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Monthly Archives: November 2011

What Am I Thankful For

Since today is Thanksgiving, I figured I would share a list of things I am thankful for:

  1. I am thankful that I can say nigger, but honkies can’t
  2. I am thankful for the first of the month
  3. I am thankful that contrary to popular belief pimpin’ is easy
  4. I am thankful that bitches ain’t shit but hoes and tricks
  5. I am thankful for my strong pimp-hand
  6. I am thankful that white people are such cowards that they won’t call a spade a spade

That’s just a list of small things for which I am thankful. The thing that I am most thankful for is that you stupid crackers brought my ancestors here to scam the shit out of your dumb asses! If you are bored on Thanksgiving, and looking for something to do, leave your list of things you are thankful for in the comments.

Happy Thanksgiving, and thanks to all of you who have been partaking in my version of the truth.

 
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Posted by on November 24, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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The Real Story of Thanksgiving

Since neither me, nor Honkey will be posting much until after the holiday season winds down, I figured I’d drop a massive truth bomb on you for Thanksgiving.

Everybody knows the traditional honkey version of Thanksgiving. Some crackers in funny hats sailed to the New World. When they got here, they didn’t have any slaves, so they almost starved to death. Then some friendly indians came along, and saved all the honkies from a gruesome death at the hands of mother nature. And I think one of them married Pocahontas. A touching story to be sure, but like most things in cracker history, it’s a lie concocted to hide the ugly truth of honkey oppression.

What the honkey euro-centric text books never taught that it was not just a bunch of crackers in funny hats and buckled shoes on the mayflower. They also had about fifty african slaves with them to help them work their fields and clean their houses.

When the Mayflower landed, the African slaves saw their chance. They were in the wilderness, and there was no cracker laws to force them to do anything. When night fell, the fifty African slaves ran away into the wilderness. In less than a week they built a fly fort out of trees and mud. They hunted deer, and caught fish for sustenance. They were shitting in high cotton!

The pilgrims, on the other hand, were livid. Their slaves had run away. There was no one to work their fields, or clean up after them. At first they thought they could survive on their own, but they were sadly mistaken.

Meanwhile, at the slave fort, the newly free slaves were discovered by the local indians. The local indians were angry that the slaves were keeping them up all night banging on their deerskin drums, and encroaching on their hunting lands. The slaves told the indians that they did not want to be there, but the honkies brought them there against their will. The indians, not being familiar with cracker treachery decided to investigate.

When they spoke with the honkies, the honkies told the indians that the only reason they were there was because the slaves escaped. The crackers told the indians that if they would help return their slaves, they would leave, and never come back. This sounded like a fair deal to the naive indians, so they agreed.

When the indian/cracker raiding party approached the slave tree fort, the leader of the honkies shouted for the slaves to submit or be killed. The slaves chose to die rather than to be enslaved again. The indian/cracker coalition exterminated the slaves. The slaves fought valiantly, killing many crackers and indians during the fight, but the combined forces of the indians and crackers, like some sort of ancient Voltron, overwhelmed the slaves.

After the massacre, the honkies invited the indians to their place for a big feast to say thanks for their help with the slave situation. The indians accepted the honkies’ hospitality. When they returned to the cracker settlement, a big party with music, and drinking was had. Then when it was time for the feast, the honkies killed all the indians. Then ate them.

The end. Happy Thanksgiving.

 
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Posted by on November 22, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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Swift Game

I see you crackers are all caught up in game sites where other honkies tell you about how to get hoes. It seems to really generate traffic. Some of these gamers have written books and made straight bank on selling their game techniques. Well, I am all about making straight bank, so I am about to drop some game knowledge on you fools from my perspective.

First, let me inform you, I haven’t scientifically, or systematically proven any of the game principals I am about to present. I am pretty sure that game originated somewhere besides the popular game blogs that all you ofays are reading. Like those cracker gamers, my principals were learned from others who have spent decades tightening their game. While there were many influences on my game, I learned the most from Dr. Dre and Snoop Dogg.

