SOHH NYC

START THE REVOLUTON!! LMAO

im a white nicca i i like black chick cuz all broads of any color iz all pink inside!

Peace Reckless: I know it is hard to find topics but you wearing the Sh*t out of 3 or 4 topics. Best wishes to you in the future. I am about to repost a long post so that some folks I wnt to see to this post will see.

Anyone after this in my name will be a stan.

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Peace to Brooklyn B, Dre G, South Central Born, The Layer, Kush City, E. Frai, E. Real and to the former sohh crew of Slimgoody, N-Site, Black Friday, Banga, Dig, Naj, Noria, Karess, KHS (wifey), K. Rob, Blaze, BX Connect, England Represent, Versatile, Scott Free, Ihadnochoice, Disrespect, and all those kinds of cat.

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I gave the above those last set of shout-outs so that cats who know me will know that this is not a stan speaking and is truly me.

Now, I saw Atheist’s comments about me this morning and said “What the hell is he talking about?” After looking at a blog which must have been the first of two SOHH NYC blogs yesterday it became clear. All I can say to you Brother Atheist is you have to be smarter than that, homie…

The ITT Tech line was pretty funny though. The stans are getting better. Anyway; I will not waste a ton of time trying to prove my innocence because what is the purpose of that and what is the consequence of not doing that. However, as soon as the stan dissed Dre G. you should have known it wasn’t me. Dre G and I go back before 90 percent of the bloggers on this blog even knew that this site existed. Dre G. and I go back to his Huey Freeman days so anyone who knows me when they saw that said “nah; that is not big up.”

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Let me say this and then move on to what I really want to say. I want to give you a stan detection kit.

A stan:

1. Someone who comes on in your name and without any identifiable cause - attacks your electronic rival or adversary. Nim and I have ideological differences. I don’t like or dislike Nimrod because I don’t that n*gga one bit and don’t care to know him. However the stan just attacked him in my name out of the blue and without cause when all of our beefs stemmed from a fundamentally different view of Black people both historically and contemporarily and yesterday’s and today’s world.

2. A stan will always make a self confession in the person’s screen name that they are stanning that doesn’t make sense – for example they say – “I must admit I have been stanning cats all day. I did this because I am jealous and an @sshole” and other gibberish…

3. A stan will always make some (intended to be embarrassing) self revealed personal characteristic or social economical commentary that speak to some personal short coming of deficiency of the person they are stanning. For example they will say: “I graduated from ITT Technical by taking online courses.” See that was your give a way right there.

Now let me briefly educate the stan who did a mediocre job with me yesterday although you did fool the gullible amongst us. First of all I never would have mentioned ITT Tech because they are not accredited by Middle States or New England Association, North Central Association, Northwest Commission or Southern Association or Western Association of schools and colleges. Which means I could not have gone on to the research institution (I know you have no clue what means) I attended to obtain my masters (plural) and doctorate degree. I told you that I am a consultant in the industry of higher education specializing in minority retention issues however my 9 to 5 is in the industry of finance and investments. Oh and if you decide to stan me on that in the future you need a series 6,7 and 63 license to do what I do so please incorporate that in your material.

Now two last things to the stan; one if a person is taking an online course (which I always stayed away from them because they are very difficult) they are probably having a much more difficult time persisting then some one who is taking a course in the more traditional fashion. Anyone working in higher education will tell you that hybrid and online courses are much more difficult for a student to take when compared with an in-class course experience. The virtual education option is popular to college administrators (because of the reduced cost of doing them), but are mostly despised by professors and students.

I also think that the stan gave me a G.E.D. Nice; ok stan pay attention. People with G.E.D’s are better perspective undergraduate college students than the average high school graduate. This is because they are tested to make sure that they have the equivalent comprehension and skills that are in alignment with the high school graduation requirements and are not passed through. The average student graduating from high school if they were called upon to take the GED test one week later after their high school graduation would fail it. Many of our people who graduate from high school are still reading on a 6th grade level. Many of them are tremendously poor in math. This is why the average African American sore on the SAT in the Math and Reading Comp section is only 842 out 1600 possible points.

In fact 90 percent of the people who blog on this site would fail the GED exam because they are no longer proficient in algebra, geometry and trigonometry. Remember I am a consultant and an expert in the field of secondary and high education so if you are going to be me represent my expertise in higher education and finance, appropriately.

4. The other thing that should have tipped people off is like the homie E. Frazier said when I post something - I post a novel. I never make little short @ss posts.

5. You must understand the double and sometime triple stan move. A stan will come on and pose as you or as you stanning someone in another screen name that you never seen before and then after his confession that it is you - he will then go into your screen name and stan. That is the double stan move. The triple stan move is when the stan will flip out of your screen name and back in to your screen name by saying “That N8gga wasn’t me. That was one of my stans and then precede in a character that he tries hard to closely associate with your on screen persona while he still saying outrageous sh8t while wearing your screen name.

6. If you are going to stan me you must have an over abundance of typos and grammatical errors. The stan who impersonated me yesterday grammar was waaaay to good to be me.

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I would have thought that you would have been sharp enough to figure all that out but I guess it takes a little time of being on here to know the time with respect to the stans.

Now finally this is what I really wanted to say. My online persona really excites many people on this blog. When I am away people are still obsessed with me. When I use to blog with that old crew I referenced way up top we use to build up in here. It was much better then this current forum because the bloggers were more diverse in their ideological perspective and the Black woman’s voice was present which you cats don’t have here. Anyway; it was tight. The stans destroyed it. The stans really do run SOHH. They can destroy anything on here that they decide to destroy because sohh will not filter them out.

Anyway, what I really want to say is that regardless of what ideological perspective wins the day on SOHH NYC it is futile if you are going to stay in a state of paralysis. I have expertise in higher education and with the folks I use to chop it up with on here and on 360 my encouragement and free consultation has sent three people to graduate school and one to undergraduate school. I have worked with another three people on their dissertations (from 360). I helped them resolve their research design, methodology, validation and reliability issues and all three of them are going to graduate in just a few weeks.

I am also working with a sista who want to do what I am doing in NY and Philly down there in Atlanta. My point is that regardless of what political ideology you accept or what Black leader you kick it doesn’t mean sh*t if you cats don’t exchange e-mail addresses and phone numbers and build. You might as well talk about the obscure rappers Reckless is posting because the impact is the same. When I went to undergrad in Washington DC I use to listen to this radio station called WOL. Yes the radio station that movie “talk to me is all about” – yes the one that Cathy Hughes own.

Anyway; I use to love it. Black folks would call up speak freely about issues and what was going on in our communities across the country and I loved it. I was a regular caller myself. After a while I stop listening to WOL and my girl at the time, asked me why don’t I listen to it anymore (because it was on my radio 24-7 when I was in college). And I told her because it is just a sounding board for frustrated Black people. I said that “no one ever moves to correct any of the issues that are discussed on the radio - we just complaint about it but don’t move to correct it so what is the use to listening to the problems that no one intends to solve?” And so I stop listening to it and shows that are like that because they really don’t serve a purpose for me. It is just noise as far as I am concerned.

I mean how many of you have found out how you can get involved in the Sean Bell case and help get his widow and family some justice? Yeah yall are critical of Al but what are you doing. Can Al and Jesse and others put the spotlight on you and see what you are doing. How many of you go to the prisons and kick your ideology whether its to the center, left or right - how many of you cats go to the joint and uplift? How many of you cats put your money behind political campaigns that you think will help make a difference. How many of you cats patrol your community so that the children can play outside without fear of being shot. How many of you cats are in your corporate setting making sure that you can influence these crackas to give our people a fair shake. How many of you college cats are building alliances with other HBCU’s and Black students at PWI’s so that you develop strategies to siege political and economic power in the next 10 to 15 years. How many of you college students are going to your international Black brother and sista on these various college campuses (who normally come from well to do and very influential families in their home land) to see if you can start to develop international trade with them once you graduate?

