6 Things That Every Grown A** Black Man Needs In His Life

Wu-Tang is for the children.

We’ve spent a significant amount of time here at VSB trying to help the womenfolks understand what men are truly looking for in women. And despite all of this help, I still happen to see scowling, angry-visaged, treebiting looking women running rampant on the mean streets of DC.

Sensitive thugs aren’t the only people that need hugs. Boobs and nubs both need hugs.

With that in mind, and with the recession going stronger than Peyton Manning in the 2nd Half of a football game (so sad Sanchez), I figured what the hell, why not shift the focus to the hombres? Fact is, a lot of men out there do suck. Women say it all the time and by law I’m required to deny, deny, deny, but I’m not blind nor stupid. And according to the great homeless philosopher, Homeless Philosopher, “ni**as are n*gg*s, worldwide. You got a dollar?”

There a few things that all grown a** Black men need in order to not only succeed with the ladies, but for life. Allons-y.

1) A Barber

Unless you rock a baldy, every grown a** man needs to have a barber to keep him looking professional and presentable. Hell, the only person higher up on the ladder than a Black man’s barber should be his mother. In fact, a ninja-barber relationship is so important (and fragile) that I just STOPPED going to my barber years ago because I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I was gonna shave my own head from here on out. He might think I’m dead. Either way, every Black man needs a first-name-basis-knows-facts-about-my-family barber.

2) Credit Card/Actual Credit Report

While I appreciate the commercials for Eastern’s Motors in the DC Metro area for their use of B-list celebrities and their non-synced lip-synching,  your job should NOT be your credit. You should have an actual credit score. And at least one credit card that doesn’t include the words RUSHCARD on it. While I’m not going to tel anybody what their credit score should be (Little Baby Jesus knows that all of us have our times of financial strife), you shouldn’t be getting denied service for a cell phone line. Women frown upon men who cannot own and operate cellphones. Trackphones and MetroPCS do not count.

Speaking of credit…

3) A job

Yes. You need a job mofo. There comes a point in life where you just can’t justify that hobby that takes up all your time with no real return on life. I’m looking at you Teeny. And your ilk. I have a lot of hobbies too. Some of them pay. What, you think Panama Muhf**kin’ writes for free? You need income. What is any woman worth her salt going to be doing dating a man without a job after she’s 22 years old. Women are going to college and graduating. Us? Kinda.

There’s a slight bit of leeway if you just so happened to lose your job in this recession. Blame Obama (it’s been a year now).

4) A dream/Aspirations

Marty Mart had a loft dream and got murked out in Memphis for it. So don’t dream so big. Besides, little kids of different colors been playing together since the 80s. Pick something else. But at least have the nerve to be somewhat ambitious. Women hate men without goals. Hell, I hate men without goals. Youstink. Get your sh*t together, soldier. At least dream of owning something. Even if that something is a box of new pencils.

5) At least one pair of sunglasses

Because you WILL see women who look fly and they will attempt to lock eyes with you as an opening to getting you in trouble. Plus, its easier to look at a** while you’re with your girl if you have on shades. Not that I’d know about that, but I do wear my sunglasses at night (no club) nowadays.

6) Good shoes

A good woman will judge you based on your shoes. If you’re walking around in some Buster Browns that look more beat down than Rihanna in a Lambo, well gangsta, you really need to step your game up. Work harder and spend some money on some decent casual kicks. And no, Nike Boots do not count as quality shoes, you moron.

Patrons of VSB, help a brotha(s) out. What does every grown a** Black man need in order to succeed in life and with women. Let’s do our civic and social duty today.

Kick the truth.


blame it on the a-a-a-a-a-alcohol

note: the homie demetria lucas is putting together a relationships roundtable for essence, and is looking for some very smart brothas and sistas. to qualify, applicants must be:
a) ages 25-45 and single b) in the new york tri-state area (or willing to travel) c) available for interviews in new york city the week of January 25, 2010 d) willing to speak frankly about relationships.  go to essence.com/relationships/hot_topics_5/essence_seeks_singles.php for more details.

