I. K. Now, Supreme Masonic Vocal Council Member, Year 0333 AREMPF (After Revelation Electromagnetic Pulse Fallout)

We found out, quite too late of course, that the endless amount of wireless impulses going through our living environment was causing a tremendous amount of stress to the human form; like a microwave oven used to do…you all do remember those? Good… with food products, those same electrical impulses going through our bodies trying to penetrate whatever that matter, in this case our precious entities, was in front of those volatile impulses eventually they go through that matter, being hell bent on  getting  to its various connective sources and beyond, in the interim our bodies were being denatured; being broken down, more and more by the energy engulfing and passing through our human forms, destroying that form faster and faster;  what we know now as, Clandestine Subsonic Ultra Waves of Ventricular Vibrations or CSUWV2.  

The ones in the past that were, well… let me put it in the rarest of truth, killing themselves without knowledge of the cloaked danger they had created.
  

And so we are here today, our honorable Council members of Thirteen, to instill teachings from the scribes of old which we can clearly see with our characteristically gaunt facial features and bulbous heads.  We have learned to diminish that energy going through our bodies, as in days’ pasts, by telepathically communicating.  But that has had its dangers too.  By us not vocalizing our thoughts we have transformed, in my opinion, to an unattractive race because of our wondrous ignorance.  We know and see what has been and what we have become.  Yet, we still have been disobedient from our past knowledge.  Working in adverse instead of being responsible; hence, the reason I am speaking to all of you, Great and Honorable Council members of Thirteen.  We can change our present and make a better future; but we have to...no must, sustain the human form...cause we lookin ugly!

(to be continued...)

Running Out Of The Cold - 457

It's a jungle out here! It's a jungle out here!
The seasons never change and are quite queer!
The cold is always pervasive, persuasive, invasive...giving me frostbite; a fire light will never be able to return life back into my fingers, my phalanges of shame.
Oh, so frigid!
Frozen solid as the melting pot has been made into a tossed salad, turned into a side dish of a remorseful wish; dressing included for all of the poor quasi bought and sold druids watching the plethora of white opaque ubiquitous icicles form on the surface of the diverse human noses. Predisposed, I must propose.  My feet finally being able to feel, trying to steal another life that was stolen; able to turn on my heals finally, as the warmth overtakes me; awakens me from the hibernated comatose state my mind has been liquid nitrogen-ed infused and confused to try to make me sin. 
Running now to flee, while the cold nips at my close wake.  Never to overtake again. 
Until I am ready to vanish from within!

Corona Familiar (La Cerveza Mas Fina, Lager) Dr. Kirk Kurtis Keith III, Refined Beer Blogger Administrator of The Blog: Beer You! Beer Me!, Posted: Saturday, June 6, 2020 at 6:33 PM

Shee-ought!  I don’t know what tah tell yah?  I really don’t! I’m not gonna do none of that snobbish motha fuckin bullshit takin yo ass on a borin taste test with that tired ol’ ‘Appearance, Smell, Taste, Mouthfeel…bullshit!  Fuck you Boo-Boo…if that is what yo tired ass is spectin ta read cause I loves ta tell ya, but…no!  We don’t roll on this blog like that!  Fuck that and “The Cat in the Hat”!  What I do, do, is to tell you a story and hope the hell I can make you taste what I am expressing with the story as we unveil the following find:

I popped the cap of the chilled at 38 degrees Fahrenheit, ‘Corona Familiar,’ from (yes, I am straight beer ballin like that with my temperature-controlled beer refrigerator thank you very much) my cooler; you heard me correct-fuckin-leet-lee!  Drank it straight from the bottle son!  It be like that sometime when a nigga been workin at ImaSon ten hours a day fo the past five days for Massa Iman Beetus, in a hundred degree or more warehouse environment!  So fuck those trivialities of proper etiquette of beer tasting and all that bull…shit! Took a proper swig.  Held it…instantly I am on an island.  It is hot as fuck!  I look over and my wife is coming toward me, cocktail in her right hand and this brown bottle in the left hand, smiling, curvy body on point, sashaying, coming closer finally she jokes, ‘Is this seat taken?’  I smile at her and respond, ‘Always…with yo ass in it!’  She lets out a howl of a laugh as she sits into the chaise next to me with her left hand extended with a brown beer bottle.  I accept it of course.  We ‘Cheers.’  I drink this shit!  Now that’s what I’m talkin bout!  We both look at one another.  As if on key, we raise our perspective sunglasses so we can witness one and the other's eyes, close one of our perspective eyes in a loving wink.  Put sunglasses back into proper position.  Sit back.  Tack a sip of this lager. We both stare out, sitting on this beach, onto the ocean at nothing and everything!  I fist pump! And look up at the clear blue heavenly pure sky sans a hint of a Chem-trail and think happily to myself:  Life… is good!  And I hope that makes yo ass thirsty as hell!  Prost muh fuckah!

