident that went down involving a neighbor and he had to call the cops to file a report (which is pretty much all cops do anyway). It was about three in the afternoon when he made the 911 call, and it was about four in the evening when the cops finally did arrive. The cops excuse? Because of the shift change.

I would like to speak to the person responsible for scheduling shift changes around the time kids get out of school.

I did see a brief and egregiously pedestrian story about the Fenger incident on the national news, which means Jesse Jackson will be showing up for a photo shoot any day now (I hate to use my 'Life is like a public bathroom' metaphor, but this clown needs to stand up or sit the hell down; cause right now he's hovering and getting shit everywhere).

And in case you've never seen this movie before, let me spoil the rest of the plot and ruin the ending for you.

There will be a vigil (I believe it's being held today), I'm sure somebody is planning an anti violence march somewhere nearby, Jody 'They Should Have Been Done Fired Me' Weiss will point fingers at us coloreds, Mayor 'Black People Will Vote for Me As Long As I Reach Out to The Black Preachers/Ministers/Pastors/People At the Top of the Pyramid Scheme/etc. Around Election Time' Daley will wave one specific finger at us coloreds (for being colored and for taking away from the time he could be spending making his friends even richer via Olympic 2016 contracts), and us coloreds will hold our heads in despair after being scolded by not one, but two white men in suits. Fin.

Vh1 Behind The Music 'Lil Wayne' and Inadvertent Racism Sunday, September 13, 2009

I caught the majority of Vh1's Behind The Music 'Lil Wayne' episode (my limited attention span won't allow me to look up the next airing in hopes of catching the episode in its entirety), and I must say it was actually good viewing. I'm not a huge fan of Lil Wayne, but I've always found Vh1's Behind The Music to do a fairly good job of providing that much needed and oftentimes severely lacking third dimension to some of these artists'ss (RIP ODB). So in that sense, I guess I walked away with a little bit more respect for what it is that Lil Wayne does as a rapper; though Vh1 provided no in-depth analysis on why it is Lil Wayne kisses men on the lips (from this moment on, I need not see anymore studies/surveys that classify us lowly jigs as less tolerant of homosexuality more so than other communities).

Anyway, you have to see Vh1's Behind The Music 'Lil Wayne' episode for yourself to get the full effect, I'm only here to talk about the gist.

At some point during Behind The Music, they delved into Lil Wayne's childhood. I didn't quite catch what exactly it was that happened to his biological father, but Vh1 described Wayne's life as 'finding stability' when his mom married a street hustler.

Let's analyze the coonishness of such niggerdom.

Where in America does having a street hustler for a stepfather equal stability in the home? Could you imagine? My dad sells crack and, aside from the ever present threat of law enforcement kicking in the door without warning and making the entire family lay down on the floor and spreading our butt cheeks while they execute a search warrant, life is stable.

I doubt that if Britney Spears' dad would've converted the family's kitchen into a meth lab and commenced to serving The Smack to the neighboring trailer trash, Vh1's Behind The Music would have hardly referred to it as stable. As a matter of fact, they would have listed it as adversity that she had to overcome.

But see for us black colored African-American negroes (pick one), having a pimp, gangsta, and/or prostitute for a parent is good enough in the eyes of Vh1's Behind The Music. The way they see it, slanging crack rock is much more lucrative than having a wicked jumpshot (because clearly school is for dummies and you uppity negroes).

Actually Vh1 kind of highlighted the larger issue of society painting black people in a singular dimension. I'm sure Wayne's stepdad kept him geared up with the revenue he was making, but that doesn't make it a stable household. I'm sure Wayne oftentimes worried about pop duke's safety in such a growing career field as street hustling. Hardly stable in my opinion. But society seems to think that if black folks got money, then they should have nothing to complain about. Hence, mom duke marrying a street hustler is just the same as you and your big brother Willis being adopted by someone with the last name Drummond (one day I'm going to find the time to break down my thesis on why Diff'rent Strokes is way more racially offensive than Birth of A Nation).

I'm not saying Vh1 meant to be racist, I'm just saying they can go to hell (wit' dey racist asses).

The Importance of Having A White Dude Signing Your Checks Wednesday, August 19, 2009

Let me preface all of this by saying that nothing is more important than getting to the stage of going into business for self and signing your own checks (but I ain't on that... yet); however, I did have a little freelance/consulting thing going on for a minute and that gave me a lot of the experience of someone who runs their own full blown business.

Working for the establishment, while not giving you the greatest comfort in job security, does give you an ultra-secure feeling on payday. You are guaranteed to be paid for the work you did during the pay period. I learned from freelancing and consulting (I mainly worked with Black-ran nonprofits and the occasional White dude-ran operation) that on Fridays, White people got your money; Black people got excuses.

