Lock And Load; 'Cause It's High Time To Call The Ex' (Fifty-Five Years Old, Hal Jessup, White, Freedom Fighter, Kentuckian) 2016

We have a serious rodent infestation  in this here You-S-Of-Fuckin-A.  But for some reason no exterminator has ever been called or even thought of by the populous, US.  Most of US just love to talk about the damn problem: far too many rats and mice are amongst US goddamnit.  And why is that so?  Quite troubling in its essence.  And quite loathsome to some of US who tire of this perpetual infestation problem.  Yet, still the diseased ridden rodents are literally and figuratively taking over Our environment.  Oh, we have convinced Ourselves that surely the problem will take care of itself.  Well, I'm sure glad to remind you it, as you can clearly see, has not.  Nor, will the problem just miraculously go away.  Not in Our lifetime anyway.  Hell, if we had that much time on Our damn hands, fuck the cockroaches and ants too!  Shit we get on the horn tout de suite with those little annoying mother fuckers.  But, you see, those are non-hairy distasteful entities.  

Talking To Myself (Forty-Eight Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Near Salvation, Trying To Kick) January 1, 2014

So you wannah quit smokin and whatdahyahknow?  Yo ass is ah fuckin straight up dick without the nicotine swirlin round in yo tainted temple.  But let me tell yo sorry ass a lil som’ehn-som’ehn Sunshine:  that’s yo mothah fuckin pro’lem.  Nobody else’s.  Treatin people ill cause yo ass can’t continue tah do what yo sorry ass started and still wantstah do.  Well, ain’t that a sorry ass shame.  I feel so bad fo yah.  But listen here, you do know nobody told yo ass tah pick up that first one and smoke the mothah fuckah?  Just between you and me.  You do understand that lil impo’tant factoid?  You did it all by your damn self.  Oh, I’m sorry, you do know all of what I’m tellin yo sorry ass?  Then cheer the fuck up mothah fuckah!  Happy days ah comin! 

You the one that’s tryin tah quit.   Not everybody else; that chew treatin like a hated stepchild’s child.  Only you, cause yo ass knows the shit tearin yo lungs up somethin terrible.  But…and yo sorry ass knows life ain’t nothin but a shitload of butts.  Shit, yo favorite scene in any movie is with that ugly mothah fuckah.  Now, don’t play crazy with me.  The one with…yeah, Patrick Swayze, Demi Moore, Whoopi Goldberg and the mothah fuckah’s name I fuckin forget all the fuckin time from Scandal, the president; when Patrick Swayze is on that subway with that ugly mothah fuckin othah ghost.  And they jump off the subway and now on the floor of the subway station and the ugly mothah fuckah kicks the shit out of the cigarette vending machine and all those wonderful, beautiful packs come crashin on the terminal’s flo and the ugly mothah fuckah gets on his knees and lovingly looks at the packs lyin haphazardly here and there and pitifully sayin, “If I only had a drag.”  Cracks yo ass up every time.  Cause you’s an addict and can feel the mothah fuckahs pain.  But the othah people in the audience or next tah yah witnessin the same scene don’t crack a fuckin smile and sometime even have the nerves tah say, “I don’t get it,” while yo ass crackin yo mothah fuckin side.  If they only knew.  Or maybe not.  And that here lies the pro’lem fo yo Black ass.  It’s yo fuckin pro’lem.  It’s yo fuckin addiction.  And if yo sorry addicted ass can’t kick’em, then light’em.  And if yah don’t have’em then buy’em and light’em.  Until yo sorry treatin people ill ass can quit without all this bullshit diverted anger.  And maybe that means, sorrowfully, til yo Black ass dies.  Cause yo ass will die from a direct result of smokin, what they rightly monikered, cancer sticks. 

Poor fuckin baby.  Yah heard may.

The Ideal Hustle (Forty-Four Years Old, Benjamin G. Moore, Ex-Murderer, Ex-Kidnapper, Ex-Con...Now Bishop) June 2015

I used tah hustle big time on the streets.  What, in my hood, they'd call: The HNIC, and if yah didn't know that lil text abbreviation would be, The Head Niggah In Charge!  Damn right bout that!  I didn't sell dope.  Shit no!  But I kidnapped the dope dealahs or one of their beloved family membahs.  You would be surprised how a mothah fuckah crumbles when you have their perspective asses duct taped, playing footzies with them with a blowtorch.  Compliant can't even come close. 

"Now listen here niggah, you's can get outs this shit by handin ovah two-hundred gees'."  Done!  Yah undahstand?  Or showin'em ah picture of their lil love child they done had with one of their stable of bitches while they drop'em off at school; and oh yes, now I got'em in my possession and it will only cost you oh, half-ah-mill.  Done, again!  Easy-peasy-lil-weasy...

But the gig was up fo sho when the damn criminals started goin tah the fuckin cops.  Andwhadahyahfuckinknow?  The damn cops come knockin on my fuckin doe?  Ain't that some shit?

So I had tah start a new hustle.  One that was clean, less stressful and mo respecful.  Fuck this criminal/cop alliance bullshit I've been witnessin' and unbeknownst livin.  Sheeit!  And what I came up with was a fuckin goldmine!  Mothah fuckahs throwin money at my Black ass!  Fo real!  The fuck?!  What took a niggah so long?

I studied The King James Version of The Holy Bible fo ah whole yeeah.  Got it memorized and shit.  If you told me the page and asked me the verse...done!

The fuck was I thinkin hustlin all those yeeahs out on the streets.  The fuckin money was in the Lawd!  I have mo money and bitches now than I know what tah do wit.  And these mothah fuckahs even callin me the second comin. 

But chew can just call me, Bishop Benjamin G. Moore.

Praise Jesus!  

