Wednesday, January 26, 2011


That picture is the cast of the old Amos 'n Andy television series (1951-1953). They're standing on the steps of the MYSTIC KNIGHTS of the SEA lodge.

The program originated on radio (1928-1943) over WMAQ (Chicago), where it had a loyal following. Two white men (Freeman Gosden and Charles Correll) created and performed the title characters, pretending to be black, and the series kept generations laughing with delight.
The jump to television was made when the show premiered on CBS on June 28, 1951.

Story-lines centered around the friendships between the Brothers of the Mystic Knights of the Sea Lodge Hall and the home life of George "Kingfish" Stevens and his wife Sapphire. Kingfish and Andy's antics were usually off-centered by the fairness, judgement and charm of cabdriver Amos Jones.

Well, through a chain of events, a writer from Ebony magazine, Sergio, an acquittance of mine, asked me if I was related to Tim Moore, aka, Kingfish. I posted a reply and I am sharing it with you....

Yep Sergio, uncle Tim. He’s my grandfather’s brother. I have some stories and lots of pictures. He didn’t get that part until late in his career. Some of those fat heads in the NAACP were instrumental in getting the series banned from television, and now we have Mr Brown and Medea… go figure. And who wins all the image awards? Yeah, go figure. I wonder if Tyler's money has any influence on black folk's state of affairs? Well, back then, at a time of emerging Civil Rights, the characters were seen as gullible, conniving and lazy. Looking at the show today, none of the plots were ever based on race; and in fact, Blacks were seen for the first time as doctors, lawyers and leaders in the community. The problem was in the balance. There were simply no other shows during that time period to compare against the characters on Amos ‘n Andy. Civil Rights leaders saw Amos ‘n Andy as “inappropriate”, saying that it had to be taken off the air.

On a side note, you know I am from Iowa – right. Well, some “good” white folks were pushing to have Tim selected to a sorta who’s who’s from the area. Well, the core of this selection committee are Jewish historians (You know they will document some ish). So, through their tireless journey, I found out how and when my family arrived in this area. The story goes back to 1865. My grandfather – of 6 generations past – was a released slave and came here to start a new life. I have a picture of him sitting with a group of distinguishing looking white fellows, all of them wearing hats and their Sunday best, including my grandfather. He was an integral part of their society because he was the town’s animal doctor. He didn’t have a PhD, but as a slave, that was his job. So they needed ol’Charlie. That was his name, Charlie W; a released slave from Kentucky.

Charlie had a daughter that married a porter who worked on the old Rock Island Line railroad. You know the song - “The Rock Island line is a mighty good line, come and get your tickets on the Rock Island line”. I think Johnny Cash sang that song.

Anyway, I guess she – Charlie’s daughter – must have looked so good and smelled so sweet that Mr Moore jumped off that train and we’ve been here every since.

There you have it, the short history of the evolution of Kingfish, aka, Tim Moore.
Now, if I could only reprise the role of Kingfish – something like, Kingfish 2011 – we’d really have something to talk about. Come to think of it Sergio, with your wit and sense of humor, you’d be a perfect Amos. I can see it now. Amos sold his cab and now writes for a popular magazine, based in Chicago, and Kingfish is still the head of the Brothers of the Mystic Knights of the Sea Lodge.

Yes sir, I can see it now, wonderful scripts and endearing characters portrayed by first-class black actors.

Addendum:  The following picture was added April 6th 2011.   

Kingfish is third from the left.  He's chiilin' with his mother & father, and a few of his brother. 3 sisters are not included in the photo.

Tuesday, January 25, 2011


The night was glare, the moon was yellow, and the leaves came tumbling down. Quantum banter relinquished it's liberally greased floors to silence. Like the toes of the Wicked Witch of The West - retentively coiled upon losing their ruby red glass slippers - the appendages of the black blogsphere relaxed it's pointed index fingers to a slightly paused position.

While the brakes were applied to the inner drums of gossip, sport and play, Langston Hughes spoke on The Ways of White Folks.  

"Like his most famous poems, Hughes's stories are messages from that other America, sharply etched vignettes of its daily life, cruelly accurate portrayals of black people colliding -- sometimes humorously, more ofteh tragically -- with whites".

I loved the brilliance of Langston Hughes. His artful way of showing people their evil ways - without yelling at them, or calling them enigmatic names - was a stroke of genius. And apparently someone agrees.

"Within the range of these stories there is humor, pathos, terror, and satire. I suspect that Langston Hughes is revealing here that mysterious quality that we call genius." -- Horace Gregory

I am left to wonder if the quasi polyglot-ism of the black blogspere is attacking racism and politics with the same genius of Langston Hughes? Well, I don't have a Cadillac with a sunroof top and diamond in the back, so I can't cruise the scene in my gangster lean, but I do read the musings of many.

But wait, before I bridge the gap between the ridiculous and the sub-lime, I believe it's of utmost importance that I qualify my opinion. See, I am a black cat man. In such, I had nine lives. However, as the world turned it's turbulent winds upon me, I am now down to one.  Age and bumps upside my head has forced me to  exchanged my youthfully proud ignorance, for a slight semblance of wisdom. I am not a black Aristotle, nor a chocolate pupil of Socrates, who by the way, despite his foundational place in the history of ideas, actually wrote nothing,  I am just a black man in America that has been  places - physically and mentally - that I no longer wish to return.

In reference to the black blogspere standing down, I have traveled many roads less-traveled. And in doing so, I've noticed  a few things.  Well, take for instance a misguided purse snatching thief.  When he grabs his bounty with the speed of a cheetah, forcing his victim to shouts "stop thief, get back here you slime ball,  you freakin' fool", those words do not to stop the thief. In fact, he speeds-up his escape. Even though the thief may not believe he's a slime ball, he know he's a thief, so calling him one is not going to stop his dastardly deeds. He has a job to do and he could care less about vengeful name calling. Especially those directed at him.

In walks the racist and the do-or-die bigot. It's highly predictable, and historically true, that directing the aforementioned titles  (racist, prick, bigot, etc.) at our white neighbors is not going to stop their assaults. Racist and bigot know who they are, so they don't need me or anyone else to remind them. Why should I waste my time trying to get them to defend the indefensible?

It's been my observation and experience that when a mirror is raised in front of a racist, he might blink, but he will look at the refection, cock his head, and then comb his hair. He will get ready for the next show.

Consequently, I wonder what would happen if the black blogsphere took one big collective deep breathe and agreed to stand down, for a short period, on commentary concerning the evil persona of some white people? I've heard it said that if a person talks to a fool (too long), there will soon be two fools talking.

The day the black blogsphere stands down (for a moment) will be a marvelous day. I believe there will be serendipitous reward from that journey that's seldom seen. 

I am reminded of a gentlemen that was leading a group of men on a journey across a large body of water. A storm arose which ushered in doubt and fear among some of the disciples. Mighty words were then spoken... "PEACE BE STILL!".

Since "peace" is already still, the words were not being directed at the ravaging waves and high winds, the words were telling "peace" not to interfere with the process of his followers going through a doubtful period. That period of fear, danger and a dwindling faith was needed to see what was on the other side. They needed to feel their fear, or give-in to their doubts.

The world around me is taking it's time making significant positive changes. I think it's wise to stop, look, and listen. Besides, what some people are, speaks so loudly, we don't need to hear what they say. So why bother?