As Black people (raised on healthy amounts of Black pride and self-hatred; both taught by White schoolteachers), we learn at an early age not to do business with other Black people. We're taught that our own are always late, lazy, and lackadaisical; that doing any type of business with a White man is generally a more pleasant experience. So of course, with me rejecting most things that society has thrown my way in an elaborate game of Social Values Hot Potato, I brushed my shoulders off with that notion (odd as it seems, I didn't feel anymore like a pimp than I did before doing so; Jay Z is a liar in this regard).

That was until I became an adult and started doing business with my people.

This isn't an ode to White Jesus or anything, but more like a calling out of how we have to do better. I can't tell you how many times (actually I could; my Shit List record keeping is quite thorough like that) I've shown up to collect my dollars from a Black organization, only to be told that they ain't got it. Or worse, have one of these jigs straight try to avoid me; as if I would somehow forget I'm owed money. And the excuses I'm oftentimes given, generally speaking , have nothing to do with me.

This one guy I used to work for would straight up avoid his office on payday (good thing I know how to pawn seven year old office computers). Why do niggas think ain't nobody got bills to pay but them? And have they ever considered that the people they promised money to on payday are part of the bills they need to pay?

But now I work for the miseducation system where I'm sure there's some old White dude who, in between drawing up Willie Lynch-type educational policies and writing down the names of all the students he thinks would make excellent degree-seeking candidates for the Public School to County Jail Scholarship Program (free room AND board), finds the time to sign my damn checks.

Damn it feels good to be a gangsta.

[Editor's Note: The only thing worse than working for my people, is working at an establishment whose accounting department is ran solely by White women who don't wear glasses; don't ask why, it just is.]

Black Man's Handbook to Dating: Rule WWW - Things Yo' Silly Behind Ought Not Be Doing Online Monday, August 17, 2009

A lot of you dudes, in your hastiness to be slick, are messing up the game for everyone. I've never been a fan of meeting women online per se. But Myspace/Facebook allows you to implement the 'friend of a friend' code (if I have to explain how that works, you may need to find one girlfriend and hope she never dumps you). I'm a huge proponent of ethics; there has to be a code or there's chaos... and chaos between men and women leads to slashed tires, unavailable cell phone calls, and that vaguely familiar black Camry rolling past with an even more familiar woman's voice screaming out '... gone and be with that bitch then!'

Anyone?

Begin.

Stop setting up separate Facebook/Myspace accounts that use different names, but the same damn picture. Really fam? Really? First of all, if you think your girl hasn't mentioned it and therefore she doesn't know about it, then you clearly know nothing about women. They're all private investigators. I know chicks who can't find the Sports section of the newspaper, but can go through your browser's cookies and figure out the name of your favorite porn star.

Her not saying anything is not the equivalent of ignorance to the facts. Matter of fact, you might want to check her cookies.

Moving right along.

You got to stop 'Super Poking' these broads then immediately writing on their wall 'HA HA HA! I just Super Poked you!', and thinking your girl (who is also on your friends list) ain't gone come see you bout that. There's dumb, and then there's LOL-Smiley-Frickin'-Face dumb.

Another thing that's catching a lot of playas up is that whole relationship status option of 'It's Complicated'. See to you it may be a little foggy, but I'll bet a dime to a dollar it's relatively clear-cut in the mind of the woman you living with fool!

Also, slightly related to that... don't put your relationship status as 'Open', when it's closed as hell. Real talk; that'll get your shit sat on the curb, and then you got to break back in the house to retrieve your PS2, but that don't matter cause she done set the games on damn fire, and let the dog chew on the controllers, so you still out some money (anyone?).

Lastly, but not leastly, you dudes need to quit sending yourself off. I got a gang of women on my friends lists that I may chop it up with when I'm bored at work (also known as being unemployed). But some of you dudes, from the instant a chick you vaguely knew in high school/college accept your little friend request, get to planning trips out to the West Coast and whatnot. Here's a new rule: if you got to leave the state to maybe possibly potentially get some play (though we both know that you won't), then you may want to consider working on your interpersonal communication skills... you know, how folks used to meet women back in the day.

And now if you will excuse me... I got walls to write on, women to poke, and statuses to update.

Don't Trust Dem New Niggas

So I'm starting over yet again. Recently just moved from the Chi, back to where it all started... the college town where I learned to a. be man, b. smoke weed (without coughing up a lung), c. lie to women, and d. backtrack out of said lies to said women. I've decided to go back into the field of education; and if there's one thing I learned from previously working in the field of education, it's that all resemblances of a social life go out the window.

Ear Hustlin is what I started when I was King of the Red Line and hearing shit that was too good not to share with the group. Now I'm thinking about changing the name of my blog to 'Go to Work, Come Home, Drink the Beer, and Poke Fine Women on Facebook' (don't be so modest babygirl, I do mean you). And a lot of people have asked me why would I ever leave such a wonderful city like Chicago for Smallville. My answer: you ain't live where I lived.

