The Redskins are just special. I promised myself that if I were going to successfully free myself from the grasp of Cowboys fandom then I'd have to cease and desist all cracks on the Redskins, but they are making it too damn tempting.
Last week was torture for me. I wanted to clown them on Facebook but I tried to hold true to my word. Even when they screwed up the snap at the end I kept my mouth shut. Today though...I can't contain myself. They benched Mcnabb. Not only benched, they made him third string.
Do you really demote a guy whose face is on every bus stop? I'm not saying he lived up to the hype. Hell no he didn't, but look at what he was working with. Every time a receiver screwed up or the defense phoned it in from the sidelines, he got up on that podium after the game and (homeless beard and all) took ownership like a team player should. The Redskins obviously don't believe in reciprocity. They threw his ass under the bus. Wait, he's 3rd string. They threw his ass under a bus and then blew the joint up.
I guess he'll be closing his Capital One Bank account and moving to Minnesota next year...too bad because "they're everywhere."
Friday, December 17, 2010
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Memory Lane
Remember this?
Here's something that's always bothered me about this video...what the hell is in that box? It can't be weed because--let's be honest--weed was the least of anyone's concerns in the 80's. It could be coke, but I think I see a lighter in there. I know damn well that it isn't crack off of the sheer size of the box alone. Can you imagine a crackhead letting that much crack just sit? That only leaves heroin but...damn! I mean what kind of family has heroin addicts at both the parenting and child level? That's just sad.
Meanwhile, I'm still feeling for this brother:
That was by far the most realistic response to all of those corny PSAs. The little dude summed it up with, "they sure aren't afraid of me...and they don't take 'no' for an answer."
Here's something that's always bothered me about this video...what the hell is in that box? It can't be weed because--let's be honest--weed was the least of anyone's concerns in the 80's. It could be coke, but I think I see a lighter in there. I know damn well that it isn't crack off of the sheer size of the box alone. Can you imagine a crackhead letting that much crack just sit? That only leaves heroin but...damn! I mean what kind of family has heroin addicts at both the parenting and child level? That's just sad.
Meanwhile, I'm still feeling for this brother:
That was by far the most realistic response to all of those corny PSAs. The little dude summed it up with, "they sure aren't afraid of me...and they don't take 'no' for an answer."
Monday, December 13, 2010
Dear Facebook
Facebook,
Girl I love you. I mean, we been together since '05. That's gotta count for something. I left Blackplanet for you, but I mean...damn, stop sweating me. Nobody likes desperation. I like that you growing and doing your own thing, but let me be me. Everytime I turn around you changing your makeup. It's like everytime I log on, you look different.
Why you always worried about who I'm friends with? You say it's just "friend finder" and that you're trying to be helpful, but on the real...you don't need to know everything I do. Now you wanna know where the hell I'm going. "Places?" What kinda tabs are you trying to keep on me.
When I opt out of your "Places" you still manage to just pop the fuck up. How is it that you're supposed to be in Facebookland yet you manage to pop up and find me when I'm on CNN and Yelp? You call yourself telling me what stories my friends read, but how do you even know that I'm on CNN in the first place?
Look, our time together is our time together and our time apart is our time apart. Why can't you be more like Google? That's my bottom chick right there. She aint changed in like ten years. I don't get a bunch of ads, suggestions or nothing. She let's me be me. When I need her, I know where to find her. Simple, plain-jane and always available.
I'm not saying we're over. I just need you to understand that I don't like these things that you're doing.
Girl I love you. I mean, we been together since '05. That's gotta count for something. I left Blackplanet for you, but I mean...damn, stop sweating me. Nobody likes desperation. I like that you growing and doing your own thing, but let me be me. Everytime I turn around you changing your makeup. It's like everytime I log on, you look different.
Why you always worried about who I'm friends with? You say it's just "friend finder" and that you're trying to be helpful, but on the real...you don't need to know everything I do. Now you wanna know where the hell I'm going. "Places?" What kinda tabs are you trying to keep on me.
When I opt out of your "Places" you still manage to just pop the fuck up. How is it that you're supposed to be in Facebookland yet you manage to pop up and find me when I'm on CNN and Yelp? You call yourself telling me what stories my friends read, but how do you even know that I'm on CNN in the first place?
