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.

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...)

Nothin But Ho'es Up In This Bitch, Here! (Clancy Joseph, Fifty-Two Years Old, Washington, D.C., Pimp) 2018

Now what you think, oft times, is not what's the truth, the lawful or the shit that needs tah be done.  Fuck naw!  With yo stank ass!  Society has lulled US into a state of docility.  Don'ts yah makes any troubles lil' niggah you!  Yah heard me?  I heard yah, you supersillymothahfuckah, you!  I-the-fuck-heard-yah!  Loud-and-the-fuck-clear!  Goddamnit tah hell!  Great googly-moogly! I gua-rohn-fuckin-tee there's ain't no damn mo earwax in these tired listening buds!  For real!

But they can't leave it at that.  They have to humiliate you and shit.  Cause why?  Cause you's a Black Ass niggah that needs constant negative trainin with yo monkey ass, cause you's not shit but a damn animal, a fuckin monkey and ape primate; buts you's sho nuff not ah human primate.  No, I reckon yo Black ass's not cause that's be special fo US white folks!  You Black chimpanzee you!

Mothuh fuckuhs make my ass laugh...hard!  Yah heard may?  Everybody thinkin their asses are apart of, "The In Crowd."  And yo stank ass ain't shit!  Just like the rest of US.  If yah ain't makin the pimps money, then the pimps hollah out, "Next mothuh fuckin booty on duty!  You stank bitches!"  And we all keep complyin!  And I'm the one that has tah serve some mothuh fuckin time?

No, pimpin ain't easy for a street pimp. But for a Washington, D.C. political pimp...all I can say is...must be the money!  Same game, just diff'rent mothuh fuckin stank Ho'es.  That's all.  Hey-hey!

Thy Truth Cometh In Thine Image! (2008)

Time to clear my mind to find some sense in this nonsense; recompense instead of thinking conditionally about the present and the future tense. Condense the operator’s license I have abused since the age of reason on the pretense of individuality. Succumbing to the sanctioned criminality of this society which I find so uncomely. Sitting back serenely as I dreamily regress from this mess. De-stress and confess to the witness within myself that…life hasn’t been too unkind to such a pitiful soul. Control and unfold the query, why have I continued to live in such misery? Only to thine eyes is that completely true. Only to me, definitely not to you; hence, the introspection. The obsession to figure myself out before my daughter takes on some of my undesirable traits. Trying to understand who I really am, to change for her. Before it’s too late.

Have Another Spot Of Tea (BBP, Near Salvation) Today

Mah fuckahs always sullying Iran's president Mahmoud Ahmadinejad. Shit, fuck what they talkin bout, that man knows his people! For real. That mah fuckah ain't goin round wearin tailored suits and shit. No, he wears a shirt, slacks and a sport coat. Nothin fancy. He is neither fat nor skinny. He is humble. And that's why those Iranians love his ass! He's saying to them, you see how I present myself? I am a voice of the people because I look like you and I live humbly like all of you!

But these mah fuckahs over here! What the fuck! Can we say, wanna be Brits! Candidates trying like hell to connect with the average American citizen. Puh-leeze! Ain't no average American citizen runnin round in tailored made suits. Shit, havin their hair did er' day. Nails manicured. Having bodyguards or at the very least a driver escorting them every where. Makin no less than $160,000 a year for about seven months work for a year and the last time I checked, was still twelve months. Ain't these mah fuckahs supposed to be Public Servants? The fuck wrong with all of us? Where the broke ass candidates at, like I surely am? And I consider myself an average citizen. Bastards don't want a National healthcare law to go into effect, but all of these political hacks having the best health insurance coverage around. Then when their asses get denied on a claim they challenge their healthcare provider and after the provider finds out the individual is a Congress person, a Senator...Deny no more! The fuck!

Isn't it the case that the higher you get in the political arena, public office, the more of a servant you are supposed to be; ergo, living just below the average American? Yeah those mah fuckahs servin all right, self servin! Public servant my ass! We have been duped! The Federal Government is nothing but legalized High Class Welfare! The same shit they been doin over in Britain for a long ass time, instead of the King and Queen, we have The president and the first lady.

Shit, those stupid ass British elite still see You-S-A as being "The Colonies."  Still owning this bitch! We poured that tea out a long time ago, but those mah fuckahs done snuck their asses right back in the position they wanted to be in so long ago, to be absentee rulers. And we done fell for it! Hook, line and sinker!

Let freedom ring...but don't answer that mah fuckah. Shiit!

And it is still...a Beautiful thang! Oh, yes it is!

Peace! More to come...