***flashback to new years eve, 2005***


although a little bummed out that he’s unable to break in the new year with his girl –who’s spending the holiday with her grandparents in nevada– the champ decides to go to a nearby club with a few friends. after visiting and vetoing a few venues, they decide on “kaya”, a bar/lounge usually patronized by the patchouli people and the type of white people parodied at stuffwhitepeoplelike.com. basically, a great place for a crew of educated black guys to take full advantage of drunken liberal guilt


while ordering his three customary warm-up rum and cokes (he usually drinks one while at the bar, and carries the other two around the club with him. this –and not the other, rumored reason– is why his friends call him the double-fist), the champ spots a former co-worker with her girls. the co-worker walks over to him, they do the same “a little bit more familiar than usual” perfunctory extended embrace/two minute bullsh*t convo combo that people usually do when its new year’s eve and they see somebody they’re cool with, and the champ heads back to the bar


one of the champ’s boys inquires about the co-worker and asks for the hook-up, perfectly understandable since the co-worker is one of the few attractive women (not banging, but smiles alot and usually dresses nice, qualities that basically make you a dime on new years eve) in a club where the majority of the female patrons are dressed like they’re about to attend a produce co-op board meeting. (to quote my man “damn, there are a ton of constructionjunction-ass chicks in here tonight¹“)

the champ’s obliges, telling him that he’ll let her know he’s interested the next time he’s able to get a word with her.

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sh*t i just haven’t figured out yet

as you all already know, panama jackson and i are smart as hell. we’re super smart. very smart. uber smart. we’re to smart what ray j is to condoms. we’re to stupid what southerners are to soap. if “being smart” was “discreetly becoming more and more irrelevant” we’d be aubrey f*cking graham. if ken norton was mandingo, then we’re twin, ummm, mand…smartgos.

but, despite this ubiquitous smartness, there’s a multitude of sh*t i still haven’t completely figured out yet, and here’s some of it

why some black people can’t say “nigga”

now, i’m not referring to black people who’ve never had nigga as a part of their lexicon or those who’ve said nigga before, but have stopped saying it for some personal or political reason. no, i’m talking about the black people who say “nigga”, but, for whatever reason, just can’t say it.

you can’t exactly place it, but you just know that something about their nigga saying game is completely faulty because it sounds so forced, awkward, and unnatural coming from their tongues that you always notice when they’re saying it, like a seven year old saying “sh*t” for the first time. and, when you hear it, you’re always tempted to stop them and ask “wait…hold up. did you just call me a nigga, nigga???”

why paul pierce always looks like he got his haircut six days ago

while some have perfected intentional scruffy and others stay with the clean look, paul pierce is the only ninja i’ve ever seen who always looks like “its saturday and i haven’t been to the barber since tuesday”, and i have no idea how (or why) he does this

the female orgasm

some shiver, others shake.

some squirt, others hurt.

some cum, others can’t

some cry, others lie.

some scream, others sheen (ok. i know sheen doesn’t make any sense. i just needed something clever to rhyme with “scream”)

some get off when “spots’ are hit, others, well…i just read that g-spots aint sh*t.

like i mentioned before, knowing that mostmany women themselves have no clue about the female o provides a bit of solace, but can’t ya’ll provide at least a little consistency here? damn, we don’t ask for much.

how to react when free sh*t abruptly ends

for a year or so, a manager in one of the departments on the third floor of my building at work would buy five giant boxes of dunkin donuts every monday, and place them near the elevator for whoever happened to stop past the floor. sometimes his secretary would even send out a mass email to each department reminding everybody about them. as word got out that this was a weekly occurrence, everybody in the entire building started to look forward to donut day. offices started planning staff meeting times around them (no manager in their right mind would schedule a staff meeting on the morning of donut day, unless he wanted a full mutiny), and one guy (supposedly) met his now-fiancee for the first time when they argued over who would take the last boston creme.

then, one monday, no donuts. then, another donut-less monday comes and goes. and another. and another.

thing is, although we were all shocked and disappointed by the sudden death of donut day, we were even more flabbergasted by and confused about how to respond. i mean, we were in the bitching and complaining mood, but how exactly do you bitch and complain about somebody ending some free ass sh*t?

are you even allowed to be upset about that? what can you possibly say to admonish someone who all of a sudden decided to stop spending 120 bucks a month to provide your greedy ass with frosted mini-crullers? if a black blogger tells a long-winded pastry story with a weak punchline in the woods, would you leave a comment?

what to do when you’re out with your girl and this…

…walks past

i mean, you can’t stare, but you can’t not look either. in my opinion, the best tactic is to just make a snarky remark about her (“haha. wow babe. look who just robbed the ass store” usually works) so that now both you and your girl can look at her and snark at the same time.

anyway, people of vsb, i need your help. can anybody help me figure this sh*t out?

also, is there any sh*t that you very smart brothas and sistas out there just can’t figure out?

the carpet is yours

—the champ

why the “ratio monster” is full of sh*t

2 to 1

8 to 5

3 to 2

10 to 3

4 to 1

although meaningless without context, trust me when i tell you that you’re much more acquainted with these numbers than you’d like to be.

