Black

Kesha Bear Speaks

“I’M RUNNING FROM THE PIGS SO LISTEN UP! I GOT SOME THINGS TO SAY! FIRST OFF…OW! MUTHA…ARGHHHHHH…DON’T TASE ME, BRO!”

Welp…my best friend got tasered again. Not surprised at all. Homeboy dumb as hell. I love the dude but…shit…rap music completely messed his whole life up. This the homeboy Kesha Bear; I’m just tryin’ to help the boy.

Look, I’m older than ol’ boy. I was 2 looking at him chillin’ in a baby seat on top of a big ass floor model TV. Thank God his parents ain’t put me with him at first because I ain’t need a lil’ nig slobbin’ all over me. That boy ain’t care about anything besides putting electronics in his mouth and throwing them out his presence when it shocks him. My boy was born stupid, I know. That fool sat for months on the top of that TV in Atlanta sucking on G.I. Joes he dropped in his diaper. I ain’t finna judge the guy; he was born without etiquette.

I was born August 28,1984 in a J.C. Penny factory in Plano, Texas. As soon as my eyes were sewed onto me, I was in a box headed to College Park, Georgia. Those suits can suck my stuffing; I told them I wanted to be shipped to L.A. because I heard this Reagan guy put some good dope and automatic weapons in Compton. That was right up my alley at the time; if the Fabric-Cloth Rag Doll Provision of ’85 would have passed, I would have been sent to a Black family in Watts equipped with guns in my midsection to kill these bothersome Black people. I lost the vote but I won something else, I guess.

A Negro family presented me to another Negro family on the night of January 2, 1986. By this time, I figured these Moon Crickets would be my final destination. However, when I saw that little big-headed Mocha child emerge from the legs of some lady, I knew I found my mate.

This kid was a petty Negro but he shared my racism at an early age. At little over two years and seven months, I was laying beside him when his father gave him a handful of little green G.I. Joe action figures. My homey bit the heads off every last one of those toys, threw them off that TV and mumbled ‘fuck the police’. I knew right then this was my guy for life.

Since that glorious militant moment, Anwar became the raging racist I always knew he could be. At nine, he forced a white kid to run on a treadmill, only to trip him up and break his nose. He laughed like I taught him to. At twelve, he threw a kid off a trampoline, breaking his ribs. What did my guy do? Back flips cackling after every sniffle from that little dork.

My man is 27 now. I still chill in his room. I remember when his stupid roommate, dumb friend, and naïve mother kidnapped me. They dressed me as that coon Trinidad James and placed me back on my man’s dresser. He laughed. He fuckin laughed. He let these Negroes- Negroes we have fought so hard against- embarrass me and dress me up as a remedial, snaggle-toothed fool. I was inseparable with this dude for 26 years. Anwar, A.J., or whomever this fool calls himself nowadays is dead. I called Chucky; you better make peace with this fool ASAP.

Now he’s running from persecution. Please stop him. We haven’t been cool since he ‘All Golded Everything’ my person. Fuck that guy. Please shoot, stab, or tase this man. HEEEEELLLLLP!!!! Not me! Not me!! Point those things at HIM! C’mon man! Don’t…don’t….AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH…

A.J. Armstrong is best friends with a borderline racist stuffed bear. He is also the creator of The Fly Hobo and His World of Oddities.

Asshole

“Why do you suck so much at this game?”

“Because…fuck you. That’s why.”

Dictionary.com defines asshole as ‘a stupid, mean, or contemptible person’. I’m surprised somebody actually defined that word. I don’t think that really accurately defines it, though. An asshole, to me, is somebody that does things out of spite and is intelligent enough to make those spiteful things clever. An asshole won’t send a Father’s Day card to a couple that had an abortion; an asshole would buy the card, rip it in half, write ‘Almost…whew’ under the printed text, and hand deliver it to them during a quiet Sunday dinner. Well, that might be a little mean but it DAMN sure isn’t stupid.