A Refraction Is Not Needed (BBP, Near Salvation) Today

You know there is a lot of Beauty in this stank infested horrible sewer we call: a life. Unbelievable as that may seem; I have found that to be the truth. Beauty, I have found has nothing to do with another's definition, only from the one avowing which one finds Beautiful, me, with my broke sorry ass.  But just because yo ass is broke don't fuckin mean yah can't see sans distortion. Perception and perceptions vary like a muh fuckuh, let me tell yah. For real.

But who gives ah shit? Your ass only's got one fuckin shot! Just one! Yah heard may? You better recognize! Quit placating and let muh fuckuhs understand and know what you see through your own Beautiful unique set of high beams. Fuck what they see! Because you see just fuckin fine. Oh, yes you do!

And that is...a Beautiful thang! Oh, yes it is! Peace! More to come...

12-30-1965=49 (BBP,Near Salvation)

Fucked up mathematics, that's what I call it.  Don't know what chew call it My Dear Sweet Sistahs and  Brothahs but for me it fuckin works.  In a big muh fuckin way.  Good lawd!  How in the fuck am I still livin?  Should have been dead for some time now...but..twas not tah be!  Cause here I be.

Add; subtract; multiply; divide...no mattah what cho broke ass does it's still goin tah equal the same mothah fuckin thing!

And it is...A Beautiful Thang!  Oh, yes it is!

Peace!  More to come...

The Foundation Of Our Society Is Quite Unsettling (BBP) 2007

You see in my opinion I would put a law that only states, “If one is a politician, one shall, not must, answer questions either yes or no." Oh, you can go on your loquaciousness about the decision, but a politician shall answer any question posed with either yes or no. Some may argue, “Well sometimes there is no yes or no, you might be in the middle.” Well, we are not talking about average citizens, or average mindsets. We are talking about leaders, people that were elected as such; ergo, those muh fuckuhs should be adept at decision making; hence, a definitive decision shall, not must, be made. Even the most mentally challenged can make a decision of, I don’t know. Don’t take no damn effort at-all to not answer, to challenge yourself; thus, elections. Choosing one on the basis that one can make definite decisions speeding productivity of the human condition.

But you see, that is not the point. I look at these political gray haired fools (now, oft times, dyed black or brown with their vain old sorry asses) trying to convince people that the Beautiful conditioning of, Right and Wrong, has been all wrong! That sometimes one can be right at the same time one can be wrong and vice-versa, right or wrong...and whateverthefuck?! No muh fuckuhs!  You! That’s where the old trite phrase, “Havin your cake and eatin too!” Comes into play, and that shit is wrong!  Not right!  Or wrong and right.  No with yo stank ass, just fuckin ol' school mothah fuckin...hold it...wrong! Put it anyway that you want! It all comes out smelling like bullshit! For real!

Where in the fuck are we going as a people? Where the D, I and the R means more than our basic fundamental Beautiful mores of Right or Wrong gets thrown out like fetid waste? Reverting back to being primates? Survival at any cost? Is this the best that we got in the year 2007? And we are supposed to be smarter and a more civilized society? Civility has been an illiteracy since the dawn of humankind!

I look at these political stupid muh fuckuhs going about having political aspirations like all the rest. Shiiiiittt, muh fuckuh! You need tah kick ass and take numbers, fire up the American people that you are not going to do like the rest and fuck America ! Tell the truth and be a human of your word; that’s what's going to separate your ass from the rest. Not this political hackneyed rhetoric of bullshit that we are hearing and smelling!  Funkin up the goddamned world!

 “Talk hard!” And never vary from the truth. Yes or no, like a child to a parent. Where the shit starts. Fundamentals you dumb shits! If you are a wild card candidate why not? What’s your ass got to loose? Yao Ming? But that’s just me. Yah heard may! And it is still...A Beautiful Thang! Oh, yes it is, My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs! Peace! More to come...

That Little One Thing Matters To Matter (Anonymous) Year Unknown

We are no thing;
If any thing.
And to become some thing,
You loose that, Human, one thing
Amid no thing.

