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True Story©... Shot Shooting

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       He came back, y'all… "Who?" you ask?      Y'all remember back in October when we accidentally turned on the living room TV and I had to go downstairs to turn it off and found an intruder in my living room? This motherfucker had the brazen gall to come back to my house! [ Phlip Note : FWIW, with an update to the Fire TV app, they added a power button and now I can power the TV off from anywhere my wifi reaches ]      This time, though, he was here in the daytime. I'm in the front yard last Wednesday working on one of my signature double-pattern-triple-pass cuts when an old beat up car pulls into my driveway and parks right next to the yard. Apart from me looking at ANYONE who doesn't know me (and most people who DO, for what it matters) sideways when they park in my driveway instead of on the street, it should be noted that I tend to move all cars to the opposite side of the driveway so I can properly turn the mower ...
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True Story© Contrapment

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Look, I know it isn’t an actual word.      In The Wire season three/episode 12, after two and two-thirds seasons of Herc and Carver picking him up and whooping his ass in the course of questionable arrests that never stuck, we find Preston “Bodie” Broadus in the clutches of Jimmy McNulty and Rhonda Pearlman after am arrest for selling drugs while in the protected area, dubbed "Hamsterdam." Those of you who know the show know that Hamsterdam was supposedly a free zone where no one was to be arrested for peddling their wares, as promised by law enforcement.  Based on that knowledge, to then turn and arrest someone for a situation you specifically set them up in is entrapment, but Bodie was a middle school dropout and that word became “contrapment” instead. Not bad thinking in the moment from the boy.      After my recent binge rewatch of The Wire, I noticed things I had not seen/remembered in my initial viewings, and one t...
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True Story©… Get What You Asked For

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       I spend a lot of my (semi-) adulthood running away from my childhood… … oh, and I will NOT be addressing my absence for the last month. IYKYK.      When I dropped by my barber two weeks ago, the first thing he asked was "damn, how many pairs of shoes do you HAVE!?"  as I was sitting down to receive my fade. I sat and calmly explained that my sneaker collection -- and yes, I wear my shit -- is a direct response to how we came up. We didn't have a lot, and 100% literally never got new release shoes, always the clearance ones or the ones that found their way to Marshalls, until I was a senior in High School and could buy my own shit.  Even then, I got a side eye for buying them. Sure, we had Nikes but not the ones everyone else had. More frustrating is that this happened in the golden era of the early 90s, so my interest in sneakers at that time was mostly as an outsider who couldn't afford to come inside.      That w...
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