I Ain’t LL… So Call It A Comeback!

December 2008, Christmas Eve morning somewhere over Indiana I was done.  I was not feeling it and I was mad at myself.  So I quit.  The previous five days I had performed, every show was blah to me.  What made it worse was I was doing a week at the club I considered my “home” club.  Though I did not start there, when I moved there they were the first club to believe in me and push me to other clubs.  They believed in me and a week I was scheduled to perform for them, I was not giving them my all.  Again, I was done.

The most consistent dream of mine and the one that was within my grasp since the first time I snuck a listen of a Richard Pryor tape was to be a standup comic, as of December 2008 I was a comic and that was the only money I had coming in.  So my living was that of a standup comic, I had essentially reached my dream. I was not famous, had no credits, but I had enough work coming in to eat.  What was my problem?  I was faking it.  I was not talking about anything worth talking about; nothing was my voice except for the first 5 minutes I was on stage.  The only material I had that came directly from my life experiences were in the first 5 minutes and I killed the first 5 minutes EVERY NIGHT!  Any comic will tell you to get the crowd in the palm of your hands in the first few minutes makes everything else a breeze.

The rest of my stuff was funny, but not me, and it ate at me every night.  I had bits that kept the crowd with me, could give it to any heckler, and a closer that never failed.  Unfortunately, I was hoping for hecklers so I could shoot off the top of my head and improvise two minutes of jokes and insults so I could knock out a couple of jokes that ate at my soul to tell again.  There is great joy for a comic when you can riff and get a laugh, that’s when comedy becomes jazz, you are in the moment, and everything in the room becomes one.  Unfortunately for me, I was working clubs now where I was known and it was made clear to people, by others, when I was on stage it could turn into a very embarrassing situation for you and nobody wants to be in the middle of a situation.  So speaking when I had a mic in my hand, or yelling at me in the middle of  line, was only for those very secure with themselves and nobody is that secure outside of Michael Jordan and Kobe Bryant.

Saturday night, I am sitting in the lobby of the hotel waiting for the very funny and nice Dwight Slade to come downstairs so we could roll out to the club and knock out two more shows.  Dwight noticed I was not ‘here’ and instead of waving me over so we could leave, he sat down in the seat next to me and asked “you alright”?  I told him I was not feeling my act.  He assured me I was funny and I the crowds were getting me.  I told him “no, except for my opening bit… I don’t believe anything I am saying and it is killing me”.  Dwight said “you might wanna take a break… after this week of course”.

So flying to Chicago for the holidays, over Indianapolis looking at downtown (where I had performed many times, as much as any place in the country)… I quit.  For some reason I decided I was going to work with kids in Chicago and for the last 4 years, I have done just that.  I have worked in some of the worse schools this country has to offer.  I have sat across from kids that would not live to sit across from me again.  I have seen what rough is and changed a life or two in the process.  I have experienced more pain and frustration.  I have been treated as if I am a threat because of my intelligence and as a joke (ironically) because of perceived lack of it.  I have lost more people who I love, but gained people who will love me unconditionally.

What I missed from comedy was a life to talk about.  So like Richard Pryor, who once walked away from comedy to observe and write about a life he could relate to, I walked away to live.  I now have a life, I now have a voice.  My brain is giving me jokes again, not lines that are funny but jokes that are twisted and express my thought process.  My jokes now are not clever; I am too old to be clever.  If I was a 22-year-old kid, I would need to be clever because I would not have done a damn thing worth talking about.  I am a college graduate, with years of work experience, a family to take care of, who has lost more people along the way other than an Iraq War Veteran.  I really do not care about what people care about what I say and I do not care if it offends anyone.  I have the truth, in the reality of my life, to talk about and that is where a comic lives and breaths, in the truth.

The gloves are off; I do not expect anything from a club, an agent, or a manager.  I want to get on stage and speak from my heart; I will be relentless and unapologetic.  You only get to come back once… So with that, like Jordan… appropriately, I’m BACK!  Back in the city I started in, Chicago… I am going to put the city on my back and take it with me wherever I go.  This time believing in every word I say and not protecting my pain or insecurities.  You’ll see me soon…

Happy Black History Month!! Today We Salute… My Big Long Black Chocolate Stereotype

Most things that happen to Black people are based on fears about what people have heard about us.  We are violent, emotional, uneducated, to name a few.  Many are hurtful and have damaged us as a community; people in our community have been killed based on the fears developed from misconceptions.  We have been kept out of institutions of higher learning and locked out of neighborhoods because of misguided beliefs.