Look, our time together is our time together and our time apart is our time apart. Why can't you be more like Google? That's my bottom chick right there. She aint changed in like ten years. I don't get a bunch of ads, suggestions or nothing. She let's me be me. When I need her, I know where to find her. Simple, plain-jane and always available.
I'm not saying we're over. I just need you to understand that I don't like these things that you're doing.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
The Santa Conspiracy
I'm here to tell niggas/ it ain't all swell nigga./ There's heaven/ then there's hell nigga. (Jay-Z)
Tis the season to be jolly, but there are a lot of pissed off people out there and it all starts with the whole Santa Claus thing. Some kids will be laying anxiously in bed hoping to nod off so that Santa can come. Others will have their worlds rocked when they accidentally discover that there is no Santa and that their parents are goddamn liars. I was slow as hell to figure that one out, but through no fault of my own: My parents went to college to study bullshittery and with two Masters and a Doctorate between the two of them, I couldn't compete.
My family was so elaborate with their lies, that it just had to be true. I used to mail Santa Claus letters all the time, but after finding her whole book of stamps missing, my grandmother told me that it wasn't necessary to use stamps because the letters traveled through elf magic. She told me that Santa Claus had the newer elves working down at the main post office and that they "just know" which letters are for Santa and that they have a plane that they fly from the post office back to the North Pole each night.
Bullshit number one.
Christmas was a holiday for my mother in more ways than one. It was the one time of the year that she could leave the house without me begging to tag along by saying just one thing: I'm going to see Santa Claus. Now it didn't matter how many times she said that, I always fell for it.
Me: I thought you saw him last weekend?
Her: He sent me a fax at work telling me to come back through this weekend because he had some questions about your list. Last weekend I went because he lost your list and needed another copy. I'd take you, but he can't reveal himself to children or else you'll be banned from ever getting toys again.
Me: Oh, well tell him I said hi!
I remember having a Christmas breakfast at school back in the first grade. The school went all out and even hired a guy to play Santa. Near the end, I guess the food choked him up or something because I remember him coughing a lot and Mrs Claus handing him a can of Coca-Cola. Why did this negro pull the beard off in front of all the kids to drink the soda, and then looked up embarrassed when Mrs Claus yelled, Charles, the kids!
I went home and told my grandmother what happened and instead of coming clean, she tells me that there is no such thing as a Black Santa Claus. The guy I saw was actually just a man that works for Santa Claus part time. The way she explained it, Santa can't be at every mall, so he hires people to represent him while he's back overseeing the toy making process.
Looking back, I appreciate them keeping the ruse going for so long. Growing up in DC in the 1980's made all of us poor Black kids grow up fast. Suburban kids had the luxury of remaining ignorant to the harsh realities of the world, we didn't. As early as kindergarten, our teachers were calling us all over on the playground to the spot where someone found bullet casings, syringes, crack vials, etc and teaching us what they were and what to (not) do if we found one. Going through extra effort to keep Santa Claus and the magic of Christmas real was a special gift that allowed me to just be a kid for a few extra years. For that, I thank them.
Tis the season to be jolly, but there are a lot of pissed off people out there and it all starts with the whole Santa Claus thing. Some kids will be laying anxiously in bed hoping to nod off so that Santa can come. Others will have their worlds rocked when they accidentally discover that there is no Santa and that their parents are goddamn liars. I was slow as hell to figure that one out, but through no fault of my own: My parents went to college to study bullshittery and with two Masters and a Doctorate between the two of them, I couldn't compete.
My family was so elaborate with their lies, that it just had to be true. I used to mail Santa Claus letters all the time, but after finding her whole book of stamps missing, my grandmother told me that it wasn't necessary to use stamps because the letters traveled through elf magic. She told me that Santa Claus had the newer elves working down at the main post office and that they "just know" which letters are for Santa and that they have a plane that they fly from the post office back to the North Pole each night.
Bullshit number one.
Christmas was a holiday for my mother in more ways than one. It was the one time of the year that she could leave the house without me begging to tag along by saying just one thing: I'm going to see Santa Claus. Now it didn't matter how many times she said that, I always fell for it.