How many are you out there fighting with other people to increase aid awareness; auto-immune disease awareness; diabetes awareness; prostate and breast cancer awareness so that our people can try to avoid these diseases or get treated quickly when inflicted with these diseases so that they can extend their life and live a better a quality of life. How many of you are out there teaching our people who to earn and invest money. How many of you have a business and have Black folks working for you. I have 3 black people who work for me on a part-time for my consulting business. One person is a co-facilitator for my workshops. The other person is my secretary and the last person is my accountant. How many of you are tutoring the babies so that they can read, write and be proficient and competent in mathematics.

So; this King of Sohh sh*t is foolishness and what does it matter if all you are going to do is sit on your @ss with the information you get anyway. What difference does it make if you follow or repudiate Farrakhan, Jesse, Al, Obama or anyone if all you are going to do is sit on the internet all day and weekend long just sitting on your @ss criticizing others.

Finally; this forum is yours. My time has past and my crew has moved on. My crew was different then this crew. Again Dre G was in my crew. Yall build. If you can get around the stans and build then that is wonderful. However if you don’t do anything with the information you are exchanging then you might as well be on a porn site hanging out because there will be absolutely no difference between your actions and their action with respect to our people. The contribution of both cohorts will be the same.

So have fun with the screen name BIGUP2BK. Big up to my real dudes. I tried to come on and give you what I know and cats know that I take beyond a computer screen and help you.

Again, anyone after this who post in my name is a stan.

1

NYOIL is a bum lookn for a come up. Fact is his sh* was hardly noticed until Nas did his song

I started cripping @ age 12, I started w/ the Rolling 60's Hoovers. After I was shot @ 13yrs of age by Bountry Hunter Bloods, I started working w/ "Freeway" Rick Ross & Harry "O" in the Late 80's as an enforcer. I personally have killed 10 or 20 people in the country. After both got locked up I had a brief job @ Fat Burger as short order cook I was fired for tardyness. I then got hired by Rosco's Chicken & waffles but I got into it w/ some Piru's for trying to steal a chicken salad. I then started Janitor @ Domingez High in Compton I also worked & HR Block as tax help. During some months I also drove the Ice Cream truck. I met my wife of 13 yrs during one of my routes in watts. Anyway. I met Spider Loc about 6 yrs ago when he used to run w/ Blu Divinci & my "BMF" comrades. He saw the talent I had in blogging and he scooped me up. My moms & his dad are siblings we never new it. I bang now because I wanna teach my kids a lot of good can come of it. if you smash on the right people ala social clubbers. you can get rich. I HOOKED UP W/ THE KELLY PARK COMPTON CRIPS ON A HUMBUG, I WAS WALKING HOME FROM WORK (MY RIDE 4GOT ME) AND i GOT CHASED BY SOME AVALON CRIPS AND THE KELLY PARK BOYZ SAW ME RUNNING & FLAGGED ME DOWN AND TOLD EM TO STOP IT CAUSE THEY SAW MY PURPLE FLAG RAPPED AROUND MY KNEE. THE SPOOKTOWN WAS EVEN CRAZIER. I WAS CHEATIN ON MY WIFE W/ THIS HOODRAT THEN THEY BUSTED INTO THE ROOM & SAW MY PURPLE SPIDER LOC GAYME OVER SHIRT IN THE CORNER AND MADE ME AN HONORARY MEMBER. THE LAWS THESE DAYS DON'T MAKE NO SENSE, HOW THE PHUCK CRIME DON'T PAY WHEN IT PAYS MY RENT, I BEEN THUGGING SINCE THE AGE OF SIX, RUNNING OUT GROCERY STORS W/ BUBBLE GUM & CHIPS, NOW I'M INTO GUNS W/ CLIPS 45'S & HOLLOW TIPS

This is the REAL Bigup2bk. Please guys I'm having a hard time preparing for my 5th doctorate without all the distractions. I'm so pathetic that I think because I care what strangers say on a blog they care what I have to say. I'm a pathological liar and delusional numbskull who suffers from fantasies of being the professor on Gilligan's Island when in truth I'm just corny Gilligan. From now on will you guys just call me Little Buddy? Thank you.

*takes a bow and wipes tear for dramatic effect*

Bigup 2bk has left the building for good for the 20th time. *the silence is deafening which disturbs him and means he'll have to unretire later today*

Why God? Why did I have to be dumb carzy AND ugly?!!! What did I do to deserve this? Please fellow bloggers give me some attention goddamnit!!!!!

Oh did I mention I have a Phd in how to "stan"? I'm pretty much a jack of all trades and a master of none. You guys have no idea what your missing out on when I'm not around. Who else can explain "stanning" in such scientific detail? Me, that's who!

I love to rape kids, I love kissing boys and I really love watching football games and not for the play, because they look so good in those tight pants. I love to stan everybody on here especially G-UNOT KILLA & others who oppose a commen sense point of view. I love being a g.a.y "social club" member I love my life as a griller for Friday's. I love it

*loud burp followed by severe flatulence* I apologize for being drunk so early in the morning. I figured I'd finish off the case of wine coolers from last night. Gotta get 'em before ma dukes beat me to it. Boonesfarm Raspberry is my favorite. After a dozen of those bad boys I feel like my idol Jigga Man on the yacht in the Big Pimpin video.

*dances with wine cooler bottle like Dame Dash like every broke niggaz fantasy*

This is how you talk about a city you love. You talk about it as if it's the only place in the world where this story can happen.
A friend of mine fell in love with someone when she went for a bite at a malatang one winter night. There was no snow; there is very little snowfall during Beijing winters. The film below the skies turns from yellow to gray, then the winds from Mongolia come and we would say, it's so cold already there might as well be snow. Some days there are, and those are the days when photographers go out to make postcards of fresh powder collecting over the shoulders of the stone lion finials perched on the gables of the Forbidden City.
But those are postcards. There are times you feel cheated when you glance at them and wonder at your inability to recall a greater feeling of grandeur when you had bought them in front of the pagoda. The event, like infinity, had been too big to be grasped and had only given way to frustration, a voice insisting with the strongest conviction and the vaguest meaning that there should have been something more.
I had flown to China with a postcard in my hand. My grandmother didn't want me to. Why should I go back to the place she had taken so many pains to run away from sixty years ago to get to Manila? The Philippines was glamorous then, before it melted in its own torpor. Europe and America creolized in Asia, Què hora es? A las ocho y media, sir, good morning, how d'ye do, how d'ye do? because the sun never sets in the Western empire. Before I left for the airport, my grandmother told me to be careful in the mud alleys.
The postcard I had was a picture of a language university in Beijing that specialized in teaching Mandarin to foreigners. Once in the Philippines, when I was eleven, I had to recite the week's lesson from memory to the teacher in Mandarin class. This was the way we learned the language carved on steles in a tiny family shrine somewhere across the ocean. I had spent the night before reading out loud from my little exercise book and hoping school would be canceled the next morning. It was monsoon season and the floods rose from the gutters blocked with garbage and the beggars' children played naked in the waters. But the storm left at dawn, and memory is unreliable, selective, compressed. The next day I finally received on my palm the two red stripes that I had been avoiding during the entirety of my young life in school.

Eight years later I was sent to Beijing with my parents' blessings, and a friend of mine fell in love one winter night when she went to the malatang.