Shiiiit! Vote For Me! And Get The Fuck Outtah My Way! (BBP) February 16, 2008

This is the only thang that pisses me the fuck off about old Obama. He sits up there and patronizes mah fuckahs givin them political correctness and shit, "I want to have a coalition of Democrats and Republicans. Where we can reach over the aisle and shake each others hands and agree on some things about what needs to change in America..." Blah! Blah! Blah! Blah! Asshole! Soundin like the adults do on the Charlie Brown shows, "Wanh-wanh-wanh-wanh-wanh!" I'll be shit! You a niggah mah fuckah, kick ass and take numbers! Fuck it! Tell us, "This shit is fucked up! And I'm goin tah change a lot of this fucked up shit!" Yao Ming? Fuck this Republican and Democrat Bullshit, lets get to the grassroots where I've been and was raised. And what my Black ass, I don't know about you My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs, wants tah do is wake y'alls sleepy asses up with the alarm of getting our foundation in tact of: What is fuckin right! And what is fuckin wrong! Ain't no party lines can touch that shit. That shit is the truth for all Americans. Basic, fundamentals of American life. Let's get away from these adhering to party truths. And start again the building of American Truth. What the fuck else needs tah be said? Shiit! McCain could kiss my ass! Hillary could kiss my ass! I know what yo ass is needin, some goddamned old school structure. Something that you have been missing for a very long ass time...the fuckin truth!

And the truth has nothing to do with Dems, Reps or Independents. The truth transcends all that bullshit. Trumps that shit in a huge mah fuckin way. I remember old George Sr. sayin, "K.I.S.S. Keep It Simple Stupid." Damn right bout that, he who is the Father of such a disgrace of a president. Shiit! If Cheney and Bush were mah fuckahs in the hood, those mah fuckahs wouldn't last a damn second with their given credo. The news media steppin all over the truth. Those two mah fuckahs are fuckin liars and un-the-fuck-trustworthy! Same damn thang they say about crackheads and drug dealers. But won't say the same damn thang about this sorry ass President and Vice President. Then they gotstah nerve to wonder why society is gettin out of control? Call a spade a Black Ass mah fuckahs, that's all I can tell yah ignant asses! Yao Ming? The fuck more needs tah be said? Criminals! Straight up! Crimes against humanity in a big mah fuckin way! The fuck son? The fuck? Just because they have the title of President and Vice President doesn't give them the absolution of being what they condemned and killed Suddham for, killing innocent men, women and children. Et Tu Bush et Cheney! Et Tu!

And are we any better than who we deem transgressors? For the first time in my fuckin life I am really ashamed of being an American; though my Black ancestors were brought here in distance past, this is my home. The only home I and three to four generations before me called righteously...home. My Black American ass! I stand before you as a people that have been through turbulent times in this here...America! I used to stand proud because we used to be a people striving to give this world hope. To see a people comin together in this great land, that used to stand and stood for something more than just about you greedy, rich, elitist mah fuckahs! We stood for something around the world. We stood for: Hope! Now we don't stand for nothin! Around the world mah fuckahs shakin their given fists denouncing America and, alas, Americans. Sad-the-fuck-a-while! While yah playin.

We Americans are a piece of work. What other leaders do are wrong. But what our leaders do...well...needed to be done! And I'm glad tah tell yah My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs, that shit ain't right. Basic human teaching of right and fucking wrong. We have tah pay for our transgressions of self-righteousness. And we are going to have to pay in full! And that is a goddamned shame! But...when it comes into its fruition, because that is the only thing we Great Americans do. We admit when we are wrong! And we were wrong to all of you Iraquians, Koreans, Japanese, Vietnamese...We were fuckin wrong! And we plead for your Mercy for the Heavens that are among us! We plead for your mercy! Give us a chance to make amends! And we are your servants once more, My Mother Earth!

Oh, My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs! I feel a change comin, oh forget the slogans, a change is comin. Good or Bad! A change...oft times...is a Good thang! And it will be...a Beautiful thang! Oh, yes it will! Peace! More to come...

Live By The Srbosjek! And Surely Die By The Srbosjek! (Thirty-Two Years Old, Andjela Crncevic, Serbian American) 2017

I see the end.  I see it quite clearly.  I see my own modified Srbosjek slicing and dicing into the jugglers of every Freemason tirelessly.  One by one: slash-slash-thonk-thonk...My spirit remembering the horrible sins of the past...and present, that you Freemasons are responsible.

And my God doth not forget...ever!

But thy judgement cometh to thee righteously!

God has sent me to this place and time for a reason.  And may not one of you shall escape Her wrath!

Texture. Texture. Texture. (Forty-Nine Years Old, Broke Black Prophet) December 31, 2014

Spaghetti.  That's what it's all about; Infused with Italian sausage ;Perfect; al dente spaghetti with perfect meat sauce (half ground beef, half ground pork infused with, oregano, rosemary and fennel), which I was partaking in right now.  The perfect pasta.