You ain't lived (or died) until you've played Roseland's version of the 'Grand Prize Game'... some folks call it a drive by. Scratch that. This is how you know we living in a recession; cause there's been way more walk bys than drive bys. You really have to have a certain amount of disdain for the next man when you shoot them, and the best exit strategy you can come up with involves escaping back to Big Mama's house on foot. Can you imagine the prep talk someone gives himself before committing a walk by?

'I ain't got no car... but this nigga think he good... nigga think he can whoop me, and I know he can't whoop me... the nigga's whole style is chump!' (bonus points if you can name that movie)

But I mean, gun violence was only a minor determining factor. Freelancing/consulting had dried up for a sec, but even when it was good I still need that stable money because Uncle Sam was getting more and more suspicious of my tax returns (prove that I earned more than a hundred dollars over the last three years).

Also, while some people find teaching (which isn't exactly what I'll be doing) stressful, I like the fact that working in a school means that I don't have a boss who's above getting cursed the hell out (now, runteldat!). I had a disastrous cursing match with this one principal a few years back. I don't remember the details of what led up to it, but I'm sure it revolved around the fact that he was a cracker-ass cracker that hated black kids (but don't quote me on that; it could've been because he was a cracker-ass cracker who just hated my black ass).

So umm yea, I'm going to be throwing chalk at people shorter than me working with the kids for the next year or two I suspect. No disrespect, but... all these other dudes is good artists'ses; but Castro is for the kids!

Ear Hustlin' Saturday Morning Cartoons - Tall Tee Crack DVD Studio Session Saturday, May 16, 2009

Ear Hustlin' Saturday Morning Cartoons - Black Jesus: Break Bread

Ear Hustlin' Saturday Morning Cartoons - Negro News Brief: Trickin' Debate

SNL "Mother Lover" Justin Timberlake and Andy Samberg - Sequel to Dick In A Box Thursday, May 14, 2009

Things I'm Tired of Hearing About on the News Wednesday, May 13, 2009

Local news stations across the country are having a hard time figuring out why they aren't making as much money as they used to. Here's a hint: people change the channel on reruns; and the news has a tendency to repeat itself daily. Now this could be just a 'me' thing, because in my quest to stay informed I watch a lot of local and national news (some of you jigs change the channel promptly at 5:30pm central; yes, I did have to be a jerk about it).

Media needs a new business model, period. We entered the age of information a long time ago and news (t.v. and print) aren't keeping up... no longer is it acceptable to bombard us with the same garbage several times a day, several days a week. The media (or as Farrakhan would put it, 'The Jews!') can no longer force us to care about things the decision makers think we should care about. They are losing their business to the internet (or as my dad would say, '... the who, what, which it?') but aren't taking note of what the internet is doing right. Sucks to be them (takes a step off my soapbox).

At any rate, I've made a short list of things that have given me nightmares because I can't escape them. I know way more about these people/things than I ever wanted to (or needed to).

_______________

Drew Peterson

Not sure if you've been keeping up with this one, but Drew Peterson is basically going to be tried for murder based on conjecture and hearsay. Now I only found this information useful because it's messed up to have your freedom jeopardized based on hearsay, and his lawyers are challenging the constitutionality of such a thing; as well they should. The irony, however , is not lost on me; as a former cop, Drew Peterson has probably locked away many people for many years based on hearsay. Negroes have been getting locked up on hearsay since the first slave thought it wise to follow the north star; but as soon as it happens to a white dude, all of a sudden it may be unconstitutional. Regardless, they either need to 'Sadaam Hussein' this dude or let him go; I'm sick of hearing about him. Drew Peterson is the white people's O.J. Simpson; except he merc'd two of his wives and we all know Drew did it.

Swine Flu

This was a major disappointment; here I was re-upping on supplies for my underground bunker (and sharpening my wooden stakes in case the people who die from swine flu, don't always stay dead from swine flu), only to find out swine flu (or as Farrakhan would put it, 'God's punishment for being a Jew!') is really not that serious. I mean 35,000 people die annually worldwide from the regular flu (you probably thought I was going to quote that cliched line about AIDS/unprotected sex that's been floating around people's Facebook statuses; some of them even have the nerve to try and pass it off as an original introspective thought), and we're tripping about less than a thousand people dying from the swine flu. Not to mention, most of the people who have died from it have been children in countries where people still die from Polio. Here's a new rule: don't ever try to break me up with my bacon and egg sandwich for such foolishness ever again.

Rod Blagojevich

G-Rod claims to know something that we don't know that will prove his innocense. Believe it or not, I actually ride with Rod Blagojevich on this one. Do your history Illinoisans (is that what we're called?). Governors of this state always get into trouble when they do too much to help the poor/black/underserved constituents. Ex-Governor Ryan was taken out when he decided executing innocent black men was in fact, not what Jesus would do. As a person who worked for non-profits in the city, I know firsthand that Rod Blagojevich did a lot to see that funding was pumped into minority non-profit organizations, and because of that the white voters downstate (read: the Illinois Chapter of the KKK) sought to ruin him. Ok, so he tried to screw over the Tribune and the Cubs; but it's just the Tribune and the Cubs. They've been screwing over the city for years. So he tried to sell a senate seat; big deal! When the Blue Line is crowded and a fine chick gets on, I use my train seat as a valued bargaining chip. If I was Blago, I would have put the vacant senate seat on eBay, and then hired a mole to drive up the bid.

