I\’m jus\’ sayin\’

September 19, 2007

Bringing Sexy Back!

Filed under: Uncategorized — Bwandungi @ 3:35 am

So yesterday me and BFF were on our way to work coming from some place in North Houston where we’d been running some early morning errands.

The I-45 HOV was jammed with drivers struggling to get to work in the stifling morning heat and you could already see the heat coming off of the cars.

We get off the I-45 to join I-610 and standing off the road to our left was a woman of the neighborhood. A black woman of the neighborhood.

She had beautiful dark skin, had combed her hair and had put on her best clothes for the morning hike to wherever it was she was going, but I think she forgot a very essential part of it. Her blouse!!!

Do not be deceived, she wasn’t naked from the neck down to her waist, that would have been too easy. Instead her skirt, one of those monstrosities that make a woman look like she escaped prison and got her clothes ripped in the barbed wire, was hiked up above her boobs, almost like a strapless tee. Her legs were bare and her flip-flops matched her outfit flawlessly.

BFF thinks she was a hobo. I think it is a new fashion coz that lady was determined to bring sexy back (to it’s knees!).

Ah! The things you see on the way to work!

  Nerd 1 



Filed under: Uncategorized — Bwandungi @ 3:31 am

I think I have the black man figured out!

Hey! Don’t be mad at me! I’ve been working hard.

After years of research I think I’ve found the key that opens the lock.

Men are, by nature, very simple creatures. The black man is, by far, the simplest of them all.

Generally speaking, this is all they need

  • Occasional feeding,
  • friends to travel in packs with – either for protection or company,
  • a beer here and there,
  • tail to chase when the urge arises and the very much needed scrotal scratch to relieve that itch which can only be attributed to their unusual anatomy in that area, a couple of sweat glands and a terrible relationship with soap and water.

For the black man, sprinkle in a little respect from peers and his momma or grandma and you’ve got a happy man. Never look at him wrong, don’t put on his smelly Nikes, and by no means should you ever at any moment try to show that you know more than he does.

This morning I was at a government office. Armed with the letter of the law provided for this office, highlighted and marked, supporting documents in hand and a huge smile on my face, I was determined to get my justice. Just my luck, a black man in the booth calls my number.


If it’s not Ms. Disgruntled-in-tight-pants or Mrs. She’s-never-smiled-a-day-in-her-life or Mr. Off-a-lynching-we-will-go, it has to be a black man.

Do not get me wrong. I like black men (gritting my teeth) because my father and my brothers are black men. I also understand that not all black men are the same… but in North America, they sure seem to follow a particular pattern.

The fucker behind the desk (sorry insomniac. Cover your ears!) was the typical black man, probably has a strong mother or grandmother and is sick of being put down by a black woman. So my preparation for our little tete-a-tete, which on blondie is good foresight, seemed to him to be arrogance and an attempt to prove that he is incompetent and wrong. No argument to the former, BUT it wasn’t my intention to paint him in such bold colors.
He didn’t even try to take breaths or wait for the question mark in our questions before he regurgitated the information he’d been fed by some other paper pusher like himself. After practically screaming my business to the world (my parents got to hear it!) he sent us on our way, but not after we’d copied a number off the wall to go and harass some other person. Whoever said Africans are not ingenious…

Dis girl gets no love from da black man. I think I’m looking at them wrong. Coz I sure ain’t interferin’ with scrotal activities!

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