Tag Archives: email

My Favorite Conspiracy Theory by Panama Jackson

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Moon...or New Mexico?? You tell me.

Conspiracy. (noun). An agreement to perform together an illegal, wrongful, or subversive act.

I think too much (and I also know that I shouldn’t give too much credence to conspiracy theories).

And as is such, I tend to come up with lots of random conspiracies and non-sense that at the time may seem to make sense. Though I’d like to point out that the Law of Averages says that somewhere along the way, at least one of my rants is going to be on the money. For instance, I’m still convinced that Starbucks is indeed “the man” that we speak about in our day to day activities. I’ve never been fully convinced that West Virginia actually exists as a state but is more or less a place that aliens and white people come from and use as training grounds in case black people get too “uppity” because most normal people have never been to West Virginia nor questioned its existence.

But there is real conspiracy out there that is threatening black existence in inner cities everywhere. It is the precursor to Starbucks. It is what makes it possible for the idea of Starbucks in the ghetto to exist. It is none other than…

…the white listserv.

Yes. You read that right.

What is the white listserv?? I feel a definition coming on.

White Listserv. (noun). formerly known as the white phone call, white fax, white morse code. Created in the 1960′s and evolving over time, this white listserv is the means of communicating to white peoples (primarly WASP’s) across the nation of the neighborhoods in particular cities that are scheduled to be relieved from Blacks and/or Latinos control and transformed into inner city urban enclaves of gentrification and just all around whiteness. Synonyms: Starbucks.

Let’s examine this shall we? Yes, let’s. In the beginning there were neighborhoods. Inner city neighborhoods. They consisted of mostly white people and black people were confined to the slums and ghettos of the city. One day, a lone black man, let’s call him, James, made some money and started the trend of other black folks making money and decided to move to where the white people were. They didn’t mind one black face and James seemed nice enough. His wife was high yaller and his kids could read. But more black folks made money and followed James. And it started happening throughout the country.

We reached the residential tipping point. So what did white people do? Created suburbs and got the hell out of dodge. So now the slums just moved to where ever James was because as is fact, when everybody finds paradise, it ceases to remain paradise.

Say it unison with me: Damn damn damn James.

This occurred for a good 30 years.

Well one day circa 1980, James’ old neighbor, let’s call her Jenny, decided that she wanted to move back in to the city. That’s where all the amenities and services were, as well as the parks, black men, and Icey’s. But Jenny wasn’t sure where to move because all of the neighborhoods were inhabited by les negroes. She asked a friend who asked a friend and that’s when it happened.

The first white phone call. The call intended to tell Jenny where a prime spot would be to move because they were taking it over. Who is they?? The white people. She was told the area, found a place and moved in and lo and behold, the neighborhood changed. This situation began to occur in major cities everywhere but more slowly and with more subtlety and to mostly fringe areas close enough to the suburbs but still in the city.

Now they’re everywhere. Now they’re in neighborhoods that only a few years ago white people wouldn’t dream of walking thru for fear of being robbed in their sleep. But lo and behold, there they are. Walking down Georgia Avenue in Washington, DC; or Atlantic Avenue or Fulton Street in Bed-Stuy, Brooklyn; or down Lowery Blvd (though it will forever be Ashby Street in my heart) in Southwest Atlanta’s West End community. You know those places where seeing a white person initially made you do a complete double take; one that almost made you crash.

However, there they were walking their dogs or jogging as if they didn’t realize they were playing with their lives.

These are all people who today get “the e-mail.” Yes that one from the white listserv who told them that if they bought in now, they would see tremendous gains on their property value becasue the neighborhood was going to be flipped into an inner city enclave of diversity, though the goal would be 65 percent persuasion and 35 percent unpersuasion. If they could live with it for 2 years tops, their dreams of inner city living complete with all that the city has to offer would become a reality.

They took up the offer.

And it’s still going on across America right now. White e-mails are being sent out left and right. Neighborhoods that normally would be be black through and through are now becoming enclaves where white people feel safe because they got the email. It’s my thought that somehow when you’re born and receive a Social Security Number, that they tag you if you match the necessary criteria. They have some white indicator. This same white indicator pushes you to different white listservs if you marry a black person and have black children. You’re priority becomes different…however you’re still on the list and when you receive that first email, they make you pledge to never tell a person of color, unless your husband or wife is indeed, colored.