You Ain't Evah Been No Real 'Rican, (Twenty-Three Years Old, Samuel Shabazz, Youtuber) Wednesday, January 1, 2020 at 3:33 Am

White Eskenazis’ been ownin slaves since the beginning of humankind and shit!  Of course yo, sorry masta all the time havin slave ass is tryin ta deny it now the money has been made and the shit is done, son! Course yo ass tryin ta rewrite histry an shit!  But I’m one of the few dissenters.  I don’t claim to know you.  Shit no!  But I expertly understand yo sorry wantin ta have slaves again motha fuckin asses!

“Those niggers just love that watermelon!”  Y’all sorry motha fuckas Scoff!  Shit!  Fuck you boo-boo!  Y’all Eskenazi jew asses are the ones that made us falls in loves with the tasty succulent motha fucka!  You gave it to Our sorry asses as an aphrodisiac, and heavy on that aphro!  Now motha fuckas, Dr. Oz et al…wanta rewrite histry and shit and say, ‘Eating watermelon can cure your ED!’ You think?  If the only thing yo Black ass has ta look forward to is some good ol’ tasty sweet succulent watermelon, because yo black slavin ass can’t gets to no LQ to buy a fifth of Bumpy Face to cure the days Black Nuts and Black Vagina kickin aftah eighteen hours in the damn Alabama, Mississippi hellacious, oppressive as fuck motha fuckin heat, then the only thing yo Black slavin ass is stuck with, Massa seems to give us whenever we wants…watermelon, motha fucka!  Yo Black ass gonna love, and yo offspring's are gonna grow up lovin, that good ol' hard dick makin 'coon melon'!  That shit don't need no contemporary doctors to make mah fuckahs understand what those mah fuckahs under-fuckin-stood way back 'fo nineteen-ought-ought!  Sheee-it!

So we's can makes otha Black slavin asses...deriding notwithstanding, then why the fuck wouldn’t niggas ta this day, loves them some watermelon?  Super-silly-motha-fuckas!

Let's Take A Ride ( Radio Broadcast: #334/Sunday, December 1, 2019) MSHCirca 2000, FM 103.3 WYOY, Indianapolis, Indiana

What kind of music do you like?  Chill music?  Solid.  Hop on in.  There you go.  Take a load off.  You gotsta roll with leatha baby!  Ya heard may!  You comfortable and shit?  You are?  Excellent, even?  Well, you ain’t said nothin but, “Go!”  It’s a four-hour journey, two hours there and two hours back.  You cool with that?  Now, that’s what I’m talkin bout!  You mind if I put the top down, it’s just a beautiful night?  Your hair?  Hah!  With hair or without hair, yo ass is fine!  So, top down or top stays up?  Now, that’s what I’m talkin bout times two!  I let the top down along with the side windows and instantly the blessed Summer semi-cool breeze came rushing into the ride.  We look at each other.  She nods.  Time to roll…Put the turn signal on, cue the music: The Doo Bop Song by Miles Davis… 

You Knew Motha Fucka! Now, Don't Sit Up There And Lie Now Motha Fucka! Cause You The Fuck Knew! (Twenty-Three Years Old, Gale Galz) After Indiana Passed The 'DID it for the Indiana Soldiers' Campaign To Successfully Legalize Marijuana In The State Of Indiana, Friday, September 11, 2020

So what are you going to do now my brothah?  Hunh?  I mean shit the warning signs were there, ‘High priced weed with high priced consequences.”  Ain’t nobody lied to nobody at this point. 

“I understand the contract which I am signing; buying this quad for 500 dollars, with not a hint of duress.”  Yo broke ass sees that! Signed that shit!  And bought that same shit!  Shit!  God damn!  We all adults in this motha fucka!  “Shit!  Goddamn!  Get off yo ass and jam… “Live and in motha fuckin colah!  Motha fucka!

 

Butcha see, I’s ain’t in control of my life.  I don’t have any rights.  I don’t have enough to make a difference…and you see, I don’t have any control over my vices;  I’m the…poor…The fuck wrong with you?  I, and especially those motha fuckas, goin tah feel sorry with those ‘Swing low/ Sweet Chariot…’ bullshit words?!  Cause er’body know up in this bitch!  Come ohn naw!?  We bees’ a-dults. Don't front, er'body-the-fuck-knows…

Can't Hold Back The Years (Twenty-One Years Old, Carl Cutler, Senior Year Philosophy Major, Fairview House, Butler University) Wednesday, January 1, 2020 at 12:12am

What’s your motivation?  Or better yet, ‘What is my motivation?’.  To keep a motha fucka waking up every God damned day to do the same thing over and over again until one dies… well… until 65 years old, but what the fuck is the difference at that point!  They done used all the good years of You up; with yo now old retired tired no good ass!  Uhm!  Just look at your sorry ass!  Shame fo Our Father!

"Rules To Live By," Marques Matthews aka 'Rocky Mountain High' Blogger, Article Submitted and Published by Weekly Publication, Denver, Colorado based, "High On The Mountaintop," Sunday, August 2, 2020

She said I could hit it.  So I hit it!  Good!

