The Fell Clutch of Circumstance

Sisters Get Respect, Bitches Get What They Deserve

2007-04-12T17:04:00.000-04:00

Sisters work hard, bitches work your nerves
Sisters hold you down, bitches hold you up
Sisters help you progress, bitches will slow you up
Sisters cook up a meal, play their role with the kids
Bitches in street with their nose in your biz
Sisters tell the truth, bitches tell lies
Sisters drive cars, bitches wanna ride
Sisters give-up the ass, bitches give-up the ass
Sisters do it slow, bitches do it fast

You know- there is something that needs to be said: Niggas is stupid. “And I don’t mean nigga in no disrespectful way. I mean as a generic term for black people.” (c) 2005 Riley Escobar.

We, and I use the collective “we” as in men and women who also happen to be niggas, fall for the okie doke Every.Fucking.Time. And my Grandmom (R.I.P) said, “Any nigga that falls for the okie doke every time is stupid.” Yet every time there is an okie doke – niggas in line to fall for it. Shit, maybe we are mentally inferior. Would explain much.

It all started with Michael Richards-aka Kramer- aka KKKramer (c) 2007 Illseed. Mike went off on a couple of niggas and then- when he was confronted on his shit – said that he was influenced by black people’s cavalier use of the word, oh, and hip-hop. So, what did Reverend Al’nem [ (c) Hostess Sometime in like 2006] do? Move to ban the use of the word nigga by niggas!

Then, last week, Don Imus called the Rutgers Women’s Basketball Team “nappy headed hoes.”(c) Don Imus 2007. He also mentioned that the game between Rutgers and Tennessee (a team of obviously prettier women) looked like “the Jiggaboos vs. the Wannabes” dance number in Do the Right Thing. Putting aside the fact that the dance number was in School Daze, it was a pretty funny comment in all honesty. Whatever. Folks became incensed and Imus got fired from MSNBC. ‘Cept Imus pulled a KKKramer on us. See, he blamed – albeit indirectly, because the direct approach didn’t work for KKKramer – hip-hop too.

His point of view was, “Well, rappers call bitches ‘hoes,’ so I figured it was okay, cause I didn’t mean hoes in no disrespectful way, but as a general term for ...um...nigga bitches.”

And we bought that bullshit hook-line-and sinker.

The insanity is that, in a weird way, by buying this line of bullshit, we effectively let the Imus’ of the world off of the hook.

To buy Imus’ “hip-hop made me do it” is like blaming niggas for Michael Richards calling niggas, "niggas." Wait, that is exactly what happened, isn't it?

It is illogical and impractical to allow someone the argument that "you can't be mad if I insult your family, because YOU insult your family." White-brown-yellow-red- and blue (smurfs?) people around the globe understand that I may say things about my brother/father/mother/and yes sister that no one else may. Period. Life is just unfair that way.

But somehow, when one of life's inequalities affects a white person (Don Imus, Michael Richards) all they need do is point out that it isn't fair. And all us stupid niggas act accordingly.

The rule was: The use of the terms ‘nigga’, ‘nappy’, ‘nappy nigga’, ‘nappy hoe’, ‘nigga hoe’, ‘nigga naps’, and any variation of thereof by a white person is a violation. Your usage of these terms could (should) result in an ass-whuppin. Just like our driving through certain communities did (does) routinely result in an ass-whuppin.

Life just ain’t fair sometimes.

(I like the rules. Hell, I’d only add that “Brother, Brotha, Sister and Sistah” should also get your ass kicked.)

So excuse me if I’ve no interest in altering the things that go on in MY house, because you aren’t allowed to insult me with them.

Next- Jennifer Hudson

Byron Crawford wrote an amazing piece over a XXLMAG.com that points out more of the subtle fuckery that niggas fall for.

Basically, his conclusion – which is correct – is that Jennifer Hudson is today’s Aunt Jemima.

Consider: When white America speaks highly of a bbw (big beautiful women (c) Porn sites that I don’t frequent.) she is almost ALWAYS a black woman. There are bbw's of all colors, races, and ethnicities- but the bbw poster girl is the black woman. Mo’Nique, Queen Latifah, Countess Vaughn and...much to my utter and complete dismay and disappointment, Raven Simone all come to mind.

Consider also: Because the white media is condescending toward bbw's and the very idea of them, it is then condesending to US as black people to be the focus – the very image --of this practice. If it is true that white media feeds white girls unhealthy stereotypes on body image, then by this practice they are similarly feeding US an equally unhealthy – if diametrically opposed – standard of body image. (Theoretical Tangent: If the image of black beauty that the black man is also fed by the media is the bbw, how does that effect him?)

A blogger by the name of Clay Cane posted the Vogue covers of the other black women who made it... take a look. Tell me where J-Hud fits in? White America loves a mammy.

There is this idea that black femininity is so utterly different from white femininity – and therefore mainstream femininity – that black women end up non-women in the eyes of mainstream society.

See – and right here is where I go and get intellectual, note the lack of profanities and the polysyllabic words – the black woman in the mainstream is a big, fat, take no prisoners, kind as she can be to white children-but will beat her cheating black man’s ass- type of girl. She will curse you out and break you down if you ‘disrespect’ her. She has sex hard and fast, and she is more masculine in her deeds, than the men of her race.

But she ain’t pretty. She can’t be pretty. Hell, she ain’t even a woman. She’s just a mammy.

I got nothing against Jennifer Hudson (besides the fact that, having seen Dreamgirls, I don’t know how she won an award for acting like a big fat black girl who can sing. She is – after all – a big fat black girl who can sing. You don’t get an award for playing yourself. And Beyonce – who only had 10 lines – could not have seriously expected a nomination for best actress for saying nothing, but this is all a new improved Sonny “I Invented the Digression” Redd digression (c) 2005 Sonnyredd. ) but she should not have made the cover of Vogue. Beauty comes in all shapes- sizes- and colors, but beauty is still beauty. Putting Jennifer Hudson on the cover is like putting that broad from Misery on the cover (Kathy Bates). I mean let’s not make cover girls out of girls who should cover up, either. Say what you want about J-Hud, she ain’t no Beyonce, Nia Long, Tyral Hicks, Naomi Campbell, *sigh* Raven Simone (minus 45-55 lbs) or Lauren Hill.

I mention these women because these women display an array of black beauty. They have different complexions, different hair, and different body type – but are all beautiful black women. So when the white mainstream press puts one of us on the cover of Vogue – at the behest of a nigga I might add – and she is not what anyone would call a classic beauty – I gotta remain skeptical.

And I can’t be surprised if someone else thinks all we got is “nappy headed hoes.”

"Lovey Smith and I..."

2007-02-04T22:27:00.000-05:00

"Not only the first African American -- but Christian coaches showing that you can win doing it the Lord's way."

If you weren't proud to be Black tonight, then you never will be. We truly are the shining star of the diaspora. Black athletics, artistry, leadership and FAITH were all on display this evening. And in this age of "embarrasing negroes" we should all celebrate those of us who do things well AND who do things RIGHT.

Thank you Coach Dungy, for reminding us of our greatness.

That's Real, Mixed Feelings Like A Mulatto

2007-01-28T16:08:00.000-05:00

Thug thought he was O.G. Bobby Johnson
I played him like Benny Blanco,
Mano a mano
You ain't ready...

As the title suggests, I am struggling with some mixed feelings lately, and apparently I’m not alone. Okay, so last we met, I said something about Black America’s “golden (brown) boy” Barack Obama’s not being “ethnically black”. If you missed it, I said it here. I think that it is important that I elaborate, lest I be accused of “haterism” – which for the uninitiated is a disease whose symptoms in men include uncontrolled outbursts of “he’s wack!” whenever Puffy’s image appears, and in women is marked by the thought “I can’t stand her” whenever she is in a room with another woman.

The background on Obama – which you will hear much more of as the 2008 primaries approach – is as follows (And appears here courtesy of wikipedia . Wikipedia – when you absolutely positively have to win a bet about some useless piece of trivia. Serving geeks and nerds worldwide.):

Barack Obama was born in Honolulu, Hawaii to Barack Hussein Obama, Sr. [of Kenya] ... and Ann Dunham (born in Wichita, Kansas). ...

When Obama was two years old, his parents separated and later divorced; his father went to Harvard to pursue Ph.D. studies, eventually returning to Kenya. ... His mother married an Indonesian foreign student, Lolo Soetoro, with whom she had one daughter. The family moved to Jakarta where Obama attended Catholic school and public school from ages 6 to 10. ... He then returned to Hawaii to live with his maternal grandparents. ... He was enrolled in the fifth grade at Punahou School, a large, private college preparatory school in Honolulu, which he attended through 12th grade, graduating in 1979. ...

Obama describes his experiences growing up in his mother's white, middle class family. His knowledge about his absent black Kenyan father came mainly through family stories and photographs. Of his early childhood, Obama wrote: "That my father looked nothing like the people around me — that he was black as pitch, my mother white as milk — barely registered in my mind." ... As a young adult, he struggled to reconcile social perceptions of his multiracial heritage. Obama writes about using marijuana and cocaine during his teenage years to "push questions of who I was out of my mind."...

After high school, Obama studied for two years at Occidental College in California and then transferred to Columbia University ...

Obama entered Harvard Law School in 1988. In February 1990, he gained national recognition for becoming the first African American to be elected president of the Harvard Law Review. ... On returning to Chicago, Obama directed a voter registration drive, then worked for the civil rights law firm Miner, Barnhill & Galland, and taught constitutional law at the University of Chicago Law School from 1993 until his election to the U.S. Senate in 2004.

Now let’s look at that background more closely – he was raised in Indonesia and Hawaii in a white household, attending exclusive prep schools until college, where he MAY have gained some exposure to Black culture while attending Colombia University in NYC (where I will be going this week for a deposition. Pity me, because it is cold as hell up there. Sonny “I live in the tropics for a reason”Redd.) After Colombia, Obama moved to Chicago where he did some socially conscious work for poor folk – whom we must assume to be Black, cause everybody knows negroes are the only poor folk in America – and then he attended Harvard Law School – a “hotbed” of black awareness.

I will say this – for the record I have no real reason to indict the man as not authentically Black. As we all know, if you would have had to sit in the back of the bus in 50’s Birmingham, you’re Black. But I do rightfully question his knowledge of Black culture. And I am not talking about knowing what the 3rd day of Kwanzaa is, or who Garret Morgan was. I am talking about an understanding of Juneteenth, and why one should consume black eye peas (only whitefolks and Will.I.Am refer to them as black “eyed” peas) on January first.

And by questioning his connection to Black American culture, I similarly have to question his understanding of the “black experience”. Moreover, so does his wife. “We tease,” his wife, Michelle, said. “He had this mixed-up, international childhood, while I was Chicago all the way. ...” (Source ) And he also sent letters out in favor of Robert Byrd’s re-election. The same Robert Byrd who – along with Strom “I likes big butts”Thurmond – filibustered the Civil Rights Act. So there are things he just don’t get.

In all fairness, if you look at his issues, he has made helping the poor his priority, and he has publicly supported affirmative action – though that has been somewhat surpressed of late – so he says and does all of the right things. And in the end, I will vote for him of Hillary, BECAUSE he is black. (and really, in the end, THAT is all that matters. Condi, Barack, or “Leroy Jenkins!” I’m down with the brown.)

But it is an inescapable fact that while he married into a black family, and didn’t enjoy being black in New York (ugh, I am SO not looking forward to this trip – but I do have a pretty nice suite in Manhattan, and some fun planned) he himself is still on the outside looking in on some things.

Perhaps it is fitting to have the Obama discussion here and now, if only because the Black community needs to start defining itself ethnically as a culture, and not solely as a function of melanin deposits in one’s skin. Deciding that one is “black” simply because whitefolk can call you ‘nigger’ is antiquated and allows someone else to define ourselves.

Then again, Byron Crawford already pointed out that Barack smokes Kools, so maybe he is indeed black.

You Brought To The Game ...

2007-01-22T12:48:00.000-05:00

All the scores
the adrenaline rush.

The next coach to win a Superbowl will be a black man. That is an amazing thing to say. The next coach to win a Superbowl – and winning Superbowls is all coaches are evaluated on – will be a black man!

Now then, I wonder what impact it will have on the collective black psyche. I mean, lets look at it – the coach of the Chicago Bears, Lovie Smith went from a 5-11 record 2 years ago to the Superbowl. And he did it without a quarterback – a big deal since the greatest coach of all time, Joe Gibbs, won 3 Superbowls with 3 no-name quarterbacks (Doug Williams, Mark Ripien, and Joe Theisman) and Brian Billick won with Trent Dilfer. So this is a monumental occurrence.

And if you are smart, you’ll root for the Bears – or Peyton Manning to have a horrible game – because if the Colts offense overpowers the Bears defense, that’ll be Peyton Manning’s victory and not Tony Dungy’s.

In other news, Hillary and Obama are both running for President, and John Edwards is “as happy as a sissy in boy’s town” (No Lloyd). So let me get this straight, someone is gassing Barack Obama to run against Hillary – knowing that the Clintons play dirty, and making sure that Edwards or *gasp!* Gore have a cakewalk to the Whitehouse? Damn.

Folks just love to use us, huh.

As far as Barack goes, I’m just not totally sold. I really don’t know anything about what he stands AGAINST. See politicians are interchangeable when it comes to what they stand for – a healthy economy, schools, anti-crime – all those things are easy. A man is measured by what he opposes, and I haven’t heard much of that. He did co-sponsor immigration legislation with McCain, so he may be a good guy yet. I just don’t know.

I will confide that I am bothered by the implications of his Presidential bid for election. He is not an ethnic black American. He certainly is a racial one, no question – but not an ethnic one, and I have to question white America’s rush to embrace a man who is not a descendant of slaves.

Another concern is that he is being propped WAY too high, given his lack of having led ANYTHING aside from the Harvard Law Review before. Things like this are sort of invitations for failure. Hey, govern Illinois for a term and then make the run. Then again, the optimist in me figures that it is a set up to allow my man in Massachusetts to make a serious bid. Now that would be good shit.

Anyhow, enjoy the Superbowl. It’s a win-win for Black America, so long as Peyton has a sucky game.

From The Beginning, See We Never Seen The Ending

2007-01-06T12:19:00.000-05:00

Running up in
All the women, all the linen, all the jewels, huh
We sported Pelle’s, gold, diamonds and Pirelli's
Sports cars, the good life'll give you a belly but that's cool

Jay-Z

In My Lifetime

In my lifetime, three women have shaped me into the man I am today.

One, Aunt M, instilled in me an understanding of right and wrong. And when I say right and wrong I mean moral, honest, true righteousness that guides my actions every waking minute. To some I may be mean, to others a jerk or an ass, but in the end I have the unwavering knowledge that there is “right” and there is “wrong” and one shouldn’t continence wrong. She also told me that I don’t know everything. She was right. I don’t. That’s why I keep reading and learning. Aunt M died August 6, 2002.

My mother gave me my heart -- that part of me that seeks understanding of someone else’s position, not to disprove it, but to understand it. You all owe my Mother a debt of thanks, for I am sure, without the angel that she is, I would likely be leading the other side’s army at Megiddo. Gleefully. She also serves to remind me to keep nourishing my inner child. Fortunately for you all, she is still with us, for when she goes, I’ll see youse all at Megiddo.

The third woman who has shaped my life is my Grandmother. From her, I learned that every single day can – and moreover should – be a party. Whenever I go out, I can always describe the night I had with “I had a ball.” Because I always have a ball. Because she always had a ball. Grandmom died January 5, 2007. She was coming home from a dinner consisting of good friends, laughter, martinis, lobster and Irish coffee. She had had a ball.

Tonight I will go out. I will raise a martini glass to my Grandmom, who I know will be drinking martinis with the saints and the angels, and I will toast a life well lived.

And I guaran-damn-tee you, I’ll have a ball.

Time To Separate The Pros From The Kons

2007-01-05T12:00:00.000-05:00

The platinum from the bronze
That butter soft [ish] from that leather on the Fonz
A S1 DIAMOND from an I class STONE

Happy Founder’s Day to all of my brothers in Phi Nu Pi!

For those who don’t know what that means; the men below define it. Get a Klue.

Komplete

Komedic

Kommanding

Kosmic

Kompassionate

Kompetetive

Kapitalistic

Kontemplative

Kharismatic

Kappa!

I Don’t Know What Life Will Be

2006-11-23T03:07:00.000-05:00

In H-I-P
H-O-P
With out the boy
H-O-V
Not only NYC
[He’s] hip-hop’s savior?
So after this flow, [we] might owe [him] a favor
When Kingdom Come
You ready?

As much as I hate to admit it, I am human (though I am gifted with super-human intelligence. Sonny“ego-tastical”Redd). As such, I am burdened with many – if not most human frailties. (If you prick Redd, does he not bleed? If you wrong Redd, does he not revenge? [Yeah, I peep you out there. I’m gonna give you your rope. You’ll do the rest, cause you can’t possibly help yourself.] And this? This is a “Venetian Merchant” digression! I’m back bitches! Hahaha!). Not the least of which is that human emotion of blind hope. Ah, “hope,” the opiate of the dim-witted.

See, just Tuesday, I sat here and penned (or typed) what should probably be taken as a literary primer on Jay’s Kingdom Come. I’ll admit it was lazily done – I mean a “blue pill” link? Who does that? So, sue me. It was exuberance. Shit, 10 years ago the greatest hip-hop album of all time was released. Who can blame ME for being excited that the “Big Homey” has returned? I mean, I’m a freaking disciple after all. The man’s portrait hangs on my wall (No homo.). Point is, to say I am a fan is an understatement.

And so it goes that the fan of the emcee receives an album based – very closely – on a work of fiction that said fan also adores. The saying “happier than Mark Foley in the boys’ dormitory” come to mind, but I digress. So excited was I at the possible synergy created by merging of my two favorite art forms – Hip-Hop and sequential art (comic books to the uninitiated) that I posted the connection for all – without taking time to really evaluate the connection. My bad yo. It was sloppy of me. I’ll correct it now. Before I do so, buy this album – it is fire and hip-hop needs it.

Okay, so let me set the stage. Because most of you haven’t picked up a comic book since the 5th grade, and only then because it had some child friendly hook, like “Spider-Man says, ‘don’t talk to strangers...’” I gotta give you the short version. Remember the “Super-Friends” – there was Wonder Woman, Batman, Robin, Superman, Aquaman and the Green Lantern (along with the Wonder Twins, but they were waayyy ghey), all together in the Hall of Justice, saving the world every Saturday (if you are 30 plus), or Monday through Friday (under 26-30), or even real late at night on Cartoon Network (20-25).

Well, Kingdom Come takes that innocent, all good-all the time, world, and supposes that the times have changed. The Joker, one of Batman’s arch-enemies, blows up the Daily Planet and kills hundreds, including Lois Lane (yes, Superman’s girlfriend.) Superman goes off, apprehends the Joker, and brings him in for trial. The Joker, in pure OJ fashion, gets off – he was found not guilty by reason of insanity. Ah, the wheels of justice. When the Joker leaves the courtroom, he is murdered by a new hero, Magog, in classic judge-jury-executioner fashion , right in front of Superman. Magog is arrested, and tried for the murder of the Joker. Superman testifies against him – Supes (that’s what his friends call him) is righteously indignant at the brazen murder. The jury, in classic American fashion, decides that offing the Joker wasn’t a bad thing and lets Magog walk. Superman, incredulous, retires – thinking that the times have changed, and the world wants its heroes a little more blood thirsty (and murderous) than he can stomach.

Stop. See the parallel? Jay said he was “unenthused” by hip-hop when he retired. He said that lyricism was replaced by a hot beat and a catchy hook. (I gotta admit a little bit, I was sick of rap...The game’s fucked up/niggas beats is bangin’/nigga your hook did it/your lyrics didn’t/your gangsta look did it ... forget this rap shit, I need a new hustle) His criticisms were as true then as they are today, but the story doesn’t end.

Predictably, most heroes – remember, this is a world of superheroes – adopted the more violent tactics. Bystanders and villains alike were dispatched without mercy in the new world. The world in fact didn’t become safer, it became more dangerous. Then a tragedy happens. A hero, whose powers were nuclear in nature, is killed, his body becoming a nuclear bomb, and half of Kansas is wiped out.

In the wake of this tragedy, Wonder Woman implores Superman to return – to restore order to the world. Superman, refuses. Later, a group of heroes and villains get into it on the Golden Gate bridge during rush hour, endangering hundreds of bystanders. And guess who saves the day? An un-retired Superman. The citizens of the world rejoice.

Freeze. That is where we are today. Superman has returned. Hip-hop is saved. Or is it? Kingdom Come, the graphic novel, hasn’t even begun up to this point. But here is where I assumed – and Jay assumed – the story of Kingdom Come the album would end. Superman is back, and the world is saved. But, as Lee Corso would say, “Not so fast, my friend.”

Returning to the story, Superman, the most powerful superhero, offers all costumed heroes a choice, one I imagine George Bush cribbed in the wake of 9/11 – either you’re part of the solution or you’re part of the problem. In other words, he did the classic Aaron Jones/JBM move (you’d be amazed at how many folks come here looking for JBM info...) he told them “get down or lay down.” Quite gully for Superman, I must admit. The non-compliant heroes were interned in a camp, and inundated with PSA’s about their duty to defend the weak.

Well, you can imagine how well that went over, and if you can’t, I’ll tell ya – not well at all. A riot ensued at Superman’s camp. Regular humans, scared to death of another Kansas incident, sent 3 nuclear weapons to just kill all the damn heroes – shock and awe style. Shazam explodes one of the bombs (I’d explain the who-what where-why-and how, but I’ve been typing for a minute and I have a point to make damn it.) and most of the heroes die.

Now Superman is mad at the humans for trying to kill everyone, but he is calmed down and he agrees to take a less active role in the affairs of man. The end.

But let’s apply this allegorical album to the literary work it seeks to homage, shall we? What does the return of Hov mean to Hip-Hop, and lets face it, black America as a whole? Hova, from day one, made “buppie”[black urban professional] music. That’s right, I said it. As much as he wanted to reach the bottom tenth, it is his music’s resonance with the talented tenth that is its true strength. Jay made music that made you want to better yourself. You listen to Reasonable Doubt, you want to go get money – real money. You listen to All Eyez On Me, you want to snatch a purse, smack a bitch, and cry on the phone to your Momma. Listen to Doggy Style, you just want to get weeded. Listen to Talib, you want to hate whitey, and listen to Kanye, you wanna drop out of college and get some new airs so you can say, “You ain’t up on this.” But with Hov, you wanted to pop a bottle (“I thought dude’s remark was rude, okay” Classic!) and have good credit to boot. Hov made – no makes – music for Harlem, it is just Striver’s Row Harlem, and not 145th and St. Nick Harlem (Sonny “ yeah I ran in NYC in my time, but them broads can’t keep their hair done for shit”Redd). It is that niche that he serves.

And by speaking to that niche, he gets the bottom tenth because, contrary to popular belief, they’re watching you talented tenth-ers closely. Ain’t no Chanel shops in the hood. He bridged a gap in the black community, between the haves and the have-nots. But when he left, we were left with “Whoop Dat Trick”, and while it is a catchy hook, the talented-tenth really couldn’t pump it through the speakers in the cubicle, if only because one day we hope to get an office. Fiddy is Fiddy, but he ain’t too office friendly.

But Fiddy became the way of things (“I’m afraid of the future/y’all respect the one that got shot/I respect the shooter.” Fire!), and from there we got Lil’ Jon, Dem Franchise Boyz, and “insert-the-new-hotness-here.” So, Hov became an executive. And he deserves to shoulder the blame for Young Jeezy and Rick Ross. Again, neither can offer much in the way of “cubicle friendly” tunes. But he tried to bring back Hip-Hop – he signed the Roots, who will be performing long after my children are parents – and of course, Nas.

But he also returned -- rather than play the kingmaker, he snatched the crown. And now, it is me that is afraid for the future – for 2 reasons. First, hip-hop is a living, breathing, entity. It has to grow, even if I – at 33 – don’t want it to. Sure, 30 is the new 20 (Fire! Young enough to buy the right car/Old enough not to put rims on it! 22’s are so yesterday!), but if we don’t let this thing do what it’s gonna do, then it will be us, in 10 years, sitting at the Showboat in AC to see Fat Joe and Busta rapping in tuxes for $21.95 (including dinner) 3 shows nightly, talking about “I remember when...”. Hip-hop has to go where it is going to go, if it is going to evolve and grow.

Secondly, Hov’s return can only spell doom for the “second coming.” If the god-emcee has returned, the next generation Hov can’t emerge. Remember 1993-1994? At the end of 1992, there was a void. NWA’s strangle hold on Hip-Hop crumbled – largely under its own weight with internal squabbles destroying the group – and left an opening that was filled by Tribe, the Wu, some kid from Queensbridge, and some fat dude from Brooklyn. Voids must be filled.

But Jay is the ultimate filler (no Lance Bass). His presence I fear, will actually stunt the development of more “buppie rap”, if only because who the hell is going to play in his sandbox? Shit, the niggas stupid enough to do it – Game, Jim Jones – play in the dirty side, without even a nod to the “I’m not afraid of dyin’/I’m afraid of not tryin’” part of the box. I mean yeah, we wanna hear about poppin’ bottles and bangin’ models, but we also need the “I will prepare/a blue print for you to print/a map for you to get back/a guide for your eyes/so you won’t lose [the] scent/I make a stink for you to think/I ink these verses/full of prose/so you won’t get conned out of two cents” main course to go with the bubbly.

It is the “Gift and the Curse” of being the chosen one. Unfortunately – due largely to his ego, any and all challengers were so quickly dispatched (c’mon, Takeover is way better than Ether), that folks decided to play in the “gangsta” sandbox.

Just as Superman’s return in an attempt to restore order resulted in the death of countless heroes, Hov’s return may have similar ramifications. So where will that leave “buppie-rap” once Superman is deemed mortal?

“Knee deep in the concrete,” I fear. I hope (there goes that opiate again. I must be getting dumber-er in my advanced age) that I am proven wrong. After all, even the great SonnyRedd can’t be right all the time. Right?

Take Off The Blazer

2006-11-21T16:47:00.000-05:00

Loosen up the tie
Step inside the booth
Superman is Alive

Okay, I wasn’t going to post till Monday because: (1) it is a short week; (2) Donovan McNabb is out for the season; (3)I have something heavy up my sleeve (which of course means that nobody will comment); and (3) Kingdom Come comes out today, making today a National Holiday.

However, folks getting all whiney and what not (*eyes Hostess and Honest*), and with the greatest album of the last 3 years being released today and all, I figured a little Hov’ appreciation is in order.

And to appreciate Hov, one must understand what he is saying and what he is doing. And to do that, one needs background. So allow me to provide you (the uninitiated) with the proper background necessary to listen to Kingdom Come. (Please note, if you are a comic book fan who has not read Kingdom Come, then of course you are not a fan, and your geek-dom should be stripped immediately. Go play a sport or something!)

Ladies and gentlemen, you are about to click the link which will – in one fell swoop – expand your mind AND show you the depth of the man I consider to be the greatest emcee of all time. It is called art people! (Y’all ain’t know that SonnyRedd has an artistic side – no homo?) And some art is more than “beat” deep (see: allegory ).

But remember, clicking the link is like taking the blue pill...your world will never be the same again.

Blue pill anyone?

A Diamond Is Forever...

2006-11-09T13:13:00.000-05:00

Honorable Achievement In Every Field Of Human Endeavor.

Rest In Peace Bro. Bradley.

What You Want Me To Do? I’m Sorry.

2006-10-31T15:17:00.000-05:00

I’m back.

And boy have y’all missed me. It seems that the very blogosphere has – save for an interesting discussion of the merits of inter-racial dating over at the Afterparty – gone into a tailspin of nothingness. Too many of y’all who I read to see the utter turmoil you cause in your lives, have done and straightened yourselves out. While that’s good for you all, it sucks for me.

Alas, there is nothing I can do but stimulate your synapses with some more thought provoking shit. But first, I gotta take care of some admin-type shit.

Viper hit me up with two tasks. First he “tagged” me. Is he crazy? Me? Tagged. I’ve never done any such thing in my life. But, cause I’m feeling extremely generous (Jigga album coming out in a month and all), here goes:

Where the hell have I been and why haven’t I really posted in a while?
Hustlin’ takes time, and there are only 24 hours in a day.

What’s new in my life?
Hustlin’

What’s going on with Aumnigraph and Mekka West? I assume, copious amounts of hustlin.’

Will you ever see another article get posted?

Yep. This one.

That was “fun”. Let’s never speak of this again.

Viper also had a question about habeas corpus, and the law Bush signed which would restrict it. Habeas corpus is the right of people to have the federal court review their imprisonment. If the court finds no lawful reason for their imprisonment, it can order their release.

That said, Viper wondered if all the talk about the Military Commissions Act of 2006 that Bush repealed habeas corpus was really true. The short answer is, “sort of.”

The Military Commisions Act repeals federal court review of military court actions against ALIENS. (As an aside it also okays “water boarding” and makes the Geneva Conventions optional. Sonny“Halloween is for dispelling myths”Redd.) As a result, it does not suspend habeas corpus for the folks who really matter – Americans.

Finally, as a last point, it seems that man and Neanderthal man may have done the nasty. Actually, Neanderthal man and European man to be precise. According to an anthropologist from Washington University (in St. Louis – Sonny “Some schools are better than others”Redd):

To me, what happened is that the Neanderthals were [genetically] absorbed into and overwhelmed by modern humans coming into Europe from Africa, and they disappeared through this absorption...

I post this knowing full well how folks are going to use this to prove the black man’s superiority. Then the KKK will turn the tables on y’all and say that the Neanderthal man is the original man. Then half the black folks will claim to be 1/8th Neanderthal on they grandmomma’s side.

Read the whole article “Modern Humans, Neanderthals May Have Interbred.” I’m out.

Grand Opening...

2006-10-18T12:20:00.000-04:00

Grand Closing.
Gotdamn the man Hov cracked the can open again!

I was doing the twice a week thing for the summer. And now I ain't. New shit on Mondays only. It be's like that sometimes. This is the last Wednesday post.

So first, let me just say that this hit the wire today. Little kids can't play tag any more. It aint even the first time this has happened. I'm gonna home school my kids, so they grow up to bully the pussies that the rest of the world is raising.

Secondly, let me let you in on a little secret- "escheat."

What is escheat, you ask? No, ot's not when you send sexy IM's to your buddy while your live-in other is sleep - that's e-cheat. (I kill me!)

Escheat is what happens when someone --oh say. like a company -- owes you money but can't find you. It escheats to the state, which means that the state will hold it for you. Some states hold it forever, others for a set number of years. Whatever. The point is, I found out that Maryland has been doing a bang-up job holding on to some of my cash. Bravo, Maryland. I'll take that now, thanks.

I tell you all this because I advise that you search for yourself. You just might be due a little (or, in my case - alot!) of something.

Search now.

Finally, my Philly heads will notice that Hov is sporting a nifty set of Baby Alpinas in the new video (above.) Going rate for a pair on ebay? $595.00 BIN. Yep. Need I say it? Philly -Stand up!

Give Me A Rush Like You Wouldn't Believe

2006-10-15T22:42:00.000-04:00

My head's about to bust
Accelerating what drives me,
Hope I don't gotta [lose]
To see, see I can't lie to me
I know the price, know the risk, know the wrongs and the rights
Still my blood flows (Green black and silver), it's just my life

It has been a sports filled weekend for me. Hurricanes game on Saturday -- we won the game but managed to get eight players suspended "indefinately." As if we had an outside shot at the ACC title game (I wasn't going to even delude myself into believing that we'd actually win the fucking game. Sonny "I bleed green-silver-and black, but I cry orange and green" Redd) going into the game, we have zero shot now.

For those who have no clue what I am talking about, press play on the big picture above. For the women who stop by and think "I don't know anything about football", ladies--as violent as football is, folks generally don't get to use their helmets as clubs. Just doesn't happen. And refs generally wear black and white unis, so the guys in blue on the field...they were cops.

So, to compound my dashed hopes of an appearence in the ACC title game (I am an optimist!), the damned Saints beat my beloved Iggles! I's not happy. Then again, my city hasn't been flooded by the wrath of God lately, so I suppose a mercy win is allowable. But this Katrina shit is wearing thin.

But then again, that is why we watch sports, because as the verse above points out, it gives me a rush like you wouldn't believe. All who know me in the flesh know that. The rest of youse...well, I guess you're not that lucky. You may commence crying now.

Cause I already have.

And Now A Word From Our Sponser

2006-10-09T09:47:00.000-04:00

Diva in Demand , being the "stand-up" gal that she is, has offered to you -- fair readers -- a wonderful piece on the greatness that is the Eagles, McNabb, Eagles Fans and yours truly. I can honestly say (in an unbiased manner) that this is her most insghtful written work ever. Seriously, respect to those who stay true to their words. (Double or Nothing on Christmas, Diva?) Enjoy! (Cause you know I am!)

I have to admit that as I sat on my couch yesterday watching the game and cheering for my Cowboys, I couldn't help thinking "Damn Philly has a lot of fans. Look at all those people in green. WAIT! There's one in blue. And he's wearing a TO jersey. Damn. Never mind." I was truly impressed with the support of the Eagles.

Side question: Did you know that Philly fans are so damn rowdy that there was extra security in the arena and around the city the entire day? Y'all are gully huh? (Yep. We are. Sonny"I gotta answer the lady's question"Redd.)

Anyway, I have to give respect when it's due....Donovan McNabb and the Eagles deserved to win yesterday. They played a hard game with heart and skill and forced the tempo of the game. A team known for blitzing, and rightfully so, pulled no punches when it came to the QB. The defensive line pounded through every time to keep the ball out of the air and out of the hands of Terry Glenn and TO. Philly also took advantage of Dallas' key mistakes and that can make or break a damn game. Don't believe me. That bastard Bledsoe threw the ball directly into the arms of young Lito Sheppard and that bastard returned the ball 102 yards for a touchdown in the final minutes of the game....making any victory by the Cowboys impossible. The Eagles capitalized on their strengths for a deserving win.

And definite big ups go McNabb. There is a man who knows how to land a ball and that's what he did yesterday. If he threw it to somebody......it was caught. They say he's the top passer in the NFL and I would be willing to put money on that fact right now. Congratulations to the Eagles.

As for Mr. Sonny Redd......a socio-philosophical mastermind. (you like that don't you). The man that penned great posts on the movie Birth of a Nation, the issue with Katrina, and this one regarding the war which is actually one of my favorites.

And who else in the land of blogging can create, define, and popularize their name as a term? Folks all over blogland have gotten "sonned" and if not, are using it in their daily vocabulary. A mind of creative genius, the ability to easily author and discuss a variety of social, political, and cultural topics, and the intelligence to stand out above the crowd........that's ole boy Sonny Redd.

Friend Or Foe Yo, State Your Biz

2006-10-04T14:26:00.000-04:00

You [want to score]?
Ah , there it is
Me, I run the show,
Oh, and these kids
Don't like nobody coming ‘round here fuckin wit their [team] for shit

You enterprising though,
And [we] liked ‘ya
But fuck with the big dogs though
[We] gotta bite ‘ya,
Look, it’s out of [our] hands
and you getting [catches] ‘round here, its not in the plans
So hop yo ass [back on that van]
Head back to [Dallas]

Are you ready for some FOOTBALL?!?! We’re BACK! Yes indeed. We here at the Fell Clutch are preparing for pill poppin’ poppa, T-O[h my life is over!]’s return to the city of brotherly love and Santa-pelting.

You think its a coincidence that he started poppin extra pain pills 2 weeks before Philly? Nope. He knows. We all know. B.Dawk ain’t Ray Lewis. And Philly fans? Well, we’re the craziest!

(This all assumes of course that Bledsoe even passes him the ball, which is unlikely. T-O[verdose] is the Cow[girl]’s number 2 receiver. That makes T-O[verdose] Terry Glenn’s bitch. And that, ladies and gents, is irony.)

Oh, I can’t wait till Sunday!

