In case you were wondering why you feel compelled, nay FORCED, to buy products to make your body smell less like a body, you can thank these jerks.
You know what’s a great fun and low-cost activity for all ages … of people who can legally get into bars? Karaoke! You know who knows how to do karaoke exactly right? Our pal Lindsey Weber! Her karaoke column is meant to help YOU do karaoke exactly right, too. It’s Grrr-eat (cereal joke). Discussed in this edition: Sad songs, yea or nea?
Really, we’re fighting because she raised me to never ever forget I was on parole, which means no black hoodies in wrong neighborhoods, no jogging at night, hands in plain sight at all times in public, no intimate relationships with white women, never driving over the speed limit or doing those rolling stops at stop signs, always speaking the king’s English in the presence of white folks, never being outperformed in school or in public by white students and most importantly, always remembering that no matter what, white folks will do anything to get you.
Mama’s antidote to being born a black boy on parole in Central Mississippi is not for us to seek freedom; it’s to insist on excellence at all times. Mama takes it personal when she realizes that I realize she is wrong. There ain’t no antidote to life, I tell her. How free can you be if you really accept that white folks are the traffic cops of your life? Mama tells me that she is not talking about freedom. She says that she is talking about survival.
1. Wait until Sunday and then go to a coffee shop and buy a Sunday New York Times ($5 in NYC, $6 elsewhere) 2. Wait until Sunday and then steal your neighbor’s Sunday NYT. Read and return. 3. Wait until Sunday and then steal your neighbor’s Sunday NYT. Read and don’t return. 4. Wait until Sunday and then call your mom who has a NYT subscription and have her read it to you over the phone. 5. Read it on The Internet, this second.
“I’ll get the footlong Subway sub because then I’ll have lunch AND dinner.”