#MNR: COCO MANGO
“Baby when I tell you I love you, I mean this life. Baby when I tell you I need you, I mean these lights.”
“I can’t be touched bitch, I disco with kryptonite.”
On rainy days I sit back and craft drafts in 4K. Days like this make me reminisce on when Chubby told me about the times he went in on a 4-way – twice in one day (IYKYK). The imagery blew my brain to bits, similar to the time I listened to Illmatic, the first day. It inspired me to lace my ACGs and go get it – with no delay.
Confession: I’ve been back on the flowers for a month or so. Strong. I’m quite pleased with the reunion.
EDIT – I BEGAN THIS BLOG YESTERDAY. IT WAS RAINING LIKE A MF. THUNDER, TOO. SO I WAS ON A DIFFERENT TYPE OF TIME.
Namond Moments is an eponymous phrase I created that sums up when I experience a certain type of moment in this wonderful life. For those who are unaware, the Namond I’m referring to is Namond Brice (played by Julito McCullum), fictitious West Baltimore eighth grade student at Edward J. Tilghman Middle School in the GOAT television series The Wire. He’s the son of Roland “Wee-Bey” Brice (played by Hassan Johnson), infamous, respected and feared enforcer for the Barksdale Organization. Even though Namond acts the part of Wee-Bey's son, he’s nothing like his father. He’s softer than baby shit. But anyway...the moment I took my bookmark from came when Namond was asked by two classmates to stand outside the bathroom door and look out while they took a smoochie into one of the stalls to – do some good old algebra. Namond held them down (for the most part). A few days later (and after the vitriol and ridicule that comes from smutting in a public-school bathroom stall), ole girl flipped the script and accused the boys of epar (use your head). Namond saw her in the vice principal’s office crying crocodile tears as she talked to the VP and the authorities. Namond simply walked by, gave a 3.5 second glare and continued walking to wherever he had to go. I immediately discerned his exact feelings. Shit was fucked up OD but won’t shit he could do about it. So, in the words of my guy O.C., he let it slide – he let it slide and he walked on by. I can’t even count how many times I’ve had Namond Moments in my life, continuing through the present day. And I’m talmbout real shit. I already know what it is when I see what’s going down. But ain’t a damn thing I can do about it. C’est la vie. I can’t fake, though. That shit really hurts sometimes. The legend Brad “Scarface” Jordan said it best: “I often wish that I could save everyone, but I’m a dreamer.” Since Shareon transcended, I’m not at all apathetic, I’m just not nearly as empathetic. Nine outta ten that MF had it coming. “I seen the realest niggas get murdered, and they deserved it.” Queen Lauryn Hill said it better than I ever could. I concur with Lauryn. Her third cousin NORE added to the discussion when he exclaimed, “You hate the law, nigga break it. I don’t care. But when you get caught, remember that I don’t care.” It is what it is. But damn, sometimes I wish I had a rewind button. RIP P.R. We’re going on 19 years that you’ve been in the essence.
I miss my nigga. I miss all my niggas. But since my mother passed, I mostly shed tears through the keyboard. They don’t fall out of my eyes too tough anymore. It’s not that I’m some tough guy. I’m just more understanding and accepting of mortality. Throw in calamity, too.
FOR MY TRUE THE WIRE FANS
Who noticed that one of the boys that got hemmed up fucking with that smoochie was a perp sitting in the box (interrogation room) for a body on Season 5? He was one of the boys the detectives ran that old play of divide, feed one of the boys, lie to the other boy about the food being a reward for cooperation to trick him into thinking his man snitched on him, which causes the unfed boy to believe the chicanery and confesses to the body (implementing boffum, of course). Wicked shit.
Women and police play games.
Shut up. I know that was a long-ass sentence, but just read it as if I were telling it to you while you were sitting shotgun twisting a Philly in a gravy stain colored two-door ’91 Tercel. Hot ass day. No AC. Windows ROLLED down. 103 percent humidity. Sweat bubbling up on both our foreheads, but mine much more so cuz I have a 6.5 head.
Kih my aah if you laughed at my 6.5.
I’m tired of seeing you lightweight, lazy copy editors allow all these news articles (posts) to be published containing all types of simple errors. YOU HAD ONE JOB!!! Are y’all proofreading while watching a dirty website on the split screen? Seriously – are you shaking one off under the desk? Are you high? Are you dumb (Remy Ma voice)? You sommabitches blow mine. Consistently. I’m telling ya. Just wait until Indeed sends me an indeed for a copy editor job at your media. I’m coming for ya. I’m a run you down like Jerome ran the SUV down on that episode of Martin where they won the raffle for the jeep and then proceeded to [accidently] fuck it up over the course of the episode. And yes, I’m fucking your left rearview ALL the way up, just like Romey Rome did. Then I’m a come up to your office (even if you work at the crib) and knock some shit off your desk, a la Steve and Cedric on The Steve Harvey Show. I’m like that.
Sometimes, you just gotta pass the reefa to yourself.
It scuffs my Nikes when MF hate on a Black movie because some critic or actor talked down on it. This ain’t for my white folk. I’m talking to us. You niggas stay hating on another person’s progress. You don’t need to do all that. You niggas HATED on House Party 3. Run that hoe back and look at Bernard Jeffrey McCullough’s performance. He KILLED EVERY scene he was in. The dinner table scene with Reynaldo Rey is LEGENDARY. MF hated to 100% capacity on Soul Plane. I didn’t forget. Our own folk hated on it. The funny part is that Kevin (Hart) was nowhere near the level of fame he’s gone on to achieve. I wonder if he holds grudges (hand on chin emoji). I loved both movies. Once again, you MF gotta stop career hating on your own folk. Willie Lynch ass MF. Try showing some genuine love to your people. We gotta stop this shit. Not every chain the colonizer placed on us was physical. The strongest, most durable chains and restraints placed on us were mental. They have only grown stronger. But I’m not selling any damn chicken dinners to fundraise for unity. All I got for you is Matthew 7:12. That’s the Golden Rule, for those who aren’t versed. I’m quite confident that if we begin there, we are on the path to something better than what we have. And if that doesn’t work, just stay the fuck from ‘round me. Please and thank you.
Now, I know some of y’all are thinking “damn, that nigga went hard over two damn nondescript ass movies,” and I did. But damn it, I said what I said.
On that note, I’m a tip my fat ass smooth up out of here. I told y’all I was gonna be all over the place.
I dedicate this blog to all the people who threw cookouts that I attended and ate at uninvited.
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