Then there is that one ain’t one brotha complaining about, talk about how we all have rhythm and we show you our cousin that couldn’t keep the beat if you put a gun to his momma’s head and said you would blow it off if he pulled a Johnny Gill and clapped a half a second before or after everyone else.  Tell us we all are good at basketball and we will introduce you to our brother that gets picked after the Asian kid for a pick-up game (that’s how Jeremy Lin got so good).  Tell us we all like chicken and we show you our vegetarian cousin with the dread locks that eats organic foods and is skeptical about even eating tofu as a source of protein.  Tell us we all have big …. And we smile and say ‘well… heh… heh… heh’ (That’s me laughing).

So today on this day in Black History Month we thank you for the stereotype we ain’t marched against.  We hold on to this stereotype and thank you for sharing with everyone.  It helps that the only one’s of ours you have ever seen was the 6’7” basketball player your school recruited that walked around the locker room with his towel over his shoulder after he got out the shower.  If you have seen a little one on a brotha, what are you going to say?  You will sound like you spend your time at your gym hanging out by the lockers… looking to see if the myth of the Black man is true.  Freakin’ perv!

I don’t know if curiosity really killed the cat, but it did get it laid.  When a brotha gets to college he can smell the fascination from across the cafeteria.  You hinted at it so much, that Becky the Farm Girl, that has only seen Black people on television before getting to the University of We Here Too, wonders about it for months maybe even a couple of years that by the time her junior year rolls around she has the numbers for every football player that wears his hair in dreds or braids in her iPhone.  Then before you know it, you have a young lady that is going way too far out of her way to disappoint her daddy, heh… heh… heh…

Call us every ignorant thing you can come up with, every name you dream of, you put a stereotype on us that by the time it comes to prove if we measure up to it… who cares if we don’t we’re both here now and the lights are off.  Talk about us not having the tools, you then have to get into a conversation of why you were with us to begin with.  There is an entire division in the porn industry dedicated to the myth of the Black man. I can hear frat boys looking at those sites screaming “COME ON!!! THEY ALL CAN’T BE THAT BIG!” heh… heh… heh…

Black men could scream about a lot of things, we could scream every moment of our waking life.  No role models, poor prospects for a job, limited opportunities, if it wasn’t this big cock you say we have we really would be pissed.  Ever wonder why a trust fund kid says something to a brotha and the brotha doesn’t pop him upside his head?  Outside of police coming faster than a 22-year-old virgin, we generally appreciate this one stereotype.  The next time that brotha sees the guy, that he should have crushed, he almost feels obligated to thank him.  All the stereotypes he hurled about Black guys made his girlfriend slip the brotha her number with a message beneath it “I just wanna know if it’s true”.

Happy Black History Month to the stereotype we like!  It is nice to walk around with a mythical being tucked away beneath your saggin’ jeans.  I hate to cut this short, not something us Black guys usually do.  Let me hurry up and get out of here…  About to head over to a Black History Month celebration in honor of the movie Mandingo on campus, I need to shower, throw on some clothes, and toss my dick over my shoulder before I head out.  Heh… heh… heh…

Happy Black History Month!!! Today We Salute… The Maury Povich Show

Always more comforting to see someone else embarrass themselves while eventually becoming the laughing-stock of whatever small town in Arkansas, they must come from. The Maury Povich Show has caught more men in lies than a prosecuting attorney.  Maury is an equal opportunity, opportunist we can all agree the show is much more fun when Black people are on it.

The ‘cut-away’ where one of the guests are taped saying whatever they want to say about the person that bought them on the show is always a delight.  The degradation of women by the men is usually reserved to an NWA song.  This is always made better when the mother or current girlfriend of the man is right behind him looking like hype man, the only thing missing is a clock hanging from their neck and an occasional ‘yeeeeahhh boyeeee’.  The woman escorting the man to the show is never more attractive than the woman he use to date and usually outweighs the ex-girlfriend by exactly 122 lbs.  Proving these men have never been told, “if you are gonna cheat… you do not fuck down, you fuck up”.

