​#MNR: BETTER DAYS
 
I’m just about broke to the letter. It can’t get any worse, shit can only get better.
Mic Geronimo
 
I’m trying to make a dollar out of fifteen cents. It’s hard to be legit and still pay the rent.
Makaveli the Don
 
1865 PANTHER PRIDE.
 
I know that a portion of our readership comes from my fellow attendees and alumni from Virginia Union University. It’s so hard to be a Panther, yet we mastered the navigation. A lot of my folk have had successful careers that have afforded them with a good life, financially speaking. I’m certain there are other readers who are successful yet never attended 1500 North Lombardy St. Big ups to y’all. I salute all y’all grinds. This isn’t for y’all.
 
I am a career underachiever. I’ll admit it. Plenty of people had the highest of hopes for me in 2000 when I graduated from VUU. Shit, I had high-level expectations for myself. However, I allowed personal tragedy to jade my view of reality. I chose to forsake the many virtues that were instilled in me from birth. I, feeling defeated by life, chose to go the street route. I had my time. I was up heavy, then lost it all.
 
Ever since the day my apartment #2C at 1400 Jesup Avenue in the Highbridge section of #BXNYC was raided in 2010, I’ve been on a more righteous path. I’ve sought to make up for a lost decade. In that time, I’ve published four works of fiction (my ultimate dream) and have had a respected career as an educator and child care provider. I am proud of my accomplishments in the classroom as a one-to-one, my in-home tutor and behaviorist work, and my time as a counselor and program coordinator in recreation, summer camps and childcare centers. I’ve made a decent living in the process, though far from what a life simulation in 2000 would have projected my earnings to be at this point.
 
I have only myself to blame for all my shortcomings. I cannot blame the white man, daddy issues or life for my position in the rat race. I chose to travel down perilous avenues. I chose to give up on my career prospects during the shaky job market in the immediate period following 9.11.2001 instead of doubling down on my work ethic during tough times. If I would have listened to Shareon I’d be near retirement as a teacher and would probably have at least one professional degree. The stark reality is that I am not. I don’t have much to show in terms of liquidity or overall assets. I’m not speaking out of shame. One thing I’ve always been able to do is confront my demons face to face. I know what I am not. This isn’t a pity party. I’m merely prefacing the true topic of discussion for absolute context.
 
I can’t speak for anyone else because I don’t know anyone’s personal finances, but I can damn sure speak for myself. When I think about my current situation, I think back about two decades ago. I was in my brother Papa Smurf’s crib in Jeff. He, like many NYCHA residents, had a rodent issue. One day when I got to the crib, I noticed he had a sink full of running water in the kitchen. I also noticed that there was an uninvited guest in the diving pool of water. For the sake of this discussion, we’ll call him Jerry. Jerry wasn’t drowned. He was far from deceased; rather, his little body was literally fighting for dear life, treading water, with only his little rodent nose above sea level. I watched him fight for a couple of minutes before diverting my attention to the cheeba session that was finna take place. Jerry was probably dead within minutes, but his life wasn’t in vain. I think about Jerry whenever I’m in deep waters. That MF had death on his little mouse shoulder, but he kept fighting. The will to survive refused to let him relent.
 
Aight y’all. Here’s the point. I’m under more pressure than a fat lady in the choir stand’s girdle during Sunday morning service. Everything, and I mean EVERYTHING has increased in price, from groceries to haircuts to health insurance. Unfortunately, my earnings have not increased. The COVID economic fallout has carved a gigantic scarlet B (for broke) into my chest area to the immediate left of my taco meat. Medical issues and their subsequent bills from a year and some change ago have also been an anchor attached to my ankle while I try to Jerry myself out of the sea of calamity. There’s more money going out than there is coming in. I’m exceedingly thankful for my A-1 credit score and the diverse lines of credit I possess. If it weren’t for credit and “paying a little sum’n on it” (and there’s a whole lot of “it”) every month, I’d be dead in similar figurative waters as the ones where Jerry met his fate. I truly feel like Mic Geronimo felt in “Shit’s Real.”
 
My pockets are suffering, but I truly feel it can’t get any worse. Of course, I know it can, but I feel the way I feel because of my faith. This isn’t my first rodeo on the back of tough times. But just like my brother Mr. 10 will quickly tell you, “Tough times don’t last, tough people do.” I’m built for however long this train ride is, even if it’s from 207th St. in Manhattan to Rockaway Park Beach in Q-borough. For the unlearned, that is the beginning/end and end/beginning of the longest single train route of NYC MTA, the A train. It’s long AF (two hours and change), yet only one fare. I’m built to last. For now, it’s all about treading water and preparing myself for opportunity. I’m set to start an A-1 summer gig that may parlay into a full-time position, but I’m not at all content. I have an interview with an Autism center next week that would be a definite financial upgrade from my current salary. I’m prepared to do whatever I have to do until my financial crisis improves. The pen is still my greatest weapon, and it’s quite active. I still perform freelance copy editing and I am available for freelance writing opportunities. It takes more than a single hustle for most to make it nowadays.
 