Took the aforementioned hit from my hangin partna Toshelle, she handin it to me solidly, respecting the proper etiquette of passing: it, situated between one’s index and thumb; extend hitting hand and arm to passee, the passee should have or either’s should have already extended the hand which Passer is of course passing at this point to said Passee, shit.  Maybe I should have called you with this shit.  This texting this bullshit is a fuckin bitch for real!  Well…fuck it! And when the Passer feels the Passees’  index finger and thumb against the Passees,’ the Passer retracts thumb and presses the contacted tip that is against the index finger tip of the hit against the Passees index finger, so Passee can secure it with their given now closed upon thumb, secured.  But if the motha fucka you hangin with is left handed the opposite would be in play.  What's that?  Shit!  Come ohn naw!  Yo ass shouldn't be high this early and on a fuckin, for most of US, a fucking worship day!  But proper pass my Brothas and Sistahs like I was sayin before I was so not coolly interrupted.  But anyway, old school for real.  You can tell a person is old school or hangs around old school just how a person passes hits and take hits, ain’t that some shit?

...Anyway, It was Toshelle’s shit, not mine.  She supplyin the shit for the both of us.  That was the cool nature of our friendship: when she was up I was up and when I was up she was up.  Beautiful right.  So I pulled hard as fuck, shit nigga ain’t had shit in a while, now come on naw, it ain’t that I was tryin ta be greedy and shit like that.  This motha fucka ain’t the fuck like that at all!  That’s bullshit any time of day!  But it’s part of my story.  And the whole reason I’m telling this story is because of the point.  Without a point one could not pierce they would be left only to bludgeon.  And like my daughter used to say, “That not nice...”

Back to the hit…Inhaled mightily like I was sayin, held that shit and proper passed Toshelle.  Now she hittin the shit, but kind of light which I am takin notice of.  She extends the hit back to me, I cut my right hand across my throat, as to say, I forfeit my hit this round.  She smiles at me and says, “Boy you still holdin that shit?  Goddamn!”  

I nod at Tosh, and start to speak to her around the held inhalation, “My Mommy used to say: ‘Treat peoples’ shit better than your shit.’  And I wouldn’t expect anything different from you, Tee,” while exhaling I continue to and say, “Words to live by,” with a period put on the exhalation by the exhaled hit now pristinely pure again, sans fumes. Exhalation now complete.

Toshelle just looking at me like, 'The Fuck."  She finally hits the hit again, still while looking at me, now smiling.  I liked when she smiled.  She wasn't attractive at all looking at her face,  one had to look beyond her face to see how beautiful Tosh is and the even more pure beauty about Tosh is that she has not a clue of her stunning essence, and Tosh says,  "I really like your ass!  Well, shit, I can honestly say...I love yo ass!  You my motha fucka!  But I hate you all the same nigga!  And I hope to hell I'm makin some sense to you," as she extended her right passing hand to my receptive right hand. I nodded again at Tosh. Proper pass complete. And just before pulling, I winked at her and said, "And I understand..."

Scent Basting (Broadcast #: 333/ Saturday, November 30, 2019) MSHCirca 2000, FM 103.3 WYOY, Indianapolis Indiana

This is the day of a big date.  The fuck!  Man, listen, yo ass overthinkin' some shit.  Ain't that deep.  For real.  Man or woman, who gives a real fuck!  It's ah bout chew boo-boo!  So...whatever?  The day you and another person of interest decide to get together, from the time you get up, until yo ass picks that mothah fuckah up, yo ass should be bastin.  What is "Basting"?  You asks.  It is applying the scents that you have ascertained and applying those same ascertained scents every forty-five minutes or up to an hour, from the time you wake in the morning up until you go on that special date. 

And about time you go on that date the other mother fucker will either say, I am going to fuck the shit out of this motha fucka!...  Or, I can't stand the smell of...

Dig This Shit (PragerU Entusiast, Twenty-Three Years Old, Joshua Johnson) Review Of The HBO's 'Euphoria' Series Youtube Blogger

The fuck you waiting for?  The best series ev-er!  Kick you in the nuts kind of shit!  Raw!  But the truth!  Check it out!

Everything Is Copacetic (Dr. Tedros Adhanom Ghebreyesus and President Richard Haas) Friday September 6, 2019

"All these mass shootins.  The fuck.  Not a fuck.  But the Fuck!  Time to un-arm yo stank 'merican ass!  You can't do that!  I have rights as an American citizen fucker!  No my soon to be in shit land friend.  The New World Order says fuck those rights!  There's a new sheriff in town, just call him: Commy for short." And president Haas laughed with unabashed maniacal mirth from Doctor Ghebreyesus' scoffing mimicry words and affect of a soon to be put in their place, finally, Americans who have always complained about everything and nothing... as they continued to Skype and deride the last bastion of Humanism: The United States of America and its people.

The Green,Green Earth (S1-Pilot, June 6, 2020 NWO Cable HD Channel 1666, KomCast Indianapolis, Indiana at 6:00 PM)

...Just when he didn't think he could hold it any longer he let it out, slowly, purposefully.  Exhaled until he heard the high pitch noise of the apex of an exhalazation, the lungs cryin out, "I can'ts take no mo!  Yous just gotstah let it out," and you slowly and purposefully do,  "Shit! My niggah!" the lungs lovingly respond...