When the mother escorts her son to the taping of the show, the mother always takes over the cut-away segment.  The looks in the mother’s eyes are similar to the look of the dominant inmate during a brutal prison shower rape and it will end in a similar fashion, in tears with someone’s ass torn up.  The son is always in the back mouthing either ‘help me’ or ‘I still love you, help me’.  The mother’s never believe anything the lying tramp said and freely tells all she ‘heard’ about who the little heffa has been sleeping with.  LOVE IT!

For the record, not every question answered turns out to be a lie but every man is caught in a lie.  No man is going to pass the ‘have you ever thought about sleeping with another woman’ question.  No man can pass the questions:

  • “Have you ever thought about sleeping with your girlfriend’s best friend?”
  • “Have you ever thought about sleeping with your girlfriend’s cousin?”
  • “Have you ever thought about sleeping with your girlfriend’s sister?”
  • “Have you ever thought about sleeping with your girlfriend’s enemy?”
  • “Have you ever thought about sleeping with your girlfriend’s mother?”
  • “Have you ever thought about sleeping with any combination of your girlfriend’s relatives, friends, enemies, neighbors, co-workers, Facebook friends?”

No man can pass those questions without being really good at passing lie detector test or by just answering “Yes Maury I have thought about sleeping with all of them, and since we are being honest I am now thinking about sleeping with your wife Connie and your show’s producer”.  It is a no win situation for a man.

Now the moment you have all been waiting for:

Maury has made more men a “baby’s daddy” than Erykah Badu.  The Maury Povich Show has bought more recognition to DNA than crime scene investigations, wrongly convicted inmates, or even Watson & Crick!  Swab them cheeks, 24 hours later come back to the studio (usually in the same polo shirt) and find out if ‘in the case of … YOU ARE THE FATHER’.  From the women who have been on the show more than five times to the women that have had more than 30 men tested (let’s just make this clear, you should be able to narrow down the ‘possible’ fathers down to TWO.  It should either be Eric or Michael, anything more confirms you as a whore and that’s real talk) no episode has bought me such side-splitting laughter while cringing for the future of a child than the case of little Sammy Davis, Jr., Jr.

Yes that was Sammy Davis, Jr., Jr., not Sammy Davis III (the third) but yes Sammy Davis, Jr., Jr.  A woman had sex with a man by the name of Sammy Davis Jr. (we do not have time to wonder why his mother would do that to HIM), that woman ended up pregnant and in love with Sammy Davis Jr. had a boy and decided to name her after the father.  Showing her ignorance, instead of informing the hospital to name her son Sammy Davis III, giving the staff to joke about the father’s name, she told them to add a ‘Jr.’.  Why nobody called a social worker on her I will never know.  Why the Social Security Administration and local/state officials did not launch an immediate inquiry on the hospital for failure to report this woman to Child Protective Services and beat her ass with a rolled up magazine is beyond anyone’s comprehension.

Sammy Davis, Jr. was indeed the father of Sammy Davis, Jr., Jr. ending two dreams the father had.  One, being able to hold on to his entire check without a child support deduction; two) having his moment to breakout his version of the “NOT the father” dance.

We honor you, the Maury Povich Show, on this very special Valentine’s Day salute during Black History Month.  So after you buy the flowers from the gas station on your way to ya’ girl’s crib, after you have listened to every slow song you could illegally download, and after you eat that tough ass steak she fired up… remember to ‘strap it up’ before I am laughing at you next year!  With these economic times it is nice to know that we as people have something to keep us entertained until the next Tyler Perry mess… I mean movie, comes out.

Happy Black History Month!!! Today We Salute… The Hater

Today we salute the most controversial person of all the people we will honor in Black History Month… The Hater.  People say the best way to deal with the Hater is to ignore them, but Haters are not to be ignored, they refuse to be ignored, they will not let you ignore them, and you should not ignore them.  The Hater is confirmation that what you are doing is impressive.  So keep doing it!  Remember when you were good at baseball and everyone told you how well you were doing?  What happened?  You didn’t want to play baseball the next year, instead you learned how to smoke weed with your friends without getting caught.  Remember when your teacher told that you were good at Biology and that you should think about being a doctor?  Now you are pulling double-shifts at Wendy’s trying to keep a roof over your head and looking at those ‘you can still get a degree’ commercials they show during Judge Judy in the afternoon, like you still have hope.