Addendum: In the comment section, my young friend Mark 224, from Detroit, asked the following question: "I wonder why Richard Wright does not get the pub that Langston Hughes does, or at least is not considered among the canon of great African American writers? I don't know, I am just sayin' cause every body talks about Langston when they talk about great blacks. Richard gets a short shrift, IMO, as does Paul Robeson"

After reading his question, I believe it's a perfect time to stretch out my original post. First, Richard Wright and Langston Hughes had distinctly different writing styles, which lead me to highlight Mr. Hughes. Plus, Langston Hughes's body of work dwarfs that of Richard Wright. Hughes wrote poetry, short stories, an autobiography, song lyrics, essays, humor, and plays. The Langston Hughes Reader is a very good compilation of his work.

Yet, more importantly, although my friend believes Richard Wright is receiving a short shaft, that's not true. In many literary circles, Richard Wright receives his just dues. Again, Hughes's and Wright's writing styles were markedly different. Wright's "voice" was fiery, and he participated in communist affairs. Also, some of his pieces were considered offensive or contained too much violence and sex. On the other hand, I choose Hughes because although both men works had racial themes, Hughes's writings "showed" their oppressors in a style that didn't beg for immediate rejection. As I tried to illustrate in my post, when a racist, bigot, or any type of evildoer is vehemently attacked, they have a tendency to return that attack as apposed to listening for the real message.

If a person takes the time to read the works of Langston Hughes, they will find messages that are absent of rants and unrelenting finger pointing. And, why I tipped my hat to him.

I can't help but believe he knew certain powers could vilify the messenger and thus kill, or dismiss his writings, if he took a course similar to Richard Wright's. Richard Wright had to leave the US. He died in Paris at the young age of 52.

And, Paul Robeson was noted as an actor that DOES get his just accolades

Saturday, January 22, 2011

The Ojays Ship Ahoy

Please, to get the full affect of the next post - click this - then pan down. Ponder the words WE DON'T NEED ENEMIES ON OUR OWN TEAM.

As we move into the next 2 years, don't ever let someone pursuade you to forget your past. The past is now - in so many ways.

**If you arrived directly to this page, just click the header ( "CARRY ME HOME") - it will take you back to this post and all the other post will be there**


For over 80,000 days, there has been a white gentleman sitting in the White House. What about now? I've said this before but a new day is drawing near. So, one mo time...

President Obama has a huge weight on his shoulders and so did my grandfather. At the beginning of their new voyage, each of them were up against the mighty Goliath. A formidable foe for sure. Sticks and stones could break their bones, but that was the least of their worries.

In 1865, my grandfather (above picture) of six generations past, was released from slavery. Since that time, there has been 28 white gentlemen seated as President of The United States. Over Fifty Three Thousand days ago, since my grandfather was released from slavery, except for approximately 700 measly days, there has been a white gentlemen sitting in the White House. For approximately EIGHTY THOUSAND DAYS, there has always been a white gentlemen sitting in the White House.

Lets move ahead a few years.

That little girl is my mother. Her parents didn't have an easy row to hoe. They had 10 children and were sharecroppers, but that didn't stop them from taking the time to dress my mother in her fine Sunday attire. The landowner wasn't very nice. Some of the other sharecroppers bowed to his wishes and helped him brow beat his tenants. However my grandparents knew they had to keep on, keeping on.

Come on, lets move ahead.

My mother made it through those days on the farm. That's her in the middle, with the glove on her thigh. Her life has not been a cake walk. Well, aside from being a black woman in America, the next picture will tell a more complete story.

She had me and my brothers. I am the confused looking guy on the left. Although I didn't have a nice bow tie like my oldest brother or a fancy pair of shoes like my brother in the middle, I am grateful for my mother and all my grandparents. My brothers and I fought amongst ourselves but we always fought harder for each other. If someone threw a rock at one of us, we threw 10 back at them. My grandmother is in the next picture.

Look at her, she's so proud. She made it through the hard times, and she's standing in the middle of a few good black men as they break ground for our new church. But the church wasn't about her, she was building something to pass down. She passed away a few years after this picture was taken. But if she had listened to some of the other naysay sell-out sharecroppers, the following event might not have taken place. She and my grandfather stayed strong, stayed together, pooled their resources and got off that man's property.

It's our family reunion! Grandma ironed a few white people's clothes and so did her mother, and so did my mother, but they didn't let that stop them.

My father lost his dad at an early age, but he didn't let that stop him either. In the next picture, see if you know where he's standing?

That's my father standing in front of the White House. Since 1789, there had been a white man living in that white house. Our president is now a black man. He's only been living there for a little more than 700 days. Forty three white fellas had called that place home. In their tenure, they managed to keep racism alive, and hope but a distant memory. For 80,000 days and several wars later, they've managed to build a castle in the sky for them and theirs, and yet, a few of my black friends are quick to point fingers at President Obama. They say he's not moving fast enough and he's staying mum on black issues. I wonder if my nay say friends can trace their family history, or the white president's history? I also wonder if they've read a few history books - about our history? More importantly, I've often wondered what rewards they are receiving from regurgitating negative opinions about our president? Could it be they adore speaking in a quasi intellectual tone, while missing the fact that they are being ineffectual? Frequently, their misguided "constructive criticism" is nothing more than 10 dollar words of bubbling babble that's used to stroke an inflated ego.

My father has gone home. I miss him, but I remember his words of wisdom.

He was my little league coach and I was a pitcher. One day, a player on my team dropped a fly ball which caused me to lose my cool. As he scrambled to retrieve the ball, another player stumbled over him. The opposing team laughed and ridiculed the players to a point they both started crying. I didn't make things any better with my mean look and foolish antics on the mound. Consumed by my emotions, I threw my next pitch with the fury of a Tasmanian Devil. I hit the batter square upside his head. My father called time out and approached the mound. His following words I will never forget... "look boy, don't ever play another man's game and don't be nobodies fool. Their job is to get you mad at your players and have you act a damn fool. Don't let them see you get rattled. Go out and tell Tommy it's alright and we are going to win this game. We don't need enemies on our own team"

President Obama has a huge task in front of him. He's standing on the mound and the ball is in his hand. We don't need enemies on our own team. If someone tries to engage you in negative criticism about President Obama, stop, look and listen, and then ask them where they are going? Don't play another man's game and don't be nobodies fool.

Remember, Rome was not built in a day and 43 white fellas have played in the white house for over TWO CENTURIES - THAT'S 200 YEARS YAWL! And that's a loooog time. Taking that into consideration, President Obama has been there but a blink of the eye. My grandfather didn't go back to slavery. He took the good with the bad, and kept on steppin. Step up... when someone tries to bring Obama down.

Lets build something to pass on! I say, move the petty indifferences out of the way and look ahead to a better day. If not Obama then who? Don't be led astry.


And, if you want to read the comments to this post, click >>>


I see my negro-lite friends are at it again. Don't they believe fat meat is greasy? Now they're stomping on the NAACP. When will they ever learn.

To those of you that have shown the courage to continue reading my saga on the wayward negroes of the blogsphere, I bid you my hello.

