The musings of a madman...

“The Elements” Back on September 1 , I explained – err, shared Will Smith’s explanation of – the relationship of talent and skill. Those are not the elements I intend to speak on this month. February 5 th was my, unbeknownst to either of you, official end to my holiday malaise.  I had been thinking and brainstorming on shit I would write when I sat down and put myself to it, but had not typed a damn thing in weeks.  The last place I had left off in the moment was my ongoing beef with Santa Claus . That morning, I sat down at work after dropping the princess off at school, and I started typing.  Pt II was born in less than an hour.  A little later, III was real.  As of when you read this, I am done through at LEAST part VI and have plans for the series. Focusing still on that same week, I wrote my Hotep Wednesday post THE morning it was to be posted.  I wrote The Bakery later on that afternoon at the end of my lunch break.  Friday morning, I wrote the two most recent Ma

      My boredom will kill me one day… So I am sitting in the living room with the big TV, minding my own business one d--… Wait! Y’all know those commercials where the MOST vanilla and racially unambiguous American is talking to the camera about doing their ancestry.com profile to dig deeper into their own personal beginnings and at the end of the commercial they’re in full-on cultural appropriation mode? So back to me and the big Vizio… One time Mimi is at work and I am home with computers and no adult supervision.   I go onto one of those DNA testing sites and order up one of those kits through my job’s discount program.   I send the information in on the form and leave the DNA results open for matches to perhaps meet up with some unknown and undiscovered family members.   I mean, my aunt on dad’s side has done extensive research in an era where family bibles were the only way to learn things and mom’s side all knows each other well, so it felt harmless.     

     Mother fuck me… I knew when I got into this shit that I would find myself flirting with international improprieties sooner rather than later.  I’m on the way from service on the car, about to get Ava from school one day and the phone rings… “dafuq, what the hell are all these plus signs and extra digits?” It was an international number.  I wish I had saved it. Caller: “Good afternoon, Mr Phillips.” Me: “No ‘Mr.’ needed, Phillip is my first name.” Caller: “Oh, I am very sorry.  Please excuse my English, it is not my first language.” [ Phlip note : why the fuck am I only now realizing that I should probably be using Moe Phillips for this operation?] Me: “S’all good.  With whom do I have the pleasure of conversing with?” Caller: “My name is Mr. [somethingsoutheasterneuropeanish], I am calling on behalf of my local government in search of a product that you apparently have a unique ability to produce at a very attractive price.” Me: “Ahh shit.” Caller: “

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     So check it… Last month, my man Marlon came to visit for a weekend with the plan of mopping up behind an old conquest he had failed to take action on in the moment.  As it were, the--…  wait… Read the damn story and come back. Welcome back.      So anyway.  Anyone who knows anything about Greensboro knows that we are the 3 rd largest city in NC and the 68th largest in the United States by population (links for reference/proof) .  With that said, we are not the tiny little Podunk town that public schools in larger states and The Andy Griffith Show would have you believe we are. Until it comes down to who is fuckin’ who.      If I never told y’all this, my True Story© is always rooted in things that actually happened.  Somewhere, somehow, some way.  I leave it up to you, dear reader, to decipher where in the presentation I might be pulling your leg – IF I am pulling your leg. And that is the fun of it.      So as it happened, soon after I posted that story,

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