So, for the first time in American history, a Black man has clinched the Democratic nomination.  This has led to a lot of speculation across the nation and the world in general (as most people believe there is no way McCain can win).  Right now, Barry is a rock star and about to join the pantheon of African American patron saints, right next to the last inductee, Tiger Woods (Cablanasian my black ass).  Most people think he will be assassinated in office.  However, I think somethng a little more insidious may sabotage Barack.

I think scattered ass has the potential of f’ing this thing all up.  Real talk, he is a Harvard grad and a lawyer.  Reason enough to get strange ass.  Then he is a Senator, and we know how much ass Senators get.  He is a tall, well-groomed black man (no homo).  But now he may be the Leader of The Free World.  He is arguably the most charismatic democratic candidate since the Kennedys.  Chicks are writing songs about this man, J.Lo and Scarlett Johanssen are his groupies. 

Mr. Obama, if I had your hand, I would cut mine off.

We know that you can look like Lil’ Wayne and still catch mad “ho’s” if you have a.) Power, b.) Money c.) Swag d.) Some combination of all of the above.  In all actuality, Mr. Obama falls into category d.  White girls love him because of A and B and minorities because of C.  This all adds up to more “bus down” access than Wild Billy Clint had.  And I don’t know about you, but you gotta be from another galaxy to turn down all that poon or gay (even Dr. King could not say “no” to that “Snappy, Nappy Dugout”, word to Sam Jackson in Juice).  And we know Mr. Obama is neither. 

Black men are especially susceptible to this because we suffer from chronic unemployment and systematic disenfranchisement, lower pay, lower life expectancy and a litany of other social ills.  So fuckin is basically your manhood.  In the black community, you always must project that you “beatin it up” and “keep it pimpin’.”   Every black man takes pride in his ability to “slang that wood” and satisfy not one woman, but multiple women.

So for Barack, who has chosen to play the role of the “Golden Boy” will have to do the impossible and avoid scandal at all cost.  If he gets caught two timin’ Michelle, this could have a detrimental impact on his legacy, the black community and any black man who aspires to a position of leadership (if you don’t believe me, ask Jesse “stop fuckin with them hos” Jackson, Kobe “I like a little booty hole” Bryant, and Kwame “Textual Seduction” Kilpatrick).

But don’t be surprised if some stuff involving Mr. Obama with his hand in the cookie jar ends up coming out, if not before November, after. 

So Mr. Obama, I want to offer you a little unsolicited advice…put yo’ wang on ice until your eight years are up sir.  You knew the job was dangerous when you took it, now you gotta stick to the script.  Because everything done in the dark, does come to light.  You know the other woman will not keep the fact that she was blowin yo socks off a secret.  She will tell someone, and these skeezers now write books detailing the number of veins in your wood. 

You don’t want to be the first president to go through a “baby mama drama” while in office.  Because I think Michelle will leave you, after she shanks yo’ ass.  Just a thought fam. 

Cav Out.

Today is Tuesday to most of the world, but for those of us who have been listening to lollipop and a milli for the last 2 months, its the day that Lil Wayne’s long awaited Carter 3 drops.

And thus the war within begins.

You see, I like Weezy F., have been since he was rhyming on 400 Degreez about how he doesn’t curse.  Yep, remember that shit? Back in 1999, when niggas thought computers were gonna crash and the KKK was gonna shoot a gang of black people on New Year’s….but I digress.  Weezy’s explanation back then was that he wanted to be a role model….fast forward about 9 years.

Niggas are damn near a decade older, rap is more of a southern art form, if you wanna call it art, and Lil Wayne is the only Hot Boy still making records…so where is the war you ask?  I like Wayne, the kid has flow, has prescence, has charisma, shit, he damn near has it all.  But I have a problem with his message.

I was watching the Blueprint the other day on BET, and after many many gut reactions, I decided to watch Lil Wayne on said show.  And thus it began.  See, I remember the Hot Boyz used to wear flags, bandanas, whatever you choose to call em. In all different colors like a pack of skittles.  Red, yellow, blue, hell, even fatigue.  No one thought anything of it.  But now, oh now, this nigga is blood game supreme.  And therein lies my qualm; THIS NIGGA IS NO GANGSTA!!!!

The boy sir henn, naw, I don’t claim a set, claim to be gangsta, claim to be anymore than what I am…which is the top 3 flyest nigga most people know…take a second, think about it.  Think about the 3 flyest niggas out there, go ahead…..that nigga Henn is up there ain’t he? Yes sir!

