The Fraudulent Four

29 02 2008


Figure 1: Bob Johnson – Cocksucker #1

Anybody remember what this asshole said about Obama?

“[T]o me, as an African-American, I am frankly insulted that the Obama campaign would imply that we are so stupid that we would think Hillary and Bill Clinton, who have been deeply and emotionally involved in black issues when Barack Obama was doing something in the neighborhood –­ and I won’t say what he was doing, but he said it in the book ….”

I can only wonder how much someone put in his pocket to make that comment. I also wonder how it feels to be the living manifestation of the phrase “wealth can’t buy class.” Can anyone tell me what exactly the fuck the issues are that the Clintons have been ‘deeply and emotionally’ involved in? Is he referring to the fact that Billy-Boy memorized MLK’s I Have A Dream speech when he was a kid? Is it because he readily appointed blacks to high posts? Or is it because he ‘saved’ Affirmative Action? Big fucking deal. Show me the emotion, and I’ll show you my vagina.

I hope Bob Johnson dies in a fire fueled by copies of Uncle Tom’s Cabin.


Andrew Young – Cocksucker #2

Remember what this idiot had to say?

[From] In an interview in 2007, Young commented that Barack Obama was too young to be president, saying: “I want Barack Obama to be president,” Young said, pausing for effect, “in 2016.” Also adding about Bill Clinton, “Bill is every bit as black as Barack. He’s probably gone with more black women than Barack.” Young quickly followed that comment with the disclaimer, “I’m clowning.”

You’ve been in the public eye since 1972…but it looks like your experience was no match for your patent lack of good judgment, especially regarding when to keep your mouth shut. Hey Andy, how does it feel to tacitly claim that experience trumps judgment while demonstrating the truth of the OPPOSITE of that statement in the very same breath? Did you do that on purpose? Of course you didn’t, because only intelligent people know how to be ironic on purpose.


Figure 3: Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton – Cocksuckers #3 and #4

One day I will be a very old man, and no one will give a flying fuck about what I think. When that happens, I will consult many sources to figure out how to gracefully cope with the increasing futility of my existence. Those sources will NOT include the memoirs of Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson.

Let’s face it fellas: your importance officially died when, in spite of your refusal to “give Obama the keys to the black electorate”, he won 80% of the black vote in South Carolina, and continues to pull in equal or higher percentages in other states as the contest continues.

Black people showed that they were ready to do exactly what they should: vote for a QUALIFIED black candidate when one emerged. Apparently Al and Jesse weren’t ready to do that, and I can only assume that’s because for them, the term ‘qualified’ includes cabinet positions with their names on them. How much of an asshole are you when you spend your entire life championing the black cause, then pull your support for the first legitimate black candidate in history because you weren’t promised anything? Not so altruistic after all, I suppose.

What puts a huge smile on my face when I go to sleep every night is knowing that, no matter how the elections (nomination or general) turn out, Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson, who have now officially exposed their interest in the black community as being entirely self-serving, will have no political capital whatsoever.

I feel a sense of satisfaction like Edward the Longshanks during William Wallace’s execution…except I’m in perfectly good health and, God willing, I will live to see those assholes drown in a pool of their own irrelevance.

Leap Year

29 02 2008

Salaried employees around the country get their thumbs stuck up their asses every four years. Why? Because you spend one more day working without getting any uptick in pay, and that basically amounts to slavery.


Figure 1: My great-great-grandfather on February 29,1876*

*probably not true

Why would I be conflicted about slavery? Because leap year is the one day that non-Black people sorta kinda get to feel what it’s like to work for jack shit, and this can be a very enlightening experience, particularly to white people**.

**I’m anticipating a number of people who may think – “but white people volunteer their time all the time. And a lot of them work for non-profits. White people enjoy working for free.” This is bullshit. First off, you get paid for working for a non-profit, and even the guy (or girl) who founded it is probably using it as a 501(c)(3) tax shelter. Secondly, volunteers may not be working for money, but they get a lot of other things in exchange – namely, bragging rights among other white people, and the opportunity to meet chicks (incidently, the latter is the same and only reason I still have a gym membership…pushups, situps, and burpees are free, and are all a real man needs. I digress.) Working for free on Leap Year is entirely different, because no one can brag about droning away in the office for eight hours working for the Man, and you’re not gonna meet any chicks because, if you work in an office, they’re probably ugly enough to qualify as walking, talking justifications of the Pro-Life movement. I may be exaggerating a little.

