Rants

Insomnia

“But I’m afraid of not being able to laugh anymore
What’s life going to become once we don’t have anymore
…Heroes?”

-Cee-Lo Green

I get tired. I sometimes drift off in front of my social media feed. My eyes tend to get sooooo heavy from pontificating with strangers. Commiserating with you is draining; I apologize if I distract myself with more pressing and immediate concerns. Your stupidity tires me out and I need a break. If you knew how dumb and shortsighted you are, then you’d need a snooze, too. Correcting you saps the little energy I have, but monitor our Black Lives with an otherworldly attentiveness, you little vanguard, you. You deserve my sincere apology for correcting whatever absurdities wafted out the midnight oil of condescension and misguided righteous gallivanting. I’ll just look past the fact you’re delving into a very dangerous and harmful logic. Yeah…naw. Good luck getting me to comport myself as someone willing to acquies…

“…Yo, Young Militant Facebook Jerk, I had this weird dream. I dreamt that my ex got back with me and gave me Chlamydia. Chlamydia, yeah. But here’s the weird thing; she got it from Katt Williams and he was chasing me around, apparently mad I took my girl back from him…

…Dozed off, sorry. #BlackLivesMatter made idiots of a few that garner reverence by impressing other idiots. The share button only helps if you can discern between validity and propaganda, champ. It kinda sucks because your intentions are (to you) noble. We get it; nothing else invades your immaculate consciousness…

“…But dig this part…everybody running with Katt in my dream were my friends in real life. So I had like five people chasing and shooting at me. My ex doubled back to ol’ boy and I was just running by myself until I finally got to my mother’s house…”

Shit. Fell asleep. I do wonder how YOU condemning ME for losing focus of an issue isn’t egregious in its own right. It seems totally counterproductive and unnecessary. Why are our “leaders” continuously slinking back into the pack to make sure all of us are fixated on the same thing? And why does your indignation only apply to others? Oh, to be so aware of everything except your own actions, Young Wack Hotep Brother. I have no problem pointing a finger directly in the face of this hypocrisy, because I have never claimed to be too involved to do otherwise.

“Yoooo…they all pulled out guns and I couldn’t run anymore because apparently Chlamydia makes you really slow. So I just stood there…I STOOD there, dude…they all had guns on me. Did I mention that before?? Well anyway, they all sat there ready to shoot when my ex popped up in the window and had one of those bullets Angelina Jolie had in Wanted…yeah, the ones that boomerang around the room…so, yeah, she shot in the window and hit all of them in the che…”

Those covers had me lazy. Carry on with your conquests, you valiant social media trooper. Disperse your wisdom by inundating us with questionable information on the basis the headlines alone appease to a certain sensibility we should all be required to share. Condemn us because we find time to laugh, joke, and relax. Forgive us if our outrage isn’t incessant while our awareness is meandering. Call me obtuse and take pity on me for not occupying the same post with you, scanning the horizon with aimless zeal. I suppose taking any regard of my own Black Life at times is selfish and unfocused. Forgive me.

“So they all sat there shaking on the floor and my ex crawled through the window and threw a small vial in my direction. She said, ‘sorry for giving you The Clap’, and walked out through the front door. It bothered me because I had Chlamydia; did she not know ‘The Clap’ refers to Gonorrhea? Because I can’t deal with somebody that’s not #Woke.

Look, the battles are ceaseless. The problem with our midnight crusaders isn’t that there is no recognition of the endless nature of our issues; it’s that my deviance is incorrectly identified as resignation. It’s that watching- and not subsequently analyzing- is equivalent to knowledge for you folk. I am not stepping away from this fight; I am simply regrouping in order to determine a more effective approach. Why barge into the middle of a sociopolitical issue while alienating those that share your desire for change? If fights were meant to be around-the-clock solo missions, there would be no need for a more rested set of eyes to ever defend our livelihoods, right?

“What you mean did I chase after her?? She gave me Chlamydia and- through her “research”- called it ‘The Clap’. Her ignorance is going to kill us both if I allow it…”

It is not because I do not care. Nor is it because I am unaware. My reticence is not hesitance. Consciousness is a weapon unto oneself under YOUR sanctimony; look both ways before you lob grenades. Sleep because you dare to dream, not because you believe your truth is the one and only. Understand your platitudes are simply blinders; they are not shades.