What is too much sauce hanging on a string of pasta?  How much is too much?  Then you taste your shit, then you say, "Perfecto!"  A true Sicilian would be mad at me at the taste and the texture my own non-Sicilian ass made this on point pasta dish.  But I would have to say "Fuck you paisanos.  You all know it's bene!  Molto bene!  Mangia!  Per favore? "  The shit is just righteous no matter how you want to dislike it.  A very solid dish!   Ching-Ching!                                                                                                                                                                      

Chloe's Dilemma - 443

I wrote this @ July 2006. Thought you all would enjoy it. So enjoy...


They do grow up quickly don't they? I look at her and say, "Didn't you just come out of your mom's holiest of holys just this morning?" Two teeth, gettin into all kinds of shit! Crawlin all over the place. "Chloe, No!" She looks at me like, "Who you talkin to niggah? I ain't no damn dog!" And she continues to go about trying her best to get at the cable running from the cable outlet. After the twentieth time getting her from there, finally she tires and starts trying to get into other mischief. I think I'm gonna have to put something in front of that damn cable outlet. I look at her and think to myself, I am witnessing a human wonder. Seeing her daily growing, trying to stand with her bad self!  Go on with yo little ass. Yao Ming? She makes me smile so often. I said to her as I held her last night, "I will never leave you Sunshine! Only in death will I leave your side!" She smiled at me like I was talkin crazy, swung her left open hand and baby slapped me. Still smiling. And tried to follow it up with the right open hand and I moved my head back just enough to feel the little breeze gently float past my face! "Hah, yah missed." I said to her and she showed her two teeth and smiled like she understood. Maybe she does. It doesn't really matter. We are together. She's by my side so I can have the greatest gift of all: witnessing her growing up. I wouldn't want it any other way! For real! And it is...a Beautiful thang! Oh, yes it is! Check it out My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs...


Chloe’s Dilemma - 433

She tries to stand in the living room environment that she is just beginning to discover. Having trouble with balance and dexterity tends to be her curious plight, as she finally balances both legs adequately apart but legs still a little unsure about her weight distribution; unstable but alternating putting a certain amount of pressure on each leg, measuring the threshold; alternating her grip from left to right with her hands. Flopping on her safety cushion during perilous times; or, learning to lessen the impact by easing down just far enough reaching out with usually her right arm until the palm of her hand touches earth, easing her weight on the arm and shoulder as slowly as she can and use that knowledge to keep her from hurting herself by improper flop, now, half-flop; doing knee bends as she stands on my lap; crawling an endless amount of square feet; strengthening her arms, legs and body for that first big moment. The Genesis of her Basic Training for Life, to take her first step! That once in a lifetime right of passage; a moment that says, “I have a path! And I must walk it!” I Hope I will be able to witness it.

Meredith Singleton Circa 2000

Peace! More to come...

Meredith 

Playing God Or Being God? What Be You...Muh Fuckah? (Broke Black Prophet) Year Unknown

We spend our lives justifying our existence. Troubling mothah fuckahs with our bullshit, our dreaded insecurities, because tah not deal with our own shit, is to avoid a sad state of affairs. Shiiit! Don't nobody wannah work on their own shit! Hell naw! Let me fuck wit cho shit! If a mothah fuckah calls you a mothah fuckah, don't blame the mothah fuckah! That mothah fuckah callin yo sorry ass a mothah fuckah cause you've chosen the place where you are now, being appropriately called a mothah fuckah! Mothah fuckah!

Damn! If yo sorry ass just would start, just one goddamned time, thinkin bout where you want to be, instead of where you are...maybe you'll stop pointin fingers. Yo sorry ass, believe it or not, is the God of your universe. Start fuckin actin like it! Yah heard may?

Peace! More to come...

The Rich Done Gone And Fucked US Again! (Forty-Eight Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Near Salvation) January, 2014

People be crackin my Black ass up! For real! Talkin that bullshit, "When the economy gets better..." Wanh, wanh, wanh, wanh, wanh...Soundin like the adults on Charlie Brown and shit! Ain't nobody tryin tah hear that fecal matter. This shit ain't gonnah get better for US! Oh, no it's not. I'm sorry tah tell yah with yo ignant asses. Hope, all you fuckin want boo-boo, but the United States as we knew it, is done son! Done! Sold the fuck out by these rich bastards! And they don't give a fuck bout chew or me, with our broke asses. No, they don't. Don't give a flyin fuck, with our stupid asses!