If Obama gets into the White House, I’m demanding February 29th be renamed Kunta Kinte Day, so people will finally realize what the Man is getting away with for one day every four years.


Figure 2: Me on my way to work this morning

Zema Williams

28 02 2008


Figure 1: Asshole

For people who aren’t from the Washington D.C. area, Zema Williams (a.k.a. Chief Zee) is the racist asshole who throws on a warbonnet and beaded warshirt at Washington Redskins games and proceeds to dance around like an unmitigated fucktard. He has become the unofficial de facto mascot of the Redskins, despite the fact that he’s basically Native America’s Al Jolson in blackface.

There isn’t enough space on this blog to list everything that’s wrong with what he’s doing, nor is there enough space to explain how offended Native people and I, as a Native person, are offended by this assclown. What possibly sticks in the craw the most is the fact that November 7, 1985 was declared ‘Chief Zee’ day in Washington D.C. – right smack in the middle of American Indian Heritage Month. Fuck you very much whoever’s idea that was.

Now on to the much shorter and more easily explained reason why this, and indeed the very fact that a team called the ‘Redskins‘ is even allowed to exist, bothers me as a black man:

Black people are next.


Figure 2: Coming in 2012

Remember the 80’s? I sure as hell do, and I remember that back then any non-black person who hung a noose or used the word ‘nigger’ was pretty much good as dead. Now nooses are being hung all over the country. Thanks greatly in part to Dave Chappelle and Comedy Central, suddenly it’s OK for anyone to use the word ‘nigger’ (remember back in the day when ‘nigger’ was bleeped out in TV shows on network television and most cable programming? Not anymore.)

It’s clearly only a matter of time before the Detroit Redwings are renamed the Detroit Darkies and some Vietnamese dude in blackface doing the Soulja Boy dance becomes their unofficial mascot. What does Chief Zee have to do with this? Simple – he’s convincing everyone that there’s nothing wrong with it. If it’s OK to do it to Indians, what’s wrong with doing it to black people? And the resounding answer in Detroit will be “not a damn thing!”

I’ve heard that Chief Zee suffered an aneurysm and a clot in his leg, and on a basic human level, I feel a little sorry for him. I’d feel even sorrier for him if he was truly ignorant and didn’t know what he was doing was offensive, but that went out the window when security as a ‘Skins game intercepted a bunch of real live Indians descending the stadium stairs to smack him down like he was in Philly in ’83. As such, he knows what he’s doing is wrong, he’s a racist fucking asshole, and I have to say that in all honesty – deep down, I’m laughing at his plight.

Get well Zee, but get a fucking clue while you’re at it.

Fighter Pilots

26 02 2008

Three years ago, I received a reckless driving ticket in King George County, VA for doing 97 in a 55. It was very late at night, and pretty much the only person on the road besides me was the police officer that pulled me over. The fact that I got pulled over was indeed my fault and quite deserved, but the events of the next six months I blame entirely on my older brother who was in the car with me at the time.

In my driving career, I have been pulled over exactly nine times and each time with damn good reason:

  1. 1999: 51 in a 25, Alexandria VA – approx 11:45pm (ticket)
  2. 1999: 72 in a 55, King George VA – approx 11:00pm (ticket)
  3. 1999: Driving without headlights on, Alexandria VA – approx 10:00pm (no ticket, no warning)
  4. 2000: 40 in a 20, Anacostia Park, Washington DC – approx 3:15pm (warning)
  5. 2002: 50 in a 25, ran 3 stop signs, College Park, MD – approx 1:00am (warning)
  6. 2003: 55 in a 30, weaving through traffic, Downtown Washington DC – approx 4:00pm (no ticket, no warning)
  7. 2004: 97 in a 55, King George VA – approx 12:00am ($1250 fine, 90 day suspended jail sentence, 3 years probation)
  8. 2006: 42 in a 20, Reagan National Airport, approx 5:30pm (ticket)
  9. 2007: 70 in a 40, cutting off unmarked police car, Washington DC – approx 9:30am (warning)

There is a clear behavioral pattern to all of these. The cases where I didn’t get tickets were the cases where I admitted to the officer that a.) I’m an idiot (incidents 5, 9), b.) I was indeed going that fast and was unaware of the speed limit (incident 4), c.) I didn’t know you were the police and I thought you were going to kill me (incident 9), d.) yes, I’m driving without headlights because I forgot, the street is well-lit, and my girlfriend is pissing me off (incident 3), and e.) I’m sorry I’m speeding, I’m just late for an appointment and this is my first day on the job (incident 6).