Whether or not others are willing to admit it, a lot of folks are suffering [like me] in this current time. Many are worse off than I am. It’s not always easy to admit struggle or shortcomings, but there are usually telltale signs that someone is going through it. Check in on your loved ones. Don’t assume that their situation is all good. They may be teetering on the brink of financial and/or emotional crisis. Pride often comes before the fall, but sometimes they occur simultaneously. Catch them before they fall. We are one.
 
We gon make it, I swear my nigga.
 
tymonday.com: @tymonday on Twitter & IG
crewunb.com: @crewunB on Twitter & @theunbearablescrew on IG

#MNR: MONDAY’S MONDAY MORNING BLUES

 

“Some you win, some you lose.”

Mr. Cheeks

 

“My dick don’t say Yamaha, stop riding.”

Rockness Monstah

 

Congratulations to the Kansas City Chiefs, winners of Super Bowl LVII. They defeated my beloved Eagles 38-35 in an instant classic. Quarterback Patrick Mahomes was named MVP of the contest, leading his team to the championship in a brilliant showing. Two SB trophies means that my guy Andy Reid has solidified himself as one of the greatest coaches in NFL history. I’m always gonna love Fat Andy. He’d have three rings if McNabb didn’t shit his pants a couple decades ago. QB #15 is easily the best player of this generation. He won his second NFL MVP award the night before winning his second Super Bowl ring. I don’t think he’s finished accumulating trophies and rings. Let Jalen get one or two, Patty.

 

Chris Stapleton did his thing with the national anthem. My bro Kev put me on to his music a couple of years ago. I call it “country soul.” My baby girl Rihanna did her thing during the halftime performance, even though she didn’t perform “You Da One.” Critics had their say, but I thought she performed well even though she was visibly pregnant. As Dr. Hollander pointed out, she was never the best dancer to begin with. Finally, the beautiful Sheryl Lee Ralph performed a stirring rendition of “Lift Every Voice and Sing,” also referred to as the Black National Anthem. It has been performed at the SB since 2021, but this was the first year it was televised. It didn’t come without senseless scrutiny, as MAGAt cum guzzlers Lauren Boebert and MTG couldn’t wait to run to Twitter and claim “wokeness.” Weren’t you white trash, piece of shit bitches and your masters already boycotting the NFL because of “wokeness?” You two are detestable, but this was lower than low. Y’all won’t be happy until there are 40M nooses hanging from every strong tree limb in America. Fuck y’all ugly ass, mayonnaise-colored bitches.

 

I’ve never ducked smoke when it comes to shit talking about my sports teams OR defending them. It comes with the territory. But to the MF who texted me last night after we lost, y’all are kinda weird. I could see if your team got the dub against us. However, none of y’all are Chiefs fans. In fact, all y’all are Giants fans. For those who don’t know, we SMOKED the Giants in the Divisional round of the playoffs. The score was 38-7 if memory serves me correctly. We also defeated the Giants in both regular season contests. I understand the NFC East beef; it’s perpetual hatred. But meat riding when your team was already dog walked is beyond weird. Y’all the type of niggas to be happy when ole girl doesn’t give ole boy the buns because you already tried and failed in spectacular fashion. “I bet he don’t get it. I bet he don’t get it. I hope he don’t get it. (Day-Day voice).” GOMD.

 

This segment of #MNR is dedicated to all the lovers. Corporate America has deemed Valentine’s Day as the ultimate commercial holiday, 1.5 months after they already tapped our pockets for the Holiday season. This is a reminder that you’ll be looked at with scorn if you don’t do something nice for your significant other on 2.14. I’m not big on holiday spending as a litmus test for love and affection, but I am big on showing Brandi how much she means to me. She’s been my ride-or-die through everything the past half-decade. My only issue is the fact that I can’t give her the world. I wish I had the money to give her everything she desires. Some wishes come true, so I won’t ever write them off. I refuse to put my pen down until it brings us all the success I’ve ever dreamed of. Until then, I’m going to continue to do all I can to be the best I can be for my queen. Like I said, this is for the lovers. Never forget to tell him/her/whatever pronoun y’all see fit how much y’all love and appreciate them. They deserve it. “Love her or let go, that’s if your lady’s something special.”

