Editor’s note: I know that we aren’t deep enough into baseball season to bring out the metaphors yet, but this drop from MAURICE G GARLAND over at Rezidue is a home run. To keep shit basketball we could call it a slam dunk. Enjoy.
With the Lakers and Celtics set to play in the NBA Finals, my suspicions have finally been confirmed. We are officially stuck back into the 80s.
Really though, look at it:
***A George Bush is in the White House.
***1980’s Movies are being remade.
Transformers
Indiana Jones
G.I. Joe (yes, that is Marlon Wayans)
***Rappers Sounding and Dressing Like This.
The Cool Kids
Life The Great
***Drug Epidemics
Seeing that Doug Collins will be coaching the Chicago Bulls again, I’m predicting that the 1980’s rehash will continue. I just hope good shit than bad comes back. Because something tells me when they finally get around to bringing Starter jackets back out, niggas are gonna go back to shooting for them. I also hope they keep mindless gang violence in the closet too, no need to bring that back. Oh yeah, they can also keep Jheri curls. Even though I had a couple pair of “Burger Kings” back in the day, I can’t say I’m hyped about seeing them return either. Nintendo’s (Wii) are back hot again, so that must mean that Atari is about to come back too.
Some of the things I hope to see return are:
$1.50 for gas
.75 cents to ride Marta
Berry Blue Kool Aid
Hawks in the Playoffs Semi-Finals
An influx of Intelligent Rap Music
Me not having to pay bills
What up DP?
I hit on a girl in the Starbucks the other day. It was totally by accident but it was so cheeky and real I thought I’d share it with the fam. See you in NYC.
Peace,
MAX
It’s a beautifully perfect 75 degrees in the shade kind of day. I’m feeling good as I’m walking through Denver. The Boss, Diana Ross, is blaring from a passing car. I know it’s going to be a great day.
“I got the sweetest hangover / I don’t wanna get over / sweetest hangover…”
I step into the nearby Starbucks, you know, the bourgeois one, prepared for the ridiculous comments from the barista about my “cool earrings” or my “fly nail polish” when, the unthinkable happens.
In walks this sister. No I said this Sister. You know the type, low bun, earth toned in theme and hue, different color browns and tans, had my mind wrapped around lands of amber. Freckles sprinkled across her nose, door knockers on, just to show a little hood with the 9-5 steez.
See, she’s just like me, walking to the beat of our ancestor’s drum in every way, I watch her. The vibrations from her high heels reach the nape of my neck. She’s checking the juices; wheatgrass or honey? I slide up next to her and say, “Honey, makes everything sweeter…”
Editor’s note: If you don’t know the Average Bro yet you need to get familiar. I always follow an AvBro drop with a hearty “chuuuuch”.
The AverageBro’s New Man Laws For Young Black Teenagers (no Kamron)
As ya’ll may know, AverageBro Loves Da’ Kids. My site’s ulterior motive is to convince you guys to Take The AverageBro Challenge and spend an occasional Saturday morning with an impressionable Black youth. I talked hella greasy about Atlanta rapper TI for trying to knock off his community service by speaking to Atlanta-area teens last month. But reality is if more black folks who’ve “made it” took a moment to help others out, there would be no such need. Basically, if you’re not doing anything to prevent the next Latarian Milton, Genarlow Wilson, or Bryant Purvis, you shouldn’t say jack when the inevitable happens.
Stepping off my high horse, I witnessed something truly odd today when I went to the mall to grab some Mother’s Day gifts. As I was getting out of my car, a gold sedan packed four-deep with young black teens pulled up in the spot adjacent to me. The dudes were typical suburban wannabe thugs. Oversized cubic zirconia earrings. Pinwheel New Era caps. Those stupid lookin’ skater hoodies. This in and of itself is nothing notable, but what really hit me was the music they had blaring at 120 decibels from their stereo.
Deez bamas were riding four deep in the burbs, blastin’ ‘Moments In Love’ by Art of Noise.
If you don’t know this song, just listen and you’ll get my point…
All together now… “Ewwwww!!!”.
Anyways, as I walked away shaking my head, it suddenly occurred to me just why male mentors are so important. Young dudes of Generation Xbox are more likely than any other to have not grown up with a father, uncle, grandpa, or some man in their lives to tell them it is emphatically not gangsta to roll four deep, or even two deep, blasting quiet storm-type slow jams with your boys. Call me old, homophobic, sexist, or whatever ist/ic you’d like, but that idd’ish was just wrong.
Since I can’t personally be a mentor to all youngins, I figured I’d throw together a list of avuncular advice for this latest generation of young bucks who don’t know no better. If you know a black male 21 and Under, feel free to cut and paste this post and send it to them. Since they probably won’t bother reading it, title the email “Melyssa Ford Topless Photos” or some such nonsense to trick em’. While I thought that Budweiser campaign was jive silly, I have to liberally jack the concept to help steer our young black men from the path to prison and general mediocrity.
So in that spirit, here’s a few more of AverageBro.com’s New “Man-Laws” For Young Black Males.