Figure 1: Not Fighter Pilots

Basically, all the times I got away with it were the times I treated the cops with respect, admitted that they were right and I was wrong, and didn’t give them the runaround. If there were any justice in the world, I’d have been thrown in federal pound-me-in-the-ass prison for incident 5.

But the incidents where I did receive tickets [1, 2, 7, and 8] were the ones where I insulted the cops’ intelligence by claiming I couldn’t have been doing more than 35, 60, 60, and 25 mph for incidents 1, 2, 7, and 8 respectively. My reaction to incidents 1 and 2 I can attribute to being young and stupid, and the reaction to incident 8 I attribute to being VERY tired.

Incident 7, however, is completely my brother’s fault. As the officer approached my car, I was fully prepared to tell him the God-honest truth: “I just graduated, I bought a fast car, I saw an open striaghtaway and I just lit it up. I honestly don’t even know how fast I was going. I’ve got no excuse, I’m sorry man…it was stupid. I’m really really sorry.” To this day, I’m sure this would have gotten me out of any trouble.

Instead, my brother – ever defiant against authority figures, even in spite of himself – instructs me as follows: “No matter what happened, you were NOT doing more than 60.” I, being panic stricken, was dumb enough to listen to my big brother – and when the officer inevitably asked me how fast he caught me going, I responded with a timid “Ummmm…..60?”, and immediately upon saying these words I knew I was in some deep shit.

The next six months of my life included the following:

  • a formal arraignment
  • a $700 retainer fee for an attorney
  • a plea bargain that a.) kept me out of jail and b.) the judge nearly rejected
  • a $1250 fine, 90 day suspended jail sentence, three years probation
  • an official criminal record
  • 6 months of taking the Metro to my job in Tyson’s Corner since I wasn’t allowed to drive in Virgnia
  • the sale of my beloved Lancer Evolution

At this point (and probably at some point way before this) you’re probably asking yourself “what the fuck does this have to do with fighter pilots?” I answer:


Figure 2: Reckless Driving

Apparently, this sporting chap flew his $38 million F-14 Tomcat 10 feet from the deck of the U.S.S. Stennis because, as Bam Margera said to explain the penis branded on his ass to his mother, “it was funny.” For doing this, the pilot was grounded for 30 days. So let’s compare and contrast shall we?

Indicent 7:

  • Lives endangered: 2
  • Damage Potential: approx. $35K, + $1K for road cleanup
  • Results: criminal record, fines, probation, suspended jail sentence

USS Stennis Flyby

  • Lives endangered: >= 9 (there are at least 7 people visible on the deck, plus the pilot and his RIO
  • Damage Potential: approx. $4.538 billion (the Stennis cost $4.5 billion to build, plus $38 million for the F-14
  • Results: 30 day grounding

I fucking goddamn hate fighter pilots.

The Electric Slide

25 02 2008

The Electric Slide is very similar to the Federal Reserve, in that its creation is shrouded in mystery, our willingness to let it flourish boggles the mind, and people continue tolerate it despite the fact that they hate it and there’s no law stating that they have to.

I first saw the Electric Slide performed at my Aunt Brenda’s house when I was about 8 years old, and I immediately drew two conclusions.

  1. Every single person in my family is an asshole
  2. The stupidity of the dance itself is exceeded only by the stupidity of the song that it’s danced to


Figure 1: Organized stupidity

Everyone I know derides the song and the dance as patently ridiculous (even when it was a popular song at clubs), and yet for some reason when Marcia Griffith’s tinny voice inevitably poisons the air at any large family gathering, I’m the only jerkoff who doesn’t know how to do the dance. The same people who once claimed to hate the song are suddenly on the dance floor or in the yard with shit-eating grins on their faces, singing along to the song’s asinine lyrics, and putting way too much effort into the last step of the cycle in the dance (see Figure 1).

The thing that really confuses the hell out of me is how the Electric Slide became so popular among black people. The Electric Slide is completely antithetical to black dancing: it’s a line dance (didn’t think about that, did ya?), it’s repetitive, it offers zero chance for creativity, there’s nothing sexual about it, there’s no potential for a remix, and white people can do it as well as black people without even trying that hard (except, apparently, for the ferociously uncomfortable-looking dude on the far right in Figure 1).

