The Differences Between Northern Blacks And Southern Blacks

If you can guess where this pic was taken, I'll give you...nothing. Because it's an easy f*cking answer

If you can guess where this pic was taken, I’ll give you…nothing. Because it’s an easy f*cking answer

(A timely blast from the VSB past. Happy Friday.) 

Question of the day: Aside from accents and the always hilarious soda vs pop battle (it’s #teampop all the way, bitch), are there any other behaviors, characteristics, and mores separating Blacks from the north and Blacks from the south?

(Oh, and just to be clear, although the south technically starts once you pass the Mason-Dixon line, I’m going to throw the entire DMV — well, the entire DMV except for the backwoods of Virginia where they breed 400 pound rottweilers and things named “Marcus Vick“ — in with the north.)

This is (obviously) a rhetorical question. Why? Well, OF COURSE there are intraracial regional differences. The only thing left is what I plan to do today — determine exactly what these differences are.

Oh, and before I continue, there’s a couple things I want to add:

1. This “determination” will be completely anecdotal. I’ve done no studies, surveyed no people, and slept with no cousins to understand what it’s like to be from Mississippi. These are just observations I’ve made, that’s all.

2. I realize that limiting this to northern and southern Blacks leaves out midwestern Blacks, west coast Blacks, northwestern Blacks, and n*ggas from Youngstown. If you’re a member of one of those neglected populations, please feel free to add your own observations in the comments.

Anyway, let’s begin.

Southern Blacks are more likely to…

…attend HBCUs, be Greek, attend church, be Baptist, have stupid-ass names that are hybrid combinations of other names (i.e.: “DeLadariusray Jenkins”), get married at a younger age, get married at all, buy expensive American cars, buy cheap-ass American cars and put $35,000 worth of added expense in them, know their fathers, hate White people but date and/or marry interracially, be killed by White rednecks, coordinate outfits, have happier, more fulfilling lives, eat everything on a pig except its eyeballs and anus, buy Steve Harvey books, look like Steve Harvey, be colorstruck and not realize that being colorstruck is a bad thing, breed better women, rock braids/cornrows/locks (the men, at least), be provincial, be socially conservative, be unpretentious, have children, and be generally better people.

On the other hand, northern Blacks seem to be more likely to…

…attend PWIs, scoff at HBCUs while secretly wishing they had decided to attend one instead of paying 75 grand a year to attend some bullsh*t liberal arts college in Poughkeepsie, New York, be anything (Muslim, Jewish, Atheist, Laker Fan, etc) but Christian, be smart, have stupid-ass names that have absolutely no connection to anything remotely human name sounding (i.e. “Powerful Godbody Jenkins”), convince themselves that they’ve willingly chosen to stay single, buy European, be cool with white people even though they’d never actually date one, be militant, get killed by white rednecks with billy-clubs and badges, not be decedents of American slaves, rock ceasers, coordinate furniture, have better, more fulfilling lives…on paper, be more worried about how they’re perceivedread Hill Harper books, look like Hill Harper, look like someone who’d date someone who looked like Hill Harper, abstain from pork for no apparent reason, be staunchly liberal and close-minded at the exact same time, be somewhat lame, but migrate to the south and be the sh*t down there, be professional and promiscuous, live generally “better” lives.

Did I miss anything?

—Damon Young (aka “The Champ”)

Why VSB Isn’t Steve, Hill, Or Jimi and The Motherf*ckers Who Don’t Realize That

Editor’s note: make sure you check out the newest episode of our podcast, The VSB Files that was dropped today!

The Champ is a nice guy. Panama Jackson can be. The Champ is a diplomatic chap. Panama Jackson used to give a f*ck. Now he could give a f*ck less. What does he think of success? It sucks, too much stress. And after last weeks brouhaha over mi compadre’s post (you know which one) and the ensuing f*ckery that it spawned from numerous individuals across the net, I, Panama Jackson, was ready to go to the mattresses. But then I realized, it wasn’t my post and my partner was more than able to handle the situation on his own.

But see, I was offended. Now, I wasn’t offended that there was a call for The Champ’s head (no Bobbitt). No, I was offended that some no-name f*ck without an audience managed to lump us (though he specifically referenced the “post” he didn’t just say Champ, he said VSB…HE SAID MY NAME?!?!) in with Steve Harvey, Hill Harper, and Jimi izreal. While dude has the following of a guy who just discovered Blogspot yesterday, that one post got him shine all over the net for at least 35 to 45 seconds, which on Twitter is a lifetime. Within a matter of minutes, anybody who HADN’T heard of us before was thinking, “oh great, more uninformed ridiculous men spouting off non-sense under the guise of being Captain Save-a-Ho”.

And let’s keep it funky, EVERYBODY is trying to understand why those individuals are even apart of the conversation. So now we that poo all over our name to? Fuccouttahere.