Twitter

This is only new to you if the whole concept of a web browser is new to you. How dare the local news attempt to bring us news about something they were sleeping on? Then they speak on it as if it's something mystical and to be skeptical of. Not to mention, I've heard it mispronounced several times by people that have only one real job in life; to pronounce shit correctly!

Todd Stroger

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: white people have a certain knack for picking the wrong black people to speak for us (I'm looking at you Jesse 'I want to cut off another nigga's nuts, but can't stand when people use the word nigga' Jackson). Todd Stroger is an idiot, and has that voice of the black person in high school none of the other black students spoke to (or as Farrakhan would put it, 'Coming round here sounding like he been rubbing elbows too much with all them damned Jews!'). But I must admit that Stroger has made some valid points as of late. First the county does indeed need that tax hike to keep things running. I was a little sick about the tax increase at first, but I think of it like this; the state has raised taxes on numerous ocassions and Daley raises taxes every time his Viagra doesn't do the trick. But a beady-eyed black dude raises the tax by one penny for every dollar spent, and all of a sudden it's a problem. I ain't playing the race card yet, but you a damn fool if you don't think it's in my hand; I'm just saying.

How Cool President Obama Is

He's a black dude! Is America just figuring out how cool we are? And by black standards, Obama is only somewhat cool (after all, he is a politician; people ignore that for some reason). The real shock is going to be once America finds out how cool he can not be. Again, the man's a politician. I love and support Obama, but I also recognize that there are black aldermen in this city who will side swipe your grandmama on the Dan Ryan at 80 mph just to keep their aldermanic status; imagine what had to be done to become a black president. (I defend Stroger and Blagojevich, yet make snide remarks about Obama; it surprised me too!)

Miss California

It's a sad state of affairs when bimbos are the go to guys for views on social inequalities. I guess Miss California is slightly more intelligent than that one beauty pageant chick who thought giving away free globes would usher in world peace, but still. I guess it was somewhat newsworthy that topless pictures of Miss California floated around the net recently, but she's a white chick. I can see fully naked white chicks on Bang Bros; thoughtfully categorized based upon my particular fetish. So she doesn't believe gay people should be married, who cares? I'd be willing to bet a dime to a dollar that she also doesn't believe that 'i' comes before 'e', except after 'c'. The points and counterpoints of gay marriage should be left to Hannity and Colmes.

Honorable Mentions: American Idol, Bernie Madoff, going green/these non-existent green jobs they speak of

_

I Got Robbed Yesterday Part 1: The Incident Tuesday, May 12, 2009

'I'll probably be murdered for the shit that I said/But I bring the real, be a legend/Breathing or dead' - Tupac Shakur, Against All Odds

The hood is fucked up... and if you didn't know that, then remain in your bubble; trust me, it'll work out better for you in the long run. Where I was and when I was there is of little importance at the moment, but the bottom line is that I was doing little more than exercising my right to live as I walked down the street yesterday (in broad daylight, mind you) when initially one guy approached me. The fight was on.

Without hesitation, me and this guy proceeded to man up in formidable adversarial combat... it was the three or so of his homies that I wasn't prepared for. Long story short, they got me for little of value and I received no injuries (unless you count a scraped elbow and a disappearing welt on my temple). In hindsight, I'm grateful for the fact that most of these dudes nowadays lack strong males figures (in addition to the requisite testicular fortitude) in their life that could have taught them how to fight. My pride was in pain and my ego was bruised, but outside of that the kid was good; not to mention I needed a good fight.

What did I learn? Nothing. You can't stop niggas from being niggas; and in today's economy, you can't stop niggas from acting more niggardly (that's an actual word). It's just so sickening out here today that no one ever considers going without until their situation gets better; instead these knuckleheads resort to taking from other people just so they can say that they have something. What happened to me, happens everyday and all day all around the city; my situation was only different in the sense that I didn't lose my life over what amounted to slightly less than a hundred dollars in value (good luck at the pawn shops tough guys; they actually have a surplus these days - the real indication of a recession).

I really hate to wax philosophical about some bullshit, but sometimes even bullshit deserves a second sniff. I remember being in a car with a group of friends riding down 79th (doesn't matter where, because 79th and anywhere is the hood) when one of them went on a rant about how niggas need to get off the corner and do better. I was in agreement somewhat, but I also understood how daunting of a task it is to 'Git Up, Git Out' (if you don't know that reference, then go back to listening to your chopped and screwed version of 'Gucci Bandana' and stop telling people that you're a rap fan) and get something when there's nothing available to be gotten. But let's be honest; due to the sickness that runs so deep, there's a certain segment of our community that carry on like natural born predators.

