We Are The Fuckin Same. But That Don't Mean We Act The Fuckin Same. (Forty-Six Years Old, Broke Black Prophet) 20012

Lonely.  I remember on a television show one time, I believe it was CSI: Criminal Intent, I like that shit, but with Goren and Eames, some of the best television ever, anyway,  ol’ Goren, as usual, getting all in this suspects head right?  And he says to him, “…you must be used to being alone.”  And the mothah fuckah gives him something he didn’t expect.  The suspect calmly looks at him and says, “Oh, you never get used to it.”  Damn!  Oh, mothah fuckahs wantstah sit up there with their Billy Bad Ass selves and avow to the world, “I don’t need no fuckin body!”  And all that you can do is give them one of those lil smiles that makes them understand, “Talk shit all you fuckin want.  You!  Yo ass needs some fuckin body!”  Or why the fuck you leave the house?  Why you livin in an urban area?...  Shit, plenty of wide open space in Idaho, Nebraska, The Dakotas, Alaska…where yo mothah fuckin ass can live sans seein anothah mothah fuckah fo the rest of yo goddamn life.  So, don’t try tah fool a recoverin foolah, or try tah lie to a recoverin liah!  Shutitthefuckup!  Right-the-fuck-now!  Cause you can kiss my Black ass!  Yah heard may?

Cause yah see, Goren, like my Black ass and you understands the shit.  But what you did was fucked up!  For real! But you see, yo sorry ass went and applied the shit that was going on in your mind.  As long as that fucked up shit stays in between those two ears everybody’s cool.  But once action is involved in those fucked up thoughts that you, I and the rest of this so called civil society have…then Houston:  We got a problem!  And that’s why yo sorry ass lookin at my ugly mug bein  bothered with questions; Mister or Miss don’t need no fuckin body!

Stop Being A Whore (Forty-Seven Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Near Salvation) Summer, 2013

We’re all whores.  Selling something within our being to survive.  Don’t make no mistake about it.  We all sellin somthin.  Maybe not our asses, but we are definitely sellin somethin tah stay afloat in this commerce of supply and demand sea of life.  Oh, yes we are.  

You…Fucking…Whore…You!

What It Is! (Thirty-Six Years Old, Broke Black Prophet) Spring, 2002

We’re all culpable.  But to what extent is that culpability?  Now, that’s a mothah fuckah.  We all think that just because we Are, has to do with everything bout what we Was.    But that past shit don’t have shit tah do bout shit!  Hell-the-fuck-nah!  What our Broke Black asses need tah start thinkin bout is the now, what Is?  We can fantasize, rationalize, patronize…come up with any ize’s yo sorry Broke Black ass wantstah.  But cho thinkin needs tah be bout:  What it Is!

I Scoff At Thee? (Thirty-Five Years Old, Broke Black Prophet) Autumn, 2001

Yah see, that’s the way this mothah fuckah is!  This Life!  One mothah fuckah Life no othah!  A mothah fuckah I loves tah hate!  Then the mothah fuckah has the nerves tah say, “What are you going to do about it?  I am LIFE!”  Shit!  The fuck I’m s’posed tah say bout that shit?  “Fuck you mothah fuckah!”?  The mothah fuckah just goin tah laugh at my Black silly ass.  Best believe that noise!  Because, here I am still Living, takin that mothah fuckahs name in vain, and my Black ass gotstah nerves tah scoff. 

Amen, To That Shit! (Anonymous) 2001

When I look at your Beautiful being,
It does something to me.
Makes my pitiful ass glad to be alive!
Let me tell you!
Makes me feel good.
Um!
I look at your fine ass,
The skies open up.
And I say to God,
"Good Lord! I just have to be witnessing Heaven!"

And It Won't Be The Last Time (Thirty-Nine Years Old, Black Female, Ex-Crack Addict) 2003

I've dealt with evilness
In its purest form;
Felt the pain and the rain,
And weathered the storm.

A Letter To The New! (Forty-Seven Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Near Salvation) 2013

I love to write.  Absolutely, positively, love the shit out of this shit!  Just let your mind go!  Freely.  Ain’t nobody around that’s going to stop this mental thought, unless somebody shoots my ass, stabs my ass…you feel may?  But the progression of this thought is ongoing; ergo, I still be here as a witness.  And I ain’t dead just yet.  That’s what I’m getting at.  Writing is the truth if it comes directly from the author to the human minds, and maybe not so human minds.  There was this chasm for a long time, filtering down the power of the author’s voice to one’s voice in the various translations throughout humans’ time.  But not now!  Shit no!  Twitter, chat rooms, blogs, Instagram…makes the history being made much easier for the ones who will come aft and have to decipher:  the fuck happened to those other stupid mother fuckers in the past?  They will have those thoughts and expression in real time at nausea-um.   And what say you then, my future brethren and sisteren?  What will you do with this real time information to better this life; because if you don’t utilize this information to adjust our humans’ destiny, we will surely repeat it again.  Is that what you really want?


