Mah fuckahs don't understand! Yah feel may! I always told people I didn't want any children. Why? Was always their query to me. I would tell them, "Parenting is for everyone. But, everyone shouldn't be a parent." After that child is born your life as you know it or knew it is finished! Done son! Yao Ming! Ain't no such thang as part-time parenting! No, no, no, no! Full time mah fuckah, twenty-four and seven! Next booty on duty! Get some! Nothin but work until you die or by some horrible circumstance the child dies before you do. A lot of these fuckin parents just don't understand that. Thinking subsequently they will have time to play. Shiiiit! I got news for your blues mah fuckah, somebody done told your ass the fuck wrong! Yao Ming! Should have thought of that shit before conception, gestation then subsequent birth. And if your ass didn't realize it until the child was born...well...you better recognize expeditiously. There's too many of these little bastards runnin round causin strife, malfeasance.
Clock the fuck in! And get to fuckin work! Before yo ass gets fired! Oh, I'm sorry, if you didn't know...termination is not an option! So you got a job to do! And parent the best you possibly can! Yao Ming? Sho you right! And like so many of you, I have a child that needs my Black ass! And I sho nuff gots work tah do! And once the arduous labor is done, sit back because if you gave it a total commitment, you can say to yourself, "We did a fine job indeed!" Sweet Jesus! And that...will be a Beautful thang! Oh, yes it will! Check it out My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs...
A Parent's Work Is Never Done...Until It's Done - 393
In the many cellars there are dwellers of such fine character; manufacturers of labor’s intensive quality product; those are the ones who have the knowledge of building a better Humanoid; devoid of the capitalistic and selfish approach; in the human business not because of science, but for the mere drive to make a better conscience to make a more superior product than they. On such rare occasions they may take a lunch or break, but not for long because it is too much at stake. The final replica needs attention, not too mention, the product sits idly by thinking of a worse way to decay. But the fine dwellers will have none of that. Can’t have a brat. Ignat throwing bricks, instead of being productive building structures, with those stones; the process of incorporating mind, soul and bone. When the final outcome and the final work day is done, they’ll say, “Now there’s a job well done!” Smiling proudly as the child, now adult, rolls down the assembly line, “Time for a vacation! And finally feel the warmth of the Sunshine!”
Wednesday, January 28, 2015
Monday, January 26, 2015
Not Even A Morsel II
...
The roses were dead. Like he assuredly knew when he had presented them to her and she said offhandedly without much enthusiasm, “Unh! Now you decide to get me flowers?” It didn’t take him long to figure out what that, “now,” meant in her statement. It didn’t take no English major to tell him what inference he should derive from it. “Now,” meant a decision had been made without his input, so it wasn’t anything nice, a decision made by her, and her alone which meant it was about the relationship. Which would only mean one thing, like the roses now five days since presentation, the relationship was and is dead too. He picked them out of the vase. Walked to the trash receptacle in the kitchen, opened the lid. And as in the last rights, said a small prayer, “I know she’s going to leave me. But thank you God for letting her spend the time she has with me. Let her go forth and be blessed with nothing but happiness align her path. You know how I feel about her but just keep her and our child safe. And I will walk with you forever and ever. Amen!” He hadn’t noticed he had closed his eyes but it took him opening them to realize it. Maybe it was just a conditioned response when one prayed? He didn’t know. He looked down at the trash inside the can; still moistened coffee grounds along with the soggy filter; under which cans of diet soda; used paper towels…four separate cracked egg shells. He smiled at that as he threw the dead flowers in. And like every living thing that has died or has been dead for a long time, finally burying it, the closure comes; albeit, with weighted heart. You know it is and was for the best. Somehow one knows everything has to end and all it takes is covering it up with dirt; finally making a grave, a site for the many markings in the mind to understand finality, death and its ubiquitous ominous signs.
Yesterday was a Sunday and a killer to boot. The last two weeks had been nothing but fussing and fighting and he thought yesterday, a Sunday would give some type of rational thinking to them both. Wrong answer! Arguing about shit that didn’t matter at all. Just shut the fuck up! He wanted to yell out but he knew if he did that the argument would have gotten worse. It ended, like most of the arguments did, on a sour note. She saying, “Well fuck you! I can’t take this shit! I’m gonna take a bath.” And she did. Another night of him sleeping on an uncomfortable couch and she sleeping in the bed. He having to work in the morning. Monday being her off day.
He knew this would be marked very clearly. Wanted to remember the signs again for why the death occurred, being a quasi-coroner. Yes, he knew all too well what happened to cause this long fated death of he and Sam’s relationship. It was the cause of death he had seen many of times in the various relationships in his life: The cause of death, Chronic Adam Omega’s disease. Nee Adam Stephan Omega. He only was the disease and had caused the many casualties in his various relationships. He figuring out finally he has always been an ill perceived devout, Tolerant non-Tolerant soul. Though his self righteousness told him otherwise, that he was tolerant of others beliefs and person. He has always been far from it, an elitist visionary who is non-tolerant like the souls he finds so uncomely. He shook his head about his conditioning, still looking down at the trash with dead flowers now atop. He looked up and closed his eyes again, this time knowingly; flicked his right wrist, the top of the receptacle whooshed downward and closed tight. And said in a whisper, “It is finished! Amen!” He turned with a tear rolling down his left cheek, he wiped it off. Smiled and thought, “Every thing will be fine.” It was time to get on some comfortable clothes. The work day was done. And he knew another job had just begun. (to be continued)
The roses were dead. Like he assuredly knew when he had presented them to her and she said offhandedly without much enthusiasm, “Unh! Now you decide to get me flowers?” It didn’t take him long to figure out what that, “now,” meant in her statement. It didn’t take no English major to tell him what inference he should derive from it. “Now,” meant a decision had been made without his input, so it wasn’t anything nice, a decision made by her, and her alone which meant it was about the relationship. Which would only mean one thing, like the roses now five days since presentation, the relationship was and is dead too. He picked them out of the vase. Walked to the trash receptacle in the kitchen, opened the lid. And as in the last rights, said a small prayer, “I know she’s going to leave me. But thank you God for letting her spend the time she has with me. Let her go forth and be blessed with nothing but happiness align her path. You know how I feel about her but just keep her and our child safe. And I will walk with you forever and ever. Amen!” He hadn’t noticed he had closed his eyes but it took him opening them to realize it. Maybe it was just a conditioned response when one prayed? He didn’t know. He looked down at the trash inside the can; still moistened coffee grounds along with the soggy filter; under which cans of diet soda; used paper towels…four separate cracked egg shells. He smiled at that as he threw the dead flowers in. And like every living thing that has died or has been dead for a long time, finally burying it, the closure comes; albeit, with weighted heart. You know it is and was for the best. Somehow one knows everything has to end and all it takes is covering it up with dirt; finally making a grave, a site for the many markings in the mind to understand finality, death and its ubiquitous ominous signs.