If you have not been reading along, here's a short review. Well, I've uncovered a few negroes thats been laying in the weeds and hiding in the trees, like your garden variety rapists. They lure their unsuspecting victim to their van (blogs) with the promise of freedom for every black person in America. Sometimes their words are pretty effective. Heck, they had my dumb ass over there yelling "Free Willie". I thought we were about to find a few solutions to the troubled times of people of color. But the longer I listened, I soon realized we were all being bamboozled, lied to, and lead astray.

At first I felt foolish because who likes to admit that they've been screwed? Well, I don't. Nevertheless, I had to get this shame and guilt off me. I couldn't continue to carry the guilty feeling of being part of something that meant me or any person of color.... no good. So, I decided to set a trap like the one used by NBC's "To Catch A Predator".

But first, the message that the negrolites were trying to sell was "get rid of Obama" and every black organization in america. As I said, at first I didn't "hear" their message, but boy oh boy, when I woke up, I heard it loud and clear.

So here's the deal. They say a fox smells his own hole, so I wrote a post entitled "Banjo Man". And, TELE-NEGRO

In those posts I noted that some people do nothing but hate on President Obama. They try to persuade people to enage in that foolishness by calling it constructive feedback. But look, I am all for contructive feedback, but if the feedback is nothing but gripes and moans, sticks and stones, porous opinions, bitches and cliches , I don't view that as constructive feedback. That's more akin to the negro-lites real message of "replace Obama". Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice....

So, the trap was set. Although I didn't say any names..... remember, a fox smells his own booty hole and UP JUMPED a black blogger. Read it in the comments of this post >>>

Personally, I think the above link is a must read. Some of the words of the naysayers are in there. But they haven't come back. uuuummmm, I wonder why?

See, I can't understand what some black folks are getting from whipping Obama and the NAACP? I mean, what's their real goal? Can they not see the forest because of the trees? I mean, because a few small winds topple a few weak branches, why are they saying get rid of Obama and the NAACP? I wonder who they would replace them with? I don't know, but I wish they would stop hiding in the closet and say what's really going on.

Granted, President Obama and The NAACP have made a few mistakes, but I am not going to be foolish enough to help someone burn down my house until I know exactly where my next meal is coming from.

The Mantaan men and women have a sweet deal. But if one listens real closely, all they are really serving is a blue pill. And, we all know what that's used for. Yep, the long stroke.

Don't get caught up, and then get dropped off at the bridge. If they say NAY NAY OBAMA, ask them whose ass are they kissing. In other words, spank that ass like a natural man (or woman). Of course you might not want to spank their ass like I get that ass. I mean, although Prince wrote a song about it - CONTROVERSY - is not for everyone. However, bend but don't break. Tell them - come hell or high water - you are on Obama's side. Tell them that you are not trying to be their special kind of fool. Make them show their cards.

Remember this....they're blowing smoke up your behind

AND, Don't let them slip you a Mickey Fin! And then find yourself looking like them.


OPPS, wrong picture. But come to think about it. Our nay say negro friends are trying to sell us something. And, I for one, ain't buying it. But in the end, in all honesty, if they were speading it on the table like Ol'girl, I might be tempted to be their huckleberry. But nawl, it's not that kind of party. They're Republicans pretending to be friendly Democrates. And we all know what they're about - with their wanna-be slick ass.

Friday, January 21, 2011


Raise your hands in the air if you just don't care. Or, wave the flag for Ms Palin or any old Mr Charlie?

Let me cut to the chase. Some negro political blogs should change their names to BootyForSell.

That's right, they should flash a red sign and adorn it with big purple lips - and a big fat booty. You know, them big booty lips that compliment deep ass kissing. But wait, dez some smart negros that may not know the errs of their ways. I mean, they have great writing skills - that most would die for - but many of them ain't talking about a damn thang except what Obama has "alledgedly" done wrong.

Listen, I am a ride or die Obama supporter that....


No, you hold up, and you can miss me with that one. I mean, you should define hero worshiping. I know you may believe that's a clever phrase, but it's nothing more than a tired and trite remark that allows you to run from the truth. Get back to me with your definition of a hero worshiper.

But first, tell me, who would you rather have in office, Obama or and ol'nondescribt Mr Charlie? I know most of my wayward friends will have a hard time answering that question. Well, since they claim to be supporting Obama's mission, they can't say, "we love Mr Charlie". On the other hand, if they say Mr Charlie, I'd say "give me his name". Who would be a good replacement? And, since I am referring to smart negros, they wouldn't say anybody except President Obama. I mean, that reply would instantly discredit them. And lord knows what that would do for their egos.

That reminds me, I believe much of their whimsical hater-aid (conscience of not) is rooted in an ego that's in grave need of constant stroking. What else could justify their negative rants about our presidents?

"But Carey, we can't give him a pass just because he's black"

Who said anything about a pass you knuckle head? Again, if not Obama than who?! See, some folks wish to run from that question, while they hurl ambiguous qusi- intellectual short burst of nothingness.
Really, that's the big elephant in this house "who would my naysay negro friends chose as a replacement". If you can't stop the elephant, then your house will become very raggedy. And, we all heard what Malcolm said:

"if your kitchen is dirty, your house is dirty"
So, would it be right to invite someone to dinner and feed them Cracker Jacks? Wouldn't that be kind of dirty? Well, inside a box of Cracker Jacks, there's always a surprise. But I am still wondering who they would bring to the table. Who?... Any ol'cracker-Jack?

Remember, the elephant is still there. He ain't going to disappear because the question is side stepped. Consequently, until the chicken head naysayers can tell me the purpose behind their eloquent dissing of President Obama, I can't help but believe they are unconsciously soothing a soul that needs to sound intelligent. More importantly, they have to know their words are a cheap cloned edition of Mr Charlie's. I wish they would just speak the truth and come out of the closet. I wish they would change their blog names to Black Booty For Sale: The place of intelligent BIG BOOTY for your Disposal.

"But again carey, we can't give Obama a pass because he is black, we have to make him accounting"

Okay, one mo gin for all the circle jerks. Do you really think you are making him accountable by mimicking the words of his arch rivals?! I mean, really? Do you think you're making him accountable by sitting in blog with a bunch of negros that acquired their political science degrees on-line - or off the 10 o'clock news? I mean, what's accomplished by listening to rants, half-baked solutions, haters and naysayers - huh? Surely that's not making him accountable. That's nothing more than a game of spades or dominoes. Any negro can sit around a table and talk trash. I mean, making him accountable??? Tell me, tell me exactly how you're doing that? I mean, considering the un-focused willy-nilly rhetoric, that's the final product of most political blog discussions, I find it hard to believe it's a package that would make the president accountable. Having said all of that, in the very least; would your words move people toward Obama or move them away from him? Don't duck now, but the BIG ASS ELEPHANT is still in the house. If not Obama than who? Think about it.
Play the story to the end.

I know this post will not get me invited to soft music and satin sheets, but as Martin Luther King said,

"Many people fear nothing more terrible than to take a position which stands out sharply and clearly from the prevailing opinion. The tendency of most is to adopt a view that is so ambiguous that it will include everything and so popular that it will include everybody"

So please, don't take this personally, but negro pleases, what emotions are you discharging when you vent on President Obama?

I think we'd all be better served if we look at the short period between our thoughts and our actions. There's something in that gap called an emotion. It's the propellant behind the outward action. Some are very subtle and short lived, but they are always there. How we discharge that emotion is the key to why we do the things we do.