Can you tell that I am proud to be a "Philadelphia Sports Fan"? It is an honor. One that you earn. It isn't about one team -- the Iggles, Phils, Sixers, or Flyers. No, its about the city. Hell, I went to see Smarty Jones run the triple crown cause he was a hometown horse. We are die hard. Just to let you know what it means to be an Eagles fan, this was taken from wikipedia:

Eagles fans' devotion to their team is reflected by ticket sales: games are invariably sold out, and the waiting list for season tickets numbers 60,000.[1] In June 2006, tickets for home games were sold out in a matter of minutes after opening phone and internet lines.[2] Despite finishing with a 6-10 record in the 2005-2006 season, the Eagles ranked second in the NFL in merchandise sales the following year.[2]
Eagles fans have become notorious in the NFL for their arguably unmatched enthusiasm, knowledge and team loyalty, and sometimes also for their bad behavior. Eagles' fans enthusiastically embrace hard-edged, dedicated play. But they have also turned quickly on teams perceived as lacking a sufficient commitment to winning.
The most infamous example was the "Santa Claus Incident," on December 15, 1968, at Franklin Field, in which angry fans, upset at the conclusion of yet another failed season under head coach Joe Kuharich (including first losing 11 games, then winning 2, which prevented the team from getting first pick in the next draft, O.J. Simpson), booed and threw snowballs at a man dressed as Santa Claus during the halftime show.[3]
Frank Olivo, a 19-year-old fan dressed as Santa Claus who had been drafted from the stands as an ad hoc replacement for the scheduled Christmas pageant, was the target of the crowd's anger.[3] As Olivo recounts, fans threw snowballs at him after he reached the end zone, shouting that he made a poor Santa. According to local news reporter Ray Didinger, Olivo was visibly intoxicated.[3] This led to more snowballs. Subsequently, a legend was born.
Other high-profile examples of fan misbehavior include:
• At a December 10, 1989 game dubbed "Bounty Bowl II" against the Dallas Cowboys, the city failed to clear the stadium following a snowstorm. Fans threw snowballs onto the field, pelting Cowboys players and coaching staff, NFL officials, and one another. Future Mayor of Philadelphia and current Pennsylvania Governor Edward Rendell got caught up in the fallout from that game when he admitted to a reporter that he had bet another fan $20 that he couldn't reach the field with a snowball. (It can be seen from the videotape that Dallas Cowboys' head coach Jimmy Johnson was, in fact, pelted in the head with a snowball. Unsurprisingly, Jimmy's hair withstood the blast, his trademark hairstyle intact.)[4] As a result, the team added security and banned beer sales for their last remaining home game of the regular season.[5]
• During a November 10, 1997 Monday Night Football game against the San Francisco 49ers, the Eagles fans, in a 24-12 loss, infuriated by a series of calls by the officials and poor play by the Eagles, engaged in a number of highly visible, large-scale brawls on national television. In the last quarter, one fan fired a flare gun across the stadium into empty seats in the 700 level. Other ignominious incidents that evening include a woman flashing from the luxury suites and a man operating a chainsaw in the parking lot. Shortly thereafter, the infamous Veterans Stadium courtroom was established.[6]
• A contingent of Eagles fans traveled to the 1999 NFL Draft in New York for the sole purpose of jeering the Eagles selecting anyone other than Heisman Trophy winning running back Ricky Williams. Local radio hosts had recruited the boorishly behaving crew to protest the selection, which turned out to be future Pro-Bowl quarterback Donovan McNabb. McNabb stayed composed during the incident, and the thirty or so fans who booed him were subsequently derided as the "Dirty Thirty," while the radio hosts in question were widely criticized for their roles as instigators. McNabb has since become one of Philadelphia's most beloved sports icons, and Williams has had numerous off-field problems and is currently out of the league.
• During a October 10, 1999 game against the division rival Dallas Cowboys, Cowboys wide receiver (and bete noire of Eagle fans) Michael Irvin was knocked unconscious when his head hit Philadelphia's hard turf-covered cement field after a catch. As Irvin lay prostrate and immobile on the turf, some Eagles fans cheered the injury. Irvin was ultimately diagnosed with a broken neck, and the injury ended his career. In that game, the Eagles rallied from a 10-0 deficit to earn their first victory of the season, 13-10. (Some fans who were there claim that it was not Irvin's injury but Deion Sanders's showboating during the injury timeout that they were booing.)[7]
Acts of violence by Eagles fans against fans of visiting teams, combined with ongoing difficulties with public drunkenness, prompted Philadelphia municipal judge Seamus McCaffrey and the Philadelphia Police Department to establish a small, in-stadium courtroom at the Vet in 1997. Additionally, plainclothes officers, dressed in the colors of the visiting team, were dispatched to sit in sections known as being dangerous to opposing fans, most such sections being located in the Vet's notorious "700 Level" upperdeck. By 1999, incidents of fan misbehavior had diminished to the point that the courtroom was no longer needed.

Knowing Philly fans like T-O[verdose] must, I think I would’ve taken the red pill too. I love this game.

Somethin' Must Be Seriously Wrong With The World

2006-09-27T11:15:00.000-04:00

I know y'all ain't hatin...

Update-Sunday October 1, 2006- I'll be back Wednesday! I promise. Still working.

Least not like this guy. Hey, I might not be back yet (cash rules everything around me...and y'all niggas ain't sending no checks- A "Genius like mine isn't free" digression for ya, gratis. The irony is astounding, people!) but Star is...

Let the hate continue!

Also, if you got 3 minutes to kill peep the Colbert Report "Word" that I left for you in my absence. A Kofi Annan collabo, niggas!

I Know What Y'all Niggaz Asking Yourself...

2006-09-25T00:21:00.000-04:00

He gonna ever [post]?

No...

Haha! Sike. But I ain't posting nothing meaty today. I'm busy. Dat's the way it is sometimes, homey. One minute, you chillin' like a villian, watchin' McMillian (and wife-a "TV Land digression for ya! HA!), the next, "BAM!" your slammed packed with loads of stuff and 24 hours a day seems like a joke. Sleep? What's this sleep you speak of? There's time for sleep when I'm dead! Ha!

Anyhow, I will check in on Wednesday. As for Lucky? Da hell you asking me for? Like I supervise the interns. Shit, I only hire them, how productive they are, I can't control that. I'm gonna get me an Asian intern next. They gotta be a step up. Keep slacking Luck, you'll find youself downsized, and your gig shipped to India.

Anyway, I caught Lost Season 2 on DVD recently, and I can only say, "wow!" I can't wait for season 3.

That's it. I'm hustlin.

[Son], The Archbishop, The Pope John Paul

2006-09-19T23:28:00.000-04:00

of y'all niggaz
They way y'all all follow [Sonny]
[Son’s] a living legend and I'll tell you why
Everybody wanna be [Son] and [Son is] still alive

You who come ‘round here, have come to expect truth. At least I hope so. And where, in such rare instances, I cannot offer you truth, I try to leave the question open for your consideration. In fact, as aptly named as the Fell Clutch is, it could just as easily be titled “For Your Consideration.” So today, I have a couple of things for your consideration.

I have stated repeatedly (marketing rule number 4080, record companies are… um, I mean, tell what you are gonna tell ‘em, tell ‘em, and tell ‘em what you told ‘em. Sonny “Record companies are shady”Redd) that the idea here is to put forward thoughts that aren’t always considered. Imposing my opinion on you isn’t my goal. Folks pay me for that, and if I did that as a hobby, I’d be a sick sick man (in lieu of being a “Bad Bad Man” And this is “the Scenario Remix” digression. We have 4 MC’s, 4 that are in physical form, one that is in spiritual essence and he goes by the name of … Redd. Viper, do you have this joint, son?).

Well, since it has been so long since I tackled the tough stuff, there is a backlog, so let’s hit it.

First, the Pope is taking a lot of flak behind a recent speech he made wherein he supposedly called Islam evil. The pitiful reporters, in an effort to tell the “whole story” and give it some “razzle,” pointed out that he quoted a 14th century emperor, and that the statement wasn’t his.

Incensed that the Pope would call Islam an evil religion (and simultaneously ignoring the part about quoting someone else – how’s that for multitasking?), Muslims world wide responded in defense of their faith by…um…setting shit on fire and offing a couple of Nuns. Note to the Muslim community, in America we call that “irony.”

Now, before I set the record straight (you knew I was gonna), let me point out in my own self-serving way that I have it on good authority that the Pope is a reader of the Fell Clutch. I know, I’m shocked too. (Being an Episcopalian, I wonder if Queen Elizabeth is a reader too?)

How do I know, you ask? Well, aside from all those hits on my site meter from some country called “Vatican, The” wherever that is, he straight jacked one of my posts. Like, straight up, took that joint, added a few “Holy See’s” and shout outs to some cats in the Bible, and called it his own.

In the speech where he “called” Islam evil (but I didn’t say that, my Muslim friends-Sonny “I don’t need the heat from any of a'all Jihad-Jihad niggas, I know how y'all get down”Redd) he made the following statement about God (and who would know better? ME! That’s who! HA!):

This gives rise to two principles which are crucial for the issue we have raised. First, only the kind of certainty resulting from the interplay of mathematical and empirical elements can be considered scientific. Anything that would claim to be science must be measured against this criterion. Hence the human sciences, such as history, psychology, sociology and philosophy, attempt to conform themselves to this canon of scientificity. A second point, which is important for our reflections, is that by its very nature this method excludes the question of God…

Yes faithful readers, the Pope acknowledges what I have already told you, God transcends science. Moreover, it is also clear that he copped such a radical idea from right here. So listen up Your Holiness, we will call my contribution to your speech my tithe for the…I don’t know, let’s say year. So me and the big guy are settled up for the year, right? I can pass the plate to the sucker sitting next to me, knowing that we’re good.

Good.

Moving on to the point, so do you really want to know what the Pope said? Yeah, me too. To lay out the background, during the siege of Constantinople in the late 1300’s, the Byzantine Emperor Manuel II Paleologus sat with a Persian and discussed the differences between Christianity and Islam.

I was reminded of all this recently, when I read … of the dialogue carried on - perhaps in 1391 in the winter barracks near Ankara - by the erudite Byzantine emperor Manuel II Paleologus and an educated Persian on the subject of Christianity and Islam, and the truth of both. … The dialogue ranges widely over the structures of faith contained in the Bible and in the Qur’an, and deals especially with the image of God and of man, while necessarily returning repeatedly to the relationship between - as they were called - three “Laws” or “rules of life”: the Old Testament, the New Testament and the Qur’an. It is not my intention to discuss this question in the present lecture; here I would like to discuss only one point - itself rather marginal to the dialogue as a whole - which, in the context of the issue of “faith and reason”, I found interesting and which can serve as the starting-point for my reflections on this issue.

In the seventh conversation … the emperor touches on the theme of the holy war. The emperor must have known that surah 2, 256 reads: “There is no compulsion in religion”. According to the experts, this is one of the suras of the early period, when Mohammed was still powerless and under threat. But naturally the emperor also knew the instructions, developed later and recorded in the Qur’an, concerning holy war. Without descending to details, such as the difference in treatment accorded to those who have the “Book” and the “infidels”, he addresses his interlocutor with a startling brusqueness on the central question about the relationship between religion and violence in general, saying: “Show me just what Mohammed brought that was new, and there you will find things only evil and inhuman, such as his command to spread by the sword the faith he preached”. The emperor, after having expressed himself so forcefully, goes on to explain in detail the reasons why spreading the faith through violence is something unreasonable. Violence is incompatible with the nature of God and the nature of the soul. “God”, he says, “is not pleased by blood - and not acting reasonably is contrary to God’s nature. Faith is born of the soul, not the body. Whoever would lead someone to faith needs the ability to speak well and to reason properly, without violence and threats… To convince a reasonable soul, one does not need a strong arm, or weapons of any kind, or any other means of threatening a person with death…”

Full Text

Just an aside to my Muslim friends, you guys need a new PR guy, cause whoever said that the proper response to a speech calling Islam violent is violence needs to be shot – or beheaded. I know y’all like that.

In other news, George Bush is struggling with the Geneva Convention, or at least the part saying that prisoners shouldn’t be treated inhumanely. Let me clarify something for George, first the Pope reads this blog, so you should too. Secondly, you calling the term “inhumane” vague (which is really his argument) is like Bill Clinton not knowing the definition of “is.” In short, that shit “is” so stupid as to be considered “inhumane”. Got it? Good.

That’s all for me. I’m out.

Let Me Tell You Dudes What I'll Do To Protect This

2006-09-18T00:00:00.000-04:00

I shoot at you actors
Like movie directors {*ha ha*}
This ain't a movie dog

It’s Monday, bleh. Work is a bear. Bleh. And the Eagles AND the ‘Canes lost this weekend. Bleh-Bleh. The good news? Those Fightin’ Phillies! Yeah! Oh, and I’m back on schedule. Yeah! The week’s looking up!

So for those who don’t know, I am a film buff. And being a “buff” means that my movie watching isn’t just relegated to the classics -- Terminator 2 and The Empire Strikes Back – it also requires that I watch movies made before the Golden age of film-making of 1978-1992 (C’mon, you have Conan the Barbarian, Star Wars, Empire, Star Trek II , New Jack City, Goodfellas, Scarface, Wallstreet, Top Gun, JFK…all made during this time period! And this is an “unofficial Top Ten list” digression).

So, I Netflixed the worlds first feature length movie, “The Birth of a Nation.” I gotta tell you, as nutty as the “Black Power” crowd can be at times, one needn’t do much more than watch this movie to see where it comes from. But, then I am getting ahead of myself.

To fill the (bliss-fully) unaware of you in, Birth of a Nation is the crowning achievement of D.W. Griffith, a filmmaker who was making short movies at a rate of one a week. In 1915, when Birth was made, movies typically ran less than 20 minutes, with the longest running just 1 hour. Griffith’s movie eclipsed all that preceded it, running just over 3 hours. Griffith was also the first to employ camera close-ups and several other film innovations still used today. In short, it is a technical masterpiece.

But, it is also so socially appalling as to offend my conscience. And trust me true-believers, it takes ALOT to offend my conscience, such as it is. The movie tackles the defining American topic, race – in a way that only a film made in 1915 could.

SPOILER ALERT (FOR THOSE DIE HARDS THAT HATE TO HAVE MOVIES RUINED)

Birth of a Nation explores the Civil War, and concludes – in the opening moments of the film – that “The bringing of the African to America” would start the nation down a disastrous path. Essentially, it is the tale of two families, one quaint Southern gentry, and the other, progressive Northern liberals. Egged on by the well-intentioned but stupid abolitionists, a Northern politician pushes for freedom for the slaves. Southerners, who after all, have a “quaint” if not peculiar way of life become incensed when the Northerners seek to “reform” their way of life. After all, such refrains are restraints of their liberty, and lord knows, life isn’t worth living if man cannot be free.

After a few devious moves by clever, yet evil, mulattoes (the REAL enemy), the inevitable war takes place, with the noble Southerner falling to Northern aggression. And that’s only the first 90 minutes. Because now, we’ve got reconstruction.

Reconstruction dawns with the enslavement of the noble white southerner to his newly freed Negro. Negroes vote. Negroes serve in the state legislatures and a mulatto (the REAL enemy) becomes the Lt. Governor of South Carolina.

Then the worst thing happens – Negroes want to marry white women! Oh, the humanity!

Well, another 60 minutes (and one attempted rape of a white woman) later, the hero has had enough. Seeing that Negroes are afraid of ghosts, he fashions a white bed sheet and grabs a gun. He raises an army of fellow “Aryans” (the movie uses the term) and rides to the rescue of yet another white woman who is being forced to marry a *gasp!* mulatto.

Yada yada yada, a whole lotta Negroes flee (with ‘dem dere big eyes we’s have boss!) and the day is saved. The world is safe, and whiteness is restored. (You gotta love the scene on voting day when mounted clansmen stand between the freedmen and the polls. Makes voting in November downright pro-black! Sonny “Vote-or-die/the ballot or the bullet!”Redd.)

Bleh. I don’t know who is more universally hated, us or the Jews. I can’t really call it. Though it’s close.

Upon seeing Birth, then President Woodrow Wilson commented that “it’s all so terribly true.” Birth chronicled developments that the movie asserts changed the Nation from a confederation (pun-me? Never!) of independent states to a united nation. That (other than the latent inferiority of the Negro) is the message of the movie, and why its name was changed from “The Clansman” (the name of the book – yes book – it was adapted from) to “The Birth of a Nation.” Well, that and white supremacy. (Oh, yeah!)

But Birth is actually responsible for the emergence (or re-emergence) of the Klu Klux Klan, in 1915. In fact, at the height of its membership, the Klan boasted 4 million (mostly Republican) members. To put that figure in perspective, there were only 31 million men over 18 in the entire country at the time. Suffice it to say, this movie certainly impacted the country.

Ironically one thing is sure, whatever America is today, whatever she ever was, Black America was and is a part of that. We’ve been on her mind since the beginning, and even though the Mexicans get a lot of print these days, we’re still on her mind. Shit, it’s like America is Flava Flav, and we’re New York! It’s okay though, like New York, I love this place, even with its apparent unsexiness.

I encourage all of you to see this movie. I guarantee, you won’t be the same.

Ray Ray and Fahmarr

2006-09-15T01:05:00.000-04:00

The title sounds like a ghetto nursery rhyme, right?

Well, the “feel good liberal” is back after a series of mechanical difficulties. Anyway, I came across a story this week that really moved me, well not really, but it could have moved me if necessary.

I’m talking about the story of Ramon ‘Ray Ray’ McElrathbey, the 19-year-old Clemson red shirt cornerback and special teams player who is raising his 11-year-old brother, Fahmarr. (Take notice, no clever jabs at either of their names. I really am in a good mood).

In short, Ray Ray’s mom is a crack head and his father has a gambling problem… you know, one of those really horrible situations. Ray Ray and his seven other siblings - yes there are 8 total - had been shuffled through the crippled foster care system for years, and when his mom relapsed, instead of allowing his brother to go down that dreadful path, Ray Ray was awarded temporary custody of Fahmarr and is raising him in his off campus apartment. Sweet story, no?

It gets better. Folks found out about Ray Ray’s situation and began to ponder where to send money. Clemson wanted to set up a trust for lil Fahmarr. What’s the problem? You guessed it. The problem is that the NCAA has very VERY strict rules on how much players can receive… NONE. Over the past few weeks, Ray Ray appealed to see if he could receive assistance beyond his scholarship and a few days ago, the NCAA decided to allow Ray Ray to receive these outside funds.

This was great, I thought. Someone in need received aid. That’s what America was about. Apparently, I was more convinced than Ray Ray. Homeboy was on all the news shows including ESPN and NPR. He’s well spoken and needed no help telling his story. That is until one quest was asked “Ray Ray, how come an exception was made for you and not for your other teammates with kids?” Ray Ray’s response: “Errrrrrrr, I-uh-no.”

And I mean, this nigga stumbled. Apparently, there are a lot of college players who have children. This left poor Ray Ray to defend himself against claims that he is allowed to abuse the system while his teammates with chirrens get screwed.

Well don’t worry Ray Ray, I’m coming to your defense. First of all, folks have it in their heads that lil’ Fahmarr is going to be pushing a hummer with all the trimmings. This is not true. The trust fund is well monitored and regulated by a team of what I can only assume are good white folks.

And second: Fahmarr aint your child Ray Ray. You didn’t ask for the task… but you were man enough to accept it. I cant hate. (That’s Sonny’s job..LOL) Enjoy your weekends!

I Sell Ice In The Winter

2006-09-14T17:50:00.000-04:00

I sell fire down in hell
I am a HUSTLER baby,
I'll sell water to a well

Hello! And a hearty “hey, hey, hey” to you all. First, I am sorry (Hostess) I am late. I had all sorts of things (that pay me) occupy my time and attention. Secondly, to my usual blog-land hangouts (Hostess), I’ll be around next week so tidy up (Hostess), or in other words get craka-lackin.

In the mean time, I'm off. Back to work. I'm hustlin' like a B-58, and not in the "blowing the back out of Vietnamese chicks" sort of way. Nope. I am toiling in the salt mine. But here's a preview of next Monday's post-

So for those who don’t know, I am a film buff. And being a “buff” means that my movie watching isn’t just relegated to the classics -- Terminator 2 and The Empire Strikes Back – it also requires that I watch movies made before the Golden age of film-making of 1978-1992 (C’mon, you have Conan the Barbarian, Star Wars, Empire, Star Trek II , New Jack City, Goodfellas, Scarface, Wallstreet, Top Gun, JFK…all made during this time period! And this is a “unofficial Top Ten list” digression).

So, I Netflixed the worlds first feature length movie, “The Birth of a Nation.” I gotta tell you...

See you on Monday!

We Remember

2006-09-10T22:43:00.000-04:00

Today, there are no quotes from Jay-Z. Today there will be no digressions. Today there is no soapbox, and no rant. Today there will be no “SonnyRedd”, and no “Lucky.”

Today is not a day for the debate. The relative pros and cons of this or that course of action are immaterial and irrelevant. That is for tomorrow, and tomorrow’s tomorrow.

Today there is only remembrance.

We remember you, Steven Elliot Furman. We remember your dedication to God. We remember you as a father of four wonderful children. We remember you as husband to Chava. Today we remember you.

And although we never had the pleasure to meet you, we will never forget you.

We remember.

Your Dude Is Back,

2006-09-06T17:52:00.000-04:00

The [Black Lex Luth-] is back
Tell the whole world that the truth is back
You ain't gotta argue about who can [jive]
Cause the proof is back,
just go through my [archive]

Friday September 8, 2006: It's after 4:00 pm and as you see, there is no Post by Lucky today. I know. He's so dissapointing. But there is a lively discussion of the phase "Peace through tyranny" and the merits of violence in children's programming in the comments. (as well as copious compliments directed at ME! ME! ME! HAHAHAHAHA! Sonny "flattery will get you everywhere"Redd)! Enjoy week 1 of the NFL season (E-A-G-L-E-S! Sonny"Guess who Chris Berman picked to go to Superbowl 41-The Swami's a believer" Redd)- Good luck, Diva-in-Demand, cause you're gonna need it this year -- and week 2 of the NCAA season (lookout FAMU! Miami doesn't lose twice! You're going down! Sonny"C-A-N-E-S!Canes!"Redd). Enjoy your weekend everyone. SR

Seriously, there’s some good stuff in those archives. You should check them out if you’re new round here. Anyway, “Honey, I’m home!” Didja miss me? I missed all of youse. I appreciate the birthday wishes. I really do!

I’ve got nothing for you today. Not cause there’s nothing to talk about – there’s always stuff – but I am not finished working on my post for today which will actually end up being my post for next Wednesday. Anyway, I am alive and well after a fine fine steak at Morton’s. I love that place. For all of you who think Ruth’s Chris is a good steakhouse, head on over to the Capital Grille or Morton’s- preferably Morton’s. That’s good eatin!

Oh, and I saw Transformers the Movie recently. If any of you have any children (but then again given my demographics, I should say “know anyone who has children.” Sonny “I endear myself to baby’s mommas like Cosby endeared himself to mothers who named their children ‘Aquanetta’”Redd. And for the uninitiated, it’s in the archives!) I simply implore you to show this movie to those children. It teaches all the lessons cartoons are supposed to teach; violence should be used for good, not evil; double crossers are bad; be friendly; ambition is good, unchecked ambition will get you killed; kick ass soundtracks can help you do amazing thing. I swear, fuck Sesame Street, my kids will be watching this and Rambo the Animated Series (yes the 80’s were a wonderful time to be a boy! Now they got ghey [not that there is anything wrong with that] ass cartoons like Sponge Bob.) on repeat.

Anyhow, I got works to do. I will ask a question of you though. What do you think of the following quote, “Peace Through Tyranny.” I was exposed to this quote when I was 9 or 10 years old, and it has always rung true to me. Let me know your thoughts. And 10 points to the first person to correctly identify where I, as a 9 year old boy, could have come across such a deep thought.

See, racism can be funny and creative!

2006-08-31T20:09:00.000-04:00

I feel like mixing things up this week. Instead of my usual rant against who or what I hate, (Boston, the media and yes, Diddy) I’m going to share with you two items that made me laugh.

This week, I read two of the funniest stories regarding different acts of racism. Now beware, this is media-defined racism which means that it’s easy to spot. God forbid they have to do some digging.

The first is sure to be a racism classic. Last week, in a flash back to the 1950’s, a Louisiana school district suspended a white bus driver who allegedly ordered nine black children to sit in the back of the bus. That’s right. She pulled over one day and said “Niggas, get yo black asses up and move’m back!” She probably never said that but it’s just how I envision it.

16-year-old student Jarvonica Williams told CNN that the bus driver allowed many white students to have seats all to themselves while some blacks were forced to stand or sit in others' laps. Oh yeah Jarvonica?! Can you blame the white folks for not wanting to sit next to someone with that name? How are they supposed to converse with you if they cant say your name without laughing. I joke, but seriously WHY WHY WHY would you name a child Jarvonica?!!?! The name alone makes me want to kick her off the goddamn bus.

[A digression on the roots of her name: The CNN article says Jarvonica’s mom’s name is Janice. So, that means her baby’s father’s name might me Marvin. Perhaps Marvin’s mother’s name is Monica? Hence, Jar-von-ica?? That’s what I came up with but I’m open to suggestions.]

Anyway, I thought that in 2006, folks would be more creative in their acts of racism. The back of the bus routine, been there done that. Was this crazy lady trying to get caught? And frankly, I remember when it was cool to sit in the back of the bus. Back when I was still taking the school bus (not too long ago), we loved crowding back there. Those who got front row seats were usually the trouble-makers. Hmm… at least that’s what they told us. Maybe it was nostalgia or the name “Jarvonica” but this story cracked me up.

The second form of racism is more appropriate and very creative. It’s state-of-the-art racism. This week CBS announced their new theme for the upcoming season of the show Survivor. The new survivor will segregate their teams based on race. That’s right! There will be a white team, a Black team, an Asian team, and a Hispanic team. Yeah baby, that’s right.

Frankly, I think it’s brilliant and I will probably watch out of morbid curiosity. Yeah, I heard Rush and dem talking bout how Black folks cant swim and how Hispanics have an unfair advantage since they survived their trek over the border (chuckle), but I don’t care. The show is going to suck anyway.

And let’s face it, reality TV has never been too kind to Blacks. These shows are edited to enhance the stereotypes in everyone. We all remember the Making of the Band fiasco. We remember Omarosa and Flava Flave. And to me, there is nothing worse than those dating shows (The Bachelor, the Bachelorette, etc). There’s always the one Black person that has no chance of being picked.

At least CBS is blatant with it. They come right out and say, “Look, we are making this racist from the start.” I can’t hate!

Even If It Ain't Sunny, Hey I Ain't Complain’n

2006-08-30T11:39:00.000-04:00

I'm in the rain doing a buck 40 hydroplane’n

Live from Ernesto land! This will be a short post, in honor of Sonny Redd Appreciation Week. Friday is my birthday, but Friday is also Lucky’s day so I won’t address you again this week. Please, during the festivities of Sonny Redd Appreciation Week drink responsibly.

I’m going to stop by La Gloria Habana and pick up some fresh rolled stogies, grab a porterhouse at Morton’s (my favorite dish at my favorite restaurant. Rare, of course!), toss back a few glasses of Macallan’s (Ketel One and tonic is my day to day beverage, but a neat 12 or 15 year old scotch is for celebrations!), and just celebrate. See ya’ next week!

Can I Puff Cigars & Drink Cristal?

2006-08-27T23:26:00.000-04:00

If this is heaven to me
is this considered heavenly?
Can I still touch lives
answer they "whats & whys"
[and] make sure
everybody in my fam' clutch five?

Yes indeed! As we proceed, to give you what you need! © 1987 Doug E. Fresh (Not as so many youngsters believe, P. Diddy, who gave the same opening in “Who Shot Ya” which if it was indeed a dis record, was the most vicious dis ever recorded. Sonny “Schoolin’ ya in the old school/Knowing he owes ya the completion on his top 10 Dis records of all time”Redd).

Happy Monday! How are ya feeling, good I hope! Me! Wonderful! It is the start of Sonny Redd Appreciation Week! As a result, my visits around the blogosphere will note such a momentous week. Be prepared.

Alrighty then, we have a lot to cover, and a little time to cover it, (as time is money and money is a major issue! And this is a M.I.A.M.I. or stupid ghetto acronym, a la Nelly’s P.I.M.P. Scholarship digression).

First, did you see 60 minutes yesterday? Can we say just the greatest episode ever? Okay, I’ll say it- Greatest Episode Ever. You had the Nagin fiasco, with a quite reasonable quote – “You guys in New York can’t get a hole in the ground fixed, and it’s five years later. So let’s be fair.” Perhaps the greatest thing Chocolate Milk ever said. (For the uninitiated, when Nagin was asked about his assertion in a speech that God himself wanted New Orleans to be a chocolate city [to which I queried, “Why? What’d we ever do to God?”] he elaborated, that he meant chocolate milk, that it takes white milk and Hersey’s [or Bosco! I loved Bosco as a kid] syrup to make a chocolate city. And this is a “honey, I forgot the milk” digression.) His further statements on the show-not so hot. New Orleans is still screwed.

Then, after an expose on stupid people – don’t you ever invest in anything that promises a 300% return – there was a piece on homosexuality which- forever- should bed the idea that homosexuality is genetic. See they showed two identical twins who each shared the same DNA and upbringing, and what did they find? One was straight and the other gay (not that there is anything wrong with that). In fairness they showed children of all ages who exhibit differing levels of fruitiness (not that there is anything wrong with that-Sonny“PC”Redd.) The point, dear readers, is that if identical twins can differ in sexuality – while you might be born that way, it ain’t in your genetic code. And again, I am right! Hahahaha!

And the righteousness continues! When last we met, I assigned homework. Given the fact that too many of you are lazy, some of youse haven’t done your homework. Let me make this simple, READ THIS ARTICLE! Damn! I know you rely on me to distill things for you, but you gotta meet me halfway.

Juan Williams, much maligned pundit and Fox News’ resident foil to Bill Cristol, wrote a piece entitled “Banish the Bling: A Culture of Failure Taints Black America” which ran in the Washington Post on August 21.

Williams argues that today’s “bling bling” generation has devolved into a “a culture steeped in bitterness and nihilism” which virtually assures its – rather our – collective failure. He further asserts that it is this lethargy that spurred Bill Cosby’s many rants on the cultural decline of Black people.

Now before I go any further, I should add that Juan Williams is persona non grata among the Civil Rights crowd. Williams’ day job as an analyst for Fox News does not ingratiate him to those who need to keep their eyes on the enemy. Because of that, I like him! He of course has shot back with a new book basically dissing Reverends Al and Jesse along with the rest of the gang. (And when rappers dis each other, we act like this is some aberration. Nah dog, intellectuals been doing it for years! And this is a pointing out the obvious digression.)

But back to the matter at hand, the pervasive argument – that Williams didn’t originate, he merely parrots – is that this “bling” is a terrible thing. And it is. But lets lay the blame where it belongs, shall we?

Way back in the day – the late 1800’s to the early 1900’s to be (somewhat) exact – there were two lines of thought as to the “Black problem” in America. One, championed by Booker T. Washington was a purely economic solution. The other, offered by the father of the NAACP, W.E.B. Dubois was a social solution.

Washington told black people, “Stop asking whitey for shit, and be diligent hard workers. Cash will do the rest.” Now in fairness, stop asking for shit included asking for civil and human rights. Washington envisioned a world where black people would be the backbone of the country – in every realm – trades, crafts, labor, academics, and finally the professions. In the meanwhile, we should work to be self sufficient, in short support our own businesses and our own economies. (I think right now, there is a dreadlocked black man who smells like incense and needs a shave – likely named Brother Raheem, or some such, who is spouting the same damn thing. But I do digress, and I do it so well!)

Dubois on the other hand, being the Harvard educated academic that he was, said that to toil this way was (channeling my inner Mike Tyson) ludicrous! Dubois wanted equal rights now! And not only equal rights for Black folk, but equal rights for all oppressed people! (Dubois would later die a socialist, but what academic doesn’t?)

Well, Washington’s camp – derisively referred to as “Toms” would lose the struggle – perhaps rightfully – to Dubois and his agitators. But, at what price comes victory?

Fast forward 40 years, and a young upstart (with a smokin’ wife) named Martin Luther King, (after his daddy, of course. Sonny”Yeah my first born son will be Sonny Junior”Redd) merged the “work the system” philosophies of Washington (Ghandi-who?) and the agitation philosophy of Dubois, to form a kindler gentler movement. The result? He was too soft for the true agitators (see Malcolm X) and too hard for the Booker-ites. But the man got results. And in this society, results are all that matters.

Well upon his murder, these two sides saw a power vacuum. And they raced to fill it. On this side, you had the Panthers, the Muslims, the 5%ers, the Nationalists, Stokely Carmichael, and the communists. We’ll call them the “Black Power” crowd.

And on the other side you had…

Um…

Let’s see…

Uh…

Oh, that’s it! There was nobody. The social movement crowd completely obliterated the economic crowd. And it makes sense, the glue that held the two together, King, was murdered. And the Black Power crowd had that fact, the murder of Fred Hampton and the Vietnam War to rail against.

So the 60’s and 70’s were seen as a time of economic hopelessness for Black people. Nihilism was in, but not the hedonistic nihilism of hip-hop. Nope. The idea of economic hope was what was missing. Coincidentally, the same hopelessness permeated throughout American culture at the time.

And then the 80’s hit! Money was being made on Wall Street, in defense contracting, cocaine and in a new thingy called computers. But what was Black America prepared to do? Certainly not rake in the dough on the “man’s” stock market. And since folks were so busy getting Afro-American studies degrees, there were no real computer scientists to be had. Nope. That left one thing, cocaine.

And the coke legends from the 80’s -- Rayful Edmonds, Azie, Rich Porter, Fat Cat, Supreme, Alpo, Aaron Jones, Harry-O (Sonny"whenever someone googles these folks, they need to come here and learn something"Redd)– became replacements for C.J. Walker, Booker T. Washington and John H. Johnson. And today they remain the figures of Black success – captured in physical form by Puffy, Jay-Z and 50 Cent.

So excuse me Mr. Juan Williams if I say that you are only partly correct. There is a large segment of the Black community that values “bling.” But their valuation of “bling” is less an indication of moral decline, but is rather an affirmation that we have tired of being viewed as hopeless. If our educated class has failed us – which it has – in its belief that they have all those degrees and money, and are still “niggers” who are oppressed, then what is the point of all that learning and striving? It is a logical question. Its answer is even more evident, we get high, fuck bitches and cop a Bentley. No point going through that obvious hell of interacting with – and *gasp* being oppressed by – whitey. Ain’t no pot of gold at the end of that rainbow. So what is the point?

I suppose that there is indeed a pervasive nihilism among today’s generation of Black people. But, Juan Williams, it isn’t the hopelessness of hip-hop. It is the hopelessness and despair of the Black middle class, which has convinced their lower-class brethren that the ghetto is where it is at. Po’ folks indeed have it good. After all, po’ folk can be themselves – in all their 22” rimmed out gold toothed glory. Ours is the only people who envy our poor.

Thus, it is clear that the problem isn’t that the Black lower-class can’t or won’t be led from poverty. The problem is that those they would look towards ain’t up to the job. And in that way, perhaps they are right.

There is a reason why I love Jay-Z so much. He is the only rapper to really address – in album after album – what the middle class needed to hear. That it isn’t moral leadership that is missing in the ghetto, it’s economic leadership. And if it ain’t gonna be a doctor or a lawyer providing such ledership, then in the words of Jay-Z, its gonna be “the first dude to cop the 850 in '89 and drove it up to 55th..." Cause right about now, that's the only cat who is providing ledership.

Boycotts are fucking bullshit

2006-08-25T01:36:00.000-04:00

Sorry, but thinking of a creative and witty post title is enough to make me slit my wrists.

Anyway folks, I’ve got a new home. After two weeks traveling all over the god damn country, I’ve finally settled here in DC. [Insert West Wing theme music here] And so far so good. I’ve already noticed two things DC has that Boston does not: Black women and Happy Hour. What more could I possibly ask for?

Anyway, while preparing for my move into my new apartment, I did what any cheap, lazy American would do. I arranged a trip to Wal-Mart. I told a lady friend of mine my intentions. The conversation went as follows.

Me- “I’m heading to Wal-Mart”
Friend- “I’m boycotting Wal-Mart.”
Me- “Why?”
Friend- “Because they don’t promote women.
Me- “Oh okay… wait wha??”

Now, personally, I hate the Wal-Mart. They don’t have aisles and the staff is always unfamiliar with the store. But, when a superstore opens, there’s no question… you’ve gotta go. Anyway, I was more thrown by my friend’s haphazard use of “The Boycott.” I don’t like modern boycotts and I especially hate when they are internalized. (What’s worse is that my friend lives in Boston where there are no Wal-Mart’s, making it presumably easier to boycott them. It’s like me, a Jersey-boy boycotting trips to Mount Rushmore.)

Gone are the days of well-organized, well-planned, well-oiled fights against evildoers. Boycotts today can occur right in my own home. --Jeez, that conservative chick on The View really burns me up. That’s it! I’ve boycotted The View!-- It’s that easy. The era of righteous boycotts has long passed.

What do the people who choose to participate in these desperate acts of attention hope to accomplish? I think I’ve answered my own question. Wal-Mart doesn’t care if your sorry ass doesn’t shop there. They’ll sell that 25-dollar DVD player to some other chump. I don’t even have a problem with your refusal to patronize Wal-Mart (well maybe I do) but why oh why are you calling it a boycott? A boycott’s chief mission is to compel change from the party to which you are boycotting. How can they change if they don’t know you exist, you idiot?!

The reason this upsets me is because it’s part of a wider problem that exists in America. Americans love to complain. This includes myself. I am after all from New Jersey. (Yes, that’s my 2nd Jersey reference. In reading up on Sonney’s last few posts, I noticed that he’s tried to make this a Philly thang. Nice try Nukka!) Anyway, I don’t even think people know why the fuck they complain about half the things they complain about.