In Loving Care, To All Of You Who Have Survived,


Broke Black Prophet

But, That's My Friend; That's My Girl (Thirty-Four Years Old, Rashada Lyons) 2017

Shit, let me tell you.  We out on the bitches farm right?  We chillin!  Yah know what I’m sayin?  And that bitch got killah herb, let me tell yah!  And all yo Black ass can think is, “The fuck they been sellin me in the hood?  Takin my mothah fuckin hard earned money!  Sellin me bullshit!  Commercial doesn’t even come close!  And the shit this bitch got?  Y’all done did the bait and switch in the Black community I live in ‘cause the shit I’m smokin with my girl…shiiit…you bettah recognize!”  And I tell yo Black ass no lie!  The fuck was I goin with this shit?  Okay, got that ass now!  Bitch thought she was FUBAR.   But I’m chillin with this shit.  But the story?  I’m sorry this is just a live and in color literary example of what I’m tellin you this woman’s stank weed is all about. 

But anyway…we chillin with the shit.  Gabbin our mothah fuckin brains out.  Lookin at the clear dark beautiful open skies with the speckles of light.  Talkin shit, sipppin ohn beer, smokin  fat ass, stank ass weed… a fat ass doobie , sittin round literally, a camp fire!  Havin fun!  You hear me? Fun!  Then all of the sudden, I see behind my friend this fucked up shit.  Whoooosh!   “The fuck bitch!”  And my friend tells me to calm down.  Fuck you!  And then again, behind her ass, Whooooosh!  See my Black ass ain’t crazay!  Before I could think, I had ran some hundred yards to the house and had my hand on the knob lookin at Cathy.  And in amazement I see the crazy bitch laughin!  Fuck wrong with you?  Run bitch!  Run!  The fuck!  I’m inah place when a Black ass sees this many trees they know they’re lost.  I done took a wrong turn somes place!  Shiiit!  I’s be free!  Got me intensified with my ancestors again, mothah fuckah  tryin to escape, goin through pitch black woods, runnin for their freedom.  And I ain’t one of them!  And this is the now.  And I’m tellin yah white ass tah, “Run you crazy bitch!  Cause once I’m in, secure!  I’m not unlockin the door for your stupid ass!  Yah heard may!”   The fuck she do?  Kept on havin ah good ol time with my bewildered ass.  She just shook her head in way like: girl, you’re just over reactin.  Whatevah!  I’m gonnah tell you for the last time, “Run!”  

“Look,” she said.  And took a flash light and turned it on and shined it in the direction of the woods and toward the winged satan animal.  “See?  A Peacock,” she said.

“Peacocks don’t fuckin fly, at least I never seen one flyin and that ain’t no fuckin peacock goddamnit!”

“I guess you’re right because If I had wings and could fly, I sure wouldn’t be hangin round here all my life, like they have.  But they’re peacocks girl.  That’s the only time that I have seen them use their wings is at night.  They use their wings to get themselves into a tree for their safety.  If they stayed on the ground the predators would tear their asses up!”  She started laughin again.   And for some reason, I did too. 

You Ain’t Nothin But A Name; And Only A Very Few Know (Bantu Rush, Indianapolis Journalist, FinePrintDaily.com) 2016

You see, all we are, is product in single units; a commodity unto ourselves.  But like any other product, we know that our product is up and down in this hopefully, future market, and what be my name then?  Like most excellent brokers will tell you, get in when you can fit in, and I’ll make you some money.  Cool. 

