#MNR: ANALOG KIDS
“Check the script, nobody ever gave me shit.”
Always remember that there’s a person somewhere without feet when yours are worn and tired from an arduous journey. I suppose we all have our struggles. Some struggles are tougher than others. I figure that we’re all going through something. There’s no shame in feeling some type of way. But if all your bills are paid and all your needs are met, there’s no need to hang your head, throw a pity party, or player hate the next person whose perceived position is better than yours. Praise the Lord and keep grinding. What’s promised will come. Just keep your faith and grind on 100%.
If that bit of encouragement was what you needed -- it was for you.
I don’t wanna politic y’all to death.
“That stress shit is ill, if you let it, it will, have your ass in the staircase smoking a crill.”
We’re not going the political route tonight. We’re having some fun tonight.
From here on, this blog is live from the B-Stairs – in all its pistivity. Rollie guts, blunt & cigarette ashes, dried phlegm loogies and plastic wrappers. And we can’t forget the tags on the walls, whether pen, magic marker, Sharpie or the flame from a lighter. Listen out for police creepin’ with their walkie talkies on silent. They’re hip to the game. But so are we. We invented the game.
My guys are reading The Hate U Give. It’s my first read. I haven’t seen the movie either. I’ve been familiar with the book for years and knew about the movie when it came out. I like Ms. Angie Thomas’ style. It’s cute. You prolly thought that was shade, but it wasn’t. She’s brilliant.
I prefer my work, but I really like hers. And she’s pizz-aid.
The soundman in Yankee Stadium just played the incoming wave alert in a wave pool sound. I was legit scared for 0.5. Or maybe it was the sound in the park to alert when a thunderstorm is coming. Either way I pee-pee’d a lil in my Polo boxer briefs. I wasn’t ready.
You ever farted outside the vehicle, waited a minute to let the smell subside (remember it’s outside), got in the V – and still stank that shit up? Word. Me either.
The Nike SNKRS app can suck the skin off a Times Square glizzy for not letting me get a W on those military Black 4s. I’m not paying StockX. I’m not paying the 5 (IYKYK)!!! There are entirely too many fakees stories in circulation for my blood pressure. All jokes aside, I’m not paying $350. I’ve got the Breds. I’ve got a couple other 4s too but damn it I’ve got the Breds. Eat my shorts.
Stranger Things Season 4 is going out like Frank Matthews (that’s a great thing, 85ers). I’m not even finna give y’all any spoilers either. I’m just talking about the show lengths. All seven episodes of Part 1 are over an hour. Episode seven is 1:40. That’s a damn full-length motion picture. I’m not done yet. Part 2 of season 5 drops on 7.1.2022. It’s a two-episode conclusion. Episode 8 is like 1:20-1:40 and the finale is 2:40. THAT’S TWO HOURS AND FORTY MF MINUTES!!! THAT’S ENDGAME TYPE LENGTH (pau...nigga please. I’m grown)!!! I don’t care what you think about Stranger Things. I like it. I don’t care if you think it’s a kiddie show. Buff my tip. I like it. I don’t care about all the bullshit Twitter is talking about (shit I’m not mentioning in this blog). I like it. Go climb a tree. Kick a rock until you bleed in the toe.
Wash your ass, change your drawers. Socks too.
It was so hot outside today I damn near made a run for the gunline.
Now, now if you didn’t wash your ass on a day like today, please don’t come ‘round me. I live in the suburbs. I don’t want to smell a musty MF amidst my work or travels. I can’t get the smell off my mind or out my nostrils. I kinda wanna Ronaldo you in the fibula for forcing me to smell your funky ass.
Y’all ever seen the brother on the Social Security Administration commercial talmbout beware of scammers trying to trick you out of your paper? I smile every time I see that shit. It’s definitely for white folk, no question. Cuz there isn’t a Black MF alive who would be phased by one of those calls. We’re not giving you shit. We don’t care where you’re calling from. We already know the drill. We ain’t got it. And even if you were legit, we ain’t got it. Even if we really do have it, we ain’t got it. If I had an old-school landline phone and you called me with that bullshit, I would take all sorts of pleasure in slamming the phone in your face. That click is so abrupt and final. The dial tone is flat-out disrespectful.
It's damn near to the point where you might gotta sell a little bit of ass to make a good trip to the grocery store. I’m currently pricing six chickens, two turkeys and contemplating going half on a heifer. I got a connect at the farmer’s market, but that’s on the down, down. Holla at me off camera. Sis made a good point yesterday when we were all politicking about the lack of African American barbecues/cookouts on Memorial Day. Ain’t nobody tryna spend all that money on groceries for MF who don’t even live in their household to eat up. Peeing on the damn toilet seat. Drinking up all the drank. You trifling coloreds. I ain’t mad. I’m faking. I’m a lil mad. Don’t worry, y’all. I’m throwing at least 1.5 functions per year when we cop the crib. Don’t bring your ass through empty-handed though. I will lovingly reroute you to the local Wal Mart and/or package store. Please and thank you. Fuckers.
Big ups to all the YouTube content creators out there. Niggas hate on y’all craft because they’re high-key mad they didn’t pioneer your concept. They think it’s easy money. They think it should be them. But they lack the ability. They lack the talent. Most of all, they lack ambition. That’s the essence of hate. It affirms the “thin line” theory. They really love your shit. They’re just mad it’s not them. But every time they open their ashy lips, they’re just giving you free advertising/promo. So thank them.
Stop career hating you hating ass MF. Go out and get your own. Create your own. Stick with it. Pay your tithes and your tax.
I just want all you plastic lighter using MF to know that I’m looking at you a type of way. If your flame is turned up I’m out. You’re on that shit.
Stop littering. You nasty, trifling, dusty ass MF.
If only y’all knew how many days I spent sittin’ in da park. Real memory lane type shit. Watson Gleason Park, #BXNYC. Jeff Park, #eastside Harlem. If y’all know the song y’all know the vibe. I miss those days for a lot of reasons. It’s crazy thinking about how that era is long gone. They talk about the mid- ‘90s. We lived that shit. It really was a different world.
Life is a song worth singing. Don’t let your circumstances steal your joy. If they do, steal that shit back. If that doesn’t work, subscribe to HBO Max and binge watch Martin Seasons 2&3. Roll up a box of Phillies. Po’ up. Live your life.
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