Let’s use my friend as an example. Was I really convinced that she cared about Wal-Mart women? No. If she ‘boycotted’ every organization that treated women unfairly, she would be out of school, out of work, out of money and out of clothes. Her argument was based on the fact that she wanted to feel morally superior. She wanted to be able to say that she is taking a stand. And bravo! Nice try. But what about participating in the broader fight. Has she called her congressman to complain about inequality in the workplace? No. Has she written an editorial in her local paper? No. Does she proselytize to her friends and family at every given chance? HELL NO! She sits on her ass and does nothing.

My friend is part of a growing breed of ignoramuses: celebrities who Rock the Vote knowing nothing about the candidates and ignorant apostles who wear ‘Support the Troops’ stickers while being unable to locate Baghdad on a map. It’s laziness. There is no longer a sense of sacrifice or a desire to be truly educated about anything.

~Young Lucky

Long As I Know That I'm blessed And I’m Loved In Depth

2006-08-23T02:09:00.000-04:00

I can walk through water
and not get wet

Alright-“Here it is! Bam! And you say, Gotdam! This is a dope jam!” It’s Wednesday, a.k.a. Hump Day, a.k.a. Odin’s Day (look it up! Heathen genius digresson!) and should be known as Sonday the Sequel (with Monday being the Original Sonday. Sonny “I post on Monday and Wednesday-Lucky gets Friday”Redd.) So today you are blessed with my words.

Today, I – like every other upwardly mobile black person (who paid their cable bill) on Earth – will discuss Hurricane Katrina. Of course, Spike Lee’s “When the Levees Broke-A Requiem in Four Acts” had nothing to do with today’s topic. Because I didn’t really want to write about Juan Williams’ piece on bling in the Washington Post. Nope. Not at all. (That was foreshadowing kiddies. I’m clever that way. Here -Read this when your done here, so that I can educate on Monday – but do not opine! I swear, I will edit y’alls comments if it is about that Juan Williams piece, that you really should read – and process – so that we can discuss it, on Monday. I’m serious, man.)

So, I watched 4 hours of Katrina. I’m going to be brutally honest here. And some of y’all ain’t gonna like it. Katrina wasn’t about color. Katrina was about class. I am truly and thoroughly convinced that Katrina – and all her horribleness (except that Gretna police shit. That was some racist bullshit! Sonny “Free Huey!”Redd.)

Let’s start at the beginning.

Okay, I’ll admit I have never thought very much of New Orleans. I ain’t feeling this whole Creole shit. Let me give you a little background. See, them there Creoles in New Orleans never really considered themselves black. In fact, they tried to opt out of being black entirely. Took the case all they way to the U.S. Supreme Court in Plessy v. Ferguson.

See, your boy Plessy, a Creole, argued that he didn’t look like a nigga, and had only 1/8 Black blood (let’s do the math, he had one great grand parent who was Black. The other 7 great grands were White), so as a result he didn’t have to move from his seat on the train into the negro train car. Putting aside the fact that somebody though his ass looked Black enough to move (an obvious point), he basically wanted the government to declare that 1/8th Black (and more importantly, Creoles) wasn’t black.

He lost. And law students the world over are told about how Plessy is a Civil Rights case. Plessy wasn’t nothing but a “opt-out” case, and I point it out to show you how the game is played in Louisiana. (And this whole thing is a “Gee, I guess I really do hate Louisiana” digression.)

So the Mayor is saying “We need some God damn troops!” and the police chief is saying “They raping babies, man!” Not a good look. As Nina would say I would say, “Them niggas wet, hot, and sweaty. And that’s not ballin’ to me!”

There were 4 fundamental mistakes made in the handling of the Katrina aftermath:

1) The election of Kathleen Blanco
2) The over reliance on the Federal Government
3) The undeniable panic of the City Government
4) The scattering of the population to the four winds

First, Kathleen Blanco. This bitch played politics, and if she wins re-election (she plans to run in 2007) then the folks in Louisiana are dumber than I give them credit for being (and I give them a lot of credit.) First, she had $130 million in aid prior to the storm. That money was already there! The President (who hates black people) had authorized the funds BEFORE the storm. Not to mention, aid from neighboring states (namely New Mexico, which offered its National Guard) was either not accepted, or accepted late. Then, Bush (who I am shocked I am defending) flew down on Air Force One and offered her troops. His condition – the troops hit New Orleans first (hates black people). She rejected it. Now, I don’t claim to know much, but I’d bet that Louisiana is a lot like Florida in one (many) respect(s). Namely, that the voting pattern of its largest city often differs from the voting pattern of the rest of the state. I am inclined to belives that the bitch said – I gotta help the rest of my sate if I am to be Governor again. Further, she’s the one who declared that looters should be shot and killed. Oh, and she hates Ray “Chocolate milk city”Nagin. Somebody was playing (racial) poli-tricks, and I can’t say it was W.

Reliance of the Feds. You know, it kills me how folks over rely on the Feds. You want to know what FEMA will give me if a hurricane sweeps through South Florida? A $15,000.00 SBA loan. And the SBA is the Small Business Administration. Yep. That’s what we-you-me-all of us, are entitled to. And it’s a loan, to boot. Gotta pay that shit back. Be ready people.

Panic of Government. The Hurricane hit and everyone panicked. Generally, panic occurs only among the populace – the citizens. But here, the panic was so widespread-so complete – that the fucking police chief (a black man who I am sure considers himself Creole-or Indian-or some shit other than a nigga, cause if you ask niggas from New Orleans, there ain’t no niggas in New Orleans. Did you guys notice that New Orleans got the blackest Indians on the fucking planet? Da Hale? © Hostess 2005. Sonny “Social Commentary”Redd.) starts crying outside of the Superdome because, and I quote, “they’re raping babies in there, man!” Now, I know I ain’t from New Orleans, but if the Police Chief says that niggas in the “N-O” are so go hard that they rape infants, then I can’t say as though I’d want them crossing my bridge to my suburb either. (Fuck you anyway Gretna!).

So first we got this nigga with a badge screaming that niggas is raping babies. And he is screaming this on national fucking TV, mind you, and it’s the fucking Government’s fault that your ass is stuck in the Superdome, with the baby rapers? I think not. Your city was fucked up long before it started raining, and y’all niggas didn’t want to admit it.

What people need in an emergency is calm. I understand that folks are dying, and we need to mourn, but we mourn AFTER we save the living. Not before. We save the living and mourn for the dead. These fuckers were mourning the dead and fearing death so much that they said “fuck the living.” And Ray Nagin deserves “the credit” for that. If you can’t rally your team, how you gonna quarterback? I need a leader who is calm, so I can be calm. You panic, I’m out. (Mental note, folks this works at home too. If you fall apart every time some shit goes wrong, then folks are gonna hate having your ass around. Sonny “And now you know” Redd.)

The scattering of the citizens. Now I don’t blame the good people of(who are not niggas, cause there ain’t none in) New Orleans for leaving. Shit, I don’t even blame Barbara Bush for pointing out the obvious, “You’re out of fucking New Orleans! You are a lucky bastard!” That shit wasn’t racist, that shit was true. Barb said, “Shit, I suppose being broke in Texas beats being broke in Louisiana.” That’s shit is funny to me. And if I said, “being broke in Philly beats being broke in Miami”, its not because I hate Cubans (it’s not?)—it’s because (it’s true? No…) I rep my town. Barb reps Texas. Leave her ass alone. Shit was funny to me.

But, to rebuild New Orleans, New Orleanders need to be there. How they gonna be there if they’re in fucking Utah (that broad was living fat, but how many of y’all peeped that she’s renting –not owning- her slice of Mormon laced heaven?), again not that I blame her. But they were in such a hurry to evacuate the city (Ray Nagin) that they forgot, it’s cheaper to get niggas tents and port-a-potties. Did you see the drunk white chicks (the one that was phat to death [for a 40 year old white chick] and her mephed out friend, with their beer cozies?) how great were they?) If the people are there, they can assist in the rebuild. Trust me, the Red Cross/Salvation Army/Habitat for Humanity are bursting at the seams with weekend do-gooders who toil in offices like mine Monday-Friday and would love nothing more than to feed and clothe a negro family on the weekend (largely because then they would have something to discuss with me on Monday. “See Sonny, I’m not like George Bush, I care about black people.” (As an aside, I have been congratulated more this week for Tiger Woods’ PGA win this weekend. I’m like, “Do I look caublanasian to you, bitch?” Kidding. Actually, I love it.)

The point is, you keep those folks close to home if you hope to rebuild the city. Do the math-pay a local to clear debris. Said local invests said earning into rebuilding his home, or renting one rebuilt, said owners are encouraged to hurry along rebuilding, more locals needed to clear debris. See the cycle? Not complicated at all.

So, not to be a Negetive Nancy (or a Katty Katrina…Pun? Me? Never!) I am giving out another “Geroge” today to the unsung hero of Katrina, Lt. General Russel Honroe who held it down and showed the world all us pale negroes ain’t bitches. (Although, I will ignore for now his Creole-ness. After all, the government does. Sonny “Plessy” Redd.) Seriously, between him, Colin Powell and myself, I figure the only hope for Black people are us light skinned (we not in right now, but we making a comeback) dictatorial types. Furthermore, the lack of media coverage he recieved has renewed my faith in a media conspiracy against Black folks. God forbid we be shown doing anything other than looting. Bravo. (Although, in a bout of intellectual honesty, I am aware that his job was easier than Nagin's.)

And I am handing a Weezy to [NinaMM Motherfuckin' edit-Thanks Nina!] Phyllis Montana LeBlanc, a.k.a. the broad in the show who told how she was gonna “beat that bitch ass in the airport”. Her Weezy is for delivering the most memorable line in the whole four hours, “You know how they say ‘go back to Africa’? I’ont wanna go anywhere near Africa if it anything like this shit!” That’s right baby, that shit wasn’t ballin’ to me either.

[George and Weezy] Award Winner

2006-08-20T22:32:00.000-04:00

Ballin repeatedly,
Highlights on Sportscenter
Please repeat after me –
There's only one rule
I WILL NOT, LOSE!

What’s the deal! Yo, we are creeping ever closer to SonnyRedd Appreciation Week, which begins next Monday and concludes with my born day on Friday September 1st! Get ready.

This episode of the Fell Clutch is the Moving On Up episode. (For the real innanets geeks, that’s Episode #106. Sonny “Yeah I hit 100 posts and aint even tell y’all cause I’m gully that way”Redd.) So today we celebrate those getting they George and Weezy on! Who else misses the Jeffersons? It was such a great show. (By the way, Sherman Hemsley? Can you say “Philly Stand Up”? Born in 1938 in Philadelphia! And this is a “yeah, I know its over, but so what, I still appreciate Philly” digression.) So today and for the rest of the year – hell, until I tire of it as an ongoing bit – I am handing out George and Weezy Awards to those deserving folks “Moving on up!”

So first, congratulations to Tiger Woods, who won this third PGA championship this weekend! Holding it down for caublanisians everywhere. You getting your George on! (or your Ang Lee. Whatever.) And congrats also to Kimora Simmons who may or may not be taking half from Russell Simmons. I see you getting your Weezy! Half breeds getting theirs! Yeah!

Also Ayaan Hirsi Ali, the outspoken critic of Islam and a former member of the Dutch Parliament (before being deported for lying on her Dutch application for asylum) was on 60 Minutes last night. She gets a Weezy for having a phat ass. Thank you. That is all. (I wonder if noticing her “phat-to-death-ness” qualifies as oppression. I find that feminism believes that all appreciation of the female body amount to oppression. And this is a “I’m a chauvinist pig” digression.)

I have a busy week this week – but the reader will NOT be denied! © Star 2005. Today, there will be random “Hustle Notes.” The first note is to never let your hobby overtake your profession.

Next, please, please, please don’t be like all too many black business people. Too frequently I refer a party out to another black business person. It is the nature of business. If I know someone who needs your service, and you’re black, I’ll refer them to you – only if you are competent. Don’t have me make a referral to you and you not follow up. Because I will follow-up. And I will find out of your failure. And then, you and me have a problem. And I am an annoying nigga to have problems with.

The lesson to you, my readers? Always follow up. It is important to your reputation to follow up. The worst part of all this, this nigga lost MINIMALLY a couple of grand. All because broke niggas is to busy playing businessman. You will be exposed! (The real value of the matter referred? Close to $175,000.00. The upside, The ball is back in my court AND I was referred a client [by said shiftless negro] whose matter is worth considerably more. Sonny “And some folks wonder why they broke” Redd.) Always follow up!

Also, a free legal tip for the week:

A complaint for damages is meaningless. All to often, poor people receive legal pleadings and hole up hoping that it will go away. It won’t. If you have to work, send a letter to the Judge (and a copy to opposing counsel) stating that fact. Get a lawyer, or if you (likely) can’t afford one, contact a pro-bono attorney. You can find them at your local bar association’s website. But if you do nothing, that meaningless complaint will become a judgment against you. Never good.

And the final George of the week goes to my barber! He dropped off the face of the planet for a while, and I thought he was locked up. Turns out he was cutting at a lil’ hole in the wall. Well, he has signed a lease on his own shop! That’s hustle! Next stop, getting that nigga set up in a LLC (that’s Limited Liability Corporation). And guess who gets that cash? Yes indeed! I love seeing folks better themselves. I love helping them along. And I really love being able to “wet my beak” at the same time.

Progress! You gotta love it.

Now, duty calls. More on Wednesday!

Short Post? Yeah, I’m still on vacation!!

2006-08-18T01:39:00.000-04:00

Actually, I’m in Indianapolis this week for the National Association of Black Journalist conference. (They should call it the National Association of Late Journalists since every session has started at least 30 minutes past schedule and ended 10 minutes early). I’ll get back to the conference in a moment.

Anyway, like many of you, I woke up this morning to find top-notch coverage on Jon Benet Ramsey (JBizzle to her family and close friends.) Forget the war, the economy, and the presidential wiretaps, let’s focus on a stale decade-old murder case. CNN had 6… S-I-X correspondents on the story.

For those who don’t know much about JBizzle, consider yourselves lucky. She was a six-year-old beauty queen (eww) killed 10 years ago by who the hell cares. Her murder also marked the first time the American media caught MWWS (Missing White Woman Syndrome.) It’s worse than AIDS.

Did you know that America is the only country in the world that holds children beauty pageants? Parents of these kids doll them up, beef up their hair, spray them down in fake tanner, and slip them into dresses fit for drag queens all to garner attention. Gross? Don’t judge too quickly. Imagine my surprise today when I walked into today’s convention and saw hundreds of grown-up JBizzles walking around (sans the fake tanner).

I’ve never seen anything like it. These women, dressed in their finest lime green suites and their biggest New Jersey hair (big up to Jersey!) and Ru Paul makeup that makes them look exotic yet not too Negro. These ladies prance up to the NBC, FOX, CBS, and ABC tables with their resume tapes and audition to become the newest Brenda Blackmen (yeah, Sistah Blackmen is a for-real Jersey reporter.) It gets worse. Also occupying the convention center are several booths with tips on how to look fly on the airwaves. As a journalist, this practice devastates me and it transcends racial and gender lines.

Sure, I can understand the need to look good in any profession, but I think we’ve gone overboard. I think now the focus has been concentrated too much on looks and less on content. I desperately wanted to ask these folks what the top news stories of the day were. I wanted to probe them on their thoughts on the War in Iraq or even ask who their Congressional reps were. I’m sure I would have been disappointed.

Sadly this industry, at a time when it is needed most, has become an awkward reality series. These days, being a TV reporter or anchor is as simple as reading a list of questions written by some ill-informed intern. When I watch the news, I wanna hear tough questions, and tougher follow ups. I wanna see the politician on the other side squirm. Enough with these clowns with no perspective.

What about the men you ask? Here at the conference, all you need is a decent shape-up, your church suit, a handful of Vaseline and you’re set. What the fuck is that about?!

Be prepared for a suprise post sometime soon...

And one more thing. I saw a dude get busted in the airport for trying to sneak on his Axe spray. Why?

~Young Lucky

I Got This Spanish Chica, She Don't Like Me To Roam

2006-08-15T23:29:00.000-04:00

So she call me "cabron" Plus "mi Amore"
Said she likes to cook rice, so she likes me at home
I'm like, "Un momento - mami, slow up your tempo"

This part is for me…

Happy Birthday Pop! You catching Tony Randall years bout’ now, aren’t you? You have no idea in how many ways you have influenced me, some for the better—some not. But you are one inspirational dude, and as everyone who has had the misfortune to talk to me knows, you are my idol!

Moving on-

Random question of the day- Is Fidel Castro dead yet? And, more importantly, if he dies tomorrow can anybody – the CIA, the Cuban exiles in Miami, the Kennedys – claim victory? That nigga been running Cuba for 47 years man, 47 years! Shit, niggas can’t teach in the public schools longer than 25. Nigga had stomach cancer and was puffing a Cohiba on TV the next day. I ain’t fucking with Fidel. He harder than Fiddy.

And another random thought, if “the Beard” can smoke stoogies for 47 years while being a dictator, how unhealthy is tobacco? Or, is it that Cuban tobacco that keeps you ticking? Like, when Ponce de Leon was looking for the fountain of youth in Florida, did he miscalculate by, say…90 miles?

Moving on, redux-

I like Puerto Rican food (another random thought! And this is a “can you tell I gots nothing?” digression). When I was 12, the kid downstairs was named Puerto Rican Jose. (Well, his momma didn’t name him Puerto Rican Jose, the streets did. But there was a reason. See, Puerto Rican Jose was…Puerto Rican! See, the streets be making sense when you think about it!) Puerto Rican Jose had a older brother who was also named Puerto Rican Jose. Or maybe it was Puerto Rican Carlos, I don’t really remember. Anyhow, (that was a “back story” digression, btw) Puerto Rican Jose’s mother, whose name I don’t recall, possibly because she ain’t have no name, made the best Spanish Rice ever. I ain’t really get with all that damn pork – but the rice was banging!

There is a point here. I live in Miami. Do you know there isn’t a fucking Puerto Rican restaurant in the whole damn town. We got Brazillian, Peruvian, Cuban (of course) but no Puerto Rican. Like, if a motherfucker swam over, or got washed ashore, he can open a restaurant (and sell $15 Vodka Tonics to boot), but if you fly over, no haps!

Alright, I got nothing again.

Um, here is where I get deep on y’all. Usually. Today…um…

Um…

Um…

Yeah…

Nope. That’s it.

Though, since it is (apparently) Puerto Rican (rice) Day here at the Fell Clutch (see what a motherfucker will do for some good rice), I thought I’d post a video by the great Puerto Rican poet, Gordo Jose, a.k.a. Fat Joe. Though, before I do that, I thought I’d mention that it is truly ironic that PoppaRedd’s birthday post would be jacked by Puerto Ricans. The irony? (aside from the droll Puerto Ricans steal things? Duh! Too obvious. Sonny “O’Henry-and if you think it’s a candy bar read a book”Redd) GrandmaRedd HATES Puerto Ricans. (Yes! I come from a long line of hate! Hahahahaha!) She’s old school that way. Like in a West Side Story, don’t bring home no Rican’ kind of way. Old folks. Don’t ‘cha love ‘em?

As another aside (and you Georgia and DC folks can’t relate)-

Do my east coast folks know that motherfucker around y’alls way who swore they was Puerto Rican? You know, that nigga who even had the accent? But his last name is like “Smith” or “Jones”?

Like these two "chicas" right here. I swear, everybody wanna say it, but nobody wanna be it. Niggas! That shit kills me. Always has. You know the one on the left is just outta Senegal. She don't look like she seen any rice, 'cept that UN Aid rice they throw outta planes.

My step-dad (who was part Cuban, a whole 'nother post) used to call Puerto Ricans, "Spanish Speakin' Spades." But I like Puerto Ricans. Carlito's Way (the original) was a good movie. And, they are less uppity as far Latinos go. And in reality, white folk hate Puerto Ricans as much as they hate us. Even more -- cause Puerto Ricans look like Mexicans, but they don't pick no vegetables.

Carry on. The Empire will resume conquest on Friday (hopefully! Henchmen taking vacations! Who ever heard of such?) Enjoy the Video!

Ya Don’t Got Heart For This Art Of War

2006-08-14T00:21:00.000-04:00

My arsenal is more awesome than y’alls
When [Son’s] in the building
Niggas lost from the door
From the front porch cause I have no flaws
And y’all keep acting like y’all don’t hear
I’ll put this little [Redd thought] in ya ear…

It’s MONDAY!!! And you know what that means—jewels of thought and pearls of wisdom from ya’ boy. Man, I got more finery than Tiffany’s and I’m more precious than Harry Winston! Fuck Jacob the Jeweler, Sonny keeps ya’ shining! (And I do it without getting indicted on money laundering charges, or selling ya’ fugazi stones for ya’ll to give to ya’ll ex-baby mommas. My shit is genuine. And this is a “ghetto news you can use” digression.)

And Son will shine clearly! Look, I first must reiterate, y’all niggas need to get to voting. That shit is over on the 15th and I can’t have y’all acting on Cee-Pee time, seeing as our hard work feeds on recognition. RECOGNITION! Do it now! NOW!

Next, I watched ATL this weekend. While I state for the record that that was 2 hours I will never get back, I do recognize 2 things. (1) ATL’s main character is your average black man in America. He doesn’t sell drugs and he works hard; and (2) if the children of today watch it on rewind as much as I watched New Jack City and Menace II Society, perhaps we will see an improvement in 10 years. (Sonny “I’m no hater”Redd.)

Moving on. President Bush recently announced that “This nation is at war with Islamic Fascists who will use any means to –to destroy those of us who love freedom…”

What fucking freedom? Certainly not the Constitutional freedom that we all previously enjoyed.

Ben Franklin once quipped that, (and I’m paraphrasing) “those who would give up freedom for security deserve neither.”

But here we fucking are, neither free nor secure. Folks running around throwing out their leave in conditioner and cucumber melon lotions cause Ahmed’nem got a point to prove. Fuck them, fuck that, and fuck all y’all that are that damn afraid that y’all are with them.

Let me clarify something, once and for fucking all (Can you tell that I am pissed?) Al Qaeda does not want to “destroy freedom.” (At least not in the “W” sort of way.)

First, when Al Qaeda blew up the towers, they did so for one simple reason – advertisement. It was the ultimate recruitment video. Let’s remember what Al Qaeda is people. Al Q is the “Black Panther Party” of the middle east. They are a non-governmental organization which seeks to advance a political position in the Middle East. Nothing more, nothing less.

Now Al Q’s position that it wants to advance is Militant Islam, or keeping it academic, governmental Islam. Make no mistake. And Militant/governmental Islam hates the United States, make no mistake about that either, but its goal is the advancement of Militant Islam in the Arab world. Not, as your President suggests, destroying the freedom of the USA. I am so thoroughly disgusted with the constant belaboring of the catch phases and buzzwords. Don’t be misled. Blowing up shit here is only worth while if it makes Al Q look bigger over there. Thus, the “plots” to blow up the Prudential Building in Newark (election day set-up) or the Sears Tower in Chicago (negro set-up) weren’t really plots worth while because nobody in Beirut has heard of the Prudential Building in Newark (If only because very few folks outside of Newark have heard of it, Sonny “Stating the obvious”Redd), and them Sears Tower niggas did it for $50K and some Timbs (I’m still mad ‘bout that).

Remember, Al Q is competing against other Islamic factions. There’s Hamas, Hezbollah, Islamic Jihad and I’m sure countless other random AK-47 toting posses of all shapes and sizes. Al Q has to remain relevant to attract recruits.

Compare

with

See the connection? Gotta stay cool to reach the kids. Both here, and in “Jihad-Jihad” land.

If Al Q’s goal was to disrupt life in the US, a few truck bombs during rush hour, a suicide bombing at a mall during Christmas, a few commuter train bombing ala the UK and we Americans would be a quivering mess. Hell, we’d probably be interning every Muslim in the country by now. Not to say that that’s not indeed where we’re heading.

But consider for a moment Timothy McVeigh? Remember him? He blew the shit out of the Oklahoma Federal Building back in 1995. Well, do you remember, besides hatred for “niggers and jews,” why he wanted to blow up the Federal building?

I chose to bomb a federal building because such an action served more purposes than other options. Foremost, the bombing was a retaliatory strike; a counter attack, for the cumulative raids (and subsequent violence and damage) that federal agents had participated in over the preceding years (including, but not limited to, Waco.) From the formation of such units as the FBI's "Hostage Rescue" and other assault teams amongst federal agencies during the '80's; culminating in the Waco incident, federal actions grew increasingly militaristic and violent, to the point where at Waco, our government - like the Chinese - was deploying tanks against its own citizens.

Knowledge of these multiple and ever-more aggressive raids across the country constituted an identifiable pattern of conduct within and by the federal government and amongst its various agencies. (see enclosed) For all intents and purposes, federal agents had become "soldiers" (using military training, tactics, techniques, equipment, language, dress, organization, and mindset) and they were escalating their behavior. Therefore, this bombing was also meant as a pre-emptive (or pro-active) strike against these forces and their command and control centers within the federal building. When an aggressor force continually launches attacks from a particular base of operation, it is sound military strategy to take the fight to the enemy.
McVeigh's April 27, 2001 Letter to Rita Cosby

Let me get this straight, Tim McVeigh chose to blow up a Federal building because he felt that the government was taking away the rights of Americans. And today, we give away freedoms to ensure our collective safety from the Tim McVeighs of the world -- and no one else thinks this absurd?

So, today I ask you -- Do those who would give up liberty to purchase a little safety, deserve either liberty or safety?

What say you?

Pound For Pound I'm The Best To Ever Come Around Here

2006-08-11T09:36:00.000-04:00

Excludin’ nobody, look what I embody
The soul of a hustler, I really ran the street
A CEO's mind, that marketing plan was me
…
But the real shit you get when you bust down my lines
Add that to the fact I went plat' a bunch of times
Times that by my influence on [blog] culture
I'm supposed to be number one on everybody list

Alright, you know what it is…PHILLY STAND UP!

As evidenced by the lack of one of them fany-dancy haikus, IT’S YA BOY! How happy are y’all? I know. I know.

Yeah, Lucky is on vacation. Vacation. Mind you, I ain’t on vacation. Lucky is. Students taking vacations, damn what’s next?

I need y’all to do something for me. If not me, then for Lucky. We need one of those Black Weblog Awards…cause we do. We feel that if 3-6 can win an Oscar, we should have one of them fancy awards too, cause that’s whats hot in the streets. And since awards is hot in the streets, and we hot in the street, we need an award to retain our hotness! (Although we note that we were already voted the top Black Blogger by the Stokholm Chapter of the Philly ex-pat community, and I am eyeing a similar title from the London chapter…)

So, it is heavily suggested (requested) that you nominate us is any (or all) of the following categories…

Best Original Content
Best Political/News
Best Topical Blog
Best Writing in a Blog
(For this one right here)
(or here)
(or, begrudgingly here)
Blog of the Year
Blog to Watch
“Best Evil Villian/Henchman Team or Duo” (okay, that’s not really a category, but it should be. It should be.)

So click here to vote. Vote or Die!

As we draw Philly Appreciation Week to a close, we want to thank all those who participated, and all those who had to endure comments on their sites like… “It becomes apparent that the rise in the stock market is attributable to … PHILLY STAND UP!”

I am sure I looked an utter ass the whole time. (Hostess.) But it was worth it, and it was fun. And in the end, all that matters is you have fun. Niggas ain’t having enough fun. Some (most) of y’all taking yourselves (and me) too damn seriously. And such stress leads to hypertension (a dramatic threat to the black community. And this is an edu-tainment digression.)

So let’s run things down-

1. The Plane Bombing Plot- The word Al Qaeda keeps getting bandied about. If ghetto is the new nigger (see Wednesday’s post), Al Qaeda is the new “Crazy Muslim.” (Like, when you go to buy your Egyptian Musk, and the dude won’t give you 3 for $25.00, you’d chalk it up to Al Qaeda.) But we now know that there is Hamas, Hezbollah, dem’ crazy “ghettos” in Miami who wanted to blow up the Sears Tower for 50k, a Hummer with 22’s and some Timbs (the only thing missing was a white woman, like “where de’ white wimmin and fried chicken at?”). I ain’t scared, mostly cause I’ve grown weary of this shit. But the best part of this, besides making gas cheaper, is the that the terror alert level is now Bert, with Ernie and Elmo highlights.

2. I watched the final 75 minutes of Flava of Love. This bitch shit on the floor. THE FLOOR! One must wonder, how many times has she had a bottle shoved in her rectum for her bowels to be THAT loose? And Flave ain’t got a downstairs bathroom? Damn.

3. Cynthia Mckinney – Ding Dong the witch is dead!

4. The Eagles – Looking good. Looking damn good!

5. Invader Zim is my shit.

That’s it. I’m out. GO VOTE NOW!

PHILLY STAND UP!

I Scramble Like Randall With His

2006-08-09T01:23:00.000-04:00

Cunningham
But the only thing runnin is numbers fam
[Sonny] held you down [all summer] damn
Where's the love?

Philly Stand Up! I tell ya, isn’t this the best week ever? Why yes, yes it is! And why shouldn’t it be? It’s Philly Appreciation Week all over the globe! Yes I said the GLOBE! NAH-MEAN?!?!

And when I say global, I mean all over the world! First, the fire is spreading! I got Sweden repping the 215! Stockholm Stand Up! I got Miami repping the 215! Philly in Miami! (I wonder if the store is still open! If not, there’s always me. Me! Sonny “I like my me-time”Redd!) I got Virginia repping the 215! I see ya, Glory. And I gots the whole damn blogosphere screaming Philly Stand Up!

Today’s action items…further Philly fanaticism (Sonny “alliteration” Redd); a bet (yes, your boy will continue his global dominance by winning a wager, cause that’s what I do. Sonny “Damn he’s a cocky bastard” Redd); and some of that educational shit that y’all seem to appreciate. You all tucked in? Heerrreee we go!

First rappers to win a Grammy rep where? First rapper to get a TV deal, from where? Teddy Pendergrass reps where? Neo-Soul is from where? The “transformer scratch” was invented where? Gangsta Rap has its roots where? (P.S.K. we making that green. People always ask what the hell does that mean? Sonny “Don’t make me school ya’ with a hint”Redd.) Wilt Chamberlain played ball with which of your favorite Blogger’s father, dated said blogger’s aunt (and no she isn’t among the infamous 20,000. And this is a “that’s my story and I’m sticking to it” digression.) and repped where? Few more just for shits and giggles- Patti LaBelle, Sly Stallone and the great Bill Cosby! I said, the great Bill Cosby!

Now why is it Philly Appreciation Week? Simple. As the great negro poet LL Cool J once remarked, “It’s the sport of kings. Better than diamond rings. Football. Football.” Yes, it is football season!

I love football season. For one thing, men around the world become smarter during football season. I suppose, like Christmas, it is a happy time of year where folks greet their neighbors. For the remainder of the year, men will be of good cheer. “Hey Bob” becomes “Hey Bob, some touchdown last night.”

And, for malevolent pricks like myself, it allows me the opportunity to say, “Bob, I saw your guy choke on that interception. Youse fucking suck! (oh, and your Mom’s a whore, too!)” (Okay the second thought doesn’t often get uttered. But when you meet fans of certain teams, it brings the best out of you. And this is a “Thank God the summer is over and we can get back to what matters…Football” digression.)

And of course Football season means one thing; say it with me now…E-A-G-L-E-S! EAGLES! Or, as we affectionately (and somewhat ignorantly) call them Iggles! Go Iggles!

And in the spirit of this momentous occasion, I have proffered a wager of sorts to a fan of the most vile creatures that God has ever saw fit to allow to roam His land. I SonnyRedd, proud fan of the noble and mighty Philadelphia Eagles, have bet Diva-in-Demand, poor misguided soul who heard the lure of Satan himself and pledged her loyalty (and her soul because I’m telling you, Jerry Jones has been dead for 15 years. That bastard must be a vampire. Sonny “Buffy the Jerry Jones Slayer”Redd.) to the disgusting, vile, villainous, revolting Dallas Cowboys. But, dear readers, you mustn’t be too hard on her. Pity her for being misguided, but forgiver her, for she knows not what she does.

But we will show her the error of her ways. When we win, the Diva herself will be a guest blogger on this very page, to proclaim not only the dominance of the mighty Iggle Nation, but the greatness of your’s truly.

And, should the unthinkable happen (like every single man on the Iggles Roster get struck with polio, and be unable to play, cause that is the only shot she got) and the Cowboys beat the Eagles…well, I’ll do the same on her page.

So true believers, twice this year, the Diva herself will come and sing my praises, and the praises of the Iggles! Isn’t that great! (and a note to any of y’all half-witted Giants or Redskins fans, oh I mean Midgets and Deadskins fans…you want some of this, just come see me Ak! Name and url in the comments. You know what it is! Early!)

Wow. Y’all excited, cause I know I am. Now, on to the meat and potatoes.

So I saw the first 15 minutes of Flava of Love. I watched it for merely 15 minutes. I then paused, rewound and watched the same 15 minutes no less than 37 times. I haven’t seen any more than the first 15 minutes. I will watch the other 75 minutes at some point, but after spending 3 hours watching the same 15 minutes, the other 75 minutes have to be a let down. If you haven’t seen it, well…I am going to ruin the first 15 minutes of Flava of Love for you. You will have 75 uninterrupted minutes. Let me know how they turn out.

If you are unfamiliar with the show, it is a game show that pits “worthy women” against one another for the job of Flava Flav’s baby momma. Now given that Flava (who is NOT from Philly, yet another reason for Philly to STAND UP!) already has a coupla ex-baby mommas and one of them is a 6’7” white woman who is also Sly Stallone’s ex-baby momma (and there is your Philly connection) he invited an eclectic mix of young women, trailer trash, ex-skrippers, current skrippers, aspiring video hoes and negresses to vie for his affections. Well, women of such caliber need be housed, so he also has them living under one roof.

Upon their arrival, the ladies begin to find their beds. Because the show is a game of elimination, they find that there are too few beds for them. And that is when it gets good. As a student of anthropology, I took keen interest in the following events and recap them for you in scientific prose. (Think National Geographic special).

The trailer trash mark their territory by jumping on beds. As a trailer trash finds a bed, she and her stilettos must jump on it. Sleeping on beds is a new experience for many breeds of trailer trash, as they often sleep on futons, or in the back seat of a ‘76 Camaro, as the case may be. And here, the case was no different.

Unfortunately, a negress – in her prime and straight out of San Quentin Penitentiary – was also marking territory. The negress, resplendent in her mane of $800.00 worth of Asian children’s hair, marks her territory by rubbing her (ample…she was phat to def!) ass upon the bedspread. Negresses often display this behavior – some researches hypothesize that the negress does this to acclimate herself to an empty bed. Later in life she will replace this behavior with the acquisition of a freshly released felon – and later still, three to four children who all share her bed.

And there we were, trailer-trash and a negress, competing for the same bed. There were exchanges of “bitch” between the two, and then…not unexpectedly, the negress proceeded to maul the trailer trash. And by “maul” I mean, “Whup dat trick!” (a.k.a. You’re fuckin’ done, Son! Or the ever popular, “You got knocked the fuck out!”)

One thorough ass whipping and two cut scenes later, we are greeted by a gracious negress who offers her defeated foe some chapstick. The sharing of chapstick is an age old negress custom, and is known to be a gesture of friendship. The trailer trash, sensing a trap, un-wisely refuses.

And then the negress, who like all negresses, is very religious, offers amends to the negress gods by praying. As all negress prayers begin, she remarks of the demons in the world and their devilish ways. And then the following exchange takes place:

Negress: Lord, forgive me for beating this bitch ass today lord. And lord please forgive me for thinking about beating this bitch ass again, lord

Trailer Trash: Is that really necessary?

Negress: Girl, you better quit interrupting my prayers before god direct me to whip yo ass!

And ladies and gents, I ‘bout lost my mind. If that isn’t the funniest thing I have ever seen in my life. This is why I don’t date negresses, no matter how phat they are. They will whip your ass if you interrupt their prayer. That, and I don’t have a felony conviction.

But there was something worthwhile during the aftermath of the negress-trailer trash beat-down. The trailer trash, who was really upset, called the proud (and triumphant) negress “Ghetto trash”.

Ghetto trash.

Well, I think we have learned that in addition to 30 being the new 20 (thus 33 being the new 23), pink being the new black, and the blonde dude from Layer Cake being the new Bond, “ghetto” is now the new “nigger.” I’d also venture that “urban” is thus the new “negro,” and “inner city” is now the new “jiggaboo” (though I think Flave got Jiggaboo covered.)

Perhaps when that white dude beat that dude with the baseball bat while calling him “nigga,” it really wasn’t a hate crime. Shit, least he didn’t call him “ghetto.”

And perhaps Cynthia Mckinney, was indeed slurred when she was called common ghetto trash. (She lost by the way. During Philly Appreciation week no less. Connection? You decide.)

Thus, I think am going to go back to being “colored” (Color me Redd nigg…oops I mean ghetta – cause there is a difference between ghetta, and ghetto. Ghetto is a slur!) because it sounds like “gentrifying neighborhood with appreciating home values”. African American on the other hand? Well, that just sounds like “Hotel Rawanda” to me. (I don’t mess with Africa. Them niggas is starvin’ and that’s not ballin’ to me.)

The lesson learned? Don’t interrupt a negress while she is praying. That would make her god angry!

Philly Stand Up!