 

After a couple of months of healthy debate and campaigning, Jay Blac and the Champion panel came to a consensus on 2022 Champion of the Year (COTY) last night. The winner, as a surprise to some, was none other than the alien himself, Rum Nitty. Nitty, one of the URL’s most popular rappers, has a record of 28-4 on the URL app, good for #1 on the Leaderboard. Nitty’s win comes as a surprise to many, as many figured Shotgun Suge would get the nod, mainly for his flurry of decisive victories in late 2022. But, as the panel was quick to mention and reiterate throughout the process, the COTY vote is for the entire year, not a quarter. Rum went 8-2 or 9-1 according to many, with his only clear (judged) loss coming against Swamp in the Ultimate Madness tournament. Nitty and A-Ward had the Battle of the Year as voted by the fans. It is largely agreed that he won that battle 2-1 clearly. His Bill Collector battle is debatable, although I gave Bill the 2-1 edge. This championship is always highly scrutinized, with subjectivity being the ultimate determinant. I have no problem with Rum Nitty winning the belt and $10K cash purse. Big ups to Rum Nitty, 2022 COTY.

 

To all bloggers and fans upset with the COTY results: If y’all are that damn upset with the results, fund your own Battler of the Year. Put the leg-work in. Do the fundraising like Blac does every year. That’s $10K, the championship belt and all the other cash awards for “of the year” winners. Y’all love to scrutinize yet never offer a solution. Typical n*gg@r shit.

 

I would have been ok with Nitty, Eazy, Swamp, Roc or Suge winning. It’s subjective.

 

As of a few seconds ago (2.14), the death toll of the Turkey/Syria earthquake has eclipsed 37K, making it the worst regional earthquake in a century. About 32 of the 37K fatalities are Turks. Fortunately, more than 8K have been pulled out alive from the rubble in Turkey. The United Nations estimates that up to 5.3M people in Syria may be homeless after the earthquake. Nearly 900K people are in urgent need of hot food in both nations. My prayers haven’t ceased.

 

I am also sending my prayers to the campus of Michigan State University. Three people were murdered Monday evening by a 43-year-old male. This blog will never give any shooter the satisfaction of having his name repeated, but I will say that he was a Black man. What a fucking pussy.

 

Fuck the Pigs. Dr. Rashad Richey shows your corruption on a daily basis, and I loathe you all more each day. This isn’t directed towards Dev, Cooke or any other decent officer. Y’all are good people. But fuck all y’all folk. And fuck all the “good cops” who look the other way when one or more of your partners commit hate crimes on Black men. You pussies are no better.

 

Aye yo CEO – take us the fuck outta here.

 

tymonday.com: @tymonday on Twitter & IG

crewunb.com: @crewunB on Twitter & @theunbearablescrew on IG

#MNR: IGNANT

 

“Grandma pleading, ‘please put the triple beam up.’ Tek with the red beam hanging out the Beamer.”

Westside Gunn

 

“Rey Mysterio, Smoking a J on the top rope.”

Curren$y

 

They said they want that old Monday back. That steal out the medicine cabinet at your white friend’s house Monday. That piss in your shower while I’m taking a shower, hop my fat ass out dripping wet with no towel, dig in my nose and dry my balls with the hand towel on that ring/hook by the sink Monday. Fuck all the politics and middle-aged wisdom shit, Monday. Drop that @iamdjgreen/ early @crewunB Rickey Retardo shit, Monday! We need that shit, to boost our adrenaline. I got y’all. Now, now, I hope y’all got y’all shit pre-rolled. It’s time to take flight. We finna smoke a haystack on the outermost ring of Saturn, legs swinging, staring at the Milky Way. But please be careful. The TSA at Saturn Interglobal is a bitch. I heard they were trained by the MF at Atlanta Hartsfield.

 

What the fuck is going on in this summabitch? Me? I can’t call it. I’ve got a lot on my plate, but not enough to act special or beg sympathy. I’m a be ok. Irrespective of the outcome, I leave it all at God’s feet. That’s the best and only plan. In the words of some unknown genius, it is what it is. So...where do we begin this week’s excellent adventure? I’ll tell you where it won’t begin – with the flower man. I’ve left the counterculture once again. I have no idea for how long. I don’t think it’ll be long term. Now, before you begin to heap praise in my direction and tell me how much of a good look it is for health purposes, please take a page from Unc Shan (MC Shan, not Unc Shay Sharpe) and kill that noise. I’m not doing it for any health-related reason. I’m doing it because of the low-end theory, no Tribe. I can’t afford to smoke good. I’ve got hella bills and limited income. I can’t afford to partake, at least not without it killing me financially. I’m going to take a break until I get a handle on these bills. At the moment it’s looking like an extended break until the summer. The summer should be extra lit because I’ve secured an awesome position that I’m praying will eventually parlay into a long-term venture. There’s more to come on that end. But until then, I won’t be purchasing any tree. Now, if you want to come through and light the stickiest of the ickiest, I’m down like Ice Cube and Public Enemy. If you want to Cash App/Zelle/Venmo a bruva a love offering or drop a pack of that satin off, go on ‘head and send that thang to your boy. You are appreciated. Lmao.

