Sunday, April 27, 2008

An Unfortunate Truth

As much as I hate to tarnish my Twin’s birthday by adding another post above it, I feel like I have to speak on this issue real quick. Now, as well all know, our blogs-like our homes-are considered a safe place where you should feel free to have an open and honest dialogue without the fear of being attack or belittled. Now, all that being said, I am going to address the tragedy which is the death of Sean Bell and the fact that the officer involved were acquitted. Now, I will admit that I hadn’t keep up with the case, but after seeing mention of it in a couple of blogs, I Goggled Mr. Bell’s name and recalled the incident if not all the detail surrounding it.

The back story:
On November 25, 2006 Mr. Bell, along with two of his friends were the victims of a police shooting, that left 23 year old Mr. Bell dead and his two friends, Joseph Guzman and Trent Benefield wounded. The events which led up to the shooting are as follows: The police are at Club Kalua, a cabaret joint in a neighborhood that is, for the most part, residential, investigating reports of drugs and prostitution (which, as you can imagine, they got calls out the ass about if this was in a residential neighborhood). There was one female officer inside of the location, working undercover. Outside was her cover, also in plainclothes in two unmarked vehicles (unmarked cars are just your everyday, run of the mill cars that have normally been confiscated by the police from felonies. In most cases they do not have the MDC-which are our in car computers-nor mounted radios).

It just so happened that Mr. Bell and twenty of his friends had come to Club Kalua for Mr. Bell’s bachelor party. The exact time they arrived at the location is unclear and irrelevant in my mind. A witness inside of the club said the gathering of men eating from a platter of rice and chicken, but not causing any type of a disturbance. However, around three that morning the undercover female overheard one of the dancers go tell her supervisor about a patron inside the place being armed. It was an hour after this news was passed on to said supervisor that the Mr. Bell and some of his friends left from inside of the club and a fight was reported to have broken out outside. Now, keep in mind that it was unclear who exactly was involved in the fight but it was clear that when it broke up the parties involved split into two groups.

Four men were seen getting into Mr. Bell’s car, which was a Nissan Altima, and drive about a half a block east on 94th Ave and then turn south onto Liverpool St. It is there that Mr. Bell’s vehicle (and it does not say who was driving Mr. Bell’s car when this occurred) is said to have plowed into the driver’s side of an unmarked police minivan, supposedly just avoiding a head-on collision. Witness at the scene said that the Mr. Bell’s car then went into reverse, suddenly, backed up onto a sidewalk where an undercover officer was standing, and then pulled forward and rammed the minivan a second time. That is when Police opened fire (I’m sorry folks, but in or out of uniform I am gonna shoot, if I am working as a cop. The first time might have been an accident, but the second sounds like a willful act and it is considered a deadly force situation. Mr. Bell and his friend were unarmed but in that scenario they wouldn’t have needed to be. A car is considered to be a deadly weapon).

Okay, that is what happened that night, according to the police investigation. And if New York’s IAD division is anything like ours hear, they went and spoke to everyone one that lived in the area, that was at the club and so on. Al Sharpton wouldn’t have had to call for the event to be investigated, because all police shooting are investigated in this day in age. Now, it is hard for me to speak about what happens in New York because I am unschooled on their policies, so I’ll just move on to the hard facts.

Fact: There were 50 shell casing found out at the location, all belonging to the officers involved, since we know that the men were unarmed. There were five detectives implicated in the shooting. A standard 9mm hand gun’s magazine clip will hold 15 rounds. If you count the one in the chamber that adds up to sixteen; sixteen times five equal eighty. So we know that there were only fifty of the eighty rounds fired. Okay, before you get all up and armed about my saying ONLY FIFTY, let me explain something to you about human nature and the things we do just out of reflex. As a matter of fact, I will give you a case in point.

Remember the post I wrote about the woman whose husband attempted to kill her before turning the gun on himself? Well, right before that happened, I and another officer responded to a burglary in progress, inside of an apartment complex. When we get there, we find the front door of the upstairs apartment kicked in. We advised the dispatcher of our finding and let her know that we are making entry into the location. Now, anytime you are preparing to search any place you already have your guns out and ready. We push open the door and yell out, POLICE DEPARTMENT! COME OUT AND SHOW ME YOU’RE HANDS! Well, I’ll be damn if a young man, who happened to be black didn’t come walking around the corner, just as easy as you please. If you could have seen the oh shit look on his face. As soon as we see him the one officer drops to his knees in front of me and now we have guns pointed right at this kid (he was nineteen years old). We are telling him, very loudly to get on show us his hands and to get on the ground. Now you would think that your normal instinct, if you have just broken into an apartment and you walk into the living room to find two officer with guns pointed at your person, would be to throw your hands up in the air at the very least. Now, you might try to explain yourself, but still you should be attempting to do everything within your power to listen to what those officers are saying so as not to get shot. This young man keeps reaching behind him and was not complying with our directions in the least. I honestly remember think that this kid is going to make me kill him (and this was the closest I’d come to actually shooting somebody during my ten years on the Department).

So you know what this idiot did? Nope, he never even attempted to comply with our orders. He’s dumb ass turned tail and ran into the bathroom behind him, so he could flush the drugs and jewelry he had on him. Can you believe that shit? Now, trust me, if we had shot and killed him it would have been more than justified, even though he was unarmed. And, I know yall hate to hear it, but we are not trained to shoot to wound. If we take out our guns it means we are in a deadly force situation and we are meant to take out that threat. Sorry, but that is just the way it is folks. And the reality is that if I had pulled my trigger on that kid, the officer below me natural reaction would also be to pull his trigger and vise-a-versa. And although you don’t want to believe it, one that trigger is pulled and the adrenaline is pumping through your body. You are not aware of how many times you fired. As a matter of fact, we I think about that night, I also think of the positioning that me and the officer were in. He was position right under me. If he had decided to get up while I was shooting, I would have shot him right in the head.
Anyway, that is why so many shots were fired. It is not like they empted their clips and reloaded. However and please get this right, fifty shots were fired, but not all of them made contact. Mr. Bell was not shot fifty times.

Fact: Everything in this world is not racially motivated. Now don’t get me wrong, a lot of things are and I’ll be the first to say it, but not all things are. I will also be the first to say that the justice system does not always play fair when it comes to black people and all things black. But every police shooting is not racially motivated. Some officers are quicker to react when the culprit is black, but that is just some, not all. And I don’t believe that to be the case in this incident. Of the five officers involved three where black and only two white. And I know at least one of the black officers were up for the charge of man slaughter.