High Stakes, I Got More At Stake Than Philly…

2006-08-07T01:01:00.000-04:00

Last seen out of state where I drop my slang
I'm deep in the South kickin up top game
Bouncin on the highway switchin fo' lanes
Screamin through the sunroof - money ain't a thang

O-KAY- Run it on down!

Yo, it’s Monday. You can tell cause there ain’t a fucking haiku here. Lucky showing off his ole’ fancy ass book learnin’. Like a good evil henchman! I’m so proud. *sniff*. I’ve created yet another arrogant son-ova-bitch. Oh, happy day!

And can I say, for the first time this season, “E-A-G-L-E-S!!! Eagles!” I love this game. As a result, there will be a lot of Philly love up in this jawn today, nah-mean, Ak? What’s good Fam?

Now, today I am gonna answer your questions, all two of them. Then I’ll have some room left, cause I’m concise that way.

T, who was thoroughly disgusted with my “Uncle Tom-like” blind defense of Condi Rice insightfully asked:

"People might not get all they work for in this world, but people work for everything they get."

If this is the case, how do we (believers) reconcile this with a "just God?" How can someone sleep at night with the idea that "I might sow something and not reap anything for it!" Does this not promote a "what's the point?" attitude? Not to get too deep, but I'm just wondering your take cuz this is something that troubles me deeply.

Success is never guaranteed. Sometimes we toil for things that we do not realize. Often for reasons outside of our control. I wanted to graduate law school first in my class. I didn’t succeed. Hell I failed. But, I graduated Cum Laude. My ring is enscribed Cum Laude to remind me of both my failure AND my achievement. And in some ways, graduating Cum Laude was more of an achievement than if I had been first in my class, BECAUSE of what I overcame to do it. The quote isn’t designed to challenge the idea of reaping what you sow, it proves it. I worked hard but got out-worked.

And I think that is the point. I didn’t work hard enough. So I didn’t earn what I sought. Even though by working hard, I earned more than most.

Hostess – the woman who outranked me on the Top-Ten blogs, but whom I aptly named (we talking licensing agreement, right lady?) asked – and then had the temerity to answer (on her page nonetheless—Oh, the humanity!):

What's more important for a young Black man in America? Following his dreams (i.e. rap music) or gaining a marketable skill?

I will say this one time, and one time only. I have a favorite poem. (See, I am intellectual like that. I like art, poetry, music. A renaissance man, like the black Ben Franklin – without the gut. And this is a “Philly Stand Up!” Subliminal digression. Get it? Ben Franklin? I swear, niggas need to read a history book once in a while. Sonny “Two trademarks in one sentence”Redd.) One that shaped my life and that I will share with my son. The good news is that only the first line answers your question, Hostess.

The trick is, to live your days as if each one may be your last
(for they go fast, and young men lose their lives
in strange and unimaginable ways)
but at the same time, plan long range (for they go slow; if you survive
the shattered windshield and the bursting shell you will arrive
at our approximation here below of heaven or hell). ...
"Advice to My Son" by J. Peter Meinke

Pursue your dreams, and prepare for your tomorrows. That is my advice to every young black male. I mean, there are several rappers who have degrees -- Lauren Hill, Tracy Lee, Master P, Chubb Rock (Ph.d in Biology), Kool Moe Dee and Roxanne Shante (Ph.d. in Psychology). And many more who have gone to college and had their career blow up while in school – Puffy, Jada Kiss, Ice Cube, Chamillionaire, David Banner, Bun B, Lil’ Wayne (yes Weezy), Russel Simmons, Kurtis Blow and the most famous one—Kanye West. So there is no reason why a young man cannot do both. Hell, nowhere but in college do you have time to pursue your dreams like that anyway. That’s my $.02. That was fun. Ask more!

And speaking of Kanye… In the words of the great negro poet Kwame, “One of these kids is doing his own thing…” and Kanye ain’t it.

Seriously, can there be any doubt that Kanye West ain’t shit but Kwame all over again? If you doubt me, peep this:

I mean its all there – the arrogance (a positive quality), the fashion (polka dots? You niggas know you wore ‘em), the decidedly un-gangsta approach, both rep outside of New York (Philly Stand Up! Does a pattern emerge yet?), the “K” names, hell, the use of their own names? Shit. It is clear, and I say it here and now – Kanye West is nothing but a modern day Kwame biter!

Need more proof? Here!

Now then, some of y’all work in government installations, and “Youtube” is blocked. Sucks to be y’all! But for my final point, I want you to put on your thinking caps (so I’ll assist).

You know, one of the repercussions of feminism (and there are many) is that women, the fairer sex, have begun to view men as a tool. We are a means to an end for many women. And hell, I have no real objection to it. Do you, ma! Don’t expect me to succumb to such manipulation, but God bless with all that. Let me know how it turns out. (But ladies, you reap what you sow. And when you are paid for, you are property.)

I remember when “get money” broads first came into style. Must’ve been around 87-88. By ’89, it was an epidemic. I blame the ugly crack dealers who had no shot at a woman, unless he tricked off $150 on a 8-Ball jacket. Shit, and real hustlers would trick off $300 on a Pelle Pelle. Me? I had my Alpinas, my little herring bone, Sergio Taccini sweatsuit, 3 parts in my eyebrows, and a natural stinginess. THANK GOD for the stinginess. (Oh, don’t sleep, I was reppin’ Philly HARD! Philly Stand UP! And this is a thematic digression!)

Anyway, to my point. A small beef emerged among two groups of rappers in Philly around this time. Ironically, at the time, they were all part of the same crew – the Hilltop Hustlers.

See, Three x Dope (3 x Dope, 3D, Three Times Dope – for Google Searches. Sonny “I really don’t understand why y’all spend the time to chronicle the shit y’all do, and then hide from the world by putting periods in your shit. If you’re hiding shit, get a myspace account. Nobody will see you there”Redd) dropped their album in late ‘88 early ‘89. The lead single was a song titled “Greatest Man Alive”, and introduced the world to the way we wear our hair in Philly. Like who you thought Bobby Brown got the Gumby from anyway? (Philly Stand Up!)

Well, for their second single, they released a song that moved me – deep in my heart. Spoke to me in ways that no song has ever compared with. Ladies and gents, I present “Funky Dividends” Play the video. There is a point)

For the government employees, I’ll give you a verse:

It's a shame nowadays you've got to stay paid.
It ain't like the old days, when you could serenade.
Take walks with your girl at night in the park,
And in the shadow, secretly steal her heart.
But the new wave 80's has everything reversible.
Instead of walks, you drive a Cadillac Convertible.
Two's bound to kill you, all you need is one
To constantly bug you to get her hair done.
Every weeks a new style.
She's always got to rock it.
Like a Super Bowl sack, she's tackling your pockets.
But when you want to chill, you find that something always blocks it.
You're looking for your wallet, but your girlfriend’s got it.
I tried to put you D [own], cause you was my friend.
You didn't listen. Now she's got you for your dividends.

Simple right? "Love shouldn’t be used as a personal Visa card." Classic! This is 1989. A simpler time.

Well, there is an interlude in the song (remember when songs had interludes and not Lil’ Jon screaming “O-Kay!” er’ three seconds? This? This is a “I still hate sourthern rap” digression) wherein, EST (the rapper) is discussing the situation with his girl, Michelle. Michelle explains:

When I was with Steady B, I had it all: Gucci, Louie Vuitton, gold, Liz Claiborne. I had it all. You ain't giving me nothing.

The dilemma faced by the young rapper (these niggas were in High School! Olney! Philly Stand Up!) is that he wants a relationship that is more meaningful than how much money and things he can provide her.

Now, the inside ghetto secret is that this song, and a line in “The Greatest Man Alive” were both directed at another emcee from the crew, Cool C.

Cool C was a local legend in Philly. He dissed the entire Juice Crew way before some cat from the South Bronx named KRS repped his borough, and tore down a Bridge. (For the confused, ask in the comments and it shall be answered.)

Cool C had been bullshitting on his album. The story goes that he was chasing after a lady instead of recording. I am sure he is neither the first nor the last, but no one learns from other’s mistakes.

In an effort to defend his position, Cool C led off his album with the single “Glamorous Life” (Yes you HAVE to play it):

First of all you got to have money
Just in order to be her honey
But hey, that’s down my line
Cause I like a girl that’s fine
Give her anything that she wants
Gold and money so she can flaunt
And show that
She got Gucci, Louis Vuitton
MCM styles of every kind
Mega Designs, Alpinas
This girl man, you gotta just see her…

Well, not to be outdone, Cool C’s interlude has Michelle telling her “new” beau:

When I was with Steady B, I had everything. I was rollin’ phat—livin’ large. I had all the luxuries of life. But when I was with that nut EST, he ain’t give me nothing!

Some love triangle, huh?

Coupla’ points need to be made here.
One – Mega Designs and Alpinas were sunglasses. I had both. I was – and am – the shit.
Two- I bet many of y’all have heard “Glamorous Life.” Or even remember when that third rate rapper with dyslexia – Fabolous (And there will be a generation of our children who will never be able to properly spell the word again. This is a lamentation digression.) co-opted the gang call of the Hilltop Hustlers…“Ohhh-OOOO!”
Three- The Cool C video is a direct ancestor of the bullshit videos we have today (Philly Stand UP! Or Sit down…) It had all the elements: Many uneducated negroes with gaudy jewelry, rented vehicles and the ubiquitous video ho. Shit, that could’ve been an Usher video.

Compare that with the subdued and poetic “Funky Dividends”, no jewelry, one car (with deep dish hammers- Philly Stand Up!) that couldn’t have been rented because one didin’t rent a car with rims in the 1980’s, no video ho…well she was acting ho-ish, but I digress.

My point to this long-winded diatribe?

I have none. I was just traveling Broad Street, and making a right onto “Memory lane,” remembering my home town.

Oh, but there is a moral to the story.

Cool C, the tall and generous rapper in the video holds the unique distinction of being the only rapper on death row. Seems that he and the ever-popular Steady B robbed a bank and in the process, killed a police woman. Well, at least that’s what Steady B said when he testified against his partner.

And y’all niggas thought C-Murder (I tell ya’ don’t use the letter “C” as part of your rap name. C stands for Cursed.) was hard. Philly niggas don’t be appealing no shit. And them LA niggas don’t know shit about Death Row. Philly niggas is hard, Ak! Nah-mean!

Meanwhile, “nut-ass” EST is lampin’ here in Miami. Writing Songs with Scott Storch! I suppose it is a shrewd move to keep your money in your pocket, and your eye on the ball. (Sonny “See, all my posts have a lesson. Today’s lesson is, Philly Stand…oh, I mean, stay focused. Don’t let the opposite sex fuck you up. Shit has consequences, man – AND the title is a double entendre” Redd.)

I suppose the moral is, tricking off cash on the opposite sex can lead to consequences. Tricking off time is equally dangerous.

One last thing...

PHILLY STAND UP!

It's late and I'm writing about Moo-nique - Deal with it!

2006-08-04T02:16:00.000-04:00

Lucky here.
Another haiku.
Another late Night.
On vacation.
So, Who.Do.I.Hate.Today?
(besides Sonny)

In an interesting occurrence of life imitating art, Black comedian Moo-nique, the rowdy, disorderly actress who stars in inspiring shows and movies such as The Parkers and Phat Girlz was thrown off a plane last week for being…well, rowdy and disorderly.

TV star Mo'Nique got kicked off a United Airlines flight Sunday after getting into a spat with a flight attendant, and this time the comedian isn't laughing - she's crying racism.

"I felt like I was being treated like an animal," said the 38-year-old celebrity, whose seldom-used full name is Mo'Nique Imes-Hicks. "This happens to black people all the time, and they don't have a voice. I have a voice."

The "Phat Girlz" actress, rumored to be in line to replace Star Jones on "The View," told the Daily News the incident started when her hair stylist stashed a hair dryer in a first-class bin. While Mo'Nique was flying in the front of the cabin, her aide was in coach.
The "Showtime at the Apollo" host said she tried to keep her cool when a flight attendant first questioned the stylist's actions. But things escalated when another flight attendant allegedly refused to believe the beauty tool belonged to Mo'Nique.
"Tell your people that the next time they have an attitude, they are being thrown off. ... Since 9/11, we don't play around," one flight attendant allegedly told Mo'Nique.

Still, Mo'Nique hopes to unite other customers in a boycott of United.

Just what Black folks need… another company to boycott. First off, Black folks haven’t been ‘united’ since O.J. And a boycott?! I winced when Jigga told me I had to stop drinking Cristal (seeing how my budget only allows for cheap beer, it wasn’t a big deal. FINE! I've never had Cristal) but now Moo-nique is telling me I can’t fly United Airlines. Sorry Moo, I’ve reached my boycott quota.

But whatever. I think Moo-nique was probably correct in pulling the race card, but I also think she bares some responsibility for her fat ass getting booted from the flight in the first place. In her on-screen work, she consistently perpetuates the stereotype that got her kicked -or more likely- squeezed out. This generalization says large black women, while comical and amusing, are mean, aggressive and confrontational.

And it’s not only Moo-nique. According to a recent New York Times article (worth the read), large black actresses everywhere are being increasingly pigeonholed into playing the role of the ‘mean black sistah-friend.’

Watch out y’all… she just might snap. Sure she starts off funny. She makes you laugh. She’s so silly and naive. Then BAM!! She drops the charade as soon as you make the wrong move. (Sometime this wrong move occurs when a piece of luggage drops on a Black woman’s head, as was the case in a recent Dairy Queen commercial). The Times quotes Jannette L. Dates, dean of the communications school at Howard University who contends that this character is viewed differently by all sides.

Blacks… might laugh because they can identify with the character… ‘There’s one of us.’

[Whites] may laugh thinking, “Wow, she’s so ridiculous. My people aren’t like that.” They wouldn’t consciously feel that way. But there is something going on subconsciously because that’s what advertising is all about. They’re trying to tap into some feeling, some emotion, some psychological hang-up.

Like many of you, I have encountered my share of mean, big Black women, but I’ve never been intimidated. (Frankly, I find white girls ages 5-11 to be the group I fear most… those lassies are crazy). Seriously though, negative attitudes transcend racial lines, however a white woman’s petty dispute is a Black woman’s large-scale fall-out.

With that said, why is it that Black actresses like Moo-nique allow themselves to play these types of roles? Why do Black actors like Martin Lawrence and filmmakers like Tyler Perry continue to parade around in offensive fat-suits as naïve, ignorant, well-meaning yet boorish Black women. Are today’s rowdy, disorderly Black women acting deliberately or are they subconsciously perpetuating a false stereotype? And why do we watch?

I say forget about United Airlines, Moo-nique; boycott these outrageous characters.

~Lucky

Therefore A World With Amnesia Won't Forget Your Name

2006-08-02T00:17:00.000-04:00

You held it down long enough,
let me take those reigns
And just like your spirit
the commission remains

It’s Hump-Day! Happy halfway through the week everybody! This one will be short and dense because I have real work to do. (That, and my mother is driving me out of my fucking mind. And folks wonder why I live 900 miles away. Yes, one day my old “blue haired” mother will live in the same area code as I, but today is not that day. Fortunately! Chalk this one up as a “vent” digression.)

Okay, enough about me. Today we are going to do three things. First, we are going to band together to do something right for America. Secondly, we are going to learn a lesson from one of my heroes. And fourth (I am using the Mexican numbering system-see Monday’s post, with any questions. And this is an “inside joke” digression), I am going to give youse (Yes Honest, I said “youse,” as in “you” plural, or the “whi-bonics” form of “y’all”) an opportunity to learn more about me and how I think. Okay, you got it? Good. (Sonny “I be schoolin’ y’all so hard y’all need a syllabus” Redd.)

First, I need all of my fellow bloggers to do something Gina asked y’all to do. Sign up HERE, and sponsor a victim of 9/11. And I don’t mean “sponsor” in the Sally Struthers, fat Ethiopian kid with flies on his face way. I mean sponsor in the “write something sappy and patriotic on 9/11 dedicated to those who fell” way. The program works like this, they are working to get each and every victim a blog home. Right now they are 35% complete. That means that y’all gotta tell er-body else you know too. Shit, at this point, tell them niggas with them janky myspace blogs that nobody reads to sign up too.

And I don’t care what your politics are – cause I get visits from all sides (as it should be, we stimulate thought, and take on all comers) – but 2,996 people died on 9/11, and regardless your opinion of the Iraq war, the war on terror (notice that I didn’t capitalize that shit) or Bush, in the words of that great negro poet Ghostface Killa, “America, together we stand, divided we fall/Mr. Bush sit down, I'm in charge of the war!”

So please, sponsor a victim. Remember them on September 11, 2006 – the five year anniversary of the day everything changed. (And there are a gang of black folk available for y’all hard core revolutionaries that don’t want to put white folks pictures on your page.)

Now fourthly (I’m telling y’all this is a funny inside joke)-- because I’m feeling magnanimous, drop off your questions for the evil genius in the comments. Don't waste my time or yours asking me some shit I ain't gonna answer. Glory, I know I owe you some Valerie Plame, and Serenity had a 401 k question (Sonny“memory of an elephant, and mind like a steel trap”Redd)but whatever it is, I’ll give you the right answer. Got that? That is like homework and shit.

Alright, lets get to today’s lesson.

When is the last time you thought about Frederick Douglass? I will confide in all of you that he is my personal hero. Moreso than Dubois. More than Washington, Powell, King and X. (Okay, maybe not X. That man had more integrity in his Little [Pun? Me? Never!] finger than I can ever hope to possess.)

Suffice it to say, I wrote a paper in 12th grade comparing the words and writings of Douglass to Malcolm X’s “Ballot or the Bullet” speech. (They compare very favorably to one another, by the way. Fred wasn’t no bitch.)

But in my meanderings, I was reminded of Douglass and my admiration for him. Then I stumbled across this little quote at frederickdouglass.org:

Frederick Douglass sought to embody three keys for success in life:
• Believe in yourself.
• Take advantage of every opportunity.
• Use the power of spoken and written language to effect positive change for yourself and society.

Wow. Sound familiar? That is some profound stuff. Be self assured, hustle, and speak and write upliftment. And y’all thought I invented being an arrogant uppity nigga! Joke’s on y’all! My game is at least 140 years old! Ha!

Well, since Douglass is all clairvoyant and shit, I wonder if he knows why I am so damn argumentative?

I do not go back to America to sit still, remain quiet, and enjoy ease and comfort. . . . I glory in the conflict, that I may hereafter exult in the victory. I know that victory is certain.

Yo, I am getting all goosepimply and shit! That man is good! Real good. Look, I am not going to spend my evening telling y’all all about this man who escaped from slavery, and then worked to abolish it. That is what wikipedia is for. I am merely pointing out that, while everybody is scouring the history books for some hero in Kemet, we ignore those right in front of us, who simply through force of will accomplish great things, in our name. If that ain’t a culture and history to be proud of, then I don’t know that the fuck is.

Anyway, I leave ya with one to think and ponder on:

People might not get all they work for in this world, but they must certainly work for all they get.

And on that note, I’m out. (Look forward to your questions!)

What You Doin' In L.A., With Philippinos And Eses

2006-07-30T23:13:00.000-04:00

Latinos in Chevys, down by Pico with Frederico
I answer all your questions
But then y'all got to go
Now the question I ask you is
How bad you want to know?

Hora-le Holmes! Today I shall get through a whole post without mentioning “Republicans,” “Democrats,” “Liberal” and “Conservative.” (Cept’ for that. I suppose therein lies the danger of stating your accomplishments before you have achieved them. Sonny “Don’t count your chickens before they are a bird in the bush and melt in your mouth, not in your hands”Redd.)

As usual, I will now engage you all in some cheerful banter that will make the environment seem safe and homey, yet be subtly self-serving. (New readers take note: according to my PR department, my evil nature is off-putting. Thus, in an effort to downplay my true villainy, I always start off with some “folksy” sayings, sprinkled with some ebonics and profanity, just to convince the weak minded that I am human. And this is a Jedi Mind Trick digression.)

Now, let’s see…banter…hmmm…I got’s nothing. Wait, we do hustle! And hustle well! I got some things in the pipeline that I am sure you will all enjoy, though we shall save that for another day…soon as my freaking graphic artist hits me back! (Anybody else feel me on how damn frustrating it is dealing with artistic motherfuckers. Ever since Ms. Badu decided to proclaim that she’s “sensitive ‘bout her shit,” artists have been on this whole…“it’s the process, man!” shit. I don’t have time for no processes. And this is a “I’ma call Tyrone ass” digression.)

Anyway…I suppose I have bantered enough. Oh yeah, your boy made somebody’s top 10 bloggers list. Peep it here (July 13th entry.) And that damn Hostess got number one . Let's all feign happiness for her.[dammit woman, just remember who makes the Party crunk when you go all Oprah and what not.]. But then again, I should make all y’all’s [the punctuation problems with ebonics are baffling, who says it ain’t a language] top ten, being the top 10 nigga that I am, but we already know that, don’t we?

Today, I am going to show you some terrifying AND enlightening shit. Terrifying because it will show you how damn sophisticated some of out future obstacles may indeed be. Enlightening because it should act as a beacon to us all.

As we all know, either from watching Colors or American Me (and a hardy ‘no homo’ for THAT reference. I remember chillin’ over a friend of a friend’s spot and thinking, ‘this cat is ghey [not that there is anything wrong with it]’ when he said American Me and Oz were his shit. Oz got downright uncomfortable in the end (no homo). And this is a ‘Who didn’t know about Lance Bass? And Clay Aiken, Missy Elliott and Sisqo too.’ digression.”) that the Mexican gangs be running shit out west. Hell that, and the abundance of red (Krimson) in my wardrobe makes a Sonnyredd trip out west very unlikely.

Anyway, them Mexicans are, like, organized. But don’t take my word for it—according to wikipedia, sheriffs in a county jail found and confiscated the following missive. Seems that new chicanos are sent the rules of gang life upon arrival. The tough part is that this was found in THE COUNTY JAIL. Not, like San Quentin, or Sing Sing, but jail. Where niggas is waiting for their hearings and shit. The niggas who get locked up in the county jail are there on like parking tickets and spousal abuse, and whatever else lowlife non-felons get locked up for. Now, the spelling and grammatical errors are intact, and typical of jailhouse missives, there are loads of misused big words (them not having taken the SAT and all), but this is some scary and relevant shit. Read it and then we’ll discuss:

GREETINGS MI RAZA! THE ENCLOSED H.H.P'S (HOUSEHOLD POLACIES) HAVE BEEN ESTABLISHED AND WILL BE ENFORCED THROUGHOUT "ALL OF SANTA RITA"FOR THE SOLE PURPOSE OF INSTILLING SELF DISCIPLINE, CONFIDANCE, AND FOREMOST SECURITY WITHIN OUR RANKS..

IT IS IMPARITIVE THAT WE ALL AS A CLOSE KNIT RAZA RECOGNISE TO THE FULLEST OUR OVERALL RESPONSIBILITY'S BY UPHOLDING OUR HIGH STANDARDS IN CONDUCTING ONE SELF IN ACCORDANCE TO OUR SET GUILDELINES..AS OF BEING N.S WE WILL ACKNOWLEDGE AND RESPECT THESE POLICIES; NEVERTHELESS NOT FALTERING OUR WILL TO NOTHING LESS WITHIN THESE SET GUIDELINES..

UPPON COMPLETION OF READ-ING AND GRASPING THE TRUE MEANING OF SAID POLACIES YOU WILL THEN, AND ONLY THEN BE CLEARED TO FUNCTION ON THE SAME LEVEL OF DISCIPLINE AND AWARENESS AS ALL BROTHERS RESIDEING HERE IN "SANTA RITA"..

NOW, FOR SOME ODD REASON OR ANOTHER ONE CAN NOT MEET SAID REQUIREMENTS/GUIDELINES FOR HIS OWN SELFISH REASONS HE WILL REPORT IT TO HIS CHANNEL IMIDIATELY AND THE RIGHT PROCEDURES WILL BE TAKEN TO BETTER HELP FACILITATE HIS NEEDS.

- ..."HENCEFORTH"....

1. OUR N. PROGRAM WILL OPEN AT 8:00 AM AND CLOSE AT 10:00PM..DURING THIS TIME YOU WILL BE SUITED AND BOOTED. AWAKE, ~ - ALERT AND AWARE OF YOUR IMIDIATE SURROUNDINGS..IF YOU CATCH YOUR FELLOW N. "SLIPPIN" ASLEAP TAKE THE INITITIVE TO WAKE HIM UP BEFORE HE GETS D.P ...

2. ONCE AGAIN ALL MOVEMENTS ARE MANDITORY! NO EXCEPTIONS.(THERE IS STRENGTH IN NUMBERS) WE WILL NOT BE CAUGHT SLIPPIN ON ANY LEVELS...

3. A N. WILL ACKNOWLEDGE AND RESPECT HIS AUTHORITY IN CHARGE..ON THE SAME TOKEN NO N. WILL FEEL INFIRIOR TO ONE HOLDING RANK OR POSITION.

4.AT NO TIME WILL ANY N. ENDULGE IN ANY HOMOSEXUAL ACTIVITY, SEX PLAY, HORSE PLAY, SETRIPPIN, INDIVIDUALISM, OR HOMEBOY FAVORITISM.

5. NO RED ON RED ATTACKS/FIGHTING (AMONGST ONE AND OTHER) WILL BE TOLERATED. ALL FUNKING (BARRIO WARFARE) WILL BE LEFT ON THE STREETS.

6. NO DISRESPECTING ANY RAZAS OR K-9 WILL BE TOLERATED FOR IT ONLY JEPORDISES THE CAR AND THE LIVELYHOOD OF OUR PEOPLE..BESIDES WE DONT NEED THE UNWANT-ED AND UNECESSARY HEAT.

7. AT NO TIME WILL THE ABUSEMENT OF ALCOHOL OR ANY HARD DRUG BE TOLERATED. FOR THERE HAVE BE INCIDENTS IN THE PAST THAT WILL NO LONGER BE TOLERATED..WE ARE THE ELIETE AND WILL PRAMOTE PROFESIONAL ISM AND PROPPER CONDUCT AMONGST THE AIMLESS AND MISLEAD..

9. HOUSEHOLD TIENDAS ARE ESTABLISHED FOR ALL NEW ARIVALS AND THOSE LESS FORTUNATE IN NEED. IT IS OUR SOLE DUTY TO PROMOTE UNITY AND CARNALISMO AMONGST OUR PEOPLE. THEREFOR CONTRIBUTEING TO THE THE TIENDA IS HIGHLY ENCOURAGED AND HIGHLY APPRECIATED..

10. POSTING UP AT SHOWERS FOR YOUR FELLOW N. IS ALSO HIGHLY ENCOURAGED..

11. A N. WILL DEFEND HIS HOUSEHOLD TO THE FULLEST NO MATTER THE CIRCUMSTANCES OR CONSIQENCES. THIS MEANS STANDING NEXT TO THE CAUSE OR BROTHER IN BATTLE OR STRUGGLE..

12. A N. WILL BE HELD IN HIGH ~ REGARD FOR HIS PHYSICAL AND MENTAL WELLBEING..THEREFOR IT IS STRONGLY ENCOURAGED AS WELL AS MANDITORY THAT YOU BUST DOWN 4 TIMES A WEEK FOR 1 HOUR A DAY..

13. A N. WILL TEACH AND SCHOOL THOSE DESTINED TO THE PINTA..AT NO TIME WILL ANY PORTION OF THESE POLACIES BE MISINTERPRETED ABUSED OR USED FOR PERSONAL GAIN TO DO SO WILL RESULT IN SERIOUS REPROCUSSIONS..

14. A N. WILL ESTABLISH A BRANCH IN UNION WITH ALL THESE SET PROCEDURES, MEANING UNDERSTANDING AND ACKNOWLEDGEING SAID PROCEDURES ARE MANDITORY....

Wow. Them niggas gots rules—no, statutes— man. Like with “Henceforth” and what not. Even if they skipped number 8, I must admit I’m impressed.

Makes you wonder though…why can’t we have the same type of thing in the workplace? Or hell, even in the community. Like their whole purpose is solidarity, mixed with physical and (gasp) mental betterment. Just something to consider.
On the other hand, it is scary that these cats are this organized in the county lock-up. And we don’t speak to that black lady in the cubicle across from us, cause she be actin’ funny on Mondays, like she don’t want to speak.

On Hating Loving Condoleezza

2006-07-28T01:04:00.000-04:00

Who needs Jigga when you can Haiku:
Lucky Here.
Happy Friday.
I'm a Student.
Up blogging too Late.
Sonny Beats Me.
Enjoy Post.

Throughout her career Secretary Rice has been labeled many things: too liberal, too conservative, too hawkish and too passive. From both sides of the isle she has been denounced incompetent and inexperienced. In fact, this week we learned Newt Gingrich, besides announcing the onset of World War III, (Who needs a congress anyway?) has also been busy recruiting a small crew of... errr... anti-Condites as I call them. According to Insight Magazine arch-conservatives like Gingrich are riled up against Rice’s Middle East policy, claiming in not so many words that the Secretary is in over her head.

The conservatives, who include Newt Gingrich, Richard Perle and leading current and former members of the Pentagon and National Security Council, have urged the president to transfer Miss Rice out of the State Department and to an advisory role. They said Miss Rice, stemming from her lack of understanding of the Middle East, has misled the president on Iran and the Arab-Israeli conflict.

My question… why folks always hatin’ on Condi? As far as I can tell, her biggest flaw in the Middle East was not flying in her hair stylist. (A sistah completely misjudged that Beirut heat wave and walked off the plane lookin’ a steaming mess.)

My defense of Rice revolves around two main points. First and foremost, she’s Black (there, I said it). Secondly I think she might be the only one in the administration left with a shred of common sense. (I had hope for the new White House press secretary, but his recent ‘stem-cell research equals murder’ slipup forced me to tune him out… permanently.)

To my first point. I fully admit, somewhat begrudgingly, that my affection for Condoleezza Rice is partly race-based. I probably wouldn’t be as defensive if she were a white dude. ‘Why I gotta be like dat,’ you ask? The short version: I was raised in white suburbia, and my parents, fearing I might grow up with an identity crisis, brought me up in a household where Eyes on the Prize took the place of Saturday morning cartoons and WEB Dubois replaced Dr. Seuss.

Sometimes, admittedly, my actions have been outright wrong, but behaving otherwise always leaves me felling somewhat disloyal. (Exceptions to my feelings include P. Diddy, Supahead, Omarosa, et al.)

Black critics see Rice as an Aunt Tom. Frankly, as Secretary as State, is it really her top priority to be the chief proponent of all things Black? Also, in today’s twisted world, having an education and speaking proper English as a Black person somehow makes you less Black, while true buffoons like P. Diddy aren’t held accountable for honest-to-God Uncle Tom-ness (Remember that picture of Farnsworth Bentley holding an umbrella over Diddy's head?! The Nigga had an actual slave, people!!)

I root for Condi in the same manner I root for the Black dude on Project Runway or the Black family on Family Feud. (You ever have to turn of the TV cuz the Black family is losing so badly? You feel like if they lose, your whole Black world is going to crumble? No? Just me?) While I disagree with her on many, MANY issues, specifically regarding Iraq, a part of me quietly whispers to myself “You go girl.”

These feelings toward Rice erupted as I began to evaluate the arguments against her. I especially love how both sides don’t know how to handle her. They don’t want to appear outwardly racist, but they also are unnerved that a Black woman has irrefutable access to the President. They like their strong Black women where they can see ‘em: on ABC educating poor South African children and making white women across the country cry.

But Condi, she’s treated different. Here’s an example. Have you ever talked to one of these anti-Condites? 9 times out 10 their comments begin with “She really bright, but…” Now I have no problem with her being criticized on her decisions, arguments, etc, but beginning a sentence that way automatically rubs me the wrong way. From my encounters with anti-Condites, her intelligence is ALWAYS part of the argument against her. These people try to justify their criticisms with an awkward acknowledgment of her academic accolades. Why? Yes, the woman has a PhD. Can you believe it?! Some Black woman go to college and even stranger, some of them graduate!

My last point: Condoleezza is probably the White House’s last hope of maintaining some credibility. She is well trusted by most moderates and has the highest approval rating next to the do-nothing first lady.

I have no real conclusion. Deep down I know I should probably be harsher toward Condi, but I can’t bring myself to it. Am I turning into a conservative like Sonny? Help me?

They Say The Truth Shall Come To The Light...

2006-07-26T00:41:00.000-04:00

So everybody grab your chains cause your boy that bright...

Yes indeed! As we proceed, to give you what you need! It’s your boy Sonny Redd, a.k.a. Sonnyredd, a.k.a. The Black Lex Luthor. Some of you may know me as “I hate that niggaa…”, “I can’t stand that damn…” or the ever popular, “Fuck you nigga, go to hell.” I swear, you ever hear some shit so much that you think it’s your damn name? (Though to be honest, I love it. It takes more energy to dislike someone than it takes to like them, plus the feeling lasts longer. Sonny“sucking the life energies from your soul”Redd.)

But, I am that I am. And you are all more fortunate for it. Today, I am going to do what no man has ever done before. I will prove God exists. My doing so will prove two points that will be relevant to our future discussions; (1) it will prove that I am the greatest thinker of the 21st Century (what, you didn’t think self promotion was on the agenda?), and (2) because the black church is the single most prolific and profitable business in the black community, I suppose y’all should have a background in what you are investing in – seeing as niggas got to have the ballin’-est everything, including Pastors. (“Nigga you ain’t ballin’.” “Nigga, what?!?!? I’m ballin’ so hard that my Pastor drive a Bentley! Nigga, now what?!?!?” And this is both a “you know somewhere somebody is having this very conversation” and a“Preachers are really pushing Bentleys and nobody calls them out on it, wtf?” digression).

What follows is a re-crafting of a discussion on Cynthia’s page. She asked if anyone could explain their belief in God without resorting to Bible thumping. A fair question, and one that most people wouldn’t engage in, largely because they are unprepaired (Don’t bring a knife to a gun fight.) Me being the negro-nets bully that I am though, I hit that one head on. In doing so, I put in print my own thoughts on the subject. And I am better off for it.

Now bear with me as I reclaim my copyright! (Sonny “ulterior motives, don’t leave home without them”Redd.)

To apply logic to god requires that logic to define the indefinable. God by virtue of his omnipotence defies logic because the word ‘omnipotence’ defies logic. In short, if you look for God in logic and reason, you will be left wanting, not because He isn’t there, but because our reason and logic are both insufficient to the task.

The logical question of God and the rock illustrates this point. If God is omnipotent, can God make a rock that God can’t move?
The question tests not the limits of God, but the limits of ‘omnipotence’, which by definition have none. The question is also paradoxical, defeating itself with both outcomes.

If God can make a rock that God can’t move, then – logically – there is a rock, however massive and unimaginable, that God can’t move. His powers are thus limited by the size and weight of that rock.
If God, on the other hand, is so powerful that he cannot make a rock that he can’t move, because he can move all things, then his inability to create such a rock equally proves the limit of his power.

The resulting outcome is – of course – that there is no satisfactory answer. Which also disproves God’s omnipotence, because omnipotence cannot exist if omnipotence defies logic. And if God isn’t omnipotent, he thus cannot be God, who by definition is omnipotent.

As an aside, an interesting philosophy suggests that God is a sentient being that has merely created without any real power. He is the creator, but he has no power to change or affect the course of human events. I would suggest then that this being is unworthy of worship, and is thus no more god than our parents, who also created us. Thus, an entity unable to do all is no god, nor is he God.

But the paradox actually proves the existence of God, because the very nature of a paradox shows the limitation of logic. Logic will quantify a paradox, even explain why it is a paradox, but cannot decipher the paradox.

Omnipotence by its very definition is a paradox. If you start from a position that asserts God must be logically defined, then God cannot be omnipotent – logic and nature (science) limit His abilities.

In order for our logic to apply to God, we are left with either—(1) God cannot be omnipotent because omnipotence is a paradox that cannot exist, or (2) God is omnipotent, but we cannot ‘logically’ comprehend Him because we cannot comprehend the paradox.

But God not being omnipotent makes it clear that God is not NOT God, because that which limits God also controls and contains God—and is thus greater than God -- and therefore a God in and of itself.

Once we have disregarded all of that, we are left with but one conclusion; God is omnipotent and cannot be logically defined because omnipotence transcends logic, and thus God transcends logic.

And the only thing that can transcend logic is the Divine.

My New Name Is Just The Facts

2006-07-24T02:00:00.000-04:00

While the rest of y’all just adjust the facts
Put words together just to match
I say what I feel, y’all adjust to that
I do the opposite of y’all so I just attract
The realer audience, usually unjustly black
…
I just tackle the subject, flack from the public is nothing
I know real [thinkers] happen to love it

We’re doing big things! Big things indeed! First, look around…you like? Hotness, no? Yeah, we stay fly in the “Fell Clutch,” cause we ballin’! (Funniest thing I’ve heard tonight- “I don’t really mess with Africa. Them niggas is starvin’, and that’s not ballin’ to me”, and this is a “I was pressed to stick that shit in my post” digression!)

Least I’m ballin’, Lucky is a student. Students don’t ball. (Just like revolutionaries don’t dance, Hostess; and “Charlie don’t Surf!” Sonny “If not ‘Apocalypse Now,’ apocalypse when?” Redd.)