All thanks to the white listserv…existing in a community near you.

So um, yea, that’s my favorite conspiracy theory…what’s yours?? You read books, I know you’ve got one!

HAPPY GEMINI SEASON!

-VSB P aka THE ARSONIST aka MR. GET YO’ HAND OUTTA MY POCKET aka GIIIIIIIIIIIIIRL HE A 3

***DC PSA: For all you suckas that don’t know, on June 2, 2012, VSB is bringing you another edition of the monthly party dedicated to all 90s everything: REMINISCE. Except this June edition is extra special because it’s not only the Gemini Birthday Bash…it’s also PANAMA’S BIRTHDAY!! So If you’re in DC, please come out and celebrate Panama’s birthday with him so he can personally thank you and try not to take so many shots that he passes out and doesn’t remember the evening! And remember…it’s free before 11pm with RSVP (link coming soon), open bar from 930-1030pm, and no dress code. It’s the best damn house party at a club in the city!! Wear shorts! Be comfortable. And party with Panama!!!!***

bonkers: five signs you’re dealing with a crazy-ass bastard

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in keeping with our committment to fight crime, i’d be remiss if i didn’t tell you that i was once in a relationship with a woman who later revealed herself to be completely insane. because i am still scared to death of her dont like to go in-depth about past lovers, i won’t get into any particulars, but i wanted to bring this topic up just to provide some sort of public documentation in case i end up “missing” someday show you all that the champ is human and sh*t, and how to avoid the mistakes ive made. so without further ado, heres…

….five signs you’re dealing with a crazy-ass bastard

1. you’re scared to break up…for two separate reasons:

a) what they’ll potentially do to you

and, more importantly.

b) what they’ll potentially do to themselves

“how did it last that long?”

ask anybody (myself included) who stayed in a relationship with a slightly anti-sane person this question, and they’ll all give you a variant of the same answer.

“yeah, of course, i feared that she’d delete my hard drive and grind off the heels of my ken cole dress boots if i ended it. but, to be honest, i was more scared about what she’d do to herself. sh*t, suicide, homicide, growing a shag, dating a skinhead, and publicly releasing a niagara of synthetic tears…anything was possible.”

2. you keep a list in your head of completely and hilariously random topics you try to never, ever, ever, ever bring up.

several years ago, i dated a woman who’d go batsh*t bongcrazy whenever anything having to do with vegetables was brought up.

i’m not making this up.

vegetables.

like lettuce and spinach and sh*t.

i once asked her why, but i lost interest once i heard the term “seattle communists” in her explanation. moral of the story: don’t date aka’s.

3. they have a list of completely and hilariously random places they’re never, ever, ever allowed to visit

chuck e cheese

walmart

back yards

madison square garden

walking across bridges

the state of delaware

within 500 yards of any post office or beer distributors

no matter how stupid the reason, crazy-ass bastards love being banned from random ass, seemingly unbanable places. its a virtual rite of passage, like confirmation for catholics and teen pregnancy for hispanics.

4. for whatever reason, sex is usually accompanied by tears

lets just say that i learned the hard way that a woman doing a naked wall-slide and sobbingly uncontrollably for ten minutes directly after an orgasm isnt a good thing, and could possibly lead to more terrifyingly hilarious behavior, and lets just leave it at that…ok?

cool.

lastly…

5. …they’ve made YOU crazy too

whether it’s changing your account passwords twice a week, hacking their email just to see if they’ve hacked yours, or finding yourself apologizing for completely and utter defensible sh*t (“i’m sorry for telling you i got to work on time yesterday. i didnt realize that it would make you think about your stepfather‘s foster kids“), there’s no truer sign that you’re dating a crazy-ass bastard than the fact that you’ve started to do crazy-ass sh*t yourself, just to potentially pre-empt their craziness.

its a circle of crazy. a sphere of insanity. a loop of lunacy. a wheel of wack. a disc of dementia. a circumference of cuckoo

i’d go on, but…wait. hold up. i’ll be back. i think someone’s knocking on my window.

hmmm. thats odd. noone was there, but there’s a bucket of what looks to be chicken blood on my windowsill. i wonder why that is?

oh well. did i miss anything?

—the champ

email of the week: the death of courting

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earlier this week, i received an email from a vsb regular who sent me a transcript of chat she had with another vsb regular, lamenting the “death of courting“.

here’s a few highlights

chick 1: I get mad every time a man thinks it his damn right to get some ass.

what happened to the artificial wait period?