Yesterday was a Sunday and a killer to boot. The last two weeks had been nothing but fussing and fighting and he thought yesterday, a Sunday would give some type of rational thinking to them both. Wrong answer! Arguing about shit that didn’t matter at all. Just shut the fuck up! He wanted to yell out but he knew if he did that the argument would have gotten worse. It ended, like most of the arguments did, on a sour note. She saying, “Well fuck you! I can’t take this shit! I’m gonna take a bath.” And she did. Another night of him sleeping on an uncomfortable couch and she sleeping in the bed. He having to work in the morning. Monday being her off day.
He knew this would be marked very clearly. Wanted to remember the signs again for why the death occurred, being a quasi-coroner. Yes, he knew all too well what happened to cause this long fated death of he and Sam’s relationship. It was the cause of death he had seen many of times in the various relationships in his life: The cause of death, Chronic Adam Omega’s disease. Nee Adam Stephan Omega. He only was the disease and had caused the many casualties in his various relationships. He figuring out finally he has always been an ill perceived devout, Tolerant non-Tolerant soul. Though his self righteousness told him otherwise, that he was tolerant of others beliefs and person. He has always been far from it, an elitist visionary who is non-tolerant like the souls he finds so uncomely. He shook his head about his conditioning, still looking down at the trash with dead flowers now atop. He looked up and closed his eyes again, this time knowingly; flicked his right wrist, the top of the receptacle whooshed downward and closed tight. And said in a whisper, “It is finished! Amen!” He turned with a tear rolling down his left cheek, he wiped it off. Smiled and thought, “Every thing will be fine.” It was time to get on some comfortable clothes. The work day was done. And he knew another job had just begun. (to be continued)
Saturday, January 24, 2015
Not Even A Morsel
Just brainstorming. Came up with this little ditty. Check it out My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs...
Not Even A Morsel
They had met quite wonderfully enough. But like any other thing that has baked, grew, ripened to become a delectable entity, with time, the shit just gets old, rancid. And maybe that’s what she needed, something fresh. Stale, three year old, bread. Mold covering the outside trying it’s damnedest to affect the internals. And like any bacteria, the bad, overtakes the host. Eventually leading to a point that there is nothing that can be salvaged and digested from the matter ever again. Inedible. She knew it was going to happen, but like most women she tried the hangin on credo because that is what is expected in this post-ERA era. A woman can’t cut and run like the men have been doing for thousands of years, leaving the man fending by himself, child to rear, alone.
“And why has that been so?” She asked herself such a profound statement, alone, contemplating just that, “Getting the fuck on down the road sans chick or child, sans baggage!” Traveling light like the days she always dreamed of. Need something fresh! Being able to sample and look at the marvelous produce that is out there! Yeah! That’s just what she needed, freshness! Ahhhh! Why not? You only have one life, she rationalized to herself, as she lay in the tub, de-stressing from another day of hell, fussing and fighting for no reason at all. Just couldn’t get along to save their lives not even with the child, now two years old. Yes, and she also knew, picking the freshest produce required work. And work started, and it didn’t stop until the work was done. And life wasn’t getting any longer. So things had to be implemented expeditiously, today or maybe tomorrow.
He had even said that, “I just want you to be happy. If not with me, than without me.” But she had heard all that shit before. She had met mah fuckahs that said that very statement, ended up being the worst to get rid of out of the lot for sure. Stalking you and shit. But he always said it with confidence, like, “I hope you really find what you are looking for after you leave my Black ass!” Like he knew something she didn’t, or thought of something she hadn’t thought of. Then he would always say the last statement that made her always doubt herself big time, but he wasn’t saying it cynically, but saying it as a statement of fact, of finality, “Be happy and don’t look back.” But she noticed after a time, he didn’t mean it for her to doubt herself. Far from it. Some type of unconditional love advice telling her, “Move on! Go forward! Have confidence in your decision and never think, “What if…? Moreover, once you make that statement never look toward me again as a significant other because I didn’t make you happy.” She always felt eerie in a way when he said that statement, made her ashamed in some way. Made her think about the reality of her given choices and how her choices determined her fate in life and only her fate because of said choices.
Yes, tomorrow she will start the day anew, begin to start cleaning the refrigerator out, to restock with freshness. She smiled at herself from that little witticism. Maybe that’s what happens when you start cleaning up your garden, replanting and subsequently harvesting the freshest produce around? But it starts with work. And work doesn’t stop until the job is done. As she melted into the suds in her bubble bath she breathed out, “Ahhhh! But it starts tomorrow!” (to be continued...)
Not Even A Morsel
They had met quite wonderfully enough. But like any other thing that has baked, grew, ripened to become a delectable entity, with time, the shit just gets old, rancid. And maybe that’s what she needed, something fresh. Stale, three year old, bread. Mold covering the outside trying it’s damnedest to affect the internals. And like any bacteria, the bad, overtakes the host. Eventually leading to a point that there is nothing that can be salvaged and digested from the matter ever again. Inedible. She knew it was going to happen, but like most women she tried the hangin on credo because that is what is expected in this post-ERA era. A woman can’t cut and run like the men have been doing for thousands of years, leaving the man fending by himself, child to rear, alone.
“And why has that been so?” She asked herself such a profound statement, alone, contemplating just that, “Getting the fuck on down the road sans chick or child, sans baggage!” Traveling light like the days she always dreamed of. Need something fresh! Being able to sample and look at the marvelous produce that is out there! Yeah! That’s just what she needed, freshness! Ahhhh! Why not? You only have one life, she rationalized to herself, as she lay in the tub, de-stressing from another day of hell, fussing and fighting for no reason at all. Just couldn’t get along to save their lives not even with the child, now two years old. Yes, and she also knew, picking the freshest produce required work. And work started, and it didn’t stop until the work was done. And life wasn’t getting any longer. So things had to be implemented expeditiously, today or maybe tomorrow.
He had even said that, “I just want you to be happy. If not with me, than without me.” But she had heard all that shit before. She had met mah fuckahs that said that very statement, ended up being the worst to get rid of out of the lot for sure. Stalking you and shit. But he always said it with confidence, like, “I hope you really find what you are looking for after you leave my Black ass!” Like he knew something she didn’t, or thought of something she hadn’t thought of. Then he would always say the last statement that made her always doubt herself big time, but he wasn’t saying it cynically, but saying it as a statement of fact, of finality, “Be happy and don’t look back.” But she noticed after a time, he didn’t mean it for her to doubt herself. Far from it. Some type of unconditional love advice telling her, “Move on! Go forward! Have confidence in your decision and never think, “What if…? Moreover, once you make that statement never look toward me again as a significant other because I didn’t make you happy.” She always felt eerie in a way when he said that statement, made her ashamed in some way. Made her think about the reality of her given choices and how her choices determined her fate in life and only her fate because of said choices.
Yes, tomorrow she will start the day anew, begin to start cleaning the refrigerator out, to restock with freshness. She smiled at herself from that little witticism. Maybe that’s what happens when you start cleaning up your garden, replanting and subsequently harvesting the freshest produce around? But it starts with work. And work doesn’t stop until the job is done. As she melted into the suds in her bubble bath she breathed out, “Ahhhh! But it starts tomorrow!” (to be continued...)
