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.]

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)

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.

Black Man's Handbook to Dating: Rule #187 Her Baby's Father Is Indeed Crazy, And Crazy Indeed Tuesday, October 21, 2008

Once again your boy is holding you down with sound dating advice based upon smoking good green and thinking about it scientific empirical evidence. The dating scene has changed for both men and women, and if you don't evolve your game then you will find yourself spending Friday nights Googling the names of your exes hoping to read bad news about them (anyone who says they've never done this, is a liar and the truth ain't in them). The landscape has transformed, and things that were a non-issue in the dating world years ago are the top issues on today's dating agenda. So today I present to you another excerpt from my Black Man's Handbook to Dating.

Black Man's Handbook to Dating: Rule #187 That Nigga's Crazy!

Once you reach that age range of twentysomething (or in our community, seventeen), the number of eligible single women is a bit skewed because a lot of those eligible women have kid(s) from a previous relationship. Now I used to be from the school of thought that a woman having children was an automatic deal breaker (this may sound excruciatingly effed-up, but I used to refer to them as 'might-as-well-be-men'), but I abandoned this line of reasoning recently because A.) it was based on my own warped sense of self-importance, and B.) Friday Night Googling was getting old real quick.

However, there is something all men should know as it pertains to dating a woman with kids. Regardless of what she says, the father of her children is a complete nut job. No really, he is. Sure she'll downplay it, all the way up to the point when this fool runs up on yall at the IHOP in his pajamas, singing his favorite Boys II Men song with a tear in his eye, while swinging his bat (true story). And in all fairness, it isn't the woman's fault that she is raising the child of a lunatic, but she could at least prepare you a little better for the inevitable encounter. Maybe if women kept it real about the mental stability of their ex, then we as men could be a little more understanding.

But instead women choose to follow the cycle.

You know what the cycle is, even if you don't know what the cycle is. The first leg of the cycle starts when you and the chick first get involved. You guys are getting to know each other. She may briefly make references to her child's father, but usually in a minor context. Time passes.

Now during discussions of past relationships, she offers a little bit more insight of what her relationship with her ex was like. During these discussions gentlemen, it is very important to listen carefully. If you do, you will always catch that one specific detail about her ex that makes you think something ain't right with this dude. This is known as foreshadowing. More time passes.

You and her are really feeling each other and believe there's enough chemistry to maintain a relationship. You accept not only her, but her kid(s) as well. As a guy, I know how hard it is to listen to a woman that's talking; however, you must listen attentively when she starts to make references to her baby's daddy. You will start to hear terms like 'restraining order', 'failure to appear', 'he tried to choke me once', 'the last time he tried to choke me, he succeeded', etc.

The last part of the cycle is the actual face-off between you and Mr. Voorhies. Now this face-off is unlike any face-off you've ever been a part of, especially since the guy will run up on you in your blind spot and just start popping off at the mouth. Usually this happens when you and his baby mama are in a public space, and chances are he followed yall there (which is totally within his personality traits, too bad you weren't listening when she told you about the 'Car Chase' incident). At this point, she has no other choice but to fess up to the fact that he's a lunatic; but by this time the cops have arrived and would have diagnosed him as such anyway.

So am I suggesting staying away from single mothers? Of course not. But there is only one tactic that I've found to consistently work with crazy baby daddies - you must out-crazy them. Yep, you have to make it known that no matter how crazy he thinks he is, you're way crazier. Even if you're not crazy, he doesn't know that. What can make a crazy person think you're crazier than they are? Crazy shit obviously. Go outside and bite a dog while making cat noises; consistently talk to your left hand, to make him think you're trying to talk it out of beating his ass; start your car, then go back in the house and watch t.v. for about an hour. To you these may sound like private moments of temporary insanity. However, what you don't know is that there is nothing private about these moments; he's watching you, and hopefully is a little disturbed by what he just saw.