But Weezy is a blood, been a blood since the first Carter release. But this is the thing, he been a damn rapper since he was 10.  Cash money been big since he was 14.  Most niggas get heavy into that gangsta shit around 16 or 17, i’m talking that murderous don’t fuck with that nigga, “you going WHERE at night? “type of gangsta shit.  But around 16 and 17, Wayne was on tour, singing Bling Bling.

Don’t get it twisted, I ain’t never respected no gang banging, set tripping ass niggas. Probably never will.  But the ONE thing i do recognize is that these niggas, these flag wearing crip/blood walking ass niggas are basically hunted by another gang simply for the colors that they adorn.  If a blood gets shot, his homies ain’t gonna go looking for the niggas who did it. NOPE! They go looking for any nigga in blue.  As a gangsta, as a thug, as a Piru or Crip or Folk, Stone, whatever you wanna call em, these niggas run the risk of everyday being their last because someone in the other set is either pissed off or simply wants to make a name for themself.

But not Wayne Carter.  This nigga has bodyguards, a slew of Yes men, and last but not least, his own little crew of niggas in red flags.  Whatever happened to the claim of studio gangstas?  If anyone fit that description, man, it has to be this nigga.  I mean, even thorough ass niggas don’t get that way till they around 16 or so, except of course, for them niggas on the wire….GODDAMN!

But for as much as the grey living, college educated, stay in my lane ass wants to say fuck lil Wayne…the nigga does make good music.  But shit, What does that say about me?

I wanna clean up the streets, I wanna keep kids in school, and I wanna keep my young brothas and sisters alive, but fuck it if a milli don’t make my factory door speakers bang as I roll through the hood where I work.  Hell, this nigga ain’t even get shot in no gangsta ass way…HE SHOT HISSELF!!!!

But the war, the war within, shit, I’m losing it already….cuz I already bought that shit lol.

 Dear Alicia,

 I remember the first time I saw you on the “Fallin’” video, and it was like bein struck by a thunderbolt.  You    were built just like I like my women…serious hips.  You had a beautiful grill, always and your earthy personality made you the light-skin pre-crazy Lauryn Hill.  And your husky Alto gave me flashbacks of a young Anita Baker.  But I must admit, for a minute, you had fallen off to me.  But then…duhn duhn duhn…you came back with a vengeance in “Smokin Aces.” 

Dressed up in your slutty little fit, you flipped on me, you flipped it on me bad girl.  And then, the coup d’ etat…the “Teenage Love Affair” video.  You are looking magically delicious and the hips are back, like they were on a long vacation.  COTDAMN!  And the song is bangin might I add.  So, for making a more compelling comeback than Kobe in the Fourth Quarter, you have earned the distinct honor of being my Neo-Soul Crush of the Week.  I heard you like poetry and lyrics, so, let’s make it official with a little poetry from yours truly;

If you were my Diary, I would write you and re-write you, all over your body every night, until I got the words down right on the page.  Each day, our love would grow, like the words on the pages, eventually filling the Diary and then to start anew.  Damn, if I could write you I’d never leave the house, until we were bumpin uglies in a cardboard box. 

Girl, I mean cardboard box in the metaphorical sense.  Cav is too fly to be a bum.  But I would let you visit me for lunchtime favors at the office, and I won’t even put you on the clock.  If you readin this Ms. Keys, I’m crushin on you this week.

Cav Out.

Man, Me and Mel B. go back to when a young playa was just hittin puberty.  I remember watchin the “Spice Girls” on “The Box” and bein like “I am movin to England.”  Everytime I used to hear “tell me whatcha want. whatcha really really want!”  I got the shivers.  Then I saw her on “Dancin with the Stars”-post fetus, and yelled out “Ohmigawd!” 

If i just met her one good time, I swear she would never want to leave.  Not only cuz I am a fly guy, but because Eddie Murphy caught her on the rebound.  That right there lets me know what time is.  No disrespect to Eddie, because he’s got a mean ol’ arm.  But I got that rap and that mouthpiece.  Let me sprinkle some sizzlin in yo’ ear Ms. Brown (yeah, I know your government name):

Your name lingers on my mind like Dandelion leaves in the wind, lazily, coyly, meandering into the entrance of my loins, I mean heart.  Your form haunts my soul and the very mention of your name pierces my heart, til I am crucified again and again and again from my own mad rantings…”Ms. Brown Ms. Brown Ms. Brown!”  Why?  Cuz I’m nasty.