Fact: Three of the five officers involved were indicted by the Grand Jury for the shooting. To be indicted means to be formally charged with a crime or wrongdoing.

Fact: Even with an indictment, it is extremely hard for a police officer to be convicted of a crime such as manslaughter. The reason why is not going to make yall happy, but it is a reality. As an officer, as long as you can articulate that you were working under the color of the law, and you were genuinely in fear of your life, the courts are going to find you not guilty. That’s it. Plain and simple. (Please don’t ask about the Rodney King incident, because we all know that was a travesty of the law, plain and simple. I could explain the beating, because it goes back to a gang mentality, but I can never explain why those officers got off. I cry racism all day long on that one).

Fact: Officers have a hard job. They go out and potentially put their lives on the line on a daily basis. People expect the police to be miracle workers and handle every problem in the book. You walk a line between what is right and wrong and a select few fall over to the wrong side of that line and yet we all pay the consequences for the handful of crooked ones. Sounds a lot like being black, huh? Trust me when I say that officers do not put on their uniforms, to go to work, with the idea in mind that they are going to see who they can kill tonight. The police mentality is that I am going to go to work, hopefully prevent a crime from happening and take my happy ass home safe when my day is through.

Fact: Police are people too. They were not born into that uniform and they lead everyday lives like you. If they are put into a position where it is their lives verses someone else’s, who do you think is going to win out in that decision? That being said, they still have to live with the fact that they took a life, no matter how justified they might have been. Now, don’t get me wrong. There are some sick bastards on the department that have taken lives and not giving it a second thought, but that just goes back to police being people. There are good and bad everywhere.

In closing, I did not create this post to make light of the lost off Mr. Bell’s life, nor the pain that his family and friends have and continue to suffer. Let's face it, we now have two little girls that will ever now the joy of having a loving father in thier lives. I am just attempting to get people to be a little more open minded and see the whole picture and not just a corner. I personally think the loss of a life is tragic, and I pray for the hearts and sole of all the families involved. And that includes that of the officers.

-One Man’s Opinion. Peace.

Be Brie-ze!

Okay, all you bloggers out there, let's gather together and wish the creator of a wonderful and joyous birthday. That's right ladies, gentlemen, and perverts of all ages, the wonderful Brie turns an astonishing one hundred and forty-years old today. I know, I know...she looks much older, but no she is just one hundred and forty.
Brie lives in Detroit, where they might shoot you, but you probably won't die from it. (she told me that was their City -are you happy MP1, Damn- motto. Seriously, she did.)
Anyway, I would like to take this time out to say Happy Birthday, Brie. You bring joy and happiness to our lives. How you are able to type up a complete blog when your hands are all crippled up with arthritis is beyond me, but somehow you manage to get by.

Yeap, Brie is turning that magical number that not many people get the opportunity to see anymore. I hope that she makes the best of this blessed day and goes out and enjoys herself with all of her friends and family;that would be a grand total of one (she out lived them all).

They said she wouldn't make it. They said she wouldn't be here today. The said she'd never amount to anything. Well, two out of three ain't bad.

Anyway, we love you Brie. And when I say "we", I mean "me", I just get by "w's" and "m's" mixed up sometimes.

I wish I knew how to put all the animation on this blog. You know, so when you pulled it up there would be the confetti shooting up and streamers and crap, but I don't know how to do all that so I settled for a cute, worn, teddy bear that reminded me of you. Just remember, it's the thought that counts.

Happy Birthday, Brie!!!!! I love you!!!!! Ya heard me?

-One Man's Opinion. Peace.

Oh, and in celebration of your birthday....Drum roll, please...................................................................
I PUT LOTION ON MY ANKLES! Say what? You better recognize. You know that's love.

Friday, April 25, 2008

Death, Taxes and Wesley Snipes

Well, it looks like they finally got Wesley Snipes. After years of dancing around the issue Mr. Snipes of the Blade trilogy, was finally found guilty of misdemeanor tax evasion and sentence to three years in jail. What is so funny about the case is that right before the verdict came down yesterday, Mr. Snipes apparently whipped out a series of three checks, for 5 million smackers, for the federal government. The story that I read said that prosecutors were so shocked that they declined the money, at first. However, by the end of the day they were like, “okay, we guess we’ll take it”. Yeah, right. It must have took them that long to call the bank, where the money was being drawn from, to see if the checks would clear. Ain’t nobody playing with Wesley.

Mr. Snipes case is reportedly the highest-profile criminal tax target in ages (and I was thinking it would have been Willy Nelson). Wesley was initially up on several charges, including; felony tax fraud and conspiracy, which carried a maximum time of 13 years, but they let him off with the more menial three counts of willfully failing to file returns.

What I learned, while reading about this issue is that these types of cases are relatively rare and are usually handled in the civil courts because the burden of proof is so much lower there. I’m thinking that the only reason that prosecutors went the harder route on this bad boy is because of the fact that you are caped on the amount of money you can ask for in civil cases. Otherwise we might have been seeing this case tried by the People Court, or Judge Joe Brown, who as it turns out testified as a character witness on behalf of Mr. Snipes. This is because Snipes’ attorney thought the three year penalty was too high and is attempting to get it reduced. Along with the testimony for the good Judge Brown, Snipes attorney also introduced letters from fellow actors such as Woody Harrelson and Denzel Washington. The court was unscaved and upheld his decision. I say let the man serve his three years. It’s not like he’s making movies, right?

Besides, in my opinion, Mr. Snipes got off easy when compared to his partners in crime, who were convicted of the felony crimes that Wesley was acquitted on; one receiving the maximum of 10 years the other 4 ½. The guy that got the maximum sentence was one Mr. Eddie Ray Kahn. It is Mr. Kahn who got Snipes mixed up in all this mess in the first place. You see, Kahn is the founder of American Rights Litigators, as well as successor group, Guiding Light of God Ministries. Both organizations are alleged in helping members in legally avoiding paying taxes. Yeah, that worked. Mr. Snipes was a card carrying, dues paying member of the group(s).
All in all Mr. Snipes has not paid taxes since 1998, but his attorney contends that his client is being unfairly singled out because of the fact that he is a celebrity. I say, what about the other two bastards that received higher penalties. Ain’t nobody ever heard of their asses, so that crap don’t float here, Mr. Attorney. Damn it, if my broke ass has to pay taxes, Wesley Snipes damn sho’ better come up with some duggets. I’m guessing this means that he doesn’t get his extra six hundred dollar rebate check this coming May. What a shame.

