E' Cigs and Shit (Forty-Eight Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Near Salvation) 2014

Mothah fuckah!  Mothah...fuckah!  Say whah?  You  heard my Black Broke Ass!  Oh, yes yah did! 

So, a mothah fuckah tryin tah quit smokin and shit.  So my Black ass goes to the closest shit.  Yah heard may?  So I pulls up tah Meijers' gas/convenient mart.  Walk in. 

What kind of E' Cigs do yah have?  So the clerk says tah me, "Njoy," and some othah kind of mothah fuckin shit I have no idea the name brand.  But I remember, based on advertisin that Njoy was  the shit I am familiar with.  Yah see how shit is fucked up?  Anyway.  I tell her, "Njoy."  How much is that?  And she says, "Hold ohn.  It might be buy one get one.  It's been like that for a long time." You mean a BOGO?  Shit, you already know.  So she rings the shit up and says, "Oh, no.  They ain't no buy one get one no mo."  That's alright.  I'll take one.  "Well we got, Original, Light, Menthol..."  I'll take the Original please.  "Whah?  You tryin tah quit smokin or som'ehn?"  Yes.  Gottah do somethin with my old self.  "Well, just do like I just did.  Just quit."  I hear yah My Dear Sweet Sistah, but tah me, it ain't as easy as that.  "Shit, I just quit.  I even smoked weed and shit."  Hah!  No you didn't!  But I undahstand!  "Seriously though.  Just quit.  And that will be nine dollahs and thirty-five cents."   Ouch!  "Yah see what I mean?  Just quit.  If I did it, anybody can do it.  I was up tah a pack and ah half and shit.  Fuck that." 

Word.   

One...Cannot Last With Only One (Fifty Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Saved) 2016

You would think, after all this time, that we are getting smarter.  But I'm sorry to tell you Sunshine, it's quite the adverse.  And why is that?  Well, to put it simply, it's because we have forgotten about the Collective and we have unforgivingly gotten more about One.

There is nothing One can do without another One. 

It takes another to make you...and me.

And once that simple mantra diminishes...

Welcome to the state that we are presently in.

And, "Welcome to the party!  My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs!"

Be Proud! Black Food Is Delicious (Thirty-Eight Years Old, Broke Black Prophet) 2004

Niggahs kill my Black ass.  Oh, I’m sorry.  If yah didn’t understand the first statement, I’s be a niggah too.  But that’s beside the goddamned point.  Shit, I come from a family of eleven boys and one girl and some of the boys, yes, my brothahs, I can’t stand.  So, you see where I’m goin with this little analogy.  Can’t fake the funk when the funky is on yo Black ass!  Oh, no nig…gah!  It is what it is.  C’est tout.  So consider me kilt.

We are the only race, Black Americans, on this here planet Earth ashamed of what we eat.  Whah?  Mothah fuckah?  Yah heard my Black tired ass!  Oh, yes yah did! 

You are a fried chicken eatin, collard green eatin, watermelon eatin…nigger sombitch!  And yes, I am all those things; save the nigger part, with yo sorry mothah fuckin ass.  Cause yo ass is mothah fuckin sorry.  Best believe that shit!

You think Asian people gonnah quit eatin rice cause yo ass tells’em, “You chink rice eatin bastard.”?  You think Africans gonnah quit eatin goat cause yo ass tells’em, “You Sand nigger goat eatin bastard.”?  You think Hawaiians gonnah quit eatin Spam cause yo ass tells’em, “You fat Hawaiian Spam eatin bastard.”?  Or tell an Ukranian, “You sorry borscht eatin bastard.”?...And this is the kicker, yo sorry racist ass tells a person in the Jewish religion, “You Matzo-Ball eatin bastard.”? 

That what you think?  Well, maybe when it comes down to my Black counterparts.  Because for some damn reason my Brothahs and Sistahs will sit up there and fixate on a sorry ass individual who puts their traditional nourishment in the same sentence with “Black,” “Nigger,” or both.  And who gives a good goddamned fuck!  The shit is good! 

You call a Mexican, “You Taco eatin Spic!”  And they will say, “Si,” to the first part and “fuck you” to the last part.  Or call an Italian, “A Spaghetti eatin Wop!” And they will say, “I love the pasta but don’t you dare disrespect me again with the fuckin Wop part!”  D’accordo.  Mi scusi.

Vous Comprenez? 

Word!