*

Now malatang kept you warm. That's why my friend had gone to one. I'm not going to tell you what each syllable means; I'm not here to teach you Chinese. I'm here to tell you what Beijing was like beyond the language classes. Malatang was a street-vendor's boiler filled with skewers of meats, innards, seaweed, tofu, and mushrooms that floated in a dark oily soup of chili and cayenne pepper. Malatang was choosing pig intestines and whisking the oil off towards the pavement before burning your tongue. Malatang was huddling together with strangers who looked like you and reading advertisements pasted on electric poles. Malatang was sucking the bitter north wind to cool the spice in your mouth and keeping your eyes from tearing, while the vendor counted the wooden skewers that you had speared into your broken half of a Styrofoam rice box.
Malatang kept you warm and kept off hunger till you reached home.
My friend looked like me and studied in the same building as I did, but she was from Canada and never got stripes for not being able to speak Mandarin. She met a Korean student at a malatang. Love at first skewer just outside the campus gates, where the red-cheeked lady selling small bottles of fermented milk on her bike would look enviously at the little fish-cake stall across from her. Chocolate fish-cakes were pastries shaped like fish with hot chocolate inside, sold for one yuan each. No one bought fermented milk. The man who sold fish-cakes was called 'Uncle;' business was doing so well that for one week Uncle's stall disappeared because he was hiding from the police for making too much money without a license. He reappeared just in time for the winter frost.
The Koreans are invading the Beijing suburbs, but the city is still the stronghold of the Europeans. I have a map of what old Beijing was like in 1936, drawn just before World War Two. The Legation Quarter used to be on Chang An Road; now Chang An Road is lined with malls enclosing the Forbidden City. The foreign embassies have been moved to Jianguomen, in the Chaoyang district, European Union flags flapping over the wire fences. Europe is extraordinarily chic in Beijing nowadays; the city is making up for lost time. I have seen the diplomats' children in Chaoyang, with their white skin, brown hair, big blue eyes; pudgy eleven-year-olds speaking Mandarin over the counter at the coffeehouse. They never got stripes either, I would suppose. The cafè where I saw them had French movie posters on the walls and it was next to a little stationery shop that sold notebooks with old paint advertisements from Copenhagen printed on the cover.

I went to the Philippine embassy once, for fun. The building looked tiny and abandoned and there was no flag on the pole. The Chinese guard saw me looking behind the gate and chased me away from where I had stood. I hadn't brought my passport with me. If I had he would have opened the gate for me and I would have danced past him.

*

NATIVE ENGLISH SPEAKER WANTED. My friend had found a company searching for someone to teach English to their representatives, but they turned her down, saying she looked too much like a local. This is a story in Beijing. It is not likely that it would have turned out another way. It is likely that an Italian with a working facility in English would have been hired, but my friend did not look Italian.
He spoke little English and she spoke no Korean, so they used the language they were only beginning to grasp. In the brokenness of the Mandarin they spoke, they found the distance that they would need for their own defense later. All of us who knew transience understood that what happened in Beijing stayed there.
I met my language partners every Friday in the school library, two local girls who wanted to practice their English with me, but they frequently slipped back to Mandarin because there were too many interesting questions to be asked. How can you be Chinese? How can you be Filipino? How can you speak English? You speak Filipino too, right? How do you say, 'How do you do?'
I taught them to say kumusta, simplest thing in the world, contraction of como esta, consonants crunchy and hard, vowels wide and open. Back in the Philippines, some people would be so surprised with my speaking Filipino that they would forget to stop speaking English with me. Would you have to marry a Chinese too? You speak a little Chinese too, right? How do you say, 'How do you do?'
A French friend in Beijing, whom my language partners had first accosted, had referred Miao Ban and Xin Feng to me. Xin Feng spoke English with the recklessness and confidence of someone who wanted to learn. Miao Ban was made of inquisitiveness and less eloquence, looking for Xin Feng for the frequent translation.

What do foreigners think of us? Why does the government forbid Chinese people from entering your churches?
I did not quite look at their eyes. Perhaps if I had greater proficiency in their language, I would not have sounded so simplistic.
We foreigners look at the Chinese with the awareness that we come from a different world, I said.
How?
We think there are certain problems in the kind of government that cause a great deal of difference.
But certainly other countries, your countries, have your own problems as well!
This was Miao Ban. She knew where this would lead to if we pursued it.
It's different, I said vaguely, my vocabulary failing me. We shouldn't be talking about it here.
Oh, it's fine! Xin Feng. We know about those things that shouldn't be talked about.
I raised my head to see if anyone else was listening. There was a local Chinese boy two chairs down, buried in his book.
How is it different?
I found myself talking about the 'free world' as if months before I would not have laughed at myself for using those two words with such idealism in the Philippines. But when a language fails you, you use wide blanket statements and say to yourself, This conversation isn't so important anyway. Every minute I looked up to see if the middle-aged lady who had come and was standing nearby could hear us.
Xin Feng and Miao Ban brought me out for dinner. Across the restaurant was a frozen lake, fenceless, unwatched. I had never stood on iced water before. It was too dark to see how the ice was, but it seemed thick enough, and I stamped on it, the cold escaping into the soles of my shoes. Figures of twos or threes whispered and laughed softly around me, but the lake was quiet and the world was calm.

*

My friend's story does not have a happy ending. Very few of the international romances begun in Beijing by foreigners extend beyond the airport. This is a fact. There is a clear, identifiable glance that passes between lovers when a friend asks one of them for any plans to stay longer. It is silent, urgent. It is a source of anxiety because it is a perfunctory question frequently asked. BEIJINGERS ARE FRIENDS TO ALL THE WORLD / Beijing shi shijie de peng you says the blue billboard on the way to Sanlitun. The translation into English is slightly inaccurate. Beijing is the world's friend. Good for Beijing. For the last few years, the world had suddenly been just as eager to become Beijing's friend.

*

Sanlitun is in Chaoyang. Listen to Sanlitun crackling with neon life, Chaoyang laughing across its new skyscrapers and the cranes building more - a vibrant young man who has discovered that life is only beginning and that foreign women find him handsome in a suit. Ten years ago Chaoyang had been the poor man's district, waterlogged in its farmlands.
Sanlitun Bar Street is luminous after dusk, the sounds of entertainment eviscerating. My friend goes there with him every Saturday. The waiters stand outside the street, chanting the English they knew. Hello! Hello! Beer! When they see a white face they thrust themselves in front of it and go for the arm.
Both of them stumbled out of a bar into the fresh air, their steps uncertain from the alcohol.
'I am thinking of moving apartments soon,' he said as they slipped into a little alley that led to the labyrinth of old Beijing, the hutong. The brick of the dusty courtyard homes filtered the thunder from the bars. There are very few lights in a hutong at night.
'You have found one that you like more?' she asked.
'The Uncle in the fish-cake stall says he knows the landlord of an apartment that is cheaper and closer to the school.'
In the dimness of the light my friend bumped into a row of bicycles. The metal rang and the bicycles began to crash one after the other. A little yellow light went on in one of the scratched windows and someone began to curse. Laughing, both of them ran out of the alley and back to Bar Street.
'Would you like to share my new apartment with me?' he shouted as they returned to the blinding light of the traffic.
'Yes, I would like that very much!'
It would have been romantic if they had looked at the stars. But stars are rarely seen in the haze of Beijing.

*

I've gone walking in a hutong during lunch hour in spring. Pots of rice and cabbage boiled outside sheds made of iron sheets. The aroma of garlic and meat coming from the makeshift vents smelled of a home. Many of the crumbling brick walls washed in dirty white were marked with the word chai. Chai means to demolish.