Muh fuckahs talkin bout Obama this and Obama that...Obama don't have shit tah do with this fucked up shit here! Unh-the-fuck-unh! That dog don't fuckin hunt round here! Oh, no! Yah need tah quit that noise. Six years in office and you tellin me a reasonable person can actually believe that Obama, with his Black ass, done fucked this country up in less than two terms as POTUS? I know what they have said about US niggahs, but come ohn now? Yah can't blame our Black asses for this horrible mess what the rich, white, arrogant, ignant white men done did tah this You-S-of-fuckin-A!  Try the Rothchilds,  the Gettys...and all those othah sorry ass, old ass welfare recipient con-men so called bankers and so called businessmen that are below thieves as far as their morality goes in my book!  Sheeeit!

And what the fuck does Our poor asses do? We start stealin from each othahs shit! The fuck wrong with US? If yo sorry ass wants to steal go to the rich muh fuckahs neighborhoods and start stealin their goddamned shit! Not from muh fuckahs in the same shit as you and me! Stupid, no count, poor muh fuckahs! We ain't got shit tah be stealin! Fuckers!

We some broke asses! But we don't have to succumb to their merciless, sorry ass, rich bastards' morals and character! Yah heard may! Damn! Let US quit fuckin ovah one anothah! Let's start gettin Our spiritual shit back togethah! Start helpin one anothah again! Please!

All My broke Black ass has got!

Peace! More to come...

The Secret Society Speech (courtesy of jfklibrary.org)

President John F. Kennedy
Waldorf-Astoria Hotel, New York City
April 27, 1961

..."The very word "secrecy" is repugnant in a free and open society; and we are as a people inherently and historically opposed to secret societies, to secret oaths and to secret proceedings. We decided long ago that the dangers of excessive and unwarranted concealment of pertinent facts far outweighed the dangers which are cited to justify it. Even today, there is little value in opposing the threat of a closed society by imitating its arbitrary restrictions. Even today, there is little value in insuring the survival of our nation if our traditions do not survive with it. And there is very grave danger that an announced need for increased security will be seized upon by those anxious to expand its meaning to the very limits of official censorship and concealment. That I do not intend to permit to the extent that it is in my control. And no official of my Administration, whether his rank is high or low, civilian or military, should interpret my words here tonight as an excuse to censor the news, to stifle dissent, to cover up our mistakes or to withhold from the press and the public the facts they deserve to know.

But I do ask every publisher, every editor, and every newsman in the nation to reexamine his own standards, and to recognize the nature of our country's peril. In time of war, the government and the press have customarily joined in an effort based largely on self-discipline, to prevent unauthorized disclosures to the enemy. In time of "clear and present danger," the courts have held that even the privileged rights of the First Amendment must yield to the public's need for national security.

Today no war has been declared--and however fierce the struggle may be, it may never be declared in the traditional fashion. Our way of life is under attack. Those who make themselves our enemy are advancing around the globe. The survival of our friends is in danger. And yet no war has been declared, no borders have been crossed by marching troops, no missiles have been fired.

If the press is awaiting a declaration of war before it imposes the self-discipline of combat conditions, then I can only say that no war ever posed a greater threat to our security. If you are awaiting a finding of "clear and present danger," then I can only say that the danger has never been more clear and its presence has never been more imminent.

It requires a change in outlook, a change in tactics, a change in missions--by the government, by the people, by every businessman or labor leader, and by every newspaper. For we are opposed around the world by a monolithic and ruthless conspiracy that relies primarily on covert means for expanding its sphere of influence--on infiltration instead of invasion, on subversion instead of elections, on intimidation instead of free choice, on guerrillas by night instead of armies by day. It is a system which has conscripted vast human and material resources into the building of a tightly knit, highly efficient machine that combines military, diplomatic, intelligence, economic, scientific and political operations.

Its preparations are concealed, not published. Its mistakes are buried, not headlined. Its dissenters are silenced, not praised. No expenditure is questioned, no rumor is printed, no secret is revealed. It conducts the Cold War, in short, with a war-time discipline no democracy would ever hope or wish to match.

Nevertheless, every democracy recognizes the necessary restraints of national security--and the question remains whether those restraints need to be more strictly observed if we are to oppose this kind of attack as well as outright invasion.

For the facts of the matter are that this nation's foes have openly boasted of acquiring through our newspapers information they would otherwise hire agents to acquire through theft, bribery or espionage; that details of this nation's covert preparations to counter the enemy's covert operations have been available to every newspaper reader, friend and foe alike; that the size, the strength, the location and the nature of our forces and weapons, and our plans and strategy for their use, have all been pinpointed in the press and other news media to a degree sufficient to satisfy any foreign power; and that, in at least in one case, the publication of details concerning a secret mechanism whereby satellites were followed required its alteration at the expense of considerable time and money.