You need the Hater; there was that time your brother told you that you would never beat him.  Within a year you were kicking his ass up and down the block, he started locking his door at night out of fear that you would walk in at 3 in the morning and resume the ass whupping.  Think about the time your friends said you couldn’t dance and laughed at you for hours, then days, then weeks about it.  That became a running joke on the block, so much so you stopped hanging out and stood in front of your TV watching Rap City and 106th and Park until you learned how to do the Bankhead Bounce, the Harlem Shake… the Roger Rabbit.  By the time the Spring Dance rolled up, you were killing it on the dance floor (if you did learn the Roger Rabbit, you were hurting the ankles of the person dancing behind you), man you were coming in 2nd and 3rd place at lunch hour dance competitions!  How about that time your ex told you that you would never amount to shit?  Well, the jury is still out on that one, but you are still trying to prove them wrong!  See, praise does nothing for you but a Hater can turn your whack ass into a star.

You think Barack Obama always wanted to be president?  Hell no, that brother wanted to be Dr. J, but you try being the only Black dude walking around a private high school in Hawaii, he got sick of being ignored by everyone but the basketball coach.  As soon as he could, took his but to the main land, started off in Cali, then finished up hitting the East Coast, finally settling in Chicago where a brotha has to be a brotha.  Before you knew it that dude was walking around the hood talking to people like he grew up on the South Side, eating rib tips, and eventually got him a big booty sista as confirmation of how you do the damn thing!  You see how he walked up to the podium after they killed Bin Laden?  You don’t “learn” that walk… you EARN that walk.  You earn it by putting Haters in their place.  He has Haters now, Mitt Romney, let the unemployment rate dip below 8% in the next couple of months, when people come to see Obama talk they are going to have to wait a couple of minutes from the time he gets to mic to when he says his first word.  Long enough for him to take off his hat, get a swig out his glass, and put on his sunglasses… so he can see what he’s saying!!

Remember how George Jefferson was walking during the opening credits of “The Jefferson’s”?  Remember how hard he was pimping as he escorted his woman into their new building up to their ‘deluxe penthouse in the sky-i-i’?  That was the first time George had ever walked like that, if you look really close you can see and lip read Weezy’s mouth you can see her saying “why in the fuck are you walking like that”?  He had no idea that was the first time he had ever walked like that.  People called it a ‘pimp’, that was not a ‘pimp walk’ that was George stepping on every Hater in his life.  With each step he crushed another Hater, “take that Archie Bunker”!

People focus on their ‘swag’ now; you cannot have swagga without having Haters.  When you see a 16-year-old kid walking around dressed like a fake member of Young Money, claiming that is their ‘swag’ they do not have it.  When you have Haters you do not need to dress a certain way, you just carry yourself a certain way.  You do not need skinny jeans that would just give the Hater another reason to hate on you.

You eventually realize there is nothing you can do about Haters, but appreciate their hate.  The Hater will talk about how your brand new, fresh off the lot, BMW 650i “ain’t all that”, then turn around and ask you for a ride to the ‘sto’.  A Hater will clown you about your new higher paying job, then send you an email at your work account asking if “y’all hiring”.  The Hater will disrespect your new home, tell you it is too small, that the neighborhood sucks, that they wouldn’t be caught dead over there, but they never miss a cookout and is the last one to leave.  The Hater looks at your watch and say “its a’ight”, then pop up 3 weeks later with a fake TAG Heuer and act like it the most expensive thing in the room.  Don’t get upset and challenge the Hater, you might beat the brakes off the Hater all the Hater will do is get up, wipe the blood from their lips and tell you his little brother and sister hit him harder than that when they were kids.

Let your Hater be your motivation, matter of fact any time you have spent too much time with your Hater go home and put on “Motivation” by Kelly Rowland.  Zone out for a few minutes and let your success show itself to you.

The saying ‘behind every successful man is a great woman’ is only partly true.  It should actually be gender neutral and more to the point “Behind every successful person, is a Hater… still hating on them”.  Keep doing you, you are fine and close to reaching your goals.  We need our Haters, so today let’s celebrate the Hater in our communities.  Call your Hater today and thank them for everything they haven’t done for you.  The only thing The Hater has ever done and will ever do is give birth to some hating ass kids. But if you do not know who The Hater is in your life… Hi Hater!

