Once upon at time  not long ago, I stumbled upon a most interesting conversation. This was a conversation being held by three white guys who worked with me. They were talking about welfare and how America needed to add the stigma back to the use of the welfare system. One of the gentlemen made it a point to note that anybody who needed public assistance was somebody who just needed to work harder. You know, coming into the game on some modeling sh*t.

These guys kept going in more and more until I, at one point, joined into the fray by letting them know that I was the child of a mother who was a recipient of welfare and food stamps and that her need for help didn’t diminish the type of person she was as a human being. Of course, the guys immediately dispersed the conversation with one levying a, “sorry if I offended anybody” missive in my general direction. I told him to do what he does and to keep it moving. I also nearly went into the co-worker’s office to let him know that there were no hard feelings and that he’s subject to his opinions. Then I thought better and realized that…

…sometimes white people need to be made to feel uncomfortable. It would seem that questionable decision-making and messed up ideologies run rampant. So I ran Forrest ran. I’ve noticed, even within myself, that at times I have attempted to make people feel better about the ridiculous things that they have said so as not to breed confrontation. And yo, son, yo that is wack, yo. But you know, this same thing plays out across racial and gender lines.  For instance…

…the name of the Washington Redskins. I had a lengthy convo with a coworker about this phenomenon. While I’m generally indifferent to the name of the Deadskins, the arguments that I’ve heard about why using the word and likeness wasn’t a bad thing were effectively, “It’s the Redskins. Period. Get over it.”  But here’s the better question: if anybody were to actually see an injun in the streets, would they call them a “redskin?” Probably not. I had this same argument with my coworker that got pretty hardcore at times. And again, I didn’t want him to feel guilty for thinking the name was okay and I was all prepared to go into his office to  let him know that there were no hard feelings.

But again, maybe he needed to know that what he said hit a nerve.

See, in my attempts to attempt to make these folks feel better, I would have lost my own perspective and encouraged them to go further with the completely jacked up lines of thinking. But the really real is that ever so often, somebody needs to be totally checked about the attitude they bring to the table, especially in a room with one Black guy who hears it all. Every now and then I feel like it is my duty to call out somebody else’s views. And sometimes, they just need to be uncomfortable.

While that’s as far as the challenge tends to go, it does all the service we need at that point to further the cause of race relations in this country (I’d use Canada too but you know they have beady little eyes and big flopping heads….haaaaaaaaay boo). I’m fairly positive that my coworker didn’t change his opinion about the welfare system based on the fact that he actually knows who happened to have lived in some less than stellar surroundings from age 3-6.  But he got a different perspective from me in such a way that he might at the very least refrain from speaking pure f*ckery into existence next time. Killa Cam.

Anyway, folks of VSB, have you ever intentionally made somebody (and by somebody I generally mean white people) else uncomfortable after speaking up about a jacked up opinion? Do you think they cared? Why do we park on driveways and drive on parkways? Did the minor check change the way they speak to or with you? Basically, does everybody need to feel a little bit of discomfort at some point??



Over the course of every relationship, there are a bunch of different levels you reach. There’s the first kiss, the first time you see each other naked, the first time you meet the parents, etc. Relationships are one big ass video game where you keep trying to beat levels to get the ultimate prize.

I’m not actually sure what the ultimate prize is but we’re all socialized to believe that there is one after you get married so let’s just assume that actually happens. Mmkay?


Now most of those levels are attained together and even without a verbal confirmation, both parties generally understand that you’ve just beat the last villain and have moved up a difficulty.

However, there is one level that isn’t achieved together in a traditional sense. It’s one that calls into question exactly how two individuals might view one another.

It’s all about that real (hip-hop).

Follow me now.

Say the two of you (man and woman) are sitting on the couch watching television. You’re playing those funny little cutesy games where you pretend you’re wrestling for wrestling sake but its really all just foreplay. You both are drinking beers and eating chips and watching Ocean’s 13 when she looks right into your eyes, then looks at the television, lifts her left leg and poots like its nobody’s business. In fact, forget the euphemistic term “poot”…she straight up farts. Loudy. Manly.

And it ain’t a silent-but-deadly here. Nope. This one packs a punch.

People, the dog leaves the room.

As a human, we all understand that men and women both get a little gassy and have to release the hounds on occasion. But honestly, some men just aren’t ready to handle it. And similarly, some women are never ready to let a man know they actually renegade the twalet.

Most women want men to think that they sh*t flowers and poot daffodils and have cutesy, tiny burps. And most men are happy with women letting them think this. There are those women who come at you off top with this whole, “I’m a real person” mantra who will burp in front of you and pass BP and stuff. Thing is, I know some guys who “appreciate” that…to a certain point. At the point where you’re having impromptu undesired competitive burping contests, it might start to get a little annoying.

This is that interesting level where things get sticky. Men, we like to think of our women’s icky bathroom activities kind of like graffiti-esque stretchmarks and Monica Lewinsky’s dirty dress – we know it exists, but we’d just prefer to never see it and pretend it didn’t. At the point where you introduce the funk to the P, I have to determine just how comfortable I am with my “lady” being less “ladylike”. For me, it’s not that big a deal, but then again, I’ve never actually dated a chick who’d try to pull a Dutch Oven on me. And really, I’m not sure how I’d handle it. But I do know some dudes who would let a chick go who was too free with herself and her not-solid-not-liquid emissions.

I did date one chick who let one rip so effervescently that I still remember it to this day. And she was sleep and it kcuffed up my WHOLE day. I just wasn’t ready. We got over it…mostly because it woke her up out of her sleep and she had to leave the room too. She was embarrassed and I couldn’t stop talking about it. Just a bad combination.

But still, I remember it to this day.

So anyway, good people of, at what point do you women feel its okay to just be free like Deniece Williams? To my brohams, do you prefer a woman who seems too dainty and sh*t to let it rip? Or do you want “such a f*cking lady?” who’s motto is “better out than in!”

Inquiring minds would like to know.