That Is Some Hellafied Nasty Shit (Thirty-Nine Years Old, Successful Chef, University Student Again And Taking Classes To Get Masters Degree In Theology) April, 2017

It’s a mad world when one looks at it.  People bowing to another because of privilege; or, praising another based on another ones talent to the point of idolatry…but this has become acceptable behavior to the masses.  We give the utmost respect to the niggardly who have no humanistic sentient qualities whatsoever.  We give to those who do not need.  We pray for wants and not needs.  We avow of a Love of our perspective spiritual entity; yet, we collectively let the poor be poor and the hungred die of lack of nourishment...  We care of no one save ourselves.  We discourse at nauseum but never come up with any productive solutions... 

We are spoiling from the inside out, rank, fetid, a waste of matter...

We are willfully throwing our precious souls into the never satisfied inedible boiling cauldron of the abyss without giving the matter a very good stir. 

The Mind: Is The Shit! (Cahnusay F. Right, Renowned,Thirty-Three Years Old, Self-Taught, Honorary Doctor of Psychology) January 10, 2019

The mind…is a terrible thing.  Oh, yes it is.  Good Lawd!  A crazy, intricate, terribly underrated…ever so flawed:  human mind.  Damn right about that.  Let me give you a wee bit of an example.  Will you allow?  Please, you flatter me so.  I will proceed.  The example of note…I was walking from the garage, which I have done so many times I cannot fathom to re-count: through the short little jog to the left…Bam…in the kitchen, now through; carpet, living room. Many times, if I slowed it down  I could tell you the fine points and how instantly if something is not right or where it should be, eerily so; and that’s the pisser; instantly, I mean instantly everything, righteous.  No alarms went off in my head, nothing.  And maybe, now that I am dwelling over it while I convey this example to you, it started making me understand, that maybe my mind, for some reason got a bad case of ennui with all of this normalcy, and decided to make things interesting…

(to be continued)

Dino Was The Head Rat! (Fifty-Nine Years Old, Jaliah Jones, Black Female, Rat Pack Aficionado and Historian) 2000

Just ten years before he died he gave it all up.  But the public didn’t know it.  No, he had found out, ironically enough that, there wasn’t any money in sobriety.  All those years he ran with the, “Rat Pack”, all of them, to a man, were chain smokers and hard core drinkers, including himself.  He had a conversation with his third wife just before their divorce, “Cathy, I’m tired of all this shit.  I’ve been drinkin for so long I don’t know who the hell I am?  I need to find out who I am and who I used to be, before all this booze I started medicating myself with.”  And that’s what he did.  Became clean and sober and gave the smoking up too.  Well, the smoking was easy because, why even smoke if you couldn’t have a drink in the other hand?  And there was no pressure from being around and amongst The Rat Pack.   So, there was no reason he could think of not to give the shit up…now. 

Oh, people would see him in his later years holding a lit cigarette and an eight-ball glass of some clear liquid, assumed to be vodka, gin…or whatever other clear libation one who witnessed wanted to interject was in the eight-ball glass of note.  It made no difference because then perception being, “Ol’ Dino still full of vino!”   Shit, he had tried to do it without the effects of consuming alcohol and that didn’t work.  People asking him was he all right and things?  Of course I’m all right, I’m alcohol and tobacco free goddamn it!  But all he got after he said he was fine was a look from the accuser, troubling in nature and saying, “I want the ol’ Dean back.”  Fine.  He had been out on his ass so many times he could fake it easily.  He had a certain lifestyle and certain moniker to uphold, dressed to the nines and being the life of the party, with his cool self.   He was an entertainer/actor, he could definitely pull off being lit or half lit, though was neither.  And this, needless to say, was some of his best acting work: living a sober life and making the public believe he was still a drunk.  All the time he was in the public.  And for the first time in his life, he had a full time job…  (To Be Continued)

Smart Phones, Computers, Cable Television...Oh My! (Forty-Eight Years Old, Unlicensed Optician in Speedway, Indiana) 2014

So in the Optical industry, the big money maker is, if you didn't know, this shit the industry is calling, "Anti-Fatigue Lenses" or AFL.  Now, this technology is based on the fact, mothah fuckahs usin their near and intermediate vision so much, everybody's gettin old eyes.  Yo sorry ass is in need of a fuckin bifocal.  And that's all this AFL shit is, a digital blended bifocal.  That these mothah fuckahs have marketed into a money fuckin maker.  Without having to tell you the real reason for your fucked up intermediate and near visual acuity.  Now, that's what I call some pimp shit!  Straight up! 

LOVE: Is An Excellent Investment (Forty-Eight Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Near Salvation,Starting A New Year) January 01, 2014

Ain’t this what we call “Love” thing is all about?  Pride.  Or the price thereof said pride?  Which, if you didn’t know, is something that every sentient being carries along with them, gratis; so, pride don’t cost yo sorry ass a goddamned thing!  Push it the fuck aside…if you Love that other muh fuckuh.  If… you Love that…muh fuckuh.  And took those vows you said in front of God and humans into your heart of hearts. 

If you put a “free” sign on the mothah fuckah then it becomes so.  But it didn’t cost you a damn thing to put up that “free” sign.  Ab-so-fuckin-lutely no thing! 

Or why did you marry him/her?  If you didn’t feel comfortable enough with that other person to be able to put that wonderfully beautiful “free” sign up?  Why did yo sorry ass say, “I do”?    I’ll tell you since you so respectfully asked: Because you deemed that other person worthy of being witness to your precious, one-of-a-kind, life and that other person deemed you worthy with that same shit.  Even deal.  I'll know your life and you will know mine and we will be together forever.  Done! 

So get over your precious little pride. 

Sell that precious Pride and invest in Love!

You’ll get a much greater return.