Religion, Politics and Taxes: The Old Pimp Move (Fifty Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Saved) 2017

We are an absurd bunch.  Always hiding.  But that shit is hackneyed.  Quite fatally so.  We have been doing the same shit over and over again for so long we don’t know how to be even honest to one another for civility’s sake.  And that’s a damn shame.  We pacify our sorry asses off.  Why?  Because: our asses are scared shitless of being alone.    Doubt is a mothah fuckah.  Confidence is shunned, made into a weakness and turned into a negative of being cocky.  The fuck that shit about?  Keeping a mothah fuckah off their given game is the way this bitch is taught and preached.   But only if…yo ass is broke, poor.  You sorry mothah fuckah you!  And I’m so sorry for your luck. But not really.

You hear all the fuckin time, “I love Jesus!  I love the Lawd!”  And…what’s yo sorry ass point mothah fuckah?  The pimp game is alive and well, living and breathing among us.  But what the fuck you wants my sorry broke ass tah do?  The religious lottery is free; as long…as yah pays yo fuckin tithes.  Yo mothah fuckin ten percent.  “Where’s my money you fuckin bee-ohtch?  Get yo broke sorry ass back on the stroll!  You worthless piece of shit!  You!”

Our political leaders stress working hard and getting ahead; while they talk their mothah fuckin asses off, not liftin a fuckin fingah and getting paid like a mothah fuckah!

Oh, then we have taxes.  Where we are strong-armed to pay this here You-Nited Sates of America a usury to work.

And we gotstah nerves tah say: "Only whores get fucked for money!"  But at least those mothah fuckahs gets fucked politically free, religion free and tax free.  While we get fucked...gratis!

Dumb.  Just fuckin dumb.   And quite shameful.  Really.   

"A Rose By Any Other Name..." (Forty-Eight Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Near Salvation) 2014

If there was an inkling of humanity amongst the world political leaders there would not be any poor.  Do you understand? 

Okay, I guess you don't because we live in America where poverty gets the shaft in place of the politically correct, "The Land of Opportunity." 

Puhleeze!  Really?  The best y'alls sorry asses got?  And the shit's working.  All day.  E'r day. 

Why?  Because we don't care our damn fuckin selves.  Oh, no!  Shit, this here shit is all about me, goddamnit!  The fuck you lookin at me fo?  I ain't no classless mothah fuckah like...the poor!  I piss on thee!  Fuck'em!

And the beat goes on.

Coach Time (Forty-One Years Old, Jacques Sturdivant, Black Male) 2014

There is nothing more clandestine, more stealthy...than time.  And with that...comes your age.  Two different mothah fuckin things.  You see, time is relative, it is all over the place, omnipresent, forever moving. 

Now age, on the other hand, is finite; ergo, yo ol Black ass.  A wrinkle here.  A wrinkle there.  Less hair now than you had before the old you.  And before you know it, there goes the fuckin neighborhood; as in life, yo ass knows you're in trouble when the whites start taking over the blacks!

Then all you can do at this point is smile.  Look at yourself in the mirror, and of course say to yourself, because there's no other mothah fuckin body that wants to be 'round yo ol tired ass, and ask, "Well-well!  Now, what say you with yo ol Black ass?"  And you got to just love the old coach because Time tells yo ol Black ass to just say back to your withered reflection:

"I'm still in the game coach!  I'm still in the game!"

Damn right bout that!

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

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

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

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

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

Poor fuckin baby.  Yah heard may.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Praise Jesus!  

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

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

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

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

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

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

(to be continued)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So get over your precious little pride. 

Sell that precious Pride and invest in Love!

You’ll get a much greater return.

On My Forty-Eigth Birthday (Broke Black Prophet, Near Salvation) December 30, 2013

Just Being Human

 

I feel it.  Feel it all through my body, a trembling subatomic feeling in nature, vibratory vacillations radiating in an abnormal way.  The only way.

 I am still alive! 

And you are too! 

Quit the frowns, the ill fated inaudible sounds infuriating the consensus to distrust each other…My Sister and Brother.  We all in this shit together…so let US chill with this shit...Together.

Amen and Awomen

At The C.A. Meeting (Black Stoner) 1988

So this here mother fucker was sitting up in the meeting. There's this other mother fucker talking about, "Oh, I don't shoot it or smoke it. I just snort it." And almost in unison half of the mother fuckers at the meeting said, "What a fuckin waste!"

And I laughed. Laughed so hard tears were coming out of my eyes, streaming down my face. Cause that's exactly what I thought when this guy had said it. Shit! If you are gonnah do the shit mother fucker, do the shit right! Cocaine addicts were off the fucking hook with their honesty.