I went “Love Jones” on y’all. Honorable mention is Leona Lewis.  Don’t really like her music, but definitely a fan of that face.

I will be any one of you ladies “American Boy” and I am way taller than 5′7″.  Til we meet sweet ladies…

Cav out.

“I never f*ck nobody’s b*tch and I never bought a Jakob…”

-Andre 3000 “Art of Storytellin Pt. 4″

The older I get, the more I realize that being able to recognize good advice is a rare skill, and being able to take good advice is rarer still.  But I digress.  So, from time to time, I will share jewels I have learned from experience or other older players in the game on a variety of topics.  I should really charge yall ninjas, but anyway…

Recently, the transcripts from the Kwame Kilpatrick investigation were released.  Besides it being a generally fucked up situation for the City of Detroit and all other involved parties, one thing stuck out to me: it seems like the Mayor’s paramour was the driving force behind the text messaging.  While she was skerv and silly as hell to fuck her shit up over this dude, my main qualm with Kwame is that he broke a cardinal rule of the game: DO NOT FUCK ANOTHER MAN”S WOMAN!

Many of you so called pimps violate this rule, and you are “sh*tting your dick” on a number of fronts.  It may seem like an ideal situation to deal with another man’s woman, especially if you got a shorty of your own.  But this is reckless.  First, if that man finds out, who knows what he might do.  Cats have been killed for less, and poontang is on that short list of things cats will constantly avenge themselves over. 

Second, what does this say about you as a person.  Most men have cheated on a woman in some form or fashion, but as an adult, it boils down to a character flaw or weakness.  Either you are greedy, selfish, easily influenced or too much of a punk to end a bad situation.  A man and a playa does not enter a situation in which he cannot control the outcome, not too mention create that damn situation.  The game is based on control, of one’s self and then, well you know.  Unless you Harry Houdini, you should be risk averse to the female drama. 

Third, the woman you dealing with is probably sub-par as an individual.  And if she will do this with you, her treachery knows know bounds.  You are a reflection of the company you keep, and I don’t make a habit of laying down with people I do not trust.  If I do, I keep them at a distance.  These women are more snakish than the average.  And men instinctively know what women they can wife and trust, and the ones that will never meet their mother.  But some fool will turn a ho or scandalous ass woman into his wife and/or the mother of his children (another reason I know God has a sense of humor).  As the saying goes, “you don’t pay your mistress to screw you, you pay her to leave.”  Ya dig?

Fourth, like Too Short said, it is too many women out here to go after another man’s.  If you gonna disrespect someone’s situation like that, that says a lot about your character and integrity as a man, and you deserve whatever you get you piece of sh*t. (J/K!)  And expect that same disrespect to be shown to you.

You cannot be a man and be lazy, you cannot be a pimp/playa/mack/balla/miscellaneous shot caller and be lazy.  The fundamental tenet of the game is that “Pimpin aint easy.”  If you are lazy then you will get taken advantage of.  And creepin with another man’s woman is the epitome of lazy.  If you want another man’s woman and she feelin you, you tell her to choose up.  Make a choice and leave her man.  Then get with your program, on your terms.  Don’t let her half-step with you and another man.  It’s all or nothin.  And if you about playin, don’t drag someone along who aint about that.  Respect their time.  The world is full of potential that will “play with you.” Another rule is that if you can help it, you never leave anyone worse off than you found them or else you go around creating bad karma and nobody needs that shit.

A true pimp, playa or mack, as well as a man, uses the truth and still gets his way.  If you are 18 and over, you should not have to lie to anyone ever again.  The truth is so much easier in the end.  So I guess the bottom line is: STOP F*CKIN THE NEXT MAN’S WOMAN AND GET YOUR OWN YOU LAZY BASTARD!

Learn from Kwame.  When women’s emotions get involved, they are less than rational and will light yo’ shat up in it heartbeat. 

Cav out.   

If you know anything about Caviar, it’s that Caviar loves the female form.  Homosexuality is one of those things he does not really understands, but accepts its existence.  If you know another thing about Caviar Jones, the Barbershop Pimp, it is that he loves Neo-Soul and R-n-B.  Why?  Because he is a mellow dude and understands that music affects your mood and infiltrates your mindstate.  So he is peace all day, mainly because of his smooth grooves. 