"Where's My Fuckin Monay? You fuckin Broke Bitches, You!" So Saith These Modern Day Pimp 'Preachers' (Broke Black Prophet) 2014
These fuckin preachers. Don’t cha just love these assholes? For real. People really don’t listen to these charlatans. They talk bout God this, Jesus that and then what does their asses do? Oh, you the fuck know. They say in the same breath, “Come to me! I can hep yah!” Then they throw in, knowin your ass ain’t gonna hear it, “That’s what God said!” But you see what he is sayin and what yo ass is thinkin and not really connectin the dots til yo ass is brainwashed subliminally into thinkin that preacher and God are one and the same because yo ass didn’t get what the muh fuckuh was doin. And if you really listen in the last statement they put less of an emphasis on “That’s what,” then they say in a more pronounced one, “God said!” It’s like a muh fuckuh says, “I’ll be…” Just leavin it there, dangling. And yo ass knows good and goddamned well that muh fuckuh wanted to say the, “Damn,” so bad it hurt.
But, cha see, it's bout conditionin the audience’s mindset, week aftah week you get used to the same preachers timbre, inflections, almost melodic because there is a certain cadence and delivery that one expects from said confidence wolves' oratory, hypnotic in a sense; hence the reason preachers kind of deter your ass from going to other churches on Sundays. Got to keep the slaves under control. Not for God sake! That would be too righteous. But for my Black or White lazy ass sake. Shiiiit! While yah playin. Ain’t no pimp game like these Goddamned OG (old gangster) pimp preachers. No! No! No! Next booty on duty, niggah! Six days on the stroll and give my ass my cut, my ten percent, so saith the Good Book! “Bitch better have my money.” And,“Would Thy rob God?” And is that all you can afford church? I know if yah gots ten then yah gots twenty percent easy. You worked hard this week, “But this church works harder!” Is not your God worth every penny he kept you alive these past seven days as a witness? Come on nah!
Pee-fuckin-you! You sorry sacks of shit, You! Muh fuckuhs! Get a fuckin real job! Quit livin off your perceived whores! Fuckers! But I don't mean no harm My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs. I really don't. Just tryin to make yah mad if yah not already; cause we all have to sooner or later, and Lord willin, mo sooner than later.
We got to turn this shit round. We just gottah! And that is...A Beautiful thang! Oh, yes it is! Peace! More to come...
But, cha see, it's bout conditionin the audience’s mindset, week aftah week you get used to the same preachers timbre, inflections, almost melodic because there is a certain cadence and delivery that one expects from said confidence wolves' oratory, hypnotic in a sense; hence the reason preachers kind of deter your ass from going to other churches on Sundays. Got to keep the slaves under control. Not for God sake! That would be too righteous. But for my Black or White lazy ass sake. Shiiiit! While yah playin. Ain’t no pimp game like these Goddamned OG (old gangster) pimp preachers. No! No! No! Next booty on duty, niggah! Six days on the stroll and give my ass my cut, my ten percent, so saith the Good Book! “Bitch better have my money.” And,“Would Thy rob God?” And is that all you can afford church? I know if yah gots ten then yah gots twenty percent easy. You worked hard this week, “But this church works harder!” Is not your God worth every penny he kept you alive these past seven days as a witness? Come on nah!
Pee-fuckin-you! You sorry sacks of shit, You! Muh fuckuhs! Get a fuckin real job! Quit livin off your perceived whores! Fuckers! But I don't mean no harm My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs. I really don't. Just tryin to make yah mad if yah not already; cause we all have to sooner or later, and Lord willin, mo sooner than later.
We got to turn this shit round. We just gottah! And that is...A Beautiful thang! Oh, yes it is! Peace! More to come...
Thursday, January 22, 2015
Get Some You! (A Guilty Conscious Need No Accusers) (BBP) 2007
Why is abortion still on the table? Given the climate of this world, what in the fuck are these muh fuckuhs thinkin or still talkin bout? Shiit! Get a real life muh fuckuhs! For real! More pressin things in this here US than some sorry shit that don’t amount to a hill of beans to the vast populous at large. A very fuckin few, let me tell yah sorry no count havin asses; and y’alls asses continue to worry our broke asses with this fecal matter, this bullshit! Fuck...that...shit!
I tell yah what to do, fuck all this bullshit. All these political hacks and law enforcers. Put those muh fuckuhs on the machine, a lie detector, and ask them real questions. Live and in coluh muh fuckuh! Ain’t no shame in this game. Get those muh fuckuhs under the hot lights tah see what they're really made of.
Shiit! These various law enforcement departments believe in the shit so much, lets see it work on the real liars in this here You-S-of-A. People always thinkin so damn small. Keep doin things half ass backwards. Goddamn it tah-hell!
Tell them all, the sorry ass mothuh fuckuhs runnin shit in this 'Land Of The Free,' to take DNA genealogical tests so we can see who has got niggah blood in them or not. Fuck it! Quit all this speculatin bullshit. Lets get this here science, especially, DNA science involved, put those bitches to the test and see how much you muh fuckuhs believe in this "pure" science after most of y’alls asses get some less than sobering news; that most of all of white America got niggah blood runnin through those perceived white exteriors. Fuckin around! While yah playin!
Give random drug tests to every one of you dickheads: law enforcement officials, political figures, CEOs, CFOs, POTUS... so you can see how humiliating it is. But if you don’t have any problem with it subsequently…well…where’s the damn cup? Yao Ming? I’ll be the first to piss a gallon in that mug. But y’all will never do it. Because government has the same shit goin on as the populous at large, y’all just are absolved from this sorry ass bullshit that We have to go-the-fuck-through. And why in the fuck is that? You all should be held to a higher standard than we. All of y’all should go and give a hair follicle test and all tests should be public record so we can see for ourselves who thine hypocrites really are? Assholes!
Want to talk shit, then back it the fuck up. Damnit. Get some you! Get Some! But they never will if we do not demand it. And we can make it happen. Oh, yes we can!
And that is...A Beautiful thang My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs! Oh, yes it is! Peace! More to come...
I tell yah what to do, fuck all this bullshit. All these political hacks and law enforcers. Put those muh fuckuhs on the machine, a lie detector, and ask them real questions. Live and in coluh muh fuckuh! Ain’t no shame in this game. Get those muh fuckuhs under the hot lights tah see what they're really made of.
Shiit! These various law enforcement departments believe in the shit so much, lets see it work on the real liars in this here You-S-of-A. People always thinkin so damn small. Keep doin things half ass backwards. Goddamn it tah-hell!