Once I had stood before the Imperial Palace in the Forbidden City, hat in my hands, waiting for the realization to engulf me. It had only been in Beijing that I learned to say 'ancestors' without feeling too self-aware. But the tourists jostled around me, stepped on my foot, faces glowering in irritation at the sight of the crowd shoving each other to see the Imperial Throne, and the realization never came. The tourists in Beijing are the Chinese from Hong Kong or Taiwan or the other provinces in the mainland. They call my province Overseas.
I went to parks often to escape the crowds. One of them had a small pavilion midway the hill, the small inlaid paintings of willows and lakes on the ceiling restored. When I reached the pavilion, a few lights were turned on softly and old fifties music was being played and people were dancing. They were middle-aged, people who could have afforded to take dancing lessons. The music crackled through a radio somewhere. Some wore cocktail dresses; others office clothes. Swing, tango, waltz. They shook their arms and legs to help their blood circulate after every set as people walked around to change partners, their faces drenched in perspiration. Then the music would start and they would laugh and take each other's arms and twirl over the floor, these old people, lost in the sepia-colored music I was hearing. Spring was turning to summer. I sat on a nearby bench, feeling the air turn humid, and a dragonfly landed on my shoulder.

*

My friend and her boyfriend went traveling to Tianjin the weekend after they moved to their new apartment. Tianjin is Beijing's neighboring harbor city, two hours away by bus.
There my friend saw the saddest opera singer in the world. Up on a pavilion the middle-aged lady was dressed in her gaudy finery, a green lace tunic over a white gown with sleeves to the floor. Her face was powdered with the rouge of Beijing opera and she wore a headpiece of braids. The pavilion was in the middle of the souvenir bazaar that had been built for the tourists. People were looking at maps, calling lost friends on mobile phones, and had crowded there, drawn by the human tendency towards collectivity. She sang to the tourists in Tianjin, her eyes far away, one hand on her heart, the other arm up in supplication. She looked exhausted. The people below the stage came and went. The boyfriend took a Polaroid of the opera singer and the heads of the tourists, and my friend had written on the back in English: The meaning of indifference.

*

The indifference is almost symbolic. In Beijing, a pregnant woman dressed in raggedy overalls kneels on the sidewalk, her stomach bulging, her eyes caught in an empty stare at the asphalt. A rusty pan sits between her spread knees and she seems to be on the verge of giving birth.
Now you want to know how many people stop to put change into her pan to see if it matches with what my friend had written on the back of the Polaroid.
I had stood there on the sidewalk, all senses stirred by the lovely sorrow of it all. If only I could have taken a photograph. But I had driven past worse scenes of poverty in the Philippines where I had learned I didn't want my money spent on drugs or drunk husbands. When I walked past her, I looked at the pan. A few cents.
I once read in a magazine in Beijing about a man aboard a train who had been accosted by an old woman when the train stopped at a station. Through his window she tried to sell him cold bottles of mineral water, but he didn't want to buy any because he knew she would slink away without giving back his change. As she coaxed him noisily through the window, he grew more and more revolted by her presence until he resigned himself and pulled a note out to buy himself some silence. As she handed him a bottle, the train began to roll. The old woman had his change in one hand and she tried to run after his open window, her arm outstretched. Your change, your change! He was entranced by the sight. In her haste the old woman tripped and fell, and when she raised her head he saw a trickle of blood on her forehead.
I saw more pregnant women kneeling on the streets on different days. To redeem myself I finally gave a few notes to a bent old lady who cried her thanks to me while I turned and walked away.
Once, an old man in tatters and his sick wife stopped me on the way back to the university. His accent was missing the Beijing growl. He said they had come to the city because his wife needed to go through a surgical operation for her stomach. The wife was moaning to herself and her husband was close to tears. They were hungry and needed some money for a subway ticket to the hospital.

I told them to wait. I went to a small restaurant nearby and bought them two meals and bottled tea. Both of them were crying. I gave them some money for the trip, and as the old man took the coins he whispered to his wife in a dialect before thanking me and turning away.
A week later I heard someone saying that he had just given an old couple from the provinces some money for a subway trip to the hospital because the wife needed surgery.
It's very hard to talk about indifference without a photograph.

*

The months passed quickly. We overcame our brokenness in the language. We couldn't rely on blanket statements anymore to cover us with indifference.

*

'Have you decided which computer to buy?'
'Sort of. One of my Korean friend's classmates has a desktop she wants to sell before leaving Beijing. I'm going to take a look at it sometime this week at her house.'
'Her?'
'You can relax, she knows I have a girlfriend.'
'I'm not even going to dignify that with a response.'
'By the way, I've been thinking, I'm probably going to transfer schools next month.'
'Oh? Why's that?'
'Too expensive here. And there's a cheaper one nearby, the one across the bakery. You know that?'
'Oh, that. Yeah, I do. It's pretty small.'
'Yeah, but it's not bad. You're going to be looking for work when you get back to Vancouver, right?'
'Yeah. When you finish your bachelor's then go bum around in China for a while, you know it's time to get a job.'
'If I'm lucky, I can get a good job next semester and earn enough to visit you before I go back to Seoul with the proficiency certificate.'
'That's too tempting. Don't get my hopes up.'
'It can happen.'
'Well, what about after Seoul?'
'What?'
'I don't know. Everyone's just been asking.'
'Well, what if I ask you what happens after Vancouver?'
'Were you thinking of asking me that?'
'We still have two months left. I wasn't planning to ask you today.'
'We have to decide on something. I'm going to have to buy the plane ticket soon.'
'Do you think you can, maybe, just stay for another semester?'
'You know I can't do that. At some point, you're going back to Seoul.'

'I don't know when I'm going back to Seoul. I can keep on studying. I can tell my parents I still need to study more. Even if I pass the Chinese test and get a certificate, I can still keep on studying, get a job here -'
'That's stupid. You can't do that.'
'If you just tell me you can stay here -'
'You know my parents want me back home. You're Korean! You'd have a good idea what Chinese parents are like. They're not that different.'
'Hey, I know you better. It wouldn't be just family pressure. You'd at least try to fight for it if you really cared. '
'Okay. Okay. You know what? It's like this. I don't even know if it's going to be worth the effort.'
'What do you mean?'
'I mean...I mean, I can't just drop everything and stay here forever. I had a life somewhere else too.'
'But you're always saying how Vancouver is too slow and how nothing happens, that there's not enough there for you and Beijing is -'
'I know, I know, but I was already in the middle of something there. If I decide to stay here, I'll have to start new for real, and...and this was...I was only supposed to be here for a year. Everything has been great, everything good and bad, but I've just never thought that...that...do you see?'
'Look, I'm just...I don't know.'
'You know you're not going to stay in Beijing forever either, and...and I just don't see the point.'
'So what do we do? We just visit each other?'
'I don't know, all right? I don't know.'
'All right, there's still two months anyway.'
'All right.'
'Are you done with your plate?'
'Yeah. Thanks. Hey...come here. I'm sorry. You know we'd have to go home sooner or later.'

*

Beijing was a little detour to keep off the hunger till we reached home. That is why we write stories of it so we won't forget. That is why my friend's story cannot have a happy ending.
If I had found a home in Beijing, where I am disguised by my skin, where I am a nameless unit in a sea of faces, where I am finally part of the majority until I speak and the accent reveals everything, I would have forgotten all my wonder.

Only a foreigner writes a Beijing story like this.