With that said, I decided to break it down so that it can forever be broke. Namely, for the simple ninjas in the room (and folks who might be showing up now with haterade in their veins), here are 4 reasons why we are not Steve, Hill, or Jimi: Continue reading

link of the week: the choice is yours


we’ve heard the story ad nauseum

boy meets bonita. boy likes bonita. bonita likes boy, but despite boy’s good enunciation and earning potential, doesn’t like him like that due to boy’s unimpressive height, melanin, swagger, and lack of ability to properly recite and recall lyrics from the blueprint. boy moves on, meets bianca, blair, and botswana, and rinses, washes, and repeats with each to same results.

boy meets becky. becky offers easy benevolence and easier flat blond back. excessively backed up boy bones sh*t out of becky, breaking flat back and immediately becomes becky’s black buck boyfriend. months later, now banker boy buys brand new benz, beeming bleached alabaster veeners while brandishing becky at black bike week. a brooding and barren bonita beholds this, berates boy beneath bated breath and unabashedly blasts boy at bi-quarterly zeta phi beta bbq.

although usually dismissed as an urban legend told by mundane black men who feel that courteousness should equal automatic coochie, in “what single women can learn from michelle“, jenee desmond harris writes that barry o could have very easily been the aforementioned boy if not for young chelly robinson’s insight

“She must have focused on an abundance of goodness instead of his hint of goofiness and fixated on a warm smile instead of a pair of oversized ears. It’s easy to see now that he was a great catch, but how many of us would have been open to this guy who strayed so far from the black Prince Charming ideal, starting with his very name?”

before i continue, i have to say that i don’t entirely agree with her premise or david swerdlick’s strange rebuttal.

i mean, even the most superficially discriminatory young black women i know aren’t gonna continually dismiss the harvard law grad beating down their door. plus, and lets be real, although she’s definitely a stunning and charming woman now, michelle obama aint exactly the second coming of cleopatra. i doubt anyone, including her, thought she was settling or slumming when accepting barack’s advances.

despite this, the latent points remain true:

barack obama has replaced hill harper as the patron saint of bandwagon attraction, and when it comes to dating and relationships, we (black men and women) consistently value the wrong sh*t…

…or not.

who knows?

i do know, though, that i’ve heard this all before, and i’m sure you have to0.

since today’s about hope and change and sh*t, tell me, people of, what the hell is the right sh*t?

—the champ

get on the (band)wagon

one of the most dependable relationship tenets is the fact that when its blatantly obvious that a man is in a committed relationship, there’s a certain segment of women (read: “all“) who will begin to find him more attractive. from latent self-esteem and “distant daddy” issues to the fact that men in relationships generally aren’t pressed to find new pu**y (an attractive quality in the eyes of most women), there are myriad possible reasons for this phenomenon, but, for the most part, it all comes down to one general rule:

women are lemmings (ie: “sheep”, “followers”, “the borg”, “republicans”)

how so, exceedingly omnipotent and virile champ?“, you ask…well

…its all about the wagon. the bandwagon

bandwagon attraction is a general thought process that many women possess, a way of thinking that allows peer-pressure to influence how attractive they might find someone. they practice this everywhere, from the nightclub dynamic where one expertly timed “i think he’s funny looking” can influence an entire flock of chicks into thinking that an relatively unfunny looking guy is, in fact, funny looking, to the entire mystic surrounding the wedding ring:

well…there must be something great about him since someone actually wanted to marry him. i wonder if he wants some head?”

in equation form:

x (a man’s base score)


y(1/10)  (the number of women who’ve professed attraction to him with her earshot)


z (his adjusted score)

for instance, if a woman thinks a guy might be a 5 (x), but she hears 20 different women say that he’s attractive (y)*(1/10), his score raises to a 7 (z)

***for a negative remark, the equation stays the same, sans the “1/10th” changing to a “negative 1/10th”***

in no other avenue is this phenomenon more prevalent than when thinking about pop cultural figures. from michael jordan (who, more than any other public figure, made it socially acceptable again to admit attraction to dark-skinned black males) to the mystery surrounding the confusing infatuation black women had with mos def from 2001 to 2004, theres a long and varied history of men becoming “attractive” basically overnight just because a few fickle women deemed them such and their opinions began to pick up steam like, ummm, a thing that picks up lots of steam very quickly.

the patron saint...for now

the patron saint...for now

currently, the 2008 patron saint of bandwagon attraction seems to be hill harper, a man who in less than 30 months has gone from “what kind of f*cking name is hill??” to the de facto ideal mentioned when black women profess an affinity for nerdy n*ggas. in fact, if you google “i need me a hill harper type of n*gga“, over two billion results pop up, with over 500 million of them coming directly from (***editors note: the champ is lying***)

what does this all mean? why are women so easily influenced when it comes to what they find attractive? why did mos def shack up with an nba groupie? who knows. all i know is that i need to start rocking a wedding ring.

on second thought, maybe not. wagons give me motion sickness. i think i’ll pass

–the champ