Me: I thought you saw him last weekend?
Her: He sent me a fax at work telling me to come back through this weekend because he had some questions about your list. Last weekend I went because he lost your list and needed another copy. I'd take you, but he can't reveal himself to children or else you'll be banned from ever getting toys again.
Me: Oh, well tell him I said hi!
I remember having a Christmas breakfast at school back in the first grade. The school went all out and even hired a guy to play Santa. Near the end, I guess the food choked him up or something because I remember him coughing a lot and Mrs Claus handing him a can of Coca-Cola. Why did this negro pull the beard off in front of all the kids to drink the soda, and then looked up embarrassed when Mrs Claus yelled, Charles, the kids!
I went home and told my grandmother what happened and instead of coming clean, she tells me that there is no such thing as a Black Santa Claus. The guy I saw was actually just a man that works for Santa Claus part time. The way she explained it, Santa can't be at every mall, so he hires people to represent him while he's back overseeing the toy making process.
Looking back, I appreciate them keeping the ruse going for so long. Growing up in DC in the 1980's made all of us poor Black kids grow up fast. Suburban kids had the luxury of remaining ignorant to the harsh realities of the world, we didn't. As early as kindergarten, our teachers were calling us all over on the playground to the spot where someone found bullet casings, syringes, crack vials, etc and teaching us what they were and what to (not) do if we found one. Going through extra effort to keep Santa Claus and the magic of Christmas real was a special gift that allowed me to just be a kid for a few extra years. For that, I thank them.
Friday, December 3, 2010
Black Man With Baby=Ambassador For Peace
I would like to take this moment to thank every no good nigga out there who doesn't take care of his kids. I feel bad for your kids because they're missing out on getting to know you, but from the bottom of my heart, I THANK YOU for being you. If not for you, I would not get so much attention and props for doing something I actually want to do.
I've already written about how I have to carry an umbrella around at all times for the random women that fall out of the sky. I'm a faithful and loving husband, but if my wife eveeeeeer decides she wants to leave...I'm keeping the baby. I have Beyonce and Jada Pinkett clones approaching me 24/7 just to see the baby. I love my wife, but this baby is my AAA. If the marriage breaks down, I can just phone in some help.
So anyway, I'm at the DMV today. It usually takes 45 minutes to an hour to get help. I was in and out in 5 minutes. First the security guard let me to the front of the line since I had a baby. Then the lady at the desk hooked me up with the "next in line" ticket. With at least 40 people in front of me, I was called in the first two minutes.
The girl at the desk talked my baby for about five minutes, then called her coworker over to the desk to look at the baby and the coworker just happened to be the one to make an exception for my issue. "Since you got that cute baby with you and you taking care of your responsibilities, Imma hook you up."
So to every no good dude out there...THANK YOU. Keep up the good work. Imma see if I can work this con over at Equifax or Transunion. "I have a baby...can I get 100 points on my credit?
I've already written about how I have to carry an umbrella around at all times for the random women that fall out of the sky. I'm a faithful and loving husband, but if my wife eveeeeeer decides she wants to leave...I'm keeping the baby. I have Beyonce and Jada Pinkett clones approaching me 24/7 just to see the baby. I love my wife, but this baby is my AAA. If the marriage breaks down, I can just phone in some help.
So anyway, I'm at the DMV today. It usually takes 45 minutes to an hour to get help. I was in and out in 5 minutes. First the security guard let me to the front of the line since I had a baby. Then the lady at the desk hooked me up with the "next in line" ticket. With at least 40 people in front of me, I was called in the first two minutes.
The girl at the desk talked my baby for about five minutes, then called her coworker over to the desk to look at the baby and the coworker just happened to be the one to make an exception for my issue. "Since you got that cute baby with you and you taking care of your responsibilities, Imma hook you up."
So to every no good dude out there...THANK YOU. Keep up the good work. Imma see if I can work this con over at Equifax or Transunion. "I have a baby...can I get 100 points on my credit?
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Santa Makes Rudolph's Naughty List
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Santa Makes Rudolph's Naughty List
[caption id="attachment_361" align="aligncenter" width="370" caption="Santa Makes Rudolph's Naughty List"]
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