*

The city is covered with sand. The Gobi Desert is next to Beijing and it inches closer towards the capital every year, threatening to choke it in a matter of years. When spring fades into the summer, clouds of sand move in and the sky turns into the color of unwashed fur. Waves of grit collect, and driven by the wind, they move languidly across the cityscape like gigantic phantoms, slamming into the first building that comes into their way and enveloping the horizon in an explosion of gray. The winds are tempests, and umbrellas are blown inside out across the streets. The sand is blinding and fills every orifice of your face to be spat out afterwards.
My friend had been watching the sandstorm from her apartment when I arrived. As I shook the sand from my hair and tried to mend the bent spokes in my umbrella, she said, 'He went out to buy some milk.'
I went to the toilet and washed my face. When I came out she gave me a Polaroid with the picture of a Beijing opera singer. 'A photo we took when we went to Tianjin. I know you like that sort of thing.'
'Thanks.' I read what she had written on the back. 'So how are you guys doing?'
'We're fine. You want anything to drink?'
'Thanks, but I have to go back to the dormitory soon, I still have a few things to do.' I unzipped my bag and brought out the DVDs and the books I had borrowed from her. 'These really kept me company during the nights, by the way.'
'You're welcome. So what's waiting for you after Beijing?'
'Looking for work in the Philippines, I suppose. Or maybe I'll go to Hong Kong and teach English there. Something.' I finished stacking the boxes on top of the television. She was looking at the sandstorm again. 'Are you sure you're all right?'
She shrugged. 'I think he's going to call it quits before I leave.'
I leaned against the wall and looked out the window with her. The storm was growing more ferocious. 'I've always thought that he always seemed to be the martyr type. Maybe he just doesn't want to lead you on with false hopes.'

'We could always call each other everyday.'
'Yeah, but for how long?'
She didn't answer immediately. She sat down on the couch and looked at the ceiling. 'He won't be leading me on. I understand how difficult this all is. I mean, if it all just falls apart in the future, it won't be completely unexpected.'
'When do you think he'll tell you?'
'I don't know. Hopefully not on the day I leave because then I'll be bawling my way to the airport.' She had crossed her arms and was staring at the floor. 'What do you think I should do?'
I slung my bag on my shoulders and moved towards the couch. 'I don't know. If you think he wants to break up, there's nothing much you can do. You still have a few days left. Just make the most of it.'
'You'll have to go back to the storm, won't you?'
'Yeah, I have to start packing now. You're done with yours, right?'
'I'm halfway through. Anyway, in case I don't see you again before I leave.' She rose and hugged me. 'Write me when you get home.'
'Of course.' I hugged her back. 'And thanks for the Polaroid. That was pretty random.'
She laughed, a little more quietly than she used to. 'Just get out of here.'
'Tell me what happens afterwards, all right?' I said as I opened the door.
I went down the stairs and twisted the knob. The gate gave a metal clang and I left the building. Then I opened my umbrella and started walking into the sand.

*

My friend left Beijing three days before I did. I heard from a few friends that they did break up, but I haven't heard from her since we parted. I think a great deal of Beijing winter and the malatang. I wonder how he could stay there seeing everything that would remind him of her.
This is how you talk about something you love. You tell why. And in the end it's really all about remembering. How the sun rose above the granite and concrete. How the pigeon flew above you, the whistle around its tail feathers trilling. Sometimes I remember it so well that I can still feel the sand being crunched between my teeth.

My Autobiography/ G-UNOT KILLA says...
I started cripping @ age 12, I started w/ the Rolling 60's Hoovers. After I was shot @ 13yrs of age by Bountry Hunter Bloods, I started working w/ "Freeway" Rick Ross & Harry "O" in the Late 80's as an enforcer. I personally have killed 10 or 20 people in the country.

April 29, 2008 11:23 AM

2 Words: Self Incrimination

I'm just mad y'all. Mad that my father is a smelly African from Senegal who doesn't use deoderant. My mother was his jump off and I'm there bastard child. The whole ordeal has left me with a serious inferiority complex and since I'm a social scientist I self medicate with wine coolers every chance I get. I leave the malt liquor for the low lifes. Gotta get your weight up and do it big. Nah mean?

@The homey Dre

Come on man. I fooled you too?! Don't you know I'm really G Unot? I've been pulling all kinds of stunts to disrupt this blog and get some attention. I had to fake like I beefed with you to make it seem real but I think I got rid of the new jacks. It's all ours homey. Just like ol times. Don't you just love it?

IS IT STORY TIME!

Lisa gazed out over the Caribbean Sea, feeling the faint breeze against her face - eyes shut, the white sand warm between her bare toes. The place was beautiful beyond belief, but it was still unable to ease the grief she felt as she remembered the last time she had been here.
She had married James right here on this spot three years ago to the day. Dressed in a simple white shift dress, miniature white roses attempting to tame her long dark curls, Lisa had been happier than she had ever thought possible. James was even less formal but utterly irresistible in creased summer trousers and a loose white cotton shirt. His dark hair slightly ruffled and his eyes full of adoration as his looked at his bride to be. The justice of the peace had read their vows as they held hands and laughed at the sheer joy of being young, in love and staying in a five star resort on the Caribbean island of the Dominican Republic. They had seen the years blissfully stretching ahead of them, together forever. They planned their children, two she said, he said four so they compromised on three (two girls and a boy of course); where they would live, the travelling they would do together - it was all certain, so they had thought then.
But that seemed such a long time ago now. A lot can change in just a few years - a lot of heartache can change a person and drive a wedge through the strongest ties, break even the deepest love. Three years to the day and they had returned, though this time not for the beachside marriages the island was famous for but for one of its equally popular quickie divorces.
Lisa let out a sigh that was filled with pain and regret. What could she do but move on, find a new life and new dreams? - the old one was beyond repair. How could this beautiful place, with its lush green coastline, eternity of azure blue sea and endless sands be a place for the agony she felt now?
The man stood watching from the edge of the palm trees. He couldn't take his eyes of the dark-haired woman he saw standing at the water's edge, gazing out to sea as though she was waiting for something - or someone. She was beautiful, with her slim figure dressed in a loose flowing cotton dress, her crazy hair and bright blue eyes not far off the colour of the sea itself. It wasn't her looks that attracted him though; he came across many beautiful women in his work as a freelance photographer. It was her loneliness and intensity that lured him. Even at some distance he was aware that she was different from any other woman he could meet.

Lisa sensed the man approaching even before she turned around. She had been aware of him standing there staring at her and had felt strangely calm about being observed. She looked at him and felt the instant spark of connection she had only experienced once before. He walked slowly towards her and they held each other's gaze. It felt like meeting a long lost friend - not a stranger on a strange beach.
Later, sitting at one of the many bars on the resort, sipping the local cocktails they began to talk. First pleasantries, their hotels, the quality of the food and friendliness of the locals. Their conversation was strangely hesitant considering the naturalness and confidence of their earlier meeting. Onlookers, however, would have detected the subtle flirtation as they mirrored each other's actions and spoke directly into each other's eyes. Only later, after the alcohol had had its loosening effect, did the conversation deepen. They talked of why they were here and finally, against her judgement, Lisa opened up about her heartache of the past year and how events had led her back to the place where she had married the only man she believed she could ever love. She told him of things that had been locked deep inside her, able to tell no one. She told him how she had felt after she had lost her baby.
She was six months pregnant and the happiest she had ever been when the pains had started. She was staying with her mother as James was working out of town. He hadn't made it back in time. The doctor had said it was just one of those things, that they could try again. But how could she when she couldn't even look James in the eye. She hated him then, for not being there, for not hurting as much as her but most of all for looking so much like the tiny baby boy that she held for just three hours before the took him away. All through the following months she had withdrawn from her husband, family, friends. Not wanting to recover form the pain she felt - that would have been a betrayal of her son. At the funeral she had refused to stand next to her husband and the next day she had left him.

Looking up, Lisa could see her pain reflected in the man's eyes. For the first time in months she didn't feel alone, she felt the unbearable burden begin to lift from her, only a bit but it was a start. She began to believe that maybe she had a future after all and maybe it could be with this man, with his kind hazel eyes, wet with their shared tears.
They had come here to dissolve their marriage but maybe there was hope. Lisa stood up and took James by the hand and led him away from the bar towards the beech where they had made their vows to each other three years ago. Tomorrow she would cancel the divorce; tonight they would work on renewing their promises.