Since this is my take on game, the basic concepts may be different from what you’ve already learned in other places. This post will serve to give a foundation for an alternative to the game you have been taught elsewhere. For each of these basic concepts, I will cite the words of my mentor to show my work so to speak.

To begin to have tight game, you have to understand the very simple core concept of my game. While this concept is simple, it is difficult to implement because it is a harsh truth. People have a hard time dealing with harsh truths. That core concept is: Bitches ain’t shit. To begin to understand this concept, here is a video example:[Not Safe For Whitey]

All other game flows from this singular principal. Once it is mastered, if any questions arise about the application of game, all one must do is refer to the source. Since bitches ain’t shit, all interactions with bitches must be viewed through this prism.

The concept of bitches ain’t ain’t shit in action is to findum fuckum and flee as illustrated by NWA: [NSFW]

So, know that you have learned the core principal of my style of game: bitches ain’t shit, and seen it in action, let me leave you with an example of a player who has mastered this style of game: [NSFW]

That concludes today’s lesson in game. If you want more, the next segment will cost you twenty dollars. If you want a week of lessons, that’ll be one hundred dollars. Prices doubled for honkies.

(H/T Simon Rierdon)

 
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Posted by on November 17, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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Why I Don’t Call the Police

As many of you know, black people not calling the police is a tradition that goes back a long time. Black people that call the police tend to get beaten by either the police, or by Tookie and RayRay and them. When the police get called in the hood, one way or another, somebody getting their ass beat. On top of that, everybody knows the police are racist, and probably won’t listen to shit a nigger got to say anyway.

Crackers like to write off stories of black people getting ignored by the police when they are clearly the victims of a heinous crime as the black people probably deserved to be ignored. Well, this is one such story. Once you read it, you will have no other choice but to be convinced that black people ain’t got no business calling the police.

A while back, I had put my garbage cans out by the curb to be collected like I routinely do every now and then. It was a normal day. The sun was shining, the sirens were wailing, the helicopters were flying, and you only heard the odd gunshot every now and then. There was nothing to suggest that I would be the victim of a crime during the night.

When I woke up the next afternoon, I went out to bring my garbage cans back to the house. The only problem was my cans had been stolen. They were probably stolen by some honkey as an initiation into the Ku Klux Klan or something. I don’t know what possessed me to do it, but I called the police.

After an hour passed, a police officer finally showed up at my door. Can you believe that racist cracker? I mean he pulled his black and white car right in front of my house. I told him under my breath that I had a crime to report, but I did not want my neighbors to know. He pulled his car down the street a ways.

Using the mailboxes as cover, I snuck to where the pig was now. I informed him that my garbage cans had been stolen. He asked how I knew they had been stolen. I told him that I had put them out for my garbage to be picked up, and when I came back to get them, they were gone. Then that racist son of a bitch had the nerve to suggest that I hadn’t paid my garbage bill. That asshole told me to call the garbage company, and if they had not picked up the garbage cans due to non-payment, he would come back and take a report. I tried to protest, but he just drove off.

I was so angry, and appalled at the boldness of this institutional racism. To suggest that just because I am black I don’t pay my bills. I was pissed, but all I could do was storm back to my house.

It was about this time that Tookie and RayRay and them who had been sitting on the curb across the street, approached me. They were pissed that the police had come into the hood, and dorve off their customers. They asked if I had called the police. I said the only thing any sane person could. I told them hell no I didn’t call no racist ass cracker pigs. I told them that the pig had the wrong address when he had stopped at my house, and he said he was looking for old Miss Johnson down the street. That seemed to satisfy them, and they returned to lawn chairs near the curb across the street.

Then, about two in the morning, somebody pulled a drive-by on poor old Miss Johnson. Well, there wasn’t no way I was calling those racist ass pigs back.

 
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Posted by on November 16, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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I’m Back Bitches

I am back from the reunion/hospital. It is kinda hard to type missing half a finger. I hope that cracker entertained you honkies, or vice versa. Hopefully I will think of something to write exposing the institutional racism in the world soon. Until then, stay black.