Tell them all, the sorry ass mothuh fuckuhs runnin shit in this 'Land Of The Free,' to take DNA genealogical tests so we can see who has got niggah blood in them or not. Fuck it! Quit all this speculatin bullshit. Lets get this here science, especially, DNA science involved, put those bitches to the test and see how much you muh fuckuhs believe in this "pure" science after most of y’alls asses get some less than sobering news; that most of all of white America got niggah blood runnin through those perceived white exteriors. Fuckin around! While yah playin!
Give random drug tests to every one of you dickheads: law enforcement officials, political figures, CEOs, CFOs, POTUS... so you can see how humiliating it is. But if you don’t have any problem with it subsequently…well…where’s the damn cup? Yao Ming? I’ll be the first to piss a gallon in that mug. But y’all will never do it. Because government has the same shit goin on as the populous at large, y’all just are absolved from this sorry ass bullshit that We have to go-the-fuck-through. And why in the fuck is that? You all should be held to a higher standard than we. All of y’all should go and give a hair follicle test and all tests should be public record so we can see for ourselves who thine hypocrites really are? Assholes!
Want to talk shit, then back it the fuck up. Damnit. Get some you! Get Some! But they never will if we do not demand it. And we can make it happen. Oh, yes we can!
And that is...A Beautiful thang My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs! Oh, yes it is! Peace! More to come...
Monday, January 19, 2015
From A Learned Poor Person 2019
Think about humans and living. Looking at it scientifically one has to believe what is really God is the Earth in itself to be able to survive in its universe, in order to stay an entity, its inner life which breeds forth in us all, sends out its forces to diminish man so its, core will never die in the hands of man.
You see there has always been humans, but ever so often the earth sends out its destructive forces to kill man just enough, leaving enough of them on this earth to take care of it so it will always be a viable system in its universe. Spewing forth a massive amount of fire and ash, to limit man and what they have done to its epidermis. Purifying itself from the parasites it lets live on its surface so it will stay well groomed and continue to live. But parasites, like most are, do not know when to stop procreating and limiting the destruction humans/parasites start messing up too much of the skin and a balance must come and the parasites must be scratched off or cleaned off; ergo, an antibiotic, or spray that works as an agent to kill all the parasites living on terra firma. Fire and brimstone, fire being the source of the genesis of the destruction and brimstone being ash and rock from the explosion that ignites from the purification process. The two combining as a blanket of death until just enough of the parasites survive; hence, Apocalypse. Subsequently…
Humans eventually, being in such small numbers after procreating a thousand times over, the caveman starts existing and the genesis of modern day man starts anew. Eventually getting in balance with the earth and groom it so balance of the forestry will stay intact and other things on the earth's surface which is in perfect balance, surviving the various destruction's over the years, and flourishing when man is limited then being in balance when humans start building, foraging, hunting…The earth needs to survive, not man. Nature in reverse.
You see there has always been humans, but ever so often the earth sends out its destructive forces to kill man just enough, leaving enough of them on this earth to take care of it so it will always be a viable system in its universe. Spewing forth a massive amount of fire and ash, to limit man and what they have done to its epidermis. Purifying itself from the parasites it lets live on its surface so it will stay well groomed and continue to live. But parasites, like most are, do not know when to stop procreating and limiting the destruction humans/parasites start messing up too much of the skin and a balance must come and the parasites must be scratched off or cleaned off; ergo, an antibiotic, or spray that works as an agent to kill all the parasites living on terra firma. Fire and brimstone, fire being the source of the genesis of the destruction and brimstone being ash and rock from the explosion that ignites from the purification process. The two combining as a blanket of death until just enough of the parasites survive; hence, Apocalypse. Subsequently…
Humans eventually, being in such small numbers after procreating a thousand times over, the caveman starts existing and the genesis of modern day man starts anew. Eventually getting in balance with the earth and groom it so balance of the forestry will stay intact and other things on the earth's surface which is in perfect balance, surviving the various destruction's over the years, and flourishing when man is limited then being in balance when humans start building, foraging, hunting…The earth needs to survive, not man. Nature in reverse.
Saturday, January 17, 2015
Insurgents (BBP) 2007
Insurgents. Mah fuckahs need to quit it. Insurgents means, if yah didn’t know, Iraqi citizens stayin to defend their shit. Shiiiit! What would yo ass do if you saw tanks and shit comin down Meridian street, downtown Indianapolis, with ten thousand or more foreign soldiers gettin ready to take ovah? Shiit, most of y’all wouldn’t run. I tell yah that. I know my ass would get my shit and hunker down. The first mah fuckah kick in my door… well...sorry fo yo luck mah fuckah! For real.
That’s what you would be at that point, what the US calls, insurgents. Free citizens tryin to make ends meet and these foreign assholes tryin tah take or ruin the little my Black or white ass has got! Insurgents? No, those are proud Iraquians. What else do those mah fuckahs know? They and their families have called Iraq home for thousands of years and you goin to tell mah fuckahs, “We understand. But get yo ass tah steppin!” Niggah puh-leeze! Then call me an insurgent too because I would be fightin the fuck back. I ain’t got shit mah fuckahs, “Bring it the fuck on!” Ain’t that what Mentally Challenged Bush said with his Battle cry? Ain’t as easy as it looked like it would be, is it there, with your sorry ass? “Or get the fuck out!” Saddam is dead and gone, what the fuck y'alls asses still doin round these parts? Get the fuck out of their land mah fuckahs. "Mission accomplished!" That's for damn sure. So why are our American asses still over there? Yao Ming? And that ain't no Beautiful thang at all. Just sad. Sad awhile. Too sad! All my Black ass has got! Peace! More to come...
That’s what you would be at that point, what the US calls, insurgents. Free citizens tryin to make ends meet and these foreign assholes tryin tah take or ruin the little my Black or white ass has got! Insurgents? No, those are proud Iraquians. What else do those mah fuckahs know? They and their families have called Iraq home for thousands of years and you goin to tell mah fuckahs, “We understand. But get yo ass tah steppin!” Niggah puh-leeze! Then call me an insurgent too because I would be fightin the fuck back. I ain’t got shit mah fuckahs, “Bring it the fuck on!” Ain’t that what Mentally Challenged Bush said with his Battle cry? Ain’t as easy as it looked like it would be, is it there, with your sorry ass? “Or get the fuck out!” Saddam is dead and gone, what the fuck y'alls asses still doin round these parts? Get the fuck out of their land mah fuckahs. "Mission accomplished!" That's for damn sure. So why are our American asses still over there? Yao Ming? And that ain't no Beautiful thang at all. Just sad. Sad awhile. Too sad! All my Black ass has got! Peace! More to come...
Thursday, January 15, 2015
Without Me There Is No Life (Elaine Hopson II, Aspiring Writer) 2016
This life begins with me. As I opened my eyes upon this world, it all started from my gestation from my Mothers womb and subsequent world was created, by my mind, my perception, my being. It all starts with me and ends with me. I am the Alpha and Omega. Because with me not verifying this reality, life does not exist! How can “Life” itself continue? Life is only relevant to the living, and when I die, life has no relevance. So, the word "life" is an illiteracy because of it's finite nature to the human animal. Only in the relative scope of understanding by the ones who continue to ...live.
