Archive for March, 2006


Wednesday, March 29th, 2006


News story lifted from Nah’Right.Com

Talk about false advertising… BUSTA RHTMES doesn’t want any of his fans to touch it or feel it in public especially if they have a little sugar in their tank. BUSTA was in Miami at the World Music Conference over the weekend and a gay fan got a little too close.

Miami might be the most openly gay metropolis on the planet so I can’t imagine that BUSTA would be at this conference to promote his music and not know who his consumers were. I can see why a popular radio personality in New York City has always asked BUSTA, “how you doin?!?”

BUSTA RHYMES would be doing a whole lot better too if the ghosts from his past weren’t swirling around him now as well. DINCO D, a member of BUSTA’s former crew L.O.N.S. has a MySpace account along with the rest of civilization. Listen to the track that he made called ‘Fuck It’ a/k/a the ‘Touch It, Feel It’ (remix remix)

The Bin-LADENS Are Blowing Up!

Wednesday, March 29th, 2006


So I was tooling around (no brokeback) the internets while the website was on hiatus, catching up on the articles on some of my favorite blogs when I came across this broad’s story on my man-50-grand MR. KAMOJI‘s website.

It turns out that OSAMA Bin LADEN’s niece is one hot piece of hindabi poonahnee. I guess the fact that she is related to the Bin LADEN’s makes her a cousin of the BUSH family too, but anyhoo, can you believe how little hair she has on her legs.

I used to smash an Indian NYU co-ed a few years ago and that chick’s legs were so hairy I thought I was fucking CHEWBACCA’s sister


No brokeback because I like CHEWBACCA. You know that big monkey azz nigga was Black too. His home planet was called Kashyyk. Freak out motherfuckers!

Nahh, but seriously, I would tap homegirl although it would prah’lee raise my NSA q-rating. Bitches!



Tuesday, March 28th, 2006


It’s too easy to blame President BUSH for the debacle in Iraq. Sure, it was his administration that conspired to defraud Americans of the truth about invading the country and yeah, it was his administration that didn’t perform the due diligence concerning how long and taxing the operation would be, but I feel somewhat cheated in blaming just the president. The Senate voted unanimously to send the American troops to Iraq and they have to shoulder some of this blame too. The House of Representatives acted like cheerleaders for the invasion, so they need to be called onto the mat as well. Washington D.C. is filled with cowardly lions.

SADDAM HUSSEIN was just a paper tiger. It was U.S. support that gave him the teeth (and the heart) to fight with Iran. At worst he was an annoyance much the same way that FIDEL CASTRO is. The tiny speck of a nation that is Kuwait yields more petroleum than does Iraq. The massacre of Kurdish peoples?!? What do we care? We will have killed thrice that amount just from all the ground water’s toxic contamination due to our bombs bathed in depleted uranium and white phosphorous. As far as I can tell from the boodoggle that has become Iraq, SADDAM had to use all of his energies to keep that country from imploding. There was nothing in his tank with which to confront the U.S. The administration knew that SADDAM was teetering helplessly so they trumpeted for war invoking the numbers 9-1-1 as if they were part of a numerological seance.

As each day passes and my fellow citizens that work for the armed forces face dangers from an unidentifiable enemy I am angered and ashamed that I did not put these people in a better position by choosing a better leadership set than those currently assembled in the Beltway. I am cramming to understand what I can do to help bring these noble men and women back to their families. Should I buy more gas and petroleum based products or should I cease my consumption completely. Should I protest and march or should I write to my Senator. All my options seem powerless, pointless and paralyzing.

I usually have answers to every question that I posit on this webpage, but I have been shocked and awed by this entire administration into a veritable catatonia. I suppose this is what they wanted from me anyway. For me to recognize that my ideas were futile.

The bad guys have won.


Tuesday, March 28th, 2006

minnie and the jets

NIKE stays in my pocket because they don’t take a minute off their grizzly. Back in February they partnered with the Negro Baseball Hall of Fame to introduce some new kicks that pay homage to the untold truth that was the Negro Leagues. NIKE details some of the innovations that were introduced to the game of baseball because of the Negro Leagues. The good people at Beaverton call this the Untold Truth. The Untold Truth pays respect to the perseverance, passion and pride that these players embodied.

Did you know that nighttime baseball games were first played in the Negro Leagues? The fans that attended these games were all working people whose jobs typically ended at sundown. The baseball games were played in rented stadiums that weren’t available until after dark. How good do you think these guys were to be able to play baseball in the pitch black of night? We all know that the ‘BAT MAN‘ was blind, but the rest of the guys weren’t. I suppose that’s why batting helmets were created in the Negro Leagues as well.

The sneakers pictured below are NIKE’s famous Air Force 1 model designed to represent the New York Cubans team. The New York Cubans were formed from several Cuban all-star teams that played in the Negro Leagues. Players weren’t just from Cuba either. These teams typically featured Latin American players from Mexico, Puerto Rico, Panama and the Dominican Republic that were too dark to pass for white therefore they couldn’t play in the National or American leagues. The New York Cubans were led offensively by a young player who would become an all-star again in the American League after integration, MINNIE MONOSO. Some of you may recall that MINNIE was just voted down from baseball’s Hall of Fame by the baseball writers of America.