@ Bigup2bk's stan

WOW. You deserve a standing ovation for your performance. I am very impressed. I used to stan all day on this blog, but once the regular left, if started to get boring.

I thought the ways of the stan would be loss, but you my friend have made this old stan proud. It's because of you I feel comfortable retiring from stanning, so I can start playing on phones.

You are truly a better stan than I could ever be, so it is my duty to hand over the crown. You are the "King Stan"

And everything NYOIL said in this song is true. However, I believe everyone is looking for a way to come up, and latching onto Nas to grab our attention is this dude's road to yet more controversy--and more attention.

This is just like when I tired to make a few dollars for my church by selling bootleg bibles and my new CD "Andrew" when the Pope was in town. The bootleg bibles sold like hotcakes but my CD straight tanked. I did make $5 dollars from people paying to turn my music off. Ya'll be blessed

JESUS LIVES!
PZ

Dre Guevara says...
My Autobiography/ G-UNOT KILLA says...
I started cripping @ age 12, I started w/ the Rolling 60's Hoovers. After I was shot @ 13yrs of age by Bountry Hunter Bloods, I started working w/ "Freeway" Rick Ross & Harry "O" in the Late 80's as an enforcer. I personally have killed 10 or 20 people in the country.

April 29, 2008 11:23 AM

2 Words: Self Incrimination

April 29, 2008 11:37 AM

-

Oh, so this guy ran with the real Rick Ross, and then became a janitor?? Then a pro blogger?? WOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW. Some people NEED lives. This dude's "autobiography" is filled with so many inaccuracies, and his "hood knowledge" was gained from BET and the History Channel. Dont believe ANYTHING G-unot killa says, its all lies, he's committing gang blasphemy!!!

I was always the king of Stanning. I don't need your endorsement. I've been as many as 6 personalities on this sorry blog going back and forth with myself. I don't know who you are but it takes a really special mind and talent to do that. Between the lies I tell and the different personas I never fumble the ball. I have lots of time on my hands because my staff of 3 imaginary employees do all my work. That way I can stay in bed and eat captain crunch all day while my home attendant mom cleans white folks homes. It's a great life I have. You guys hate me because you can't be me.

Bigup2bk says... I'm a social scientist I self medicate with wine coolers every chance I get. I leave the malt liquor for the low lifes.

April 29, 2008 11:40 AM

-

If you consider yourself heterosexual, and you get drunk on wine coolers, then I have some prime real estate to show you in Camden.

that's why its all lies!!! says...

Dont believe ANYTHING G-unot killa says, its all lies, he's committing gang blasphemy!!!

April 29, 2008 12:22 PM

I don't believe nothing anybody says on this blog. Most people be on here fronting. Take me for example, I talk all real big about social change and the revolution, but the closest thing my 34 year old ass has been to the revolution is attending a breast cancer awareness march. I'm just your typical loud mouth negro with a pork chop in one hand and a white woman in the other.

@Bigup2bk

After posting my comment that i directed towards you yesterday,i re-read the comments of the blog in question and realized that it wasnt you.

i was skimming and skipping post yesterday because i was bizzy.

if you noticed,i dont discuss what i do on here but i was also bizzy on the weekend when i was posting those comments.

im also bizzy now.

it only takes a couple of minutes out of your day to post.

werent you explaining the same thing to someone who was questioning how you could be a college professor,financial consultant,social scientist,and then blog all day at the same time?

If my memory serves me right,i believe you told the guy:

"dont get mad because i could chew bubble gum and walk at the same time."

i see this site as a vehicle to express yourself and to learn from different perspectives,and thats it.

if it leads to something else then so be be it.

I dont get into what people are actually doing for themselves and others because this is the net,and quite frankly you could be anything you want to be on the net.

I Stanned other people because they always stan me now I know its Brooklyn B, Bugup, and The Layer who are the stans!

Although from Texas, 40 Glocc, who is down with The Infamous Mobb/G-Unit crew (which is the only reason he's getting burn on here today),
^^
Wait, Im confused. You mean the same Infamous Mobb/ G-Unit Crew you hate on every chance you get?

Whatever,
40 Glocc is tight. Peep out his "That New Nigga" mixtape. He fuckin kills it. Buck's replacement? Hmmm.....

Peace to the real, you know the deal.

1.

Dre Guevara says...
I'm just your typical loud mouth negro with a pork chop in one hand and a white woman in the other.

April 29, 2008 12:32 PM

EREAL(The Real One)
^^
You really need a life.

I feel sorry for your mother.

Westcoast Savior says... AKA HATE AKA BITCH TALKING TO HIMSELF.

WE ALL KNOW THIS IS YOU FAG BOY. EVERY ONE ON THIS BLOGG KNOW THAT YOU ARE A HATEFUL NIGERIAN BITCH, WITH RED HAIR..............................LOL LOL LOL LO

EReal says...
Although from Texas, 40 Glocc, who is down with The Infamous Mobb/G-Unit crew (which is the only reason he's getting burn on here today),
^^
Wait, Im confused. You mean the same Infamous Mobb/ G-Unit Crew you hate on every chance you get?

Whatever,
40 Glocc is tight. Peep out his "That New Nigga" mixtape. He fuckin kills it. Buck's replacement? Hmmm.....

Peace to the real, you know the deal.

1.

April 29, 2008 12:40 PM
STAN^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
BIGUP AND BROOKLYN B LEAVE ME ALONE!

I'm tired of ya'll niggaz testin my gangsta on here. I'm so sick of it. I'm fed up. I'm asking Spider Loc for special permission to end this once & for all

EReal says...
EREAL(The Real One)
^^
You really need a life.

I feel sorry for your mother.

April 29, 2008 12:46 PM

"what you say about my mama"

- Don't be a menace to south central while drinking your juice in the hood

Thank you Reckless for exposing dude. I tried to make similar remarks on nahright blog, but I couldn't submit my comment. NY OIL is a perfect example of east coast crab bucket mentality. Instead of lifting his peer up, this guy rather go Willie Lynch style and try to discredit an established artist for shine. Blue Cheeze was 15 years ago, make a hit or sling pamphlets on your soapbox with a chitlin bucket to catch loose change. Im not buying what you selling, because as soon as your clown ass get money, you gonna be on that backpedal bullshit you accusing Nasir of. Reck you biased against my southern folk, but I can endorse your opinion on many of your previous points, this included.

that's why its all lies!!! says...

Dont believe ANYTHING G-unot killa says, its all lies, he's committing gang blasphemy!!!

April 29, 2008 12:22 PM

I don't believe nothing anybody says on this blog. Most people be on here fronting. Take me for example, I talk all real big about social change and the revolution, but the closest thing my 34 year old ass has been to the revolution is attending a breast cancer awareness march. I'm just your typical loud mouth negro with a pork chop in one hand and a white woman in the other.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Also I love playing footsies w/12 yr old school girls and getting my salad tossed on occasion by Hoover Folks on the south side. I love sucking off 3 times daily. My life is boring I'm sexually frustrated and I rarley get any & when I do I prefer Big Booty Transexuals. Check Out Blacktgirls.com thats my favorite!

EReal says...
EREAL(The Real One)
^^
You really need a life.

I feel sorry for your mother.

April 29, 2008 12:46 PM
STANS^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

G-UNOT KILLA says...
I'm tired of ya'll niggaz testin my gangsta on here. I'm so sick of it. I'm fed up. I'm asking Spider Loc for special permission to end this once & for all

April 29, 2008 12:49 PM

G-UNOT KILLA says...
I'm tired of ya'll niggaz testin my gangsta on here. I'm so sick of it. I'm fed up. I'm asking Spider Loc for special permission to end this once & for all

April 29, 2008 12:49 PM

now that's a funny joke says...
Dre Guevara says...
I'm just your typical loud mouth negro with a pork chop in one hand and a white woman in the other.