Hood Indications of a Recession Thursday, October 9, 2008

Not more than a few months ago, politicians and the media alike refused to call what the economy has been going through for close to a year (if not more) a recession. If one of the presidential candidates had made the mistake of calling it a recession before the signal was given, it would have meant certain death to their campaign. If this doesn't strike you as a tad bit greasy, then I now know it's ok to lie to you with no consequences. Fast forward to the presidential debates, and now politicians are openly calling the economy close to depression era levels.

But regardless of whether or not you call an ugly girl ugly, we all know she's ugly (even if she doesn't). In the parts round where I stay (which I affectionately refer to as 'The Place Where I Will Eventually Get Shot Before Realizing My Full Potential'), we could have told you we were in a recession this time last year; but alas, no one asked us (not even the people who quote all of these polls on the evening news; how shocking). But just because no one asked, doesn't mean I won't weigh in on the issues (I do this for the kids; RIP ODB). So here I present to you the Hood Economic Indicators of a Recession. These are common everyday things you may have noticed yourself, but couldn't quite find the right set of disturbing words to describe them; I specialize in disturbing words.

1. Those bags of chips that used to be 25 cents, are now 35 cents.
I mean really though, them lil ass bags of chips (consisting of two whole chips, a few broken chips, and lots of damn air) haven't gotten any bigger, so what's up with the heavier price tags? Usually if I go into a store with kids of a friend or something, I used to splurge a dollar and get four bags and share with the shorties. Nowadays however, not so much. Now with the increased price tag, the answer to the question 'How was school today?' takes on special significance; if school wasn't that great, I'm not blowing over 1/3 of a dollar on a dummy.

2. Loose squares from the Loose Square Dude jumped from 25 cents to 50 cents.
This is the single most rip off in the history of 'not harmfully illegal street hustles', but don't blame Loose Square Dude. Now with cigarettes costing more in general, and the price of the gas needed to cross state lines to acquire the squares increased, those non-savings are passed on to you.

3. All forty ounce beverages have went up a minimum of 10 cents.
I'm old school, so I remember when a forty ounce of the cheap shit was like a buck and a quarter (yes Mom, in high school when I would come home after school and fall up the stairs on the way to my room, it's because I was hammered; and sometimes high). When the cheap shit went up to two dollars, I didn't complain; I was teaching sixth-grade, and knew I would have to drink the shit anyway. However, I can no longer call the cheap shit the cheap shit anymore as it has risen to a wallet-crunching $2.25 plus tax. Yes people, it is now more economically viable for me to search out the root causes of my frustrations and anxieties, rather than drink a forty and pretend like tomorrow will be much better.

4. A pack of cigarettes is now more expensive than a half gram of the other type of tobacco.
Ten dollars used to get me a pack of Newports (the negro brand of choice), a nickel bag (yes Mom, when I come home after work and fall up the stairs on the way to my room, it's because I'm high; and sometimes hammered), and a bottle of Bug Juice (I love them shits). In today's economic climate, I've had to learn to scale back. Now I can either get the Bug Juice (I love them shits) and a pack of Kools (the other negro brand of choice), or get the Bug Juice (I love them shits) and a nickel bag. Now what's wrong with this picture? Well if you're a real smoker, then you know nothing goes better with your nick bag than the relaxing slow death of inhaling a mentholated cigarette. I think now is the time I unveil that next shit I been working on; mentholated nickel bags! You look at me like a madman now, but in time we'll see who's the real fool (stop pointing at me!).

5. The weed man now charges sales tax to cover his increase in overhead.
Whether he's seen a spike in legal fees, or the cost of storing his stash in the bushes has went up is anyone's guess, all I know is that the weed man has invested in a cash register (to help calculate the 10% Cook County sales tax; thanks Todd) and now accepts credit/debit cards (and if you're dumb enough to give the weed man your credit/debit card, then he might be selling you crack and you're the only one who doesn't know it yet).