But back to my point.  Rich people are so greedy and hedonistic because not only do they have the ability to but also, they want their names, their heirs to have the same kind of lifestyle, in the near future, when the wheels fall off and everybody's gonna be stuck neutral and then the shit is going to hit the fan with a quickness.  The wealthy don’t know when it’s going to happen but they sure in the hell know it’s coming… soon.  Well why wouldn’t they inform everybody?  That’s just the point!  You, me and everybody else not in the top five percent are considered, “Persona non grata!”   You’ll see what I’m talking about, in a minute or two.  And when it does that means: all the money in the world ain’t worth a fucking penny any more.  Oh, no!  But I have a name, and people will not kill me when that happens because I am resourceful…:

Do you remember Microsoft?  I’m the president of that company.  Yes, that is my name.  But just call me Bill.  Please, thank you. Well, what did you say your name was?  Quonta, you said?  Strong name.  You’re welcome.  As, I was saying, Quonta, there’s a lot of things that need to be done.  And we’re going to have to work together you, me and the twenty gentlemen behind you.   Let’s get us back on line!  Shall we…

…and the beat goes on.

Don't Say It...Until You Really Mean It! Then, Fill In The Blanks. (Forty-Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Pre-Salvation) December 06, 2005

What do you really want?  What do you really need?  I don’t want to bust my head, instead get to the cranial plate, start tappin that mothah fuckah: Pang!  Pang!  Pang! Fuckin...blip... 360 degrees at ease as my heart seizes, Dear…blip…pain, doth thine heart tis burdened with thee lovely ugliness, I see all thine eyes can possibly see, Oh …blip…I’ve gotten older just by writing these few passages, Let me see Thy…blip…We’re praying three times a day, please help US…blip…My…blip…Please…blip… Fuck The…blip…Have Mercy…blip…A…blip…Puhleeeeeeez, Great…blip…Don’t you want…blip…In the Holy name of…blip…a WOMAN…blip…From a child of…

Just The Facts (Confused, Thirty Years Old, Jehovah's Witness, White Male) 2009

Bitterly hazy.  My visual acuity has been compromised for oh so very long.  I am aghast with the absurdity I am witnessing.  Unbelievable.  When a fellow human being thinks that a person should get more time in prison for abusing a dog than abusing a human child…then…all I can say, the shit needs to come to an abrupt end expeditiously. 

...And Then Some (Forty-Seven Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Near Salvation) December, 2012

Choice.  A mothah fuckin word no mothah fuckin body wanstah  fuck wit.  Blamin everything on the devil and god.  The fuck!  No, you stupid dumb fucks!  You!  That shit don’t have shit tah do bout shit!  Yah heard may! God nor the devil don’t have shit tah do with this fucked up shit that’s goin ohn right-the-fuck-now.  God chillin, kickin his’/her’s heels up, drinkin a mothah fuckin cocktail on that ass.  “Sippin ohn gin and juice,” sayin: 

“What chall mothah fuckahs fuckin up now?  I done left y’all stupid asses tah y’alls fucked up volitions a long fuckin time ago!  Shiit!  And why the fuck y’all still blamin a mothah fuckah named the Devil?  Who the fuck is that mothah fuckah?  Y’all needs tah quit that shit!  Shutitthefuckup! For real!

I likes tah fuck men!  Then you's ah homo.  I likes tah fuck women!  Then you's ah hetero.  I likes tah take pussy froms a woman!  Then you's a goddamned rapist, with yo no count havin ass!  I likes tah fuck children!  Then you's a sorry ass, Low-life mothah fuckah; and I's got a lil som'ehn, som'ehn special fo yo deplorable, ingrate havin ass!  Yah best believe that shit!  Oooh Shit!...  But that's besides the point!  The fuck y'alls sorry ass mothah fuckin choices gotstah do wit me?  Nothin!  Abso-fuckin-lutely!

Though some of yah gots sins within yo sorry asses that make me shamed tah have made yah, there's one commonality that y'alls sorry asses possess: Mothah fuckin 'Choice.'

Eve sittin up there sayin tah Adam, ‘oooh, Adam stick your dick in this tree of knowledge!’  And instead of Adam sayin, ‘The fuck!  Woman I ain’t gonnah partake in that tree of knowledge cause God will most definitely smote both our asses!’  And what the fuck did Adam do?  The mothah fuckah says, ‘Okay!’  And fucks the bitch!  The fuck I’m s’posed tah do My Dear Sweet Brothahs and Sistahs?  Play Patty cake with y’alls worhless asses?  Hell nah!  Y’all done fucked up royally!  For real!  And now y’alls boutstah suffah forthwith!  The fuck?   Yah damn no count havin no morals, heathen mothah fuckahs!  You!  The fuck y’all think y’all fuckin wit?  I’s be God!  And it’s high time fo y’alls sorry asses tah start recognizin and payin the fuckin pipah!  And if yo sorry asses didn’t know, yah bettah asks some damn body cause that mothah fuckin  pipah be me!  God…damnit!”

And e’rbody say, ‘A-the-fuck-Men!’