Just Go Down "Boring Road" Until You Get To...

Life is a mandatory ride.  And like Mandatory implies: If you vary from the rules, we’s gonna make your ride miserable.  Strap yourself in, follow the rules of the road and you may continue to traverse.
  

Now, that...My Dear Brothahs and Sistahs…is a boring ass drive!

Really: Reality? (What Ever, On-Air Personality Turned Spoken Word Fanatic) August 25, 2020 At Open Mic Every Tuesday At 9:00 PM, "The Spoken Word...The" 333 West Washington Street, Indianapolis, Indiana 46204

It’s like when you get there, your eyes tend to adjust, your outer muscles around your eyes, tightening up, sharpening images, your entire vision.  When you are just focusing, just concentrating on what is in your interests you, and only you, decide the importance and nothing else matters… Life becomes what it truly is and just until now you are reminding yourself of just that fact: Reality does not matter if you just refocus.

 

"Well I do that every God damned day! That bullshit you talkin' ain't nothin knew you!"  You may avow. 

My only response to that is…I understand.

www.millercoors.com(Comment Section) (BBP) Friday, May 24, 2019 @ 11:13 am Indianapolis, Indiana

If I were in marketing in your venerable, great establishment, I market and distribute what Miller can coin, “Half and Half,” in the beer world.  Thinking about married couples, couples, roommates that have totally different tastes in beer… one likes light beer the other only likes regular beer; hence, ‘Half light beer and Half Regular beer,’ mixing three Miller high Life with three Miller High Life Light. Call them Duos: 6packs/12packs/24packs. Push for this idea to be sunk into the public mindset by having different slogans:

“Miller High Life is American Made. We have always made great tasting beer and have always been aware of the diverse world who has always  enjoyed and indulged in the, “The Champagne of Beers!”  Cheers!”

This will bring about a buzz back to Miller High Life starting to make a move to the top where Miller rightfully should be. Just a thought.  

By the way I love the beer that you brew, its truly All American.  The taste is America!

Miller High Life always has reminded me of my father ever since his passing  in 1997, it was the only beer he would drink.  All I’ve got!

For Real-For Real! (Spoken Word Enthusiast, Azure Skyye Bleu) Friday, December 06, 2019 @ 12:12 am / "Skip to No End," Downtown, Indianapolis, Indiana 46204

“Oh, yeah I play the lottery but I’ll never win.”  

The fuck!  Kind of sense!  Does that stupid shit make?! So yo ass plays to lose motha fucka? Damn!  Glad yo ass is happy like that…for real!  Cause a muh fucka like me plays and my Black ass believes whole heartily that my numbers are goin ta hit!  Damn straight!  And get shitty when they don’t!  

The fuck! Those numbers mean something to me.  And they will all come togetha in a multi-million-dollar jackpot that will be mine to win, when these obtuse muh fuckahs decide to act right. And agree amicably, it is best for the decision with all parties’ involved to work together to conclude the matter with this simple solution!  But shit!  Theys gonna hit.  Or, I’ll die tryin to make them hit!  

But tell me muh fucka...tell a broke muh fucka like me...how in the hell yo broke ass, all the time havin ass, expect ta have any betta by, that tired ass slave masta mantra, ‘Just work hard’?  I'm over that fuckin shit of a slogan for the poor!  And that is you and my sorry Black ass!  For real-for real! 

Please, That Young Coors Light Son! (Thirty-Six Years Old, Youtuber Pepsi Coked Jackson) The Ghetto Wine Connoisseur, Posted: Monday, July 6, 2020 at 11:59 PM

...In my opinion, an avid wine drinker as is I, red and white, I may let you know...in a beer setting the reason I believe wine drinkers order a light beer is because light beer is the most like a wine, a sparkling wine at that, save for some of the lacing retention given brand of light beer.

Take for instance Coors Light.  The color is spot-on Sparkling wine, a straw color. Nose...bland but with a very little hint of rose.  Taste, their is a kind of slight fruity taste going on, with a slight bitterness at the back end.  Can't quite describe it. Definitely not offensive at all. Dry finish.  Effervescent.  Refreshing.  And the most important aspect with the beer crowd, quite session-able.  You know beer drinkers. Get all out of sorts when they drink too many.

But we wine drinkers are...classy chil'!

You Never See It Coming (Thirty-Nine Years Old, Carlton Cox, D.O.A. at Sidney and Lois Eskenazi Hospital, Road Rage Incident) September 11, 2019 at 2:33 am

I couldn't sleep and decided to go for a drive at 2:15 in the morning.  I got into the car. Drove to the on ramp to I-465 East and had just merged onto the highway, when  another car pulled up along side of me the car traversing on the left of me in the middle lane.  I turned to see who the driver was and all I noticed was a revolver pointing directly at me with a hand attached to the butt.  I turned to look at the road again and started depressing the accelerator...

