No Where (Littleton)

It's all right here. You don't have to go no where, young blood.

The road to the left takes you to school. To rolls of paper bound and stained with big lies and little truth. Black faces on white pages warping your mind to think their way. Ain't nothing for you there, brotha. 'less you wanna to be an Einstein. You wanna to be a little black Einstein? You wanna to read books? You get all the knowledge you need on the corner with me, young blood. Ain't nothing in those books you can't see right here. I guarantee it's stuff out here that ain't in those damn books. You can't put life in a book. This is life right here.

That road goes right into the system. Legal slavery. Workin' for massa. 9 to 5 every gotdamn day for a little chump change, you know. Whatever they tell you you're worth. $5.25? I'mma grown'd ass man. You can't bake a cake for $5. What you gonna do with that? I ain't no damn Mexican. You try to hustle and they gon' lock yo' black ass up have you stretched out doing the same damn thang for 35 cents a hour. Might as well kill ya for that. They gon' have to kill me, brotha. They wanna to cage me in a room 'bout big as that bathroom in there, they must be crazy, cuz. I can't live like no dog. They might as well kill me.

Well, that way is back where you came from. Can't go back there. Ain't nothing back there for ya. What you gon' wipe your daddy's ass? You got your daddy? You wanna to sit 'round wit ma til she die. Naw sir. They don't want you there with them. They did their time. They ain't finnin' to have you up in they face all the time. Your black ass got to get ya own place. Get ya own family. Do ya own thing out here in these streets.

Straight ahead? I don't know what's up there. The world ya know. I heard some things but.. but.. I can't tell ya. I can't even mess with that tho'. I don't know what's up there. Could be anything. Mo' people out to get ya probably. Naw man. I got every thing I need right here. See that sign. "Milk, Eggs, Bread, and Liquor" That's all you need right there. haha That's all you need.

I ain't got to go no where.

Juice

Gas prices are high. So high that I don't think people have noticed that the price of juice has gone up too. That can only mean one thing. They are putting juice in the gas.

I went to the BP gas station the other day and filled up with regular unleaded. I remember being really thirsty for some reason while I was filling up. I head down the street and hit the AC. I'll be damn if it didn't smell just like apple juice. I went back to the station and the Arab clerk looked at me strange when I came in.

"Something is wrong with your gas?" I say in my calmest I'm bout-to-wild-out voice.

"What the problem sir?" His broken english infuriates me.

"Nigga It's JUICE! The premium smells like strawberry lemonade! Something is wrong with your gas, now you need to .." The Arab man throws a bag of incense at me. It explodes on my chest. I'm overwhelmed with the smell of honey and jasmin, and quickly drift off into a forced, yet delightfully fragrant, sleep. When I awaken from my jasmin blackout I'm sitting in my car with a plastic thank you bag full of scented oils, a Mazda keychain, a lighter and a half finished Sprite. I also have a full tank of real gas.

When I tell my boy, he tells me I'm crazy. The same boy that came up to me talking about how Ken Lay was still alive living in Bermuda. He has never met Ken Lay or any of the Lays. Couldn't pick the man out of a line up. Never invested in Enron or knew anybody that invested in Enron. He had absolutely no evidence to support his theory. I still have the scented oils! Why the hell would I buy scented oils from a gas station? He points out the convenience of him dying before going to jail and I stopped short of questioning how convenient it is to die before damn near anything. He calls me crazy.

After all the random Bible justifications he's made to me about everything he's calling me crazy. He tried to explain to me (using Bible verses) the Isreal/Lebanon conflict and made not one bit of sense. I didn't call him crazy when he made that left at Jews being thieves and went straight to black people being entitled to all the land in the Middle East because of the 400 years of slavery we endured. I don't call him crazy when he uses the good book to justify or explain everything torturing terrorist to exiling gay people to an island for God to destroy it. I don't think it says that.

I thought he, of all people, would understand and see the truth about this juice. I see now that conspiracy theories often only make sense to the people that create it. I'll keep my "Juice Gas" theory and you keep your "White People Lock Up Black Men to have Sex With Black Women" theory. We'll see whose right when your car starts smelling like cranberry juice.

It's Not Me, It's You

Jenny B was looking at Dr. 90210 this weekend. It's this show about a plastic surgeon and his practice in Beverly Hills. They show all these profiles on how and why people get plastic surgery. They have all these ugly women that spend thousands of dollars to be not quite as ugly. Besides that they show the doctor's life. He has this fiance that I swear was a stick with blonde hair, no curves at all. They go looking for a house in the 3 to 3.5 million dollar range. This bitch comes back and signs a contract on a 5 million dollar 8 thousand square foot mansion in Beverly Hills. Now he has to work even more hours to afford this huge house. The whole point of him getting a house was so he can give his kids a little more room to play and he can have something nice to come home to. Now he has to work more just to keep up with the massive mortgage.