Oh, and just for the record, I tried to Google an image of that bastard Kahn, because I needed to know his race. You might not think it’s important, but a brother like me needs to the race of folks. I ain’t racist, but I be all about race. I don’t care! (I couldn’t find a photo of that bastard to save my life. I’m thinking he’s black, because he got the maximum sentence, but he might be white since there’s not picture of him to be found).

I still say I’m not racist, damn it! Just cynical as hell.

-One Man’s Opinion. Peace.

Wednesday, April 23, 2008

Tuesday, April 22, 2008

Tagged! Ain't That A B*?

I was tagged by both C. Wallace and Ieisha. So, I guess I will play along. Damn it!

Here are the rules:1. Link the person who tagged you (which I don't know how to do, sorry).2. Mention the rules in your blog.3. Tell about 6 unspectacular quirks of yours4. Tag 6 following bloggers by linking them5. Leave a comment on each of the tagged blogger’s blogs letting them know they’ve been tagged.

Here it goes...6 idiosyncrasies about One Man and you will be sorry that you asked, trust me:

1) I have been touching myself way more than I should, lately. I would say I don't know why, but I know why. I feel so dirty.

2) In my heart of hearts I wish my sister would let me raise my little nephew. It's not that she isn't doing a great job of raising him, because he is the best behaved little monster you ever wanna meet. I just wish he was mine. Of course, he wears a brother out, so I'll be careful what I wish for. Maybe I wish that I had more hours of the day to spend with him. I hate the rear occassions that he wants to go with his uncle and I can't take him because I am just too damn tired and he needs all of my attention. He is not one of those sit down and watch television kids, like I was. And I like the fact that he wants to play, and have books read to him, but damn. LOL

3) I miss my grandmother with all my heart. She passed a way when I was still in high school, but no one, including my mom, has ever loved me as hard as my Gammy loved me. When I was in the third grade, my grandmother had her first heartache and I was so afraid she was going to die that I made a pact with God that if he took her life I wanted him to take my life as well, because that was right around the time I learned about death and didn't think I could live without my Gammy. He let her live and I took the pact further and told told God that if He ever took my Grandmother I wanted him to take me too because I didn't want to live without her. It was a blessing, because God keep his pact with me. It wasn't until I was in high school and she kelp getting hospitalized that it occurred to me that God was not taking my Gammy, because he was keeping his pact with me and he was not ready to take me. It was actually a turning point in my life and my faith. I had went to see my Grandmother, the last time she was hospitalized, and I remember how bad she looked. When I got home that night, I said the most heart felt prayer that I'd had in a long while. I cried and asked God if the only reason he was keeping my Gammy, when she was suffering, was because He didn't want to take me, that I relieved him from our pact; because I was just being selfish and I didn't want my Gammy to suffer. She died that next morning while I was at school. When my mom came to pick me up from school, and she never came to pick me up from school, she broke the news to me as we drove home. She had brought my Aunt with her, on my step-father's side of the family. I know she expected me to cry like a baby, but I didn't; because I already knew. This is when I knew without a doubt that My God was real. This is the event that I turn to when my faith is shaken. I never cried for the death of my grandmother until a week later, while I was outside picking up the trash in the yard. It was a nice balmy day and something just came over me and I just stood in the yard and openly wept. (I'm gonna move on now, because this is making me cry).
4) My Stepfather was abusive. He use to beat us, I think because we were not his kids (I know that sounds Color Purplish, but I have always thought that). He never touched us while he and my mom was dating, but as soon as he put that ring on her finger the beating started. The beating kind of stopped once my mom gave him twins. I have always been able to draw, another gift from God. When he was courting my mom and I thought he was nice, I found a full body picture of him and drew for a gift. I was in the second grade (I remember my age people because all of these thing happened when we were still living in South Dallas. We didn't move to Oakcliff until I was in the fourth grade, when my Grandmother kicked my Stepfather out for beating me for over an hour). Anyway, I drew this full body image of him, and trust me when I say that I could draw an exact likeness from a picture at that age, and gave it to him. Instead of being flattered all he did was criticize that I had drawn all of the creases and folds that his pants made in the groin area (what the fuck). He said it was inappropriate for me to have taken so much time recreating it. Can you believe that crap? I was, what, seven? I never drew another picture of him. When I was in high school and drew a picture of the family, for my mom on mothers day, I intentionally left him out. I knew it hurt his feelings, but I never got over that little comment. The painting that I post of him and my mom was the first time I had ever created another likeness of him. And you know what? That likeness of him was taken from a picture I took the day before he die. He died without me having closure, but I was glad I had swallowed my pride that day and asked to take his picture. He was in so much pain, but he got up and stood for it. I guess that was nice. I am also glad that I went to get him some grape juice that day. Normally I would not have taken time to do anything for him, but I was trying very hard to release the hate.
5) I am so afraid that I am going to suffer from Alzheimer's when I get older, if I live to get much older. Nobody ever believes me when I say this, but I am so serious. I feel the onset of it everyday. I forget simple things constantly. I often forget the name of the person I am talking to and call them every body's name but their own. There are other tale-tale signs that I will not get into, but it is a honest concern of mine.
6) I suck my thumb. I have already admitted this before. I am not ashamed of it, to be honest. I have always sucked my thumb and have come to terms with the fact that I always will. I either suck it when I am insecure or when I am at my most content. I have been known to suck it during sex, so I'm not sure which category it is falling under during that time. I have sucked it in my squad car, but never in the office. When I was working in the admissions office at one of the Community Colleges here, I remember that I needed to know something and my supervisor wouldn't tell me. She said she didn't know the answer but I thought she was lying and for some reason it made me feel really insecure. I remember sitting at my desk, which was one of the main three closest to the front counter, and sucking my thumb. I couldn't help it and to be honest with you I hadn't even realized that I'd placed it in my mouth. My supervisor was stunned and called me in her office to tell me that it was not professional for me to be sitting at my desk sucking my thumb. She was right, of course, but I told her I couldn't help it. I couldn't either. It was my body's way of providing me comfort and my thumb was instinctively going into my mouth, whether I liked it or not. That is still how it happens. I am never really aware when I pop my thumb in my mouth. It just happens.
See, I told yall this was gonna be more than you wanted to know about me. Now I can never meet any of you in real life. Don't ever tag me again!
-One Man's Opinion. Peace.

Monday, April 21, 2008

AIDS Is Real!

A good friend of mine sent this to me today, in an email. I watched….well actually; I just listened to the whole thing while I was drawing. It is a very disturbing video and it is shocking that someone would be so callous as to intentionally infect someone with a deadly virus. It amazes me that we as a people accuse the white man of introducing the AIDS virus into the world of the black man, and then to find out that black people are intentionally infecting each others as an act of spite and vengeance. Wow! Can you image?