Fuck You GOT! (Sixty-Six Years Old, Ex-Game Of Thrones Fanatic, Malcolm Merit)) Sunday, April 14, 2019; 8:59 pm

Fuck GOT!  For real!  I know I’m gettin’ all kind of shit from fanatical, GOT'ers.  Advertising anticipation to the end of  GOT…Who said?  Shit not my ass!  Fuck you boo-boo!  Shit, what was that slogan on the movie, The Truman Show, ‘What next?”  Fuck yeah, what next!  That’s the reason I watched the shit weekly when the new episodes would start.  I didn’t watch it because I was anticipating an ending to the shit.  Maybe to some of the characters, no doubt…but the show…fuck you!  “What next?,” was the reason a muh fuckah like me watched the series religiously.  Not…I’ll tell yo monkey ass this, right the fuck now…

“Not for some goddamned mother fucking ending!  Goddamnit!”

The Future End

...Once you look at this shit in its totality you start to be fascinated by the ruse.  Brilliant!  And damnit!  Who wrote this genius script?!  I mean no role or thing has varied from the foretold ending!  Linear!  All aboard!  And you know your God damned lines and actions!  Roll'em!...

Biters Will Always Bite (Forty-Five Years Old, Nathan School, Spreaker Podcast Host) Thursday,June 6, 2019 @ 12:12 pm

I remember the bullshit as clear as day.  There was this product being advertised called, “Certain,” sanitary bath tissue.  Now Mommy, yes I still call my Mother Mommy though I am forty-five years old.  Getting back to the subject, “Certain,” had a disinfectant lotion or some kind of bull shit within the toilet paper itself.  Mommy bought it once or twice and I remember using it, it was viscous. Didn't feel like the conditioned corporate, wipe clean dry. Felt like it was putting something on, instead of taking shit off. It was supposed to clean yo  just shittin ass after a proper mother fucker like yo ass is, drops it like it’s hot!  

Now, check this out.  People didn’t care for the shit wipes back in the day; ‘Certain’ advertised is a more sanitary way of, “Wiping Your Bum,” or some kind of sorry corporate advertising bullshit.  Anyway.

A few of the reasons people didn't care for the product was: “It didn’t feel like it was cleaning me,” “Kind of slippery.  Doesn’t feel right,” “Feels nasty,’…

Now, Cottonelle  plagiarizing the  fuck out of the same concept in 2019.  Y’all some biters!  For real!  And you can bet your bottom dollar in this day, it will be all the rage!  Mother fuckers!

Indianapolis, Indiana, Pastor, Dr. Y.S. Grand (Church Of The Real Deal Apolstolics) Tuesday, December 24, 2019 @ 6:33 pm.

"If one professes to believe in Our Father, one must, not shall, disavow that sordid, '...the world is round.' So-called truth.  The Bible clearly states that we live in a firmament. We live on a level, a plane, flat..." Pastor Grand preached.

And what was just a second before a good riled up plenty of pious parishioners present, with ubiquitous 'Amen,' and 'Thank you Jesus,' on this perfect slightly snowy Christmas Eve sermon, had gone totally silent...

Pauvre! Pauvre! It's Probably Time To Depopulate!

Once you look back at all of the things that have transpired throughout this human history you just have to laugh or, if not at the very least, smile.  They got US.

Good one motha fucka ya played a fuckin playa!  Whatoutchairnaw!  Big ups!  For real!  But now that I know about yo wicked fuckin ways...what yo runnin out of ideas havin ass gonna do now?  Now, that you know you can't manipulate a motha fucka no mo?

And Her Name is Fernet-Branca (Indianapolis, Indiana Based, Restaurant and Bar Blogger, Kyle Upland) Saturday, September 7, 2019 @ 10:12 pm

All right.  I just have to admit it.  Everybody talkin bout weed is the shit…blah-blah-blah-blah-blah.  I’m not tryin to piss on your, “Green is not mean,” bandwagon.  I’m just stating facts.  Been where you talkin and done that.  But the shit ain’t legal.  So I say, “Fuck it!”  Okay it’s not legal. But liquor is goddamnit!  Oh, yes it is.

Don’t nothin get your ass there better and smoother than, the South Americans know it best as, ‘Branca and Coke.’  Or Fernet Branca neat.  Shit, hidden gem for sho!  But the best way I have found is like you do Jagermeister, you shoot it with a light beer back.  You see all that you are substituting in this case is the cola taste but not the carbonation affect.  The carbonation is still there, just not that caramel-ish Coke taste that it is known for.  But substituting a preference for the taste of beer with the earthy, menthol deep, complexed, one of a kind taste, the nectar of the God’s, Last name: Branca, First name: Fernet!  Who I am sure cheats with to some degree or flat-out is just blatant with the whole affair which will eventually turn to marriage with the two adulterers. She rightfully gots those skills.

Fuck weed.  But cheat with Fernet Branca and Miller High Life Light until you can legally fuck weed again.  And Branca is Bi-Sexual by the way!  Prost!  