And when I close my eyes for the last time, life is no more for everyone and every living thing on this planet.
And when I close my eyes for the last time, life is no more for everyone and every living thing on this planet.
Wednesday, January 14, 2015
KeyVick (Elaine Hopson II, Aspiring Writer) 2016
I’m just sayin. I ain’t too pun-chew-al. If you want punctuality, you need tah pick a nigga up. That’s all I’m sayin’, and a nigga be ready.” Victor said to Keyana.
“Okay, I’ll pick you up then. Eight o’clock. Okay?” She said in her sweetest voice.
“That’s what I’m talkin bout. I’m on time when a mah fucka pick me up but I ain’t too punk-chew-al when I gotstah do the drivin thing. You talkin bout. ‘Don’t be late Victor. Be there.’ Well shit if you want to run things then pick a mah fucka up and show him round town. We be on your time now.”
“Okay, babay. See you tomorrow at eight.”
“Bet,” Victor rang off.
*******************
Here he was, waitin on a mah fucka. Out on the damn doorsteps in front of his apartment, freezin his damn nuts off. This bitch tryin to make a damn point or some shit. He didn’t give two damns! If she wasn’t in front of his place when the minute hand struck four. She could kiss his black ass goodnight! He fired up a Bali Hai, a smooth clove cigarette. Smokin to keep his mind off the chill. Takin in his environment. Waitin like only a nigga could do. Doin it the way it should be done, in a mah fuckin cool ass way. Noddin his head in a only the hood would know at a mah fucka, a nod that says to one and all, "I’m just waitin for a mah fucka nigga, peace out. " And they see the demeanor, like only street niggas know, that mah fuckah legit, lets roll out, be cool my nigga, he got a nod back at the various mah fuckas that rolled pass, always mah fuckas speaking back at the mah fucka in a friendly nod respectfully reciprocated. Tops had always said about him, “Mah fuckas be askin bout you bo-ah!” Tops had said after taking a long hit off the Jay while holding it in and talkin at the same time.
“Fuck that,” as he received the peace pipe, “I don’t bother no mah fucka. I ain’t got no enemies. And if they perceive me as their enemy, they have the problem, I don’t. I don’t fuck with no one unless fucked unto!”
Tops lost most of the weed smoke that was in his lungs by the crazy mah fucka and his damn language. Mah fuckah funny as hell using the type of language and being able to jones like his ass did.
“Nah, mah fuckah. I’m talkin ‘bout in a good way. Dawg! Your name is solid round this mah fuckah. Mah fuckahs be like, damn, where your boy Vick at man. He coo as hell! You remember I told you I knew we were gonna be friends for a lifetime when your ass jumped in that fight when those five niggas was gonna jump me?” Tops asked smilin and reminiscing about this mah fuckah sittin next to him, mellowin out with. His nigga if he never got any bigger. Vick was a solid mah fuckah. He smiled when people knew Vick was his best friend, his road dog,
“Yeah,” Victor said to him, back there with Tops remembering the same event. “Me thinks we would have gotten our asses kicked. But I would made at least two remember never to cross path with this crazy mah fuckah again. “ Laugin at his comment. Because he would have. Shit Angie had taught him a thing or two in jiu-jitsu. He would volunteer to be her partner and he would go over to her house, and she and her father would have a gui for him and the both of them taught Victor how to rumble. He couldn’t touch Angie in that category. She would have him tapping out in no time. He definitely would have gotten at least two maybe all of them once they started hearing bones crackin and a mah fuckah lookin like they been shot. Sheeit. Ain’t nothin like that. A sound you know a mah fuckah fucked up.
“Mah fuckah be likin you that’s all I’m sayin. Thanks for being a true friend man, on the real.”
“No problems my nigga. You know how we roll!” As he stuck his left hand out for a pound and stuck the right one out to pass the bud. Tops gave his friend pound with his right hand and took the jay with his left.
“Right on, man,” Tops said to his man Vick, as they watched Jay Jay, Judge Judy, lambastin this trailer park trash white man.
Here he was. Likeable Vick, freezin his nuts off, for a look at that woman one more time. Umm. But shit, principle, was principle. And damnit the clock had struck four. He was takin his black ass back up to his apartment and chill his ass out. Fuck, Keyanna,"... like the key you open the door with," he remebered her sayin upon him askin her name. Nigga women? Always concerned about being different. Like the name says it all. But this black bitch! Shit, ain’t no woman worth the nut cold he was gettin. Not even the way she was lookin. Fuck this! He thunked his butt. And turned and wouldn’t you know it, black Land Rover pullin up the parking lot. She smiled this sweet smile. While she pulled up where he was and opened the door from the inside and pushed it open to let him in. “Need a ride?” Keyana had said seductively as she licked her top lip slowly, playfully.
Victor was not amused in the least. He stepped up to the side of the SUV and said to her.
“I’m takin my black ass up to my apartment. I’m done for the night. You have a better one lady,” as he shut the door and went up to his apartment. Went into the bathroom. Stripped. Took a lukewarm, then hot shower. To relax himself and warm himself. He got out and dried off very thoroughly. Almost exaggerating the movements, like a mime. Trying to make this action and everyone after, definite, to take his mind off of his frustrations. People always playing games he was saying in his mind. Trying to make some kind of sense to it. He lotioned well. Then he put on deodorant, Grey Flannel cologne and brushed his hair, eyebrows and mustache. He had just put on his long sleeve tee and loose warm up pants with no underwear when the phone rang.
“Hello?” Victor answered.
“Can I come up?” Keyana asked in the most sexual voice he had ever heard. Something was underneath that question. Shit, and if it was, he wanted to find out. Would be a fool not to.
“You still down there lady?” he looked at the clock it was a little after nine.
“I knocked on your door for thirty minutes and I’ve been blowin up your cellular and home phone. But you wouldn’t answer either. So, can I come up?” There went that voice again.
“Keyana. Me casa. Su casa. I’ve told you that. You don’t have to ask to come over to my place. As long as you remember what we’ve discussed.
“Good. ’Cause I’m at your door now.” (to be continued...)
“Okay, I’ll pick you up then. Eight o’clock. Okay?” She said in her sweetest voice.
“That’s what I’m talkin bout. I’m on time when a mah fucka pick me up but I ain’t too punk-chew-al when I gotstah do the drivin thing. You talkin bout. ‘Don’t be late Victor. Be there.’ Well shit if you want to run things then pick a mah fucka up and show him round town. We be on your time now.”
“Okay, babay. See you tomorrow at eight.”
“Bet,” Victor rang off.