The newspapers which printed these stories were loyal, patriotic, responsible and well-meaning. Had we been engaged in open warfare, they undoubtedly would not have published such items. But in the absence of open warfare, they recognized only the tests of journalism and not the tests of national security. And my question tonight is whether additional tests should not now be adopted.

The question is for you alone to answer. No public official should answer it for you. No governmental plan should impose its restraints against your will. But I would be failing in my duty to the nation, in considering all of the responsibilities that we now bear and all of the means at hand to meet those responsibilities, if I did not commend this problem to your attention, and urge its thoughtful consideration.

On many earlier occasions, I have said--and your newspapers have constantly said--that these are times that appeal to every citizen's sense of sacrifice and self-discipline. They call out to every citizen to weigh his rights and comforts against his obligations to the common good. I cannot now believe that those citizens who serve in the newspaper business consider themselves exempt from that appeal.

I have no intention of establishing a new Office of War Information to govern the flow of news. I am not suggesting any new forms of censorship or any new types of security classifications. I have no easy answer to the dilemma that I have posed, and would not seek to impose it if I had one. But I am asking the members of the newspaper profession and the industry in this country to reexamine their own responsibilities, to consider the degree and the nature of the present danger, and to heed the duty of self-restraint which that danger imposes upon us all.

Every newspaper now asks itself, with respect to every story: "Is it news?" All I suggest is that you add the question: "Is it in the interest of the national security?" And I hope that every group in America--unions and businessmen and public officials at every level-- will ask the same question of their endeavors, and subject their actions to the same exacting tests.

And should the press of America consider and recommend the voluntary assumption of specific new steps or machinery, I can assure you that we will cooperate whole-heartedly with those recommendations.

Perhaps there will be no recommendations. Perhaps there is no answer to the dilemma faced by a free and open society in a cold and secret war. In times of peace, any discussion of this subject, and any action that results, are both painful and without precedent. But this is a time of peace and peril which knows no precedent in history.

II

It is the unprecedented nature of this challenge that also gives rise to your second obligation--an obligation which I share. And that is our obligation to inform and alert the American people--to make certain that they possess all the facts that they need, and understand them as well--the perils, the prospects, the purposes of our program and the choices that we face.

No President should fear public scrutiny of his program. For from that scrutiny comes understanding; and from that understanding comes support or opposition. And both are necessary. I am not asking your newspapers to support the Administration, but I am asking your help in the tremendous task of informing and alerting the American people. For I have complete confidence in the response and dedication of our citizens whenever they are fully informed.

I not only could not stifle controversy among your readers--I welcome it. This Administration intends to be candid about its errors; for as a wise man once said: "An error does not become a mistake until you refuse to correct it." We intend to accept full responsibility for our errors; and we expect you to point them out when we miss them.

Without debate, without criticism, no Administration and no country can succeed--and no republic can survive. That is why the Athenian lawmaker Solon decreed it a crime for any citizen to shrink from controversy. And that is why our press was protected by the First Amendment-- the only business in America specifically protected by the Constitution- -not primarily to amuse and entertain, not to emphasize the trivial and the sentimental, not to simply "give the public what it wants"--but to inform, to arouse, to reflect, to state our dangers and our opportunities, to indicate our crises and our choices, to lead, mold, educate and sometimes even anger public opinion.

This means greater coverage and analysis of international news--for it is no longer far away and foreign but close at hand and local. It means greater attention to improved understanding of the news as well as improved transmission. And it means, finally, that government at all levels, must meet its obligation to provide you with the fullest possible information outside the narrowest limits of national security--and we intend to do it.

III

It was early in the Seventeenth Century that Francis Bacon remarked on three recent inventions already transforming the world: the compass, gunpowder and the printing press. Now the links between the nations first forged by the compass have made us all citizens of the world, the hopes and threats of one becoming the hopes and threats of us all. In that one world's efforts to live together, the evolution of gunpowder to its ultimate limit has warned mankind of the terrible consequences of failure.

And so it is to the printing press--to the recorder of man's deeds, the keeper of his conscience, the courier of his news--that we look for strength and assistance, confident that with your help man will be what he was born to be: free and independent."

I Am The Alpha And Omega (Fifty Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, First Chapter Of His Tenth Novel, "Know Thy God! Thy God Is You!") June 2016

He held his hands out and closed his eyes.  He didn't have to close his eyes but closing his eyes made him more focused on the commands and ultimate works that he was in control of.

Luke 18:27 - And he said, The things which are impossible with men are possible with God.