1) MySpace Rapper Is Not a Legitimate Career Option – The problem with rap music nowadays is too many damn rappers and not enough fans. Watch 106th and Park, cruise the comments section at XXL, or just drive around your nearest hood and peep the scrum stapled to every telephone pole. You’ll see plenty evidence that MySpace Rapper is the new ghetto dream/hood come-up. The problem is, most of these rappers suck, and none of these dudes trying to rap have apparently noticed that music period, not just rap music, isn’t even selling anymore! You’d be better off goin’ to trade school, getting that GED, or just goin’ back to hustlin’ than you would trying to “get your label off the ground”. There’s only one Jay-Z for a reason. And guess what? You ain’t him! Stay in school, fool.
2) Bright Colors Are Not Your Friend – This trend is thankfully jumping the shark as I type this, but what the hell ever happened to wearing earth tones, or just plain black? Bamas will rock pastel polos, Crayola-inspired sneakers, and those stupid lookin’ multicolored pinwheel baseball caps like they’re 3rd graders. Enough already.
3) Be Nice To Johnny Law – My Pops taught me a very basic rule for dealing with the cops: Don’t! 99% of the time, if you’re not doing anything wrong, you have nothing to worry about. So when a cop pulls you over, comply. Don’t act a damn fool and end up in a pine box. Yes, there are some egregious examples of cops who blatantly abuse their power, but far more often, the catalyst for an ass whoppin’ is some Negro who just didn’t know when to shut up. Do what they ask you to do, take down badge numbers and names, and live to tell your lawyer about it the next day.
4) ‘Shawty’ Is Not A Term of Endearment – Learn how to treat and talk to women. One benefit of youth is having the room to experiment and figure out what you like about the opposite sex without tangible commitments (ie: a ring and kids). So, by all means enjoy yourselves. But no woman likes to be catcalled and shouted at. “Ay Ma!”, “S’up Shaaawwtaaay!”, and “C’mere Girl!” are not proper ways of attracting young ladies. Learn how to simply smile, say “Hello”, and introduce yourself. And if the girl isn’t interested, no need to insult her by hurling an “Eff’ You Beeyotch!” as she walks away. Just pick up your dignity and keep on’ fishin’.
5) Enunciation Is A Beautiful Thang – My Pops also taught me the importance of how
to speak to grown-ups in a way that commands respect. Speak loudly, clearly, enunciate, and use direct eye contact if you want to be taken seriously. Don’t show up for your job interview wearing aviator shades and mumbling to the floor like one enterprising young brother I observed at an H&M store in Philly last Summer. Discover the joys of code-switching, and learn the appropriate places and times for using words like “jawn”, “young”, and “tight”. Eliminate the word “conversate” from your vocab altogether. If you’re vexed, peep my epic The AverageBro Broken English Hall of Shame post, and it’s accompanying comments for further guidance.
6) Pull Up Your Damn Pants – We already talked about the whole bright colors thing. But hues aside, make sure you’re putting your best foot forward when the occasion deems to necessary. All pencil jeans should be burned immediately. Ditto for those skater hoodies. Pull up your damn pants. Liberace wore themed belt buckes. If you don’t know who he is, Google him, then trash yours. And while I’m all for accessorizing, there is no rational explanation for wearing Air Jordans, a black and white pinwheel cap, aviator sunglasses, and carrying a walking cane when you’re wearing a black suit… at a funeral. Exercise some common sense and dress according to your environment. And oh yeah, no more pencil jeans.
7) Leave An Open Seat – This is closely related to the No Slow Jams rule. If you’re at the movies and there’s enough space, for the love of all things precious, leave an empty seat between you and your boys! You are not on a date, you are watching a movie with friends, so space it out. You can communicate with each other just fine when separated by an empty seat, and who knows, if you’re lucky, a nice young lady might want that seat. And you won’t even have to call her “shawty” either.
8) Blunts Are Not A Nutritional Supplement – Your body is your temple; not an ashtray for roaches. Two Strawberry Swishers (or Phillies, whatever floats your proverbial boat) do not equal a serving of fruits and veggies. Recreational drug habits make it difficult to hold down a real job, rob you of pocket change, and permanently char your lips. If you’ve really gotta do this though, at least have the decency to partake in the sanctity of your Mama’s basement, not while driving your Mama’s car down Georgia Ave in mid-day.
9) Enough With The Feminine Grooming Habits – I’m a Kappa Man, so I understand the importance of looking good. That said, some of these young dudes nowadays are taking the whole Omarion/Ne-Yo I’m-So-Hood’ metrosexual thing a bit too far. Baby hair is for babies. You shouldn’t be using your little sister’s makeup pencil to draw imaginary hair anywhere on your person. And if you’ve actually arched your eyebrows, or even remotely considered arching your eyebrows, just go ahead and stick your head in an oven right now. Life isn’t getting any easier.
10) Read A G.D. Book – This isn’t strictly a young black male phenomenon by any means, but let’s break this habit while we’re still young. Every time I go to the barbershop, I hear all sorts of misinformation floating around. “Obama’s a Muslim.” “Ciara’s a hermaphrodite.” “The reparations checks are in the mail.” “Tupac is secretly living in Brazil.” “John McCain is bringing SlaveryBack… yep.” All untrue, and all easily refutable if you’d read something other than King Magazine and the Post sports section. Man Up! and get yourself a library card. Smart is the new cool, fool.