There exists some in our community that it really is too late for. The thought of going to school/getting a job/starting a business has never crossed their mind. They truly are satisfied with the crumbs they can snatch off someone else's table; especially when everything that's labelled black culture glorifies such existence: i.e. our music, our movies, our fashion, our false state of mind. And that's just what some of us are doomed to; an existence, and not a living.

'I ain't never ever ran from the Ku Klux Klan/And I shouldn't have to run from a black man' - Kool Moe Dee, Self Destruction

Part 2 (coming real soon)

Jehovah's Witnesses vs. The Thugs Saturday, May 9, 2009

Today I saw the most awesome crime-fighting force ever. I went on my morning runs on foot (even though my Saturday mornings are usually dedicated to Hannah Montana; hater), and after a few blocks I decided to post up and catch my breath for a second (it was less of a 'decision', and more of a 'I'm a rapidly aging smoker that gets winded after a few blocks' type of deal). The only thing moving on the street this morning was myself, the trash that litters the South Side as it blows in the wind, and the Jehovah's Witnesses (you already know how they do). One witness tried to hand me a copy of The Watchtower, but the hidden jewel about walking with headphones on is that you can selectively hear people.

Anyway, I decided to dip off the main street and hold it down outside the library before I continued my journey. As I turned the corner, I entered Bizarro World; it was about a quarter to ten in the morning and the thugs were already out in full force. I was under the impression that thugs don't usually get out of bed before 11:45 am... just in time to get cleaned up, watch the noon o'clock news on WGN (to see if the headlines report that the person they shot the night prior was indeed the right target; it usually never is), catch The Maury Show (which also comes on WGN to account for the fact that some thugs aren't even ambitious enough to grab the remote), and open up for business outside the house they grew up in and have never once thought about leaving (except the one time when Big Mama decided enough was enough; but even then, that wasn't their decision). But this was Saturday morning; meaning no news, no Maury, no reason to do anything before 3pm. Yet and still, they were congregated outside of an apartment building roughly nine or so deep. No need for me to panic though, because I dress like I too own an unregistered firearm (and if it really comes down to it, we can all like monkeys round'hea).

Then the most remarkable thing took place. As the Jehovah's Witnesses rounded the same corner I had just bent, I literally heard one of the d-boys (dope peddlers, for my increasing number of Caucasian visitors) say, '... oh shit, here come the witnesses!' Then they immediately took it indoors. Not only did they go inside, but they refused to open the door of the building when the Jehovah's Witnesses came knocking.

Suddenly I had a great idea in my long series of great ideas (though no one supported my Blind Man's Boxing League idea; bastards); they should pair up every cop in the city with a Jehovah's Witness unit (one single Jehovah's Witness isn't enough; their fear is derived in their numbers). Just one blue and white squad car being followed by an old school Cutlass/Impala/Lincoln Continental full of old women Jehovah's Witnesses in big hats (the big hats is also another intimidation tactic they employ). I predict that we can have these streets cleaned up by the end of the summer; well at least cleaned up of crime - I'm sure there will be an influx of discarded Watchtowers littering the ground.

Black Man's Handbook to Dating: Rule BFF - Grown People Don't Make New Friends of the Opposite Sex Friday, May 8, 2009

I have real bad news for most of you... the friends of the opposite sex you have by this point in your life, are all the real friends of the opposite sex you will ever have. Quit lying to yourself. That chick you met at the club during the office's Christmas Eve gathering is not your damn friend. As a matter of fact, if she wasn't so fine, you would have stopped talking to her the moment she started breaking down how her views on politics are based on astrology. If that didn't drive you away, then surely the fact that she talks to her cat should've been the straw to break the camel's back; and by talk, I mean engaging in meaningful discussions and the occasional debate (the shocking part is that according to her, the cat usually wins).

So what the hell is it all about? Generally, the new opposite-sex friends you make are just associates of the opposite sex that you haven't engaged in relations with yet (and if you keep giving her the impression that she's your friend, you never will; but that's a different topic altogether). Yes, it's true. If not, then ask yourself why is it that you make it point to describe her to your real friends in terms like fine, gorgeous, pretty, etc. If she was truly your friend, then you would describe her just like you describe all your other friends; 'cool'. This is why your circle of close friends remain pretty consistent, while there's a constant rotation of peripheral opposite-sex friends. You tried to forge a friendship (actually, you tried to forge a friendship with benefits) and when that doesn't work out for whatever reason, you drop them like collateral damage.

Why do people tend to throw around the term friend so eagerly in the first place? Well it makes things a little less messy when these 'friends' slip in and out of your life; otherwise people would have to call it what it is - whoring. Ladies and gentlemen, if you make a new 'friend' every single time you enter and exit a club/bar/sporting event/church/places where whores like yourself are known to congregate/etc., then you are doing little more than whoring yourself out to the highest bidder (and by bidder, I mean those persons willing to overlook the flaws that have kept you single for so long in the first damn place). Which isn't a bad thing, necessarily.