Ignore my last post; that was me being an asshole. This is me trying to explain the inner workings of asshole-ness to you all. This is me separating the assholes from the immature audience that will just shout (or type) profanities for no other reason besides immaturity. Fuck that shit. Fuck it to hell. Fuckitty fuck-fuck, B. I’m an asshole; not an immature shit-talker that talks shit because shit is a really cool word to say over and over. I mean…SHIT.

Asshole is a term too widely used, as far as I’m concerned. That racist cop stopping young Black males in Vance County for no reason other than being Black isn’t an asshole; he’s a racist cop that loathes his life. His wife has been breaking scales for the last 12 years and his son dressed up as his favorite rapper for Halloween. Of course he’s going to be all in my shit. That’s not an asshole. That’s a guy frustrated that his shift prevents him from going to the VIP room for happy endings at Christie’s Cabaret.

Let’s talk REGULAR assholes. Regular assholes shut down the government over healthcare. Regular assholes become Business majors and explain to you how difficult being a Business major is. Regular assholes say they’re flirts but get mad when somebody takes those flirts seriously. Regular assholes are Red Sox and Yankees fans.

Now, let’s talk REAL assholes. Real assholes snatch bags from kids with crutches on Halloween. Real assholes go to war without any approval from the United Nations and forces a nation to sigh and vote for a Black man to take his position. A real asshole Rick rolls me while I’m looking up racist George Bush moments. Real assholes are evil geniuses. Real assholes killed Mufasa and blamed the dark skinned lion. Bill O’Reilly is a real asshole; that man is smart enough to evoke rage in Black men and, in turn, bolsters his ratings. You genius, you.

Am I REALLY an asshole? I’d like to think so but I don’t think I am. I’m just a guy that saw the deep end and drowned a baby gerbil in it. I’ll row by in my canoe and poke fun at your cruise ship, yes, but that’s not really an ass move. That’s just a guy that has just given up on the world and does what the MOTHERFUCK he feels like doing. This is a guy that went to Boston and counted all the Black people he saw (17) and kept a mental note just in case he wants to hold a rally in a hotel ballroom promoting the expansion of Mrs. Winner’s to The Hub. Yeah…no, I’m not quite the asshole you think I am but, Lord willing, I will be.

A.J. Armstrong is not a complete asshole; he only plays one on blogs. He is also the creator of The Fly Hobo and His World of Oddities.

My First Poem

“The Mandatory Poem About Black Love and Black Women That Every Black Poet Feels Compelled to Write Because of Some Ridiculous Ideology That Makes This Subject a Prerequisite Point of Conversation Amongst a Pseudo-“Enlightened” Group of Neo-Soul Negroes That Show Up at Poetry Readings in Shirts Made From Hemp With Their Unkempt Dreadlocks Flailing Over Their Faces as They Eat Ostrich Burgers With a Fork and Knife as They Trade Condescending Glances Amongst Each Other as They View Me Wrist-Deep in a Plate of Hot Wings Covered in Excessive Amounts of Old Bay Seasoning in a Booth Next to Another Group of “Artists” Clad in Chicletas Reciting India.Arie Lyrics as They Prepare to Give Their Excruciatingly Long and Drab Depictions of the Magical Prowess of Afro-centric Sensuality in an Attempt to Stay in Their Manufactured, ‘Love Jones’-Inspired Microcosms While Real Poets With Valid and Creative Spins on Daily Life Are Eschewed by Those Who Believe Social Consciousness Exists Only After Reading Cliffnotes of the Works of Amiri Baraka and Shunning Traditional Bodywash in Favor of Bathing in an All Too Common Aura of Inflated and Unwarranted Sense of Self-Pride in Urban Awareness Because Their Bathroom Sinks Contain Ambi Products Free of Dyes and Other Ingredients The White Man Apparently Places in Products Solely to Keep Niggers From Realizing Their Truly Annoying Potential to be Pretentious at Their Newfound Nubian Awakening While Maintaining a Patronizing Tone for Any Black Man That Actually Takes Pride in Being Honest With Himself.”

(Insert poem here.)

A.J. Armstrong is not a fan of Bohemian A-Holes. He is also the creator of the Fly Hobo and His World of Oddities.