#YouCouldStayWokeButYouShouldProbablyTakeYoAssToSleepForALittleBit

A.J. Armstrong is smarter than you; he’s also the creator of The Fly Hobo and His World of Oddities

New Year, New You (But Not Really Because You’re An…)

“I’ll never call yo mama outta her name, but I’ll damn sure call her Collect…”

That’s the last one I promise. New Year, New Me, amiright? Besides, it ain’t my fault yo mama agrees with me…and answers my calls.

“New Year, New Me!”

“Cutting all the negativity out my life in 2016!”

“No more new baby faaaaaaathers/mothers…”

And, save for the part about not getting knocked up (or knocking up) AGAIN, I believe them all. Because New Year, a New EVEN SHITTIER Version of the Douche We Already Knew. I, for one, appreciate the unintentional transparency. If the move is to announce what will and won’t remain in your life, it’s mighty considerate to remind us the most ugly aspects of it will remain. Can’t pour syrup on shit and call it decency, you know?

I tend to consider myself a solutions-orientated person and I enjoy helping others. With that in mind, your shortcomings aren’t the result of some extrinsic shitstorm that meandered into your life somehow. It’s not as complex as you conveniently seem to make it. No, the problem (and remember, you can fill oceans with my compassion) lies in the fact that you’re a terrible human being that just isn’t good at being alive. You suck. The people that have enabled you to suck as bad as you do suck even more. Success and personal happiness aside, you’re a Shitkicking Assclown that probably shares posts on Facebook about what the best physical feature of each zodiac sign should be (as if each sign is basically a long ass incestuous breeding ground to ensure that all Scorpios have shiny fingernails. That’s not how any of this works, you SHIT. SIPPING. ASS. HAT). Or maybe you stop in doorways to check your phone while six people try to get by. I COULD continue to wish all the inconveniences of life onto you, exclusively and concurrently, or I can try to help these poor, lost Douchenozzles…

How do I know you’re an awful, insufferable person? Because, you Dried Pit Stain, you’ve been telling on yourself all year. From declaring yourself as ‘petty’, to your douchey thinkpieces, to your bathroom selfies, to the excessive sharing of your ugly ass baby, there’s a long trail of turd nuggets that point me in the direction of your delusional self-aggrandizing. Maybe you’re cognizant of your behavior; perhaps you aren’t. Or maybe- most likely- you just aren’t aware of how much of an Asshat you really are.

It isn’t entirely your fault, you poor Asswipe. Your friends and family have allowed you to become blissfully unaware of your transformation from irritating to fully terrible. Facebook is mostly culpable. There is no other space, digitally or otherwise, that applauds and encourages your increasingly egocentric conduct. Who else would take pride in seeing a picture of a weak ass Chipotle burrito bowl or read about how Blacks should be celebrating Kwanzaa because…? You don’t even know, either. That’s the worst part. You didn’t even read the article; you saw a heading that KIND of applied to something you MIGHT be persuaded to think is true so you shared it with all of us. I thank you for inundating my feed with that asinine shit. I also thank you for allowing me to see all the unsavory things in your personal life that you ought to be more hesitant about sharing. You’re not terrible because of the others that encourage this shitshow; you’re terrible for letting your shitty decisions bathe in their approval.

So how can we make you a less shitty version of yourself in 2016? Simple. Shut the hell up. Just stop saying or doing anything. Period. Don’t go outside. Don’t go online. Become a recluse; only appear in public to do whatever it is you do to earn money. Go home every night and sit in an armchair and let life pass you by because you clearly don’t contribute anything to it. Disappear from the collective consciousness of the social world entirely. If you have to welcome some of that negativity back into your life in 2016 for that to happen…collateral damage, right? Just don’t tell us about it this time next year. And give yo mama my Skype ID for me.

A.J. Armstrong is the Creator of The Fly Hobo and His World of Oddities

Blackface

I’ll get to Dear White People in a second, but in honor of Halloween, please peep what is quite possibly the greatest Twitter exchange EVER (read from the bottom up):

Okay, back to what I was saying.