I mean really

U don’t want a tramp! Stop trying to make me into one!

it’s like once you have sex, what else is there??

cuz the default thing to do when together is f*ck

often times ruining the chance to do other sh*t like go on dates and just chill and talk and get to know each other

chick 2: it seems like it always has to be the end activity

ok we went to the movies

lets go home and f*ck

ok we had dinner lets go home and f*ck

ok we had brunch lets go home and f*ck

I mean really

just get in the damn bed and lay there!

chick 1: like can you just hold me??

chick 2: you not turning my vajayjay into a pulled pork sandwhich

chick 1: maybe if you put more effort into other aspects of me and US then perhaps i’d be more in the mood and really put it on you and have you wanting to do more so you can get

chick 1: dead @ turning my vajayjay into a pulled pork sandwich

granted there are plenty of loose, pulled pork sandwichy girls out there

but WE aren’t them

and dudes need to know how to adjust accordingly

chick 2: I want to know what other women go through

is it a certain type of woman that gets this treatment

why do men think this sh*t is ok

when did things change?

two thoughts immediately came to mind after reading this

1. there are only two ways for a woman to be absolutely certain that a man they’re seeing isn’t thinking about sleeping with her the entire time they’re together.

a: he’s not straight

b: he’s gay

since most straight woman try not to actively date gay men, i find it odd and a bit humorous when they’re still surprised, after decades of dealing with us, that we want to f*ck them. sure, we may find time for watching tv or talking or knitting together or some sh*t, but we approached you, we bagged you, we called you, we asked you out, we took you out, and we foot the bill all because we want to f*ck.

sure, other things about you might eventually interest us, and if you’re interesting enough, we might even want to marry your ass, lol, but sex is the latent cause beneath pretty much everything we do with you. granted, some of us may be smoother or more patient in our prowl than others…but we’re still all on the prowl. some of us are just better hunters.

also ladies, trust me. you dont (i repeat, you DONT) ever want to date a guy who isn’t making an effort to sleep with you. you wouldn’t know how to handle that. trust me.

2. i agree that the actual act of courting doesn’t seem to have much relevance anymore for many of us…but did it ever? think about it: when you consider arraigned relationships/marriages and the fact that many of our elders ended up shacking up with each other by their 17th birthday, maybe men have to do more courting NOW than we ever did before.

thats it for me…for now.

thoughts, people of vsb?

—the champ

ask the champ: movie edition

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***as written in the champs new contract, from now on, at least once a month the champ will directly respond to a question that was sent to the champs email address. the champ doesn’t really enjoy doing this, but since it’s in the champs contract, the champ will continue to do this because the champ has made it known that the champ will do things that the champ doesnt really enjoy doing, as long as there’s money involved. the champ is a whore. btw, if you haven’t noticed, theres also a clause in the champs contract disallowing pronouns.***

being that you’re a movie buff, i wanted to ask you a simple question: out of all the movies that you’ve seen, champ, which one had the strangest, most inane plot? i’m not asking for the worst movie, just a premise that made you wonder “what the f*ck were they smoking…and where can i get some of that sh*t for myself??”

for me,it would have to be “underworld“. think about it: a bunch of underwear model slash werewolves and vampires running around with capes, diesel jeans, and doc martens, speaking in old english but with australian accents and shooting each other with assault rifles. just completely weird, but, for some reason, it kind of works.

be easy

–t.j.

thanks t.j.

as you know, the champ is an expert in myraid capacities. from how to achieve the perfect standing “o” to orbitofrontal cortex hypoactivation, i am the master of many domains, and one of said domains is obscure movie knowledge. if you haven’t seen it, you can bet that the champ has.

with that being said, after racking my brain and “teasing the midget” clearing my thoughts, one movie stands out more than anything else. one movie with a premise so absurd, so inane, so inconceivably inconceivable that…well…it just leaves you speechless.

this is a movie about an undead black former slave/serial killer who only attacks white women.

please re-read that last sentence three times, just so you fully grasp the levity of that statement.

go ahead. i’ll wait.

done yet? ok.

an undead black former slave/serial killer who was “murdered” 100 years ago by a swarm of bees that he still occasionally carries around in his throat. an undead black former slave/serial killer who they say will only appear if you say his name in a mirror five times, but somehow always finds a way to circumvent that little rule.