Beaucoup Rouge (Nathaniel Weah, Liberian Refugee, Les Etats-Unis) 2012

It would have been better off if we could have made it to the Cote.  But that was not an option at all.  Some four hundred miles and some change to Cote d’Ivoire was not going to work, on foot.  Even if we would have had a vehicle to drive to that country’s border, taking the roads was a death sentence to the men and most assuredly rape, torture, indoctrinated into the sex trade and, after all of that, a death sentence to the women as well.  No, we had to go north and get the fuck out of Dodge, tout de suite.

Ten miles north to Sierra Leone’s border or over four hundred miles east to Cote d’Ivoire’s border?  One can do the math very quickly.  Going south toward Hell, Monrovia, a definite no-no.  And to the west of us, well one might as well say nothing, a no-no aussi, the vast unmerciful Atlantic Ocean and we in no way had a seafaring boat or a water vessel at all.  My whole family are farmers by trade, mostly growing rice that kept our family comfortably living.  But since the first Breakthrough cout d’etat in 1989, comfortable living was a thing of the past.    

Robertsport, Liberia, located fifty kilometers north of Monrovia, we still lived the way we did before the war.  But in 1998 that all changed.  For some reason some of the rebels left Monrovia and started making paths in every direction from the center of the madness, Monrovia, and of course one of their paths was headed our way, north to Robertsport.   And that is when our quasi-safe environment changed into a nightmarish, crimson filled reality.  My disbelief of the wicked, barbaric actions by our fellow countrymen upon us will never be forgotten while awake nor while asleep. 

Tres, tres mal, to say the least.

(to be continued)

WMD (Anonymous, Level Five Security Clearance, Retired Federal Employee) 2014

Everyone had heard that dreaded acronym while Bush Jr. was in office.  Now, it was the known dreaded acronym once again.  What was once an acronym meaning, "Weapons of Mass Destruction," was rightly being known as the principle and integral part of the federal government, its baby, Weather Manipulation Division or wrongly accused WMD from what the populous was supposed to think, Nuclear Arms.

People, like me, were sworn by secrecy not to let, 'the cat out of the bag,' so to speak.  The federal government on a global scale did not want the populous at large to understand that there was a new kid on the block of fear, and it had nothing to do with nuclear arms.  It had everything to do with controlling the heavens, the environment.

The Weather Manipulation Division had started way back in 1954 in the United States.  In its infancy stages the wonders of its capacity was shown to the powers that be.  And all the world wanted its precious panacea qualities.  Third world countries wanted it to keep their people fed by adding elements into the atmosphere so it would rain in their perspective, 'neck of the woods,' so they would not have to trade for the most basic need, sustenance. And the greatest country in the world, 'The USA,' would not let another country benefit from such an awesome discovery.

And to the demise of many rulers: Saddam Hussein, Muammar Gaddafi, Hugo Chavez...obtaining that Pandora's Box, would be a death sentence. (to be continued)

The Past Tense (Thirty-Two Years Old, White, Enlightened Female) 2009

Patience was never my forte.  I get antsy when I'm idle or I have to wait.  I'm starting to experience more people like myself, to the point I am starting to see how horrible I am with my impatience.

Rude, boorish...I'm starting to see all of those uncivilized qualities in so many of my fellow humans that have been within me most of my life; now, I am starting to change that behavior; albeit, not overnight.

No, one, like I, cannot undo thirty-two years of conditioning in one good night's rest.  But one, like I, can slowly change those mal-formed characteristics that one has. And one day, in the near future, I will be able to say about my ill behavior:

"I had those same dastardly qualities at one time.  Heavy on that, 'HAD.'"

Tick! Tock! Mother Fuckers! (Anonymous) 2017

My heart races often times now.  I have seen the end.  And I see it every day coming.  This great symphony of life building and building until the fiery, beautiful and kaleidoscopic finish, the crescendo. 

And it's going to blow the fuck up! 

Just in time.

It's Just My Nature? (Forty-Three Years Old, Ex-Marine, Black Male, Murderer For Hire) 2005

He often smiled about the things that Hollywood and the dreaded television instilled into people.  Especially the violence.  The violence they made so pretty, so "cinematic,"  so cool...violence, he was here to inform you, was far from all of those things.  Violence was so fucking ugly.  But the sad part about that was he was good at it.