*******************
Here he was, waitin on a mah fucka. Out on the damn doorsteps in front of his apartment, freezin his damn nuts off. This bitch tryin to make a damn point or some shit. He didn’t give two damns! If she wasn’t in front of his place when the minute hand struck four. She could kiss his black ass goodnight! He fired up a Bali Hai, a smooth clove cigarette. Smokin to keep his mind off the chill. Takin in his environment. Waitin like only a nigga could do. Doin it the way it should be done, in a mah fuckin cool ass way. Noddin his head in a only the hood would know at a mah fucka, a nod that says to one and all, "I’m just waitin for a mah fucka nigga, peace out. " And they see the demeanor, like only street niggas know, that mah fuckah legit, lets roll out, be cool my nigga, he got a nod back at the various mah fuckas that rolled pass, always mah fuckas speaking back at the mah fucka in a friendly nod respectfully reciprocated. Tops had always said about him, “Mah fuckas be askin bout you bo-ah!” Tops had said after taking a long hit off the Jay while holding it in and talkin at the same time.
“Fuck that,” as he received the peace pipe, “I don’t bother no mah fucka. I ain’t got no enemies. And if they perceive me as their enemy, they have the problem, I don’t. I don’t fuck with no one unless fucked unto!”
Tops lost most of the weed smoke that was in his lungs by the crazy mah fucka and his damn language. Mah fuckah funny as hell using the type of language and being able to jones like his ass did.
“Nah, mah fuckah. I’m talkin ‘bout in a good way. Dawg! Your name is solid round this mah fuckah. Mah fuckahs be like, damn, where your boy Vick at man. He coo as hell! You remember I told you I knew we were gonna be friends for a lifetime when your ass jumped in that fight when those five niggas was gonna jump me?” Tops asked smilin and reminiscing about this mah fuckah sittin next to him, mellowin out with. His nigga if he never got any bigger. Vick was a solid mah fuckah. He smiled when people knew Vick was his best friend, his road dog,
“Yeah,” Victor said to him, back there with Tops remembering the same event. “Me thinks we would have gotten our asses kicked. But I would made at least two remember never to cross path with this crazy mah fuckah again. “ Laugin at his comment. Because he would have. Shit Angie had taught him a thing or two in jiu-jitsu. He would volunteer to be her partner and he would go over to her house, and she and her father would have a gui for him and the both of them taught Victor how to rumble. He couldn’t touch Angie in that category. She would have him tapping out in no time. He definitely would have gotten at least two maybe all of them once they started hearing bones crackin and a mah fuckah lookin like they been shot. Sheeit. Ain’t nothin like that. A sound you know a mah fuckah fucked up.
“Mah fuckah be likin you that’s all I’m sayin. Thanks for being a true friend man, on the real.”
“No problems my nigga. You know how we roll!” As he stuck his left hand out for a pound and stuck the right one out to pass the bud. Tops gave his friend pound with his right hand and took the jay with his left.
“Right on, man,” Tops said to his man Vick, as they watched Jay Jay, Judge Judy, lambastin this trailer park trash white man.
Here he was. Likeable Vick, freezin his nuts off, for a look at that woman one more time. Umm. But shit, principle, was principle. And damnit the clock had struck four. He was takin his black ass back up to his apartment and chill his ass out. Fuck, Keyanna,"... like the key you open the door with," he remebered her sayin upon him askin her name. Nigga women? Always concerned about being different. Like the name says it all. But this black bitch! Shit, ain’t no woman worth the nut cold he was gettin. Not even the way she was lookin. Fuck this! He thunked his butt. And turned and wouldn’t you know it, black Land Rover pullin up the parking lot. She smiled this sweet smile. While she pulled up where he was and opened the door from the inside and pushed it open to let him in. “Need a ride?” Keyana had said seductively as she licked her top lip slowly, playfully.
Victor was not amused in the least. He stepped up to the side of the SUV and said to her.
“I’m takin my black ass up to my apartment. I’m done for the night. You have a better one lady,” as he shut the door and went up to his apartment. Went into the bathroom. Stripped. Took a lukewarm, then hot shower. To relax himself and warm himself. He got out and dried off very thoroughly. Almost exaggerating the movements, like a mime. Trying to make this action and everyone after, definite, to take his mind off of his frustrations. People always playing games he was saying in his mind. Trying to make some kind of sense to it. He lotioned well. Then he put on deodorant, Grey Flannel cologne and brushed his hair, eyebrows and mustache. He had just put on his long sleeve tee and loose warm up pants with no underwear when the phone rang.
“Hello?” Victor answered.
“Can I come up?” Keyana asked in the most sexual voice he had ever heard. Something was underneath that question. Shit, and if it was, he wanted to find out. Would be a fool not to.
“You still down there lady?” he looked at the clock it was a little after nine.
“I knocked on your door for thirty minutes and I’ve been blowin up your cellular and home phone. But you wouldn’t answer either. So, can I come up?” There went that voice again.
“Keyana. Me casa. Su casa. I’ve told you that. You don’t have to ask to come over to my place. As long as you remember what we’ve discussed.
“Good. ’Cause I’m at your door now.” (to be continued...)
Monday, January 12, 2015
Time To Scoff And Shake Yo Mothuh Fuckin Fists
I don't know about y'all; but this niggah is gonna vote Republican next time 'round! Fuck that! Those white republican men on Capitol Hill know how to level out the playin field! For real! They are equal opportunity fuckers.
You Black? Shiiiit! Take that!
You White? Oh, I'm sorry! Take that you!
Are you rich? No? Sorry for your luck! Fuckin take that, you; White Trash lazy excuse for the white race! Take that again! Unh!
They don't give a damn! Yah heard may? White, Black and everything in between, these Republicans are the best thing for us Black broke muh fuckuhs! Shit, we used to being broke! But now...these white stupid poor people will start to understand, "Your own race is, and has always been, fuckin yah!" Some white muh fuckuhs still hatin niggahs! The fuck?! How many Black muh fuckuhs holdin a political position when they passed The Civil Rights Act? Please help a niggah out! Yao Ming?
How many niggahs you know to this day owns a fortune 500 company that has anything to do with these stupid ass honkies gettin the fuck laid off at an ass kicking rate?! We have never had real power. It has always been the White Men. And these no count poor white people always blamin niggahs for their plight. That muh fuckin dog don't fuckin hunt no mo because just read the news or watch television. Your white broke ass is gettin sold down river! Slaves are not we all? Get some you!
But don't blame us niggahs anymore because its live and in color muh fuckuh! And if you still want to defend your ill perceived white race? Get some again! Unh-the-fuck-unh! A revolution is inevitable! "...The Chaldeans will rise and scoff, shaking their fists at the rulers." And the Republicans will put it into action, and final liberation will be obtained! Think about it! And it is still...a Beautiful thang! Oh, yes it is! Peace! More to come...
You Black? Shiiiit! Take that!
You White? Oh, I'm sorry! Take that you!
Are you rich? No? Sorry for your luck! Fuckin take that, you; White Trash lazy excuse for the white race! Take that again! Unh!
They don't give a damn! Yah heard may? White, Black and everything in between, these Republicans are the best thing for us Black broke muh fuckuhs! Shit, we used to being broke! But now...these white stupid poor people will start to understand, "Your own race is, and has always been, fuckin yah!" Some white muh fuckuhs still hatin niggahs! The fuck?! How many Black muh fuckuhs holdin a political position when they passed The Civil Rights Act? Please help a niggah out! Yao Ming?