Dear White People was supposed to be a brilliantly biting satire that held a mirror up to White America to let them know they could be kind of ugly at times. I really wanted to seek out the first white person in the theater, sit beside him, and cast knowing glances in their direction after each resonating scene. The movie was supposed to end with me standing directly in front of the screen at its conclusion and yelling ‘see?!? Do you get it now?’ with my arms crossed to everyone and no one at…the…same…damn…time. This was supposed to be a film that was ingenious in its creation and flawless in its presentation. Dear White People was supposed to be writer Justin Simien’s Tour de Force, and it is…in the previews. It’s not that Dear White People missed its mark; I’m just not sure what the hell they were even aiming at.

Without giving too much away, the story centers around a group of college students at a majority-white Ivy League school. The focus is on four in particular: Coco, a woman from the South Side of Chicago that eschews Black culture and has a myopic view on what it actually MEANS to be Black; Sam, a rebellious Mulatto woman entrenched in Pro-Black idealism; Troy, a well-to-do son of the school’s Dean of Students; and Lionel, who is just gay. Because gay is the new Black (insert blank stare emoji here). There are obviously white people as well, but we’ll get to them in a few.

Now that you know the characters, let’s look into their internal conflicts. Of course Sam has a white man on the side while dating a Black co-ed to maintain her ‘All Black Everything’ illusion. Of Course Troy has a white girlfriend. And OF COURSE Lionel and his struggle with being homosexual is the primary storyline. Because gay is the new Black and TOTALLY relevant when discussing race relations (insert blank stare emoji here). CoCo just doesn’t want to have anything to do with any of them because…Black. That’s all I gathered. Nobody ever explored what led to these feelings so…yeah. That’s all I got.

In what I thought was an excellent piece of character development by Mr. Simien, it becomes apparent that Sam, the Rebel and Troy, the Company Man, share an inherent understanding of Black culture while being at either extreme in regards to their personalities and interactions. Kudos for that. Even a trashcan gets a steak sometimes, apparently.

Maybe attending a Historically Black University sapped my understanding of on-campus race relations- I admit my base of knowledge is limited here- but each of these four characters has some romantic connection with someone outside of their race. I just wonder if this is realistic and question why every character needs to have this connection, either closeted or public. Addressing inter-race relations is all well and good, but why make it such a conflict with EVERY major character? But again, maybe that’s just me.

As I said before, the primary storyline is about Lionel and his struggle to find an identity and his place on campus. Lionel is gay and his sexual identity supersedes all of the other storylines that I thought the movie was SUPPOSED to be about. This post is neither the time nor the place to speak on why Gay Rights is important; the same is true about a film entitled Dear White People. Because white people can be gay; they can’t…do I really have to expl…man…moving on…

Now let’s get to those white people. I wanted ‘These White Folk Crazy’; instead I got ‘These Black Folk Really Want To Love These White Folks But We Have Trouble Loving Each Other’. Where were the figurative taps on their collective shoulders to remind them that some of the things they do need not be done? What are white moviegoers learning about their behavior? They damn sure learned about OUR behavior. Honestly, the only thing I imagine white people took away from Dear White People is ‘Dear White People…you might not want to wear Blackface on Halloween’. And that’s a shame.

I wanted so much more from Dear White People. I expected edge. I never got my ‘see, White People? See?!?’ moment. The writing suffers from tending to the wrong audience: Black people. It becomes apparent halfway through that Dear White People is for white people in title only. It’s much safer to point out Our collective identity crisis; God forbid tilting the conversation towards the white audience. We can’t risk having THEM in disillusionment and self-contemplation. This was supposed to be Our moment, solely because Our moment finally wouldn’t be about Us. Damn shame Justin and his team weren’t brave enough to fully follow through with it.

F–k ‘Dear White People’. I hope they make a re-boot like they did with ‘The Incredible Hulk’. Matter fact, I’ll do it. Let’s call it ‘Dear White People: For Real This Time’. A.J. Armstrong is the writer of ‘Dear White People: For Real This Time’. He is also the creator of The Fly Hobo and His World of Oddities

Glass House

WE said WE would be better. WE would never become caricatures and outsized personalities that ooze braggadocio with each self-reported event WE attend. WE said WE’d be transparent, but not “transparent”. Our lies are broadcast unbeknownst to us, because WE’re fooling ourselves. So many of us have become strangers to our own entities, instead settling for becoming those WE have silently judged and deemed as inferior and savage.