That verse made all the difference in the world with him.  He saw himself levitated at that moment the verse sank into his soul.  Looking over the whole world and contemplating finally his possibilities he would bless upon this tainted Earth. 

He smiled.  Oh, yes, he was not men;  he was a man, not plural in nature; ergo, he was his God!  And people better start realizing the various other people's gods they are praying to.  Because instead of praying they are preying on each and every individual that does not understand but over-stand their given purpose.  IT was a word game.  His God had informed him long ago, it was a manipulation with subtlety of verse and definition.  

He had heard people time and time again talking about, "Do you believe in God?"  Then his God guided him into enlightenment with the overstanding; believe, is to be-lie the truth.  No, he did not belie-ve, he knew.

(to be continued...)

Sylvester Stallone is a Fake Ass Italian (Thirty-Nine Years Old, Anthony Faglia, Indianapolis Italian Restaurant Owner, Speaking To His Thirteen Years Old Son) 2015

Fuckin America.  I fuckin work for ah fuckin livin.  Sicilian trew an' trew.  All we know is tah work.  D'en d'is guy.  We have it hard enough yah know?  Callin 'im: "The Italian Stallion,"  Rocky Balboa, "The Real Italian," "The Real Deal Italian," ...the fuck!  Yah know?  My Father, Sicilian.  My Mother, Sicilian.  The fuck?  D'is guy, fuckin fourth or at best one d'ird Italian, you know?

Fuckin Jew, that's what he is.  Ain't no fuckin real ass Italian no fuckin Jew!  The fuck?  Look at me.  Look at me?  Yah understand Ant'ny?  Ain't no fuckin real Italian no fuckin Jew!  Catholic?
 You bet!  A fuckin Jew...fahgetahboutit!  Dat's fah da movies.  Fuckin Hollywood!  Capisce?

I'll Suck A Dick And Fuck A Man In The Ass... But Don't Call Me, Black! (Twenty-Two Years Old, Homosexual, Matthew Thames, Dark Skinned American, Professional Rookie Football Player) 2014

What?  Yes, I heard you.  Am I an African American?  What does that have to do with the reason I’m at this microphone?  I’m sorry?  Oh, I understand.   All I have to say is, yes, I am gay.  What?  Really?  That age old race question again?  I know I have a darker complexion.  I just choose not to, that’s why.   Listen, my great, great grandfather was white. His nationality?  German, one hundred percent.  I consider myself mixed, not Black.   

Listen, I am not Black.  I just love men.  Period.  Please don’t call me Black.   

I'm an American gay.

The Fair Ain't Never Been Fair (Ninety-Two Years Old, Cleetus Jenkins, Natchez, Mississippi) 1992

We weren't ever allowed in the damn place.  The present day, I see niggahs just traipsin their happy asses in the festivity and I just shake my head.  How soon we forget with our Black asses.  Back in the day, the county fair was the main location to shop and buy a niggah.  Shit.  I've asked so many niggahs, "How many Black farmers have you seen in any county fair?  State Fair?  Yeah that's what I know, zero!  Have yah evah wondahed, why that is?"  They look at me all blank faced like I'm the one that has said or did something dumb.

But we are a funny bunch.  We will forgive and forget anything...for a good ass time.  Uhm!  Just some sorry asses fo sho!  Ain't learned shit with our ignant Black asses.  Still back peddlin; and that ain't no good thang at all.  

No, I reckon it's not.

Advice To Lil' Dicks (Twenty-Six Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Basic Training, Bravo Company-Big Foot Platoon (Fort Knox, Kentucky))1992

"All right lil dicks," Drill Sergeant Ingram began, "Six weeks in, it's time for us to have an important discussion.  So listen the fuck up!  Very...carefully. I don't fuckin love yah!  I don't fuckin care bout cha!  Not personally anyway.  As long as yah doin your fuckin job, soldering, when you are s'posed tah be doin it.   I, nor anyone else in this here United States of America's Army is goin tah fuck with yah.  I guarantee that.  If you are a fag...I don't give a rat's ass, as long as you're doin yo damn job first, soldiering.  But we don't have any fags in this platoon?  Do we lil' dicks," Drill Sergeant looked around the room at all of us after the rhetorical question, "Let me just make sure.  If you are a fag, raise your hand.  We all have our freedoms.  This is America damnit!  So, raise your goddamned hand if you are a fuckin fag!"  Again Drill Sergeant panned the room looking as if he were going to see a hand or two going up at any time.  But he didn't.  "Very fuckin good lil dicks!  Outstanding!  If you are and you didn't raise your hand, good for you.  Ain't nobody's business.  Yah keep that shit to your damn self.  Don't need one of you mother fuckers tryin tah be a hero or some shit bout "comin out".  This shit is about a brotherhood.  And I don't know about you but while out there soldierin, I don't need to worry about someone in that brotherhood tryin tah fuck me!  Do you understand me lil dicks?"