Now when this email was sent to me it was preference by one sentence that said that she was not sure if it was a hoax or not. Well, in all honesty, I don’t believe it to be a hoax. Everything about it rings true.

Now don’t get me wrong, the man is definitely a monster. However what he says about the promiscuity of young girls and boys, even in this day and age, is right on point. Why is it, with what we know about all the deadly diseases out there that our kids are not practicing safe sex and we know that they are not, because the teen-age pregnancy rate is not dropping, but the age of our young people having sex is. I’m not exactly sure what that says about the world we live in, but I know it says something.

-One Man’s Opinion. Peace.

Saturday, April 19, 2008

Don't Hate On My Sexy

You know what I don’t understand? I don’t understand why people are always hating on my sexy. Let me explain. When I go to work I normally wear those black socks that just cover your ankle bump along with my boots. They are comfortable, easy to put on and I just like the damn things. Lately, Sgt. Lupe has been constantly getting on me about not wearing socks. I always say, I got on sock (because I don’t be using proper English), you just can see them. Then she takes it to the next level and begins to hate on my so called ashy legs. Well, nobody sees my legs unless I am sitting down and my pants legs ride up pass the height of my boots. Besides, why you looking anyway?

Well, last night I had to come into the station and release Sgt. Greyhound @ 3:15, so I didn’t get to stay out long and play, which was fine. I enjoy being in the station alone with no damn body to bother me. Leave me alone damn it. I’m basking in my effervescence (I don’t even know what that means; I just wanted to say it). Well, day’s office staff comes in a little bit before 6:30 and no one says anything to me about my legs because nobody is looking below my waist. Well, here comes Sgt. Lupe, instigating shit.

Sgt. Lupe: “Sgt. One Man, I hope you wear socks tomorrow, we sick of seeing your ashy legs.”
Well of course all eyes go to the ash. I don’t care.
One Man: “I done told you I got on socks, woman. Stop trying to start stuff.
Sgt. Lupe: “Well you need some lotion. Look at his legs ladies, don’t he need some lotion?
The two days people are both older ladies. One black and one white.
One Man: “Don’t hate. My Legs are damn sexy. (Pulls up pants legs to revel the sexiness of my bony, ash encrusted legs. Then turns leg to show of the little calf muscle.)
White one: (Laughing) “That’s pretty bad Sgt.”
Black one: (Smiling) “You need some lotion? I got plenty of lotion in my purse.”
One Man: “What I need lotion for? (Pant legs still rolled up to exposed the blacken knee.) The ash is what’s in. Didn’t you know that women love an ashy man? It’s an aphrodisiac of sorts. Look it up. Pheromones don’t got noting on a brother’s ash factor. You better ask somebody. (Rolls up other pants leg to revel equally sexy and ash leg.)

Well, having done her duty, Sgt Lupe announces that she is gone and I am left to spend the next hour and a half with these ladies hating on my sexy and trying to get me to put lotion on my ankles. This is when I explain to them that I don’t use lotion. I don’t like lotion. I hate the way it feels on my body (I’ve addressed the issue before, in a previous post. In fact the only thing I use lotion for is my hands and my penis. LOL. Just kidding. I’m so nasty).

Besides, what woman don’t like a man with an ash line. That shit is sexy. You know it. I was turning my damn self on as I look down at it. So much so that I took a picture of it and posted it for the whole world to see. You’ve seen it. Now ain’t it sexy? You can admit it. Don’t hate on the sexy. Jesus don’t like that.

-One Man’s Opinion. Peace.
It's a damn shame. Hating on my sexy.

Thursday, April 17, 2008

Mad For No Reason

I know this is old news by now or maybe not. And I know that these girls are not black. I know it, I tell you; however, this makes you ponder a ‘what if’. What if these girls have been black? Hell, the boys of Jena Six were giving life for less, and they didn’t video the shit and post it on YouTube.

Okay, I always start my post in the middle for some reason. Back up, Back up. I’m assuming that all of you good people have heard the story about these eight teens, 6 of which were girls, who lure this other girl over to a house for the sole purpose of beating her down and capturing it on tape. They beat this chick down and then forced her into a car and drove her to another location where they told her if she told the police the next beat down would be even more sever. So not only are they facing charges of false imprisonment and battery, but also kidnapping.
The suspects were identified as 17-year-old Mercades Nichols, 17-year-old Brittini Hardcastle, 14-year-old April Cooper, 16-year-old Cara Murphy, 17-year-old Britney Mayes and 15-year-old Kayla Hassell. Zachary Ashley, 17, and Stephen Schumaker, 18, were identified by deputies as the lookouts.

If you get the chance to see the video, which I could not find on YouTube, it is so very, very disturbing. Who knew that white girls acted like this? You never see this sort of thing on The Hills. Just kidding, and no I do not watch the Hills-but it is disturbing, race notwithstanding. You can hear one of the girls yell to the other one, “watch out for the shelf”, as the other one beats the poor girl in the face (she didn’t want her parents shelve of knick knacks to get toppled over). And from what I can tell from the conversation on the video, they are beating her up because of some bullshit she put on her MySpace Page about not like the girls. Well, hell, I can say why she didn’t like…they kind of violent. LOL. And you wanna hear some more shit. The girl that got beat up was staying with one of the girls that beat her ass up. Yeap, apparently she had been having trouble at home so she was staying with a “friend”. Damn, can you image if she had stayed with an enemy. She’d be dead.

The video, if you get a chance to watch it, doesn’t even tell the whole story (and videos rarely do, for all you cop haters out there). The reality is that she first went into the bedroom of the friend’s house, where she was staying, and was confronted, cussed out, punched and had her head slammed into a wall, which knocked her unconscious. This was done by the 14 year old.
When the poor child awoke she found that she had been carried into the living room and placed on the couch; with 6 little ladies surrounding her. They beat her for a half a hour (Can you imagine). The girls were arrest and bond was set. Sadly, one of the little darlings’ family could afford her bond and she was going to be forced to sit her ass behind bars. Anybody ever hear the saying, “IF you can’t do the time, don’t do the crime”? This girl was said to be the ring lead of the events of that day. However, producers of the Dr. Phil show bailed out the little monster, when they found out that her family didn’t have the money to do so. Of course they did it for the exclusive contract to the story. How shameful is that? Said story has been shelved now that the Dr. Phil show has been called on their bullshit.