Anyway, not much has changed since last we spoke. Cept' that Lucky spiffied the joint up a bit. Ahh, henchmen. Every evil villian should have at least one. So we applaud the young man for applying his myspace abilities to the evil headquarters.

Let's see, what else is going on? There is still war in the Middle East, gas prices still suck and I am still the most electrifying blogger in show business. All’s right with the world or rather, there isn’t too much we can do about it, now is there? So let us do what we do best-address us.

This weekend I had the misfortune of being called a black conservative. Me. Can you believe that? Man, I’m like Rick Ross – “I know Che Guevara, the real Che Guevara, that nigga owe me a hunnert favors.” Okay, so maybe not.

So I did one of those self-analysis that is all the rage among emotional people. First, I am a born capitalist. Been one since I was eight and figured out that old people will pay children to shovel the snow off their walk. Okay, so I'm a hustler. I guess I have a strike against me. But, I care about people…um…sort of? I care that they don’t steal my car. That’s caring, right? Okay, so I don’t have the caring thing down. What’s left? Well, I’m not an elitest prick who feels that he is better than the common folk because he was born. My better-ness derives from my God given talents, brains, natural good looks, education and regal bearing. Damn, I’m screwed.

But all that, and I still ain’t a conservative. The things that make me come across as a conservative (aside from my lucid arguments, love for America, and disdain for most social programs) were things that, prior to 1965, were thought of as progressive “colored” philosophy; be better than white folk, don’t rely on white folk for anything, take care of my family, my neighborhood and don’t embarrass black folk. Nothing too complicated really.

And do you know what? My line of thought is coming back - like Mitchell and Ness throwbacks and light skin-ed-ed dudes (Self promotion! The Rock, Vin Diesel, Sonny Redd! Yeah, redd is the new black! And this is a “Wesley who?” Digression.)

For instance, Sunday night, Dateline NBC ran a story profiling a year in the lives of several black students in Jackson, Mississippi (I can’t spell Mississippi to save my life. Spell check can though. Whew.) The story, “Separate But Unequal” follows your typical formula. A group of students, two troubled and two on the right road all attend Lanier High School. Lanier was a successful school prior to desegregation. After segregation…well, let’s just say, not so much. And the tone of the story was supposed to work to uncover where the breakdowns were in the school. Except, as the report progressed, it became apparent that the problem wasn’t the school.

See, the school has a black administration, in a black city, with a black Mayor, and black teachers. The report started out ready to rip into all sorts of “the school lacks this’s” and “the school lacks that’s”. But the school is staffed by people who want those kids to succeed.

And in fact, most of those kids succeeded. Lanier graduated 141 students according to dateline. Of that, 116 were off to college. That is over 82%! Not bad for one of the worst schools in Jackson?

Interestingly, Lanier has a 65% graduation rate. Which, when applying simple mathematics, means that a freshmen at Lanier has a 53.3% of going on to college. That is better than 50/50. Not great. But workable. (I’d point out that there are white high schools in America that send less than 53% of their students to college, but some of y’all would think that I was lying, trying to confuse y’all with them things they call numbers.)

The point of this post, however, is an interesting round-table near the end. One family, all from Jackson, with degrees from fancy schools – like Harvard – all sat around and discussed where we are as a people.

We gathered three generations of the Priester family to talk about race. Their roots are in inner city Jackson, in the days when segregation was often violently enforced. Seated in one room for an interview were four lawyers—one is also a judge—graduates of Harvard, Stanford, Boston University.

Brokaw: 30 years ago, when you were going to law school at Harvard, and that was unheard of in many of the neighborhoods in which you grew up, did you think we would be a much different society at this point?
Pernilla Priester: Oh, certainly. I thought all the problems would long since have been solved. The ones we’re dealing with now would not be here. Because these are the same ones that we grew up for the most part.
...
Jonathan Priester: When my parents were younger, they always tell me the stories of not being able to go to a white only water fountain or not being able to go to certain restaurants. You could see that form of racism. Where today, it could be more subtle.

The older generation says frank discussions about race are all too rare these days.
But the younger generation also says that blacks today have opportunities unparalleled in American history.

Melvin Priester Jr.: The amazing thing about switching from an industrial to an information economy is that people with brains and with education can create billion dollar empires. If we could produce a group of radically educated individuals, the jobs will follow.
…
Charlene Priester: One of the things I think is very difficult is trying to determine what part of what we see going on now is race based, and what part of it is economics, what part of it is education.

I don’t know Charlene Priester from a hole in the wall, but I could kiss her. She summed up my position from jump (and simultaneously explained why I’m no conservative. Conservatives don't acknowledge that racisim exists. I know it does. I just won't let nobody stop me from doing what I need to do, because my grandparents certainly didn't. Sonny “See, I tie up all lose ends”Redd.)

We face a three headed monster ladies and gents. One part race, one part economic and one part educational.

When tackling a problem, the first thing you do is eliminate anything that you can’t control. I can’t prevent racism. It exists, and I trust that the Cynthia’s of the world (Mckinney and Daniels) do a fair job of raging against the machine.

But the other two, economics and education—those we can address. And that’s what we do here. From every point of view, every political ideology, every aspect. We’ll present it, vet it out, and hopefully come to some meaningful conclusions (which I will promptly publish, making myself the richest man in the world, hahahahahaha. Did I write that? Sorry. Count this as a “master plan” digression.)

Welcome to the new, “Fell Clutch of Circumstance.” Enjoy your stay!

Signed,

The Evil Genius
Sonny Redd
a.k.a.
The Black Lex Luthor

President Potty Mouth

2006-07-21T01:13:00.000-04:00

Hey ya'll. It's Lucky here on this fantastic Friday.

There are two times in my life that I have been forced to defend this president.

The hidden tapes that revealed that he smoked a joint. (Unless he is doing a line of coke off Condi’s stomach in the oval office, I could care less.)
And this week at the G8 Summit in Russia when President Bush… well, he… he… CURSED!! GASP! The president cussed:

“See, the irony is what they need to do is get Syria to get Hezbollah to stop doing this shit, and it’s over,” President Bush said, referring to the guerrilla force’s firing of rockets into Israel.

Now I know the cool thing to do nowadays is to make fun of Mr. Bush’s poor – no, TRAGIC grasp of the English language, but please deal with it for a moment. For starters, what the FUCK is up with his use of the word IRONY?! There’s nothing ironic about unrest in the Middle East. Irony is a type of humor that uses words to suggest the opposite of their literal meaning. In George Bush’s world, irony was Monday's selection on his Word-of-the-Day toilet paper (grades K through 5). But I digress. This is meant to be a criticism of the press not the President.

Following the incident, the media’s reaction was fanatical. “How could he?!” they asked. Now... I remain ambivalent regarding whether or not the mainstream media is as liberal as they say. But these overreactions by the press do nothing to quell the notion that they are indeed biased. The president’s words were insignificant and ‘Shit’, unlike ‘irony’ was utilized correctly and was inline with normal usage of the word.

Example: “Hakeem, stop doing this shit!” ~ unidentified Black person.

Folks in the media saw this as their “Gotchya moment.” While reporting on an administration so private and so secretive, these ne’er-do-well journalists jumped at the chance to insert a proverbial bar of the soap into the President’s mouth instead of getting off their lazy asses long enough to discover some actual news. Journalists today, despite having access to a countless number of resources somehow remain stone-like under this administration.

Digression:[I also tend to believe that the mainstream media struggles when it comes to dealing with outsiders (anyone outside of the east and west coasts). They concede the notion that a Christian, bible-thumping president like Dubya never curses. They assume that southern Republicans and conservatives avoid the aberrant behavior exhibited by the liberal elites along the coasts. They don’t do sex, they don’t watch the Desperate Housewives, and they most certainly don’t cuss. As most people know, this couldn’t be further from the truth. Some of the worst language I’ve heard has come from cloth-coat conservatives, (with no judgment on my part regarding their ‘moral’ values.)]

Frankly, I tend to like this president best when he exhibits tough talk. When the President announced he wanted Bin Laden “dead or alive” the media was outraged. Why? As far as I’m concerned, that’s the right attitude to have. But tough talk MUST be followed by corresponding action. Five years after the President’s notorious words, Osama’s skinny ass is still chillin’ in downtown Pakistan and journalists are chillin’ in downtown DC waiting for the president to slip up again.

Hopefully next time they’ll catch him saying something like, “I planned 9/11” or “I hate blacks.” Now that would be news.

Young Lucky

Y'all ... Got Me Really Confused Out There...

2006-07-18T23:27:00.000-04:00

I write [“Too Many (women)…]” or ["Who’s The Best MC…"] one of those
They hail me as the greatest [blogger] of the 21st century
I make some thought provokin' shit
Y'all question whether he fallin' off
I'ma really confuse y'all on this one…

I swear, you ever have one of those days when your efforts aren’t appreciated? I don’t. And why don’t I? Two words –“self promotion.” And that will be the extent of the lesson today.

Sike! (When was the last time y’all pulled a “sike”? And who are these people who spell “sike” with a “p”? Y’all know who y’all are, with your “psyke’s” or worse your “pyche’s.” The word is sike. It is spelled with the letter “S”. And this is a “Fell Clutch is brought to you today by the letter “S”; and by the number ‘1’…” digression.) For those among you who are new to the army, we strive to provoke thoughts, fights and actions. I don’t care if you are as liberal as Cynthia, or as conservative as Lashawn, so long as you honestly care about black people, you are welcome. Because, across the blogosphere folks fight, rant, rave and preach to the choir. But not here. Here, we think.

That said, I also promised more voices besides mine, and more importantly more points of view. If I expose you to differing theories, you are forced to give thought to things you ordinarily wouldn’t. Thus you grow, or at least become more interesting at dinner parties.

Today, I am offering without comment, what is either a very short movie or a really long trailer. Either way, it offers some food for thought, and comes your way from Viperteq, over at 7andacrescent.com. I respect Viper. And we don't always agree. In fact, as a poor righteous teacher, I am sure he doesn't fully agree with my take on the Middle East situation. And that is okay. We don't have to agree on everything to respect one another.

And-- surprise-- I don’t fully agree with the premise of the movie either, but I am going to have to do some research of my own -- and I encourage you all to do the same, and that is the whole point, now isn't it? So without further ramblings…
(oh, and Lucky, you better be on point Friday), or further (Freddie) Adieu…:

Aight fam, here it is. Before I hit you with the link let me say that I'm giving this clip to you because I respect what you’re about. It's clear that you're about helping people get their shit together even though sometimes they don't wanna help themselves. You have the ear of a lot of people and you have the influence to get this seen by the right folk. I want to make something happen with this information, but I just don't have the reach. So I'm hoping that you can help me do what needs to be done: start getting the word out and educating people about the truth. Here's the link to the video.

Peace,

Viper

Once you have viewed the movie, feel free to explore the Constitution; the IRS Code; The National Archives Page on Executive Orders; and the site for the movie. Read more about it!

Force Your Hand…

2006-07-16T19:49:00.000-04:00

of course that man is plottin’
Smarten up, the [world] is watching,
it's on…

Allow me this opportunity to say that the best thing about our 24 hour news networks is that we get to see the best fights in the world, for free. (Okay, that was a liberal use of “free” considering my cable bill is $100.00 a month, $130 after taxes and fees for who knows what. And this is a “damn my cable bill is high” digression.)

And I’m not talking about Tyson-Jones – because let’s face it, the world is waiting to see Iron Mike and Roy Jones bang it out – but global prize fights with real world ramifications. Cause for real, Israel is banging out Lebanon right now. This shit is great T.V. with a mystery, clues, intrigue and outright violence right there in front of you.

And as the street’s real CNN (I don’t care what these rappers are screaming. Until a woman having a phat booty is news, them niggas [yeah, I haven’t sworn off the word yet, but its time is drawing near] ain’t really displaying any journalistic talents, now are they? And this is alternately a “I hate Southern Hip-hop” or “ghetto CNN? Get the fuck outta here…” digression.) cause black folks don’t watch that show they call the news since BET got bought out by Viacom, I think it best to update y’all on who’s who, and what’s what in this new round of fighting in the Middle East.

The story started last week, when some Hezbollah guerillas (generally, I distain using such words because of its connotations, but it fits) left Lebanon, crossed over into Israel, and ambushed a group of Israeli troops traveling in a pair of Humvees. In the course of the fight, the Hezbollah attackers killed several soldiers and took 2 Israeli soldiers hostage. With their hostages in tow, the guerillas crossed the border back into Lebanon.

Who is Hezbollah? Hezbollah is a political party in Lebanon, so to put it in perspective, imagine if a bunch of Republicans snuck across the Mexico border and shot up the Mexican Border patrol. Wait a minute…the Mexicans don’t have a border patrol, do they? Alas, that is a post for another day.

So wait, because the story gets better. In addition to sneaking across the border, shooting up a bunch of soldiers and taking hostages, Hezbollah then started to launch missiles into Israeli towns and cities. I guess they were like “Fuck it, it’s on now…” (See, it’s in the title! Sonny “Jigga is relevant to everything”Redd.) Can you imagine the unmitigated balls?

So, Israel was stuck. They got a letter from Hezbollah saying, “Release Ahmed nem’ that you locked up back in the day when Ahmed nem’ were plotting to blow up buses and we’ll send you back Ari ‘nem.” Israel said…

wait for it…

wait for it…

“Fuck no.”

And I don’t blame them one bit. But then, because Ahmed ‘nem were Palestinians (the small country who’s folks I identified with till I saw them doing the fucking Cha Cha Slide on September 11th) the Palestinians were all like, “Yeah, we want Ahmed ‘nem back. Fuckers.”

So now, Israel is stuck between a rock and a hard place, because while they share a border with Lebanon, the fucking Palestinians are in the middle of their fucking country.

So, they did what many are calling the classic overreaction. They started blowing shit up. Everything. Airports. Homes. Shit, prolly a Starbucks or two got “blowed up” in the whole thing.

But the whole thing is a fucking set up.

Hezbollah is a political party comprised of Shia Muslims. I am of the belief (and any reader with any knowledge may inform me) that Shia, Sunni, and ‘insert Muslim group here’ are largely ethnic in nature. I know that they are both denominations, and that their fight lies in who, after Mohamed’s death, was the rightful Sheik. But regardless, Hezbollah is a Shia group. Moreover, Hezbollah is funded, in full or in part, by Iran and Syria, two Shia Muslim governments.

And that’s where the set-up lies. Think about it, Israel has been relatively quiet for the better part of 2006. The Palestinians have been trying to get their shit together, and Beirut has been a non-entity since Regan was in office. But, Iran has been continually calling Israel a blight; a tumor on the Middle East. And Iran went and got one of them fancy-dancy New-Clu-Yar [© G.W. Bush] power plants.

And the world was none too pleased with Iran going “New-Clear.” Not that I blame the world. Anybody who believes that blowing yourself up is the key to a bunch of virgins (really, can you imagine eternity with 72 Virgins? That sounds like hell to me. All those teeth on the royal pole…damn. Not to mention, I gotta take care of 72 baby’s mommas for all eternity? I’ll pass. And eternal tight booty? Bloody tight booty? I’m no Catholic priest. And this is a bigoted digression.) can't have nkes. Not on your fucking life. I like nukes in the hands of folks who want money. Cause what good is money in the middle of a fucking nuclear winter? Thus, no chance of nuclear warfar. But fuckers who are out for 72 virgins? Them fuckers don't want money. Them fuckers scare even me.

But, Iran going New-Clear took a back seat to Lil’ Kim, who popped off a few broken missiles into the Sea of Japan. (This Lil’ Kim is Kim Jong Il. Sorry Lucky, you was using it wrong. You made it a hype sentence, I made it a hype analogy. Sonny “Can you see why I’m not a rapper?”Redd.) And now to Hezbollah.

See, if I wanted to build me a “New-Clear” weapon without the threat of interference from Scooby Doo and those meddling kids, I’d give them something to worry about. Something like missiles launched from the back of Isuzu trucks (wonder how much the optional missile launcher costs and why I don’t have one for rush hour?), behind some useless prisoners who’ve been locked up since way before Steven Spielberg made Munich (a great movie, btw).

So now Israel is doing exactly what anyone with common sense thought they would, blowing up er’body to put the pressure on Hezbollah. And they come off looking like the Bad-Guy.

But they ain’t the bad-guy. I’ll be the first to admit, they have acted like straight pricks at times in the past. Not that I can blame them, but still, a country ought to have more dignity than to play the “hit me and I’ll hit you back” game, but this time they didn’t hit anyone. They haven’t done shit in a long time. Hell, the only thing they did was to build a wall to keep folk out. Part of me (the emotional, reactionary part) wishes we would do the same thing along the Mexican border, but I digress (outside of parentheses, no less).

The point is, this thing is going to get uglier before it gets better. If I’m Israel, I am invading Lebanon sometime next week – they already have troops across the border. Meanwhile, Iran is shaping up to be a royal pain in the ass.

The only other concern, and perhaps this is because I’ve read too many comic books (By the way, I just purchased Dell Comics “Lobo” No. 1, which is the first mainstream comic to have a black leading character. Too bad it wasn’t published until 1965. Marvel Comics wouldn’t have a black superhero until 1966 – the Black Panther—Fantastic Four # 52 [I own that one, too] and Superman’s Publisher DC? Not until 1977 [I was four…]. And this is a “Black history is American History” digression.) in my time, but…

What if Iran really wanted an excuse to launch a nuclear (this isn’t a funny thought) attack on Israel? What if they – correctly – determined that the only shot they have at expelling the U.S.A. and Israel (and er’body else) from the Middle East, is to unleash all hell?

Then my friends, we really will have World War III.

And that would suck.

World War III is Upon Us!

2006-07-14T06:32:00.000-04:00

But I'm not gonna blog about that because Friday’s here and Lucky is finally free from Massa Sonny’s shackles. Actually not really. This post is short cuz ya boy Lucky’s workin’ hard on some thangs for Son.

However, despite my busy week, I did make time for some leisure reading. This month’s New Yorker featured not only great writing, but a great feature about HIP HOP!! It’s called Where Hip-Hop Lives: Hot 97’s Turf Wars. The article is long, but probably the funniest thing I’ve read all year and worth taking a look at.

Plus, with the reemergence of Lil’ Kim, the Martha Stewart of Hip-Hop, there’s no better time to reevaluate the rap game.

And to say it need’s reevaluating is an understatement. I still listen to rap and hip hop, but I haven’t bought a rap album since Def Squad’s, El Niño. The industry is going through an identity crisis that rivals that of Michael Jackson, or more appropriate, Little Kim herself.

What do they stand for? Are they commercial? Are they pop? Who’s their target audience? How do they sell records? And how do they compete in today’s shitty wasteland of shittier music?

Black operated radio stations only make matters worse. Forget that corporate control only allows for the same 10 songs to be played on each station, but the DJs suck too! They either have no talent (Miss Jones) or they have talent and get fired for threatening to molest 4-year-olds (Star). [Yeah I hate Star, but frankly I think that’s how he would have wanted it.]

I love rap and hip-hop and I’ve always been optimistic about the so-called rap game, but I’m starting to lose hope. Who knows, maybe Lil’ Kim learned something in jail (or maybe she discovered someone with actual talent.)

Til next week!

~Lucky

Young [Son] In The House Is So Necessary

2006-07-13T00:42:00.000-04:00

No bra with that blouse, that's so necessary
No panties and jeans, that's so necessary
Now why you frontin on me, is that necessary?

It is Wednesday – look at the clock – and I have come through with yet another episode of Fell Clutch. And you shouldn’t be surprised. I’m a “clutch” hitter. My problem, dear readers, is that my time has not been as plentiful as it once was. Ahh. Such is life. I suppose I could complain if I were broke, or unemployed, or “gasp” broke and unemployed. So I will spare you my personal bemoaning about how “busy” I’ve been. Some of youse wouldn’t believe me if I told youse that anyway.

Well, do I have a humm dinger for you. If your 5 year old son wanted to dress up like a girl when he goes to kindergarten, would you let him? What if the school district said it was okay?

In Broward County, Florida, school officals have decided to let a little boy, who ironically, reports refer to as “Pat” (It’s Pat! Who’s is Pat? Better yet, what the hell is a Pat? Live from New York, it’s a digression!), will be entering kindergarten as a girl. In a dress. And stockings. For real.

According to the Miami Herald, the boy has been diagnosed with gender dysphoria, a fancy term for being trans-gendered. This 5 year old boy is a he/she. I am incensed, and the world has really gone to hell in a handbasket.

A freaking five year old…dresses like a girl…and this is okay? Moreover, why should my 5 year old, Sonny Jr., has to be exposed to cross dressers, and I’m not supposed to have a problem with it. Well paint me a bigot, cause that bothers the heck out of me.

And this is my bigoted half-attempt at a post. Lucky come on Friday, so there.

In other news, I am debating my use of the word, “nigga.” Carlos Mencia, the self-described “beaner” thinks he can use it. I’m not feeling that. At all.

The World’s Facing Terror

2006-07-09T23:09:00.000-04:00

Bin Laden been happenin in Manhattan
Crack was anthrax back then, back when
Police was Al'Qaeda to black men
While I was out there hustling sinning with no religion
He was off the wall killing for a living

I am a real American. I mean a -died in the wool- red, white and blue -love it or leave it with my trucker’s hat and Budweiser in the can- American. Not really the stereotype of a young black male surviving in “Amerikkka.” And that is by design. My maternal grandfather fought France in World War II, my other was a Harlem Globetrotter. We are old-school Americans.

I mean I am so American, I litter and care little for the environment. I eat Mc Donalds and litter. If I owned Rite Guard, it would still be in aerosol cans. Ozone? Ozone was in Breakin’ II Electric Boogaloo. America! Fuck yeah!

So what does a man who was raised on G.I. Joe (Knowing IS half the battle), and Rambo (both the movies AND the cartoons) do when he wakes to discover that we are being hoodwinked…bamboozled… That we didn’t land on Plymouth Rock, Plymouth Rock landed on us… I’ll tell you…An American uses what remains of his Constitutional rights to inform other Americans what is going on. So that’s what I’m gonna do.

I’m sure we have all heard of “think tanks.” But how many of us know what they are? And more importantly, how they bear on my post today (because, as you all know, it is all about me. And this is a self-aware digression.). Think tanks are generally non-profit entities that, for all intents and purposes, finance scholarly research. Anything entity who has the word “institute”, “commission”, or “project” in its name is likely a think tank. Many think tanks are benevolent in purpose. And all think tanks have a point of view to promote; global warming, aids is bad, homosexuality is bad, homosexuality is good, black people are inferior, America is God’s gift to the world, America is bad. In fact there are so many think tanks that just about any point of view can be expressed at any time. Hell, I think I am going to start my own and call it, The Fell Clutch Institute of Intellectual Development and Sonnyredd Upliftment Project.” Sounds real good, huh? And impressive, too.

Well, think tanks don’t just fund scholarly research. Oh, not by a long shot. Hell, if that is all they did, there wouldn’t be much upside. No my friends, think tanks form and shape the policies of your government. That is what they were created to do. Ever wonder why Christian Evangelicals are pro-lower taxes. Jesus never said, “Let not Caesar taxeth yon capital gains.” Matter fact, he said render unto Caesar what is Caesar’s. But it was some scholarly paper written by some middle aged ex-ivy league professor that tied together two disparate communities, the Evangelicals and the Billionaires, into one heck of a un-holy alliance. (Unless of course, you’re T.D. Jakes. And this is a righteous indignation digression.)

So what do they do once they have cobbled together years of bad research? Give it to the only sons of bitches who are stupid enough to believe it. That’s right, your politicians. And there, my friends, is where the up-side is. Shaping political thought. Making policy.

In and of itself, it isn’t a bad thing. I am in favor of educating the ignorant. It’s like intellectual affirmative action. Give a politician some semblance of fact, and the perfectly coiffed empty suit has a thought. That is a good thing.

Cept’ when the empty suit in question takes bad counsel. And it’s made even worse when said empty suit is the most powerful man on the planet.

For instance, take the Project for a New American Century. It’s a perfectly innocuous (S.A.T. word alert…means harmless. And this is alternately a “And now you know” or “Condescending bastard” digression depending on whether or not you knew that.) name. Sounds like a bunch of Mormons got together with Mennonites and Quakers to form some good-will association. Like the ultimate American Homeowners Association, without the politics.

But alas, names can be deceiving. See, according to William Cristol, the project’s chairman:

The Project for the New American Century is a non-profit educational organization dedicated to a few fundamental propositions: that American leadership is good both for America and for the world; and that such leadership requires military strength, diplomatic energy and commitment to moral principle.

The Project for the New American Century intends, through issue briefs, research papers, advocacy journalism, conferences, and seminars, to explain what American world leadership entails. It will also strive to rally support for a vigorous and principled policy of American international involvement and to stimulate useful public debate on foreign and defense policy and America's role in the world.

Lets break that down, shall we? “American leadership is good both for America and for the world…” What kind of leadership? Why, “American world leadership,” of course. Silly heads. And how would we accomplish this world leadership? Why, “military strength, diplomatic energy and commitment to moral principle,” of course.

So, America, first through force of arms, and then through diplomatic negotiations, will lead the world according to moral principle. Fuck you and bullshit!

See, Bill Cristol would have been better served to use the theme to Team America: World Police as his opening statement. Sing along with me, now:

America, fuck yeah!
Comin' again to save the motherfucking day, yeah!
America, fuck yeah! Freedom is the only way, yeah!
Terrorists, your game is through, 'cause now you have to answer to / America, fuck yeah!
So lick my butt and suck on my balls! / America, fuck yeah! What you gonna do when we come for you now!
(Courtesy of IMDB.com)

Now, I am not opposed to this attitude. Hell, I have it. America is the biggest and baddest on the block. Damn right! Hell Yeah and Yee Haw!

But…we are not equipped to be the police force of the world. Hell policing the damn world is how we lost the damn towers in the first fucking place.

And do you know why we are not equipped? Because we have no sense of history. As a land, we have been around for 450 years, as a country, a mere 230 years. There are corporations in the world who have corporate debt older than us.

And as a result, our perspective is skewed. Skewed, so much in fact, that we are far more married to our notions of right and wrong than the world should ever be subject to.

The Project for the New American Century wants America to rule the world and spread freedom. But, who’s freedom? And how do you force a country to adopt our notions of freedom, particularly when we ain’t all happy with our “morals” as it is? Essentially, they want the rest of the world to have the same government as we do. And this is wrong.

I am no friend to militant Islam, but I have to respect a people’s right to choose for themselves that form of government. I am no fan of Socialism or communism, but I recognize that in very limited environments, such governments work well for the people. Or at the very least, the people deserve a shot at making that choice for themselves.

If Bill Cristol gets his way, we’ll be the Roman Empire all over again. And all Empires must fall. Ask the British.

And why, friends, do I waste your time AND mine, railing against some stupid think tank that nobody ever heard of? Because, according to wikipedia (and if it is there then it must be true...for the site, click the link above.), these are the members of the Bush White House who are also members of the PNAC:

Elliott Abrams- National Security Council

Richard Armitage - Department of State (2001-2005); Deputy Secretary of State

John R. Bolton - Department of State; U.S. Ambassador to the United Nations; Previously served as Undersecretary for Arms Control and International Security Affairs in the first administration of GWB

Richard Cheney - Vice President and PNAC Founder

Seth Cropsey - Voice of America; Director of the International Broadcasting Bureau

Paula Dobriansky - Department of State; Undersecretary of State for Global Affairs

Francis Fukuyama - President's Council on Bioethics; Professor of International Political Economy at Johns Hopkins University

Bruce Jackson - U.S. Committee on NATO President

Zalmay Khalilzad - U.S. Embassy Baghdad, Iraq; U.S.Ambassador to Iraq; Previously served as U.S. Ambassador to Afghanistan from November 2003 to June 2005

I. Lewis Libby - Former Chief of Staff for the Vice President Indicted by Grand Jury on charges of Obstruction of Justice, False Statements and Perjury and resigned October 28, 2005.

Peter W. Rodman - Department of Defense; Assistant Secretary of Defense for International Security

Donald Rumsfeld - Department of Defense Secretary of Defense; PNAC founder and previously Chairman of the Board of Gilead Sciences Developer of Tamiflu

Randy Scheunemann - U.S. Committee on NATO, Project on Transitional Democracies, International Republican Institute Member; Founded the Committee for the Liberation of Iraq.

Paul Wolfowitz - World Bank, President; Deputy Secretary of Defense, 2001-2005

Dov S. Zakheim - Department of Defense, Comptroller; Former V.P. of System Planning Corp.

Robert B. Zoellick - Department of State, Deputy Secretary of State
Office of the United States Trade Representative (2001-2005)

Wow! Quite a list of VIP’s huh? Makes you wonder, really wonder if we really were sold down the river. I cast no aspersions. I will offer no conspiracy theories as to 9/11 (That’s what the comments are for.) But I do point out, with horror, that those involved in shaping our relationship in the world are out to create an American Empire. So, of course there were no WMD's. And of course Saddam knew nothing about Al Queida. And of fucking course, Osama Bin Laden is more valuable alive, instigating and rabble rousing, than dead. He is the "enemy," and to build an Empire, one simply MUST have an enemy.

I also note that a country as schizophrenic and reactionary as ours is ill equipped to provide such leadership. We are great beating an enemy. Ask Germany. Ask Russia. Ask Iraq.

But we ain’t so great at cleaning up the mess. Ask Germany, either one-East or West. Ask Russia. And definitely ask Iraq.

The Doors Of The Church Are Now Reopened… AND FABULOUS!!!

2006-07-07T08:56:00.000-04:00

~Young Lucky

…I'm working out hard still at age 60, trying to retard age, riding hard.

~President Bush July 6, People Magazine Interivew.

"Riding hard?" Oh boy.

In light of Sonny’s recent meanderings on the Black church as well as a short but fairly interesting discussion of gay marriage by the Washington Post, topped by a discussion (argument) I’ve been having with a grown as person this past week, I feel compelled to take a stab (pun intended) at gay marriage

A few weeks ago, President Bush in desperate need of a political boost from his growingly disgruntled base, went to the bench and called on the ever-reliable vote to ban gay marriage. I call it the Serena Williams Amendment. Why Serena you ask? She’s fresh, she gets her fans energized, it’s nice to see her ass out there on the court, but in the end Serena is almost ALWAYS disappointing. Don’t worry thought, just like the marriage amendment, Serena’s fans will be out there to watch next go round. (OR maybe next time, President Bush will pull out the Venus Williams Amendment, also known as a ban on abortion.)

I grew up in the church. For grammar school, I went to a white, Christian, conservative private institution. My family and I went to church upwards to three times a week and while I used to complain about it then, some of the greatest lessons in my life have been taught at the 7:00 AM service on Sunday morning. (You know how churches like to wake Niggas up).

I give you a quick biography to show that I am by no means a crazy radical leftist morally relative liberal who views gay marriage as one crucial piece to achieving the ultimate goal of, I don’t know…communism. No, I just can’t figure this one out.

The Black church is ridden with not only pocket heavy ministers but with a congregation that sometimes lacks critical thinking skills. The church welcomes 15-year-old Tanisha who is having a baby outside of marriage…. They welcome Rashaan who’s embarking on his 4th marriage… they help Mr Jenkins back into rehab and accept him when he gets out… but Brother Howard, the minister of music, whose actions are hurting no one but himself (if he’s a bottom) ... He’s a fag! Ew! Gross! That’s UN-ACC-EPTABLE.

And while the actions of Tanisha and the rest will no doubt bring judgment, trash talk and rejection from a loving, tolerant, accepting Black church, fags and dikes…well they get the added bonus of hate speech and constitutional legislation. Whaaa?? Here in Boston, churches that wont gay bash have grown accustom attaching rainbow flags on their doors (as if we are living in prewar Germany.)

"If the KKK opposes gay marriage, I would ride with them," Reverend Gregory Daniels, a black minister from Chicago

Dumb ass church Negro. The Church Negro’s argument against gays differs from the other positions. Below are some of my favorites:

1) I hate when those gays say that their civil rights are being violated! What do they know about civil rights.

Excuse me? Bitch, what do YOU know about civil rights?! Notwithstanding a quick trip around the corner to KFC, these mothafuckers haven’t marched ANYWHERE. In fact, those who have marched (Al Sharpton, Corretta Scott King, and the members of the CBC all support gay rights). Secondly The last time I checked, Black folks don’t have strict ownership over civil rights. Niggas didn’t Copyright that shit. And as far as I’m concerned, whenever the parental role of an adopted child is dependant upon which state I’m in, I sure as hell gonna claim a violation of my civil rights.

2) Well…God Damn it Young Lucky, it’s a choice! A choice I say! You don’t see that mess going around the black church

Oh yeah? It’s a choice. I’m a struggling black man in the South. I choose to live a life of secrecy and shame (until the age of 60 when I’m caught enjoying a copy of “Long Dong Silver” [a Clarence Thomas digression.]) Furthermore, since the verdict is out on homosexual biogenetics, the only way one could know it’s a choice, is if they in fact chose that choice. And gay and lesbian blacks are all over the God damn place – probably sitting behind ye ole’ church organ in his fly purple suit from Penny’s.

3) Whatever Lucky, it’s their upbringing. There parents made them like this. Daughters to close to their fathers… Mothers to close to their sons.

Tell that to Mary Cheney. Tell that to Maya Marcel-Keyes, the daughter of Alan Keyes, the bug-eyed former Senate opponent of Barrack Obama. I’m sure these two ladies grew up in households where vagina was always an option on the menu. Mr Keyes, you should have never bought your daughter that Birkenstock Barbie! Now look what happened!

The last time I checked, churches can’t marry people anyway. Only the government can. Are marriages outside the church not recognized by God? Are marriages performed solely by the Government not recognized by the church.? Or are the two mutually exclusive. It’s time for the black church to have an HONEST discussion about homosexuality. OR Send Serena’s ass back to the bench and let’s focus on the real issues. You know what they are.

I'm Raised Different

2006-07-05T11:25:00.000-04:00

react in situations Niggas lay stiff in,
rookies blame it on the age difference...

This one is gonna be short. I gotta catch a flight, but a promise is a promise. Monday, Wednesday and Friday you were promised, and I will deliver.

When the pressure is on, the very first thing you have to do is...STOP. See, I was reminded today, as I fielded frantic calls and email from every possible angle. This one is frantic that the sky is falling, that one is frantic because the water's rising.

Do you know what gives me calm? Three things, and I am sharing them with you.

1. Never take ownership of that which isn't yours. I cannot go into panic mode for someone else. Worry? Sure. Show and be concerned? Absolutely. Assume their panic/depression/defeat as my own? Nope. That is the problem with over-emoting. I'm not doing it. If it is a problem, we'll handle it. If you don't want to handle it, don't bother me with it either.

2. Only 5% of the problem is the problem itself. The other 95% of the problem is how we handle it. How we react and respond to the situation makes all the difference. Period.

3. Do one thing at a time. Folks love to multi-task. We all need to sometimes. Except in crisis. In crisis, do one thing, and do it well. Think of it like this; if it is raining and your in a leaky boat trying to fix a dam that has sprung a leak, fix one thing at a time. Start with the dam, or the boat. It doesn't matter which one. But do one thing at a time. Don't (as so many people do) use one hand to fix the leaky boat, use another to hold an umbrella, and stick your foot in the dam. That is stupid.

On that note, hope everyone had a wonderful 4th. I am off to the airport. See ya's on Friday.

In The Maybach Benz …In Los Angeles, Like An Evangelist…

2006-07-03T02:36:00.000-04:00

I can introduce you to your maker
Bring you closer to nature
Ashes after they cremate you bastards
Hope you been readin’ your Psalms and chapters
Payin’ your tithe, bein’ good Catholics, I'm comin’!

Yes-ah! Chuuur-cha! Hmmm. Yesss. We’d like to thank brother Carter for that wonderful, wonderful hymn. Can I get an Amen for our Minister of Music? Yes. And unlike so many other ministers of music, ours likes women! ‘Cause no church is more homo-phobic than the black church. Unless them boys with the long nails and the shiny hair can sang. Then we call them ‘joyful.’ Yes, we are truly blessed church indeed!

Before today's lesson church, one announcement. Your good Pastor, the right [juris] Doctor Sonny Redd, will be preaching on Mondays and Wednesdays from here on out. Fridays will be the youth-ministry with young Lucky X providing insights. Amen? Amen.

Now brothers and sistahs, today’s sermon here at the right good church of The Fell Clutch of Circumstance shall focus on what we always focus on here- money! Yes. Ours is a prosperity church. If you give, I… prosper. Can I get an Amen?

Church, I have preached on this topic before. And I don’t make it a habit to repeat myself, being a one-minded Pastor. But it rears its ugly head again, and needs to be addressed. So today’s lesson comes to us from Paul’s First letter to Timothy, chapter 6, verses 2-8.

And let’s read from the only version that matters, the King James Bible:

2 And they that have believing masters, let them not despise them, because they are brethren; but rather do them service, because they are faithful and beloved, partakers of the benefit. These things teach and exhort.