"Hey, Pimpin', Let Me Holla Atta Playa For A Minute," Your Own Conscience: Blue Pill: 12/30/1965 - 12/30/2005 / Red Pill: 12/30/2005 - Present

…You take the, “Red Pill or Blue Pill,” scene in the Matrix is an excellent example about what people are still doing…Bullshitting themselves all the fuckin time until you want to wake the fuck up, ain't shit gonna change!  Just chillin and shit.  The fuck.  Naw check this out there playa, you take their blue pill Pimpin, chill with that shit all...boring...life…long.

 

Butcha see here, this is where the problem with yo ass arises, this Red Pill here?  Shit, this right here, will have you trippin yo ass out Playa! This here, was made in our American Streets!  Ameri-can-fuckin-made!  "Land of the Free and home of the Brave!" Get what I’m sayin?  I mean that blue pill shit, you gots that shit on lock!  For real!  But check this out Playa, I won’t lie to you bout this here Red Pill!  This shit here…will blow yo mind!  And you won’t regret that fine, very comely, fiery looking dress, she's adorned, to help assist in a Playa's choice like yours is gonna be. Sorry. I guarantee.  But I ain’t tryin to persuade you either way.  I’m just telling you how it is.  We here…we've been friends for a very long time. It's just now that we've met one another…

Nothing But A Pig On A Spit (Fifty-Three Years Old, T'Old Truth, Conspiracy Theorist) July 4, 2020

Human Resources and Human Resources Departments are nothing but a Psychological Operation successfully being carried out by more than one thinktank: Tavistock Institute; Stanford Research Institute…The Club of Rome, Round Table, Trilateral Commision, The Counsel On Foreign Relations, The International Monetary Fund…We are pigs for slaughter after they get us fat enough to be deliciously edible.

One Time (BBP)

Take the fist to the lips to enlist the insanity of the vanity of the so-called normal humanity beings.  Watching, seeings and beings of such a parched earth.  No rebirth of this turf.  Can’t reseed the Earth.  Once we die…we just die for what it’s worth. 

What Ever (Thirty-Three Years Old, On-Air Personality, Lee Pit, WYSKY, 96.3 FM) March 3,2020

“Thank you for joining me tonight.  I am…What Ever.  Hackneyed maybe.  But I am what I am.  With you into the wee hours of the morning.  And wherever whatever can take you.  Just ask.  And I’ll take you there.  And maybe you don’t even have to ask.  I’ll just take your ass What Ever anyway. Whatchairnaw!

Male.  Female.  Child.  Enfant…Dog.  Cat…Any animal.  Just watch how that living entity reacts to music…and that will tell you everything you need to understand about this here life, and that particular living entity.  C’est tout!  Without any further delay.  Open the door.  Get in.  Come ohn naw.  Get in! 

There you go.  You comfortable and shit?  Excellent.  Now, let’s take this bonding ride.

Chill with this…” (Spoon/Nobody Gets Me But You).”

A Rhetorical Conversation

He was working, in the dairy department, putting up not dairy, but refrigerated juices.  Counting aloud to see how many of the various juices he would need to fill the various holes, with the juices ,that were in abundance this Saturday night.  Saturdays were always the worst.  Then he heard:

"Are you speaking to me," he turned to see that it was a co-worker who's name was Candace.

"No, I'm sorry.  I was talking to myself.  I do that sometime," he said.

"Oh, okay," she said and walked away.

He turned and began evaluating the inventory again.

"No, ain't nobody talkin to yo dumbass. You know the bitch was adopted right," he turned to see that now it was a co-worker named, Chona, 'No not China.  But China with an 'O,' 'speaking to him, "... by some white folks that didn't teach her ass any bettah.  Bitch thinks she white and shit. Ain't that some shit. You see that bitch.  Blacker than you and me put togethah talkin crazy shit like that. I don't have time for some fucked up bullshit like that.  Unh-unh.  Fuck that.  All our ancestors went through and yo dumbass gonna deny your obvious heritage.  Dumb bitch.  And we won't even talk about her hair.  You see that shit.  Her shit nappier than the hair in the crack of a farmer's ass.  Yea-ah," Chona said, put her earbuds in her ears and walked away also.

Now That's A Proper Fag! (65 Years Old, Graham Smith) November 24, 2019

He coughed.  And that cough began another round of hacking; pulling up phlegm; spitting yellowish-brown matter; coughing some more; hacking some more; this time pulling up phlegm with a tinge of pink with the yellowish-brown matter.

Coughing one more time with a, "Owee that was propah!" he said aloud to no one but himself.  Everything settling in it's various nooks and crannies in the membranes of his lungs.  Excellent, he thought to himself.  Without thinking he reached for them, Camel Non-Filters.  Shook one of the fags out. Tapped one end of the cigarette up against the right hand thumb several times.  Put the same end that was striking against his thumbnail in between his lips.  Took out the square box of wooden matches that were in his left pant pocket prior to retrieval.  Opened the box of matches and took out one of the short wooden sticks with a red tip at one end.  Closed the box of matches.  And finally struck the red tipped end of the match against the one of two rough sided panels.  Put the match against the now pursed end of the ciggy.  Inhaled wickedly while lighting.  Shook the wooden match fire out by a flick of his left wrist.  Put the extinguished match in the square transparent bluish tinged ashtray. Took the fag out from his lips slightly pinched between his left index and middle finger.  Finally exhaled.  "Ahhhhh!  Naw that's a propah fag!  The Yanks did ye right 'ere," He said again aloud to no one but himself.  He looked at the ciggy and smiled.  "Time to make some tea..."