How many niggahs you know to this day owns a fortune 500 company that has anything to do with these stupid ass honkies gettin the fuck laid off at an ass kicking rate?! We have never had real power. It has always been the White Men. And these no count poor white people always blamin niggahs for their plight. That muh fuckin dog don't fuckin hunt no mo because just read the news or watch television. Your white broke ass is gettin sold down river! Slaves are not we all? Get some you!
But don't blame us niggahs anymore because its live and in color muh fuckuh! And if you still want to defend your ill perceived white race? Get some again! Unh-the-fuck-unh! A revolution is inevitable! "...The Chaldeans will rise and scoff, shaking their fists at the rulers." And the Republicans will put it into action, and final liberation will be obtained! Think about it! And it is still...a Beautiful thang! Oh, yes it is! Peace! More to come...
I feel Yah - 422
People make me want to puke oft times. No count muh fuckuhs! But then my ass realizes, I am people my damn self!! Fuck a duck in a sixteen wheeled semi-truck! Yao Ming? No matter how much I shower, I will never be able to wash the malodorous funk of being human off of my Black ass skin. But it could be worse! Yah heard may? I could have never had the opportunity to experience this whimsical sorry ass existence. And after the cons have been tallied...it is still...A Beautiful thang! Yah heard may?! Oh, yes it is My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs! Check it out...
I Feel Yah - 422
What you said wasn’t true, sends a blue mood into a chaotic manic state. The place of extreme hate. Satiate the mandate and out date such vile de-humanistic behavior. The Savior has turned a blind eye, sighed from the mess he generated and left. Bereft about the insolence running rampant. The sycophant, the poor, thine heart abhors. Stores into the fat cells at the gates of hell; causing numerous flare ups as he realizes his fuck up; to have made man was inhuman. A gender called, woman…well he understands. Smiles and shines upon the Angelic figures in such awe, with such prideful-ness…blesses with such vigor.
Meredith Singleton Circa 2000
Peace! More to come...
I Feel Yah - 422
What you said wasn’t true, sends a blue mood into a chaotic manic state. The place of extreme hate. Satiate the mandate and out date such vile de-humanistic behavior. The Savior has turned a blind eye, sighed from the mess he generated and left. Bereft about the insolence running rampant. The sycophant, the poor, thine heart abhors. Stores into the fat cells at the gates of hell; causing numerous flare ups as he realizes his fuck up; to have made man was inhuman. A gender called, woman…well he understands. Smiles and shines upon the Angelic figures in such awe, with such prideful-ness…blesses with such vigor.
Meredith Singleton Circa 2000
Peace! More to come...
Saturday, January 10, 2015
Driving Test?
You can't make another human being want you. No matter what you do Sunshine, shit is what it is. For real. Hope all you want. The shit is still going to be fucked up! Yah heard may? Spend all the time of your life worrying about bullshit that doesn't amount to a goddamned thing. And for what? And yo ass knows the real deal Hollyfield. Shit, you the fuck know. Oh, yes you do! But what does your ass do? Why? Because the shit keeps your ass busy. Keeps your ass interested because yo ass has an inquisitive nature. Just have to find the truth. But what is that truth without the other telling you what you long for? That's the muh fuckuh right there. You don't know shit if the other muh fuckuh is playin games. Toyin with yo sorry ass unbeknownst to you because you like things done neat and clean, di-the-fuck-rect-ly!
But you see, it doesn't have a damn thang to do with you, yo ass is just along fo the ride and you have not a clue the destination. And maybe that is the con which you have fallen to with knowledge aforethought. Because you know. You know to tell the muh fuckuh to let your ignant ass out! I'll fuckin walk goddamn it! But there is no fun in that My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs. No! No! No! You say to that muh fuckuh, "My ass is rollin with you!"
But cha see, bein a passenger instead of the driver causes a problematic effect with yo life, though you know you drive straighter than shit and you know where you want to go; but this muh fuckuh! This muh fuckuh can't drive fo shit! And as you think with perilous thoughts, "Where in the fuck will we eventually wreck?" Yo ass still sits passively in the passenger seat intrigued. Stupidity with a capital "S". But stupid you roll recklessly with this ill driver. And you can only think to yourself, "What the fuck is wrong with me?" Silently urging the out of control driver, "Drive on muh fuckuh! Let's see where you take us! Cause this life is boring as shit!"
Fuckin dumb. But what's a niggah tah do? Yao Ming? As I sit back and watch; wishing like hell I could take the wheel. But what's the fun in that? And that...is A Beautiful thang! Oh, yes it is! My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs. Peace! More to come.
But you see, it doesn't have a damn thang to do with you, yo ass is just along fo the ride and you have not a clue the destination. And maybe that is the con which you have fallen to with knowledge aforethought. Because you know. You know to tell the muh fuckuh to let your ignant ass out! I'll fuckin walk goddamn it! But there is no fun in that My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs. No! No! No! You say to that muh fuckuh, "My ass is rollin with you!"
But cha see, bein a passenger instead of the driver causes a problematic effect with yo life, though you know you drive straighter than shit and you know where you want to go; but this muh fuckuh! This muh fuckuh can't drive fo shit! And as you think with perilous thoughts, "Where in the fuck will we eventually wreck?" Yo ass still sits passively in the passenger seat intrigued. Stupidity with a capital "S". But stupid you roll recklessly with this ill driver. And you can only think to yourself, "What the fuck is wrong with me?" Silently urging the out of control driver, "Drive on muh fuckuh! Let's see where you take us! Cause this life is boring as shit!"
Fuckin dumb. But what's a niggah tah do? Yao Ming? As I sit back and watch; wishing like hell I could take the wheel. But what's the fun in that? And that...is A Beautiful thang! Oh, yes it is! My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs. Peace! More to come.
Saturday, January 3, 2015
The Bastard
Anything can happen! You best believe that shit. But what one should do is never be surprised by what transpires. One is only accountable for their own actions. For anothers'...shiit! Fuck that shit! Yao Ming? And it is still...A Beautiful thang! Oh, yes it is My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs. Check it out...
The Bastard
“Listen, Niggah. And since the subject came up. Have you really looked at Justin? I mean look at him man. Really look at him?” Chris had said to his brother Rene.
“What do you mean Cee? Of course I look at my child. The fuck that mean anyway man?”
“Can we talk Ren? I mean we been here,” Chris tapped his heart with his left hand index finger, his right hand holding a Camel Light.
“Of course we can talk. We always talk. I hope there isn’t anything that we cannot talk about.” Rene said confusingly, not knowing where the conversation was headed, but wasn’t particularly fond of the course, given the topic of note, his child.
Chris took a long pull on the Camel light, thunked his ash, motioned as if he was cracking his neck on both sides, and with each deep bend either way there were two or three loud pops that sounded off. Rene shook his head and smiled wondering how Chris was always able to do that, and now that he thought of it, Chris only did it when it was something of concern he had to take care of or speak of.