And that was the Beauty of addiction...(to be continued)

"My Left Foot" (Seventy-Two Years Old, Hypertensive, Diabetic, White Male) 2012

They cut my big toe off.  That was fine I guess, at least it wasn’t my whole left foot like this one doctor wanted to do.  Then the toe next to where my big toe used to be started doing the same thing, turning black.  So I told the doctor, “Why don’t y’all just cut all of them off.  Cause it seems they are all going to get infected, so just lop them all off.  I’ll be alright.”  Then the doctor looked at me and said, “You know, I think that would be the best Joe.  Then you don’t have to worry about that happening anymore.” 

So here I am, toeless on my left foot.  But hey, I’m still walking and kicking rocks!  

Set Me Free (Black Stoner) 1990

Let me die battered and bruised
No longer confused,
with nothing to loose,
No thrill,
A nice life's kill.

Let me finally experience the dark dreaded perpetual night,
Finding the supreme light
Feeling never more the terrible fright.

Let me feel the intense pain.
The constant rain.

Shedding this pitiful human form,
No more the norm.

What Obama Should Say To The White Masses: Fuck Yah! Feed Yah! I Don't Fuckin Need Yah! (Forty-Four Years Old, Broke Black Prophet Pre-Salvation) 2010

Say what ch'ou want to My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs! Say, what ch'ou fuckin want to goddamnit! Shiiit! What really burns My Black ass up is the fact, you gottah white, lazy, rich, stupid mah fuckah that just got out of the "White" House and ain't did shit but fuck off for eight mah fuckin yee-ahs. And whatdoyouknow?

Black mah fuckah becomes President and the white sorry ass media, the white everything in this here fuckin You-S-of-Fuckin-A expects this Black president now tah do what niggahs been doin for over four hundred yee-ahs: to be a slave.   To make non-yielding, fucked up land now productive.  Black mothah fuckahs ain't no damn miracle workahs.  Sheeit, this shit gonnah takes some time tah produce even some bland bullshit, how the powahs that be neglected this bitch fo some eight yeeahs tah at least produce some edible bullshit.  But what do these mothah fuckin white ass bastards expect from a niggah, though that Black ass is president? 

Get cho Black nigger ass in that Oval office and fuckin work goddamnit!  Fire up the cauldron.  Do some voodoo on this fucked up shit!  Whatever yo nigger ass has to do to put the shit our counterparts fucked up, right.  'Cause that's what a niggah is s'posed tah do!

Ain't that some shit? Mah fuckin white man gets tah go to Crawford, Tex-ass any goddamn time, suckin on Lone Star beer, ain't gave a fuck for eight fuckin yee-ahs, but yo niggah ass gotstah work! Tah do all the mah fuckin work that sorry ass didn't get done for all these yee-ahs, but your niggah ass don't mind that at t'all! Yo ass gotstah break yo niggah back and get the shit done in less than two?

Well I'll be fuck! And they say this shit done changed? Then wake my Black niggah ass up, 'cause I sho nuff must be fuckin still asleep and in a horrible dream! And that ain't no Beautiful thang at all My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs! Fuckin ugly! And sad! Sad-the-fuck-awhile! Too fuckin sad! I don't know bout that America the Beautiful bullshit! But I sho nuff knows bout this America the Ugly! And Fuck you boo-boo, too!

Damn right bout that!

Look How Great I Is! (Thirty Years Old, Broke Black Prophet) 1996

Mothah fuckahs always talkin that shit, "I've been to the Bahamas," or some othah bullshit island or country! Shut the fuck up! Nobody tryin tah hear that shit! For real! Chew buy my ass a ticket to the mothah fuckah? Did chew take my Black ass along? No, to the first question and a definite no, to the second! Just tryin tah rub yo broke ass face all in some shit! "Nanny-nanny-boo-boo! Yo Broke ass can't do it too!" Um! We some sorry muh fuckahs!

Mon voyage etre terrifique! I think that's how yah say it in French. Been a long time my Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs! Long fuckin time! But I think that is the correct usage and written way of using "passe compose". Or maybe not! Shit, like I said, been a long fuckin time with my old ass, what can I tell yah. Digressing, is yo sorry ass goin just tah brag whatcha no count ass did? Or, did you go for yourself? Or both? If it's both, nobody gives a fuck unless yo sorry ass gonnah take my broke ass along for the adventure. Other than that, shut the fuck up! And I don't really want to hear about your fuckin vacations! Exotic or otherwise!

If I didn't go along...I gives ah fuck bout yo shit! And if yah didn't hear may, that would be yo shit! Ergo, vanity!