they’ve been read in pretty much every article about any PWI, HBCU, and attractive metropolitan area you’ve ever seen, watched on every news show and documentary focusing on your particular demographic you’ve ever taped, and recalled at every lounge mixer, happy hour, networking event, game night, house party and any other place where not-really-all-that-young-anymore blacks gather at night when they want to avoid gunfire you’ve ever attended.

they all tell tales of the black male/black female ratio monster terrorizing the black community, a lurking behemoth no man, woman, or child can escape from. it’ll find you at the dorm or while you’re hoping for a date, at the corporate boardroom and the bar, and at the cookout and the club. its growth has no end, its menace knows no bounds, and its power has no limits.

but, while these tales are (mostly) true, they’re told with the implication that the ratio monster creates an all-you-can-eat gourmet p*ssy buffet for any and every young black man with an occupation and an appetite. and, since the math makes sense —if there are five or six eligible women to every man, of course every man will have a smorgasbord of options— this feeling is accepted as true.

this widely accepted “fact” is a bullsh*t falsehood, though, and here’s two reasons why.

1. the food-chain conundrum

as anyone who’s ever lived on a college campus where women outnumber men can attest to, the female-male ratio usually plays out the exact same way, with the exact same hierarchy:

(for arguments sake, lets say there are 100 women on campus and 70 men)

group a) 10 percent of the men (7) and approximately 30 percent of the women (30).

***comprised of the top of the food chain dudes and the women who’ve given them exclusive providence.***

group b) 20 percent of the men (14) and 30 percent of the women (30).

***comprised of the guys who’ve grown bitter that they don’t have access to the same women that the top 10 percent do, and the women who’ve grown bitter the top 10 percent dudes aren’t checking for them. the only difference between them is that while the guys might get into half-assed relationships while still holding out hope that one of the “top 30 chicks” will give them some love, the women won’t even date at all.***

group c) everyone else

***comprised 70 percent of the men (49) and 40 percent of the women (40)***

anyway, while my math may be a bit off, the same basic dynamic occurs in every place where the ratio monster exists. basically, although it may seem like every brotha with a pulse and a penis should be bombarded with numerous options, only the top of the food chain cats are able to truly take advantage. and, when you combine this with the fallout created by the top ten percent and their “choices”, the ratio evens out (and even sometimes flips!)

***there’s a perfect opportunity here for an analogy about market share, the upper class, the recession, and reaganomics that i’d probably be able to create if i hadn’t slept though stats class.***

2. following the (mis)leader

“well, even though they say there’s 2.5 women to every 2 men in atlanta, once you separate the gays, the cats on house arrest, the guys under 5’9”, n*ggas with bad credit, the nissan altima-ass n*ggas, cats with degrees from clark, and the men my girls have already dated, the ratio is like 9 to 1″

—overheard by everyone, everywhere

a rather telling graphic makes its way across the screen one minute and 30 seconds into the recent nightline piece about successful and single black women.

using wedding cake figurines, the piece initially shows 100 female figures and 100 male figures, and then begins to cite reasons such as “unemployed” or “incarcerated” to subtract male figures from the screen until they’re left with 54 (as in, only 54% of black men are “eligible marriage material”), leaving the impression that every black woman is marriage material but only half of black men are

although nightline’s tactics may have seemed a bit sensationalistic, exaggerating the ratio by eliminating “eligible” candidates in any way possible is a common practice people use when speaking about the ratio monster, and a little hyperbole is sometimes necessary when getting your point across.

with that being said, what makes the nightline piece (and others like it) dishonest is the fact that they don’t even attempt to even the playing field by eliminating “ineligible” women from the ratio. and, while there may not be as many black women incarcerated or unemployed as black men, from “she doesn’t want any kids” to “avon barksdale used to beat a couple years back, and i aint trying to get shot over her ass” i bet that a roomful of single brothas could create a list of perfectly valid categories detailing why a seemingly eligible sista might not be “marriage material”, and why he still hasn’t received any ratio reparations checks.

you know, i guess it makes sense to think that if one side is “losing” the ratio game (black women), the other must be “winning” (black men). it makes perfect sense actually, at least until you remember that we’re on the same team.

—the champ

the contest

while certain cataclysmic events help to provide idiots atheists with “evidence” of God’s nonexistence (“if there was really a God, how could he/she allow something like that to happen?“), the existence of the wee-wanged man (WWM) and the aesthetically belligerent woman (ABW) is all the proof anyone needs that God is real, because only a deity would have such a darkly ironic and detached sense of humor.

piety aside, when it comes to dating and/or relationships, nobody has it worse than the dainty d*cked dude and the lebron-faced lady. but, while the WWM and the ABW can each claim that they were born with 13 clubs in life’s big game of dating and mating spades, today the champ will provide a detailed breakdown in five equally important categories to find out exactly who was dealt a worse hand. Continue reading