 
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Posted by on November 16, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

Tragedy Has Befallen the Reverand, Errr, Doctor

I have some terrible news. You folks may be stuck with me for just a bit longer than originally anticipated. Swift called me today, collect of course, and informed me that he is going to be in the hospital a while. He suffered a grievous injury while attending his family reunion.

Rev. Dr. Swift is well known in some circles as quite the, ahem, swordsman. In the bustle of his everyday of being a blogger, and respected community organizer, it sometimes gets hard for him to maintain the walls of secrecy that keep his “bitches” ignorant of each other.

Apparently one of his bitches found out that she was not the only bitch. They say Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, but even the fury of scorned women tend differ across racial lines. A scorned white woman will usually try to exact revenge by posting unflattering things on facebook, calling you endlessly, threatening suicide, or fucking your brother/best friend. A scorned black woman’s fury tends to be more, well, furious.

It seems the bitch in question showed up at the family reunion intent on causing our friend, the good reverend, some grief. She started by keying his 1977 Pontiac Catalina. She then moved on to throwing a brick through the windshield, and stabbing all four tires with an icepick. No one seemed to notice all that anti-car violence going down. Either they didn’t notice, or it happens so frequently in the area, no one really thought it was unusual. I couldn’t get Swift to clarify.

Then, once finished with the Revmobile our intrepid bitch sallied forth onto the grounds of the park where the Swift family gathering was being held in search of the object of her scorned woman’s fury. Oh, and she apparently was known by her lovers to carry a box cutter in her, according to Swift, ample cleavage. Remember that because it will be important later in the story. Once she identified Swift in the crowd, it was on, as the cool kids say, like donkey nuts, or somesuch.

According to our bravely bold Rev. Dr. Swift, a tremendous, and violent fist fight ensued. The reverend being the pimp that he is, was not afraid of a physical confrontation with a woman, as he’s told me on several occasions he has a strong “pimp-hand.” It sounded like quite the tussle to hear Swift describe it. Apparently there were left hooks, upper cuts, and even shoes involved in the struggle. Swift said, and I quote, he was “wearing that ass out.”

He said he was “putting a rope-a-dope on that ho,” and that is when things took a turn for the worse. He said he once she began to tire, he grabbed a handful of hair to “line that ho up for an overhand right.” Unfortunately, Swift didn’t think about that gaudy ring that says “SWIFT” and covers the four fingers on his left hand. It was then that Swift’s ring became entangled with jilted lover’s weave. Try as he might, Swift could not extricate his hand.

Swift began to call his cousin, known to him only as “L’il Pookie,” to his aid. He had Pookie retrieve the box cutter from his bitch’s cleavage to cut the weave, and free Swift’s left hand. While Pookie was cutting strand after strand of synthetic hair, Swift was being as still as possible to avoid injury to all parties involved. His former cock-holster took this opportunity to knee Rev. Dr. Swift in the weenal area causing Pookie to slip and cut Swift’s hand three ways: deep, wide, and messy.

Well, after this mishap, neither Swift, nor his former jiz receptacle trusted anyone else to free them with sharp objects. The fire department was summoned, and they were able to free the star-crossed lovers. Swift was transported to the hospital, and since he refused to pursue charges against his former lover, she was allowed to leave. He said she left with Pookie, but he wasn’t sure why.

So, while the Rev is recuperating your stuck with me for a while. Sorry.

 
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Posted by on November 11, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

Mike McQueary and Sports Talk Douchebaggery

I’m sure by now everyone is up to speed on the Jerry Sandusky/Penn State scandal. I’m not linking to any of it because any information you could possibly want is available with a quick Google search. Also, this post is not about disseminating information. This is going to my screed about Sports Talk Media types pissing me off. Also, if you have read this blog at all, you know the reverend and I tend to spend our time making fun of stuff. This will be an exception to that general rule.

My job keeps me behind the wheel of a car most of the day, so I listen to a lot of radio. I don’t particularly care for most of the music played on radio stations these days, so I listen to mostly ESPN Radio, and some of the political talk shows. Obviously with the nature of the Jerry Sandusky scandal, today on ESPN Radio was all about the scandal. Before I go off, let me preface this by saying, as is apparently required law judging by the radio coverage, that I understand child rape is bad, and I hope Jerry Sandusky allegedly dies of alleged prison rape for his alleged crimes.