 

Big ups to President Sleepy Joe for shooting that Foo Yum spy balloon down after it was SAFELY out over the Atlantic Ocean, where its debris and contents were swiftly retrieved. America said it was a spy balloon. China said it was a weather balloon and took its forced grand closing as an act of...something. Sniping it down immediately (like the conservative news world and ignorant MF wanted) could’ve resulted in trouble (Bernie Mac voice) for us American earthlings. The balloon was the size of three cheese buses. Its subsequent debris could have landed anywhere. Imagine a 30x20-foot piece landing on an interstate during AM or PM rush hour. There could’ve been a 1,000,000-vehicle pile-up. Mass casualties. What if it fell on the countryside and killed all kinds of wildlife? What if it fell on a power grid and caught fire? What if a part of the “weather apparatus” fell over an elementary school and fatally clipped a few children? My number one problem with social media is that every damn body thinks that they’re the experts on every damn topic, even though there’s a X% chance they haven’t received a single hour of training/education on the topic. Bitch, you can’t even pay your phone bill on time yet you’re an expert on national defense? Y’all need to relax, or at least shut the fuck up. Much appreciated.

 

RIP to the brother Boom P from the YouTube series Respect Life. I don’t know how he passed, but I know he suffered immensely after smoking a laced blunt some time ago. I found out he was a good friend of my favorite battle rap blogger Angryfan 007, aka CAPS. He explained their friendship and everything Boom P had going on. Rest in peace to him once more. The message after the blessings is to please be very careful who you smoke with and who you cop from if you don’t buy from dispensaries. Be extra careful if you (somehow) still cop block work. If you do, remember that it’s 2023. That’s nasty work.

 

INSTANT UPDATE: My brother Brad just blessed me with a grizzle of Thin Mint GSC. It’s smoking like a ’72 deuce and a quarter with a fucked-up carburetor AND in need of an oil change. The marathon continues.

 

Y’all ever took a shit at work that was so crazy that you went on ‘head and left for the crib afterward? Y’all ever take a shit and don’t completely squeeze one of the turds out and get left with all types of shit on your toilet paper AND your hand when you wipe your stankin’ ass? Word. Me either.

 

I remember when the great, late Baltimore Street legend and The Wire alum Little Melvin said he saw a nigga win a million in one dice game on a ‘70s West Baltimore Saturday night. He also said he got cracked one night, immechiately went to the trunk, retrieved $180K and kept rolling. That era was so amazing. No internet, no social media, no snitching, no GPS, no HIV/AIDS, no COVID, no bullshit. Syke. Nostalgia is a beautiful thing. But shit’s been fucked up since we hopped up off those slave ships. When you walk through the garden, watch your back...

 

I’m sending a myriad of prayers to those affected by the earthquake in Turkey and Syria. The earthquake, 7.8 in magnitude, killed more than 4,000. The death toll is certain to rise, as thousands of buildings were leveled across a vast region. News of the earthquake caught my immediate attention. I had the privilege of tutoring a couple of young Turks at their home in Tenafly. I was paid handsomely per session, and the love and loyalty of the family (down to their canine Ginger) was/is amazing. I love all of them. I’m still in semi-regular contact with the oldest child (now a senior in college), who texts me from time-to-time to vent about politics and race or ask serious questions he can’t ask others. Their mom is a beautiful and tough lady who raised four children on her own. She was an actual Olympic athlete. They’re top-tier humans. Prayerfully, none of their kin were harmed. The earthquake did not occur in their area. Please keep Turkey in your prayers. As my guy E was quick to point out about his homeland, “An inefficient dictatorship [Erdogan] means helping the survivors is going to be slow.”

 

I laughed so hard at the first episode of That ‘90s Show that I damn near hurt my whole left side. I’m actually scared to watch the rest because a) I’m gon end up binging the entire season in 1.5 sessions or b) the first episode was a false-positive and the series is basura like That ‘80s Show. (3 thinking emojis)...nah. I didn’t get through 15 minutes of Episode 1 of that atrocity. That shit was dumpster juice from the shits beside the 7/11 near the circle in the Wood.

 

Bass in this place means peace, see you later. Time to shake a leg and get up in the wind, sugar.

 

tymonday.com: @tymonday on Twitter & IG

crewunb.com: @crewunB on Twitter & @theunbearablescrew on IG

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