The Marines taught him how to kill with dignity.  He liked to call it, "The Pure Kill Philosophy."  When you murder someone you do not do the murder in malice.  When he took another's life he never relished in it.  Never drew it out.  Never watched them suffer before their perspective lives ended.  Never, like Hollywood and television showed the ignorant, defile the human being that you are about to murder with actions or words before they see their last vision of this life.  A Clean kill.  A pure kill.  No matter who or what that person was they, at the very least, deserved that respect in their last second of this life.

He had only murdered men and that was the only object of his violent nature he would let come to fruition when he was paid to exact punishment on the men he thought deserved such abominal actions that he would carry out on them.  He had learned in the Marines, there are some people that needed to die.  But the reason he had separated himself from the Marines some ten years ago was he started not agreeing with the people he was commanded to terminate.  Asking the simple question, "Why?" was not an option when he was a Marine.  And he didn't like that.  He didn't like that at all.  He liked killing, no check that, he loved killing.  But what he didn't like at all was the fact in the military he didn't have reason, he didn't have choice.  Choice was what made all the difference in the world to him as far as what he was very good at, murdering...(to be continued)  

The Chill Factor (Forty-Eight Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Near Salvation) January, 2013

There's always something My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs!  Always something!  Let me tell yah.  Don't make any sense at all...but...it is what it is! 

And I don't like that shit! 

You say, "Fuck You!".  I say, "Cool.  Cooler than cool."  Yao Ming?  But that's just me.  Definitely not You.  And we both know that's two different mothah fuckin thangs.  And I guess, that's what I 'm trying to get at.  People say all the time about some shit, "I refuse to live my life like that!"  And I will say to your ignorant ass, "Cool.  Cooler than cool."  But that's just me.  Not them.  And what I mean by them is, your ass doth not make the populous.  Four billion and some change and your ass absurdly thinking it's still just about little old you?  Well, I'll be damned. 

And I will still say, "Cool.  Cooler than cool."  And again, that's just me.  Not them.

After The Big Bang (Fifty Years Old, Johnson County Indiana Farmer, Black Male) March, 2021

Everything is broken.  Mistakes.  Too many to even mention or to list.  And I guess one gets comfortable with the way life is instead of where this life may eventually go or turn into.  I was lucky to be a loner.  Fifty years old and having no children nor wife is probably the reason I am alive today.  I have only had to worry about myself.

Everthing is this grayish dark yuckiness.  And the sky.  Even the sky is still gray.  The sun?  The sun hasn't shone it's brillance since Yellowstone erupted.  I haven't come across another human being.  I often think that maybe I am the only person alive; but I know that couldn't be.  Could it?  Definitely not.  I have put it through my mind many of times thinking that living in rural Johnson County and being the only Black living out in these sticks that I may be the only "nigger" or white person alive.  Wouldn't that be a hoot.  But I know it wouldn't.  No, that would be too much for me to handle.

I go farther and farther away from my farm.  Since the Big Bang and the Fall Out I am now traveling six miles from my farm every day, in each direction, with not a sighting.  It's seems as though I am in a bad dream or a very bad reality.  I pray every night that it isn't the latter.  But again, like today, I awake to nothingness.   

Impressing Thy God, Who Hath Made Me...Made US (Broke Black Prophet, Near Salvation) February, 2013

In or out.  That's the only two choices a mothah fuckah has.  Not maybe.  Not, I don't know.  Not, let me think about it.  And definitely, Not lukewarm.  No!  No!  No!  Hot or cold you silly sonsahbitches!  C'est tout! Yah feel may?  Quit fuckin 'round! 

Yo sorry ass gotstah make damn decisions.  And that fo damn sho don't mean bein on the fuckin fence!  Hell no!  Eithah go ovah the mothah fuckah or stay on the same damn side yo sorry ass been fo such a very long ass time, and that, My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothas would mean fo yo whole entire sorry ass life!  Mothah fuckahs!  Don't cho ass evah get fuckin tired?  A whole lifetime of maybes?  A whole lifetime of, I don't knows?...The best yo one time life havin ass gottah give this one time world?  The best you got?  Well I'll be damned!  Sad state of affairs there Brothahs and Sistahs let my Broke Black Ass Tell yah ah lil som'ehn, som'ehn!

I'll tell yah this.  I am human!  Black, White...who gives ah fuck?!  I am a mortal, livin, breathin...entity.  And until the breath of life gets takin from me I have tah fight!  Or not.  But we were born tah fight this mothah fuckin life so here I be mothah fuckah!  Live and in colah!  And welcome tah the Octagon! 