3 If any man teach otherwise, and consent not to wholesome words, even the words of our Lord Jesus Christ, and to the doctrine which is according to godliness;

4 He is proud, knowing nothing, but doting about questions and strifes of words, whereof cometh envy, strife, railings, evil surmisings,
knowing

5 Perverse disputings of men of corrupt minds, and destitute of the truth, supposing that gain is godliness: from such withdraw thyself.

6 But godliness with contentment is great gain.

7 For we brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out.

8 And having food and raiment let us be therewith content.

Now, brethren, please. I know and understand that the archaic poetry may be confusing to you. Yes. But, that is why I am here. Paul told Timothy, if your Pastor is a good man, follow him. But, if any man teaches other than the doctrine of being “like Christ,” that man is proud and knows nothing. Timothy isn’t even allowed to entertain the arguments of these men. Oh, no. He tells Timothy, that those who believe that they should profit from the Word are devoid of the truth. Paul says, basically, that aside from food and clothing, a man of God should not seek, nor should he accept, riches and wealth.

Yet, today the most famous men of God in the country all seek and promise you wealth. They say “give and you shall get.” Jesus said “give.” See the difference in their messages? Do you see the men who we are dealing with? These men do not glorify Jesus.

Let’s talk about T.D. Jakes. He calls himself a bishop. He drives a 'Lex and a Bentley. I call him a fraud. A deceiver. A liar. (and, I am hating on the Bentley. The congregation needs to remember their offerings to the church).

You see, there are many of you who will only deal in what the good Book says, and because I am a man of fact, let the facts speak. I know you have heard the phase, “For the love of money is the root of all evil.” That phase comes from this same passage in Timothy. When we turn with our scornful eyes and tell each other, “You know that money is the root of all evil,” you misuse the phase. That phase was meant for the Pastors. The Shepard’s of the flock.

For instance brethren, a trip to tdjakes.org, yields no mention of the name of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Look for it. It ain’t there. In fact, the word “God” ain’t there. Now, I’m no T.D. Fakes…umm, Jakes, but I would believe that such a site would open up with mentioning our Lord. Or, possibly even a scripture? If you go to the “links” section, no mention of the Bible, or even a link to one of the thousands of free Bible sites. But you can buy his books. His books. Again, no bibles for sale.

But, surely while this is the man’s website, his church’s site would be different? Surely, when we go to thepottershouse.org/ we find mention of Jesus? Don’t we? That would be “no.” And to make the “no” worse, I don’t know what you were told, but I was taught that when we pray, we pray in the “name of Jesus.” But Fakes’ prayer is in his own name.

Who are you praying to when you give this man money? Are you praying to Jesus, or to him? I say now that he has become the golden calf and you the Israelites.

But let’s not single out Brother Fakes, for certainly he isn’t alone in his mad deceitful delusions. After all, there is Dr. Creflo Dollar, whose only doctorate is an honorary degree from Oral Roberts University. And of course, Bishop Eddie Long. Yes brothers, we are in the last days indeed…

Let me tell you of my calling-to tell the truth, and dispell the myths. Perspective is my calling. Today’s truth is that there is a very destructive force preying upon the black community, "the prosperity doctrine."

The prosperity doctrine is a recent invention of second rate theologians and outright scammers. This doctrine teaches that God wants all Christians to be wealthy, and that by telling God that you “want in” on this particular Holy Ponzi scheme, and more importantly by giving generously to the church, you too shall be wealthy and magical checks will grace your mailbox, for 100 times your tithe. This is a religion built not on any foundation, but on the idea that “cash rules everything around me –c.r.e.a.m. Creflo dollar-dollar bill, y’all.”

Some of these cats, Creflo Dollar comes to mind, teach that Jesus wasn’t a poor man, that he wore designer clothes, and drove the Bentley of his day, the ass he rode into Jerusalem on. Their argument is that, if Jesus needed a treasurer – namely Judas – and a staff, that he was paid. (Bishop Don Magic Juan opined that he was a pimp, and Mary Magdalene, his bottom trick – I lie to you not!)

There are two problems with the prosperity doctrine from where I sit; one social, the other spiritual. Socially, the prosperity church culls its membership from the poorest and most ill-equipped to give. Frequently, and most importantly to me, this is black people. Though, I feel that any man defrauded in the name of God is entitled to retribution, no matter his color. But honestly, the black church is the single most profitable business in the black community, and it siphons hundreds of millions, if not billions, of dollars out of the community and in to “mega-churches” where little, if anything is free.

What use is a $16 million chapel in the ghetto?

Do you know how the Korean immigrant does so well in America? He can go to his church and ask for a business loan. I’d bet that he – the Korean immigrant- is not alone in this ability.

Few black churches give small business loans. Few co-sign the debts of their members to foster prosperity among their members. Sure, some have credit unions, but the terms are identical if not worse than loans at a Bank of America.

Worse, the doctrine is spiritually damning. Spiritually, the doctrine treats God as a personal ATM. It does not teach its followers to work hard and be diligent, it teaches them that proper giving is the key to happiness. While the merits of giving, and the context are (fortunately) a biblical debate for another day, never-ever-ever were we to refrain from diligence and achievement.

When I was a child, my mother routinely told me the same parable. Whether it had special meaning for her, or was the only one she knew (a point that I doubt, though because I cried like ‘Damien’ in ‘The Omen’ every time we went near a church as a child, it is possible. And this is a Revelation Digression. What, you thought you weren’t gonna get one? And I owe you a “Pun? Me? Never.” for the revelation thing, but that would be greedy. T.D. Jakes greedy.)

It is the story of the Talents, from Matthew 25:14-30. To make a short story shorter, a man went to three of his servants. He gave to each one some cash, but he did it according to ability. To the smartest, he gave the most, 5 bucks. Then the guy in the middle, he got 2 bucks. Then there was the slow guy, he got 1 buck. The man went off and left the servants. When he got back, he called all three servants in. The dude he gave 5 to, put that 5 to work and returned 10 bucks. Similarly, the guy who got 2 gave 4. So the man turns to his 3rd servant, and says, “what’chu got?” The servant said, “I was scared that you’d want your buck back, so I buried it until you got back.” To which the man got hot and said, “you lazy moron. You could have at least taken it to the bank and got me some interest!”

The lord wants you to put your cash to work. Not give him your last penny. Cause if you put it to work, you’ll have more to give. If you put it to work in your own community, you'll be performing one of the two great commandments...loving your brother as you love the Lord.

Though I suppose that the story could also be read to mean that it is okay to fleece the poor, seeing as they won’t put the money to use anyway. In which case church, your pastor, the good [juris] Dr. Sonny Redd needs a Bentley.

The doors of the church are now open...

I've Been Real All My Life, They Confuse It With Conceit

2006-06-25T16:34:00.000-04:00

Since I will not lose, they try to help him cheat
But I will not lose, for even in defeat
There's a valuable lesson learned, so it evens it up for me…

Are you learning life's lessons? Let’s talk about the consequences of our actions. It is an undeniable fact of nature, no...physics (because nature didn’t seem tough enough, it being all willy nilly with the randomness and what-not. Physics on the other hand is nothing if not rational, and I am reaching out to your rational selves right now. And we’ll call this an explanatory digression. Don’t cha’ love it? *Don’tcha wish your blogger could digress like me? Don’tcha?* ) that each and every action causes a reaction. And most of us spend our entire lives devoted to ducking, dodging or ignoring that very reaction that we cause into being.

Out of the night that covers me
Black as the pit, from pole to pole
I thank whatever [God] may be
For my unconquerable soul

I’ll tell you a story ‘bout my buddy ‘Ole Tex. Now ‘Ole Tex is a good feller, the type who will give you his last, and he is smart as they come. He has a fancy degree from one of those fancy (yet second tier) state schools where one of the presidents has their library. Yep. ‘Ole Tex is smart. And like many smart people, including some of y’all reading this here blog (can you tell that I am writing with a country accent? It is for effect. I’m adding ambiance. And this is a Hee-Haw digression.) he spends much of his smart-ness looking for ways to avoid consequences. That makes ‘Ole Tex as dumb as a bull with three tits. (Okay, so I’m no good at the ‘ole timey metaphors. Sue me.)

See, a while back, ‘Ole Tex ran into the type of trouble with a lady that would garner Willie Nelson one of them thar’ Plat-teen-num albums and a headlining show at the Grand ‘Ole Oprey. The kind ‘o trouble that happens to us all from time to time – least all of us who are actually living life – the whole "she lied and broke my heart" type of trouble. So, to soothe the pain, ‘Ole Tex found himself loving another lady. And this one, she broke his heart into ever smaller pieces. So, he found another one. And this one did too. In the course of 18 months, ‘Ole Tex went from a career, a car, a home and a lady to “none of the above.”

During those same 18 months, he had his heart broken three times. By three different (yet eerily similar) women. Today he has nothing.

Yet, he has the most precious gift that God has ever given man. Failure.

Failure is our friend. Failure teaches. Its lessons remain embedded in us, long after its wounds have healed. But make no mistake, failure hurts. But it is through our failures that we grow. ‘Ole Tex allowed his failed relationship to consume him. So he replaced it. Twice. He never bothered to face the pain of his original failure. Now he hurts even more.

I have told ‘Ole Tex the same thing that I am telling you today. We must face, and endure the consequences of our failures. Therein lies the gift of failure. Therein lies the opportunity for growth and advancement.

The name of this blog is “The Fell Clutch of Circumstance.” It comes from a line in the poem, Invictus, by William Ernest Henley. The title of the poem is the Latin word for ‘victory.’

I named my musings aptly. (Sonny “Oh-so-modest”Redd.) That is where each one of us find ourselves every single day, in the fell clutch of circumstance. How we handle the situation is what makes us who we are.

In the fell clutch of circumstance,
I have not winced, nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeoning of chance,
my head is bloodied, but unbowed.

We must face the consequences of our actions. If we fail, then we must embrace the consequences of our failure. So that we can learn. So that we can heal. So that we can come back stronger. Smarter. More aware. And yes…braver.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

Failing teaches us what we can endure. I have experienced bad credit, heart-break, poverty, hunger, loss and betrayal. I have stared down the barrel of a gun poised to end my life. I have been evicted, suspended, expelled, fired, over ruled, over turned, ostracized and double crossed. (Sometimes more than once. And this is an intellectual-honesty digression.)

And yet, today I find myself in a position that five years ago was unthinkable. Yes I have possessions. Yes, I drive a luxury vehicle that requires premium gas (but apparently, some of y’alls Pastor’s drive even nicer ones. This is a fore-shadowing digression.) I make more money than I ever have. More than entire households. Yes, my office overlooks the bay, and beyond that the Atlantic. But these things are not who I am, because these are but my successes. Who I am, I owe to my God and my failures. Who I am, I owe to my unwillingness to give up, and to my grand fortune to have family (because I don’t have friends, I have enemies. So if you’re with me, then that means you’re my brother. © Styles P.) who push me when I no longer want to push myself. Because when you have nothing to lose, you have everything to gain.

It matters not how strait the gate
How charged with punishments the scroll
I am the master of my fate
I am the captain of my soul.

Our failures are our greatest teachers. Yet if we do not face and endure the pain that we have earned – remember, our failures are our own – and take ownership of both the problem, and the course of action, we will do nothing but ensure more failure.

So, going forward, when failure strikes, how shall you handle it?

The first mistake people make is not acknowledging a failure. You have to take ownership of what you did wrong, or more often what you didn’t do at all. All of your failures are attributable to you. Period. End of discussion. It isn’t the fault of your parents, your teachers, your bosses or your significant other. Your failures are your own. If your relationship failed because your “SO” cheated, then you failed to see your “SO” for what they are. No matter the situation, you failed because you failed.

The next mistake that people make is that they wallow in the failure. Do not wallow. Do not bend the ear of every Tom, Dick and Harry you meet with your failure. You are not helping yourself. You are wallowing. And you will never succeed by wallowing. Hell, you can pour your entire failure into one heck of a depressing novel, sell 150 million copies around the world, because everyone can feel your pain, and go home and put a bullet in your head. Why? Because you wallowed. Don’t. Wallowing begets depression which begets more failure. Depression feeds on failure.

Want a tip on how to stop wallowing? Next time you feel yourself wallow in that depression, remind yourself of the fact that you are still breathing. As long as you are breathing you can win. It’s when you stop breathing that the game is over.

Next, set about succeeding. But with “baby steps.” You didn’t fail in an instant, and you won’t recoup in an instant. Rack up a few small victories. Build up your confidence. Measure your progress. For instance, if your failure is financial, take some baby steps. Grab one bill, just one, and make it your focus. Measure your progress. Every day, accrue another success.

Long-time readers will note that I spend little time belaboring what the white man did to us. We succeed or we fail by our own actions. You succeed and you fail by your own actions. It ain’t nobody’s fault but your own that you are here. And it won’t be because of nobody else but you that you overcome. (To those who think, “What about God?” You ever stop to think that God wants you to take some action. You know, “knock and it shall be opened?” Are y’all knocking hard enough? Sonny “if I add ‘in the name of Jesus’ here and there, maybe I can cop a Bently, too”Redd. Just wait till Thursday.)

Now, go out there and succeed.

To All The Christy's In Every City And Tiffany Lane's

2006-06-21T22:05:00.000-04:00

We all hustlers, in love with the same thing

It's ya boy! But I am only stopping through. See, your boy done went corporate. Yeah, I got staff bitches. And not staph, like some people thought I would get (yeah, Sonnyredd also has a cleaning lady. Nothing says 'clean' like Pinesol, Lysol and somebody else's sweat. And this is a "I don't do Manuel Labor, but I'll give his mom a twenty to do it for me" digression.) but s-t-a-f-f. The Redd Squadron is in full effect. This is a movement, dammit!

Anyway, this little ditty ain't on me. Once again, young Lucky X will bless y'all with his meanderings. I have no real problem with it...'cept...(1)Fuck you in advance for what you say about Star. We are pro-Star round this way; and (2) next time you write "f-ed" in lieu of "fucked" I will personally get on a plane to Boston and beat the everloving fuck-shit out of you. We don't play that PG-13 bullshit round here, you bastard. We don't curse, we muh-fucken cuss! (Least I do. Most of my readers are far more eloquent than I, and as a result don't have a need to resort to potty-mouth. And this is a set-the-record-straight/bi-polar digression. Two in one preamble.)

Anyway, I proudly present Young Lucky X:

Superhead… One Rapper’s 'Hoe' is Another Rapper's…errr, 'Ho.'

If I were a ho…I’d be mad. I’d be real mad.

A few nights ago, I caught up on one of my favorite podcasts, NPR’s African American Roundtable hosted by Ed Gordon, the lackluster replacement for Tavis Smiley. It’s a 17-minute shout fest featuring a gaggle of crazy Nigs, conservatives and liberals alike. Good stuff.

Now it must be said that on this particular day, I made the mistake of watching a repeat episode of Diddy’s Making the Band. (A post on this buffoonery is forthcoming). Needless to say, I needed something to reaffirm my hope in Black folks. Unfortunately, I wouldn’t find it on NPR. I double clicked the podcast to hear the following guest list.

Mark Anthony Neal, associate professor of African-American studies at Duke University; Karrine Steffans, a former video dancer and author of Confessions of A Video Vixen; and Shaheem Reed, hip-hop editor at MTV News.

Karrine Steffans, I thought. That name sounds familiar. Who the hell is Karrine Steffans? Hmmm. Is she a bird (no, not if you don’t count chickens), is she a plane (no, but she’s probably f-ed [Editor's note - d'ya see how destracting "f-ed" is. Some unsuspecting child -- or worse -- a Mormon will read this and not know what Lucky was saying. Editorial digression.] some rapper on his private jet). THAT’S RIGHT FOLKS, IT’S SUPERHEAD.

SUPA-HEAD!!! Smack in the middle of a Duke Professor and a respected MTV editor is SUPERHEAD!! (Probably not the first time she’s caught up in the middle of an awkward 3-way.) Listening to Superhead preach to me about black female images in the media is about as tolerable as Condoleezza Rice giving me lessons on proper dental care.

Now, for those of you who don’t know the story of Superhead, here’s a quick summary. For starters, she’s a certified coke-ho (barely a step above a crack-ho). Steffans is a former hip-hop video dancer who, last year, released a best seller, Confessions of a Video Vixen. The book, billed as a ‘cautionary tale’ against living a ho’s life was filled with all sorts of gossipy trinkets. This includes ‘stars’ she’s allegedly smashed. Who, you ask? Among the list are Jay-Z, Fred Durst, Xzibit, Bill Maher, Vin Diesel, Diddy, Irv Gotti, DMX, Bobby Brown, Ja Rule, Kool G Rap, Usher, Shaq, Dre, Ice T and Ray J. That’s right… Ray J. Her pseudonym is self explanatory.

Okay…Okay. Enough jokes.

The discussion circled around the alleged rape at Duke University and focused on the images of black women in the media, particularly in commercial hip hop videos. About 3 minutes into the discussion Superhead, in a brazen attempt at articulation opens her fat mouth. The host asked why she chose to get into hip-hop-hoing. “I didn’t see many Black actresses in movies,” she said “We were only on BET. We were only in the Jay-Z videos.” She said she just wanted to feel pretty. Superhead stop. You knew EXACTLY what the fuck you were doing. You saw the dough, you saw the attention, and you saw the rich rappers. In fact, if you freeze frame the dance sequence in Mystical’s Shake it Fast video, you can see actual dollar signs in Superhead’s eyes.

She continued: “I want to get hold of our young girls and say, listen honey. Get your education first. Get financially stable first. Therefore you wont become desperate and have to take jobs that degrade your body.”

She wants to get a hold on young girls?!! Yes Superhead. Please, PLEASE help the young girls. I’m sure they’re listening. I’m sure Shaneefa and dem are tuned into NPR every evening in the vain hopes of hearing the lessons of some ignorant degenerate. I’m sure they purchased your book and were able to locate the positive message mixed in with the graphic descriptions of your many sexual entanglements. Sure you wear shirts that say ‘Superhead’ on them. I’m sure Shaneefa thinks Superhead means Super Smart.

She’s starting a movement. Yeah, she actually said that. She’s starting a fucking movement. She’s even applying to NYU. Right. What’s her degree going to be in? A Bachelors of Arts in Slaying Rappers with a minor in slaying singers like Ray J?! (No, I can’t get over this Ray J thing.)

Now don’t get me wrong. I have no problem with a person turning their life around and using their semi-celebrity status to speak to others. What bothers me is the shameless self promotion and marketing all hidden behind a cloak of patronage. She doesn’t care. She won’t visit an inner city school or church youth groups. You won’t see her seriously lobby for change in the hip-hop industry. No, those gigs don’t pay enough.

What’s worse is that you have to wait for shock jock pricks like Star (and Buckwild) to set the Superheads in the world straight (he destroyed her last year). Meanwhile, the more respected NPR types simply provide a platform for her hypocrisy.

Aren't You Sharp As A Tack!

2006-06-19T00:35:00.000-04:00

You some type of lawyer or somethin’,
somebody important or somethin’?
Child I … passed the bar, [and] I know a little bit
Enough that you won't illegally search my shit…

I am a humanitarian. Me being the loudmouthed, argumentative know-it-all that I am, I volunteered to be a tutor for the upcoming July Bar Exam. Sonnyredd loves the kids. Because I am also altruistic, kind and loving (if not modest), I am going to give all of you, free of charge, Sonnyredd’s top ten study tips. Now these aren’t just for the Bar. I’ve used these same tips to do reasonably well on the SAT’s, LSAT’s, two state bar exams, one federal bar exam and most importantly, the Mensa admissions IQ test. (Let me say this, admission to Mensa, like pledging a fraternity, can take many forms. And like pledging, you can be paper, or you can be made. Taking the test…is getting made! Look at me, a King among nerds! And this concludes this self promotion digression.) So let me just say that these tips work. And with some tweeking, you can use these tips for any anxiety inducing situation. So, no more Freddy Adieu—

10. You know what you know. Don’t confuse yourself with crazy “what-ifs.” Don’t outthink the question. For bar takers, each sentence of a fact pattern has one fact to give, not 14. None of your questions will turn on the meaning of the word “is.”

9. Answer the question. No more, no less. Ignore anything that has nothing to do with the question. And for the love of God, don’t answer a question that isn’t there.

8. Focus on the task at hand. Baby-Momma/Daddy tripping? Fuck em. Best friend just broke up with their SO, fuck ‘em. Capital One bill late – oh well. You “SO” feeling neglected – if they don’t understand, they didn’t love you to begin with. You’ll buy another. Trust me. But for the death of a parent or a child, nothing should deter you from focusing on this test. Life comes down to but a few moments, and this is one of them. They’ll all understand. Except Capital One. But they’ll take your first check from the restaurant that you’ll be working at until the results come in.

7. Proper preparation prevents piss poor performance. (To the members of the elite eight- oh, I mean divine nine- you know the rest of that. And this is a keeping secrets digression.) Practice this thing over and over. You’ll get faster, and speed helps.

6. No one question will cause you to live or die, thus nothing on the exam is worth more than a moment’s thought. Do not dally (or for that matter, dilly.)

5. You don’t know it all. When you have that, “Oh my God, I have a deer with no eyes and no dick. I have No-fucking-eye-deer” moment, don’t panic. Just reason it out. Only 5% of life’s problems is the problem itself. The other 95% is how we handle it.

4. Be scared. Fear is one hell of a motivator, but fear the right thing. Don’t fear the exam, fear you not preparing yourself properly. Fuck the experts, anxiety is a good thing.

3. Don’t be stupid. The time before the bar is a marathon, not a sprint. Do a little more each day, and schedule time to test yourself, and see where you are.

2. Read a book and go to the movies, i.e. get a life.

1. Don’t change from what got you here. If you are a smoker, now ain’t the time to quit. I don’t care if you’re hacking up blood. You want to pass this thing, right? Caffeine? Don’t stop now. A little fat? Two more months won’t kill you.

As far as the practical side of things, take PMBR. (Me being the hustler that I am, I got mine for free. Bar-Bri too. But PMBR is king. You know what this is. A digression.) Play the percentages. The PMBR subjects will come up on your state portion. The odds are then, that if you know those core subjects, you’ll pass. Real simple. There are folks who take bars two and three times. Some of them are smart folks who have just let the thing consume them. But most of them are just folks who are never going to pass. They are the same 35-45% who don’t pass every year. And they may never pass. But I’ll tell you this much…every time I ask someone who failed if they took PMBR, almost to a man their answer is the same. No.

Damn it, I just gave a free fucking plug. I am ashamed of myself. Some hustler I am.

The Reason Why We Leading the Pack? This Is A Marathon…

2006-06-14T23:43:00.000-04:00

So even if I slack, I got enough leeway
to put out “The Reason” by the Mack and “Philadelphia Freeway”
So I’m back, without leaving
I’m here, but you can’t see him

Yes yes y’all. It’s your boy Sonnyredd with but a few words before I hand over my platform to a gifted young thinker. He comes straight out of the halls of academia, so we're breaking his cherry. I’ve explained that we don’t stand on ceremony round here, and he has taken that ball and run with it. Don’t be nice, because I won’t. And y’all don’t gotta agree, cause I’m not sure I do. But please enjoy the prose and ponderings of young “Lucky X.”

George Bush Doesn’t Care About Black People… And Neither Do You!!

According to a military source, at the peak of the Hurricane Katrina crisis in Louisiana, Rep. William Jefferson (D) delayed two heavy trucks, a helicopter and several National Guard members for over an hour while he went back into his house to retrieve "a laptop computer, three suitcases and a box about the size of a small refrigerator". (Reported by ABC News)

So, let me get this straight. Not only is this bastard a self-righteous, two-bit hustler, but he’s also a selfish prick who needed a fuckin’ army to help him nab some suitcases, his Powerbook, and [GASP] a refrigerator-sized box. The shit probably was a freezer. [btw, kudos to Sonny for the ‘cheddar on froze’ quote.]

The worst part of the whole ordeal is the fact that RACE has once again reared its ugly head. Slowly though, I am coming to grips with the fact that racism is here for the long- haul, which brings me to my topic…

I recently encountered an interesting experience. I live in New England and I’m in the process of receiving an advanced degree from ‘a fine institution of higher learning’… no not that one. One of my favorite leisure activities (and I assure you, this is the most you’re getting from my personal life) is attending various educational forums – particularly discussions of racial issues. I can’t get enough of these things. Usually there’s some bombastic dreadlock-having, Kente cloth-wearing, harpy educating ignorant Keeblers on Negro particulars. It’s great fun. (One time, some pathetic chick didn’t know who Malcolm X was).

Anyway, the harpy was there, but this forum was different. Me, perhaps the only Negro in New England, along with a countless number of whites and Asians filed into a forum on ‘Racism in America’ – original huh? After a few minutes of introductory banter, the leader of the panel asked the audience “Who here thinks that America has a race problem.” Every hand, including mine shot up… an obvious response.

Me? I thought of the disenfranchisement of Black voters across America – the countless blunders made in New Orleans by the ne’er-do-well federal government (and other crooked politicians) – the recent Duke rape case where the mass media has played blacks and whites against each other – and my personal favorite, the new White House press secretary who channeled Uncle Remus in a recent press conference: “I don’t want to hug the tar baby…” said Mr. Snow.

The list goes on and on, but I digress. The next question asked by the speaker was “Okay, who here considers themselves racists?” As you can imagine, every hand went down – including mine. Who me…I ain’t no racist, got-damnit! [Plus, no need to draw additional attention to my black ass]. But I got the speaker’s point immediately. How can we live in world that runs rampant with racism, yet includes no actual racists? How can we begin to solve a problem that no one admits exists?

So, after careful thought and consideration, I announce right here, right now, on my very first blog entry… I AM A RACIST. There, I said it. I am a big, fat R-A-C-I-S-T. And guess what? So are you! Just admit it to yourself. I guarantee you’ll feel better. What? You don’t believe me? Shit, let’s look it up in the dictionary…

rac•ism n: 1)The belief that race accounts for differences in human character or ability 2) The belief that a particular race is superior to others. 3) Discrimination or prejudice based on race.

There it is from Noah Webster himself (an actual racist, so he would know). The sad fact is that many Americans simply refuse to identify with this simple definition – specifically the first one.

But I can. To be absolved of all racist feelings means that you are able to forgo judgment of someone regardless of their race. It means that you don’t lock the door at the sight of a pack of dark-skinned brothas walking down the street – you don’t roll your eyes at the sharp-tongued Indian woman behind the Macy’s register (she’s a racist too, ya know) – It means you easily confront the two loud-mouthed black women talking loudly through X-Men 3 without fear that they might cut you (true story.)

In today’s society, racism has turned into such a pejorative term. We toss it back and forth at each other as an insult, while feverishly denying it exists within us. What the fuck!! Where the hell does that bring us?! Now that I’ve come out of the Ku-Klux-Kloset, at least I can withhold some of the negative tendencies that have been engrained in me by this fucked-up society.

So, what’s the next step? When you hear someone say ‘I’m not racist but, [insert ignorant racist sentence here],’ calmly remind them “Well ignorant person, we’re all racists. And the sooner we acknowledge it, the sooner we can work through it. Now shut the fuck up you nigger hater!!”

~Lucky X.

The Big Willie Get You Chilly When I Pass

2006-06-12T01:47:00.000-04:00

*brrrrrr*

I got a question. Which one is worse, a black congressman who is crazy, or one that is dirty? Give up. While I hate crazy motherfuckers, I loathe (SAT word. I got vocab digressions, bitches!) fucking dirty sons of bitches.

Take William Jefferson for instance. Willie- fucking – Jefferson. If you get past the fact that his fucking parents saddled him with a name built to be the kid who has herpes on one of those “hard-hitting” episodes of Good Times or Welcome Back Kotter – Excuse me Mr. Kot-ter… Yes Willie? I am dripping from down there… (I should’ve been a screenwriter dammit! And this is a delusional digression!), then what you are left with is a straight pimp. Wassup Pimp! Shout-out to Big Willie! I see ya Playa! Catching stacks of cash, and putting that shit on froze -- or just in the freezer.

As May was melting away to the summer heat that is June, Congressman William (Big Willie) Jefferson, (D) La. [Yeah, I make C-Span notations – my shit is professional! And this too, is a digression] flush with a fresh stack, nay – brick – of cash that he received from an undercover FBI agent went home and put that shit in the freezer. The freezer!

What the fuck does this nig – no, I won’t deign to call this fucker that word… That word is a term of endearment. I hate this fucker. – what the fuck does this cocksucker (I like that one better) think he is, Rayful Edmond or some shit? (Editorial note, the Rayful comment you just read was designed to drive more readership. You’d be surprised to know how many niggas are looking that nigga up. And on that note; Aaron Jones, Junior Black Mafia, Alpo, Supreme Team. Now all you wanna-be gangstas can read something political and educational. And that was a dirty trick digression.)

Better yet, what kind of hillbilly- Louisiana-backwoods-depression era- moonshiner running from the revenuers - bullshit is this? Who puts their cash in the freezer? I can only assume that this cocksucker stopped off at Stacy Adams and copped a new blue suit, sheer socks, pointy shoes and a matching blue derby. Cause aside from that, I really can’t imagine who does this sort of thing. On second thought, you and I both know that he went home, put on a wife-beater and a doo-rag and was chillin. After all, he is a big willie.

Or, since his game was grown and he was a Harvard educated lawyer – with an advanced law degree in taxation to boot – maybe he’d prefer I called him William. I need to try that freezer thing. I guess it was a tax loop-hole I was unaware of. It don’t count if it’s in your freezer. So, why am I mad that this back-water bastard – a.k.a. cocksucker – got caught with his hand in the till? Not like he is the first, nor will he be the last. But he offends me for three reasons.

First, he is a black man, and as such he represents us. Thus, his failure offends me, if only because he was neither capable nor suitable to hold that position. When you choose to represent us in such a public forum, you must us represent well, and paramount to that particular undertaking is that you must be beyond reproach. I know it isn’t fair, but when those of us who have been given the best of chances fucks up, those of us who are given no chance bear the brunt of that transgression. Here, Booker T. Washington and I are of one accord, we must master the world’s impression of who we are, and ‘crack-head’ mayors and cocksuckers who ‘put they cheddar on froze,’ tend to be remembered better than Andrew Young or Thurgood Marshall. It ain’t fair, but it is so. As a result, he betrayed his duty to us, and as I mentioned previously, if you fuck us, then I’ve no use for you. Beyond that, I guarren-damn-tee you that he will soon be saying that he is being “unfairly targeted” as a result of his “blackness.” Or, how about this one, “As a result of my tireless efforts to help those black citizens of my state who were so tragically and disproportionately impacted by hurricane Katrina, I have found myself a target of a politically and racially motivated investigation…” I hate this bastard already.

Secondly, he is also a bitch. He got caught, and he has a right to fight. I believe this in my heart of hearts. Hell, I’d take the case. But, rather than man-up and do the right thing, and step down from his congressional assignments, this bitch is like, “No!” No? No? Bitch, they got you on tape taking 90 fucking thousand dollars and putting it in your fucking freezer. (Can you tell, this freezer thing is blowing the shit out of me?) At least, you Harvard-educated-Georgetown - LLM obtaining bastard, have the fucking moral decency to resign your fucking committees! But no, he won’t. As an aside, he won’t because I anticipate one of his many-many defenses will be that he cannot be charged while in office. He already has moved to suppress the fruits of the search of his office.

Third, he is allowing the Congressional Black Caucus to stand beside him. Not only will he go down with the ship, but this cocksucker is willing to take our whole fucking navy with him. In his defense, them niggas (see, endearment) might need a good sinking, marginalized ass bastards that they are. But damn. Take one for the team, or failing that, at least let the team keep playing. Shit.

See, Cynthia Mckinney did something I thought was wrong and nutty. Largely because she is wrong and nutty. But aside from some mild electoral hi-jinx early on in her career, she seems honest. She honestly believes her shit. I don’t have to agree with her nuttiness, but I respect her honesty in being nutty. I can’t ever say I didn’t know. Hell, she knows. But this “Harvard” man (his website takes great pains to mention the illustrious Harvard education obtained by him and a couple of his children) took 90 grand and flushed his career down the fucking toilet. And took a little of our collective dignity with him.

This Is A Public Service Announcement

2006-06-09T12:15:00.000-04:00

Sponsored by [Sonnyredd] and the good folks at [The Fell Clutch of Circumstance]...

This is more of an administrative post than anything else. I told you that there would be changes and developments over here at “Fell Clutch”, and there are. See there are a lot of you, relatively speaking of course (and you wouldn’t know it from the comments) who are coming through from all across the globe. That said, I am now a black man with a platform. Not bad for a side hobby, eh?

So when one has a platform and an audience, what does one do? Take over the world…oh, I mean, set up a regular programming schedule. See, the way I figure it, it is frustrating when that damn Redd ain’t posted in a week. Makes you not want to come back ‘round. And Sonny (sorry, all this attention makes me speak in the third person. I’m working on it. Sincerely, Sonny “Digression” Redd) can’t have that.

So, henceforth and forevermore (until I make a change), I promise you new posts on Mondays and Thursdays. This really means Sunday nights and Wednesday nights, but you get the picture. That means, I’ll be like the black Newsweek, ‘cept it’s every couple of days, and it is not a glossy magazine with ads, and no subscription postcards to fall on your lap. (I hate those. But I love digressions!)

AND, what a show we will have for you ladies and gentlemen. Because I am going to allow guests, guests who will tell you what’s what and who’s who. Yes. Other people have opinions besides myself. They are generally wrong, but they exist. And I love to offer opposing points of view. AND, and this is why I am a genius, if any of you have really hated…hated…hated (to the tune of “Marsha! Marsha! Marsha!”) any of my posts, email me. Perhaps I will offer my platform for your point of view. I’m magnanimous like that (and one hell of a debater, to boot.)

The point is, this site will grow, and you will grow with it and with us, or we will leave you where we found you.

Now, today is the last of the scattershot posts, and as a result, this one will be all over the place.

First, my initial reaction and review of the Washington Post article a week ago was wrong. Yes, like the masses, sometimes I can get swayed when someone throws me a bone. Fortunately, I was set straight. Can’t say it will ever happen again, but what the hell, credit where credit is due. Though I can’t credit the nigga cause he doesn’t have a “nom-de-blog” at present. Well call him “Lucky” because a cat that set me straight has to be lucky.

Anyway, Lucky pointed out that the article said “one of the boys is likely to be locked up or headed to prison. The second boy -- if he hasn't already dropped out -- will seriously weigh leaving high school and be pointed toward an uncertain future. The third boy will be speeding toward success by most measures.” This was the opening paragraph of the article. Can you see what, or rather who is missing?

Me neither. At least not until Lucky pointed it out.
Lucky said, “Okay, I see the college dude, I see the thug dude, and I see this other dude who ain’t in college and ain’t a thug. Seems to me, we once called that nigga Fred Flintstone.”

Wow. This article called the future for every single non-college educated Negro in America uncertain. And my elitist ass fell for it. Wow. My bad. I got a homey who I went to high school with, (HAIL NORTHEAST, HAIL NORTHEAST, loyal all are we…1-5-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh! I got school sprit digressions.) who is the epitome of what it means to be a black man in America. He has a wife, 2 children, and has maintained the same gig for over a decade. And he might have 15 college credits to his name. We’ll call him “Mack.” My man, Mack is a stand up guy. And he was not represented by this article that appeared in the Post. And that is a travesty. Especially considering that most of the black men in America aren’t me, and they aren’t Tupac. They are Mack. I stand corrected. (Now let’s never speak of this again.)

Finally, it seems that our US forces got Abu Musab al-Zarqawi. I will say this on the record, something – aside from the fact that he was shot dead in the middle of the street after the bombing – seems fishy. I can’t quite put my hand on it. I will say this though, we probably knew where he was for weeks. We left him alive because the fire you can see, you can contain. However, due to the crushing defeat of the ghey marriage bill, the powers that be needed something…I am not saying that I completely believe my own conspiracy theory…I am merely pointing out that I don’t entirely believe the story thus far reported either.

That’s all for me. I’ll see you on Monday!

Signed,

Your Friendly Neighborhood Sonnyredd!

I’m America’s Worst Nightmare...

2006-06-02T00:20:00.000-04:00

I’m young, black and holding my nuts like,’yeah’

The Black man. (As a homage to my hip-hop roots, I am going to say this once then not again, “No Homo”. Also this will serve as my lone digression, enjoy!)

This blog of mine serves as a real time manifesto of sorts. I have always been slightly self-absorbed and as a happy by-product of my self absorption, contemplative. The notion that I could put my thoughts and feeling on paper, in real time, is one that sits well with me. And while I agree with Glory, that I need a larger platform, I understand the need to start small and build. That is the grind, and as a self proclaimed “hustler”, the grind is what separates the successful from the merely lucky, the unfortunate and the failures.

The purpose for this blog, beyond the occasional self deprecating remark (which, given the amount of, “Sonny, you are so arrogant/self-righteous/cocky/confident/insert adjective here...” that I get, y’all ain’t buying it. As a result, I can stop doing it, and we’re all the happier for it. And that will be the second digression. So I was wrong.) is to contribute what little I can to the success of Black people in America. All I have to offer is my personal success and my thoughts. And from where I’m sitting, my ideas and thoughts are as good as any others I’ve heard from folks with more letters behind their name than I have. So, I write.