April 29, 2008 12:32 PM

April 29, 2008 12:45 PM

@Reckless aka Muscle Simmons

Just admit it!

Your a racist who happens to be a Nas stan,LoL!

You will go against any black person who is percieved to be taking a pro black stance,no matter how much truth they speak.

Look how easy it was for you to say that NY Oil spoke the truth.

How many blogs did it take for you to desypher Nas' BS???

How can criticize NY Oil for supposedly doing the same thing that artist you support do?

I dont see anything NY Oil is doing as "radical."

Hes simply disagreeing with an artist that you are d*ck riding,and showing a different perspective.

You probably dont know NY Oil from adam,so how can you question his sincerity.(and not question Nas' LOL)

Lastly,what does sleeping with white women have to do with wanting equality and the very best for black people?

LOL@HATE PLAYING WITH HIMSELF says...
Westcoast Savior says... AKA HATE AKA BITCH TALKING TO HIMSELF.

WE ALL KNOW THIS IS YOU FAG BOY. EVERY ONE ON THIS BLOGG KNOW THAT YOU ARE A HATEFUL NIGERIAN BITCH, WITH RED HAIR..............................LOL LOL LOL LO
^^^
This delisional lame thinks any time anyone says anything about him that its "Hate Hate and More Hate"

Get off that ni99a's deock son, forreal! You're lookin real lame right now.

40 Glocc ain't from the south fool. He's from Cali and claiming that Culver City Crip.
Check the Link you out! Part of the New West Movement. West All Day...Everyday...even on a Sunday!!!
http://youtube.com/watch?v=eWtB896_RMY

The West on Mines! says...
40 Glocc ain't from the south fool. He's from Cali and claiming that Culver City Crip.
Check the Link you out! Part of the New West Movement. West All Day...Everyday...even on a Sunday!!!
http://youtube.com/watch?v=eWtB896_RMY

April 29, 2008 1:28 PM

-

40 glocc aint from Culver City!!! He's from Colton, in the IE.

Dis nigga said he got fired from Fat Burger for tardiness!

LMAO!!!

Actually, "Westcoast is the Bestcoast" would be a perfect description of all out Neggerdom. So if you want to see "The Difference between Neggers and Blacks"
Just look at an educated black man such as myself and others on this site.

Then look at "Westcoast is the Bestcoast" the uneducated, ignorant, perfect example of a spear chuckin chuck n jivin monkey negger.

The choice of a new generation, lmao.

West up! Throw ya Dubbs!

Dre Guevara says...
that's why its all lies!!! says...

Dont believe ANYTHING G-unot killa says, its all lies, he's committing gang blasphemy!!!

April 29, 2008 12:22 PM

I don't believe nothing anybody says on this blog. Most people be on here fronting. Take me for example, I talk all real big about social change and the revolution, but the closest thing my 34 year old ass has been to the revolution is attending a breast cancer awareness march. I'm just your typical loud mouth negro with a pork chop in one hand and a white woman in the other.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Also I love playing footsies w/12 yr old school girls and getting my salad tossed on occasion by Hoover Folks on the south side. I love sucking off 3 times daily. My life is boring I'm sexually frustrated and I rarley get any & when I do I prefer Big Booty Transexuals. Check Out Blacktgirls.com thats my favorite!

April 29, 2008 12:59 PM

@ G Unot Killa,

WOW!!!!!

I did'nt know I was in2 that type of $#!t, but know this hoe, when I DO talk about social change and the revolution, U can best believe I'm doin' my part, unlike U, gangbanin' on a damn blog, that goes 2 show how much of a loser U R, when U were born, everybody in Ur family was losers, U just mad that U got a nickel & dime job as a high school janitor who gets chased home by the Bloods 4 trying 2 pick up their 15, 16 year old girlfriends.

Thanks 4 trying 2 post the false info on me, b!tc#, now get a life.

Also I love playing footsies w/12 yr old school girls and getting my salad tossed on occasion by Hoover Folks on the south side. I love sucking off 3 times daily. My life is boring I'm sexually frustrated and I rarley get any & when I do I prefer Big Booty Transexuals. Check Out Blacktgirls.com thats my favorite!

Body...wanna feel my body?
Body...such a thrill my body
Body...wanna touch my body?
Body...it's too much my body
Check it out my body, body.
Don't you doubt my body, body.
talkin' bout my body, body,
check it out my body

Every man wants to be a macho macho man
to have the kind of body, always in demand
Jogging in the mornings, go man go
works out in the health spa, muscles glow
You can best believe that, he's a macho man
ready to get down with, anyone he can

Hey! Hey! Hey, hey, hey!
Macho, macho man (macho man)
I've got to be, a macho man
Macho, macho man
I've got to be a macho! Ow....

Macho, macho man
I've got to be, a macho man
Macho, macho man (yeah, yeah)
I've got to be a macho!

Body, its so hot, my body,
Body, love to pop my body,
Body, love to please my body,
Body, don't you tease my body,
Body, you'll adore my body,
Body, come explore my body,
Body, made by God, my body,
Body, it's so good, my body

You can tell a macho, he has a funky walk
his western shirts and leather, always look so boss
Funky with his body, he's a king
call him Mister Eagle, dig his chains
You can best believe that, he's a macho man
likes to be the leader, he never dresses grand

Hey! Hey! Hey, hey, hey!
Macho, macho man
I've got to be, a macho man
Macho, macho man
I've got to be a macho! (all right)

Macho, macho man (yeah, yeah)
I've got to be, a macho man
Macho, macho man
I've got to be a macho! All Right!

Ugh! Macho..baby!
Body, body, body wanna feel my body,
Body, body, body gonna thrill my body,
Body, body, body don'tcha stop my body,
Body, body, body it's so hot my body,

Every man ought to be a macho macho man,
To live a life of freedom, machos make a stand,
Have their own life style and ideals,
Possess the strength and confidence, life's a steal,
You can best believe that he's a macho man
He's a special person in anybody's land.

Hey! Hey! Hey, hey, hey!
Macho, macho man (macho man)
I've got to be, a macho man
Macho, macho man
I've got to be a macho! (dig the hair on my chest)

Macho, macho man (see my big thick mustache)
I've got to be, a macho man
Macho, macho man
I've got to be a macho! (Dig broad shoulders)

Macho, macho man (dig my muscles!)
I've got to be, a macho man
Macho, macho man
I've got to be a macho!

Macho, macho man
I've got to be, a macho man
Macho, macho man
I've got to be a macho! HEY!

Young man, there's no need to feel down.
I said, young man, pick yourself off the ground.
I said, young man, 'cause you're in a new town
There's no need to be unhappy.

Young man, there's a place you can go.
I said, young man, when you're short on your dough.
You can stay there, and I'm sure you will find
Many ways to have a good time.

It's fun to stay at the Y-M-C-A.
It's fun to stay at the Y-M-C-A.

They have everything for you men to enjoy,
You can hang out with all the boys ...

It's fun to stay at the Y-M-C-A.
It's fun to stay at the Y-M-C-A.

You can get yourself cleaned, you can have a good meal,
You can do whatever you feel ...

Young man, are you listening to me?
I said, young man, what do you want to be?
I said, young man, you can make real your dreams.
But you got to know this one thing!

No man does it all by himself.
I said, young man, put your pride on the shelf,
And just go there, to the Y-M-C-A.
I'm sure they can help you today.

It's fun to stay at the Y-M-C-A.
It's fun to stay at the Y-M-C-A.