But seriously though, these straight haired, hoes beat the crap out of this poor girl, giving her a concussion, as well as damaging an eye and an ear, and numerous other bruises and the last I hear is that they will be put on house arrest, have their internet access monitored and maybe not go to prom. Okay, I made up the prom thing but all the rest if true. No more MySpace and Facebook for these ladies. Nor or they allowed to talk to each other of the victim. Any violation would cause their bond to be revoked. And I read that although the crimes they committed could carry as much as a life sentence, it is speculated that nobody really expects that that shit will happen. As a matter of fact they are saying that lawyers don’t even think the shit will go to trial and all parties involved will find a way to work it all out.

What the fuck? Are you kidding me? Now you know if these bitches and yes I said bitches, had been black…well, if they had been black it never would have made the news, but let’s play that it did. Well, first of all they would be IN jail, not on house arrest. And the fact that they were in jail and being charged as adults for attempted murder wouldn’t have even come to the light until they had been behind bars for at least two to three years. And there would never have been talk about this shit being worked out and not making it to court. What kind of shit is that?
Just reading the shit pissed me off, as yall can tell (‘cause you know I don’t cuss), but c’mon now. Is this fair? Is this justice? Now, I’m not saying that I want these girls do spend their young lives in jail. It just bugs the fuck out of me that I just know that if they had been black all of it would have been handled differently. I just know it!

See, this is the main reason why Flavor Flav has his own sitcom…because the world is just not right! Damn it!

Let me just say that it couldn’t have been my child. A brother would have been marching up to somebody’s house, bat in hand, and gun in waistband. I ain’t lying. Of course, if it had been my child she would have had her ass at home; I don’t care what kind of problems we were having as a family. That’s just me.

-One Man’s Opinion. Peace.


Can somebody please tell me why William Drayton has a new television sitcom? The man turn 60 years old, back and March, and still insist on dressing like he twenty-something years old. And he looks like a crack head to me. I’m just saying… Is television really that hard up for comedies featuring black folk? Hell, are they that hard up for comedies, period? Is this what does damn writers went on strike for, because if it is I wanna take back my support.

Mr. Drayton’s new show, Under One Roof, made its d├ębut on Wednesday, after the ballgame on MyNetworkTV . I actually meant to watch it, but I forgot. That tells you how excited I most have been about it, since I LOVE me some T.V. The cast actually features an actor who I like a lot. His name is Kelly Perine and he plays William Drayon’s wealthy brother in this mess. You might remember Mr. Perine from the sitcom One on One; he played a used car sales man and Flex Washington’s best friend. I thought he was hilarious. But I have always thought him to be funny, in every bit part that I’ve seen him play. I find him to be a great talent that has yet to find his nitch; which is hard to do in Hollywood when you are short, fat, average and black. I mean, let just be real here people. After all, Danny DeVito was a fluke. And Danny ain’t black. Yeah, I said it. HA!

The premise of Under One Roof is that Winston Hill, played by Kelly Perine, is a black entrepreneur, who worked his way out of the hood to assimilate into white suburbia. He gets the obligatory white wife, surrounds himself with white friends and forgets about where he came from, as he raises in kids in Beverly Hills. That is until his shady, ex-con, older brother, Calvester, gets out of jail and comes to live with them (Oh, snap. This sounds like a receipt for comedy). Calvester is played by Mr. Drayton. Actually, the creators of Under One Roof describe Calvester as Winston’s “very likable but, street smart older brother”. I’m not seeing what one has to do with the other. You can be street smart and likable right? They are not contradictory, are they? Anyway, does this sound like the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, with old folks, to anyone else beside me? Oh wait, did I meant that Winston has a teenage daughter and a son who he is gearing to be just like him? Now does it sounds like a rip off of the Fresh Prince? Calvester would be Will for the slow ones out there. No offense. Oh, and get this. They have their own website! I ain’t lying. Under One Roof’s official website can be found at . How funny is that? Like this crapfest will live long enough to even become syndicated.

For those of you who don’t know William Drayton by his birth name, maybe it would help if I called him by his professional name… Flavor Flav. Yeap, Flavor Flav has finished shooting what we hope is the finally installment of the Flavor of Love and gone into the comedy business. Apparently someone found him to be funny. I watched the Flavor of Love, all three season, and I never found the man to be even remotely funny. I found him to be disturbing, disgusting and yucky, but never funny. Now the girls on the other hand. Those bitches cracked my ass up. I watch it for the ladies and I use that word very loosely.

Now don’t get me wrong. I know that Mr. Flav paid his dues and shyt with Public Enemy back in 1982, gaining fame as the front my for Chuck D. Known for his outlandish clocks, hats, bling and shyt, Flavor Flav capitalized on being a modern day minstrel; a buffoon if you will. Out of the loop for a while, Flavor made his television comeback in 2004, by appearing on VH1’s the Surreal Live (Yeap, I watched it). All of his cast members seemed to hate him on the show, with the exception of one; Bridgette Nelson. He and Bridgette, who is Sylvester Stallone’s ex, cultivated a love affair that translated into another VH1 reality show called, Strange Love (this I did not watch). And it was this show that spawned the most popular show on cable networks ever. The Flavor of Love. Now someone done told this boy he can act. Ain’t that a bitch? Rolling Stone declared Flavor Flav as “the funniest rapper ever to bamboozle VH1”. I think he is the dumbest Rapper ever to bamboozle Black America…Females in particular. C’mon ladies, I know you want your fifteen minutes of fame, but to go on national television, make a fool out of yourselves and whore yourselves out just to get with Flavor Flav? Flavor Flav, really? And to actually kissed the man and only God knows what else, just to get him to choose you to be his lady love. Are you kidding me? I’m not sure who I feel more sympathy for...the ones that have to live with the fact that they were rejected by Flavor Flav, or the ONE that gets stuck with is nasty looking ass.

-One Man’s Opinion. Peace.

See, now this is what this blog is about…Hating on the stupidity going on out there in the world of black celebrity! I don’t know when I turned it around to focus on my dumb ass. Don’t nobody wanna read that crap. LOL. Think of all the good crap I have missed out on. From the wedding of that Rapper chick in jail, to the alleged wedding of Beyonnce and Jay-Z. What the hell was I thinking?

Tuesday, April 15, 2008

Nobody Like My Mom

I love my mom soooo much. I just got off the phone with her; she invited me to come over for meatloaf, greens, candied yams and hot water corn bread. I turned her down, because I already had plans to feed myself today, but as I was hanging up it dawned on me just how much I love my mom. I don’t think I say it or show it enough. Working nights and sleeping days makes it pretty damn hard to spend as much time with my family as I would like. Although, we did have a very nice time celebrating my cousin’s birthday on Saturday. I had to go to work right after. It was so cute. My nephew had his little backpack and told everyone he was going with Uncle “One Man”. I hate it when he wants to go with me and I have to turn him down. Kids remember that crap. Actually, I never really turn him down. I distract and then sneak off. Which is probably worse, but I can bare to see the hurt look on his precious little face (damned, manipulative, little bastard).