I’m surprised that so many people were shocked that the DC sniper was black, because if black people are capable of enjoying the Electric Slide, then we’re certainly capable of gunning down people at gas stations. The Electric Slide is responsible for more deaths every day than Malvo and Mohammed perpetrated in their assholerous three weeks. I base this claim on nothing in particular.


Figure 2: Enjoys the Electric Slide

Non-Black Hip-Hop Scholars

24 02 2008


Figure 1: Hiphop’s Panacea

The term “non-black hip hop scholar” is almost redundant, because just about anyone I’ve ever met who fits the following criteria:

  • Knows the year that virtually any hiphop album/single was released
  • Vigorously defends hiphop from those who say it’s all about violence and misogyny
  • Has an iPod so chock full of ill-gotten hiphop tracks that you almost develop sympathy for the RIAA
  • Loves loves loves loves loves Tribe Called Quest and/or Mos Def and/or Talib Kweli
  • Takes pride in knowing about ‘underground’ (a wannabe Afro-urban partial appropriation of the term ‘Indie’) rap artists
is not black.
It’s difficult for me to express exactly what about this makes me incredibly angry, but I think number 2 on the list is what causes the most conflict between myself and other people. Hiphop scholars take a lot of pride in the fact that they’ve ‘discovered’ the music to me more than just gangster rap, but as soon as they make that discovery, they take the shit way too damn far. They’re suddenly under the impression that since they understand hiphop more than pretty much everyone else on the planet, then they also understand black people – effectively equating hiphop to black people and the black experience.
This sets up an incredibly tense situation when, inevitably, I make some offhand (and usually exaggerated) claim about hiphop in the presence of a hiphop scholar. For example, I’ve been known to say things like “I don’t need to listen to hiphop. I grew up in DC and lived through the violence and put up with the drug dealers first hand.” I say these things jokingly, and most people get it.

But not the hiphop scholar. This fucker will blindly LUNGE at the chance to defend hiphop – even from black people – and tell me exactly how I’m wrong, why I’m wrong, and how I’ve failed to understand hiphop. The irony of this behavior is what gets under my skin, because it takes a lot of nerve for someone who isn’t black to presume that a.) a black person from the inner city (me) could misunderstand hiphop which, at its core, is an expression of black people and the black experience, and b.) that they could ever in a million years understand that expression better than I could.

I could sit here for the next ten years listening to Fado – but no matter how much I studied it and learned about it, it would never occur to me to ‘correct’ the interpretation of this music by someone from Portugal. That would reflect a combination of rudeness, presumption, and flat-out wrongheadedness that was driven from me in my childhood by occasional smackdowns and yellings at delivered skillfully by my parents. I suppose when it comes down to it, hiphop scholars just don’t have any home training, or perhaps they were gifted children and aren’t accustomed to shutting the fuck up when they should.

With all that said, let me state that I don’t actually have a problem with the hiphop scholar studying the ins and outs of the music and the culture that surrounds it. Furthermore, feel free to light a fire under anyone who isn’t black and presumes to make blatantly false claims and misguided interpretations about hiphop. But when you’re around black people…do yourself a favor and keep your fucking mouth shut.


22 02 2008

Remember when Beyonce was black?


Figure 1: Who the fuck is this?

I’m trying to figure out exactly when Beyonce morphed from one of the most beautiful black women in the country into a beautiful big-assed corn fed white girl. The best way to do this, of course, is to examine the history of her public images. Please examine Figures 2 and 3 below, which examine the increasing whiteness of Beyonce as a member of Destiny’s Child and as a soloist:


Figure 2: The Inexplicable Whiteness of Beyonce – Destiny’s Child (click image for larger view)


Figure 3: The Inexplicable Whiteness of Beyonce – Solo Career (click image for larger view)

Given these timelines and images, we can safely conclude that Beyonce turned into a white woman sometime between November 15, 2004 (the release date of ‘Destiny Fulfilled’) and October 25, 2005 (the release of ‘#1s’). But when exactly did that happen, and why?

After about 30 seconds of in-depth research, I found the one and only possible source for the answer: Jay-Z.

Shawn Carter, a.k.a. Jay-Z, was born on December 4, 1969 and was Beyonce’s secret and not-so-secret lover at the time of her Caucasiafication. This leads to a conclusion as Earth-shattering as any Da Vinci code revelation:

Beyonce became white on December 4, 2004 as a birthday present to Jay-Z.

Well God damn. To anyone who thinks that’s a good thing, just remember:


Figure 4: Unacceptable