The bad part comes when one of my genuinely platonic lady friends (yea I know; just let it go) introduces me to one of her new male friends. I'm usually about 95% sure she's either: A. screwing him, B. soon to be screwing him, or C. mentally screwing him over by misleading him to think he's going to get to screw her at a later date. This is always an awkward introduction because homie is generally looking at me like, 'I wonder if she's screwing him too?' Then after a maximum of a few months, homie disappears and my platonic friend has nothing good to say about him; which is unfortunate, because I had a good time whooping homie's ass in Madden when they would visit... but alas, we were all led on.

A Word About the Deaths of Chicago Public School Students Thursday, May 7, 2009

The truth is always the last thing we see when looking in the mirror. No one should blame anyone other than the perpetrators of these senseless murders that are taking place among Chicago Public School students. But I have made some disturbing observations about the situation. Shall I continue?

In more than one instance, the victim's family/friends are reported as saying that the victim didn't belong in a gang, but hung out with gang members.

Let's evaluate that for a second.

Being a black male who grew up on the South Side, I understand how it is/was nearly impossible to not have friends that have gang affiliations. At the same time; however, I was always cognizant of the fact that there exists an ultra-thin line between knowing gang members and actually being a part of that gang. I could not help that by the age of twelve, the majority of my friends; dudes I had known since first-grade in elementary school, decided to draw lines across the battlefield known as my community and pledge allegiances to one of the many gang sects eager to accept them. They were still my friends and I both acknowledged and loved them as such.

In actuality, two things prevented me from waving flags of warfare in the form of colored bandannas and baseball caps tilted in either direction; the first being that I was plucked out of the neighborhood school and whisked away to various 'gifted' programs (by third or fourth grade, the CPS system had already determined who was on the college track and who wasn't), and the other being simply that pop and mom dukes wasn't having it. Which brings me back to my point. How can so many family members be aware that their loved one has these gang associates and do nothing to intervene until it's too late?

Granted, as a former a hard-headed teenager, I understand exactly how little input parents have when their children leave their presence; but in today's social climate (with the parents in our community being closer in age to their children than ever), there seems to be more acceptance of the fact that even the 'good' kids hang out on the wrong side of the tracks. Back in the day, being in a gang and/or being friends of gang members was something kept out of earshot of individuals over the age of 30; because the last thing a black teen wanted circa pre-1998 was Mama and/or Big Mama coming to snatch his ass off the corner and showing him that all a real gangsta needed was a belt (or an extension cord is she felt you were really challenging her for the O.G. crown), a disrespectful kid, and an enclosed space.

Other quick personal observations.

I'm sick of seeing reporters at the crime scene while residents of the neighborhood pass by in the background smiling and waving to the camera as if the news crew was there for something positive. Ironically, I've even seen people flash their gang signs to the camera. In addition, someone needs to remind these teens that when you're telling the reporter that gangs are a problem in your neighborhood, it might be a good idea to turn your hat straight.

Again, I'm not blaming anyone nor calling out the families/friends of any particular victim; but at some point Black Chicago is going to have to engage in a tough and honest discussion with the other half of Black Chicago before anything changes.

'Unless we shooting, no one notices the youth' - Tupac Shakur, Me Against the World

If I Were An Ex-Offender, Then... Tuesday, May 5, 2009

... I would have the world at my fingertips. Or at least more local resources at my disposal.

Going all the way back to the middle of last year, it's been both slim pickings and a rough time to be a freelance writer. I'll bet you can't guess how I attempt to make my living. Freelance writer, you say? Wrong! I'm a porn star... but until that takes off, I've been freelance writing (ok, I'm not really an aspiring porn star). With the need for local writers being virtually null, I've been finding ways of tightening my belt by cutting down on expenses (I'm almost a non-smoker these days). One of the expenses I was almost certain I could find help with was my transportation; because CTA has been digging into my pockets for quite some time. So me being a bit naive, I figured I could hit up some of the 'community employment assistance' (in hindsight, this is a misnomer) programs to a slide a brother some free bus passes as I attempt to be the 'black Carrie Bradshaw' of this mofo (not that I would ever admit to watching that show).

They asked me two questions which I ultimately had the wrong answer to. A. Are you an ex-offender? B. Are you receiving any welfare benefits? The answer to both of these are no (though if a couple of these publishers that owe me money don't soon fork it over, I may become a future ex-offender). Then, without a smile on her face (she may have been smiling; after all, it was a phone conversation), this chick proceeds to tell me that there's nothing she could do for me.

But I'm college educated, worked with various local non-profits, and my resume is pretty impressive... there's nothing you can do for me? She then enlightened me to the fact that because I was so educated, it was actually a liability to receiving assistance. In my warped (and sometimes fragile) little mind, I almost got the feeling that with a nod and wink, she was implying that the best course of action would be for me to go out and immediately do some dirt, and then flag down a swine flu carrier cop to confess my crimes. Then they would help me?!