6. Even stealing gas will cost you a couple dollars per gallon.
You've heard the old saying, '... ass, cash, or gas; nobody rides for free!', but in America's economic downturn that statement rings as true as ever. You'd be surprised at the number of people I've seen dropped off at the curb for not having any of the aforementioned.

7. Mom dukes don't be cooking as much no more.
The hilarious details of this will only be revealed to those who invite me over for dinner.

8. Nobody in the hood talks about global warming or the environment.
Global warming is a good thing, because come this winter I won't be able to afford heat (who said God ain't good?; and someone needs to tell Him to stop opening another door after closing one because it's costing me a fortune to keep my crib at room temperature). How much are you allowed to care about carbon offsets and going green, when the sheriff is tossing your belongings in the street (and kicking them) because your landlord defaulted on his mortgage; also, is it routine to do cavity searches during evictions?

9. Beating a niggas ass has increased in cost by 50%.
But don't worry, they're still being dealt out free of charge on the South Side.

The Hood and the Ways to Know If You're In One Thursday, September 11, 2008

My friend gave me a ride to the Red Line this morning, how awesome of her (coincidentally I had five seconds to get ready, and she changed my name to Freddie; but I digress) and as we rode through some of the nicer parts of the South Side, I couldn't help but wonder why my section of the South Side looks so shitty. Then I realized (in a 'you silly Negro' sort of way) it's because I live in the hood.

And for all practical purposes, there really isn't much difference between the hood and the nicer parts of the city; they both have buildings, stores, houses, hang out spots, etc., yet no one minds visiting Hyde Park (the nice areas anyway) and everybody dreads being caught in the 100s (the wrong side of the E-way; the other side is a little better). As I'm riding in my friend's car I made mental notes and came up with a list of 14 things that let you know that you're in the hood. Why 14, and not a nice round number like 10 or 15? Well the overachiever in me wanted to do 10, but the underachiever in me wanted to do 15 (ponder that on your next coffee break).

A dice game. This is a clear indication that you have ventured into the wonderful world of Hood. Dice games only take place among people with very little money to begin with, and usually in the presence of the stick-up kid who came to earn his rep.

Storefronts that have their signs airbrushed on. Had enough money to start your business, but not enough money to start your business did you? No business in the hood will ever reach the heights of say a Target or Walmart, if the store's logo could easily pass for gang graffiti. Airbrushing the main sign for your store is not a good look.

It's 7am, everybody's outside but ain't nobody going nowhere. [Editor's note: You've been in the hood too long if you can decipher double negatives for their true meaning.] This shit kills me. Is it ok to be awake at 7am with nothing to do? Sure, it's ok I guess; but why in the hell are you holding down the block already? And I can't even say it's just the young hogs out this early, because I've seen old people sitting on their porch asking me where am I going so early. I have a question, where are you not going this early?

The cops don't sweat you over little shit. Cops only interact with hood folks if there is definitely going to be an arrest. Because apparently everybody owns a gun and hates cops in the hood, so even five-O knows not to just be lallygagging.

The cops sweat you over little shit. In direct opposition of the aforementioned (after all, we are talking about the hood which is full of contradictions), the cops will harass your ass for little more than walking right, left, right instead of left, right, left. You have to remember, hood cops are usually hood themselves (even with names like Dubowski); which means they are bitter and petty. And they hate niggaz who 'think they tough' (see: Boyz n the Hood).

The oldest child is pushing the stroller of the youngest child, while the mom talks on her cell phone five paces ahead. This happens more than I care to recall. It's no secret that most of these ill mannered future low-level street enforcers are not being raised properly; and by properly, I mean someone around to beat that ass like a drug deal gone bad (which at the way their being raised, they will find themselves involved in one day). This telltale sign of the hood is just the manifestation that no one is loving these kids.

School children don't have backpacks. Why carry a backpack if you only go to school for three reasons? Division, lunch, and gang banging. What part of that involves books?