Hey, if a person can not truly define what they are receiving from voicing their displeasures of our president, I'd be a fool to engage them in any form of debate or discourse.
I raise my hand. I been at a place in my life where I didn't know why I blamed others, chided others, pointed fingers, and went to places - mentally and pyhsically - I had no business going.

I would imagine that many people are stuck in that dilemma, and possibly, don't know how to get out. It's very hard to say I was wrong and you were right.

Chicken Wing KING!

Chicken Wings

I have a confession to make, I didn't know how to cook chicken wings. Nope - I did - but I didn't. I’ve made them, but they were never quite right. To make matters worse, ol'girl's, my woman's wings are... well, not that good either. I never had the heart to tell her, I just ate those dry thangs with a smile on my face. But see, I had to go to a function in which I was planning to take along some wings for the crowd. So, I asked a few friends how they cooked theirs. Let me tell you... everybody has a chicken wing recipe. Some are passed down from grandmomma's grandmomma.

One day, Ol'girl was coming over and I didn't know how to tell her that I wanted to cook the wings by myself. She had already said she wanted to help me.

She came over and well... let me start from the beginning. I bought the whole wing and I was about to cut off the tips when my girl looked at me like I had just slapped her mother. In a slow serious voice she said "what are you getting ready to do with that knife". I asked her what she was talking about. She said, “I know you ain't cuttin' off them tips, people LOOOVE them tips“. So I put the knife down. But wait, let me go back a little further.

Someone had asked me if white folks like chicken wings as much as we do. Are you kidding me, there was some white folks at the event that I had to run away from those wings. For real, and I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW THEM! See, there was this one white lady that was part of the event and I guess many other people in the building thought it was a party for everybody. When I asked them what they were doing they said, “eatin' wings” *lol*. When I politely said it was a private little thang, a couple of them grabbed another piece and walked out. Listen, I had on a sports coat and tie, so I couldn't get ignorant, but it kind of made me feel good that they loved them wings.

Anyway, here's what I did. I cooked the wings three different ways, taking advice from many. I don't normally use seasoning salt but it seems like other folks like it. I did use garlic powder but NOT TOO MUCH. Someone told me that when the wings started floating to the top, they were ready. I'd never heard about the floating wing thang, but when them babies started swimming, I was like a fisherman standing on the banks of the Mississippi River pulling out cat fish.

Now, we’ve all heard of CP time, right? When someone sets out food, somebody is gonna be late, and somebody gonna be mad. This one sister - A BIG SISTA - got there a little late. When she came through the door I told her there was some food in the other room. Her face lit up like it was Christmas morning. But man... that chicken was gone when she got there. She started looking around like somebody was going to give up some of their chicken. Really, she looked around the room and her eyes saw this one sister that had a to-go-plate. Why do people do that? Ain't you suppose to eat the food right there? Anyway, the big sister asked the "little" sista how many wings she had under that napkin. It got ugly. She got loud and asked if she was suppose to get full on the cold slaw... not cole slaw... cold slaw. I don't have to tell you the rest of the story, do I? You know what happened to those wings under that napkin .

If you're wondering about my lady, here's how that went down. She was going to accompany me on this thang. So I told her that it didn't make sense for her to get in the kitchen and end up smelling like chicken. She said she had thought about that and had brought along a set of clothes, and would take a shower after we were done. Dang, what could I say then? Well, I told her that I had a couple of shirts in the cleaners that I had to get out, and she could pick them up for me and I'd get started on the chicken. She said she would help me clean the chicken and if "we" had enough time, she then would go get the shirts. I think she was trying to make sure that I didn't mess up something, like cut off them tips. Anyway, "we" got started and before she could drop a pinch of salt on anythang, I looked at my watch and said, "Man, look at the time, you better go get those shirts". She looked at me kind of funny because I already had my clothes laid out for the evening... shirt and everything. She said, "OOOOOOH, you don't want me cookin' yo wings". I looked at her with this stupid look on my face. She said, that's okay, I didn't want to cook yo stankin' wings anyway. She went right to the shower, after throwing a wing on the table.

It was a great night. Ol'girl came along and she loves wings. They say a way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Welllllll, women too. She wasn't mad at me after she put her soup coolers on them wings. I wonder who really makes the best wings, women or men?

In this here house, I's the chicken wing King.

Monday, January 17, 2011

That Ain't Right!

The love you save may be your own. Some day you'll be alone, you're heading for a danger zone.

Those words are from a Michael Jackson song. I've been doing Michael this weekend.


"S" is for SAVE me.
"T" is for TAKE it slow.
"O" is for OH NO!
"P" is for PLEASE PLEASE don't go - there.

While listening to Michael, a few things crossed my mind. Some things are just not right.

Back-Ass, just ain't right. "Carey, what's backass?" 

 Well, I was just getting ready to tell you. See, some sisters don't need to wear low riders. Some sistahs can pull it off but others...     well, let me put it like this.  Shouldn't there be a line that divides the back from the ass?  When all that ass gets jammed above a low belt line, without a division...    it's back-ass, and that just ain't right.

You know what I was thinking? I was thinking they should just go ahead and sell perfume funk. Some woman spray perfume right over all dey funk and that ain't right. I mean, should a person wash something before they put the smell good over the top? Heck, were does the funk go if you don't wash it away?

Something is not right about a 10 year old singing these lyrics ...."I'll be your sugar daddy/give you honey and all my money. But baby/L'm giving you all the candy and he's getting all your love" - Michael Jackson.

Is it right to tell a friend that their breath stinks? I mean, don't we have an obligation to tell them that their mouth is their worst enemy? Some people don't get the hint. You know, when you offer them a mint or a piece of gum .... "Hey, would you like a piece of gum?"...      "no, am cool" ....."NO YOU'RE NOT!"
What's up with the person that always wants to be the banker while playing Monopoly? Something ain't right about that. Are they a cheating-cheater or someone that just loves to count money? I never win Monopoly.

Mega-churches just ain't right. I want to be able to stop by my pastors house or call him on the phone. Speaking of churches, is it right to text while in church? Something ain't right about that...   and I've done it before.

I have a few more questions that's been bugging the mess out of me. What ever happened to Tevin Campbell? That boy could blow. Come to think about it, where did Shabba Ranks go?

Some things just ain't right!

Saturday, January 15, 2011


There are many things I can say about Dr. King that does not only speak to his involvement in the civil rights movement, but to the core of the man. His leadership and love of his immediate family, wife and children, are but a dream for many. His lust for education and his numerous degrees speaks volumes. His devout "though" faith, A PERMANENT AND LASTING FAITH; a faith that required a belief in God even THOUGH things may not go his desired way - not IF all goes well- is the foundation of a man that cannot be moved.

What about a time called now?

This is a time of shame and sorrow. It is not a day for politics. I have saved this one opportunity, my only event of today, to speak briefly to you about the mindless menace of violence in America which again stains our land and every one of our lives.

It is not the concern of any one race. The victims of the violence are black and white, rich and poor, young and old, famous and unknown. They are, most important of all, human beings whom other human beings loved and needed. No one - no matter where he lives or what he does - can be certain who next will suffer from some senseless act of bloodshed. And yet it goes on and on and on in this country of ours.

Why? What has violence ever accomplished? What has it ever created? No martyr's cause has ever been stilled by an assassin's bullet.