Chris righted his head and expelled slowly and began talking as the smoke was still trying to make it past his lips, “I’m glad we feel the same way about each other. I wouldn’t even had brought it up, but a Niggah got four years. Four,” Chris held up four fingers to emphasize the number stated, “After four My Brothah, that’s it. It’s eighteen years of a sentence.” Chris stopped and waited to get a response, any response out of Rene, to make sure he had Rene’s full attention from here on out.
“Okay,” Rene said bewilderingly, “Now that you have me totally confused. What the fuck are you talking about Chris?”
“Listen brah. You got until Justin is four to contest any paternal obligation. After that, you can kiss the baby, because you just bought someone else’s. For real!”
“What?” Rene said still confused because now the topic had gotten kind of ugly and he was trying to recover so he could think straight.
“Listen, Ren, everyone in the family has said it. We just cooler with each other than with the rest of our Brothers. I wasn’t going to say anything, I thought after awhile you would see it for yourself, but damn! You got six more months Brah and that child, you can like it or not, by Indiana Law subsequent to four years, no matter who the biological Father is, I know its not you, you will be paying for that little bastard. Straight up, for the next eighteen years and beyond, kid. I’m just telling you. I knew no one else had said anything to you about it. You know how we are? Can’t talk about shit amongst ourselves. I made up my mind I was going to say something to you because damn a deadline is coming, kid. You better recognize,” Chris took another long pull on the Camel Light and watched his brother’s face turn from confused, to understanding what Chris had finally brought into the conversation. He should have known bad news from the cracking of Chris’ neck before this conversation even began.
“Are you suggesting, Justin is not mine?” Rene asked Chris not mad but in an absurd questioning tone.
Chris exhaling a cloud of smoke as he spoke again, “Quite frankly, hell no! Rene, listen, I know you always wanted a boy and all that. I know that. But your wife has had an affair and has fucked around on you. The proof is in the pudding. All you have to do is get a paternity test, divorce the bitch, fuck the child, that mah fuckah ain’t your responsibility, Niggah. Plus, she either still is, or at the very least, has. And fuckin’ anothah motha fuckah without a rubber, while a person’s still married, that ain’t wise if you are a husband cheating, let alone a wife, that is just damn stupid. I’m just saying that because not only can a woman bring home a disease, but somebody else’s, as in your case, offspring. You do what you want Brah and I am going to get off this subject. But you know how I roll brah. You have been my favorite brothah out all twelve of us. I know you Niggah. And I know you deserve better than the shit you will be taking for the next eighteen years if you take on that. Fuck that bitch! The worst thing a woman can do is blame another child on you.”
“Hold up Chris! What the fuck is wrong with you? What the fuck has happened to us in the last ten minutes man? Is this a joke? Calling my wife a bitch, my child a bastard…”
Rene almost at a loss for words, Chris had never spoken like this toward him, they would cuss at one another like they used to do, the idiosyncratic ways they took into their adult life from the hood, it didn’t mean shit either. But this was personal and he didn’t know what the world had happened? (to be continued...)
The Bastard
“Listen, Niggah. And since the subject came up. Have you really looked at Justin? I mean look at him man. Really look at him?” Chris had said to his brother Rene.
“What do you mean Cee? Of course I look at my child. The fuck that mean anyway man?”
“Can we talk Ren? I mean we been here,” Chris tapped his heart with his left hand index finger, his right hand holding a Camel Light.
“Of course we can talk. We always talk. I hope there isn’t anything that we cannot talk about.” Rene said confusingly, not knowing where the conversation was headed, but wasn’t particularly fond of the course, given the topic of note, his child.
Chris took a long pull on the Camel light, thunked his ash, motioned as if he was cracking his neck on both sides, and with each deep bend either way there were two or three loud pops that sounded off. Rene shook his head and smiled wondering how Chris was always able to do that, and now that he thought of it, Chris only did it when it was something of concern he had to take care of or speak of.
Chris righted his head and expelled slowly and began talking as the smoke was still trying to make it past his lips, “I’m glad we feel the same way about each other. I wouldn’t even had brought it up, but a Niggah got four years. Four,” Chris held up four fingers to emphasize the number stated, “After four My Brothah, that’s it. It’s eighteen years of a sentence.” Chris stopped and waited to get a response, any response out of Rene, to make sure he had Rene’s full attention from here on out.
“Okay,” Rene said bewilderingly, “Now that you have me totally confused. What the fuck are you talking about Chris?”
“Listen brah. You got until Justin is four to contest any paternal obligation. After that, you can kiss the baby, because you just bought someone else’s. For real!”
“What?” Rene said still confused because now the topic had gotten kind of ugly and he was trying to recover so he could think straight.
“Listen, Ren, everyone in the family has said it. We just cooler with each other than with the rest of our Brothers. I wasn’t going to say anything, I thought after awhile you would see it for yourself, but damn! You got six more months Brah and that child, you can like it or not, by Indiana Law subsequent to four years, no matter who the biological Father is, I know its not you, you will be paying for that little bastard. Straight up, for the next eighteen years and beyond, kid. I’m just telling you. I knew no one else had said anything to you about it. You know how we are? Can’t talk about shit amongst ourselves. I made up my mind I was going to say something to you because damn a deadline is coming, kid. You better recognize,” Chris took another long pull on the Camel Light and watched his brother’s face turn from confused, to understanding what Chris had finally brought into the conversation. He should have known bad news from the cracking of Chris’ neck before this conversation even began.
“Are you suggesting, Justin is not mine?” Rene asked Chris not mad but in an absurd questioning tone.
Chris exhaling a cloud of smoke as he spoke again, “Quite frankly, hell no! Rene, listen, I know you always wanted a boy and all that. I know that. But your wife has had an affair and has fucked around on you. The proof is in the pudding. All you have to do is get a paternity test, divorce the bitch, fuck the child, that mah fuckah ain’t your responsibility, Niggah. Plus, she either still is, or at the very least, has. And fuckin’ anothah motha fuckah without a rubber, while a person’s still married, that ain’t wise if you are a husband cheating, let alone a wife, that is just damn stupid. I’m just saying that because not only can a woman bring home a disease, but somebody else’s, as in your case, offspring. You do what you want Brah and I am going to get off this subject. But you know how I roll brah. You have been my favorite brothah out all twelve of us. I know you Niggah. And I know you deserve better than the shit you will be taking for the next eighteen years if you take on that. Fuck that bitch! The worst thing a woman can do is blame another child on you.”
“Hold up Chris! What the fuck is wrong with you? What the fuck has happened to us in the last ten minutes man? Is this a joke? Calling my wife a bitch, my child a bastard…”
Rene almost at a loss for words, Chris had never spoken like this toward him, they would cuss at one another like they used to do, the idiosyncratic ways they took into their adult life from the hood, it didn’t mean shit either. But this was personal and he didn’t know what the world had happened? (to be continued...)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)