You start sweating because something doesn't feel right. The proper scientific term for this affliction is called shook. And it's perfectly ok to have, but you must never show any sign of it while you are in the hood. Usually the person with this debilitating disorder will try to proceed through the hood as normal, wait until they get to the sanctity of their home, pick up the phone and begin a conversation with a close confidant that involves any or all of the following phrases: 'I damn near shitted myself when...', 'I can't believe that shit happened right in front of me', 'Shit was wild son', or (my favorite) 'Next time she's going to have to come see me!'

You stop at an intersection and can visibly see six churches. Why is the hood flooded with churches, yet remain unsafe? You would think that if there is indeed a God, when He looks down and sees that all of His negro children have found a way to cram eight churches side by side on one damn block, He would be so impressed that He would descend from the high Heavens to greet us. I don't know if Heaven does in fact have a ghetto, but perhaps Chicago can lend them one of ours.

Vacant lots. Nobody really knows how they got there, but no one ever questions what to do with them neither.

The sum total of the cars/car accessories (i.e. sounds, rims, etc.) in a 4 block radius is greater than or equal to the total property value in an 8 block radius. This is simple mathematics; the Niggorean Theorem, if you will. Niggas put money into all types of shit, especially the shit that no one cares about except them. 'Oh word? You got neon lights under your car? That's dope that you decided to invest in something that the city provides free of charge... some damn street lights!'

Anti-violence marches/rallies. Nothing says hood like hood niggas coming together to tell hood niggas to stop being so hood. Here's a suggestion: everyone in the hood knows who the problem makers are, so how about instead of inconveniencing my bus route home from work, you simply march to the homes of the hooligans? What's really bogus is that I went to a rally once and saw like two kids wearing 'Stop Snitching' t-shirts; you decide what's wrong with that picture.

Those damn hats with the clock on them. I did a study one day while on the bus and found that out of all the cats wearing these gaudy shits, their primary method of telling time was their cell phone. So you own a hat with a watch on it, but not an actual watch itself? Classic hood mentality.

You're on foot (which for you unfortunately means you're walking through the hood, and also means you've seen all of the above) and you hear the phrase '... anybody have a transfer they don't need?' Only in the hood will a fool purposely leave the house with no clear travel plans.

White Dudes Make Excellent Victims of Violence Tuesday, September 2, 2008

Am I suggesting that white guys deserve to be assaulted? Of course not (unless they still refer to black people as coloreds; somebody needs to change the name of the NAACP by the way). However I was standing on the bus stop in an area where cops have yet to come through and arrest niggaz, when I started to feel unsafe. Not scared, but unsafe; kinda like 'I ain't no punk, but I'm having a hard time watching everybody' sort of way. I was on the stop with two other individuals; a typical hood chick who looked exactly like what the term 'hood chick' implies, and the Loose Cigarette Guy (if you don't know about the loose square dude, you ain't deep enough in these streets son).

Now obviously no one would dare step to the hood chick sideways, because as we all know, the hood chick may look like she's standing there alone until she does the magic gang whistle and a carload of hood niggas (not to be confused with black guys or African-American men) jump out to her defense (kinda like genies, except their magic lamp is an Impala with temporary license plates and no city stickers). And who would try and rough up the Loose Squares Dude, after all his job is the South Side equivalent of community service.

And then there's me; standing there as an average looking black dude who looks like he knows the difference between the Tribune and Sun-Times (one is racist, the other is racist as hell). Now don't get it twisted, I stalk these streets, but I'm no match for the weapons kids nowadays be packing; which is why I practice the oldest form of martial arts known to man (The Ancient Drunken Kangaroo Kick and Run Like Hell Technique).