I had two reactions to this. First I was wondering why in the world I was watching this wack show about these rich and extremely superficial people. Second, I thought that it was amazingly inconsiderate of this bitch to put him in this bind. Sure he's a rich and famous plastic surgeon but his funds aren't unlimited. He has to perform a service to get paid like most people. She sits at home and spends all his money, so she doesn't or can't appreciate that fact. He has to work more hours to get more money. When they sat down he probably said "Ok I usually do 8 tits, 4 chins, 3 lipos, a couple of botoxes and an ass every month. That means we can get a 3.5 mil house." She said "F#&$ you I'm getting this 5 mil house. Pay for it or I'll hate you and make your life suck for not being able to take care of me." He falls for it. He's worried about being able to make the payments, frustrated about how many more hours he'll have to work, angry about the sacrifices he'll have to make. Yet he doesn't stop her from signing the contract. That makes him the bitch not her.

That is the beginning of the biggest problems with the some relationships. How long will it be before those long hours of work, work, work start to wear down the good doctor? How long will it be until he regrets giving her that house and having to work so hard and start blaming her for ruining his life? How long after him deciding she ruined his life will he put up with all the flaws that were so cute and enduring before? How many of those idiot patients will become his mistresses through the years of the now broken marriage before he leaves the woman that ruined his life for a prettier version of her? How long will she fight the divorce before he threatens to kill her? Its a progressive build up of frustration.

It all comes from incompatibility. If two people don't match up good, coexistence is damn near impossible. You have to have basically the same goals in a relationship for it to work. The good doctors goal is to provide for his family. The good doctor's wife's goal is to do whatever the hell she wants to do and get whatever the hell she wants to get from her husband. That can't work.

I've seen it happen all the time with people with nowhere near as much money. One person's selfish behaviors poison the relationship and kill it. If people had the sense to recognize what they are doing and fix it, the relationship could be saved. Most selfish people don't see it and all problems that come from their own selfish actions are blamed on everything from their bosses to the milkman (people don't even have milkmen anymore). They refuse to take any responsibility in anything and live their lives blaming their partners for their own faults. Going from one man to the next dragging their bad attitudes, their irresponsibility, their total lack of appreciation, and their negative life sucking nagging into doomed relationship after doomed relationship.

That's why I can't sit around and listen to one-sided break up stories. You want me to comfort you and make it all better?! It's not happening, shawty. I'm not gonna sit around rub your shoulders and wipe your eyes. I'm not gonna talk s#$& about your ex. I'm gonna confront you about what really went down. I want to know and I want you to know the truth. Then you can learn from your mistakes and not destroy another relationship with your foolishness. You could talk to me and afterwards realize you never did anything wrong the whole time. It's more likely you'll see how you added to the decline and can make steps to fix it. Believe me your next partner will appreciate it.

More Ice Cream Therapy

My car done jacked up on me...again. Last time it was the damn transmission. This time its the damn timing belt. This car is getting all up in the way of what I got planned. I think it's time to open up the freezer and pull out an ice cream sandwich. I'm dropping out of the struggle for a quick minute. I'm sitting on this here bench to enjoy an angelic frozen treat. Creamy vanilla inside. Two tasty chocolate wafers on the outside. Delicious all the way through.

I see since my last blog everybody has picked up on the ice cream therapy.

The NAACP is there. Those cats are so out of steam its a shame. They're having a meeting with the President. It's not a "I need to have a meeting with the NAACP because they are the heart and soul of the African American community." type of meeting. It's more like "I should sit with that negro group to be in line with my party trying to commandeer these colored votes" type of meeting. Nobody gives those guys any credit. It's turned into social organization in a way. People wave a little NAACP membership card around, talk to other blacks every other month at a meeting, maybe get a little pro-black pussy. Get next to some educated black dick, have a few parties every year, hang with some cool people. Its a sweet deal...but its not supposed to be a singles group or a status show. I give them one of my sandwiches because they still have the word "Colored" in their name. That's just sad.

Star Jones is out here eating half an ice cream sandwich (she can't eat a whole after that "procedure"). She got a job hosting House Hunters on HGTV. House Hunters? Didn't you go through like 10 years of law school and pass the New York bar exam and you're hosting a show about searching for a house? She f*#$ed up marrying that gay ass dude and then not wanting to talk about her dramatic weight lost. Friday she was 450 lbs with chocolate on her face and spaghetti stains on her shirt. Monday she was 165 looking all sick with skin hanging off her face, talking about she been dieting. Soon as she gets fired its a big "black" issue. Ain't nobody tell you to break bad on the folks and talk s#&$ all in the papers all willy nilly. You should've been fired. It's show biz, girl. You know what's good. I'd smack that sandwich right out you're mouth if you didn't look like one of those zombies from Land of the Dead. Ain't nothing fabulous about your body being out of sync with your face. Ya scary looking muthaf#&$ah you.