What I haven’t really touched on, outside of an occasional ramble here or there, is my group, the Black man in America. I mean to correct that right now, aided – more than ever, by Shawn Carter. Hell, he has better ideas than half of the “PHd’s” who write book after book on utter nothingness to maintain or achieve tenure, so why not?

The title of this post, and the lyrics in the body, come from the song "Young, Black and Gifted." You may not have heard it because it was released only on the S. Carter Collection Mixtape, which you only received in the box with the first S.Carter Collection sneakers. I mention this because this is one of the best songs he ever did. And without further (Freddie) Ado—

Y’all was in the pub, having a lite beer,
I was at the club, having a fight there
Y’all could go home, husband and wife there
My momma at work trying to buy me the right gear ... I grew up thinking life ain’t fair.

The Black man faces perils that the larger country does not experience. I realize and acknowledge this. Growing up, my first girlfriend lived in South Philly, on Tasker Street. Think I was taking Septa out there to see her by myself? Sheesh, are you freaking kidding me, not on your life. Niggas was robbing niggas down South, even back in 1990. Shit, I think Beanie Sigel himself tried to get me for my Polo Ski Jacket one Tuesday night. As a result, I adapted. I adopted many ways and means that weren’t in my nature. While my Dad always said, “a good run was better than a bad stand”, I was/am a little too proud, a little too light, a little too ill tempered and most importantly a little too slow for such. My thing was always, “If I hit you first, chances are you won’t hit me back.” But that part of me wasn’t me. I had to be brave enough to put that away. That took real bravery, and didn’t happen completely for many years. Even now an errant comment will cause me to consider a relapse , but verbally now, intelligently now, peacefully now. As longtime readers will note, my temper has been known to get the better of me at times.

And that is the Black man’s burden. We fight. Constantly. Like itchy and scratchy. It is who we are. I will argue about the best MC, the best sneaker, suit designer, president, fraternity like my life depended on it, no matter where I am. The bus stop, the barber shop, the water cooler. That is who we are. We fight, because the streets watch us like a hawk. We fight to stay sharp. We fight, because hell, we’ve been fighting since the playground. Why stop now? What we are trying to learn is channeling that fight into positives. I may have succeeded, though it helps that I fight for a living.

How can I get a real job, china white right there?
Right in front of my sight like,
“here, yeah, here’s your ticket out the ghetto, take flight right here, sell me you’ll go bye-bye here.”

We hustle. I hustle. I *heart* hustle. And I also know that the girls didn’t like broke niggas in high school, and that when I got that one inch herringbone and Porche Designs (I’m an early 90’s Philly nigga, What!?!?!) “before I was handsome, but the money made me gorgeous” (c) Lord Finesse.

The fact is, and the point that the Al Sharpton’s and Oprah Winfrey’s of the world miss is that the struggle of the 1960’s took us from the back alley to the lunch counters. But being at the lunch counters sucked if you didn’t have a dollar for a slice of apple pie. And hip-hop (before the current bullshit) reflects that. Moreover, the black businesses that we built in the 100 years between reconstruction and the “Movement” were not built to compete with the larger white businesses. Other than funeral parlors, we didn’t really need the local black business any more. Sure, barber shops and hair salons were nice, but they just weren’t pulling in the big bucks like they used to.

On the other hand, we gained the right to go where we pleased, be taught by who we pleased, and buy what we pleased. Only thing was that we didn’t know how to make that happen. There was a step in our growth that was taken from us. Those who knew how to make money in the larger society wouldn’t tell and those who would tell didn’t know.

So rappers started to point out the obvious. Not like I didn’t know about hustling. Not like I didn’t know hustlers. Not like I wasn’t broke too.

So, I halfway crooked it. And we know how halfway crooking turns out. Actually, I struggled with Hostess’s favorite emotion...shame. I was all set to acquire the Lexus by High School graduation (true story, I B.S. you not), but I didn’t want to get locked up and disappoint Aunt Martha. I really thought that my arrest would disappoint my great Aunt, and I couldn’t bear to do that, to waste my talents and disappoint my Aunt, for a car that I can buy cash money today. My Dad would often chant, “Education is the key to success, without it you’ll be a great big mess.” Unlike his stand/run poem, this one resonated. Largely because I had nursed enough scrapes and scuffles, and been jumped enough to figure, “Okay, I’ll try it your way...” Thanks Dad!

There’s a different set of rules we abide by here
You need a gun, niggas might drive-by here ...

As previously mentioned, being a Black man can be dangerous. But it isn’t just the fact that other Black men will try you in ways that they wouldn’t dare try a white man. I’ve come to expect that. Comes with the territory.

No, what gets me is that it is also dangerous to be a Black man and get pulled over. They could shoot my black ass. They were ready to shoot me for crossing a bridge in my own damn country while I was trying to escape a flood. And God forbid if I get angry. Apparently, when I get angry I become dangerous. Thus I cannot raise my voice in the face of bad customer service, lest security (who is likely one of my own) come down and remove me, or the local PD cite me for unruly conduct. And while the greater white society at large doesn’t understand why one little misdemeanor citation will make a difference, when you are interviewing for a federal clerkship, somehow that comes up. Funny thing that.

Sucks being the suspect. Sucks even worse when your own people believe it. But if the refs are crooked, do you quit playing the game? Hell Fucking No. You run up the motherfucking score. Thus I rail and rabble rouse. I stand tall at every chance, to be a success, to transcend the stereotype. I get a degree. I tell all. New job, raise, yep. If I don’t then what good am I?

I’m Chuck D, standing in the cross-hairs here...

This is what it means to be a Black man in America today. Not because my reality is shared by all Black men, nor because my reality is unique or particularly special. What makes this what it means to be a Black man in America is the fact that this reality is imputed upon all of us before we open our mouths to say “Hello.” What we do to change the game is on us. This is why I write.

I guess June is going to be a heavy month.

UPDATE-6/2/06 at 11:25 am

There is a thoughtful article in the Washington Post today about this very issue. Thanks Cool AC!

Please check it out here. For those who want a taste, this was particularly inspiring:

"It doesn't bother me if people say I made it with affirmative action," says [Colin] Powell, who joined the Army ROTC in 1954, just six years after President Harry S. Truman ended segregation in the armed forces, and eventually became chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. "All that matters is what you do afterwards. When I heard complaints, I'd say: 'It doesn't matter if it was affirmative action or not. I got it, you didn't.' "

Powell, who is now active in an array of mentoring programs, offers his own history to young black men who worry about the limitations others may place on them. Your achievements, he tells them, need not be accompanied by apology. (Emphasis added.)

I Would Thirst Often As A Youth Cause Of You

2006-05-31T23:07:00.000-04:00

Moms nursin self-esteem issues
Round the house it's hard to find a clean tissue,
minus her tears
To rewind this time I promise I’ll minus my years
to the day to take the pain away
Seemed sunny outside, always rained on Jay
Pop you my umbrella,
come help your son with the weather...

In order to get right we gotta deal with this wrong
And the pain I felt all my life you feel in this song
Your lack of warmth left a chill in the morn'
Your lack of love, left me loveless,
and I'm of your breath
I'm your mind body and soul, your heart, your flesh
Your alcohol, your smoke, the results I'm a mess
And dad, still I love you no less, dad
Hope you didn't think success would make me less mad
But not mad, just disappointed - we wasted years
I swear to God, may you take me away from here
If you taught me anything
The one thing you taught me is to face my fears, coward
How could you let me grow without you?
Grind in this rap game, take dough without you?
Wear my Pro Keds close to the sole without you?
Family pictures pose without you - WHY?! ..
Why shouldn't I be mad?

I can’t claim to be the author of these words. But I could have written them. I could have written them just as easily as any other fatherless child could have written them. Please, for those who read this erratic ramble that I call a blog, please drink in the desperation, the frustration and the confusion of these words. They are the formation of my years, and the foundation of my youth. And my dad was pretty damn decent, all in all.

But these are the thoughts and the feelings of each and every fatherless son in the United States today. I hope you have read that. These are the thoughts of every single young man that you know who did not grow up with his father.

What’s that you say? A grand generalization? No, not at all. The sobering, God awful (because it is awful) baseline truth. This my friends, is reality.

I mention this, because a black child has a 25% chance of being born in wedlock. And y’all know I hate statistics. But a 25% chance of being born in wedlock, to a mommy (or Mommie, as mine is appropriately titled) and dad (or Pop) is fucked up.

And the worst part of that stat is that I seem to be the only motherfucker on the planet earth who cares two shits either way. And I’ll be honest, that hurts me to my heart. If only because maybe I do owe an apology to Joy Jones. Maybe marriage is for white people. Maybe the old ways died off because they weren’t so good. What did the old ways get us anyway besides lynched, and boycotting and marching for some shit. We don’t need that shit no more. After all, niggas got New Orleans back, and they are prosecuting them whiteboys over at Duke, and OJ got off, and that Latham broad got herself her groove back with the white gardener, and Terry Macmillan and Wendy Williams has already identified that all the good black men are in jail, and the rest of us ‘chancleta and jeans’ wearing niggas is on the down low, so why even try to better ourselves anyway because the white man is out to get us and can beat us at any thing we try. Why the fuck do we even bother?

Then, in the midst of that frustration, I am reminded that we bother, brothers and sisters, because we must. We bother because we shall. We bother because in addition to Rosa Parks, Martin Luther King and Malcolm X, there were others -- who are less known -- who died for our betterment.

We struggle for Denmark Vesey, who died tring to free his people even though he himself was already free.

We fight for Nat Turner, whose belief in himself and his terrible mission shaped the laws of America for generations.

And we win for Emmit Till, who died for whistling at a white girl. Something I witness being done by brothers every single day.

And straight up and down, if that isn’t what y’all is doing it for, then I have little use for y’all. I have little use for those who don’t want to see us succeed. I have little use for those who aren’t out achieving all that they can. And I have little use for those who are unwilling to sacrifice and struggle for what we’ve been given, particularly knowing the sacrifices made to get us this far.

I’ll admit, I’ve gone soft. I guess I went and got reflective in my old age, more accepting of others mediocrity. Kindler and gentler villain, I suppose. Fuck that. We have all been hand-held too damn long, and quite frankly, my hands are sweaty.

The time has passed when our children are seen as a financial burden by their fathers, nothing more than a bill to be paid, akin to some boderline utility, like the cable bill; and a possession by their mothers, their own personal moveable lovable hugable teddy bears that can walk and talk and never judges mommy for her faults whatever they may be.

Our children are our responsibility. We aren't to be breeding best friends forever (bff's) any more than we are supposed to be breeding bills. We care for them, raise them, and teach them, so they can care for, raise and teach our great-grands.

Take Me Over, Somewhere Peaceful For The Weekend

2006-05-18T15:31:00.000-04:00

[Then] it's back to speakin of vultures...

Yo, I’m out. Going to take the show on the road for the weekend. Oh, you thought I was leaving? Nah, you ain’t that lucky. And don’t worry, I’ll resume the celebration of my 1 – year blog-o-versary. Shit, I’m like Disney, I’ll celebrate for the whole damn year (it’s going to take me that long to finish these damn lists.) Speaking of Disneyworld, I am going soon. I like Disney. That’s my shit.

Anyway, my little brother will be graduating from my alma mater this weekend, so I get to get gussied up in finery and see the ole’ campus. I am immensely proud of my brother who, (1) graduated early (Hell, I didn’t. What's the opposite of early? Yep. "Get your hand outta my...digression), (2) has at least one 4.0 semester under his belt (I never did that. Closest I came was a 3.8 and a 3.6), and (3) has no baby's mommas or criminal records and good credit (I am having a Chris Rock moment, forgive me). I am (as you can tell) very proud of him.

I am also going to check out the new National Air and Space Museum this weekend, and generally take a well deserved break. As a child of the 80's, nothing has excited my mind more than the space shuttle. And getting to see one live and up close? Fugheddaboutit. I’ll also hit up some of the DC clubs while I am out there, I’m sure.

But, ever the hustler there are some deals I will be getting up to speed on as well, as the hustle never stops.

Enjoy your weekend! Cause I know I will. The Redds (Grandmom Redd, Uncle Redd, Cousin Uncle Redd, Jr., Big Brother Redd, Redd nephews, ah eff it, the whole Redd-tang-clan [who are indeed nothing to fuck wit]) are going to DC! Baby Redd is Graduating!!!

Now Star is Mad I Won't Grant Him An Interview

2006-05-11T21:50:00.000-04:00

I am taking a break from the pursuit of hip-hop immortality to address what is a tragic miscarriage of justice and shows how fucking unbelievable this country is. I live in Miami. This morning, like every morning, I turned on my radio to tune in to the Star and Buc Wild show. It is a great show that has the courage to challenge the vicious stereotypes surrounding black manhood in this country. Where else could Shahrazad Ali co-exist with a black republican married to a white woman? Where else can "nigga" be bandied about like it is on the streets, but in the context of discussions about Ann Rand? No where! But wait...

To my utter amazement, Prince Markie Dee (Fat...Boys...Fat-fat...Boys) was “spinning” or rather blandly talking up the traditional clear channel communications pabulum that they pass off as hip-hop or r&b (rap and bullshit) this morning. Where was my “ko-bo-bo-bo”? What the fuck?!? They fired Star? Fucking re-got-damned-dic-you-lous.

The official story is that Star, without provocation, said that he would molest DJ Envy’s daughter. He went on to call Envy’s wife a “slant eyed” whore. *Gasp!* The horror. It was on the O’Reilly Factor, so it must be true!

Nope.

It is not often that you witness news. But when it happens, you remember it. I can say I was there. And that is not the whole story. I’ll tell you what happened -- what really happened.

Yeah, Star said terrible things. Yeah, he threatened to “R.Kelly” Envy’s “seed.” Yeah, yeah, yeah. So the fuck what?

Let’s look at exactly what it is being reported Star said (courtesy of the transcript as posted on Hiphopmusic.com)

No, let me just touch on this real quick... Yes, I disrespected your seed. If you didn't hear me, I said, I would like to do an R. Kelly on your seed, on your little baby girl. I would
like to tinkle on her.

"Call the cops"? Nigga, please, there's no bodyguards. ... I'm disrespecting your seed. I would like to skeet on the face of your seed. Now that's, that's real talk dog. You have to come holla at me now. Call me, I'll meet you somewhere, but don't act like
you were waiting in some parking lot with like 50 niggas. Please.

I want to do an R. Kelly in the mouth of your seed ... You holla at me now. I'm the easiest man in the world to find.

Okay. I am not responsible for that transcript, but it generally follows my memory of what was said that morning. My point is that, notwithstanding the terribleness of the words, there is context outside of this passage, or the other passages you will read and hear that have to be remembered.

The context was provocation. He was provoking DJ Envy. “Now you have to come see me...” was his statement. The listeners are getting an education about the way of the world, one that is missed in the hype of “slant eyed whore” (acknowledging that “slant eyed whore” is bad, because it is bad) he was saying and showing that, this is not real life, this is the radio. These personalities whose overt ‘street cred’ you all (the listeners, particularly the young black and brown ones) emulate are not gangsters, even if, “they play one on T.V.” Envy won’t be talking tough again, and that is a good thing.

Star proved his point. Often in life we win battles, only to lose wars. Here, I think the battle was won, and a guarenteed contract means that even if he lost the war, he'll be okay. At the end of the day i will always remember, Envy didn’t do anything -- his wife did. That, my friends, is literally a bitch move. (Me pun? Definitely.)

You Made It A Hot Line, I Made It A Hot Song

2006-05-02T12:34:00.000-04:00

As we proceed to give you what you need! Sonnyredd’s Top 10 Verses of all time. There is plenty of room for disagreement, and my East coast bias is probably readily apparent here. The folks and verses who didn’t make the list are numerous, yet memorable all the same. Hood’s verse on the original Scenario, Willie D’s on Mind’s Playing Tricks, J-Live’s on Braggin Writes, Jay Z’s on Can I Get Open, the honorable mentions are ridiculous. But that is the fun of Top Ten lists. The amount of research I had to do for this was incredible. Let’s get to it.

Number 10
Cappadonna – Winter Warz
Rarely does a cat come out of nowhere and outshine a group of established emcees. But Cappadonna did. And what’s worse, he went 16 plus some. He rode the Rza track in a way that no Wu member had in a long time. Unfortunately he, like so many members of this list, never found commercial or solo success. But damn if he didn’t spit fire here.

You heard of the rasp before but kept waitin
for the sun of song, I keep dancehalls strong
Beats never worthy of my cause, I prolong
Extravangza, time sits still
No propoganda, be wary of the skill
As I bring forth the music, make love to your eardrum
Dedicated to rap nigga beware of the fearsome
Lebanon Don, Malcolm X beat threat
CD massacre, murder to cassette
I blow the shop up, you ain't seen nuttin yet
One man ran, tryin to get away from it
Put your bifocal on, watch me a-cometh
into your chamber like Freddy enter dream
Discombumberate your technique and your scheme
Four course applause, like a black dat to dat
You're stuck on stupid like I'm stuck on the map
Nowhere to go except next show bro
Entertainin motherfuckers can't stop O
in battlin, you don't want me to start tattlin
All upon the stage cause y'all snakes keep rattlin
Bitch, you ain't got nothin on the rich
Every other day my whole dress code switch
So just in case you want to clock me like Sherry
All y'all crab bitches ain't got to worry
Can't get a nigga like Don dime a dozen
Even if I'm smoked out I can't be scoped out
I'm too ill, I represent Park Hill
See my face on the twenty dollar bill
Cash it in, and get ten dollars back
The fat LP with Cappachino on the wax
Pass it in your think, put valve up to twelve
Put all the other LP's back on the shelf
And smoke a blunt, and dial 9-1-7
1-6-0-4-9-3-11
And you could get long dick hip-hop affection
I damage any MC who step in my direction
I'm Staten Island's best son fuck what you heard
Niggaz still talkin that shit is absurd
My repotoire, is U.S.S.R.
P.L.O. style got thrown out the car
and ran over, by the Method Man jeep
Divine can't define my style is so deep
like pussy, my low cut fade stay bushy
like a porcupine, I part backs like a spine
Cut you like a blunt and reconstruct your design
I know you want to diss me, but I can read your mind
Cuz you weak in the knees, like SWV
Tryin to get a title like Wu Killa Bee
Kid change your habit, you know I'm friends with the Abbott
Me and RZA ridin name printed in the tablet
under vets, we paid our debts for mad years
Hibernate the sound, and now we out like beers
and blunt power, born physically power speakin
The truth in the song be the pro-black teachin

Number 9
Lord Jamarr – Punks Jump Up To Get Beat Down
The weak sister of Brand Nubian laid down the best verse of his career right here. This verse captures the essence of the song, and Jamarr makes it a solo song featuring Sadat X. I can’t say it ever happended again, but it was good enough for number nine.

Your punk ass'll be grass quick fast like my name was flash
when a nigga try and rob me for my cash.
You thought you had a sweet vic, a nice pick,
but you didn't anticipate that I might be sick.
Now who's the trick, cuz I'm not a up. (No, no-no-no!)
I always do the fuckin', just might do the buckin'.
I leave my Nikes stuck in your rectum, till you learn
Brand Nubian, yo, you gotta respect 'em.
Dissect 'em, yo, our word is bond regardless.
To my what, and do the Puma strut.
So step the fuck off, before I punch you in your face,
with the mothafuckin' bass!
Then you're gonna taste blood in your mouth, it's gonna flood south
to the ground, and you're gonna know I don't fuck around.
So if you think you had two soft newjacks,
we're gonna have to off you with a few cracks
to the jaw and you won't pop that shit no more.
Explainin' to your friends why you're layin' on the floor.
Did you want some more? I didn't think so.
Just got whipped like a faggot in the clink, so
I suggest you take your bloody mess and find a piece of wire,
fix your broken jaw, then it's time to retire.
Lord Jamar will live long, cuz I give strong blows the heads of my foes.
Dread flows, gives me power as it grows.
Watch how rass-cladda you catch the speed knot,
heed not, and hell will be your home,
Lord Jamar, Sadat, as we swell your dome.

Number 8
Biz Markie – Vapors
Can you feel it? Nothing can save you... Biz has a lot of memorable flows, “I’m the rap promoter, I start to motor...” is my personal favorite, but the Clown Prince of hip-hop nails it with Vapors. I had a hard time choosing just one verse, but I think this one is his best of the song.

I got another partner that's calm and plain
He goes by the name of the Big Daddy Kane
A mellow type of fellow that's laid back
Back in the days, he was nothin' like that
I remember when he used to fight every day
What grown-ups would tell him he would never obey
He wore his pants hangin' down and his sneakers untied
And a rasta-type Kango tilted to the side
Around his neighborhood, people treated him bad
And said he was the worst thing his mom's ever had
They said that he will grow up to be nothin' but a hoodlum
Or either injail or someone would shoot him
But now he's grown up, to their surprise
Big Daddy got a hit record sellin' worldwide
Now the same people that didn't like him as a child be sayin'
Can I borrow a dollar, ooh, you're a star now

They caught the vapors

Number 7
Buckshot/Blackmoon – Who Got the Props
This is classic golden age hip hop. When lyrics mattered, Buck had lyrics for days. This verse captures the essence of an innocent time in the artform, and is one of my personal faves.

One, two, melody shows
And before I flip a script you know I must keep you dozing
Enter the stage of the Buckshot Shorty
Son pass the boom, keep the top on the 40
Never ever ever get played, KILL THAT
Bust a mad cap in your back cause I'm all that
Straight from Crooklyn, better known as Brooklyn
Elude the hook and, your whole beat's tookin'
Must take charge, bomb guard, I'm the man
Bust my plan, it feeds back on my fam
Once I cruise, pay dues, I never lose
When I break on fools, wake up, you don't snooze
Bust a move, I get smooth like Roadie
Kick it like the Four Horsemen, yeah you know me
Booming like a speaker with my 100 dollar sneakers
Baggy black jeans, knapsack, and my beeper
keep a fresh cut, never see me with a busted fro
And I'm a let you know...

Number 6
Kool Moe Dee – Wild Wild West
This is the ultimate shout-out verse. Moe Dee is the man, and this pioneer is never appreciated for his greatness. I love Moe Dee, and even though Ladies Love Cool James, Moe Dee won the battle – but that is the next list, isn’t it?

I'm talking about Nazareth, B.O., Tony and Milton
Mike Mike Sluggo and Mike Chillion
D.O.B., Reggie B, and Sidney
Dana B, Derrick B, Sean B, and don't forget
Big Hank, Don Ice and Sire Rock
God bless Peter Wax, Chuck Chuck, and Po Rock
El Dorado George way back in the day
Had all the brothers on the hill talking this way
They said, "God, have mercy L.A.
Sunshine," and my DJ
Easy Lee, are from aroud the way
Jock Jock, Philly Phil, Don D always
But they're chillin, Keith Keith, KV
Steve O, Ross Ross and A Fi
Beroni, Toss Toss and Hung Hunk
We fight with our hands and nobody's a punk!
At the...

The wild wild west

Number 5
Biggie Smalls – Party and Bullshit
This song was the reason I bought the “Who’s the Man” soundtrack. It is pure Biggie at his essence, and pure golden age, as long as we define the golden age as 88-98 (which I do. Bronze Age is 78-88, and of course this shit we got now is Platinum age, but for the wrong reasons).

I was a terror since the public school era
Bathroom passes, cuttin classes, squeezing asses
Smoking blunts was a daily routine
Since thirteen, a chubby nigga on the scene
I used to have the tre` duce
And the duce duce in my bubblegoose
Now i got the mack in my knapsack
Loungin' black, smoking sacks up in Ac’s
And Sidekicks with my sidekicks rockin fly kicks
Honeys want to chat
But all we wanna know is "Where the party at?"
And can i bring my gat?
If not, I hope I don't get shot
But i throw my vest on my chest
'Cause niggaz is a mess
It don't take nothin' but frontin'
For me to start somethin'
Buggin' and barkin' at niggaz like i was duck huntin'
Dumbing out, just me and my crew
Cause all we wanna do is...

Party... And bullshit

Number 4
LL Cool J – I’m Bad
There can be no denying that LL is a lyricist, and has been for years. When LL dropped I’m bad, rappers were still rocking lines on a one-two beat. LL was – and is – sick when he wants to be.

I'm like Tyson icin' I'm a soldier at war
I'm makin' sure you don't try to battle me no more
Got concrete rhymes been rappin' for ten years and
Even when I'm braggin' I'm bein' sincere

MC's can't win I make 'em rust like tin
They call me Jaws my hat is like a shark's fin
Because I'm bad as can be got my voice all waxed
Some brothers think he's making records now he must have relaxed

I couldn't shouldn't and it'll stay that way
The best rapper you've heard is L.L. Cool J
Kamikaze take a look at what I've done
Used to rock in my basement now I'm number one

And can happen on time never standin' on lime
You wanna try me first you better learn how to rhyme
I'm the pinnacle that means I reign supreme
And I'm notorious I'll crush you like a jelly bean

I'm bad

Number 3
OC – Time’s Up
This joint is so nice, OC gets two verses posted. Choose either one, this is the blueprint for how a rhyme should be constructed. Plus, the message, the message is so on point!

You lack the minerals and vitamins, irons and the niacin
Fuck who that I offend, rappers sit back I'm bout to begin
bout foul talk you sqwak, never even walked the walk
More less destined to get tested, never been arrested
My album will manifest many things that I saw did or heard about
or told first hand, never word of mouth
What's in the future for the fusion in the changer?
Rappers are in danger, who will use wits to be a remainder
When the missile is aimed, to blow you out of the frame
Some will keep their limbs and, some will be maimed
The same suckers with the gab about, killer instincts
but turned bitch and knowin damn well they lack
In this division the conniseur, crackin your head with a 4 by 4
Realize sucka, I be the comin like Noah
Always sendin you down, perpetratin facadin what you consider
a image, to me this is, just a scrimmage
I'm feel I'm stone, not cause I bop or wear my cap cocked
The more emotion I put into it, the harder I rock
Those who pose lyrical but really ain't true I feel

"Their time's limited, hard rocks too" -> Slick Rick

Speakin in tongues, about what you did but you never done it
Admit you bit it cause the next man gained platinum behind it
I find it ironic, so I researched and analyzed
Most write about stuff they fantasized
I'm fed up with the bull, on this focus of weed and clips
and glocks gettin cocked, and wax not bein flipped
It's the same old same old just strain it from the anal
The contact, is not com-pexed or vexed
So why you puhsin it? Why you lyin for? I know where you live
I know your folks, you was a sucka as a kid
Your persona's drama, that you acquired in high school in actin class
Your whole aura is plexi-glass
What's-her-face told me you shot this kid last week in the park
That's a lie, you was in church with your moms
See I know yo, slow your roll, give a good to go
Guys be lackin in this thing called rappin just for dough
Of course we gotta pay rent, so money connects, but uhh
I'd rather be broke and have a whole lot of respect
It's the principal of it, I get a rush when I bust
some dope lines oral, that maybe somebody'll quote
That's what I consider real, in this field of music
Instead of puttin brain cells to work they abuse it
Non-conceptual, non-exceptional
Everybody's either crime-related or sexual
I'm here to make a difference, besides all the riffin
The traps are not stickin, rappers stop flippin
For those who pose lyrical but really ain't true I feel

"Their time's limited, hard rocks too"

Number 2
Nas – Live at the BBQ
This verse began a media obsession with Nasir Jones that continues today. I don’t think it is as good as OC’s, but I can’t deny the impact Nas’ first appearance had on hip-hop.

Street's disciple, my raps are trifle
I shoot slugs from my brain just like a rifle
Stampede the stage, I leave the microphone split
Play Mr. Tuffy while I'm on some Pretty Tone shit
Verbal assassin, my architect pleases
When I was twelve, I went to hell for snuffin Jesus
Nasty Nas is a rebel to America
Police murderer, I'm causin hysteria
My troops roll up with a strange force
I was trapped in a cage and let out by the Main Source
Swimmin in women like a lifeguard
Put on a bulletproof nigga I strike hard
Kidnap the President's wife without a plan
And hangin niggaz like the Ku Klux Klan
I melt mics till the sound waves over
Before steppin to me you'd rather step to Jehovah
Slammin MC's on cement
Cause verbally, I'm iller than a AIDS patient
I move swift and uplift
your mind shoot the gift when I riff in rhyme
Rappin sniper, speakin real words
My thoughts react, like Steven Spielberg's
Poetry attacks, paragraphs punch hard
My brain is insane, I'm out to lunch God
Science is dropped, my raps are toxic
My voicebox locks and excels like a rocket

Number 1
AZ – Life’s a Bitch
Here it is-BAM! And you say got damn, this is a dope jam! I can only say that when Nas criticized Jay-Z for letting Eminem murder him on his own shit, he had to visualize the realism of life in actuality, that AZ murdered him on his own shit too. Nobody rides a beat better, and I hope folks start paying attention.

Visualizin the realism of life in actuality
Fuck who's the baddest a person's status depends on salary
And my mentality is, money orientated
I'm destined to live the dream for all my peeps who never made it
cause yeah, we were beginners in the hood as five percenters
But somethin must of got in us cause all of us turned to sinners
Now some, restin in peace and some are sittin in San Quentin
Others such as myself are tryin to carry on tradition
Keepin the schwepervesence street ghetto essence inside us
Cause it provides us with the proper insight to guide us
Even though, we know somehow we all gotta go
but as long as we leavin thievin
we'll be leavin with some kind of dough so
until that day we expire and turn to vapors
me and my capers will be somewhere stackin plenty papers
Keepin it real, packin steel, gettin high
Cause life's a bitch and then you die

We Get Together Like A Chior...

2006-04-25T12:18:00.000-04:00

To acquire what we desire...

And it was written that the celebration shall continue. As promised, this here is the week that I appreciate the music, and musicians that helped raise and mold me. Today we pay tribute the Rap Group.

To qualify, there must be more than one vocal performer. This means that groups like Naughty by Nature and Kool G. Rap and Polo don’t count. To be a group – or duo – you must have not only lyrical ability, but personality. Doubtless, the greatest single emcees have personality, but a group’s personality is not that of one man. It is a collaboration, a meeting of minds, without which it is no more than a bunch of rappers in a cipher. No, the group is an entity that – more often than not – is greater than its parts.

Now, I present—

Sonnyredd’s Top Ten (remember them, the Adidas joints? Those were my shit! It’s my party, I’ll digress if I want to) All Time Hip Hop Duos or Groups.

Number 10

EPMD – Eric and Parrish Makin Doe. These two single handedly brought Scottish Links and Fisherman Hats into vogue. But on the real, that wasn’t what propels them to this list over some very honorable mentions (See the Comments). What does it for E and PMD is that they heralded the new school. It wasn’t Leaders, Tribe or Brand Nubian, but EPMD that had the hip-hop world on notice that a new day was dawning.

[Parrish Smith]
The rhythmatic style, keeps the rhyme flowin
Good friends already bitin, without you knowin
("You out there? LOUDER!")
Can't understand, why your body's gettin weaker
Then you realize, it's the voice from the speaker
The mind become delirious, situation serious
Don't get ill, go and get curious
("It's my thing!")

[Erick Sermon]
Nuff about that, let's get on to somethin better ("LOUDER!")
And if gets warm, take off the hot sweater
And if you want some water, I'll get you a cup
And if you don't want it, then burn the hell up
("You out there? LOUDER!")
I'm tellin you now boy, you ain't jack
Talkin much junk like Mr. T at your back
but he's not, so don't act cute
Cause if you do you in hot pursuits

[PMD] It's my thing

Number 9

Salt-n-Pepa – The first ladies of rap. The female emcee was not uncommon in the 80’s. Finesse and Synquess (Hey Sista, Soul Sista), the Roxannes (Shante and ‘The Real’) and even JJ Fad and Oaktown’s 3-5-7 from out west. But there can be only one that is the “Best”, and Salt, Pep, and Spin (Both of them) hold that title. They were so good, they get a pass for not writing their own rhymes. Herbie Lovebug anyone? Who else comes out dissing Doug E. Fresh and Slick Rick?

Yo, bust it Sandy D.
Yo, what's up?
Have you ever been to jams when people just stand
And they pay to come in, and they don't even dance?
They're so uncouth they think they're cute
Am I lying? No, it's the truth
Right now I'm gonna show you how it's supposed to be
Cuz we, the Salt and Pepa MCs
Will chance the circumstance rocks your pants
My fans, this is called the jam

Number 8

Geto Boys- I sit alone in my four-cornerd room looking at candles... Ever been to Houston? Me neither. But I know the 5th Ward like the back of my hand thanks to the boys from the geto. While Scarface is one of the all time greatest emcees, Willie D and Bushwick “an eye for an eye” Bill brought the ruckus. They founded and perfected the short lived “horrorcore” movement, and Willie D knocked Mellie Mel out. Need I say more?

[ Bushwick Bill ]
I'm back like a rebel 'making trouble'
I'm an Assassin, kickin ass on the double
No motherfucker alive's gonna stop me
So fuck you and your goddamn posse

[ Willie D ]
It's time to step on some motherfuckin toes
(Nah D!) Man, fuck them hoes
The East Coast ain't playin our songs
I wanna know what the hell's goin on
Gimme my card, radio sucker
I'll kick your ass and take the motherfucker
Everybody know New York is where it began
So let the ego shit end

[ DJ Akshen (Scarface) ]
Black radio is being disowned
Not by the other race, but its own
A lot of bullshit records make hits
Because the radio is all about (politics)
Akshen is my identity, whoever you be
(Don't) (don't) (don't fuck with me)
My last go, the radio struck me with a low blow
Now I'm doin it like a G.O.

(Go, go, go, go, go...)

Number 7

The Roots – The world’s only hip-hop band. And the only cats since Jeff and Will to put my hometown on the map. These cats aren’t a sound, they are a movement. I predict that in 20 years, when I’m fifty, me and Mrs. Redd will take a summer and follow them around the way folks followed the Grateful Dead. Damn their lack of a platinum hit, these dudes hit the road! And industry rule number 4084 says that all your money is made on tour.

I wake up early in the morning, I mean early afternoon
Break a lyrical hymn of the stem like boom
I'm flyer when I'm higher put my shit up on a tomb
That nigga represented on the 28th of June
I'm representing Philly on the 28th of June
I can make you feel that i'm a surreal cartoon
with my pistol in the face of hip hop, stick in your face
Because i'm on a paper chase, yes i'm on a paper chase
My Timberlands are fully laced I be the Mr. Boogeyman
With records from 125th to Japan
I laid them play like Johnny Hathaway and shake a hand, shake a hand
Your lady tried to kick it, but I couldn't play my man
My niggaz is my niggaz ya see she didn't understand
I shake your hand and shit'll hit the fan, just think
Just think, what? What if you could, just blink, what?
Just blink yourself away?

Number 6

Outkast – In 1993, when Freaknic and Aggiefest were still around, there were these two cats from Atlanta – before it was “the ATL” – that didn’t make booty music. Who knew that they would later make booty music for the masses, and maintain an artistic level matched only by the Roots. Though I am not a huge fan, I respect most of all what they stand for – which is individuality is cool. Thanks Dre and Big Boi. Hip-Hop needed that.

Never smelled aroma of diploma, but I write the deep ass rhymes
So let me take ya way, back to when a nigga stayed in Southwest Atlanta,
Y'all could not tell me nuthin, thought I hit that bottom rock
At age 13, start workin at the loadin dock
They layin my mama off of work, General Motors trippin
But I come home Bank like Hank, from lickin and dippin
Doin dumb shit, not knowin what a nigga know now
Yeah, that petty shit will have you cased up and locked down
I dips, over to East Point, still actin a fool
Wastin my time in the school, I'd rather be shootin pool
Cool is how I played the tenth grade
I thought it was all about mackin hoes and wearin pimp fade
Instead of bein in class, I'd rather be up in some ass
Not, thinkin about them six courses that I need to pass
Graduation rolled around like rolly-pollies
Damn, that's fucked up. I shoulda listened when my mama told me
That, if you play now, you gonna suffer later
Figured she was talkin yin-yang, so I payed her no attention
And kept missin the point she tried to poke me with
The doper that I get, the more I'm feelin broke and shit
Huh, but that don't matter though, I am an O-UT-KAST
So get up off your ass

Number 5

A Tribe Called Quest – They came into existence in the age of the D.A.I.S.Y., these natives with silver tongues and platinum ears, and made timless music. You can’t love hip-hop and not appreciate Midnight Marauders. And Bonita Applebaum? Well let’s face it, she gotta put me on.

Goin on and on to the rhythmic variation
Wakin in the morning I still represent the nation
When I speak of nation please don't make the deviation
Rebels of the party who create the jump sensation
Mind is a pit of different information
Microphone is on so of course communication
Bogle at the party then you got the bogle-ation
Decaptatin foes yo as if my name was Jason (c'mon)
Makin all the fellas at the party lose composure
Hook up the beat with the mic and it's over (original, uh!)
A Tribe Called Quest we on the run for whatever
Trials and tribulations that we have to endeavor
Brothers know my steelo it's a letter to the better
If you see a shorty that you like, then you sweat her
Silly with the microphone, in other words I'm loco
Six foot zero with my height, complexion cocoa
Representin on the mic it seems to be my daily
I can do a split and turn around like Alvin Ailey
But when it comes to days like this I got lyrics to go

Number 4

Public Enemy – Party for your right to fight! Let me say this about the most politically thoughtful rap group to ever spit a verse, they made me think. From the lyrics to the liner notes, these cats put it down for black people, and by extension all people , world wide. It is from reading the liner notes that I picked up a book by some guy named Haley about some cat named Red. Detroit Red, who went from Harlem to Mecca and back. Chuck and Flav – despite his search for love – are still doing it 20 years later, and we should all be thankful for it. RIP Terminator X. Cold Medina! Cold Medina!