Then out of nowhere, like piss droplets on a toilet seat, this white dude comes strolling up to the bus stop. The hell you say?! Are we not on the South Side (commonly referred to as God's Blind Spot)? Are there not at least three gang sets actively competing for this area? And the white dude comes and stands on the corner? Without a badge? I calmly glanced at him, and swiftly let my guard down; I took comfort in knowing that if the stick-up kids were watching this spot, they would surely come for white bread first. I think I may have even put my headphones on and proceeded listening to the White Stripes.

Then I had a discussion with a small gathering of black dudes later that evening, and most of them had been in similar situations and reacted the same way that I did. And it's not a racist thing where we hoped something would have kicked off with the white dude, it's just that we knew the white dude would be the prime target, thereby giving all potential witnesses time to vacate and no longer be witnesses.

Why you may ask?

Well there are several reasons. One being that white dudes ask too many damn questions/give too many statements when shit gets greazy out here on the streets. For example, if you ask a black dude for a cigarette, he will disrespectfully tell you that he ain't got no more and refuse to answer any follow-up questions. However, the white dude will reach in his pocket, take out his wallet and assorted trinkets to reach in his pocket to give the stranger a smoke. Or if he doesn't have any smokes, he will politely point you in the direction of some. See right there, white boy cares too damn much. And he has just become victim of the old 'Let me get a smoke/Sike, this is a stick-up!' routine.

Now the exception to the White Dude Theory, is the Crazy White Dude Theory. Truthfully speaking, the Crazy White Dude is the most feared dude in the black community. You know, the white dude who beats his wife while eating a bowl cereal and dares any of you jigs to speak to the cops when they arrive. That dude is a threat to society. If that guy comes and stands on a bus stop with you, it's time to choose an alternate route to work that morning. Especially when he starts talking that anti-government shit. See black people are genetically predetermined to not roll with the government; when white boy starts talking that shit, you better believe he's probably a damn bomb specialist, just waiting on somebody to ask him for a smoke.

Black People's Guilty Pleasures Vol I: The Maury Show Thursday, August 28, 2008

The older I have gotten, the more I have realized that most of my friends are of the highly educated variety. Yet and still, as much as we can all agree that The Maury Show sets back black people one generation per half hour segment, we can't seem to get enough of it. Which is strange, because we all have jobs but seem to make time to find a clip or two of the show here and there.

The funny thing about The Maury Show is that it has survived from the period from mid to late 1990s when television solely consisted of shows of the Maury variety; i.e. Jerry Springer (which is still around too, but is way too over the top to be believable anymore), Ricki Lake, Jenny Jones, and even Tempsett Bledsoe ('Vanessa' from the Cosby Show) got in on the action. Some of those shows looked like they actually were shot on the same set (why buy more than one garbage can for one bag of garbage right?), but for some reason Maury is still around (remember when The Maury Show was called The Maury Povich Show?).

The thing that makes that show so gully is that we all watch it for the same reason; the paternity tests. And TiVo/DVR has made The Maury Show that much more off the chain; nothing like being able to rewind and pinpoint the precise moment when one and/or both of the Maury's guests show the first sign of saltiness (it kind of becomes like that JFK movie; 'back and to the left... back and to the left'). And it usually never fails that guys at home watching are hoping the baby does not turn out to be the man's, and women are at home rooting for the baby mama's vindication.

Now see if Maury was the true marketing genius that I am, then he would find even more ways to capitalize off the popularity of those paternity test shows. Personally I would turn 'skank ass baby mama running off the stage after she finds out the baby does not belong to who she claims' into an Olympic event. Instead of 'on your mark... get set... go...', Maury could kick off the race with 'you... are... NOT...' (because usually by the time he gets to the word 'not', those broads be all the way by the emergency exit backstage).

What makes Maury even more of a guilty pleasure than it needs to be, is that somewhere deep inside all of us, we all hope to see someone we know but aren't that cool with on the show. One of these days though, black people are going to band together and get Maury taken off the air for the platform he provides people to play themselves on national television; or at least convince him to move to BET.