Even she admitted that it was a bit odd (hesitantly so, and only a bit odd) that they weren't able to do a thing for me. The lessons I learned? School is for dummies, and I need to get the hook-up on a package.

Black Dudes Are Not All Alike Tuesday, April 7, 2009

I was conversing with some of the young hogs off the block the other day; the oldest of which was about sixteen years of age. And they were informing me how much differently I presented myself from most of the other 'big homies' on the block. Not necessarily in terms of style of dress, or even mannerisms, but a certain aura I have (yes, one of these lil nigglets used the word 'aura' correctly in a sentence). I contrast that to a recent phone conversation I overheard at a McDonald's downtown. I guess this white chick was annoyed by the way this grimy ass black dude went about trying to holla at her; and he was quite the modern-day Amos n' Andy soft-shoe stepping jig (damn that was hateful of me), but that's not the point. So once he bounces, she's on the phone saying something to the extent of all black men are overbearing in their approach to women; and that we all dress the same, talk the same, etc. It just got me to thinking about all the things society assumes I get down with by me being a black man, and all the things I actually get down with by me being a effing individual. I wrote a list about it; like to to hear it, here it go.

What I Should Like: Beyonce
What I Actually Like: Hanna Montana
Now there's nothing sexual in terms of this preference (compared to me, Miley Cyrus is six years old), but I'm speaking in terms of tolerance level. I wake up bright and early every Saturday morning to catch Hanna Montana; however, I can't listen to a thirty second interview with Ms. Knowles. Listening to this chick speak is like watching a moose trying to do calculus.

What I Should Like: Sex with lots of fine women
What I Actually Like: Stress-free living, peace of mind, and no STDs
It's common knowledge that the finer a woman is, the more drama she brings to the table. Sex was a big thing in high school (when I got none) and more so as an undergrad (when I actually had to beat several chicks off me with a stick; not to get them away from me, but because they were into that sort of thing). Nowadays, with the exception of one-night stands, sex with a woman comes with the underlying assumption that you are now obligated to listen to her problems. That fine woman ain't so fine when she's in tears, relating to you the story of how her uncle used to fondle her while in his gorilla costume and that's why she freaks out at the sight of loose strands of hair.

What I Should Like: Smoking blunts
What I Actually Like: Hitting the bong
All praises due to the white cats I smoked out with in college... the switch from blunts to bongs profoundly impacted my life. As a matter of fact, I'll be right back...

What I Should Like: Whatever expensive liquor rappers are promoting these days
What I Actually Like: An ice-cold 40 oz
These nuccas (niggas + suckas) will buy whatever Jay Z, Fiddy, or Lil Wayne tells them to. I've seen cats (quite often) go to the bar and drop a bill on a bottle of whatever. I'm sure it's some type of status symbol, but I ain't with all that. Gimme the four-O (doesn't even matter what kind), and I'm good to go! As a matter of fact, I'll be right back...

What I Should Like: BET
What I Actually Like: PBS
Certain aspects of television viewing can be life enriching, depending upon what you're watching; as long as it's not BET. Watching BET is like masturbation without a happy ending; now you're just doing it because it's part of your routine.

What I Should Like: Being loud and ignorant
What I Actually Like: Being drunk, loud, and ignorant
I'm neither loud nor ignorant by nature (don't give me that look), but I'm at my loudest and most ignorant when I'm drunk. My personal motto is: if I'm going to be loud and ignorant, don't mess around with it; do it expeditiously! Word to Keenan Ivory Wayans as Joe Clark.

What I Should Like: Fathering a slave-ship load of illegitimate children
What I Actually Like: Giving these broads aliases and bogus social security numbers
I'm not a deadbeat dad until the court (or Maury) tracks me down and says so.

What I Should Like: Being thugged out
What I Actually Like: Not being afraid
'Ooooh, is he finna get deep and philosophical on this one?' Prolly not. But I will say that it's strange that the hardest dude on the block, is generally the dude with the most amount of people willing to fight for him. What's the first thing a so-called thug does when the drama pop? The same thing the cops do; call for back-up. Not gangsta at all homie.

What I Should Like: Chicken
What I Actually Like: Chicken
And in this sense, I'm just like every black dude you have ever met.

How the CTA and PACE Conspired to Ruin My Life Tuesday, January 13, 2009

I've been doing a lot of exploring different streams of conscious thought. That may sound like total bullshit, only because it is; however, you didn't know that for sure until just now. But that wasn't my point at all.

So sometime in 2008, the CTA/Pace decided that Chicagoans were getting spoiled by a transit system that nearly made an ounce of sense; hence, in 2009 they decided enough was enough. You now need two completely different passes to get aboard buses that travel nearly the same route (and are both usually late). Did I mention that even the CTA and Pace buses that travel identical routes don't necessarily make the same stops. Totally not a good look when you're waiting at the bus stop in near blizzard like conditions. The icing on the cake is that this new system will also cost you more this year than it did last year (they put the squeeze on me while your granny, who never leaves the crib unless someone comes to get her in the first place, still has the option to ride for free).