"Yes Drill Sergeant!  Who-ah!"  We all yelled out.

"Ya learnin lil dicks!  Ya learnin!  Out-fuckin-standing!  Maybe one of these days you'll be a big dick like me," Drill Sergeant said with a smile.  We all chuckled and got back into our military baring.  "Y'alls sorry asses got two more weeks to go before you head out to your AIT, Advanced Individual Training, and you will be a full fledged soldier in this great United States of America!  Can I get a, "Who-Ah!"," Drill Sergeant demanded.

"Who-ah!  Drill Sergeant!"  We yelled out as loud as we could.

"We are heading out on Bivouac today and won't be back for five days.  And when we return I won't have too much time to talk to your helpless asses.  But let me give you one more important piece of advice.  And remember this one simple piece of advice, after the first one that I informed your asses of.  After, always keep soldiering.  The next one being, never fall in love.  At least not until your soldiering days are finished," Drill Sergeant looked around making eye contact with every single recruit in the room.  "Am I saying, don't get your dick wet.  Fuck no!  I'm saying get your dick wet but don't marry the watering hole.  Because let me tell you lil dicks something that I know.  On the various bases you will either visit and/or live on, the women love them some Drill Sergeants, a strapping man like me.  And while your asses are away, soldiering, I'm going to be in your bed fucking your wife.  Because like I said, they love the drill sergeants.  And I don't turn away no available good pussy!,"  Drill Sergeant Ingram turned to the other Drill Sergeant in the room, "Am I lyin tah these sorry lil dicks Drill Sergeant Marnell?"

"Shit!  They'll fuck Captains, Colonels...but they love us.  Your sorry ass is gone for two to eight months at a time, that hole needs to be drilled on a regular.  Vibrator my ass!"  Drill Sergeant Marnell chuckled and shook his head.

"That's all we got lil dicks.  0900 formation, pack your shit.  We's goin on a trip! Fall out lil dicks!"  Drill Sergeant Ingram commanded.  

"The Pet Rock" And Other Marketing Miracles (continued...) (Thirty-five Years Old, Moses Burnbaum) 2013

The Hell was he thinking, that fuckin Jew.  He knew better than that.  We never talk that way in front of them, gentiles.  And there he was, Honest Goldberg, Mister Holier than thou talking shit to me.  To me! To me?  He knew the fuck better than that.  So I had to check him.

"Honest.  I understand what you are saying.  But please do not speak that way to me.  Please,"  I said.  Not wanting this to happen again.  And what the fuck did he do?

"Or what Mo?  You gonna tell Daddy on me or some shit?  I'm tired of that mother fucker.  He paid your half of this company that we own fifty-fifty.  But I paid my own damn way.  My way.  He can't do shit about me.  This is my shit. My...shit!  Do you understand?  You gotta beef with him, talk to him.  If you gotta beef with me, then I say to you, fuck you!  You fuckin pampered ass Jew!"  Asshole talking like a fucking nigger kike.  What was the fucking world coming to?  The fuck?  Did he just use the "J" word?  And at me no less.  Fuck wrong with him.

So I looked around the room at the other fifteen people in the room, all gentiles, and said, "Everybody get the fuck out!  Honest and I have to have a little pow-wow."  

(...to be continued.)

"The Pet Rock" And Other Marketing Miracles (Thirty-Five Years Old, Honest Goldberg) 2013

Addressability, that’s what it was all about.  It was the Pandora’s Box that they were looking for.  They had tried many different avenues to come up with the ultimate mental control but most all of the actions they had come up with came up with not too much.  So I had suggested to them, quite innocently, in one of their goddamned numerous of nauseous meetings:

“Check this out.  We already have addressability unbeknownst to the subscriber.  All we have to do is to make them pay for not only programming but to have them program their given television programming for themselves.  And then you get all of the goods without spending another dollar and getting paid for them giving us the information.”  And what did that smart ass Jew say to me, “The fuck Honest?  They’re not that stupid.  I mean really,” he said scoffing at me.  And all that I said as a retort was, “Really Moses?  Your degree is in business with an emphasis in marketing.  “They” are the same mother fuckers that made that sorry ass mother fucker of an inventor of “The Pet Rock” a fuckin millionaire.” 

And your ass could’ve heard a pen drop.