Happy Black History Month!! Today We Salute… The Thug ‘As A Fashion Statement’

As important as the ‘Jheri Curl’ or the ‘Zipper’ jacket Michael Jackson wore in the “Beat It” video.  Bigger than an Andre 3000 bow tie or Throw-back jersey with some S. Carter Reeboks and dookie gold rope chains, the Thug ‘as a fashion statement’ has lasted longer than the careers and lives of rappers. 20 years ago rappers started dressing like they were going to rob their fans.  NWA came on the scene and even though they looked tough, nobody could remember seeing their local gang member walking down the street in a black Raiders hat with matching $200 Starters jacket.  That changed after an arrest and eventual release from jail of Tupac Shakur.  Tupac emerged from a precinct after making bail, spitting on camera men and cussing… acting like a real G!  From that point on, people wanted to dress like they were ‘real’.

In 1994, a group out of Cleveland, Ohio emerged and changed not only the sound of rap for a brief period, but changed fashion… for a really long time.  When people became fascinated by the sound from the song “Thuggish Ruggish Bone”, they ached to see who these guys were.  When the video “Foe the Love of Money” appeared on BET (where else), people finally saw what a ‘thug’ wore.  Looking like they were in the same clothes they rode the Greyhound bus to Los Angeles wearing, young men began to dress like they couldn’t afford anything else, on purpose.  Bones Thugs and Harmony not only made Eazy E relevant again; they put iron and ironing board manufacturers out of business.  They also saved a lot of money on the wardrobe budget… MO WEED MO WEED MO WEED!

Schools across the country had to issue uniforms to offset a student body looking as if they would shoot you for getting a Master’s in Education.  This did not stop the thug ‘as a fashion’ statement, the thug ‘as a fashion statement’ is intelligent in his ignorance; “you want me to wear a uniform?  I won’t put on the belt”.  The thug ‘as a fashion’ statement never grew out of (or into) their choice of clothes.  They became 35-year-olds with a closet full of oversized jeans, 40 pairs of Nikes but not a pair of slacks or dress shoes for a job interview.  The thug ‘as a fashion statement’ helped society in one major way… it let companies know who not to hire.  The unemployment rate has been tied to trends in the economy, bad decisions by the Federal government, even the greed of Wall Street.  High unemployment rates can also be tied directly to a large number of people in the ‘hiring pool’ that don’t own a tie and think their whitest T-shirt is appropriate interview attire.

The Thug ‘as a fashion statement’ has a hard time making connections.  He questions why the police are always stopping him when walking down the street.  He fails to make the connection that REAL thugs only wear hooded sweatshirts, in 90 degree heat, when they have something to hide… like when they are trying to hide their gun or their face, after they have used their gun.  Police are trained to stop people who look like they are hiding a gun, they learned this in class they took while in the police academy called “Characteristics of Individuals Carrying Guns” which has been retitled “What Thugs Wear”.  Those characteristics happen to be the style of choice for the Thug ‘as a fashion statement’, oversized clothes to hide the bulk of a weapon, pants sagging from the bulk of a weapon, walking slow as if the they are being slowed down from the weight from the bulk of a weapon.  The Thug ‘as a fashion statement’, thinks that looks cool… because the thug ‘as a fashion statement’ is stupid.

Real thugs have learned that when a cop stops you, talk to him.  If you act like you have nothing to hide and not give a police officer a reason to arrest you, the cop probably won’t arrest you… cops do not like writing ‘arrest reports’.  The Thug ‘as a fashion statement’ always runs and he is always caught.  Because he is not wearing a belt, so his pants fall to his ankles, causing him to trip and fall, allowing the fat cop to slowly walk over to him and place him in handcuffs.

Real thugs dress like this out of necessity or lack of money to afford better.  The Thug ‘as a fashion statement’ can actually afford to buy proper and better fitting clothing.  Instead they shop at “Thugs Iz Us” and pay 200 percent more for a style a real thug gets from the Dickies section at Wal-Mart or from his older brother after he grows out of it.

The Thug ‘as a fashion statement’, believes that the world is against them and that everybody hates them because they are constantly being jumped and attacked by large groups of teenagers.  When in reality, the thug ‘as a fashion statement’ fails to realize that real thugs beat up anyone in a ‘thug uniform’ they do not recognize.  It is a defense mechanism for real thugs; they have come to learn that people they do not recognize that look like they are carrying guns are probably carrying guns.