Radio - suckers never play me
On the mix – they just O.K. me
Now known and grown when they're clocking my zone it's known
Snakin' and takin' everything that a brother owns
Hard - my calling card
Recorded and orderd - supporter of ChesimardLoud and proud kickin' live next poet supreme
Loop a troop, bazooka, the scheme
Flavor - a rebel in his own mind
Supporter of my rhyme
Designed to scatter a line of suckers who claim I do crime

Number 3

Wu Tang Clan – From the slums of Shaolin, comes The RZA, The GZA, Ol’ Dirty Bastard, Inspectah Deck, Raekwon the Chef, U-God, Ghostface Killa and...M-e-t-h-o-d- Man. The Wu-Tang Killa Bees are on the swarm. These cats put Staten Island on the map in the biggest possible way. They are the culmination of all rap groups before them, sort of like evolution. They have personalities that are so different, so diverse that it is a wonder that they could even co-exist on the same planet, let alone the same stage. Back in the early 90’s, when the Wu was performing at your local venues, they would come 100 deep with samurai swords, sais, butterfly knives, the whole nine yards. Rap collectively entered the 36th chamber and we were never the same. Our children’s children will be studying them.

[Ghostface Killer]
Who the fuck knocked our buildings down?
Who the man behind the World Trade massacres, step up now
Where the four planes at huh is you insane bitch?
Fly that shit over my hood and get blown to bits!
No disrespect, that's where I rest my head
I understand you gotta rest yours true, nigga my people's dead
America, together we stand, divided we fall
Mr. Bush sit down, I'm in charge of the war!

[Inspectah Deck]
Yes yes y'all, the I-N-S bless y'all
Stop hearts like cholesterol, let's brawl
Never fall, tear it down like a wreckin ball
Role call where my niggaz that's one for all
And all for one, we draw the guns on impulse
Cash in the envelope, spend it on kinfolk
Then smoke a ounce as we count mills
Providin you pure ecstasy without pills

Number 2

NWA—All change ain’t good. But some is eternal. Schooly D may have invented gangster rap, but these cats perfected it. Cube, Dre, Yella, Ren and Easy –motherfuckin-E made gangster rap gangsta! They simultaneously put Compton, Los Angeles, California and the entire West Coast on the map.

[Dr. Dre] Eazy is his name and the boy is comin...

...straight outta Compton
is a brotha that'll smother yo' mother
and make ya sister think I love her
Dangerous motherfucker raises hell
And if I ever get caught I make bail
See, I don't give a fuck, that's the problem
I see a motherfuckin cop I don't dodge him
But I'm smart, lay low, creep a while
And when I see a punk pass, I smile
To me it's kinda funny, the attitude showin a nigga drivin
but don't know where the fuck he's going, just rollin
lookin for the one they call Eazy
But here's a flash, they never seize me
Ruthless! Never seen like a shadow in the dark
except when I unload, see I'll get over the hesitation
and hear the scream of the one who got the last penetration
Give a little gust of wind and I'm jettin
But leave a memory no one'll be forgettin
So what about the bitch who got shot? Fuck her!
You think I give a damn about a bitch? I ain't a sucker!
This is the autobiography of the E, and if you ever fuck with me
You'll get taken by a stupid dope brotha who will smother
word to the motherfucker, straight outta Compton

Wow. What a group of artists. All I can say about number one is...

Now we have...
A whole lot of superstars...
on this stage here tonight...
But I want y’all to know one thing...
This is...
My House!
and when I say who's house,
yall know what time it is.

Who's house?

Number 1

RUN-DMC – It is indeed Run’s house! The single greatest group of all time, inductees into the rock and roll hall of fame, the Kings from Queens reign supreme over everything! The good right Reverend Run, DMC, and the late great Jam Master Jay will forever be remembered as the spark that took this thing we call hip hop to the masses. I give you, the Kings of Rock!

I'm the king of rock, there is none higher
Sucker MC's should call me sire
To burn my kingdom, you must use fire
I won't stop rockin' till I retire

Now we rock the party and come correct
Our cuts are on time and rhymes connect
Got the right to vote and will elect
And other rappers can't stand us, but give us respect

They called us and said we're gettin iller
There's no one chiller
It's not Michael Jackson and this is not Thriller
As one def rapper, I know I can hang
I'm Run from Run-DMC, like Kool from Kool and the Gang
Roll to the rock, rock to the roll
DMC stands for devastating mic control
You can't touch me with a ten foot pole
And I even made the devil sell me his soul

Now we crash through walls, cut through floors
Bust through ceilings and knock down doors
And when we're on the tape, we're fresh out the box
You can hear our sound for blocks and blocks
For every living person we're a purple treat
It's me and DMC, Jay where's the beat?

Now we're the baddest of the bad, the coolest of the cool
I'm DMC, I rock and roll. I'm DJ Run, I rock and rule
It's not a Trick or Treat and it's not a April Fool
It's all brand new, never ever old school

Simply the best. Honorable mentions...comments.

Who's The Best MCs, Biggie, Jay-Z, and Nas...

2006-04-22T00:54:00.000-04:00

It’s a celebration bitches! I’m like 3-6 at the Oscars – I’m happy to be here, but how the fuck did this shit happen? I have been blogging a year. Twelve months. Wow. Talk about longevity. And, notwithstanding some shit on Valerie Plame (I ain’t forget, Glory), and some other shit I wanted to do, it’s my fucking blog-oversary, dammit!

So, I am going to lay to rest my self-imposed crusade to save the world (or at least black America), and do a series on what I care about. Yes, series. So, some of y’all may be entertained. If so, tell a friend. Some of y’all may be enlightened. Definitely tell a friend. Some of y’all may be incensed. Comment, definitely comment. And some of y’all may not care one wit. See youse in like a week, cause from now and continuing for the next 4-5 posts, I am doing my Hip-Hop top ten lists.

I got four, and possibly a bonus top 10 on like Friday. Today we will have the 10 greatest single emcees. After that, the top 10 groups of all time. Then we will have the top ten battles of all time, followed by the top 10 verses of all time. We will round it out with the top 10 female lyricists of all time.

This will be fun!

First, let me say, that being a lyricist – as opposed to a rapper – is an ART. This is poetry where your creative license may cause disaster. Unlike spoken or written poetry, your voice, your rhythm, your cadence and your flow all become part of the composition and are all artificially controlled by the beat that you’re riding. Try to get too cocky, do too much, and you lose the beat. Once that happens...toast.

Additionally, hip-hop is arguably the world’s only competitive art form. Only in hip-hop is a piece created with the express intent to outshine your competition. Finally, this list is always in flux. Since 1996 (the first year of my list) there have been additions and subtractions, with artists going from worst to ... well let's just say significant changes. And, it could change tomorrow.

With that said, let’s get the party started!

Sonnyredd’s Top Ten MC’s of all time.

Number 10
KRS-One – Living legend. Don’t care what nobody says, he gave it to Nelly in 2004. He is also prophetic. He wrote this in 87.

some mc's be talkin' and talkin'
tryin' to show how black people are walkin
but I don't walk this way to portray
or reinforce stereotypes of today
like all my brothas eat chicken and watermelon
talk broken english and drug sellin'
See I'm tellin, and teaching real facts
The way some act in rap is kind of wack
and it lacks creativity and intelligence
but they don't care cause the company is sellin' it...

Sounds like an indictment of southern rap to me.

Number 9
Ice Cube- Wessyde! Before you start thinking about all the kiddie movies he makes today, let’s remember that he and MC Ren (who?) wrote the entire Straight Outta Compton Album. His solo albums were very pro-black music. I wonder how long it will be before somebody uses the Predator album to attack his star power.

I remember we painted our names on the wall for fun
Now it's "Rest in Peace" after every one
Except me, but I ain't the one to front
Seems like I'm viewin' a body after every month
Plus, I knew him when he was yea big
Pour beer on the curb before I take a swig
But somethin' ain't right
When it's a tragedy,
that's the only time that the family's tight
Lovin' each other in a caring mood
There's lots of people and lots of food
They say "Be Strong" and you're tryin'
But how strong can you be when you see your Pops cryin'?
So that's why Ice Cube's dressed up
Because the city is so fuckin' messed up
And everybody is so phony
Take a little time...to think about your dead homiez.

Number 8
Kool G. Rap – Mr. Superhead himself is also one of the most vicious and gifted lyricists who ever lived. Road to the Riches is an anthem (to me) to this day. A fierce battle rhymer, he is also one of the most vivid story tellers who ever blessed the mic.

Yo, Marley gives the slice, I get nice,
and my voice is twice as horrifying as Vincent Price
goes deep, till you fell in a spell of a sleep,
and while I'm countin' the money, you count sheep.
When G Rap strikes the mic, I recite the type of hype that you like,
and make the people unite.
I grip up hips and zip up lips, step on reps, you flip and wanna sip on my tip.
Take a deep breath, because you don't have another left.
Comin' back like I'm avengin' my brother's deat.
Makin' veterans run for medicine,
cuz I put out more lights in a fight than ConEdison.
Rip the damn cage like I'm on a rampage.
And if you want rage, I'm-a make front page.
Read the headlines, suckers, today’s the deadline,
your head is way past bedtime.

Number 7
Scarface– Sorry T.I. The King of the South is and – based upon your ability – will likely remain, Mister Mister Scarface. Face has style, substance, and depth in his words. Oh, and his flow is impeccable. But what he also brings to the table is a Christian message and a vivid reality. The South never has had a better ambassador. The rest of y’all, step your game up. (Re-read KRS’s verse.) btw- should Momma Redd ever pass...THIS will be read at the funeral. (I’m just a ‘lil ghetto.)

Don't cry mama, your baby boy done weathered the storm
And I found peace right here in your arms
By the way, how you gettin along, huh?
I know it's been tough bearing the pain since daddy's been gone
But, all in all, you still stood tall and never shed-ed a tear
I'm thankin God you still here
Cause, only heaven knows all my heartaches and setbacks
Goin from a high school dropout to shovelin wet wax
I'm never gon' forget that,
look in your eyes, [look in your eyes]
When you told me that my grandfather died
It was like nothing had happened,
[naw] and I'm knowin that you miss him
But to accept death, is just the sign of a good Christian
And I miss him, in words, and I lived it in life [lived it in life]
and I take it step by step, but I take it in Christ [take it in Christ]
Cuz I'm knowin I can't make it alone [uh, uh]
You told me not to buy you a new house because in heaven's your home
and as hurt as I was, I had to smile witcha
and thank God that we crossed paths cuz you one strong sister
and I'm never gon' forget ya
Heaven sent us an angel and the world gon' miss ya... Mama

Number 6
Nas – I may be killed for this. First, there was no question he was going to make the list. None. But, I couldn’t see him beating the folks above him in a battle, and failing that, no props. Nas’s one failing (aside from getting murdered on his first album by the one guest appearance) is that it took him so long to find his voice. He started out a back packer, then he went Escobar on us. Esco was fun, but it wasn’t him. No doubt the boy is nice with the verbs though, without question. He's a backpacker again, and it is a good thing.

Dear Born, you'll be out soon, stay strong
Out in New York the same shit is goin on
the crack-heads stalking, loud-mouths is talking
hold, check out the story yesterday when I was walking
the nigga you shot last year tried to appear like he hurtin' something
word to mother, i heard him fronting
and he be pumping on your block
your man gave him your glock
and now they run together, what up son, whatever
since I'm on the streets I'ma put it to a cease
but I heard you blew a nigga with a ox for the phone piece
Whylin on the Island, but now in Elmira
better chill cause them niggaz will put that ass on fire
...
so stay civilised, time flies
though incarcerated your mind [dies]
I hate it when your mom cries

Number 5
Big L – Simply put, that nigga! Murdered before his time, Big L was a member of both Harlem World (Not the bad Ma$e album, but the good loose knit group of rappers) along with Murder Mase, Killa Cam, and Herb McGruff, and the DITC Crew along with the PR Don Fat Joe, Showbiz and AG, and Lord Finesse. There were rumors of L going with Roc-a-fella before he was killed. That would have been ridiculous. He and Jigga have a 8 minute freestyle they did together, and damnit if L didn’t put Jigga through his paces. Simply put, the single best freestyler ever. Built to battle, and could murder a nigga, lyrically.

I got more riches than you, fuck more bitches than you
Only thing I haven't got is more, stitches than you
Fuckin punk, you ain't a leader --what? Nobody Follow you
You was never shit, your mother shoulda swallowed you
(Mmmm.. WHOO!) You on some tag along flunkie yes man shit
Do me a favor, please get off the next man dick
And if you think I can't fuck with whoever, put your money up
Put your jewels up, no fuck it put your honey up
Put your raggedy house up nigga, or shut your mouth up
before I buck lead, and make a lot of blood shed
Turn your tux red, I'm far from broke, got enough bread
And mad hoes, ask Beavis I get nuttin But head(Classic!)
{*laughter*} My game is, vicious and cool
Fuckin chicks is a rule
If my girl think I'm loyal then that bitch is a fool
How come, you can listen to my first album
and tell where a lot of niggaz got they whole style from?
(YEAH!) So what you actin for?
You ain't half as raw, you need to practice more
Somebody tell this nigga sum'un, 'fore I crack his jaw
You runnin with boys, I'm runnin with men
I'ma be rippin the mics until I'm a hundred and ten
Half y'all niggaz like, "Damnit this nigga done done it again"
I throw slugs at idiots, no love for city cops
I sport a pretty watch, eight-hundred and fifty rocks
I'm makin wonderful figures
I don't fuck with none of you niggaz
I might pull out this gun on your niggaz
and rob every last one of you niggaz

Number’s 4 and 3
Big Daddy Kane/Rakim - This is a a tie, or a toss-up. Let me put this into context. In 1989, the question was, who’s the best MC, Big Daddy or Rakim. By 1993, the consensus was Rakim, owing largly to BDK’s unfortunate foray into pop culture. (Remember Madonna’s Sex book?) Both were 5%ers, both had strong pro black lyrics, and both brought to the game a level of lyricisim that – until recently – was the main-stay of hip hop. Make up your own mind.

Compare BDK's

Here I am . . . R-A-W
terrorist, here to bring trouble to
phoney emcees, I move on and sieze
I just conquer, and stomp another rapper with ease
Cause I'm at my apex and others are be-low
nothing but a milliliter, I'm a kilo
Second to none, making emcees run
Also don't try to step to me, cause I ain't the one
I relieve rappers just like Tylenol
and they know it, so I don't see why you all
try to front, perpetrating a stunt
when you know that I'll smoke you up like a blunt
I'm genuine like Gucci, raw like sushi
The Sage of Rage is what rap did to me
To make me want to create chaos and mayhem
cold rock a party, until the A.M.
I'll make a muscle, grab the mike and hustle
while you stand dazed and amazed, I'll bust a little rhyme
with authority, superiority
and captivate the whole crowd's majority
The rhymes I use definately amuse
better than Dynasty or Hill Street Blues
I'm sure to score, endure for more without a flaw
Cause I get RAW!

With Rakim’s

I came in the door, i said it before
I never let the mic magnatize me no more
But it's biting me, fighting me, inviting me to rhyme
I can't hold it back, I'm looking for the line,
Taking off my coat, clearing my throat
My rhyme will be kicking it until I hit my last note
My mind'll range to find all kinds of ideas
Self-esteem makes it seem like a thought took years to build
But still say a rhyme after the next one
Prepared, never scared, I'll just bless one
And you know that I'm the soloist
So Eric B, make 'em clap to this

Number 2
Biggie/Tupac – They are united as one. Neither would be on this list without the other one. They are the ying and yang of hip-hop, the holy duo who each spawn imitations and tributes from lyricists from around the globe. Youse guys make up your minds on which you prefer because, I know better than to try to convince a Tupac fan that he is dead. Both had their careers cut short, both were talented lyricists, and the impact of both is still felt in hip-hop today. Tupac is not one of my favorite lyricists, but he possessed the best flow of any rapper who ever lived. No wonder he is followed by so many. Think rap’s Bob Marley – certainly not the best artist in the genre, but the best for the people. Biggie, on the other hand – the best story teller in hip-hop. If G. Rap and Slick Rick are rap’s Cecil B. Demile and Francis Ford Coppola, Biggie is Martin Scorcese. And I am not calling him B.I.G. He is Biggie Smalls, and Biggie Smalls is the illest. We’ll deal with the beef later.

Biggie
Since it's on, I call my nigga Arizona Ron
From Tuscon, pushed the black Yukon
Usually had the slow grooves on, mostly rock the Isley
Stupid as a young'un, chose not the moves wisely
Sharper with game, him and his crooks, caught some juxs
Heard it was sweet, bout three-fifty a piece
Ron bought a truck, two bricks laid in the cut
His peeps got bucked, got locked the fuck up
That's when Ron vanished, came back, speakin Spanish
Lavish habits, two rings, twenty carats
He's a criminal, nigga made America's Most
Killed his baby mother brother, slit his throat
The nigga got bagged with the toast
Weeded, took it to trial, beat it
Now he feel he undefeated, he mean it
Nothing to lose, tattooed around his gun wounds
Everything to gain, embedded in his brain
And me I feel the same for this money and diamonds
Specially if my daughter cryin, I ain't lyin
Y'all know the science

2pac
This is for the masses the lower classes
The ones you left out, jobs were givin', better livin'
But we were kept out
Made to feel inferior, but we're the superior
Break the chains in out brains that made us fear yah
Pledge allegiance to a flag that neglects us
Honor a man that who refuses to respect us
Emancipation, proclamation, Please!
Nigga just said that to save the nation
These are lies that we all accepted
Say no to drugs but the governments' keep it
Running through our community, killing the unity
The war on drugs is a war on you and me
And yet they say this is the Home of The Free
But if you ask me its all about hyprocracy
The constitution, Yo, it don't apply to me
Lady Liberty still the bitch lied to me
Steady strong nobody's gonna like what I pumpin'
But its wrong to keeping someone from learning something
So get up, its time to start nation building
I'm fed up, we gotta start teaching childern
That they can be all that they wanna to be
There's much more to life than just poverty

Number 1
Jay-Z – I know you weren’t shocked. And nor should you be. I am going to make this case, statistically like they do for the baseball hall of fame. Number 1, he has two “five mic” albums – Reasonable Doubt and The Blueprint (Nas has 2, too). Secondly, he has been on top of the game – i.e. the guy everyone else was gunning for – for 9 years. Thirdly, he was involved in one of the greatest battles of all time. Four – he is willing to take artistic chances – Unplugged, Best of Both Worlds and Blueprint 2. Five – he raps with everyone. Six – Who do you think wrote Foxy Brown’s first album? He is one part Big Daddy Kane (who mentored him. Big Jaz, who?), one part Public Enemy (y'all need to listen closely. Haven't y'all been paying attention all this time? It's in my freaking titles!!), and one part back packer. Is he the greatest storyteller? No, Biggie is. Is he the best freestyler? Nope, that’s Big L. Best flow? Nope- Pac. But pound for pound, he is the best all-round. But...I’ll let the artist speak for himself.

Motherfuckers -
say that I'm foolish
I only talk about jewels (bling bling)
Do you fools listen to music or do you just skim through it?
See, I'm influenced by the ghetto you ruined
That same dude you gave nothin, I made somethin doin
what I do through and through and
I give you the news - with a twist it's just his ghetto point-of-view
The renegade; you been afraid
I penetrate pop culture, bring 'em a lot closer
to the block where they
pop toasters, and they live with they moms
Got dropped roasters, from botched robberies niggaz crotched over
Mommy's knocked up cause she wasn't watched over
Knocked down by some clown when child support knocked
No he's not around - now how that sound to ya, jot it down
I bring it through the ghetto without ridin 'round
hidin down duckin strays from frustrated youths stuck in they ways
Just read a magazine that fucked up my day
How you rate music that thugs with nothin relate to it?
I help them see they way through it - not you
Can't step in my pants, can't walk in my shoes
Bet everything you worth; you lose your tie and your shirt

Honorable mentions are in the comments.

Lord Forgive Him, He Got Them Dark Forces In Him

2006-04-20T12:42:00.000-04:00

(Remember, God forgives. Man, especially me, 'eh' not so much.)

No big news. Cept’ if you want to read a detailed account of a man slipping off into the utter depths of madness, you should read about this guy, and his blog. That said, I am going to use this nutjob to show you how the media is. Yeah, I’m hatin’.

You see, Kevin Ray Underwood is an absolute nut. There can be no question that he is. After all, the sane don’t generally chop up little girls and put them in Tupperware. (White folks do some crazy shit, I’ll tell ya.) That said, this post isn’t about that poor miserable pathetic bastard. Nope. It is about the headline that the AP ran, “Suspect Blogged About Cannibalism.” That my friends is a blatant lie.

Nowhere in his blog does he discuss the finer points – or for that matter the baser points – of cannibalism. See for yourself. What appears isn’t much different than what appears throuout the blogosphere – political and news commentary and woe-is-me type depressive blogging. Sick. Yep. But not Hannibal Lecter type sick. As a matter of fact, I’d venture that he was no sicker – on paper – than bout’ 30% (or 60%) of the bloggers out there. “I can’t get a girl, nobody likes me, yada yada yada.”

Now, that said, where’d the cannibal thing come from? Simple, this sick fucker’s Blogger profile. His “question” (Blogger asks er’body a question. Shit like, ‘If you were a watermelon, would you have seeds or be seedless’ to which I responded, ‘ Watermelon? What kind of racist shit is that?!?!?’ Okay, I’m kidding and that will be our first digression, kiddies) was “If you were a cannibal, what would you wear to dinner?” His answer was, “The skin of last night's main course.” Beware of those who try too hard to be witty. They’re nuts. (Cept’ ofcourse me, who does so effortlessly. Ego is a bitch y’all.)

My point here is to be vigilant when hearing a news reports. Sometimes it is worth a further look, because the media -- like all hustlers -- has a product to sell. It is a better story if the miserable fucker blogged about murdering that poor little girl. He didn’t. But I bet you’ll be watching the “Blogger Murder” trial on Court TV in about 9 months. Opps, my bad, make that the "Bizarre Blogger" trials. Shit, I want in. I say we should call it the Oklahoma Blogger Massacre. (If they make that a movie, I want my cut. And as an aside, you see how effortlessly witty that was? I crack me up.)

Lock My Body Can't Trap My Mind

2006-04-14T12:35:00.000-04:00

Easily explain why we adapt to crime
I'd rather die enormous than live dormant...

There is usefulness in all things. Cynthia McKinney has become a polarizing force, and a useful ‘tool’ in the discussion of race in this country, and I intend to offer my theory on what is really going on.

But before I do that, let me thank Cynthia – Daniels, not McKinney – for making me consider what I am going to say. She and I share one thing – the most important thing there is – an enduring love and concern for black people. And I respect her. So, check her out.

Now that the preamble is written (now I have carte blanche to say what I want, cause I have given respect, so let’s get raw...) Cynthia during the course of our discussion (here) displayed something that I have noticed and pondered for years, yet never expressed or fleshed out fully. Cynthia—and most black nationalists—are afraid of white people.

White people, particularly in a group of more than one, give many black people anxiety, paranoia, and convulsions bordering on psychotic. Why else does the (black) world lose its mind when a James Byrd incident comes along? For the same reason white America loses its mind when a black man car jacks or rapes a white woman. Fear.

Listen there are crazy ass niggas and crazy ass rednecks all over the country. Hell some crazy ass nigga just killed 3 generations of his family in Pennsylvania, and I am sure if I read the Boise Redneck Courier Times (or whatever the fucking paper is called) there will be the story of some Meph’d out toothless redneck who hates niggers and beats his ‘Maw.’ Each one of these crazy motherfuckers exists in the world. Cause crazy motherfuckers exist in the world. Their apparent race is incidental to their craziness.

Fear. Y’all scared of white folks. Fear. You ever know that bother or sister who got a job, did some shit like run perpetually late or curse out their boss or co-workers, got fired and then say, “they racist.” Always it is some larger scheme to destroy black people.

But what is the destructive force in the black community? BLACK PEOPLE. The white man doesn’t do “hand to hands” on the corner. The white man doesn’t sell “stop snitching” tee shirts (and thereby encourage a general lawlessness in the black community).

Let me get intellectual on y’all for a minute. Let’s take the notion of education in this country. Most black children go to predominantly black schools in black neighborhoods. They are taught by black teachers, who are supervised by black administrators. White people don’t make or break black schools. Yet, black schools are considered by black people inferior. Without commenting on the merits (or lack thereof) of that perception, I bring it forward to illustrate my point. Many black people believe that the only way to teach black children is to have them taught by black teachers. The fear here is that a white teacher wouldn’t “understand” the “needs” of black children. I suppose conjugation of verbs in Ebonics is so terribly complicated that 3 +3 = 6, might be better explained as, “if I have 3 keys of china white, and I rob Paco for 3 more keys then I have enough for a brand new BMW 6 with 22’s.

In lieu of encouraging an environment where the BEST teacher teaches black children, there is a movement to keep it in house. That would be fine – I am a product of a HBCU and am proud to be a Coppinite – but the whole point of Brown v. Board of Education was to provide black children the right to learn from the best in any and every field. Today, black fear has devolved into a movement to segregate schools again. Omaha, anyone?

And when 41 lacrosse players raped a black woman (allegedly, I make no value judgments at this time, but it ain’t looking good unless the rapists all wore condoms and shaved their pubic hairs) many screamed in outrage. Notwithstanding the fact that a white woman is most likely to be raped by a white man and a black woman is most likely to be raped by a black man – to the extent that they are likely to be raped at all. This is fear.

Fear, it has been proffered, caused Cynthia McKinney to hit the policeman. She was “afraid” the white man yelling “Madam” was going to hurt her. Fear.

Cynthia Daniels, when asked if she feared white people, said essentially, “no, but...” Everything after the “but” identifies her fear. I suggest you ask your friends if they fear white people. I think the amount of “no, but’s” you get will surprise you.

If you are at the car dealership and no one speaks to you, do you conclude “race”? That is fear. I know that is fear because, in talking to white people, they too are ignored in some dealerships. Some salesmen just suck. Some are racist. It is hard to know which is which. But fear makes the issue clear.

When white women clutch their purse in an elevator with a black man, that is fear. When black people assume rudeness by a white person is racial, that too is fear.

We are all scared of everyone else.

OJ Simpson chopped the head off of two white people, and walked. Partially because everyone feared that LA would turn into Rodney King part two, and partially because Mark Furman said “nigger”. (And in no small part to the single greatest litigator of the 20th century. RIP, Bro. Cochran.) Fear.

Lionel Tate brutally murdered a 9 year old black girl, and rather than spend the rest of his life behind bars, there was commentary about the criminalization of a young black boy. Never mind, that he robbed a pizza delivery man at gunpoint months after his release. Fear.
I am tired of fear. I will no longer accept “scardey-assed” niggas claiming racism at every turn.

Here’s a fact. When racism existed in the open, our families were more intact, and less of our children were born out of wedlock. Whitey? I think not.

Here’s a fact, thinking that you would not want to be black if you are white is not racism. Thinking that you would not want to be white if you are black is not racism.

Thinking that you are inherently better than someone else by virtue of your skin color, or the absence or presence of melanin is racism. Ain’t that right, Frances Cress Welsing?

Fear. Calling white people, “the Man”, or “oppressor” gives power to them, in the same way that calling yourself “victim” or “enslaved” weakens you. Your mind, subconsciously will fear the “oppressor”, and that fear will paralyze you.

Black people, back when we were indeed oppressed, once believed that we had to outperform white folk. We said it and more importantly we lived it. Today, when we are the masters of our fate, we talk of being oppressed. We used to talk of “overcoming” and voting and empowerment. Today we talk of unfairness, and DWB, and conspiracy.

Fear.

Lock my body – let come what may – CAN’T LOCK MY MIND – I stand empowered to achieve – I’d rather die enormous than live dormant – and I will achieve, until my last dying breath, without fear.

Through My Peripheral, I See Ya Scheming...

2006-04-05T14:23:00.000-04:00

Stop dreamin, I leave your body steamin
Niggaz is fiendin, what's the meanin?
I'm leanin on any nigga intervenin
with the sound of my money machine-in

I am going to get a lil’ buck today, but first – to ensure that my soul is okay with the Big Guy, let me mention that yesterday was the anniversary of the death of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. So, I hope you took a moment to reflect on his accomplishments. If not, and you’re feeling remorseful, peep this link and donate to his memorial fund. I’d like to see a King memorial in DC one day.

And while we are on the subject, let me say that I love Dr. King, yet I know he and I would sharply disagree about some things. Case in point, today’s post:

Hey! All you illegal Mexicans, GET THE FUCK OUT! (and Fuck you too, Cynthia McKinney).

Let’s face facts. Every illegal Mexican who takes a job in the US takes a job from someone here. That ‘someone’, in many instances and thus the reason why I care, is black people.

Now, I am not blaming the illegals for getting their hustle on. Not at all. Anyone who does what they need to do to get legal money gets respect from me. The beef I have is that those who hire illegals are “intervening with the sound of our money machine.” And I cannot and will not support my own demise. Remember when Vincente Fox said that the illegals take jobs that niggers won’t even do? Fuck him.

Poor people, black and white, will take these jobs. Economically speaking, the illegals keep wages artificially low (no Marxist!), because they are willing to work below minimum wage. This leaves the native born poor to linger on public support long after they should have. Even if the jobs were paid at minimum wage, adequately taxed, those requiring public support would in effect be subsidizing their own welfare.

Moreover, areas where there is an increase in illegals (yeah, I’m talking Mexicans), require bi-lingual service providers. Hey, commerce is commerce, but we (as in my folk) don’t generally ‘speakie spannie,’ and as a result we lose out.

Now you may say, “many customer service jobs are going to India anyway, so why care?” The difference is that the jobs that the Mexicans do – construction, farm labor, domestic work – are all areas that can’t be outsourced. They have to be here to work, so we can’t.

Meanwhile Al Sharpton and the NAACP are hollering about “brown solidarity”. There ain’t no brown solidarity. Trust me, the only group of Hispanics who have any real identification with black folk is Puerto Ricans and they don’t really like us either. The Mexicans? The president of the fucking country told you what the deal was.

Minorities are each in their own boat. They know that, we still learning, I guess. I’m not. I know. Economically, it is dog eat dog out there. Ain’t no teams. I am not against them getting theirs, but I ain’t going to give the competition a leg up, either.

In other news, Cynthia McKinny getting stopped at the front desk of the Capital ain’t racial, and even if it is, it ain’t important.

Her statement went like this,

Earlier today I had an unfortunate confrontation with a Capitol Hill Police Officer. It is traditional protocol that Capitol Hill Police Officers secure 535 Members of Congress, including 100 Senators. It is the expectation of most Members of Congress that Capitol Hill Police officers know who they are. I was urgently trying to get to an important meeting on time to fulfill my obligations to my constituents. Unfortunately, the Police Officer did not recognize me as a Member of Congress and a confrontation ensued. I did not have on my Congressional pin but showed the Police Officer my Congressional ID.

This bitch didn't have her pin on. She didn't have her pin on. She didn't have her pin on. She didn't have her pin on. (See where I'm going?)

See, here's my beef -- she didn't have her pin on, the white dude stopped her, she got mad. I KNOW (in the bottom of my heart) that she didn't, calmly and politely take out her ID, and pat the lil' whiteboy on his head, then go upstairs and hop on the phone and get him fired. (That's how business get's done. With class.) You and I both know she was acting like "black eyewitness man" from the Boondocks. And I, like Huey, HATE black eyewitness man.

She is acting like she definitely shouldn’t be stopped by the Capital Police. Fuck her. I could understand if she used this moment – while she has the national attention – to address the treatment of black people at the hands of the police. THAT, I could respect. That is NOT what she’s doing. She’s suing. She gonna get paid, and we – again – lose. So fuck her and her problems. Black folk catching hell, and you bitching about this?!?! You were embarrassed. Get dude fired – quietly – and move on with life. Stupid bitch. I hope y’all in Atlanta pay attention to this stupid broad and her silly-ass shit. Bet you when her ass can’t get shit passed, y’all gonna be like , “racism!” That shit ain’t race. She’s stupid.

That’s it for me, I’ve spread enough hate (and nary a digression -- cept this one). I’m out.

My Flow Expose Holes...

2006-03-29T17:28:00.000-05:00

that they find in yours
Wasn't for me,
niggaz still be dying for whores

We are being victimized and nobody cares!

Last week it was the article in the NY Times about the ‘Plight’ of black men. Then earlier this week it was the article in the Washington Post that suggested that marriage is for white people, and now (thanks to Cool AC) this!
Hmmm. I smell something fishy. Since when has the national media really been concerned about anything we were doing? Since the Oscars! See, damned three-six done fucked it up for er’body. (I’m kidding! Sort of. It’s hard out there for a digression.)

I wrote a post criticizing the figures and findings of the "niggas can’t read" article. I pulled that one off with minimal google and yahoo! snoopage. This white people and marriage thing..."Get the fuck out of here!" I defy Joy Jones to point out the lil’ ig’nant nigglet who espoused this shit. He wasn’t reflecting an image of nonreliance on marriage (believe you-me, many women, black AND white, are all too eager...) among black people, he was reflecting his belief in white superiority. Notice that the broad (yeah, Jones gwets the ‘broad’ title) never mentions correcting the lil’ bastard. Nope, she wrote a song (or newspaper piece) about it. Wanna hear it? Here it Go.

See, I can talk bad about the little ignorant nigglet because I don’t believe he exists. Fuck it, I am saying that Joy Jones made that shit up. I believe it in my heart of heart. And do you want to know why?

Because it was (ignorant ass) DC and not (country ass) Memphis or (bama ass) Jackson. That’s why. See, DC may be the home of a lot of dysfunction (and I mean A LOT!) but, it is surrounded by (and I feel bad for admitting this...*sigh*) the most vibrant and accessible upwardly mobile black community that exists in this entire country. (I just made one bold ass statement. Momma, I got my swagger back!)

So, even though little Raynal an’em might have a momma who is a crack head (actually, at this juncture heroin is more likely, albeit less probable) and a daddy in jail, the odds are that he knows, has seen, and understands the existence of married ass-working every day ass- negroes. Cause it is DC. So fuck you Joy Jones. I don’t believe you and I think you made this shit up.

Which brings us to the article of the day. Niggas just flick off and are offin each other at carry-outs for no reason. (Niggas Flick Off; the Dangers of Disagreements at the Carry-Out, look for it at your ghetto Barnes and Noble and Nubian Wisdom Book store (next to the Egyptian Musk]) This article is dangerous. Why? Because it is a throwback to yellow journalism. (Wikipedia. Learn something!)

See, the article tells the tale of two young negroes...one in Temple Hills and one in Oxon Hill who were killed at liquor stores and carry-outs that I frequent to this day (when I make it up there), who were both needlessly and senselessly killed in freak incidents. I am not going to disparage their memories (as opposed to the nigglet I don’t think exists. Joy Jones?!?!) , but I merely note that:

1. These senseless murders took place in 2004.
2. These senseless murders that took place in 2004 are hardly newsworthy to make a point in 2006.
3. These senseless murders that took place in 2004 and are hardly newsworthy in 2006, certainly aren’t worthy of national news.
4. These senseless murders that took place in 2004, are hardly newsworthy in 2006, and certainly aren’t nationally newsworthy, are even less newsworthy when the murder rate has declined in the geographic area that these murders took place in.

That is right boys and girls, the damned Washington Post told on itself. The article states that “[t]wenty people have been killed in the county as of earlier this week, compared with 33 by the same date in 2005.” Whoa now, how’d that get there? You mean, as the close of the first quarter of 2006, there was a FOURTY PERCENT DROP in the murder rate? And that doesn’t get an article of its own? But you tell the WORLD (Note that while this is a Washington Post article, it is coming to you from the Detroit Freepress. It has hit the wire, and now I'm gonna have NPR asking me why I flick off. "Cause y'all motherfuckers is stupid! That's why!") how niggas flick off and drop each other?!?!? And nobody says, “WHAT THE FUCK?!?!?”

Always remember, my friends, there is a negro to demonize. The poor, unfortunate, needy, violent (ain’t that right Ruben Castaneda and Allison Klein), promiscuous and ignorant (I still don’t believe you, Joy Jones) negro must be exposed for the demon that he is.

And no one is asking the real question; why the sudden interest? Just 2 years ago, Newsweek decided that the black woman couldn’t marry because the black man was all locked up. Now, she don’t want to marry at all. Yet, as previously discussed, all the black men ain’t locked up. So what is it?

What it is, is that we need to start examining – critically – what is written about us, by who, and for what agenda. I ain't no 5%er (But as a Mason, I count among the 10%, WHAT!!!), but damn if this don't seem like tricknowledgy to me.