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The Bastard Chronicles: Three Things or Thou Shalt Not Juugg Self

Here is a list of the three things that matter to you that will have to catch me on the Kendrick Lamar humble before getting ANY (aside from this post) energy from me.


1. The Kanye West album

2. That fucking sammich

3. Harriet: the biopic

Honorable mention goes to T.I, Tekashi and any new rapper designated as the wave or any other new ridiculous distinction. To be very honest, I'm a contrarian. I am the grown manifestation of Cartman in that South Park episode: I do what I want.




Here's why----

Juugg season never ends. Barnum told you that a juugg victim is born every minute. And I gotta be the juuggee because of the system in which I live. Like I can't avoid it.

Systematic juugging afforded me jail time, child support struggles and the privilege of overpaying for anything not procured from the thrift store.

So. Guess what does not interest me? Juugging my damn self.

So. I regularly avoid anything that SUDDENLY has everyone's attention. Wanna know why? We can't even agree to vilify and impeach that orange guy, but somehow our collective consciousness allows us all to agree on the merits of a sandwich. From Popeyes. Because suddenly Popeyes makes gourmet shit? Nigga!

And Aside from the fact that Kanye defines batshit crazy; and I'm only addressing poetic insanity because the real mental issues shall not be minimized, he is now the spokesperson for Christianity? Shiiid. Ion even go to church and I don't buy that. And if I DID go to church, I would be sorely offended. And then, there's the part of me that laughs under the suggestion that MAYBE Kanye does address REAL Christianity. Maybe it REALLY is hypocritical bullshit.


And then there is this continued minstrel bowl of Cream of Wheat disguised as a tribute to the real Lady Freedom: Harriet Tubman.

Side note: you title the movie by her first name in spite of the fact that referring to adults by only their first name was a tried and true way to humble them in the presence of any whites. You know? Calling a man a boy or a woman gal? Like even little bitty white kids could address adults by their first names and still get called mister in return? I won't go into what I've learned from think pieces (new, fictional Black villain and white savior) because I am committed to not drinking that grape drank flavored Kool-Aid. Why you ask? Because I read Roots. And I watched it, too. Plus the next generation. I've watched the slave narratives with Oprah. And my heart broke reading the words of Cudjoe Lewis in Zora Neale Hurston's post-posthumously "Barracoon." And, Zora notwithstanding, I am ALL SLAVED-OUT! (Trademark ANON The Griot, December 2019)


I'm ready to hear the stories of the Freedman's Bureau. Black Wall Street prior to its incineration at the hands of flaccid, white egos. Or... just give me a story of survival. We got Raisin in the Sun; give me MORE stories of those who victoriously crossed red lines.

Give Kool Herc his just due. Gil Scott-Heron. Asatta Shakur. Angela Davis. Move. Mumia Abu-Jamal (who wrote the forward to my first book, Locked Up But Not Locked Down...).

Give me ANYTHING.

But I am aware that even we have deemed them unprofitable ventures. Unless Madea finds a way to make a cameo.


What I'm saying is this--- WE still haven't agreed on a victor in the battle of Jay Z versus Nas. And that's almost two decades old. We STILL haven't agreed on if we forgive Danny Glover for his almost too-real portrayal of Mister. We can't even agree that sugar definitely does not go in grits.

Yet. As soon as Popeyes releases a sammich, we collectively crown it the G.O.A.T. of particle-board chicken delicacies. Just remember, chitterlings are also considered a delicacy.


Post Script:

I did go to the theaters to see Harriet. Actually, I chaperoned a field trip. With a LOT of kids. So many that I spent the whole time playing Crazy Joe as East Side High went to the movies. I worked so diligently that I was not afforded even 30 seconds of screen time. Thank you, Universe. You allowed me to talk my shit and keep my word.



ASE. Peace. (And I still ain’t ate that damn sammich!!!)



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