WE said WE would never become That. WE would never share That situation, That dilemma, and That moment of WEakness. Never us, WE said. WE WEre staunch in our assertions, too. WE know, if presented with the same situation, That would never be us. Variables, be damned. That… THAT right there… could never be me, WE, or us.

WE said only God could judge any of us, right? Yet WE mock, ridicule, and shake our heads. WE know an entire relationship, financial situation, and mindset from our few glimpses, right? Their turbulence would have been our perfect calm, right? Better yet, their obstacles would have never presented themselves in the first place, right?

Of course, That would never happen in our perfect microcosms. Of course WE can talk about what WE would have done differently, because how could That ever be us? WE aren’t perfect- WE know that- but WE know certain things will never come hurdling our way…

…Until This happened. WE don’t know how WE lost our cool, our composure, or our head, but WE did and now WE need you to know how isolated this event was.

But This isn’t That; That was so much worse because WE deemed it as such. Please don’t lump This with That. WE didn’t mean to do This, to say This, to have This play out. Clearly, That is completely different, and how dare you for thinking otherwise. WE would never do That, because That isn’t human, nor is it just a terrible lapse of judgment. That is never okay; This is a mistake, and WE need to forgive and forget it all. That should never be okay and WE will never let them forget, ever. This is just a typo in an otherwise brilliantly written biography.

WE said WE would be better. WE would never become caricatures and outsized personalities that ooze braggadocio with each self-reported event WE attend. WE said WE’d be transparent, but not “transparent”. Our lies are broadcast unbeknownst to us, because WE’re fooling ourselves too. So many of us have become strangers to our own entities, instead settling for becoming those WE have silently judged and deemed as inferior. WE could never be That, nor could they ever be This.

A.J. Armstrong is the creator of The Fly Hobo and His World of Oddities

You Might Die/While We’re At It…

I’m not raising a little Black boy, so maybe I’m not qualified to speak on this. Wait, I forgot. I AM A YOUNG BLACK MALE. I almost forgot because, fortunately, police haven’t drawn weapons on me in many years. So there’s that.

Don’t let anybody place what’s happening with these police shootings of Black kids in any “context”; young Black men are getting gunned down unjustifiably. The issue is not- nor has it ever been- what we can do to prevent this. The issue is that this keeps happening. What are you all telling your sons? At this point, what on Earth CAN you tell them?

“Never wolf-whistle at white women…” (1955)

“Don’t wear a hoodie…even in the rain…” (2012)

“Don’t be a Black man…” (Every Black man’s whole life, I think)

Seriously, what can you tell them?? Nothing comes to my mind, at least. You white, you Ben Affleck; you Black, you have an increased chance of getting shot down for something that can’t possibly be deemed worthy. I hate that this is even considered a part of real life. I hate when people say this and I hate myself for saying it, but I have to say it: we as Black people (cringe) are never supposed to accept that. However, I will never accept the types of reasoning some have expressed regarding such horrible situations:

Naw. The notion that who a young Black man is, what he is doing, or what he is wearing is somehow in direct correlation to an increasing proclivity to shoot our kids is ignorant, shortsighted, and, quite frankly, some all around FUCK SHIT. We can be poetic or we can call it what it is. Some. Fuck. Shit. So the emergence of rap music, the absence of Martin and Malcolm, and, um, whatever other fuck shit people are trying to use is a valid reason Michael Brown got gunned down for leaving a QuikTrip? Did I read that right? What about the dozens of others? Same thing, huh?

That type of thinking is not relegated to weirdos in bow ties, either (please look this guy up on Twitter. @theonebmiller. Bow tie). The post-Trayvon crusaders called for everything from keeping Black kids out of hoodies to keeping that rap noise to a minimum whilst “being out here with these white folk”. Naw. I refuse to address an issue by suggesting how I can make myself “less Black”. All the J. Crew in the world isn’t going to keep a cop from filling me with enough lead to supply Sherman-Williams with enough paint to kill us all before they realized lead-filled paint would kill us all and run-on sentences are so cool when you make obscure references and it helps to quell my anger because people are stoopid sometimes and I purposefully spelled stupid wrong or whatever but get back to the topic, A.J. I’m not telling my son to take his hoodie off in the rain. I’m not lecturing him on going smack at white women. And I damn sure am not going to tell him to let some white man tell him his music is too loud.