Anyway, back to my mom. I think I take it for granted just how amazing she is. She had a stroke over five years ago, that left her paralyzed on the entire right side of her body. She went through rehabilitation for as long as we could afford it. They actually didn’t expect her to ever learn to walk again, being overweight and all; but to everyone’s surprise, she regained limited mobility (which means she could get off the bed, on her on, and get into her wheelchair. She learned to do everything using the non-dominant side of her body. Meaning she had to learn how to write, cook and other essential things with her left hand. Since she was able to maneuver into her wheelchair on her own she tried to maintain some of her independence. The bathroom was redone to fit her needs and she was able to do mostly all of the things one does in the bathroom, on her own. What always amazed me was the fact that she would get into the kitchen and still manage to cook full course meals. As a matter of fact, she tried so hard to hold on to her independence she somehow managed to spring her ankle. I still don’t know how that happened. The woman was in a chair for pity sakes!

Thanksgiving of 2006 she managed to cook an entire Thanksgiving meal and host our annual Thanksgiving at her house. Now you would think she would settle down and relax once everyone made it over, but not her. Instead of letting us cater to her, she attempted to stay in the mix of the Thanksgiving food frenzy, which lead to the catastrophe that knocked her back down to square one. You see, instead of allowing one of my sister’s to fix her a plate, she had to get all in the way. Well, long story short, she somehow turned on switch of her chair and run over her own damn foot; the bad one (which means she didn’t feel it until she FELT it). How the hell does that happen? If I hadn’t been there I would have excused one of my siblings of doing it (‘cause I be cynical like that). I was so pissed; mad at her for putting herself into a position to run over her foot and mad at my family for babying her. Of course I felt horrible the following week when we found out that she had actually broken the foot. This put her completely out of commission and it also stopped her from being able to attend the family cruise that I had planned and paid her portion of. To date she is just now getting back to the point where she can move from the bed and onto her wheel chair.

Now she spends the majority of her time watching television and playing spades and hearts on the Internet. I like that she plays these games because it keeps her mind active. Hell, I don’t do much more my damn self. She is so funny. There was a point when her and my little brother would get online, go into one of the Spades game rooms and play as partners. What was so funny would be that they would cheat. She would be yelling at him what cards to play and stuff. It was so funny. Then I would go home, find the room they were in and tell people they were in the same house cheating. I am such a hater. It makes me sad though. My mom use to be a very accomplished seamstress (I think I get my artist talents from her). This was something that she had to give up after the stroke. I am still amazed at some of the things she managed to do with her one good hand and I have tried, unsuccessfully, to get her to try her hand (no pun intended) at sewing again. I think she could do it and I think it would give her a great sense of accomplishment. I think she has fooled herself into thinking that this is something that she can never do again. I hate that. But what are you gonna do?

I will say this. If she were to decide to take back up sewing I’d be more than willing to buy her the sewing machine. They have this new one by “Brother” that threads itself. I am seriously contemplating buying the damn thing for her for Mother’s day. The problem is that the one I am talking about is hella expensive and I don’t want to waste money on something that she is not willing to give a try. So, how do you motivate a woman like my mom? LOL

-One Man's Opinion. Peace.

(Encase you have not figured it out yet, the picture is of a painting I did of my mom and deceased step-father. I call it African-American Gothic).

Monday, April 14, 2008

Almost Gone

When I was in elementary school one of the main things that made an impression on me was this one film they would show in the school auditorium. It seems to me that I most have seen it about fifty times or more, the reality is that I could only have seen it twice, maybe three times at the most. The film dealt with “Stranger Danger” and addressed how you were not supposed to talk to or except candy from strangers. I don’t remember every aspect of the film, but I know it was sort of a How to Guide on How NOT to get abducted. The only vivid memory that I carry of the film, to this very day, was the part where there is an empty playground where a merry-go-round slowly spins and near it the remnants of crushed candy. This films use to scare the hell out of me every year and I’ll tell you why. My family only lived two blocks from Paul L. Dunbar Elementary school; a school in which I walked home from. ALONE. Now I wasn’t one of those latch key kids, by any means. No, in fact, my dear Grandmother was always at home waiting for me and my older siblings. But still, that film would make a young brother’s two block trek home a thing that horror films were made of. I think that I have probably mentioned in previous post that I was a very sensitive kid and I took the fact that someone was out there willing to snatch me away from my love ones very seriously. I kid you not when I said that I would be paranoid for at least two weeks after seeing that damn film, convinced that someone wanted my rusty, snappy headed, ass. (You can probably image how I reacted when I was in the third grad and my mean sisters explained to me about death and made me very much aware that all things had to die, including myself. I remember the events that lead to that conversation quite vividly.) Anyway, I tell you the story of that film because I always thought that it made a big impact on me, because of my reaction to it. So what happened during the summer, before I went to the third grade was very surprising to me.

Of course I don’t remember everything that happened that faithful day, but I will try to paint you the picture that replays in my mind every now and again. It had to have been on a Saturday because I remember that my mother didn’t have to work. And it had to have been sometime in the late afternoon, because otherwise you would not have caught my happy ass outside; not while there were cartoons to watch. Anyway, I remember playing in the middle of the street, right in front of our house. Out of all of the kids in our family, I was the most sheltered. My grandmother did not like me to venture far. Hell, I think school and up the block to play with my young cousin D, was about as far as my Gammy would allow me to roam. That woman loved me more than life itself, and visa-versa. It was her that threw my Step-father out when he beat me so bad that I could go to school the next day (but that’s another story altogether).

So, I was playing out in front of the house, alone, when this vehicle drives up beside me and stops. I am standing on the passenger side of the vehicle which is being operated by this white guy. This should have been my first clue that something was wrong. I lived in the hood; in a neighborhood was build for black folk, by black folks. It was the FUBU of neighborhoods. Hell, the only white people I ever came in contact with were the once I saw on the little black and white television set, in my grandmother’s room, and the one white teacher I remember from the first grade. The man spoke to me from the driver’s side of the car, telling me that he was looking for my mother and wanting to know if I knew where she was at. Well, my mother was just down the street, at my ainney’s (aunt’s) house; literally just six houses away from where we were, and I told the man so. He asked me where exactly and I remember pointing up the street and telling him it was the first duplex on his left. Hell, you could see the damn house from where we stood.
The guy, for some reason or another, was not comprehending and asked me if I would get into the car and show him. Well, I don’t know where all my paranoia from those kidnapping films went because before I knew it I was saying yeah and preparing to open the car door so I could get in. Through the grace of GOD, all of a sudden my little cousin D came running up from behind the car yelling for me not to get in. I mean he was hauling ass to catch me before I made the mistake of my life. In that instance the man drove off.

