(no subject)
It's Hard Being A Black Man
Ten am. December 25th. My brother walks into the room to wake me from my fruitful slumber. Come on, it's breakfast time, he tells me. He nags me. Breakfast? What is this you speak of? I'm a college student. My meals consist of a Hot Pocket at noon, Taco Bell at 3, and leftover hamburger helper at 1 in the morning. Explain to me what this breakfast is.
I walk into the small cramped kitchen at my grandmother's house. I look at all of my stupid relatives and I'm reminded of how much I hate this place. I hate it with every fiber of my being. I sit down at the cramped kitchen table. My bitch of an Aunt throws a plate of sausage, eggs, bread, and grits in front of me.
Oh damn. Too bad, I don't like sausage, eggs, and break. The grits? I'll eat. Yes, I know, grits. Couldn't get any blacker if I tried. Unless of course. My uncle looks around the room and then says, can I get some hot sauce for my eggs?
Blackness obtained.
Hot sauce on scrambled eggs? Seriously now? Why don't you just go ahead and ask for some Kool-Aid too. Some watermelon flavored Kool-Aid. And while we're at it, can we get that poolside while we're not swimmining in the pool and not getting our hair wet. Add a side of fried chicken. Extra crispy, full of Crisco. We're gonna need something greasy to eat after we finish our cotton picking for the day.
Seriously. Hot sauce on eggs.
Black people suck.
Ten am. December 25th. My brother walks into the room to wake me from my fruitful slumber. Come on, it's breakfast time, he tells me. He nags me. Breakfast? What is this you speak of? I'm a college student. My meals consist of a Hot Pocket at noon, Taco Bell at 3, and leftover hamburger helper at 1 in the morning. Explain to me what this breakfast is.
I walk into the small cramped kitchen at my grandmother's house. I look at all of my stupid relatives and I'm reminded of how much I hate this place. I hate it with every fiber of my being. I sit down at the cramped kitchen table. My bitch of an Aunt throws a plate of sausage, eggs, bread, and grits in front of me.
Oh damn. Too bad, I don't like sausage, eggs, and break. The grits? I'll eat. Yes, I know, grits. Couldn't get any blacker if I tried. Unless of course. My uncle looks around the room and then says, can I get some hot sauce for my eggs?
Blackness obtained.
Hot sauce on scrambled eggs? Seriously now? Why don't you just go ahead and ask for some Kool-Aid too. Some watermelon flavored Kool-Aid. And while we're at it, can we get that poolside while we're not swimmining in the pool and not getting our hair wet. Add a side of fried chicken. Extra crispy, full of Crisco. We're gonna need something greasy to eat after we finish our cotton picking for the day.
Seriously. Hot sauce on eggs.
Black people suck.