A Proposed Law Against Baby Mamas

I've become accustomed to the conditions of public transportation; it's usually crowded, smells like what the slaves must have rode on during their experiences with 'public transportation', and there's that one dude you spy when you first get on the bus and vote him as 'Most Likely to Rob Me If Make the Mistake of Falling Asleep on the Bus'. Also, I've recently developed a higher tolerance for when the bus has to load wheelchair patrons (don't act like I'm the only one who hopes the non-leggers get on the bus before the light changes); but for everything I learn to not hate, it's replaced with things I learn to not love.

So the day started out like any other today; standing on the bus stop at 7am, learning to sleep while standing up until the bus arrives. When the bus did arrive, I felt like this bus was headed to a taping of the Maury Show Paternity Special, because I'll be damned if there weren't like seven skrollas ('strollers' for those who actually attended a high school) taking up all the space. I mean the bus was packed and it wasn't even a lot of people on the bus, just a lot of strollers. So while I'm standing there on the bus (trying to guess which baby that smell is coming from), I came up with a new law that I plan to write my local congressman about (and by 'plan', I mean 'probably never').

New Law: A woman shouldn't be allowed to have a child if neither her nor the child's father has access to a vehicle.

Now for some women this may seem like a law aimed at them; to those women I say how about getting pregnant by a non-shiftless negro every once in while. I mean really, why must the world be inconvenienced because your baby's daddy hasn't seen to it that you and 'Lil Man' not have to stand outside catching buses? And heaven forbid if I slightly brush up against the handle part of the stroller as I make my way to the back of bus, then all of sudden I'm getting cursed out (in whatever version of English their teaching in the GED classes these days). Know your place, baby mama. Know your place.

So why do I catch the bus, instead of driving myself? Because 1. gas is $12 per swig and 2. I'm not the one responsible for raising any of these future felons (who will ultimately get out on parole and start a rap group called 'Future Felons').

Really I blame the bus driver for my situation this morning; at the point when there were two strollers loaded onto the bus, he should have acted like the baby's father and left those chicks on the street by themselves. But as anyone in Chicago knows, trying to talk common sense into these bus drivers is like trying to start a discussion about abstinence at an orgy; nobody's hearing you.

Plus, the proposed new law is flexible. Note that it does not say you have to own a vehicle, it just says you must have access to one. So how about you talk to your baby's father and tell him that in between smoking weed/selling weed/playing Madden (which is the shit)/dodging you, to go acquire you a car. If that doesn't work, you may want to convince some other unfortunate and unsuspecting bastard that he is actually the father of your child. Rinse. Wash. Repeat.

I Knew Somebody Would Be Called An Uncle Tom: And Five More Racist Predictions for the Democratic National Convention Tuesday, August 26, 2008

Everyone seemed so shocked when Illinois State Senate President Emil Jones called Democratic delegate Del Marie Cobb an 'Uncle Tom'; but not I. If there is anything that I know as a black dude, it's that you can't put a room full of old black people together and not have the phrase 'Uncle Tom' thrown around fervently and frequently. Stuff like this happens at every family gathering when the rest of the family is struggling, and that one successful uncle with a good engineering job arrives. Though it probably wasn't newsworthy, I'm sure somebody was caught cheating and/or reneging at the spades game later that night.

Also, I should be collecting that Miss Cleo money (who still remembers her?) because I also predicted that there would be some type of foiled assassination plot against Obama; though I thought it would have been carried out by Jesse Jackson running up with the scope attached to a scalpel (does contemplating castrating someone count as a homo erotic fantasy?). Yet and still there is more time left in the convention for more of my predictions to come true, and I'll share them just so I can get my much deserved credit.

1. President Bush will run up in there with his personal rifle, because he heard Osama will be giving a speech.

2. There will be at least one picture to surface on the web of Barack Obama eating a piece of fried chicken, because that's just how the media do.

3. Jesse Jackson will be seen trying to take said piece of fried chicken because he doesn't feel Obama has paid his dues.