They have everything for you men to enjoy,
You can hang out with all the boys ...

It's fun to stay at the Y-M-C-A.
It's fun to stay at the Y-M-C-A.

You can get yourself cleaned, you can have a good meal,
You can do whatever you feel ...

Young man, I was once in your shoes.
I said, I was down and out with the blues.
I felt no man cared if I were alive.
I felt the whole world was so tight ...

That's when someone came up to me,
And said, young man, take a walk up the street.
There's a place there called the Y-M-C-A.
They can start you back on you

Do the shake (do the shake), do the sha-a-ake (do the shake)
Do the milkshake, the milkshake (do the shake)
Do the shake (do the shake), do the shake (do the shake)
Do the milkshake, the milkshake (do the shake)

When they come home (when they come ho-o-ome) from school (alright)
And they want something that's cold to drink (co-old to dri-ink)
Vitality (vitality), they need (they need)
They also want something good and sweet (good and sweet)
Just get a glass (just get a gla-ass) of milk (of mi-ilk)
You see it's not very hard to make (not very hard to make)
Add some ice cream (some ice cream) and blend (yeah-eah)
You will have yourself a great milkshake (a grea-eat milksha-ake)

Do the shake (do the shake), do the sha-a-ake (do the shake)
Do the milkshake, the milkshake (do the shake)
Do the shake (do the shake), do the shake (do the shake)
Do the milkshake, the milkshake (do the shake), yeah

When you're at work (when you're at wor-ork) today (alright)
And it is time for your coffee break (coffee break)
Why don't you treat (why don't you trea-eat) yourself (yourse-elf)
To a big thick and frosty shake (frosty shake)
When it is time (when it is ti-ime) for lunch (for lu-unch)
A milkshake goes with your sandwich too (yeah-yeah-yeah-eah)
Just have yourself (have yourself) a feast (a feast)
See what a milkshake can do for you (yeah-eah-yeah-yeah-eah)

Do it (do it), alri-ight (do the shake), why don't you do it (do it, do it)
Yeah, (do the shake) Do the shake y'all, (do it) hey (do the shake)
Do the milkshake (do it, do it) hey, (do the shake)
Just get some icecream (do it) and some mi-ilk (do the shake)
You can ble-end (do it, do it) yourself a milkshake (do the shake)
Just do the shake y'all

OH!!!!!! Almost forgot!!

ORLANDO STAND THE PHUCK UP!!!

Magic won again last night, with DH leading the way with another 20 / 20 and Turkoglu just short of a triple double.

WE COMIN!!!!!!

40 Glocc isn't from Texas. He's from The Inland Empire in California.

@Atheist

Thank you my brother. Although I don't know you personally you have no idea how what you think about me means to me. For whatever reason it's very important for me to seem important and be the center of attention. I know you guys noticed this about me but I swear to god that wasn't me yesterday. I'll be a man and admit I'm guilty of stanning in the past but someone pulled a fast one yesterday.

Also, I know it only takes a few minutes to post but when I can't be right I have to make everyone else appear wrong. My real name is Yakub and I'm a professor of trick knowledge. That's why I constantly put words in everyone's mouth and accuse them of things I am guilty of. It's also why I constantly try to make people choose a side or left out. I can't help my devilish ways. That's what happenes when your raised by a woman. Jealousy becomes your dominant trait. I'm such a b*tch. Man I tell you I'm always on this blog reading and stanning because I can't get a job. F*ck the white man. I'm beating the system by collecting SSI. He thinks I'm slow but you guys know better right? Every time I try to share this knowledge on how to beat the system somebody starts talking about doing for self. What a crock! Listen up brother that white man owes us some money so don't let any of these bougie negroes on here tell you different. All I ever wanted was to help people get there 40 acres and a mule. I'm so glad we're cool again because the best part about having fights is becoming friends so we can start the cycle again. Don't you think? Life for deadbeats like me would be so lame without it.

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Why NYOIL is right for challenging Nas for wanting to "Be A Nigger Too"

"Our artists are the key not only to the liberation of Black people but to the liberation of Humanity itself"-The Honorable Minister Louis Farrakhan

Artist today Beef over everything. 50 cent the "King of Beefs" got mad at Fat Joe for doing a song with his "enemy" Ja Rule, got mad at the Game for not wanted to "ride" on these same "enemies", got mad at Kanye for wanting to release his album on the same day, got mad at Lil Wayne for being perceived by the people as "hotter" then him, got mad at Alicia Keys for criticizing "Gangsta Rap" and now he's mad a Young Buck for speaking about his lack of royalties. And Hip-Hop fans and media eat this "Beef" right up even giving 50 Cent credit for his “marketing genius”. But when NYOIL steps up and calls out Nas, the Holy Grail of conscious MCs for his use/misuse of the word Nigger all of the sudden he's crossed some imaginary line or violated some unwritten Hip-Hop Law.

Mind you this isn't 50 cent calling Nas a "sucker for love". This is a debate over a word that has been connected to the murder, lynching, rape and torture of black people all over the world. This is about our ancestors, us and our babies many of whom don't know the blood stained history of the "N-Word". I like many Hip-Hop fans was willing to give Nas the benefit of the doubt before making a judgment about his album Nigger. And I like many Hip-Hop fans noticed a distinct similarity in the hook of "Be a Nigger Too" to the NYOIL song "What up my Wigger Wigga". But that is where the similarities ended. While NYOIL's song sought to discourage people from using derogatory language to describe themselves, the Nas song was a free pass for every one of every race to not only use the word Nigger but to "Be a Nigger".

In the infamous interview Nas did on the red carpet with a white female reporter from CNN he said, "no longer are just black people niggers today it's also me and you. He justified this thinking by saying, "We all at some point felt discriminated on". Unfortunately our history of being treated like "Niggers" goes far beyond mere discrimination; it is some of if not the worst treatment of any group of human beings on the planet. So while it's easy to say were all treated like "Niggers”, it's black people who have a high school dropout rate of over 50%, it's black people who are filling the prisons and the cemeteries at an alarming rate, it's black people who always seem to be at the receiving end of injustice whether it's the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina or the case of the Jena 6.

Here in Pennsylvania, where we lead the nation in Black on Black homicides, a 12 year old boy named Michael Ellerbe was shot in the back and murdered by two police officers. And even though a jury awarded the family 28 million dollars, and found that the two state troopers intentionality shot the boy, neither officer has been tried for Michael Ellerbe’s murder. At the same time Mumia-Abu Jamal an innocent man on death row was denied a new trial even though the inconsistencies and outright lies in this case are too many to name. How many black men and women are unjustly imprisoned? How many black men and women have been victims of police brutality? Who in there right mind would want to "Be a Nigger Too"?

I applaud NYOIL for standing up and challenging Nas on a REAL issue that has REAL meaning to our people and our future. Will we continue to allow irresponsible artists, misguided management and uncaring corporations to make billions off of our own degradation? Or will we stand up fearlessly, like the Men and Women of God that we are and let our actions follow suit?

My name is Jasiri X and I approve NYOIL’s message!

Reckless so let me ask you this, would you rather he talk about pitching,shootin,stabbin,bangin, and what size rims are on your truck?Is that what "keeping it real" is? Is whats hot in the streets??Fact of the matter is theres alot of truth to what the man is saying. Its not a secret that Obama is related to the Bush's (google it) therefore its not out the realm of possiblity that this man may also carry the same traits (if not worse) then President Bush. Now Im not a gentisists by no means but I do know that DNA ( what makes you you and what makes me me)plays a big part in creating the person you are.Now no disrespect but if your hating the kid because hes trying to be "so righteous" than my question is would you rather he act "so gangsta"?

Keep Hip-Hop live......