What is most upsetting to grown men, that act like grown men and dress like grown men, about the Thug ‘as a fashion statement’ is not the embarrassment they feel when they see men from their community looking ignorant.  Not even the initial fear that comes across them when they see the Thug ‘as a fashion statement’ until they realize they are not real thugs.  What is most upsetting to grown men, that act like grown men and dress like grown men, is that at least 3 times a week because the Thug ‘as a fashion statement’ is not wearing a belt they look at another man’s ass to realize they have on the same pair of draws!

Because you are not going anywhere, reluctantly we honor you the Thug ‘as a fashion statement’.  Even though the rappers that influenced your style opted for $3,000 suits as soon as they could afford them (have you seen T.I. in a crooked hat and sagging jeans since his third album?  Nope), even though we tried our best to forget about you for some reason you held on until we had to embrace you.  Kind of like Betty White, you out lived everyone in your generation until we had no choice but to give you a Life Time Achievement Award… The Thug ‘as a fashion statement’ the “Betty White” of Black History Month.  Please accept this award, this job application, and this belt.  You can either put it on and wear it at an appropriate level or we can whup your ass with it, the choice is yours.

Happy Black History Month!!! Today We Salute The Homies That Ain’t Here

The Homies that Ain`t Here… Let us take a moment to remember those that are not with us. Pookie, serving 8 to 15 years for assault.  Pookie thought it would be a good idea to go outside and hangout on the corner and sip on a little Henn.  Never a good idea, Pookie had a tendency to get violent when drinking cognac.  While drinking and enjoying his time on the corner and hiding his cup every time a police car rolled past him, Pookie started a conversation with Earl Bivens.  Earl was the neighborhood jokester.  Pookie not in a mood for jokes, reached in his back pocket pulled out the half empty pint bottle of Hennessy and cracked Earl over the head with it.  Exactly when another police car was passing the corner, shocked and extremely drunk Pookie could not gain balance to out run the officers.  Police later found out that Pookie became upset after the victim jokingly asked “what grown ass man over the age of 12 still tells people to call him Pookie”!

J-Dub 11 to 15 years for possession with intent to distribute.  J-Dub is that brother in every hood holds it down for his block, respected, took care of his baby’s mama, a real G.  Respected the Thug Life Code and held it close to his heart (yeah there is actually a Thug Life Code… Pac didn’t make that shit up!  Well, technically he did make that shit up, he wrote it with his ‘pops’, as Mos Def would say Wooowwwww).  Dub was holding it down for his boys, keeping the weight near him so everyone could hustle.  Police raided J-Dub’s apartment asked him to lead them to his connection.  Holding the Code up high, Dub informed the cops “I ain’t no snitch”.  Prepared to deal with the process, knowing he would be respected and his boys would know he ‘held it down’ for them, he was ready for his trial.  The trial started and he was excited to see his entire crew sitting in the court room, proud of his boys for ‘holding him down’ and riding with him.  Until he saw the Prosecution call each one of his boys up to the stand and point at him when asked the question “who did the drugs belong to”?  Now J-Dub spends his days reading letters from people telling him that his baby’s mama is living with one of his ‘friends’ that testified against him.

Rico 45 years Fed time for violating RICO laws.  Not going to give the details behind his arrest, I just find the irony funny. So do the guys on his cell block, they joke with him about it as all 5’3” of him walks into the shower… shivering.

James “Big Scoop” Elkins… Dead.  “Big Scoop” was walking to his car when two dudes approached him pulled out guns and told him to ‘the watch, the wallet, come off with ‘em right now’.  “Big Scoop” was known to say “I ain’t no punk”, when discussing hypothetical situations involving someone getting over on him.  Deciding to prove his motto true, Scoop responded with the words her right before 85 percent of all violent crimes in the Black community… “fuck you nigga”.  In classic unforgiving bad neighborhood fashion “Big Scoop” was introduced to 5 bullets .  Sadly, James “Big Scoop” never carried a lot of money on him or wore expensive jewelry unless going to a special event.  Since he was going to grab something from McDonald’s and visit the family of a friend found dead the night before, he left $600 in his apartment.  After noticing they only were getting 9 bucks and a no name watch… the robbers shot Scoops lifeless body 8 more times out of anger and frustration.

As we salute the Homies that ain’t here we remind ourselves that whatever reason it is you ain’t here we will show you our love, pouring out a little drink when chilling at a backyard barbecue while you avoid an unwanted ass rape upstate… again, put some money on your books, until we get tired of driving all the way out to the county lock-up to do it or had it with buying stamps. Dude, we`ll splash your picture on a t-shirt and mention your name on the 2nd verse of a song. But what we will not do is stop doing the thing that made you `not here no more` we just might not do it at the same spot.  Fellas keep your head up… and a tight grip on the soap, one.