With that said, I would like to expand your mind with some sexy Neo-soul ladies who not only make good music, but are easy on the eyes…sho you right.  Lately I been crushin on Vivian Green

And Goapele

Right now, I am connecting to these ladies on a spiritual and musical level, oh yeah.  If you do not believe me, listen to Goapele’s “Crushed Out” and Vivian Green’s “What is love?”  So ladies, if you listenin, let me sprinkle this in your ears…

“I’m closin my eyes and wrappin your voice around me like a blanket, to shield me from the cold and the rain…”

Yeah, my mouthpiece is honey-suckle dew drops.  They do not call me the “Barbershop Pimp” for nothin.  Cut my tongue out and put it in a shrine before it takes over the world, like the horn in “Conan the Destroyer”!  So ladies, if you read this, I got a crush on you…word to Mario Winans and Mr. Cheeks.

Cav out.

I was speaking to my homeboy and we was watching this old BET Uncut Video, “Time For Freakin’” by the Team.

As you can see, beside the very low quality of the video, the guy with the first verse has a coat tied around his waist at the club. I made the offhand comment that no where in the history of male-female sexual relations has a man ever got laid while wearing a Fannypack or his coat tied around his waist. So it got me to thinking, a la Tyler Durden. I want to issue a challenge to all my fellas: try to pick up a woman while wearing the Fannypack or coat tied around your waist. In fact, try to get laid by a girl you know wearing this. Extra points if you can pull a chick you don’t know. I guarantee you that the sight of your effeminate form will repel any poontang you or may not be eligible to get.

I believe it is impossible. It is up to you to prove me wrong. CHAAALLLLENNGGEEEE!!!!!

Allow me to reintroduce myself….my name is Sir Johnathon Hennessy. Like my brother of the pen, I hail from anywhere USA.  A large city in the Midwest full of gangstas, pimps, hustlers and the like; or like Katt Williams would say, the most beautifullest fucked up place on earth.  But it’s home.

About 3 weeks ago, Caviar approached me about helping him with this blog.  It would be an outlet of sorts; you see, both Caviar and myself live to scribe.  However, our educational backgrounds have detoured our destinies into fields unrelated.  But I digress.  My hope with this Chitlin Renaissance, this adventure into niggadom, this rebirth of slick, is to speak for cats like myself; not quite hood, not at all suburban.  The brother you didn’t know was smart because of how he dressed or how he acted, or because he hung out with some rather gully individuals; corporate thugging, the street corner weekend hustler, or as i like to put it, living the grey.

BLACK & WHITE

What is living the grey you ask? Living the grey is that funny place you dwell when you aren’t quite hood enough to look comfortable in the thug’s uniform (a white tee….unless you’re in Atlanta, then it’s the black tee…..ask around); however, you know your black as midnight grandaddy would raise up from whatever afterlife eternity he now dwells within and slap the help outta you if he saw you acting like the black Zack Morris.
But it’s alright, cause I’m saved by one thing, and that’s my niggas in the grey with me.  The equivalent of hood Kanyes, we tote the street cred to be accepted in our respective rust belt domiciles.  But therein lies the problem, within the last couple of years, Sir J. Henn has relocated to another Big City, USA.  Never to be one to be afraid of his own, I find myself in the hood…..alot.  It is here that I discovered this twilight zone.

When I touched down where everybody does NOT know my name, I was being tested….constantly.  Yea, in time, I earned these grimey ass niggas’ respect, but hell, only after I showed my nuts.  But why?  Because a nigga enjoys his pants a little more fit?  Because the Polos stay crisp and in constant rotation?  In this world, until I showed my nuts, until I revealed that nigga within with whom I have a daily battle with, I WAS Zack Morris.  Shit’s crazy, that nigga Chris Rock was right, you get more love when you get out the pen than if you get out of college; “But can you whip MY ass?”  Nigga, HELL YEA….just gimme a second to take off this tight ass Polo.

FLIP SIDE

At work, you struggle with being the educated brother, but you still a nigga.  In these streets, you struggle with being the educated nigga.  It’s a balancing act we in the grey exercise everydamn day, and it’s tiring believe me.  See, at work, I tap into the corporate fella, I am Johnathon…on the weekends and after 6, I’m Hennessy; and just as both are a part of my name, both are a part of who I am.