When D, who is two years younger than me, made it up to me he called himself lecturing me about how I should never get into cars with strangers. It wasn’t really a lector. All he said was that I should never get into a car with a stranger. But keep in mind, I was two years young, and considered myself to be a heck of a lot smarting than D, so I was somewhat offended that he had presumed to tell me anything. I remember actually saying to him, “I know that” and walking away. Can you believe that crap? What an arrogant little bastard I most have been. It wasn’t until a couple of day later that it dawn on me that the man had never actually went up the street to talk to my mom. And it wasn’t until years later that I realized exact what fate my Cousin D probably saved me from.

There is not a doubt in my mind that white man had evil intention for me and if God had not sent D to stop me from getting into that car I would not be alive to tell this story. Like I said, every now and again this story will play itself in my head. It went through my head when I read Jaybee’s blog the other day and I just wanted to share. Me and my cousin never speak about that faithful day, but sometime I wonder if he remembers it. The day that he probably saved my life and my childhood innocence. I’m thinking that he probably wouldn’t remember, even if I were to bring it up to him. After all, he was just being a good cousin. It was my life that almost ended.

-One Man’s Opinion. Peace.

Sunday, April 13, 2008

Short Post

Chocolate Skittles? Really? Have these guys ever heard of M&M's? Well, actually, unlike M&M's, The Chocolate Mixed Skittles has five flavors: Vanilla, S’Mores, Chocolate Caramel, Chocolate Pudding and Brownie Batter. But still......

-One Man's Opinion.

Okay, Jaybee did a very personal post the other day so I told him that I would post on my memory of almost getting kidnapped. Look for it.

Wednesday, April 9, 2008

Random Stupidity

I love my job, but why do my fellow police officer have to be so damn stupid? So far this year we have had officers wrecking police cars and then filing false reports. Reporting their personal cars stolen, when they really weren’t, for the insurance money. Beating up their girlfriends, just because they were breaking up with them, and getting arrested. Getting arrested for drunk driving. Getting into bar fights, WITH EACH OTHER! Shooting themselves, while playing with their guns. And the most recent thing I heard about, just yesterday, is having sex with a prostitute while working an extra job. This mess was supposedly caught on camera, in the building that the officer was suppose to be providing security for. Ain’t that some shit? Makes you just wanna run out and join your local police force, doesn’t it?

First of all let me say that my wireless internet sucks and I was unable to use the damn thing for four days, so I am very sorry if I have not got a chance to take a look at you good people’s blogs. I promise to catch up. Anyway, this is my first blog of randomness, so wish me luck.
First of all, did anybody see or hear about this? This precious little girl was born about three weeks ago, to a factory worker in northern India, with two skulls fused together as one. The end result was one baby, two faces. Both pair of eyes, noses, and mouths, on the infant, works normally. As a matter of fact, she is said to eat with one mouth while the other sucks a thumb (interchangeably, of course). This is a rare abnormality, but the family is taking it in stride. Talk about your unconditional love. I am not sure what I would do if my child was born with two faces, or heads, as the case may be. Go to YouTube and see the clip about the two headed girl, she’s a teenager now. It is both heart wrenching and uplifting story ( ). But back to the two-faced baby; the kid has yet to be named, but she is already being worshiped as a reincarnated goddess, in her country.
Bobby Brown is a bitch! Can you believe this asshole has wrote, and I use the word wrote loosely, a new tell all book? This just goes to show that Bobby, much like O.J. Simpson, will do anything for money and to maintain his celebrity. Let’s see, first he does that one reality show, “Being Bobby Brown” Then there was “Gone County” and now this new book, Bobby Brown the truth, the whole truth and nothing but…, which peeks into his marriage to Whitney Houston (and yall know I love me some Whitney Houston). He says how she only married him to combat the rumors of her being gay (yeah, that worked), and how he never did cocaine until after he met Whitney. What he meant was that he couldn’t AFFORD cocaine until after he married up with Whitney. Yall know that until then he was just your average, going downhill, crack headed hustler. Get these quotes regarding his 15 year marriage to the pop diva, “it was doomed from the very beginning. Within the first year we separated, with several more to follow,” Brown writes. “I think we got married for all the wrong reasons. Now, I realize Whitney had a different agenda than I did when we got married . . . I believe her agenda was to clean up her image, while mine was to be loved and have children.” I think his ass is still mad that she canceled his insurance, that time he had that heartache and had to go to a county hospital. I would never even think about buying this book, but I wonder if he speaks about how he just to beat her ass. What a bitch, Bobby is. I could have done a whole post on his BItchdom alone.

While my internet was down I was able to get a lot accomplished, as it relates to my children’s picture book. I am only six drawing away from finishing this bad boy. I also went to Borders Books and have found six different publishers that will take submissions from new authors, without the aid of a literary agent. I am very excited about sending off my letter of query, to at least three, this coming weekend. So, I would like some honest feedback, for you good people, regarding my query letter. Here it is:

In the tradition of the Cat in the Hat, and the Bernstein Bears, Hero in Our Town is written entirely in verse. This book tells the story of an incompetent Hero, in a small town. The story is narrated by a little six year old boy, who bears witness to our Hero’s ineptitude, as he attempts to use his vast array of powers for good, only to wreck havoc in the small, hapless metropolis. As the story unravels we know that out little narrator is aware of Hero, but it is unclear if Hero is aware of the little narrator existence. Hero, in our town, is a picture book containing a 227 word count and 24 illustrations and designed to stimulate the reading muscles of kids three years old and older.

(Second paragraph, I will say a little about myself).

May I submit to you Hero, In Our Town, for your consideration? Should you be interested in publishing this manuscript, along with the illustrations, I would look forward to working with you and your editorial staff on revision as required. Thank you for your attention and consideration. I look forward to hearing and having the opportunity to work with you. Enclosed, find a SASE for your convenience in replying.

So, what do you think? Honest feedback please. Be brutally honest. I can take it. I wish I could find the disk to my scanner, so I could show yall the color drawing I completed, yesterday, of Hero and the narrator. I am also sending this in so they can get a sense of both the characters and my style of drawing. Keep your fingers cross for me. Hell, bump that, send in your prayers. I already have ideas for calendars, for petesake!