So If you are a sportswriter, comfortably set in your privilege, and you work for one of the supremacist media machines, and you wanted to act like you were down with the struggle and the what not, and that you knew more Black folks than just the ones that shined your shoes, you would buy a pair of these kicks for yourself and your son.

$89.50 isn’t equal to 40 acres and a mule, but its at least a step in the right direction.

af1 nycubans

af1 nycubans

af1 nycubans


Sunday, March 26th, 2006

karate kito

There is only one thing that I regret on the daily about myself and the selfish years I spent away from my family. I regret leaving my little brother behind. I regret that he was the collateral damage in my war against my parents, but more specifically my dad. He didn’t deserve that from me because all he has ever given me from the day that he was born was his love and his trust.

He and I had one of those large splits (9+ years) which comes almost part and parcel with the modern Black family. His biological father was Mr.PENN, and if you were to ask me about my father, DALLAS, I wouldn’t have been able to describe him. Mr.PENN was the only dad that I ever knew. DALLAS had been a computer engineer when he and my mom were married. Back when computers had fuse bulbs and were the size of living rooms. He worked for Columbia University and the perks there included a plush apartment on Riverside Drive. My mom always tells me about the maids’ room. That was all before the alcohol and that white bitch heroin became his new fidelity.

Crestfallen and abused my mom returned to the safety of Queens. To her mother’s mother’s house in the quiet neighborhood called Corona. She returned to college after having left Howard University to elope with DALLAS. She worked during the day. She attended night classes at New York University. That is where she met Mr.PENN. I know this story because mom still has the mind to recall it. As far as I knew when I was a kid there was only Mr.PENN.

KITO which is Ibo for precious jewel was born on a cold March Friday in 1979. He was a handful of trouble for someone who had become accustomed to being alone. KITO and I had to share a bedroom because my dad’s younger brother lived with us too after their dad had passed away in Petersburg, VA. KITO was always into my shit like my AFX collection, my baseball cards and my most prized possessions, which were my comic books.

key n me

My mom told me that he liked to mess with that stuff because he saw the attention that I poured into my hobbies. Try telling an eleven year old that he has to let his kid brother ‘read’ his comic books. I mean he couldn’t even read and he drooled on my books. Nonetheless, my dad would make me share with my brother. His lesson to me was to watch how he took care of his own brother because one day he and my mom would be gone and there would only be KITO and I left remaining. So I begrudgingly shared my time and my toys. To tell you the truth it really wasn’t all bad having a kid brother. He was my Saturday morning cartoon remote control. He knew how to mix a can of soda with a cup of Kool-Aid. He was my personal umbrella holder.

co-op city

My dad never stopped drilling the idea into my head that I had to look out for my brother. And I did as much when ever we were outside in the neighborhood. I was years older than all of his peers and I was one of the popular kids in our enclave so he was protected and secure. That was until I became a teenager. Whatever hormone that clicked inside of my brain that told me that I no longer needed to heed my parents’ advice doomed my relationship with my brother. I argued and fought with my parents often and poor KITO would be in his room under the covers crying. What else would you do if you were six years old and the people that you depended upon for guidance and support were at each others’ throats.


My problem was that I was still so selfish. Nothing mattered to me, but me. I wasn’t mature enough to understand that my fractured relationship with my parents put my brother in no man’s land. He loved my parents dearly, but I was his idol. This has to be similiar to the emotional ravine that children of divorce face. My behavior in their house and my illicit conduct outside of it left my parents little choice but to expel me, even though it was before my eighteenth birthday. I can remember the tears in my brother’s eyes when I packed up a duffle bag and an oversized black garbage bag. I don’t think he thought he would see me again.

I knew that wasn’t the case at all, but I was so stupid and reckless and I was determined to prove a point to my parents. I thought that my brother would be taken care of since my dudes that I came up with were still close by. VICEBERG was one of my oldest friends and his mother was my baby brother’s GODmother. S.W. was another dude that I had trusted with my life on many, many occasions. I thought that I could trust him with my brother as well. My ego was naive and self-centered so instead of leaving my brother with friends I had unwittingly left him with the wolves. They devoured his heart and his mind and left him without hope in utter despair. There will be some stories that I relate to you in this forum that are for adult eyes and ears only. You will learn about my wanton depravity, my failures and my almost execution. These unadulterated stories are not for children and by relating these events to a child you create an emotional void that is almost impossible to fill.

newport, r.i.

I can’t blame those boys for filling my brothers head with my nonsense. It was my job to be my brother’s keeper and I failed miserably. My brother went to the other side of the neighborhood just as I did. When I fell into the throes of cocaine and methamphetamine abuse my kid brother was being turned on to chronic by one of the dudes I previously mentioned. All the while being told that I was doing the same thing that he was. I realize now that was my fault, and my fault alone.

My brother’s arrest for assault and robbery is because of me. My brother’s failure to complete high school is my doing. His jail sentence can be traced to the night that I left my parents’ home. On these pages you will come to see how my immature foolish ego has caused me to lose everything that I ever cared about. However, all is not lost yet. Although Mr.PENN has joined the great GOD in the sky the old Earth still remains. As does the precious jewel.

GOD please help me to reclaim my precious jewel.

precious jewel