Archive for the ninjas Category

Lovers & Friends: The Scandalous Abuse of Boyfriend Privedges

Posted in bustdowns, hip hop, niggas, ninjas, Pimpin', sideline hoes on January 20, 2012 by theninjaparade

Ok.

So I read arguably the most raw, true, and pointed relationship blog posting the other day from the real-talk blogger extraordinaires at  The Fooler Initiative, entitled “the unfunny post to women. and i’ll talk and you won’t listen. but for what it’s worth: keep your heart, 3 stacks.“.

Shyt was real.

So real, that I combed it four times because a character-type jumped out at me.  In a quoted description of their exchange, I was floored.

“He’d made it very clear from the beginning that he didn’t want a girlfriend.

“No titles,” he’d said. And I’d agreed.

And we hung out, messed around, went out on dates, exchanged gifts, he met my parents. But he’d been clear. No titles.”

This mystery man, whom the author chooses to leave anonymous (but is no doubt KNOWN within her circle) is the quintessential non-committed man.  She dealt with him.  It didn’t work out.  A valuable life lesson (“how’s” and “why’s” included) was learned, sooner rather than later.

Buuuuuuuuuuuut.

For the men, across the blogosphere who were forwarded this blog we collectively gave each other “the look”.

You know, the look niggas give one another as the WHOLE barbershop falls deathly silent when lil TeQuan’s mama (with the slim waist and phat ass) walks in.  The look that unquestionably screams, “yo famo…you see this shit?”

Curiously, the look is not directed towards the author, nor the author’s former self whom she eloquently depicts, but towards the un-named tall Friend (+Benefits) quoted above.

Here at The Ninja Parade, we’re all about people learning valuable life lessons and receiving stress-free box.  And I get the feeling that the author turned out alright after all, but to the antagonist of that blog, we say this…

No offense bruh, but you jagged off some perfectly good and completely free college box […and lowkey probably messed it up for the next cat.]

Here’s 2 Good Reasons why:

1. You Didn’t “Out” The Other Heaux:  see, ninjas mess stuff up because for one reason or another, they refuse to let women know that there are other women.  Ol El Jugo learned a long looooooong time ago a very simple truth:  that when a woman has made up her mind that she wants a man (as the author instantly did upon SEEING this nigga) she will often turn a blind eye to the presence of other women.  I mean, it’s cool and all that you let lil mama know you didn’t want a relationship or titles, but the very next breath should suggest that other heaux are in the background/sideline.  This, of course, has to be done with great care.  Because a woman will tolerate it as long as a) you directly or indirectly make the extra heaux known, b) you do not in any way embarrass ANY of them, c) you are out here blowing their WHOLE COLLECTIVE BACKS (plural, as in all of them) OUT.  You’d be surprised what a woman will “know” but “not know” if you can make them moan.

2. Boyfriend “Privileges”:  *sigh* this is THE #1 Cause that perfectly good and free college, grad school, law school, medical school, office, gym membership, and any other random free box is messed up.  Niggas…do…too…much.  Men need to understand something, not every woman is interested in being your wife, your soulmate, your babymama, or lowkey even your friend…sometimes she’ll be cool with a couple drinks, a few laughs and a few more pelvic thrusts.  Granted, you have to let a woman be a woman, some stuff, you judiciously have to let her nurture for you.  However, other than the occasional meal or sleepover, shiiiiiiiiiiiid my dude, she’s probably laying there afterwards wondering if she DVR’d  Love & Hip Hop, and if not, can she make it home in time to catch a re-run. She ain’t in love witcho black ass and she’s perfectly okay with it.   But NOOOOOOOOO.  You lay there with her, all night,  nose all buried in your chest having all manner of intimate conversation, exchanging gifts, meeting parents n’shyt.  You mistook your role as Primary Penis Provider (PPP or P3) for a boyfriend.  Dumbass. Boyfriend Privileges are like cologne…the more of it you put on, the more you make women nauseous when they truly get close to you.

Go from me and be blessed.

The Infamous El Jugo

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Protect Yourself At All Times: The Ray J Edition

Posted in hip hop, Music, niggas, ninjas with tags , , , on September 19, 2011 by theninjaparade

{Here are just a few reflections on the day’s events}

You niggas think I sing songs and run around here and do dances” – Ray J 

 

First off… shoutout to DJ Envy, Angela Yee, and Charlamagne Tha God (and the whole Power 105.1 staff) for keeping a straight face through the entire Ray J phone call.  [But ya’ll slick wrong as hell for playing “One Wish” to lead into the commercial break…we peeped that] Way to keep it professional in the face of patent absurdity.