Again, feel free to disagree and flame me in the comments. If you’re on board, add your additions below. But whatever you do, don’t ignore the message because you dislike the messenger. Either way, Take The AverageBro Challenge to help save our young black boys and girls[6] from a future of Flavor of Love casting calls, HPV, and commissary deposits. And if you can’t do that, at least forward this post to your nephews. P.S.: don’t forget the “Melyssa Ford Topless Photos” subject line.
Because we got to do better than those damn pencil legged jeans.
Editor’s note: DP Dot Com’s resident rude gyal goes in on the politiricks of poverty and privilege.
I’m telling you now, don’t even fucking read this drop if you aren’t prepared to get angry. Do you know what the fuck is going on in Haiti? People are starving and dying and rioting in the streets over the rising costs of food, meanwhile back at the motherfucking ranch, President Bush was parading the Pope around as if all is well in the world of Hail Mary’s and evangelistic molestations instead of doing something concrete about it. So now I guess its all good for Catholics to starve to death as long as no one diddles around with their genitals?
Haiti is the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere. The poorest country on our side of the world and for quite some time, this was largely due to government corruption and an unstable economy, it wasn’t until a deal in 1986, that Haiti became the United States’ bottom bitch. After former dictator Jean Claude “Baby Doc” Duvalier raided the treasury, Haiti received a loan from the International Monetary Fund (IMF). This is basically a pool of rich ass heads of countries that have the dough to lend cash to other countries, opening a door for micromanagement and unrealistic views of democracy.
I don’t have to tell you that the United States is one of the richest countries in the world, making it easy to understand the strong influence in the IMF. The loan to Haiti was heavy, and I’m not just talking about the $24.6 million price tag. See, prior to this deal, there were strong protections to ensure Haiti’s place in a competitive agricultural market, making it difficult for other countries, specifically the US to sell its merchandise in Haiti. As a part of the deal, Haiti agreed to relax the tariff laws, making the market prime “real estate” if you will.
The President of the World Bank (right, you know his ass isn’t starving) cites the following reasons for the 141 percent increase in food costs.
Fuel costs (translation-the fucking war in Iraq. A barrel of oil costing $113 is gotdamn criminal)
Weather problems (translation-global warming)
Increased demand in China and India (translation-those motherfuckers need to stop having so many babies and pay some bills)
Biofuel from cereal crops (translation-Bio-fuel? I don’t even know what that means, seeing as how only a quarter of Haiti’s 2,500 miles of roads are paved, who is driving?)
This whole thing reads like a drug deal gone bad. Sure, Haiti has always been fucked up, bruised up, knifed up, and prone to a good Coup on any given day but the United States started this whole thing. By perpetuating the “rice war” it caused the country to compete with itself, meanwhile the imported “Miami rice” was monopolizing the whole market through larger quantities, poorer quality and cheaper prices. Subsidized rice importers are making upwards of $700 million a year on the strength of Haitian imports alone. This means the rice dealers are selling us their shit, and selling it to the Haitians too all the while jacking up the prices. We’re way too concerned with gas prices to pay attention to what’s on the other side of that welfare size bag of Uncle Bens though.
This annoys the shit out of me. They will have us believe that even though there are a bunch of starving motherfuckers in this world, Haitian farmers, can’t produce sales. The truth is that the Haitians were hoodwinked and didn’t even realize it. By relaxing the tariff laws, Haiti swam right down into the belly of the beast. Why isn’t the US importing Haitian rice to deal equal? Oh, see, there are specific laws that prohibit the sale and distribution of rice not processed, bagged and shipped in the US. Surprised? Read the NAFTA Clauses.
People can’t eat. They are burning tires in the streets in demonstrations of the burning pain of “Clorox,” the name Haitians have likened to the stinging feeling of emptiness and despair in their stomachs. Food. Who was it that said the United States is the only place where people hunt on a full stomach? This country is fucked up and if you didn’t know it before now, there isn’t a thing I can do to help you. Sure, some countries have done what they can but before you start with that ‘benefit of the doubt’ bullshit, the $200 million in UN aid Bush pledged, aside from not going to the most affected areas, all of the food and supplies purchased with that money is siphoned through US products, merchants and distributers, making it only about half that amount to be divided through the hunger drenched countries.
When do we get mad? We stood by and watched Kenya burn, all the while a shady deal was being brokered behind closed doors. We forgave President Clinton for ignoring Darfur. We watched our brothers and sisters, our people drown when the levees broke and the White House gloated over a “heck of a job.” We saw our grandmothers stand in line, their eyes shining with pride at completing the oldest form of citizenship, only to have their vote stripped away by the dickless sons of bitches who are supposed to represent our interests. We cheered on the Jena 6 and then forgot those motherfuckers when they couldn’t even wear a damn suit to the BET Awards.
I don’t know the solution, but I’m sure that eating less and driving less has something to do with it.