For about fifteen minutes this morning, I inadvertently became the 'Loose Square Dude' up at the Red Line. See, I generally give away one or two cigarettes per day as my way of ensuring there's never a dull moment in hell for when I get there spreading the love. So this guy asked me if I had another cigarette (besides the one I was smoking, as I stood there pondering the pros and cons of me waking up with ambition and purpose every day), and as I handed it to him he filled my hand with two quarters (the market value of a loose square) before I had the chance to inform him that I'm not the Loose Square Dude.

Next thing I know, a dozen or so people bum rushed me (three of which I suspected of being actual bums) waving dollar bills and quarters (I felt like a stripper who couldn't command the salary she did in her prime). I wanted to tell them I wasn't in fact selling cigarettes, but I had a feeling that they would have taken them from me.

Rewind that.

I ain't no punk, no hoe, no bitch; and I stalk these South Side streets with a subtle yet sophisticated dose of righteous anger. And with that being said, I still had the wisdom to understand that these nicotine baseheads were going to take my cigarettes from me. After all was said and done, I had enough dough to get the 6 Wing Dinner from J and J's Fish (yup, I went into a fish place and still ordered the chicken; why must I be such a nigglet).

With public transportation imploding, and the price of gas declining I now see fit to never turn down a friend when they offer me a ride. This past weekend my friend came and picked me up bright and early on a Sunday morning. I can't quite remember exactly where we were, but we got into a completely minor and inconsequential accident. We were sitting at a red light when the car behind us apparently decided that wasn't good enough reason for him to sit at the red light; he barely nudged us.

My friend was not raised on the South Side, nor in the city for that matter. However, through life experiences and ultimately settling down on the South Side, she officially earned her South Side armor. As such, she responded in the way all South Siders respond to traffic accidents; she exited the vehicle cussing as if God had let her down for the very last time. I've never been more scared proud of her.

Back to how much I hate these buses.

A little known Chicago fact is that these bus drivers are in cahoots with the stick-up kids. No, it's true. When the bus drivers say 'Good Morning', it's not because it's the proper and polite thing to do. They're screening to see if you're soft enough to say it back. You must ice-grill that simple sum'ama bitch with all you got. When he says 'Watch Your Step', it's not because he has a vested interest in seeing you get off the bus safely. He's testing you fam! Now you have to exit the bus as recklessly as possible; like you don't give a damn if you slip and fall or not, cause you a 'G' like that and you gone be ok.

I wonder how I'm getting home today.

I'm Back Thursday, January 8, 2009

I have a habit of disappearing which, as a New Year's resolution, I've promised family and friends that I would do a lot less of. A lot has changed. Toward the end of last year I finally gathered the required testicular fortitude to leave my old job. It wasn't that hard to do, seeing as how I got paid in pocket lint and the belongings of coworkers left unattended (if it's your watch, why come it's in my pocket?). Word to the pawn shop. With my new found free time, I've gotten into spewing out random thoughts. You've been warned.

What does one do with no job during the holidays? The same thing everyone else does during the holidays, chill the hell out. Since I had nowhere in particular to be for those couple of weeks, bathing had become a completely optional exercise in padding my self worth (yes ladies, I'm quite the catch). Without my job I must admit that I fell way behind on email... I probably won't be getting up on that anytime soon. But let me address a few concerns en masse.

First I would like to thank everyone who sent email/wrote on my Facebook wall/threw small rocks at my bedroom window/etc. to say happy birthday. Things like that start to mean more when you're my age (I turned 25 yet again). Also, to my homies that emailed me about Xbox/PlayStation games of theirs I've had for way too long, have a freakin' heart... what else do you expect me to do while I battle unemployment? To those that have emailed about money I owe them, you may want to talk to my attorney G. Breadman; his office hours are a little shady, so catch him if you can.

I been eating a lot of jelly lately.

A couple of Saturdays ago, I got into a heated cursing match with this homeless blind dude from around the way (the handicap are not exempt from my aggressiveness, because that would be discrimination) who swears up and down that I bumped into him while he was walking down the street. If you are blind and in motion, can you ever really be certain that someone bumped into you and not the other way around? At the end of our exchange this dude took like six or so swings at me; but by that time I had already quietly walked past him.

If more dudes openly admitted to banging fat chicks, Maury would have a lot less of those DNA paternity test shows, thereby and hitherto making the world a better place for you and for me. I would now like to take this opportunity to swear on a stack of bibles that I have never banged a fat chick that I will ever admit to. [INSERT DIVERSION HERE]

Castro in '04 '08 '12 (I know for a fact that I got at least two write-in votes in '04 because I voted twice).