-One Man’s Opinion. Peace.
(Just for the record. The Two-Faced baby is not considered random Stupidity by any stretch of the imagination).

Friday, April 4, 2008

The Irrepressible Fart

Did it ever occur to any of you that God gave us farts because he thought it was some type of hysterical, practical joke? C'mon now; gas out the know that shyt is funny. I know that already, at the ripe ole age of two, my nephew thinks that breaking wind is the funniest thing in the world. If he so much as gets a sniff of something not quite right his little butt is quick with the accusations.

Him: Uncle One Man, did you poot? Ewwww, you nasty. (Laughs his little butt off).

Me: Boy, didn't nobody poot. You the one who’s nasty. (More laughter, this time from both of us. Yeah, great role model. I know.)

My nephew is a nut and may I just say that he poots are not cute. Trust me.
Anyway, this is my embarrassing fart story...and believe me when I tell you that I've never had an embarrassing fart story. At least to one where I was the farter… Now, keep in mind that the only reason I am sharing this story with you is because the details that lead to my unfortunate passing of gas, in a public forum, has apparently already spread like wild fire throughout the station. While I was on my days off no less. Sgt. Lupe was nice enough to let me know that it was the subject of conversation, coming in second only to the officer that falsely reported his car stolen in order to collect the insurance money.

So, it is around 3:30am and me and Sgt, let’s call him Trisket, have just returned from eating at IHOP. He had the quick egg breakfast and I had the BLT and fries. Who knew that bacon gave me gas? That's ludicrous. Well, we are the only two people back in the Sergeant's area and I can feel the workings of a gas attack. Well, being the well-mannered gentleman that my mom raised me to be, I get up and leave the area, so I can pass my gas in private. Polite, right? Because you know some people act like you wanna fall victim to their gas attack. I know I use to ride with this female officer who would just let 'r rip with no fair warning. And she had those silent but deadly jokers that would attack all five of your senses, not just your sense of smell. You know that crap ain't lady like. And she wouldn't even acknowledge that she had done anything. She'd just keep on driving the squad car as if she hadn't just laid a dozen invisible, rotten eggs. And my dumb ass would be stuck, riding along with my damn head hanging out the window. I ain't lying!
Anyhow, once I have vacated the Sergeant's area, I head for one of the side doors, only to realize that I have forgotten my card that gives me access back inside of the station. Damn! Plan B it is. I'll just let it go in the detail room. It should be empty. While headed that way I am hindered by a female officer, from another watch. She has a question. Before she can say a word I hold up a finger, in order to let her know that I'd be with her in a second. I enter the detail room and I'll be damned if there weren't two officer's sitting in there, check there city email. Well, too late now, because I am trying to hold back one of those aggressive farts, that will not be denied. You know the kind that insist on making its presence know, whether you like it or not. The best I can do is clinch the cheeks and hope that I can suppress the sound and exit, stage left, before the smell engulfed the room.
So, I pass the gas. Now, that wasn't so bad. Silent. No odor. I go back into the main area to see what the officer, who I use to work with on a different channel, wants. She apologizes and says she could tell there was something on my mind. I come clean and let her know that it was not my mind that I was worried about and we both have a nice little chuckle. She didn’t really want anything of importance so I go back into the sergeant’s area, where Sgt. Trisket is completing paperwork. We had been discussing how I was going to use up a vacation day, since I came in on my Friday to help him out, even though I was maxed out on vacation time (I hate giving time to the City). The female comes around the corner and somehow we all get caught up in a dialogue regarding the farting habits of the human race. She tells Sergeant Trisket about our near fart encounter. At that moment I feel the urge to fart, again. This one is more powerful than the rest, the big brother to the one that I had treated so badly just moments before, and I excuse myself and try to run from the area. Before I can get around the row of cubicles good, you hear this loud trumpet of butt music. And I mean loud. I was so embarrassed, as I hear Sgt. Trisket and the female officer, burst out in laughter, that I actually blushed. People don’t think black folks blush, but we do. It takes a lot to make it noticeable, but it happens. Trisket and the female officer are cracking up, and so am I, because it is funny. Well, the incident was funny, the smell was not. Not only was this fart loud, it was funky. You know your fart stinks when even you are offended by it. You know how normally we are immune to our own farts, but not this bad boy. And besides that, it was that clingy kind of smell that followed you around, like your butt had a smell magnet attached to it. Oh, and to make matters worse, later on that morning, Sgt. Trisket found a web site with various ring tones and would play the fart tone one. You know that ain’t professional.

So, there you have it. My one and only embarrassing fart tell. So now you know I am wanting to hear a fart tell from you folks.
Do you fart in front of friends and co-workers?
Do you fart in front of your boy friend or girl friend?
When dating, when is it okay to share a fart with that special someone?

-One Man’s Opinion. Peace.

Just a side bar. TODAY IS THE ANNIVERSARY OF THE ASSINATION OF DR. MARTIN LUTHER KING. I know how inappropriate it is for me to tell a fart story on such a day.

Thursday, April 3, 2008

You Might Be A Nasty B*tch

Why would anyone fix their mouth to spit on anyone else? Better yet, why would anyone of a brown persuasion do this? Didn’t I, not too long ago, just tell you people how nasty human germs are? Beside, that’s just nasty, period. There is a reason why one of the sista’s of blog land, forgive me for forgetting who it was, just got finished tapping her son’s ass for such an offense.

This just in; Model Naomi Campbell was arrested today (Thursday), in the Airport at Heathrow, for allegedly spitting at a police officer. You know that shit is nasty. Skanky heifer. Ewww! Shouldn’t she know better than this? Hell, shouldn’t she have learned her lesson from when she beat one of her assistance down, in 2000, or when she threw the phone at her maid last year? I guess that two-days of anger management classes didn’t work.

Naomi, honey, we use our words. OUR WORDS, DAMN IT!

I have only been spit on once. I had a prisoner, who I had to mace, spit in my eyes. In my eyes, mind you. You know it took everything in me not to beat the hell out of….Well, anyway, I filed that as an additional charge and do you know what happened? I got a call from one of our detectives (females) and do you know what she told me? She told me that as a police officer I should expect to be spit up on. Can you believe that shit? And, since that was this detective’s mentality, she drooped the f’ing charges! I was hot! I wanted to drive up to headquarters and spit in that hoes face and see how she liked it. Anyway, that was when I was very young on the department. Still makes me mad though.

-One Man’s Opinion. Peace.