Its a whole crowd of people sitting around hating the day that they ever heard of adjustable rate mortgages. It was all good last year when they were paying $500 a month for a 4,000 square foot house with a pool and a 3 car garage. They bought Escalades and Mercedes and had all kinds of wild house parties. They were chilling hard. They got that bill on the 30th. That payment quadrupled. Now they looking all depressed in bankruptcy court. The house got that big sign out front. "FORECLOSED". That's what you get for trying to get over ya bastards. Eat this ice cream sandwich and think back to the 29th when you ain't have a care in the world.

It's a whole bunch of people that should be here eating these black and white delicacies but will be joining me shortly. Rappers. Not all rappers just the ones that own the publishing to these wack ass songs on the radio. Lots of good its gonna do you to get paid for a song nobody is gonna listen to in 2 years. Imagine them actually playing "Shoulder Lean" in 2008. Imagine turning on the raido and hearing "I'm in Love with a Stripper" on the oldies channel. I don't see it happening. It was very business saavy of you to do that. It would have done a lot more good to spend that time actually rapping and making better music. Watching these suckas slowly disappear into obscurity is just as good as eating this ice cream.

I feel a lot better now. Thank the lord for ice cream.

The Call

*Earlier this week a Coca Cola employee and 2 accomplices were arrested for stealing top secret Coca Cola documents and trying to sell them to Pepsi for 1.5 million dollars. Pepsi called and informed Coca cola about the theft.

9 am Atlanta, Ga
Top floor meeting room of the Coca Cola building.

"...so she says it won't fit in there!" The room explodes into laughter just as the door opens.

"Sir.." says the secretary. She walks in slowly with her head down.

"What is it, Ms. Jones?" says the man at the head of the table.

"It's the phone sir. It's..its Pepsi"

Time pauses. No one breathes. The man at the head of the table stands and buttons his jacket. He brushes down his jacket and checks his cuff links, which are replicas of Coca Cola bottle caps. He runs his hands through his hair. Everyone in the room stares in bewilderment, awaiting his next move. He moves around the table to the phone. Everyone in the room crowds around him in a flurry of movement. He looks around at all the faces in the crowd. He snatches up the phone quickly. The crowd gasps as he stares at the receiver.

Slowly he puts the phone to his ear and speaks with barely masked contempt. "Hello, Mr. Pepsi."

"Miisstteerr Coke." speaks the voice out of the phone. Slow, deep and condescending. The "k" in sound in coke snaps harshly. "I hope this day finds you in good spirits. I haven't heard much from you since that whole vanilla fiasco. How are... things?"

Mr. Coke frowns and grips the phone tighter. The crowd tenses up. Someone is strangling their tie. Another person is grinding their teeth. They all lean in closer as if preparing to jump into the phone.

"What do you want, PEPSI?!" Someone in the crowd breaks a red Coca Cola pen in their hand.

"You have a leak, COKE."

"What are you talking about?"

"Super...Berry."

The crowd gasps again. Mr. Coke lifts his hand to silence them. "What are you.."

"CUT THE CRAP COKE! You know what I'm talking about! You've got someone on the inside ratting you out! They have everything. The research, samples.. The RECIPE! They want to give it all to us, COKE! The whole shabang! WE'LL HAVE SUPER BERRY PEPSI OUT PACKAGED ON EVERY SHELF FROM HERE TO KOREA BEFORE YOU CAN SAY CARBONATION!! Don't f#&% with me MISTER COKE!"

"OK!!" He snarls at the phone. "You got me by the balls, Pepsi! IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT TO HEAR! What do you want?!"

"HAHAHA! I don't want anything from you, Mister Coke! What could you possibly offer me, anyway?"

"Then why the call, Pepsi? Why not take it?"

"I'm no thief, Mister Coke. I don't need to tarnish myself to compete with you. I'll have my people fax over what we know about everything. I would hope you would do the same...if the tables were reversed."

"Of course. It would only be fair."

"Indeed it would, Mister Coke. Indeed."

" Mister Pepsi...this changes nothing."

CLICK

The boss puts the phone down. "Leave me." he says.

The people gather their notebooks and papers and scurry out of the room. He walks over to the 12 foot window and gazes out over the city. The beauty of the morning is lost on him. The warmth of the sun can't cut through the chill of this moment. There will be hell to pay this day. So says Mister Coke!