No wrongs have ever been righted by riots and civil disorders. A sniper is only a coward, not a hero; and an uncontrolled, uncontrollable mob is only the voice of madness, not the voice of reason.

Whenever any American's life is taken by another American unnecessarily - whether it is done in the name of the law or in defiance of the law, by one man or by a gang, in cold blood or in passion, in an attack of violence or in response to violence - whenever we tear at the fabric of our lives which another man has painfully and clumsily woven for himself and his children, whenever we do this then the whole nation is degraded.

"Among free men," said Abraham Lincoln, "there can be no successful appeal from the ballot to the bullet; and those who take such appeal are sure to lose their cause and pay the costs."

Yet we seemingly tolerate a rising level of violence that ignores our common humanity and our claims to civilization alike. We calmly accept newspaper reports of civilian slaughter in far-off lands. We glorify killing on movie and television screens and call it entertainment. We make it easy for men of all shades of sanity to acquire whatever weapons and ammunition they desire.

Too often we honor swagger and bluster and the wielders of force; too often we excuse those who are willing to build their own lives on the shattered dreams of other human beings. Some Americans who preach non-violence abroad fail to practice it here at home. Some who accuse others of inciting riots have by their own conduct invited them.

Some look for scapegoats, others look for conspiracies, but this much is clear: violence breeds violence, repression brings retaliation, and only a cleansing of our whole society can remove this sickness from our souls.

For there is another kind of violence, slower but just as deadly destructive as the shot or the bomb in the night. This is the violence of institutions; indifference and inaction and slow decay. This is the violence that afflicts the poor, that poisons relations between men because their skin has different colors. This is the slow destruction of a child by hunger, and schools without books and homes without heat in the winter.

This is the breaking of a man's spirit by denying him the chance to stand as a father and as a man among other men. And this too afflicts us all.

I have not come here to propose a set of specific remedies nor is there a single set. For a broad and adequate outline we know what must be done. For when you teach a man to hate and to fear his brother, when you teach that he is a lesser man because of his color or his beliefs or the policies that he pursues, when you teach that those who differ from you threaten your freedom or your job or your home or your family, then you also learn to confront others not as fellow citizens but as enemies, to be met not with cooperation but with conquest; to be subjugated and to be mastered.

We learn, at the last, to look at our brothers as aliens. Alien men with whom we share a city, but not a community; men bound to us in common dwelling, but not in a common effort. We learn to share only a common fear, only a common desire to retreat from each other, only a common impulse to meet disagreement with force. For all this, there are no final answers.

Yet we know what we must do. It is to achieve true justice among our fellow citizens. The question is not what programs we should seek to enact. The question is whether we can find in our own midst and in our own hearts that leadership of humane purpose that will recognize the terrible truths of our existence.

We must admit the vanity of our false distinctions among men and learn to find our own advancement in the search for the advancement of others. We must admit in ourselves that our own children's future cannot be built on the misfortunes of others. We must recognize that this short life can neither be ennobled or enriched by hatred or revenge.

Our lives on this planet are too short. The work to be done is too great to let this spirit flourish any longer in this land of ours. Of course we cannot banish it with a program, nor with a resolution.

But we can perhaps remember, if only for a time, that those who live with us are our brothers, that they share with us the same short moment of life; that they seek, as do we, nothing but the chance to live out their lives in purpose and in happiness, winning what satisfaction and fulfillment that they can.

Surely, this bond of common faith, this bond of common goals, can begin to teach us something. Surely, we can learn, at the least, to look around at those of us of our fellow man, and surely we can begin to work a little harder to bind up the wounds among us and to become in our hearts brothers and countrymen once again. - Robert F Kennedy, April 5, 1968, the day after the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr.

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

Salisbury, Maryland? Will You?

I have a loyal visitor from Salisbury, Maryland and I don't know who they are.  For over a year they've stopped by almost everyday but they've never left a hint of a comment.  Well, I just want to say thank you for stopping by.

If You Were My Girlfriend.... Again?

Jack & Jill ran up the hill to get a marriage license/ They found bliss and shared a kiss/ and that's the end of the story.

Wouldn't that be great? Through the storms of adultery, physical and mental abuse, uncommon interests, gambling, selfishness, alcoholism, deceit, sloth and boredom, wouldn't it be great if we all could be like Petunia (Ethel Waters) & Little Joe. Yes sir, Little Joe was a gambling womanizer but Petunia still loved her Little Joe. The devil tried to take Little Joe, but eventually they were hand in hand, walking to the Cabin In The Sky. That was a great story. But what about now?

Now I am at a place of wonderment. I found myself here after reading a post by Tha L.

Her post was eerily similar to mine.

Those posts were basically saying the same thing... "Clean up your side of the street". Personally, I wonder what that means to me and to others. Well, I know what it means to me because I wrote the post. Let me say this, I have several flaws - okay. When I think about those flaws, I wonder why my love life has not been that bad.

Now, don't take this as a vane attempt to stroke myself or to stratify myself above the common man, but I've never lost at love. Nope, I've never had a woman leave me and I am still cool with every woman that I've had a serious relationship with. "Then why was there separation, CareyCarey?" . Well, before I went to jail for a serious crime, I was involved with a woman. She was cool, but I was not. I mean, I was in the grips of an addiction when I met her. While I was riding that storm, she was the one for me. She didn't even know I had an addiction, but I did. While I was incarcerated, she supported me. When I got out, she supported me. She bought my clothe and gave me transportation. Yet, when I removed myself from that storm, she wasn't the one for me. Without being specific, she wasn't the one for me when I decided to start over. To this day we are cool, but I doubt we could ever be lovers again.

Earlier in my life, while I was in a committed relationship, I had an affair with another woman. In that relationship a child was born. This woman and I were tight, it's safe to say we were in love. However, again, without being totally specific, I had to leave that relationship because I had a family and a woman waiting for me back home. I am still cool with that past lover. I hurt her, yet we remain friends.

I was married. I am now a widower. My present relationship is strong.

Having said all of that and admitting I have numerous character flaws, I sometimes wonder why the women have stayed around and/or continue to allow me to be their friend. But here is were I am at today.

I have a few boundaries. I mean, there are a few things I do not compromise in my search for a woman that I want to call mine. Again, this is not about me but I am going somewhere. I have a pet peeve that many would call ridiculous. It may not be a deal breakers but it would be a serious impediment to a lasting relation - for me. See, I brush my teeth about 10 times a day. I not only brush my teeth but I wash my mouth. Simply brushing ones teeth can be akin to washing ones feet and not getting between the toes or not putting them in water for any significant period of time.

Anyway, for me, a woman has to have very clean teeth and their breathe has to remain pleasant. Okay, I know some may think that shouldn't be a reason to fight love. But, for "me" it is.

If I can go back to the posts of Tha L, and mine, err'body was talking/complaining about the other person. Well, what about the other person - you?

What if you could go back and be that girlfriend, boyfriend, husband or wife again, what are some of the things you would change about yourself? I mean, it's not always the other person's fault that a relationship did not last. Are there a few idiosyncrasies or outlandish requirements that you have, that might have put a wedge in your love life. More so, are there a few serious character flaws of your own that you've now discovered that you must give serious attention? Isn't it important that we check ourselves before we....