On top of reporting the newsisness of the former Penn State defensive coordinator allegedly subjecting an alleged ten year old to alleged anal sex, all of these self righteous sports talk douchebags were spewing their douchebaggery all over the air waves. Now, I know going in that former jocks and jock sniffers tend to the douchey side of things, so I allow them a certain amount of douchebaggery before I lose my shit.

A big part of the Sandusky coverage was devoted to who knew what when, and what they should have done about a friend of the program having sex with little kids. According to grand jury testimony, the current receivers coach, Mike McQueary, walked in on Jerry Sandusky having anal sex with a child McQuery believed to be about ten years old in the showers on campus. McQuery was shocked, left the room, and called his father. He and his father met with head coach Joe Paterno the next day, and informed him of the incident.

Every former jock, and current jock sniffer on ESPN Radio spent the day telling everyone what a no good piece of shit McQuery is, and how if they had been there they would have visited great vengeance and furious anger on Sandusky, and saved the little boy, who if I am not mistaken has not revealed his identity to anyone. Listeners had to hear how, and also probably believe, any kind of man would have walked into that shower and put a Roy Damn Mercer ass whoopin’ on this pedophile. Well, I call bullshit.

In the words of Billy Bob Thornton in Tombstone, “You run your mouth awful reckless for a man that don’t go heels.” Granted, Johnny Tyler then got his ass handed to him by Kurt Russel’s Wyatt Earp, but the sentiment is accurate. That’s a whole lot of tough talk from a bunch of, ahem, arm chair quarterbacks. Now, don’t misunderstand me, my contention is not that Mike Golic couldn’t whip Jerry Sandusky’s ass, or even that he shouldn’t want to. Nor am I saying McQuery doesn’t have some culpability for failing to do more since Sandusky continued to be associated with the program until recently. Given this incident happened in 2002, he probably should have figured out that child rape was swept under the rug, at least if you believe his story. My problem with all that talk is those bunch SWPL assholes have no idea how they would react in a situation like that. That’s tantamount to looking at a shooting committed by a soldier in Iraq, and saying if I had been there I wouldn’t have shot that guy. You don’t know unless you have been there.

Do you know why eyewitness testimony is unreliable in criminal cases? Because if something happens to someone that was completely unsuspected, that person has a hard time wrapping their minds around what just happened to them. For instance, have you ever had someone jump out and scare you? Was your first reaction to fight? Yeah, only after you recoiled in fear. If you walked into a shower room and saw someone you knew and respected subjecting a ten year old to what you believed to be anal rape, you would have a hard time processing what you just witnessed. That doesn’t necessarily go for everyone, but if a person’s mind is unprepared for that kind of shock, that person won’t realize what they just saw for a while.

You want to be a sports talk show host, then talk about sports. If you want to save sexually abused little kids, take some of your money, or use your celebrity to take other people’s money, and put it where your mouth is like Heath Evens or join a law enforcement agency for real, and put yourself in a position to actually do something about it. Don’t sit behind your microphone and bullshit your audience about what a badass you are because you used to play a kid’s game for a living.

Besides, have you seen how emasculated society has become lately? Children are taught throughout their school years that fighting is always wrong. A little school kid that punches the bully on the play ground will be told he has done wrong, and that he should have told an adult. McQuery reacted just the way he has been conditioned to all his life. Kids are seldom taught that some people just need their asses whooped these days.

Mike and Mike want to bullshit me about Cam Newton or some other black quarterback is going to revolutionize the position? Fine. Colin Cowherd wants to bullshit me that the lack of black sports owners is somehow racist? Okay. I’ll listen to sports talk guys talk about sports. But don’t sit there and pass judgement on the way somebody reacted to such an extremely horrifying situation when you have no experience in the extremely horrifying situations field.

Um, sorry for the tl;dr screed, I had to get that off my chest. I’ll find something to make fun of tomorrow.

 
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Posted by on November 10, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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