Backslide Never More (Spoken Word Enthusiast, Azure Skyye Bleu) December 4, 2019

Flying high never low.  Below the tow.  Drowning in the spinning, sinning, declining Eden.  Hunger no more the famine is real.  Stealing is just trying to still time, you survive or die.  But I don’t have to bug you with these wonderful little anecdotes.  We’ve long since left the boats.  Still with totes, unnecessary baggage. Though armed with biblical tutelage.  Sweet Jesus will see through US; it’s Heaven or bust.  But lust takes over to the modern-day straight-bisexual Casanova.  We must, not shall, right the ship.  Flip the script.

And all sail away…better yet… fly away…whatever is clever…forever.

A Higher Solution (Spoken Word Enthusiast, Azure Skyye Bleu) December 3, 2019

Don’t you love me; dutifully; romantically; lustful for me?  The fact remains to sustain in the pouring rain to fain a living, never giving, believing the lie that is making everyone sigh.  Cry.  Even passing laws to get high.  Sprout the doubt.  And the lies will come about.  Pout to the droughts coming when the fire desires and aspires to cast a dire down spiral going viral violently, vehemently…additionally professed from the luciferian obsessed.  I don’t belong amongst the strong or the violently bound to astound, turn around and reverberate the sound coming around.  Pound of steel is real, kill the will to keep working the twerking of the underbelly of soft and hard telly…vision as a provision to keep everyone in submission.  

A belly full of intestines intertwine.  A fine swine of such piteous repute.  Gold standard refute.  Gone is our loot to boot.  It suits.  But it sure ain’t cute. 

Liquid Life (Continued)

…A horn blew. He looked down and witnessed, like so many times in the past, a pedestrian almost getting hit by passing traffic; whose drivers are less than attentive, in downtown Indianapolis no less.  But he just shook his head, said to himself, “Big City, Little City is all the same family because they have the same last name.”  He smiled to himself raised the glass, “Prost.” Took a sip.  He was there.  Medicated.  But not overly so.  Copacetic.  A memory popped into his mind:  Jones.  Private Jones.  He and…what was the muh fuckahs first name?  Shit we were boys he thought but he couldn’t remember the first name to save his life.  Maybe tomorrow or another day, recall was down at this point, he ensconced in his medical cocktail.  Watchoutchairnaw!  He and Jones would be hittin the jay in the back of the latrines; If the weed was fire, Jones would smile at him while exhaling, Jones' head nodding up and down, while passing him the jay, with the word slowly coming out of Jones' mouth during all of this was,” Cooooopaaaaceeetic!”  He became a fan of the word after he started hanging out with Jones.  He thought for some reason copacetic was an ill word and to this very day he used the word frequently.

He continued to the kitchen. Ol’ Jones, he thought again and shook his head a little and smiled at the memory. Got to the marble kitchen island he had placed his medication on. Made minor adjustments to the dosage; this time gin 50ml, D/C vermouth for at least four hours; this dosage, every forty-five minutes or so would keep away the vampires.  Shit he started thinking, fuck the garlic, give me a pint and aftah which that motha fuckah can suck my carotid all they wants, I don’t feel a damn thang!  Numb the fuck to my toes! And before I exanguinate and turn cold, can a brotha get a refill?

 

Sipped his gin.  Smiled once again.  Did a little jig.  Found his chair.  Put his drink down.  Take out smoke. Zippo. Clink. Fire it up. Zippo. Clink.  Inhale mightily.  Sit down.  Now exhale.  Good.  Pick up drink.  Sip.  Keep in hand.  Steady with the armrest.  Pull on cigarette.  Exhale.  Sip on drink… Daily PRN THRUT… Signed: Chauncey Hopson, FU-INOU-Dr. Vet...  (to be continued)    

Take Me With You (BBP)

“You’re our meal ticket,” he said, while basking in the afterglow of he making love with his wife.  A perfect evening with windows wide open.  A soft gentle constant breeze flowing over their naked bodies. That was the advantage of having a second floor, there was a certain since of privacy and safety when the windows were open at night.    He guessed that yeah, a person could climb up to the second floor some kind of way if they really wanted to rob, rape…get off that mindset, he had to say to himself.  This was a one of kind memory happening now just speak and quit thinking so much. 

“What do you mean.  I only make a little over ten thousand dollars more than you.  I would hardly be seen as a meal ticket for us both,” she said.

“Oh, I don’t mean monetarily even though you make a nice nut.  I mean emotionally.  The reason I’m here,” he said softly, warmly.

