How Far Is Too Far?

“How far is too far?”

It’s a question I conveniently forget to ask myself whenever I find myself watching a viral clip of a fight on YouTube, tuning in to an episode of some reality show because of a confrontation alluded to in the previous week’s episode, or allowing an intentionally provocative news teaser make me practically salivate in anticipation for the cringe-worthy clip they’re going to show “after the break.” Sure, I know what I’m doing—I know I am actively taking part in a process that slowly and steadily desensitizes and dehumanizes—but I don’t ask myself that question unless I personally feel that a line is being crossed.

For me, that too far line is death. I refuse to watch any footage of an actual person actually dying, and I’m disgusted by those who seek to capture and/or witness the last moments of a person life with a glee, curiosity, and anticipation usually associated with people watching basketball highlight videos. TMZ obviously doesn’t agree, as they’ve provided footage of 19 year old Andre Lowe getting shot to death outside of a Hollywood nightclub, and have refused to remove the footage despite pleads from Lowe’s family and a petition in his honor.


Where Dey Do Dat At?: 7 Signs You Might Be At A Black Run Establishment

popeyesA few weeks back, I helped my homeboy move out of his apartment and of course, we rented a U-Haul.  Well apparently, my boy rented his truck from the busiest spot in all of Maryland AND given that it was the 31st of October (Halloween), everybody and their mama needed a truck to move from one apartment complex to the next.

$8,000 first time homebuyer tax credit my ass.

Anyway, we took the truck back at about 6:30 pm and the U-Haul locale was JUMPIN’ like the club.  I saw a chick who turned out to be a man dressed like a woman dancing to a Beyonce song, which was, like, so cliche.  Anyway, as we stand in line for what seems like forever, the clearly overworked ninja employees of the establishment begin loudcapping everybody but nobody in particular about people needing to get out of the store because it was basically closing time and how they weren’t getting paid enough to deal with these snippy motherf*ckers.

Being the college-educated and well-adjusted individuals that me and mi compadre are, we waited our turn and when we got to the front of the line, the phone started ringing.  Now you might think this was the store phone.  Nope, it was her personal cell phone and much to the surprise of nobody, she answered the phone…WHILE dealing with our order.  She proceeds to detail to the person on the other end of the phone how ninjas just KEEP showing up KNOWING that they close at 7pm and how she BETTER have some collard greens and chicken left.

And for anybody who went to Ray’s funeral last weekend, I’m sorry for your loss.  I didn’t know Ray personally, but I heard about all of the details from Bertha at the U-Haul on Chillum Road in Hyattsville, Maryland.

You’re welcome.

Anyway, the craptastic service and all around ri-damn-diculousness that I witnessed reminded me of something that I both love and adore…SERVICE AT A BLACK RUN ESTABLISHMENT!

While I love my people dearly, there definitely are some Black Run Establishments (BREz) that be on that bullsh*t.  Sometimes…they just suuuuuck.

So quickly, here are 7 sign that you might be at a BRE. Continue reading