I will tell my son to dress for the occasion. I don’t care what you wear on your way to 7-Eleven. I will tell him to be respectful of women and that he’ll probably look like an ass if he goes at any girl recklessly and that he deserves all the ridicule in the world because of it. And 28 year-old me would probably tell young Little Homey to ‘turn the music a level higher and return the Devil’s fire’, but then my father would look at me and I’d get scared and tell him to respect other people and to not be a douchebag and I love run-on sentences but whatever. Look, having your music too loud in your car is a pet peeve and pretty douchey, but not worth taking a life over. My son will not be raised to be scared to be himself. He will be raised to understand that there are injustices in this world, and that there will always be. I refuse to have him thinking that his actions- his innocuous actions- are the sole causes of conflict. Because groupthink on this issue will be veeeeeeery conflicted once another Black kid is shot down while wearing a suit.

While we’re at it, let me address this Ray Rice issue and Stephen A. Smith’s comments regarding said issue. Everybody should stop hitting everybody. Now shut the fuck up. Ok…bye.

A.J. Armstrong is sleep tho. That’s the new motion, right? He is also the creator of The Fly Hobo and His World of Oddities

The Dissolution of Jay-Z

Thank God Nasir never made hundreds of millions of dollars. I’m happy Marshall still cares. I’m talking, of course, about Eminem and Nas. They are arguably two of the most influential and recognizable rap artists ever. Along with Jay-Z, these three represent an era of rap music that I really didn’t think was possible when I was younger: aging rappers still every bit as viable as their younger counterparts. They are all over 40 and selling just as well- if not better- than any other current rapper. Nas’ 2012 release, Life is Good, earned him another Grammy nod. Eminem is releasing The Marshall Mathers LP 2 on November 5. Both of these artists are still rapping at incredibly high levels. Why then, can’t the same be said for Jay-Z?

I might as well preface everything by stating firmly I have never been- nor will I ever be- a huge fan of Jay-Z. I have his entire catalog but I don’t CHERISH most of it. For every classic (Reasonable Doubt), there’s a total clunker (Vol. 3…The Life and Times of S. Carter, anybody?). With that being said, I’d be a delusional hater if I didn’t acknowledge that the great musical moments far outweigh the less stellar. The dude has been around this long for a reason. After listening to his latest release, Magna Carta…Holy Grail, I’m not so sure that’s a good thing.

I’ll keep my review of Magna Carta… brief: I hate it. I hate his super simplistic lyrics. I hate his endless references to his opulent lifestyle. I hate that 16 STELLAR instrumentals were wasted on this effort. However, what I hate the most is his willingness to bow and conform his flow to what’s “hot” today. It wouldn’t be as offensive if Mr. Carter hadn’t been so insistent about being the leading trendsetter in Hip-Hop. Clearly that isn’t the case anymore if he’s out here rapping like Young (insert name) from the South.

Magna Carta…, to me, confirms what I had suspected for a few years now. Jay-Z doesn’t care anymore. And why would or should he? The man is worth millions upon millions of dollars. Jay has been known to phone in whole albums at times (Vol. 2: Hard Knock Life was a literal sleepwalk for him), but this feels different. What I heard the three times I ran the album (because I just couldn’t take it after a certain point) was a man just done with trying to make art. Tom Ford reference here, Givenchy name-drop there…we get it, dude. You have a lot of money. And I also get that this has been Jay’s thing since day one but the difference here is that there’s no creativity to it. “Imaginary Player” was dipped in sumptuousness too; he just made it sound so INTERESTING.

So has Jay-Z fallen off lyrically? Yes, but only because of his lack of interest. If Shawn Carter wanted to craft another Blueprint-like masterpiece, Shawn Carter could craft another Blueprint-like masterpiece. But why would a man that has everything care to put forth that kind of effort? What kind of fool still actually CARES about making good music at this point? The people are going to buy it, regardless. How dare he make an effort to make the purchase worth it, right? I even have a name for it: The Kevin Hart Syndrome. You made the people listen to you and now that you have their ear, fuck what you babble into it.