No, it wasn't the suit, it was me. No, it wasn't the woman, it was me, I was fu*ked up. Was it you? What was it about you that you've now come to believe must change. If you can't say it, you can't do it. If you can't find it, you can't fix it.

If you could go back, what would you change about yourself?!


Ohh that's nasty, but COME ON, kiss your ass? Listen,  I'm not going to be your special kind of fool. Plus, that's some nasty drama, and drama is nothing but the space between a lie and the truth.

But first, that's a nasty picture ain't it. Sorry, but I had to go for the gusto on this one.

But if I did kiss your behind, we might find the core of a serious problem.

I mean, think about it, if you ask me to kiss your ass, drama is going to breakout because somebody is lying. I am lying to myself if I believe that kissing your rusty ass will make you love me, and you're lying to yourself if you think a wet kiss on your ass is going to solve our problems. Consequently, if we remove the lies; drama ceases to exist. Nobodies ass is getting kissed but...

Okay, since this is a personal blog, let me clean this up by bringing this home.

Drama by definition is a series of events full of vivid, exciting and interesting actions. You know, like kissing someones rectum. Now, of course, within those actions  there's usually pain and destruction. When I look back at my life, none of my most dramatic events would have occurred if I did not lie to someone or myself. Maybe I should repeat that. NO LIES, NO DRAMA!

A  cynic might say that others  bring us drama. I would tend to agree with that, but if I can borrow a phrase from my mother... "if you play with a puppy, it will lick you in the face". In other words, not until we engage ourselves in the actions of others, is it our drama. The lie or untruth develops when we think we can control the actions of another person or change the mindset of another person or change who we really are. Case in point, a woman or a man might find themselves immersed in a drama filled relationship by thinking a person will change if they only did X, Y or Z. You know, like kiss their ass 24/7. Few people really change, so who's fault is it when the drama thickens and seldom goes away?

But again, I have to keep this post in the context of how this issue relates to me. So, if I didn't lie to myself about myself, and to the women in my life, it's possible and probable that my drama filled life would be absent of most of the dramatic events that found me at my lowest low. Wow, that was a mouthful, but the story is now starting to roll.

For instance, I lived a secret life with two separate families. I wrote about it. The post is called   "Babies Mamma Drama" here:

Believe me, in the above post there's drama mammy, and lessons to be learned

The following is a short out-take:

"After visiting my parents one weekend, I decided to stop at a local horse racing track. That day my skills at picking winners wasn't very good so I decided to leave after the 5th race. I was with Rita* (*name changed) and my son. As we approached the car a voice said, "how are you doing Carey", it was Debbie*, the mother of my first child. She had a gun in her hand, a 2 shot derringer. I was stunned, I walked toward her. My son ran behind me saying daddy daddy. He didn't know there was danger, he just couldn't understand why I was walking off from him"

At that moment my life changed and so did the lives of several others.

Listen, if  I had removed the lies, I wouldn't be writing this post and there wouldn't have been years of confusion. Are you kidding me,  check out the drama in that post, click it (above), and tell me if I am wrong. This post pales in comparison to that one.  Anyway.....

I  also tried to sustain a self image (a lie) that caused me more years of pain and suffering. I thought I had to be the coolest, hippest and slickest negro on earth. I thought I had to drive the biggest car and wear the sharpest clothes. At the same time, I wanted everyone to love me. So I lied to other people and myself, to get love in all the wrong places and all the wrong ways. I wasn't the best looking guy on the block, but I wanted to be. And I lied when I told women things I thought they wanted to hear. They loved it and I loved telling lies. Damn, a match made in heaven  hell.  I continued to lie to myself by rationalizing my wayward behavior.

Ultimately, and unfortunately my false self image needed constant stroking which required more money and more lies, with the end results being more drama.

Over the years, one of the biggest lies I told myself was that there was nothing wrong with me. I had everything I wanted, so I resisted the suggestion that I wasn't as cool as a cucumber, while I masked my emotions. I was hiding from myself. No way was I going to entertain the thought that the problems of my life always started with me. Let me say that again. My problems ALWAYS started with me.

For unknown reasons  -  at least not sensible reasons   -  I started robbing banks at an early age . Again, at the core of that decision was several lies. Yes, DRAMA, to say the least. I've talked about those events in other posts (I think I've deleted them/put them in different folder) but the following are a couple of short snippets..

"I heard the shot, I felt the combustion, a loud thunderous roar, it felt as if air was trying to force it's way through my head. Jimmy Six told me no one would be killed, we were only taking guns to scare them. I'd seen people shot on television but it was nothing like this. Blood was spurting from the man and he was crying while moaning"

[another] "I was young, the world was in front of me and I wanted it all. I wanted to be cool like, cooler than cool, a mysterious bank robber, a family man like my father, tough as my brothers and go to college. I thought narcotics could be controlled, you didn't have to be a junkie, smooth was proof of that. Women whispered their pleasures to me and I entertained the possibilities. Cool was in me, it had touched my soul. I was about to travel a road that I could never have imagined, no one told me, they didn't know. At an early age I witnessed the small nuances between Tricks and the women that served them. Everyone enjoys the touch of another and many need to feel as if they belong. I learned that men who paid for the company of women didn't do so merely for sex, they needed to feel like they were a match for the women - that she may even like them. The women did not have to be beautiful, many were not. Eva wasn't in many opinions an attractive women. She was clean, barely 5'5" and overweight. However she was sweet and always carried a smile"

[The drama continued] "I entered the bank after giving the appearance of a man shoveling snow outside. Bank robbery is relatively simple, there are seldom guards. It's the escape and entrance that harbored my concerns. Pedestrians can get in the way. After placing my shovel outside the door, I entered the bank, and without saying a word, I handed the tellers a large bag, suggesting that they should fill it. One fell to the floor, she was to scared and weak to comply. The other, with eyes widened, trembling from shock and fear, stumbled through the process. I was covered from head to toe, they couldn't tell if I was a man or a women, white or black. I walked out"

The basic lie in the above adventures is that I needed to do those things to make me and those around me, happy.

A lie is needed to support another lie, so again, the drama continued....

"I was in the master bathroom, Benny was in the outer bedroom. I heard Joy call his name. She yelled, "Benny, what have you done. They were in town for a family reunion. I had a fairly large home and invited Benny to spend the weekend. Benny never left my home.... alive"

A biggest lie in the above event is rooted in the word friends. I needed people around me to make me feel special, but not all of them were my friends. I needed them and they needed me, and we all lied to each other, and one lost their life. Lies lies lies, DRAMA DRAMA DRAMA!

On another front, racism is drama based on several lies. The political arena is a drama based on a plethora of lies. I doubt if I have to explain those lies.

I've come to believe that it's a fact that if I don't lie to myself or others, or hang around people and places were lies are prevalent, I can live a of drama free life.  And it's working.  And I am happy to say it's been working for several years.

Don't get me wrong, I didn't come to this conclusion over night. Oh no! Not until it got real dark did I see the stars. But don't ask me to kiss your ass, because my new motto is... WHAT ABOUT A TIME CALLED NOW! Now I am going to ask you why you'd want me to do that? Then we will see if we are moving toward an event filled with lies, deceit and drama, or moving to a mutual agreement that one of us just wants to get their freak on. Hey, I might like kissing somebodies ass (you never know) and that's no lie. No lies, no drama... er'body be happy.