Let’s be clear, Johnathon Hennessy is NOT my real name; matter of fact, it’s not even close. I chose this name to represent who I am…the polar opposites of my life.  As my Dad says, “you GOTTA play that game.”  But hell, even Jordan got tired.  And one day, Sir John was having one of those Bipolar moments, i almost let that nigga out…think Dave Chapelle in the “When Keeping it Real Goes Wrong” sketch.  Maybe one too many coworkers asked me if I was the first person in my fam to go to college, maybe it was the crackhead thinking he was gonna hustle a nigga (btw, I work in the hood); who the hell knows?  Either way, I’m tired as hell….but until I earn my place in those record books, you can expect to catch Johnathon at work at 7am sharp, and that nigga Hennessy in club with some Patron and lime on the dance floor probably singing that Lil Wayne……Lilililili like a lollipop.

J. Henn.

Today,

I went to lunch today with some co-workers and we started to talk about growing up and the experiences we had. Somehow, the conversation came to “homely girls” and how mean they got treated.  That got me to thinkin: “Is there anyone I was mean to, based on their looks?”  It really bothered me for some reason and I went through my mental Rolodex from as far back as I could remember. 

I know people cannot help their looks, but how shallow can we really be?  I remember growing up to be extremely selective about the women I associated with.  My moms, pops and grandmoms would quickly tell me if they thought a chick was beat.  Even though I lucked out and ended up with a beautiful woman, I cannot help but think how it would be if I was with a “big girl” or someone who was facially challenged? 

Now that I am older, I wonder if I am still that shallow.  I try to look at everyone for who they are as one of God’s children.  But at the same time, you gotta work with what the scraps you are given.  You gotta play to your strengths.  The one thing that dealing with a lot of different women is that you don’t get star struck by just looks, because there are plenty of “dimes” who are straight ugly as people.  So, I try to turn people inside out. 

I could go on about how unfair life is for people who do not fit the tradition notions of beauty and how life is so unfair for “fat” people.  But I can’t change that.  But what I can do is apologize to any one I ever called ugly.  I am sorry.  I was unenlightened and probably blind to your beauty as a person.  Caviar Jones loves you and Jesus loves you too.

One,

Caviar Jones

Before you can do any thing worthwhile, you have to have an impenetrable, unshakable belief in yourself.  This is what people call swagger, presence, panache if you will.  With it, the world is your oyster.  Without it, you are just another face in the crowd.  I, like most people, did not always have true confidence.  I, yes even I, the illustrious Caviar Jones, was full of self-doubt, anxiety and fear.  What was I afraid of?  Mainly three things: rejection, criticism and failure.  Through trial and error, I eventually banished the fear and emerged reborn as the confident and functional individual I am today.  So, I want to share with you how to attain some swagger in a hurry. 

Step One: Know who you are

This is a process.  Knowing the truth about yourself, what you do well and what you do not is key.  Why?  Because if you know who you are, then you will not believe what anyone says to the contrary about you.  You will not worry about rejection.  It is like the saying goes, “the truth shall set you free.” 

Step Two: Accept who you are

Most people spend their time trying to be like other people, at the expense of losing themselves.  Caviar has never tried to be anyone but himself.  From an early age, I knew I was different and I embraced that.  I was not always comfortable in my own skin, but the more comfortable I became, the more comfortable it made others.  A natural grace flows from just being who and what you are.  Now you can turn the volume up or down on your personality, but it is still the same.  So do you. 

Step Three: Demand excellence in every area of your life

This comes from believing you deserve simply the best in life and you are disciplined enough to work for it and patient enough to wait for it.  This comes from knowing your value as a man or woman and taking nothing less.  You will not accept no for an answer once you have this mindset planted firmly in your head. 

Step Four: Self-confidence is your gift to the world

Insecure people are self-absorbed people.  When you are comfortable with yourself, you are free to listen to others and become a source of pleasure for others.  People like being around confident people because it sets them at ease and it gives them comfort that at least someone is in control of themselves and their lives.  Confidence is infectious. 

When you are in a social setting, be sure to project confidence.  Do this by starting a conversation with a stranger.  Confident people know about themselves, so they ask questions to find out about those around them, so to make a connection.  Remember, your swagger is in you, but you gotta work to bring it out. 

Signing Off,

Caviar Jones