I don’t hate Jay-Z. I just want him to quit and never rap again, that’s all. Yeah, it’s stupid that I still care about the art at this point, what with 2 Chainz and Future…doing whatever it is they call themselves doing, but I do. Jay-Z is rap’s Michael Jordan (and not in the sense that he was the greatest ever, so you Jay Stans stop. Just stop); we admired his dominance for so long that we have effectively convinced ourselves that his stint with the Washington Wizards HAD to be a success as well. It wasn’t. I live in D.C. Trust me, it wasn’t at all.

Shawn, your mark on the culture is indelible. You had fans from Delaware to Idaho wearing Yankee caps, unaware of how much I hate them (because it’s clearly about me at this point). You were why I wore a button-up on my first date in college. You’re why Rick Ross has completely ran with this whole Maybach theme. That’s kind of hyperbolic…Rick Ross clearly hasn’t run with anything EVER. You get my point, though. We owe you for keeping the culture going. Let us buy you a cake and a gold watch and exchange your microphone for a brochure for some beautiful Miami condos. Now if you’ll excuse me, I think Marshall has something to say. Ok…bye.

A.J. Armstrong is the rap fanatic debating your top ten at your houseparty and the creator of The Fly Hobo and His World of Oddities

Welcome to Goodbye

“I’m done. Eff this. Pack that computer up, pack that cord, pack tha-…all that sh*t! I’m done! I retire…” (Me, 25 minutes ago)

I officially announce my retirement from writing and blogging. I enjoyed myself for the better part of two weeks but it’s time to move on to other endeavors. Maybe I’ll start a non-profit with Drag-On and The Dixie Chicks. It’s pumpkin season; maybe I can hustle some of those off Route 29. Don’t worry about me; I have options, son.

I just know this blog thing isn’t for me. It’s a young man’s game nowadays and I don’t watch nearly enough Basketball Wives…or whatever you people watch and tweet about while I read them and take my frustrations out on some poor Grand Auto V hooker. It’s all good, though. I just realized that none of y’all need me. Why read when Draya thinks for you (she’s such a pretty little terrible woman) or…or…one of those other non-Draya broads does something mildly entertaining? Pardon my side note, but SIDE NOTE: why does Draya even do anything?? Just sit there and be the cute little bird you are. Sit there and wait for me to make some money and realize how shallow I really am and you’ll never have to be stupid in public again. I’ll even get you a Twitter coach so you can avoid those ‘aw, bless her little ignorant soul’ moments.

Well I’ll be damned; my deviance proves why I’m not needed. It also could have provided a tragic example of why I’m SO VERY needed. The Fly Hobo might not be for Draya-heads but there are a lot of y’all that only want to be stupid for that one hour. The Fly Hobo and His World of Oddities is for you. Basketball Wives (or Love and Hip-Hop…whatEVER) is good but The Fly Hobo is for the children! The Fly Hobo is for that woman standing in the lobby of the Atlanta Ritz-Carlton waiting for Derrick Rose or Matt Kemp to get off the elevator. The Fly Hobo is for anybody that dances to 2 Chainz, laughs at Gucci Mane, laughs even harder at Drake, and does super unmentionable things to Nicki Minaj videos. The Fly Hobo’s world has Taylor Swift blasting through the speakers, throws parties with the Bieb, and eats sunflower seeds on the train. Word, son.

I’m totally retired still; I’m never coming back. BUT if I ever contemplated it, I need a few things from y’all. I need y’all to agree with me, argue with me, learn with me, laugh with me, and think with me. Lord only knows what will be posted on this blog; just roll with it all. Don’t make me do that Stewie Griffin Incredible Hulk walk away. Just go ahead and follow this blog, the Twitter page (@TheFlyHobo), and whatever other social media site I stalk Draya on (I mean…I’m not the only one. But I WILL be the last one hahaha…I mean…*ahem*…). Look, I just want to get enough money to get my girl a Twitter coach. Ok…bye.

A.J. Armstrong is the still-retired creator of the Fly Hobo and His World of Oddities