Sunday, July 30, 2006

Superman is black.

Evidence provided in this transcription of a phone call made by Lois lane below. P.S. Spoiler!


Lois Lanes dials pensively. Phone rings. Superman picks up.
LOIS
Superman?
SUPERMAN
Who dis?
LOIS
It's me, Lois.
SUPERMAN
Oh whaddup girl? How you been?
LOIS
I'm fine Superman...
SUPERMAN
Yes you are Lois. Yes you are.
LOIS
Are you busy? I can call later if...
SUPERMAN
I always got time for my Lois. Tell me what you need.
LOIS
Well, do you remember a couple of months ago, right after you saved that train from crashing into the Daily Planet, and then you came over to my spot and we...
SUPERMAN
How you gonna ask me a question like that Lois? Of course I remember. That was a special time for me. Shoot, I was hoping we could...
LOIS
Well, Superman the thing is, I think...well, Superman I think I'm pregnant.
SUPERMAN
(Silence)
LOIS
Superman?
SUPERMAN
Huh?
LOIS
What do you mean 'Huh'?
SUPERMAN
What? Nah, um, I couldn't hear you for a second. What did you...
LOIS
Stop it Superman. You have super hearing...
SUPERMAN
Then I must need a q-tip or something. Damn calm the hell down. Um, so what was you saying?
LOIS
I'm pregnant. I'm going to have your...
SUPERMAN
Hold up Hold up Hold up. Yo Lois, I can't talk right now...
LOIS
Superman stop playing!
SUPERMAN
Girl, I ain't playing! Look, I gotta go to Krypton for a minute. Let me hit you up when I get back...
LOIS
Krypton blew up when you were a baby Superman, everybody knows that.
SUPERMAN
Stop tripping girl! Damn! Some scientist think they found it again! I gotta go do that Roots thing. I'll be back...
LOIS
Superman do not hang up this phone!
SUPERMAN
Chill, girl! I said I be back.
LOIS
Superman, You're going to be a...

Click. Superman hangs up. Five years later, Superman begins.
That joke is the best thing I got out of that peice of shit movie.

Saturday, July 29, 2006

Easy rants

Yo, so I took a break from novel writing this Saturday night to go down to the local bar, Easy and found it was infected with the most cracker barrel of White people on the planet. For those of you on Foreign, I live in Oakland by this man made lake called Lake Merritt. This neighborhood used to be a refuge for those negroidal peoples that rolled with dreads and weren’t obsessed with the vicissitudes of capitalistic machinations in relation to our peoples. Of course, that was before 43’rd right off of telegraph was Temescal.

I came back from D.C last week and let’s just say the demon of gentrification is going on everywhere. I heard about new home owners trying to push CHURCHES out due tot eh noise on Sunday mornings. I love the idea of Mr. and Mrs. Yuppie being kept from their visions latte’s and Ikea furniture due to the prayers of uppity negroes who kept the property value low enough in the neighborhood for them to afford the fixer-upper they’re sleeping in. I swear I don’t hate white people. Just rich white people without the common sense to understand its not a natural division of skill, intellect, or labor that places them with the resources of this country.

Anyway, so why D.C. in the middle of the freaking summer, I hear you asking? Well, I just came from the Hurston/Wright writer’s workshop. I got to work with Steve Barnes. Just so we’re clear, STEVE BARNES LOVES HIS WIFE AND HIS CHILD. A day didn’t go buy when I didn’t hear him talk about the both of them. Truth be told, it did make me a little jealous. I’m saying…on the real…I’m trying to find wifey. Still, though, I don’t know if I’d be as hardcore as Mr. Sci-ci, Steve Barnes proselytizing and professing my predilection to prostrations to my primary partner, but one can hope, yes?

The workshop was good in that by the end I didn’t feel like the black cultural refugee like I usually do when I’m surrounded by the folks. Plus I got some agents contacts info. And I got a little bit of the confidence in my writing that I needed to send stuff out. After all, I am sitting on three novels. And to be clear, if my shit does get published I ain’t gonna be on the under, like my collaborator and not hype it on this site. I will be the walking talking hype machine. In the meantime, in-between time, I’m gonna keep writing daily and talking smack on this blog about black geeky shiznet. Either later on tonight or tomorrow I’ll hip you all to my Superman phone call, my confusion regarding Shadowboxing, and my inappropriately passionate love for Miami Vice.

I think the drummer from Slayer was an octoroon

Best quote from Afro-Punk. Yo, that shit was actually good. I’d been hearing so much about it for so long I thought it would have to suck. But I’m telling you, it made me yearn for the days when I rocked the yellow Mohawk and rocked Living color, Bad Brains, and Fishbone on the regular. Man, that whole hardcore made so much sense when I was a teenager, but now, it’s not like I’m angry anymore, and I just don’t have that much energy. But on the real, Black hardcore chicks are hot!

Wednesday, July 05, 2006

Punk ass Lay Died

Fuck Jay-z, Fuck 50 cents, the biggest pimp in the past ten years was Ken Lay How many men can walk up in front of congress and when they ask you if you've stolen money, knowing full fucking well you have, have the grandeur in the testicular region to state you are "Offended" by the accusation? It's just so gangsta!

Fuck that punk ass Lay. The shit that gets me heated is that even now, all his relatives will still prosper from the money he stole from people's pensions and what not. A pox on his whole clan. The sins of the father and all that noise...