The following is a clip of me in all my glory. It's what I do now.

Saturday, January 8, 2011

METHADONE! You Had An Addiction, Now You Have A Gray Back Gorilla On Your ASS!

Step right up and get your alcohol in a pill form. You can drive while drunk and  never go to jail.  That's right, and it's legal!   Heroin too! That's right, they have a new drug "METHADONE" that's 10 times stronger than Heroin.  It's users nod and scratch and fall asleep in a stuporfied haze, and drive too. AND IT'S LEGAL!

Actually, methadone has been around for about 50 years, but the pharmaceutical companies and their pimps purveyors of legalized drug addiction, have been keeping it on the low low. I heard of the drug many years ago, but it didn't hit home until my brother got wrapped up in it's misery.

Well, many of you know this is a personal blog. Yeah, I don't care who's making love with your ol' lady while you were out making love, nor if the Tea Party is sipping the wrong green tea.  I don't care to write about the deadlock in congress because that's another man's game. Consequently, I have to write about what I know best...  the journey of my life.  So today I am going back to revisit a post titled "Can I Have Some?  I Need Some of That...  I Will Be Gentle"

Here's the deal,  in the comment section of the following post, an advocate for methadone treatment came by and tried to promote his drug.   To support his propaganda, he even brought along a person that actually drinks methadone, . Let me tell you, he called me ignorant and everything. Well, you know I couldn't sit there and be his special kind of fool, so it was on. Anyway, if you, or a loved  one are suffering from an addiction, you gotta read the comments in the below link (bottom of page).

Until then, here's how the story opens:

"Carey, what I've been learning on blogs like yours and Kit's is that people benefit from us sharing that hard stuff. It's not easy to share, but it makes me feel good to know other people relate and appreciate it" - Ms Ashley Smith

Why is it hard to share the hard stuff, and why do people appreciate [it]?

Well, I have a brother that's deep in a storm. He was duel addicted to crack and heroin. To some degree he still is. See, someone had this great idea to give addicts a synthetic drug that has the same narcotic effect of heroin, and thus, champion the addict as cured. Not cured but "better".

Okay, better, what does that mean?

If I give a mother of 4 children, 600 dollars, and then tell her she can sit on her fat ass and do nothing, is she better? She didn't have any money to start with, so is she better? Better at what, better how?!

In the case of my brother, lets talk about the real thang. Now that he's getting his "approved" drug from an "approved" dealer, is he really better? Better at what, better how?!

Now he HAS to take a drug that is 10 times stronger than heroin (Every day of rest of his life). And regardless of what the drug company say, I am here to tell you that his new drug is an opiate, just like heroin. It's users nod, scratch, and medicate their souls. In short, they get high high high, and don't let nobody tell you differently. The drug is called Methadone. We call it Gorilla Juice. If a person had a monkey on their back, once they start taking Methadone, they then have a gray back gorilla on their ass. Don't look now and don't believe the hype,  but I am here to tell you, I've never seen a person kick methadone!  I've been through a storm but I've never taken Methadone. Well, not legally, and not more than one day.

Look, that drug is a pain killer.  It's sometimes prescribed in 10 milligram doses.  Those who take it for heroin addiction are given doses that exceed 100 milligrams!  It will knock a mule to the ground.

The treatment centers and those who administer the drug, talk a real good game. They will tell the unknowing substance abuser that they will wean them off the drug. But wait, for every 200 people they put on the drug, they will not be able to produce more than 1% of those who made it through that withdrawl process. It seldom, if ever happens. It's very long and very grueling. Most go back to doing heroin and/or alcohol. The administrators and drug companieshave no invested interest in getting the person off the drug. It's called TREATMENT, not cure. Individuauls who drink methadone are not in recovery.  They are simply taking another drug that allows them to run from their emotions and wander in a child's mind.

But here we go.  Remember, the action is in the comments of the following link.   Can I Have Some....

One child grows up to be
Somebody that just loves to learn
Another child grows up to be
Somebody we just love to burn

Mom loves the both of them
You see it's in the blood
Both kids are good to mom
blood's thicker than the mud, it's a family affair

Click it ( link under drunk brotha photo)   to see how it all went down.

Btw, watch whose ass you're biting, the life you save may just be your own. :-)

Tuesday, January 4, 2011


I would hate to be a black women in America. Well, maybe I shouldn't say I'd hate to be a black women but, I have a renewed insight into their Struggle.

Lets face it, this is a man's world and there's a pecking order. My list may differ from others, but I think it's safe to say that white men - of any culture - is near the top. That does not mean they are the best at anything and everything, yet, the ball is in their court.

Let me cut to the chase, black women are somewhere near the bottom. I am not talking about their drive, motivation or the core of the women. I am talking about their struggles through life's issues, that are not like any other group. Their power base and voices are the last to be heard.

I was talking to my friend Mizrepresents - a fellow blogger - and she allowed me to ask her a few questions about being a single black women in America. I've heard the complaints of women that say there are few black men in which to build a relationship and she was no different. I've sort of dismissed that sentiment because... well, I am not a women so I didn't really explore the issue. Miz always told me that she knows of several attractive black women that have their thang together, yet they still can't find a man.

I guess good black women that do not have men and desire to have one is not a myth. When I hear things of this nature I wish I was an octopus that could reach out to all black women - at least eight. That's a joke but as a man I feel as if something just ain't right. Good black women going to waste just ain't right. Again, I shouldn't say going to waste but something ain't right.

We also talked about how the pool shrinks when a women gets a little older. Not old like wearing "Depends" old, but even a black women in her thirties starts to realize that she might have to look hard at her morals, principles and to some degree, their belief in God, to balance the decision to contact with no contract.

I am from the Midwest and as far as I know, we do not have a large population of gay men. Well, it's not - the thang - like it is in some cities like Atlanta. Miz said there's a problem with men on the down low in her city. I guess certain cities attract certain kinds of men. Wouldn't that be something? What if a women was convinced by her down low guy to have a threesome. Then, when the other party walked it it was Mandingo "Dolemite" Willie.... ouch!
I've alway said that I don't care what stirs the juices of another but I am having a hard time with someone that can't make up their mind. What is this bi-sexual mess - huh. What? Do they need glasses or what? Poker or poke-hee, make up your mind.

But homosexual - or straight - sex falls somewhere in the mix. It goes without question that most need the attention of another. But how fulfilling is a sex buddy? There has to be a let down after that encounters. On another hand, I can assume some black women have arrived and do not consider sex toys as an evil no-no. I wonder if the satisfaction is the same and if using a toy could lead to some type of dependency? Is that a stupid question... I don't know? But I know some women use them as a bridge and a safety net. But does anything replace the need to share your life with someone? I mean, I think it's safe to say "sex" is not synonymous with love.

What is the black women to do? It's a fact; there are not enough good black men to go around. Aside from sex, there are a number of events in a black woman's life that requires the attention, comfort and safety of a black man. And having said that... wanting and needing someone to fill the gap - I'd hate to be a black woman. I don't think I could handle the pain.

Who likes to compete for the attention of another person? Who wants to compromise their moral values to satisfy basic needs? I can not imagine being a black women in America. What would I do if I wanted to find love and get married, but the pickings were slim. I shudder at the thought. I worry about taxes and who is going to win the playoff, not if I am ever going to find love in all the right places. I wonder how it feels to think that there are others whispering about you because you don't have a man. I think that's a real issue. Loneliness is a killer and I have a new compassion for black women that can't find a good black man.