That's all My Black Ass gotstah say bout that bullshit! And I ain't hatin! Best belee dat shit! I'm just tired of mothah fuckahs tootin their own sorry ass horn! For real! Peace! More to come...

Your Secret Is Safe With Me (Thirty Years Old, Broke Black Prophet) 1996

I got nothin.  C'est tout.  Whatcha wants my black ass tah say, "Well, it was a good day today"?  Or, "Tomorrow will be a sunshiny day for sure"?  I don't have any good speak fo yo sorry ass.  Nothing!  Ab-so-fuckin-lute-ly!  Yah feel may? 

Well maybe not.  Maybe yous be one of those lucky mothah fuckahs where every fuckin day is a good ass day!  Sheeit!  All I's gotstah say is, "If yo ass is like that, I sho do envy yo happy ass!"  For real.  I ain't the kind tah shine yo merriment havin ass ohn!  Shit no!  I just wantstah know:  What is yo damn fuckin secret?

Human Sacrifices (Anonymous) 2012

Why do I feel so fuckin cold? Feel no fuckin warmth whatsoevah unless my Daughter's around me. I look around and all I see is a society just breedin, bleedin and needin!

Mothah fuckahs talkin that shit, "I'm goin to college to get my degree for my children so I can get a better job!" How bout just fuckin workin? That fuckin degree ain't fo yo sorry ass children, that fuckin degree is fo yo goddamn ass, let's get that shit straight from the jump! Can't fool a recoverin foolah or lie to a recoverin liah! While yah playin! Goin tah college and gettin student loans for a muh fuckahs livin expenses is this generations supplemental income while they on welfare. Don't play me. This life ain't goin nowhere but down the fuckin toilet! Yo ass just tryin tah get bye until the next phase, tryin tah bide some fuckin time until somethin comes up. Whatevah fuckin horrible phase or comin up this mothah fuckah fo our broke asses!

Then you got married people, got three tah five children, both the parents are workin wonderin why the fuckin children so fuckin disrespectful and ungrateful? Shiiit! Cause one of y'all muh fuckahs needs tah sacrifice for those lil bastards y'all done had! Talkin bout, we doin all this for the children. Whatevah muh fuckah! Whatthefuckevah! I don't see those children ridin in yo two-seater BMW. Or, see them wearin that Rolex yo sorry, pathetic ass flauntin on yo wrist, which is attached to yo hand with those very manicured fingernails, you lyin mothah fuckahs! Y'all needstah cut this shit out!

If yah want yo family tah live bettah, just start concentratin on the needs and fuck these wants! Yo fuckin children need guidance, not the one-hundred and eighty dollah tennis shoes the mothah fuckah ain't gonnah play no kinda sport in! Quit throwin money at the problems and deal with the problems: these fuckin children! Goddamnit! They need yo Black ass round, not these jank ass friends that don't want nothin else but tah get high and fuck all day, with their lil dumb stupid asses! The children need yo ass tah talk tah them instead of this fuckin television and Internet feedin their lil sponges of a mind that are soakin up all this fuckin nonsense they don't fuckin need tah become a productive part of this here fucked up society!

People talkin that shit, "I need Me time!" Fuck yo sorry ass time! Fuck it! Fuck it! Fuck it! You selfish, worthless piece of shit! You! A life for a mothah fuckin life! You brought that child or those children into this fucked up shit! And you knew full well what those mothah fuckahs were gonnah be up against, and yo ass gots the nerves tah talk bout "Me" time? The fuck people smokin? Is everybody on crack up in this bitch? Fuck You! I'm glad tah tell yah, My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs, but once yo ass decides tah have a child or to have children, yo life is ovah! Everything from then on is about that child or those children! And fuck yo fuckin "Me" time! And if yo sorry mothah fuckin ass don't see it that way... then yo sorry, pathetic, pitiful ass shouldn't have had the lil mothah fuckahs from the get-go! Super-silly-mothah-fuckah!

Good Shit (Black Stoner) 1986

I cook the shit to make the hit. The little cotton ball purifies it all. I push the plunger. The thunder rumbles through my veins. A cooling, soothing liquid abating my plethora of pains. I feel this world slipping away and that's more than okay! I smile and I sway; lost in my smack filled haze; hoping there will not be any other days. Umm! My eyes close languidly; I open them the same but tranquilly. My head bobbing like I am sucking my own dick. Going in and out of conscientiousness but I am far from sick. I smile again, at the absurd sight, of the needle still hanging perilously within.