yes, faithful readers and concubines, i’m talking about the one and only…

…candyman,

seriously…just take a moment to think about this. a black former slave serial killer who only haunts snizzles???? how the hell did this movie even get made? who green-lighted this sh*t? and how many wangs did the producer have to hold in his mouth to get this sh*t through?

can you imagine a producer going to an executive meeting trying to pitch this premise?

producer: “so, yeah…at the end of the flick, they’re gonna have a giant bonfire in the middle of cabrini-green, and i’d really like the blonde protagonist to be butt naked, and to get all of her hair burned off. that would be perfect”

exec one whispering in exec two’s ear: “who the hell is this guy, how the hell did he get into our building, and why haven’t we called security yet??”

exec two, whispering back: “ummm…this is the security guard. remember we said we’d allow him to pitch a movie to us as long as he kept the “sticky stockings incident” under wraps.”

exec one: “dammit! wouldn’t it just be cheaper to have him murdered???”

exec two: “we’ve already killed two security guys this quarter. a third might get the cops suspicious. your ass just needs to leave those baby goats alone? let him make his flick. with any luck, one of the coloreds in cabrini-green will murder him while they’re filming anyway”

how come i’ve never heard of anybody picketing a showing of “candyman“? “friends” would get protests and angry emails during their run because they didn’t have enough black characters (save for b.a.a.t. ***bad ass aisha tyler***), but a movie about a crazy black ex slave haunting white women somehow slips through the cracks like a fart in a stiff fall wind?

and, to make matters worse, the movie was actually scary, lol. sh*t, i’m 29 years old with a nice 403b and i’ll be a great uncle soon (seriously), and you still wont catch my black ass saying “candyman” five times in front of no freakin mirror, lol. i’m not taking that chance, i’m sorry. call me a b*tch if you like, but i’m just not too keen on getting impaled and disembowed by some 6’10 former slave thirsty for some white “gotdamn”

anyway though, excessively “gasfermating” joyous people of vsb, how would you have answered that question? whats the weirdest, strangest, and most inane movie you’ve ever seen and am i the only one still scared to say candyman five times in the mirror?

—the champ

Eastside of Long Beach

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Ill never understand for the life of me why two people who are dating will give one another the passwords to their personal email or voicemail accounts. Theres no way in high Hell that Id ever give up that information. I really dont see a reason or a need for a significant other to have it. Everybody is entitled to some semblance of privacy in a relationship and chances are that email and cell phones are the last bastions of privacy for both parties involved.

Now it can be said that if you have nothing to hide then it shouldnt matter. And youre right. Except youre not. Just because you have nothing to hide doesnt mean you should share everything. But of course, not everybody is as smart as I am and many people get duped into giving up their personal information under the guise of full disclosure. Which brings up two questions:

1) If you have your significant others password, does that give you freedom to peruse their accounts?
2) Say they didn’t give it to you, but you have it, if you find something that causes you discomfort, are you allowed to bring it up?

Oy vey. Can of worms? Consider yourself opened.

Somehow, in my brain of brains, I dont think having passwords gives you the freedom to search as you please. But I also realize that temptation is a mother and if a relationship is having issues, the urge to surf thru email to potentially find a culprit is hard to fend off.

(Which is of course why Id never give up my passwords. Why give somebody the keys to a car you dont want them to drive? Its like Halle Berry standing in your living room dripping wet with a condom in one hand and a bottle of Patron in the other with a sign around her neck that says Dont touch or Ill disappear that just sucks all the way around.)

However, I think that if you do search through email, then you reserve the right to shut the fuck up about whatever you find and you should deal with it on your own. For one, you have no business going through emails. In the second place, you have no right to question somebody about some shit you found while you were doing something you shouldnt have been doing in the first place. And Im an evil enough bastard that I would hope youd come across something that would drive you apeshit — so apeshit, in fact, that youd have to bring it to me and hang yourself.

For me, once Ive lost trust, you might as well just go on ahead and walk it out like an usher because I probably dont want to see you again.

Babyface asked when could he see you again. Me? Give me the keys to the range and dont forget to move, bitch. Get out the way.

Im genuinely interested in responses to those two questions. I tend to think that women are more likely to go through their mans shit than a man is to go through a womanshowever, I know both men and women whove done both.

To snoop or not to snoop? That is the question.

–PANAMA JACKSON