Skip to main content

a Tragedy of Three Wrongs

Let's talk about this nigga:



For those of you that live under a rock, this nigga shot and killed a news woman and her cameraman on live TV.  Was it fucked up?  Very. Will I find reason to defend his actions?  Fuck, no.  That being said, there are a few things that we have missed that need to be addressed.

Additionally, I won't even put these lost lives on the many of you that argue against gun control.  You don't have an argument, so why fucking argue?

Okay.

This nigga broke three unwritten American rules:

First:
 He's supposed to be jolly.  Everybody knows that overweight niggas on TV gots to be jolly and/or linemen.  This nigga took his job of not shucking, jiving or pushing other fat Black men around too seriously and ended up in HR several times for not licking boots and false starting.

You see, it is being widely reported that this man had issues at the station with co-workers.  He was hostile and stand-offish which may seem like a red flag to White people but half the niggas I know have been in some form of trouble at work for exactly the same shit; myself included...several times.

The problem is that White people don't see themselves being the cause of hostility because who would hate to be in a room full of bubbly middle class White folks all day? (Answer:  working class Negroes, Mexicans and poor White folks, rich White folks and most middle class White folks)

Second:
In modern 'Murica, crazy niggas are only supposed to kill other crazy niggas. That's why we can laugh off Chicago's outrageous murder rate.  But, this crazy nigga went full on Bigger Thomas (Google it, I don't have time) and blew a hole in the narrative.  It leaves room for the thought that maybe all the Black people that get killed by crazy niggas didn't deserve that shit either.  Of course that would mean mainstream America could take logical baby steps and lets face it, Americans take logical steps about as well as a drunken, one legged kangaroo.

Lastly:
He cracked.  Every minority you know has had their success muted by shitty, obliviously racist White people that saw no problem in those ideas they stole and the credit they took.  They didn't see the problem with celebrating their success in the face of those they stepped over and it left the victims with two choices:  die a little inside or feed the beast.  Most of us accept that dying a bit is just a part of getting older because the alternative is worse.  Feeding the beast is like feeding a baby alligator.  Sooner or later it's going to be too big for its cage.

You know a nigga has cracked when he starts citing crazy White dudes as inspiration.  The first time you start thinking of the Columbine killers as inspiration (as Tubby McCrazy did in his manifesto), do us all a favor and shoot yourself in the face.  Matter of fact, as soon as your manifesto hits 5 pages, please talk to your bestie, homie, main nigga, stripper or psychiatrist; the latter two if you got money like that.

It's a known fact that Black don't crack but what people don't know is that this saying isn't just about our ability to stay sexy past 70 years old but to also keep on pushing despite the odds.  99.99999% of us take some slight to our very humanity every day without a flinch.  We go home, drink our Hennessy, kiss our kids/spouse/bae and are prepared for a better tomorrow; or at least one no more surprising than yesterday.

The beast got out on this guy and maybe revealed to White America the beast inside all of us.  I wonder if that is where they got the name "Crack" for cooked up cocaine.  It does seem to make niggas that have given up hope let the beast out.

All I'm saying is that it's too easy to accept the narrative of "Nigger gone wild".  I think we are paying too much attention to the fact that this shit happened on live TV.  People getting shot in this country happens all the time, like 30,000 times a year, and just because we pretend that it doesn't affect us if we don't see it, doesn't mean we're safe.  We're in this shit together.  Love it or hate it this land is OUR land and if we are going to play crazy about a cancer eating our hand, we can't be shocked when it spreads to our heart.

If you accept that this crazy nigga was born that way, be prepared to face an inexplicable world.  I'd rather we all see a world where we all kinda drove that nigga off the deep end (handed him a pistola) and set his beast out.  Maybe if only a few of us could see this, we can prevent the next dead White girl and isn't that what America is all about?

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

There's gold in them thar crates

Right now I’m listening to Camp Lo’s Uptown Saturday Night.   I don’t know how much play this album got around the nation when it dropped in 1997, but it didn’t get any love in Kansas City, but If you haven’t heard, it is the shit! I don’t know when it became the general consensus that rap music that didn’t come out in the last 6 months isn’t good but we have to remember hip-hop’s history of being the product of people that were willing to dig in those crates. Bargain bins at the used CD store, garage sales and amazon.com all have great CDs that you never heard.   Not to mention all of those CDs with 2 or 3 great songs on them. My point is that great music doesn’t have a shelf life.   Just because Kanye and Jay-Z keep coming out with hits doesn’t mean Reasonable Doubt and The College Dropout aren’t great CDs.   It’s just the opposite.   There has been a long time since somebody referred to a rap album that is universally referred to as a classic.   Think about it.   There have

R.I.P. Rusty Hayes

Pretty soon here I’m going to say goodbye to my dad.   I suppose that I already have.   When I walked into the place where he lived and saw him there, dead, with his mouth cocked open in a very strange angle, I realized that I had been saying goodbye to my dad for some time now.   That body that laid there in the nursing home did not resonate my father at all. You see, my dad was a big guy.   Always was to me.   That body there was emaciated and small; so much not the powerful figure that I remember. When I was younger, I remember how much I wanted to grow up to look like my dad.   He was muscular, handsome and light skinned and I was anything but (I still have beef with every negro that got blessed with being light skinned in the ‘90s).   The best thing about my dad, though, is that he had a serious thirst for life.   He always laughed so hard that you had to turn around and wonder what the fuck was going on over there that was so damned funny.   When I was young, I couldn’t

I'm going to get myself killed

I’m not suicidal or anything.   I just tend to forget to protect myself.   I don’t even get scared when things get real.   I remember distinctly the first time I saw someone try to kill someone else. Me and the boys were partaking in our favorite pastime; playing football in the street.   It was around the time we were all in middle school so I was around 12 years old.   I had probably just passed the 100 lbs. mark.   It was like any other afternoon in the summer but suddenly some man came running up the street.   Something was off about him.   He was running too hard.   He wasn’t even running that fast but you could tell he was trying his heart out.   Just as he was turning the corner at the end of the block, we found out why.   Another man came up the hill behind us as we watched the running man go.   He wasn’t running either.   He had more of a brisk walk.   When he got far enough over the slope of the hill he raised his right arm, took aim and fired three shots while he was