Well Carey, I LOVE being a black woman. A friend and I talked about it awhile ago, and despite what some might consider hardships, or road blocks, if God was handing out races, and boxes of crayons, I would ask for all the black and brown one's.
Yes, we struggle, but it makes us stronger, yes the pickings are slim on the dating market, but we still have options, although some won't admit, they secretly desire black women...we are desired, appreciated, wanted...

When I think about being a black woman, I don't just think about dating as a black woman, but other aspects of my life. Work, my hair, my skin, my ambition, my struggles, my perseverance, undersatnding, & love...

So, maybe some people would "hate to be a black woman" but I love being one, problems and all!


Blu Jewel said...
Ditto what DC Diva said. There is nothing I would change about being a black woman aside from the pity that we sometimes get. Unlike some black women, I'm not opposed to dating outside of my race, so my dating options are a little less limited.

I really don't see what's so bad about being a black woman. Yes, we have our struggles, problems, sometimes lack of respect, or even a good black man, but overall, we should be praised. We've succeeded where they expected us to fail, we're heralded from other strong and profound black women who paved the way and gave their lives for us, and we come in such a myriad of beauty and colors, which other races do not have.

Men won't understand being a black woman until they start talking to and listening to black women. And women need to present themselves in the favorable light in which they want to be seen and treated.

Love to live; live to love.'ve got some 'splaining to do...go back and read my comment to your comment.

A Free Spirit Butterfly said...
I disagree, there are good black men out there. I love being single and having the "option" to choose/not settle. I had high expectations that the man should rescue me and be the head of the household. The new me is so willing to share in being the head so to speak. I want a partnership and I no longer need rescuing. Jesus saved me!

Lonliness and aloneness are separate. I'm alone "for now" by choice, but in no way lonely. I love me and still discovering me, I don't want anyone interefering in that right now. But very soon, the right "man" will have the sole pleasure of having one Hell of a woman by his side!

Love for a great day!

CareyCarey said...
Well Well Well

I was going to sit back on this one. I didn't want to interject my opinion anymore than my post already did. sometimes the opinions of others gives pause for those with a differing view.

I used the word hate but in restrospect I could have used the word "understand".

DC DIVA, I've visited your house on several occasions and I understand where you are coming from.

Its difficult being a women of any color, it's a mans world. But I think all of us agree that it starts at home ...the product we bring, and what we will settle for.

One last thing, I agree Ms. Butterfly, lonliness, boredom and love, can only be fixed at home.

I wish I could get an opposing view to it's "great being a black women". Sure, it's paramount to love thy self but there are real issue concerning being a black women in America.

Hey, yawl come back now ...I am loving yawl

A Free Spirit Butterfly said...
I love your statement, I'm just another man trying to be a better man! Love that you're honest and open to growing and discovering. Thanks for "sharing yourself with us" from a man's perspective.

BTW - Please go back to calling me Ms. Butterfly, I still haven't forgiven my mother for naming me Denise (LOL)

Mizrepresent said...
I'm with everyone else. I love being a black woman. I love coming from a history of women who birthed such great men and women, who freed slaves, who stood up for themselves, who raised families and carved their way into history. I am a black woman who knows, who's experienced so many setbacks and yet still been able to rise, to live, to enlighten, to still believe. WE are here because God put us here to help, to nurture, to educate, to love, well past our medium, well past what others think. We are the fabric of this nation. Oh, how i wish for soneone to appreciate me for who i am...but i know that God knows whoiam...and so...i do what's know I'm appreciated. :)

Post a Comment

Monday, January 3, 2011


"Spare me ol' Rum Dummy. I just want a little nip so I can fall down and bust my lip"

Pimpin' Jack Daniels: Fe, Fi, Fo, Fum. I smell the blood of an ignorant one. Be he red, or be he dead, I’ll grind your bones to get my bread. Money that is. Money... my stupid honey.

My remixed phrase clearly makes use of the archaic word "fie", used to express disapproval. The word is used repeatedly in Shakespeare's works, King Lear himself shouting, "Fie, fie, fie! pah, pah!" and the character of Mark Antony (in Antony and Cleopatra) simply exclaiming "O fie, fie, fie!" Such conjectures largely indicate that the phrase is of imitative origin, rooted in the sounds of flustering and anger. Now follow me on my metaphorical journey as I trace the evil ways of a substance called alcohol.

In the children story Jack and The Bean Stalk, the  giant, Thunderdell, and his friend Pimpin' Jack Daniels ( an alcohol, you know), must have been pissed off when they spoke those words. But, I don't know why they would harbor such disdain? They have the best hand. They are big and strong, and have plenty of money, so I wonder why their panties are in a bunch?

But look at the people in that picture, they're scared of that Nigga. Wait, stop it, so I said Nigga? Move around, or get another drink. And spare me the "OMG, he said Nigger". Read along, or leave me alone, but spare me the drama. Besides, we all know some negros love to ply other folks with alcohol and then pimp the sh*t out of them. And, pimpin' ain't easy but it pays real good.

Maybe that's why the villagers are so afraid of that Bean Stalker and Pimpin' Jack Black? I mean, the people have no real defense against them. Nor can they run from the hold of the drug called alcohol. They love him and all their friends are in the same boat, so maybe that's what's going on? I mean, if everyone is doing it, it must be right - right? But why are the monsters so mad?

Maybe everyone knows that a person can die from alcohol withdrawal and it seldom happens from opiate withdrawal. You know, opiates like Tylenol 3's, percadan, percacet, heroin and some cough medications. You know, they all come from the same poppy plant, and they all are a drug, just like alcohol.

But lets go back. Back in the day of the Civil War, Heroin came alive (was invented) and was prescribed for morphine addiction. Thousands of soldiers were addicted to the drug because it was given to them to ease their gun shot pain. Yep, the makers of that new drug was the BAYER aspirin company. A group of German fellows came up with that great idea, and the beat goes on. People got hooked on a substitute (remedy), that was nothing more than a bigger monster. What's alcohol used for?

WHAT?! Alcohol is a drug?

Yes, it is nothing more than a drug called alcohol and it kills more people and causes more destruction than all the other drugs combined.

Goddamn, don't look now, but here he comes again!

"Fe, Fi, Fo, Fum. I smell the blood of an ignorant one. Be he red, or be he dead, I’ll grind your bones to get my bread. Money that is. Money... my stupid honey."

Feet don't fail me now, says the average consumer. I got two women looking at me and I got a little mo drinkin to do. I'll stop tomorrow.

Po Black Sambo. He is just like those people in the opening picture. He is gonna cringe in fear, but he's gonna step and fetch, and get his groove on. He's gonna drink more wine and jive and bullsh*t, because it makes him feel real good, temporarily. Hey, alcohol is not as bad as those other drugs and everybody loves to party, right? Wrong! Alcohol has no medical use. It's sole purpose is to leave a human in a state confusion and impending doom. It kills 100 times more people than all the illegal drugs combined. But jack be nibble, and jack be quick, cuz Mr Charlie, alcohol that is, still has that whoopin stick.

Yep, fe fi fo fum, I smell the blood of ignorant ones.  Slaves forever more!