***before we get started today, i wanted to give a shout-out to the homie luvvie for spearheading the red pump project this week. all snark aside, that was some really good sh*t. ***

***flash back to the spring of 2003***

11:15: after some intense pre-gaming and skank ducking at arts, the champ and his crew of inebriated assh*les head to whiskey dicks, a fairly popular friday night spot in the burgh

11:30: just to confirm that they are in fact, inebriated assh*les, the champ and his crew of inebriated assh*les begin a three-man freestyle cypher while waiting in line, with each of us trying our hardest to find the most cleverly nasty way to incorporate “whiskey dicks” and “whiskey chicks” in a verse while simultaneously invoking disgust, amusement, appreciation, and intrigue from the women also in line. this tactic always works on wamo nights.

also, because we were listening to “diplomatic immunity” on the ride there, we each rhyme with a cadence eerily similar to juelz santana¹

11:47: the champ orders his customary two jack and cokes and does a solo walk through of the club, “taking attendance” because the champ doesn’t like surprises. the champ also doesn’t like guacamole, or racially ambiguous women. i’m not exactly sure how relevant any of this is, but i just thought i should share.

11:55: after the walk through, he orders two more jack and cokes, and chills at the bar. while doing this, the champ creates a scenario in his head where he’s the silent majority owner of the club, and then proceeds to lean back in his stool, slipping his jacks and watching the action with a detached air of subtle and self-righteous aristocratic bemusement. he stays in character for at least seven minutes².

12:01: the champ makes eye contact with chick who could easily pass for a lighter, hooder, version of nia long³. he approaches her. they introduce themselves (her name was “gee”).

they talk.

12:05: they talk some more.

12:10: they dance.

12:15: the champ takes the short break between songs as an opportunity to get gee’s number. the champ enjoys getting women’s numbers in the middle of packed dance floors, because it give him the opportunity to show everyone that he has a sidekick.

12:16: because of the noise level, the champ can’t really understand what she’s saying, so he hands her the phone to put her name and digits in herself. when finished, she hands the phone back to the champ, gives him a very nice hug, and goes back to chill with her girls.

12:18: before going to search for the rest of his crew of extremely inebriated assh*les, the champ glances in the phone to make sure she saved her info correctly, sess that “gee’s” full name was “gretchen”, and debates whether or not he was mentally, spiritually, and emotionally prepared to continue his life with a woman named “gretchen” in his address book.

12:20: sadly, the champ deletes the number.

ok, vsb…you’ve just read mine. now i want to hear yours. whats the shallowest, strangest, and most shamefully superficial reason you’ve ever had for dismissing a potential mate? we all got em, so no holier-than thouedness allowed today.

¹i’m at least 97 percent sure that i will regret admitting this publicly.
²the young champ was a strange drunk
³i realize that, with this description, i could have easily just said “she resembles pam from total“, but i wanted to find a way to incorporate nia long into vsb someday. congrats to me

—the champ

better than the alternative

i usually listen to one of my mix cds or my ipod during my 15 minute drive home from work. earlier in the week though, i’d grown tired of listening to “amazing” and “somewhere i belong” on repeat for the 82th time, so i decided to do the unfathomable…listen to the early evening (i occasionally listen to steve harvey in the mornings) urban radio station (WAMO) for the first time in approximately five months.

now, since i don’t listen to the radio or watch videos (i download all of my new music from blackgirl online and other adult message boards. no, seriously, lol. i’m soooo not playing), i wasn’t expecting to be able to immediately recognize most of the songs. what jarred and saddened me was the fact that not only had i never heard any of these songs before…i never even heard of the artists. not. one.

***and i couldnt understand sh*t any of them were saying. i felt like a white person trying to watch “the wire” for the first time***

that 17 minute listen made me feel as if i had aged 17 years overnight, lol, and was one of the many constant and blatantly perceptible signs that im getting old(er).

so, as a service from the verysmartbrothas (and ms. lizzard burr), the champ has decided to give you…

…four unmistakable signs that you’re getting old(er)

1. doing absolutely nothing…and loving it

when you’re young, if you happen to spend a weekend night in the crib, you usually spend the whole time wondering and fantasizing to death about all of the marvelous and slutty things other people your age are doing at the time. by the time i turned 26, i’d mutter “i should have stayed my ass at home” at least once during at least 75 percent of my outings.

now, i make up excuses not to go out.

naw man, i’m good. sportcenter highlights are always better when rece davis is the anchor, and he’s scheduled to appear on tonights show. i can’t miss that sh*t”

2. waking up with random pains

a few saturdays ago as i lazily crawled out of bed, intent on possibly setting the guiness world record for the least-productive 12 hour stretch, my first step on my carpet forced me to let out one of the most bitch-ass chill-emitting screeches that a grown-ass man could muster. no, i didnt step on a dead hooker piece of glass or a nail or anything…it was just my big toe, in about as much excruciating pain as a big toe could muster. what made it even worse (read: “more funny”) was the fact that i had absolutely no idea why my big toe was hurting. none. as far as i could remember it wasnt hurting when i went to bed. plus, i hadn’t done any ass kicking recently, so i definitely hadn’t injured my toe on someones deserving hindparts.

the pain eventually went away (and by “eventually” i mean “three days later“) as mysteriously as it came, like a 2 inch long, dark brown skinned gypsy. thing is, as saddening as it is to wake up with unexplained toe pain, it still pales in comparison to…

3….injuring yourself during sex

i know that intense sex may produce a little bit of pain, soreness, and tenderness, but lets just say that father time is f*cking with you when you say to your lover “you know, i think i might need to get an MRI tomorrow. i think i tore my ACL again” after a particularly heated romp in the sack.

4. liberal, schmeberal aint gonna turn into lashawn barber’s corner anytime soon, but i will admit that i’ve gotten more and more conservative socially as i’ve gotten older. at this point, it actually makes me physically recoil when thinking about my years of misguided militantism and lazily lethargic liberalism.  lets put it this way: the 19 year old champ, after hearing about her politics, would have given amy holmes the riot act and the heave-ho from his sack while the 29 year old champ would give it to her while she had a karl rove halloween mask taped on her back

thats it for now. slightly good people of vsb, what else would you add?

—the champ