“Oh, you,” is all she said then fell silent and looked up past the ceiling into the heavens where she knew his eyes were focused upon also.  She knew like these times to just listen.  He could take you places, that is just one of the many reasons she married this man of now some eight years now.  So she said softly, just moving her lips,”…so take me.”  And he began:

“I remember when I first saw you which you corrected were chartreuse, '...Not yellowish or in your vernacular, greenish but chartreuse my good man,' …” (to be continued)

The Caucasoids (Lien Back, Black History Professor, TSU) March 3, 2001

Do you know who hates black people more than white christian men?  Oh, you don't?  Well, let me tell yo lil ass a lil somehn-somehn.  The answer to that query is: white ashkenazim jews.  And do you know why? Well let me educate you just a wee bit.  Well, the ashenazim/askenazi jew are the ones that were banished by the Beta Isarael Jews to the Caucasus Mountains because of their erratic, crazy behavior.   Once they escaped, came running down from the mountains, they vowed to destroy the Tribe of Shem,  Black folks.  The Beta Israel Ethiopian Jews are the real deal.  These ashkenazi white looking trying to pass themselves off as Jews are squirrels trying to retrieve a nut...(to be continued...)

Can We Really Speak Truths Here...(Fifty-One Years Old, Jestikid Jenkins, Comedienne) 2020

Uh-Uh-Uh-Uh…in a four-three count rhythm, both like a marked finetuned clock sexing and loving it out…But niggah…I say niggah…did I tell you that no matter how a muh fucka hittin it…shit, yo ass gotstah keep yo playa card in check! If yah didn’t know yo stankin ass betta ask somebody…else with yo tired ass!  Where was a bitch at…?  Bingo!  Bango!  Stank negro…I fuckin got it!  But are you ready?  I mean really ready?  Come on naw yo ass can tell a bitch?!  Whah naw?  I can’t hear ya? Right.  Right.  I understand. Well shit…I can make you understand is this now we talkin: …

I was a mistress of such fine, media conditioned moral of codes until, that fine muh fucka got high.  Girl! Shit!  Owwww wee.  No in front of you, this ain’t got shit ta do bout no damned playa card. This shit ‘tween lady to lady, bitch-ta-bitch, woman ta woman…and whatevah the fuck…when that muh fuckah high?!  Oh shit!  Let me give you a wee bit!  So he sucks that pussy lookin up at a bitch and shit like, “I’m tearin that muh fuckin shit up I know and I’m just lettin you know,”  and you say to yo tryin ta be a prudish ass, “ Yes you are muh fuckah, bitch done climaxed three times in the past, let me see here, six minutes!  Whatever you want to do, do muh fuckah, cause a bitch is down!  And did I stress: Down?..."  The playa card is on fuckin notice at this point.  For the, piece da resistance, aftah it is all said and done, he sticks that dick out bitch, and as quiet as it’s kept, the size doesn’t mattah!  Call me crazy!  Call me bullshitter!  Whatever my sweet bitches!  And we sure in the hell will not let the shit out to such a clumsy, inept and dysfunctionaled gender.  But we, women are on a cerebral plane; you, my fucked male friends, are on a physical level; yet, you white media  so-called Christian and ashkenazi mother fuckers want to stigmatize the female as “less intelligent than our male fellow human.”  Crock of fuckin’ dick cheney bullshit!... (…to be continue)

Relevancy and Communism (BBP)

Everybody wants to stay relevant.  Taking selfies ad nauseum.  Needing to be told that they are cared for all the fuckin time or better yet, loved every second of every damned day.

Law Enforcement Officials wanting kudos and credit for arresting the bad guy. Ain't that their fuckin job?  Fire-persons wanting to be recognized for putting out those horrible fires.  Again, ain't that their fuckin job?  Military people that want to be honored for fighting for our country.  The draft long since gone; hence, military personnel contracting to do a fuckin military job.  No one forced any of these professionals to sign up to do their fuckin job; yet, for some reason we, as a populous, must be politically correct in respecting and honoring these people for just doing their fuckin job?  The fuck?  Well, I say fuck that!

What has happened to just: I am doing a good fuckin job because I am paid to do the job which I signed up to do?  What's wrong with being just regular ol' normal having to go to work Meredith?  Is a muh fuckah missin somethin here?  I mean I'm witnessin some propagandized USSR bullshit right in my own backyard!  The fuck you say?  The fuck I said it goddamnit!

Shove This Job Really Hard Up Yo No Good For Nothin Ungrateful Ass, Mother Fucker! (Broke Black Prophet) Monday, January 14, 2019 @ 5:00:01

So the muh fuckahs got yo sorry ass at a cut the fuck rate.  But that don't fuckin mattah!  Hell fuckin naw!  Like a nasty mothah fuckah payin a crack-head ho tah suck their nasty muh fuckin dicks, all of the sudden the rules fuckin change a wee little bit befo the bitch get paid their fetid smellin breath and feinin five dollah a dick suckin sad awhile ass.

Now the muh fuckah wants yo ass ta not only suck their nasty smelly dick and balls, fo five fuckin dollahs no less, they want tah fuck yah in the ass without a condom; oh and, by the way, can you lick my asshole and make sure you slurp up that black-brownish dingle-berry hangin from my smelly hairy ass?...the fuck!

Fuuuuuuuuuuuck you!  Yah heard may?

Peace!  More to come...