And I am on the canvas spewin blood from ev'ry orifice but I'm still alive as a witness.  And God speaks tah me and says, "Thy child there is nothing left to live for!  It is time to come home!"  I have tah correct God with my labored breathin and say, "No Lord!  I mean no disrespect whatsoevah!  You made this body and soul that has been beatin down by anothah one of yo creations, life!  And with that, I'm not dead yet!  I's gots mo asses tah kick and mo life tah change!  So, let me do what Thy commandeth!"

And God sits back, is impressed and says tah me, "Well look at you!  I have not seen such piousness.  So let it be!  And so be it!"

Damn right bout that!  Damn...right...bout...that!  

Irreversible (Twenty-Seven Years Old, White Male, Paralegal) 2004

The most troubling thing I have encountered to date is for me to love a woman and she does somethings that are irreversible. Putting me in the position where I cannot begin to try to patch things up nor make the things she has done manageable. Things that have been taken to a whole nother level and she has given me no other choice but to say goodbye, forever. Things that I cannot forgive or forget. Crossing the lines, the boundaries that should have never been stepped over. Not my choice, but totally hers. It would be different if I were culpable in some facet but how can I be if she did not include me in the decisions that she has made and carried those said decisions out, without any input from me? I have heard people say, "You made me do it," then give some type of sorry ass rational of why they did the things that they did. How can I ever make another do anything if I am not even in the negotiations or folly? How? If one knows what another has told them about one's threshold, one's boundaries and consequences when another oversteps those demarcation lines, what does one actually think the other should do? Think for some reason the other loves one so much that what they tell them is all horse-pucky? Then what happens to one? What happens to me as an individual? Where is my respect of myself if I stay? And if I do then I will be forever grasping for what I have lost due to my unaccountability to my own life. But what accountability does she have then? Must I carry the weight for as long as I am with her for her misdeeds and infidelities? What be me then? I do not want to become an enabling enabler. How does that help the one who I hath said carries thine heart? A very heavy laden heart. I am left with only one choice to save myself because she is not my lifeguard any longer.

No, just like all the rest that have been sirened by the whimsical ocean of life, I must say goodbye to her, as she is carried out amongst all the rest. And I with only a few looking longingly from ashore.

Dirty Laundry (Fifty-Year Old, Wife of Ex-Chrysler Foundry Worker, In Indianapolis, Indiana) 1997

Mothah fuckahs wantsta sit up there and tell yo sorry ass some bullshit! Cool. Cooler than cool. But don't sit up there and think the shit is gonnah wash with my Black ass! For real!

"What? You don't believe me?" Hell no, I don't believe yo lyin ass! But as long as yo silly ass is believin that shit you excretin, that's all that fuckin mattahs goddamnit! But don't think for a fuckin second yo ass gonnah think I believe those blueberry stains, wine stains...are gonnah dissapear because you tellin me they ain't there and my sorry, broke ass lookin dead at'em! Shiiiit! Mothah fuckahs think if they keep on tellin yo ass their laundry is clean, and yo ass seein for yourself the shit is still dirty, that they can convince you by keep sayin the shit ovah and ovah, that it is in fact, clean. Puh-leeze muh fuckahs! The fuck!

But the truth...will clean the shit out of that dirty fuckin laundry yo sorry ass got hangin round! No spot removah needed! Best believe that shit! Guaran-fuckin-teed!

"I Wants My Freedom!" Really? Mothah Fuckah! (Sixty-Seven Years Old, Ex-Black Panther, Singaporian(American Expatriat)) 2013

White people are the most excuse riddled race in our history.  Everytime I see those mothah fuckahs throughout our history they always making an excuse on why they have failed or why things didn't turn out the way that they have planned.  But they always talkin bout how niggahs done fucked the shit up.  Quite hilarious.

You sorry ass mothah fuckahs!  You!  Yo ass makes me laugh so bad.  I look at Libya and Benghazi, Nigeria, Chad, Hong Kong...white people done fucked those places up because of the viability of what those regions could bring to the various white coffers. 

"But I wantsta bees free," those plethora of indigenious people have said to the various powers that be that are working, "in their best interests." 

And all I can say as a Black American, "Do you really mothah fuckah!"  Cause, sho nuff, freedom comes with a stiff ass price if yo, "Libyan, Chadian, Nigerian, Hong Kongian, Panamanian...asses aren't willin tah stick togethah." Other than that, y'alls asses are about to be in the world of serfdom and slavedom.  And I'm glad tah tell yah sunshine, "Welcome tah my fuckin world!  With...yo ignant asses!"  Fo real!