4. Del Marie Cobb will finally retaliate to Emil Jones' comment with the appropriate response of 'darkie', and proceed to taunt him with the 'Jiggaboo' song from the movie School Daze.

5. Bill Clinton will make the mistake of referring to Obama as the second black U.S. president, upon which Obama will have no choice but to challenge Clinton to a footwork contest (because he's from Chicago), a freestyle battle (because he's from the South Side of Chicago), and a slap boxing match (because he used to hang out on the West Side of Chicago).

You laugh now, but when one or more of things come to fruition, the world will be happy to pay me $1.99 per minute to guess lucky numbers and shit (as a matter of fact my psychic line will be aptly titled Lucky Numbers n' Shit). I also had the chance to catch Obama's wife's speech last night. And is it me, or did Michelle Obama look as fine as Condoleeza Rice could look if Condoleeza Rice didn't look like her name should be Condoleeza Rice?

Black Man's Handbook to Dating: Rule #666 Monday, August 25, 2008

I hear a lot of dating exploits via my circle of friends, and I can't help but think certain situations can be avoided if you develop a set of personal 'don't do this' rules and just never break them. One rule that I have (and I didn't even realize how firm I stood by this rule until fairly recently) has always done right by me, so I present to you:

Black Man's Handbook to Dating: Rule No. 666 - Never get involved with a chick that goes by solely a nickname.

Now at face value this may seem a bit harsh to all of the sisters (and there are a lot of you) out there with nicknames. But follow me for a second.

First of all, nicknames are best used sparingly. A person should only know your nickname if they are cool with you like that. Everyone has a nickname (myself included), but a red flag for dating is when a woman (also known as chick/shorty/slim/lil mama/broad/[insert sexist term here]) introduces herself by her nickname. Sometimes women have those long ass hood names i.e. De'neshirita, in which case everyone benefits by simply shorting her name to 'Dee'. But if a woman introduces herself by her nickname, and never even mentions her real name, then chances are she either: A. has multiple baby-daddies and the different nicknames they call her is how she remembers who fathered which B. is in a gang and will shoot you or C. she and her baby-daddies are all in the same gang, and are setting you up to get robbed because you went to college, which clearly means you own lots of nice things (only in the hood do people think graduating college guarantees you six-figures).

Now it could be a case in which maybe she doesn't like her real name, and she says something to the effect of 'I think my real name is ugly/dumb sounding/doesn't fit what I look like'. To most people, all of these sound understandable; but to me it is another red flag. There's legal procedures you must go through before you just up and decide to change your damn name. If she has no respect for the law, then I'm willing to bet she's broken the law a few times (breaking the law is for black guys only; can't we have anything anymore?). As a rule of thumb, never get involved with a chick with a criminal history; you'll only pay for it in the long run (bail money is reserved for when grandma decides to throw beer bottles at cop cars again).

So what are other reasons a woman would go by a nickname exclusively? Well there's really no nice way to say it; she may be a hoe. I've witnessed three different scenarios in my lifetime in which two dudes were talking about the same chick under a different nickname, and not even realizing it was the same chick (hilarity almost never ensued).

So before my comment section is blown up with hateful remarks, I would like to take this time to apologize to the all the 'Lil Mamas', 'Baby Girls', 'Preciouses', 'Pumpkins', and 'LaLas'... you're different.

Chicago Urban League Sues Illinois Over Education Wednesday, August 20, 2008

The Chicago Urban League has filed a lawsuit against the state of Illinois and the Illinois State Board of Education claiming the school funding methods are unconstitutional. According to Cheryle Jackson, president of the Chicago Urban League, minority children are not getting the same level of quality education as their more affluent counterparts.

This lawsuit comes on the heels of State Senator Reverend Meeks call for a school boycott to highlight the disparities of school funding. A more in-depth discussion of the specificities of the lawsuit, and all of the plaintiffs involved can be found on Market Watch.