Happy Black History Month!!! Today we salute The Snitch

Happy Black History Month! The Snitch is on every block talking real loud about the code of the streets while wearing a `Stop Snitching’ shirt. He is always telling you who he heard talked to the cops even though he is on speed dial at the precinct.  The Snitch will tell on anybody, it does not have to be a crime involved. 

 The Snitch will tell on a guy if he wants to sleep with his woman, the Snitch may know that he cannot sleep with that woman, but he will be damn’d if that guy keeps tappin’ the ass.  The Snitch does not even have to tell the truth, as long as they do not know what the truth IS, they will create a story that in their mind is the truth.  If the Snitch is jealous does not like that you have on some heels she wished she owned, those heels still have the tags tucked away and you plan on returning them tomorrow, wit’cha broke ass.

 Though the Snitch is a thorn in your side if it were not for them, the police would never arrest anyone in the Black community.  Most people in the Black community are afraid to talk to the police because they are afraid they will be found out by the criminals in their neighborhood and made a target or even worse labled a ‘snitch’.  The Snitch knows that there is no reason to be concerned about the criminals finding out, why?  Because the Snitch is a criminal, though he prefers to be called a ‘confidential informant’ or “CI”, he tells on other criminals so after they are arrested he can start committing the same crimes at the same places the guy he told on was.  Cops also let the Snitch get away with things based on how good his information is, so if the Snitch gives cops information on homicides and he keeps his crimes at or below selling dope, he can usually have a ‘get out jail free’ pass when arrested. 

Many Hip-Hop artists tell their fans they should not ‘snitch’, easy to say now that they do not live in neighborhoods, where someone telling on somebody could save a life… probably theirs (see Tupac).  Some rappers have made songs about ‘not snitching’, refused to coöperate with police conducting investigations, one rapper once said on CNN if he lived next door to a serial killer he would not tell the police… he would just move.  Unfortunately rappers are the biggest snitches ever.  When a rapper has ‘beef’ with another rapper the first thing they do is record a song that tells all the secrets they know about the rapper they do not like.  Can you imaging being snitched on through a post on Youtube?  How does the ‘violated’ rapper deal with being snitched on?  By snitching… if the other guy sent his snitching song to DJ Kay Slay, then the snitched on rapper goes on Funkmaster Flex’ show and dry-snitches.  No lyrics, no beat, no rhymes, no lubrication… sits in the studio talks to Flex in an interview format and tells Flex and the NYC metropolitan area (and eventually the entire Hip-Hop community) about the ‘short comings’ of the other rapper.  Honestly, rappers snitch on a higher level rarely achieved by street-level Snitches.  This level is called ‘keeping it real’ or as it is more commonly known ‘acting like a real bitch’.

 The Snitch’s favorite saying is ‘you can trust me’, usually stated after handing someone a joint while waiting for the unassuming person to tell on themselves.  Snitches do not record conversations or wear wires; no honorable Snitch would dare allow technology to do a job that they can do themselves.  The Snitch does not freely give away information, they could but they want you to work for it.  Think of the Snitch like the woman in your office that walks around the office telling everyone how much she loves the Lord and how she has to be at church every night of the week, but for a trip to Olive Garden on a Saturday night for bread sticks and all you can eat pasta you can have her speaking in tongues until she has to start getting ready for service the next morning.

Today’s snitch is a 3rd generation snitch, came from a snitching ass dad and snitching ass granddad, married a snitching ass mate… got together and made some snitching ass kids.  The Snitch has a picture of the Last Supper in their living room, with Judas sitting in the middle of the table finishing Jesus’ plate.  Crimes in the hood are solved by him for a carryout from Harold’s Chicken Shack on 35th and King Drive.  Happy Black History Month to the Snitch, we know you are someplace celebrating this month by telling people about the late great Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King… and his side ho.

Famous Snitches:

Kobe Bryant (told on 2 teammates, one to the cops the other before the playoffs)

Your little sister (told on you!)

President Jimmy Carter, admitted to lusting for a woman other than his wife.  NEVER EVEN HIT IT!!! (TOLD ON HIMSELF… DAAAAAAAAAAAMN)