 

I’m tired of being humble with niggas” – Ray J

 

Secondly…not that Infamous El Jugo doesn’t believe Ray J is a raging egomaniac that actually believes that he can “smack them b!tch ass niggas” on site, it’s just the mental image of Brandy’s brother actually putting his hands on someone that makes us shake our heads and go, “naaaahhh”.

 

I got pink slips on everyone of my whips” – Ray J.

 

Third… all things considered, it’s not out of the scope of reason that Ray J would want to spring on a nigga for cracking jokes; after all, he does roll with the “Money Team” and get designs cut into the side of his head, and who could forget “Boyfriend” off the All I Feel album?? #thugshyt

 

I play piano on that piano every muthafukin day” – Ray J

 

Lastly, as if the egregious name-dropping weren’t enough to raise an eyebrow about the interview he goes on to continue to make threats against Fab.  Granted, Fab has never portrayed himself as a “thug” type of rapper, or given the impression that he’s out here head-butting niggas and whatnot…but you know what, fuck it…this nigga Ray J lyin.

 

 

 

Mean In These Streets: A Single Woman’s Take on These Clowns That Approach Her

Posted in black people, bustdowns, hip hop, ninjas, nupes, sideline hoes, Uncategorized with tags , , , on July 12, 2011 by theninjaparade

 

[Editor’s Note:  It was never my intention for The Ninja Parade to be a “Dating/Relationship” Blog.  However, in the interest of being complete with our fuckery we do deem it necessary that we delve into affairs of the heart.  That said, please enjoy Serenity. ***Sidenote: note really sure why I picked an image of Ralph for the blog, but that nigga seem like he could fit into any one of these categories]

When I liberated myself from a lackluster marriage a few years ago, I was admittedly a bit naïve.  I had married my high school sweetheart who was also my only lover and had dating experience and expectations that were outdated and completely unrealistic.

What I’ve found in my last few years back on the market has left me shocked, awestruck, and slightly confused. Who knew the pickings were so slim in the dating pool? Let’s examine some of the specimen I’ve run across, shall we?

1.  The Emo

Now, the first time a man broke down in front of me on a date, I didn’t know what the hell was going on.  I’ve seen a man cry, of course, at funerals, weddings, the birth of their children–but never because they were simply overcome by the moment.  We were sitting on the couch watching a movie I can’t remember the title of and a scene came on depicting a woman cheating on her husband.  Pretty standard right?  My date broke down in tears leaving me confused and with a strong urge to slip quietly out the back door, or pass this nigga a tampon.  I wanted to be anywhere but there watching this GROWN ASS MAN boo hoo over another woman.  I mean, what does one really do in that situation?  Honestly I thought it was a fluke, but it happened again with a different man several months later when his ex wife slapped him with more child support.  Maybe men feel like they can cry in front of me, maybe it’s the result of being exposed to too much estrogen in the womb–I have no idea.  Whatever it is, it’s not a good look.

2.  The Leech

I’m an intelligent woman, therefore this one is hard to admit too.  I fell for a leech. *Hangs head in shame* All the signs were there, but I was rendered stupid by good dick and a pair a light eyes.   For those of you who don’t know, a leech is a man who appears to have his shit together, but in actuality is out to bleed you dry until you wake up one morning and realize you’re out several hundred, if not thousand, bucks (which your ass is NOT getting back) and even though the sex is freaking fantastic, you don’t really like dude enough to be seen with him.  In my case, the leech was an educated executive who got fired from his good job and suddenly needed a little help until payday to get the alternator on his car fixed.  And get a new Armani suit.  And the new 2K11 game coming out Friday.  The list goes on and on.  I got hip to the game once three Fridays rolled around with promises of “Baby, I got you!” followed by some pretty great head as a diversionary tactic.  Ladies, beware of the broke ass ninjas packing serious weight below the belt, but next to none in there wallets or bank accounts.

3.  The Commitment Phobe

This guy is probably the most frustrating of all the specimen. This is the guy that you fall most of the way in love with only to realize his ass is damaged goods.  And of course he doesn’t tell you he’s damaged goods until AFTER he’s enjoyed seven months of your goodies and undivided attention.  There always comes a point in a situation where it has to become a relationship or the shit just has to end.  For me it generally comes at the six month mark.  By that point you’ve established a rapport emotionally and physically and you know if this is something you want to progress.  With my phobe, I gave him the benefit of an extra month because he had a lot going on (grad school, and young daughter, a move), but at seven months, I asked the dreaded question: “Where are we going with this?”  I was then treated to a LONG dissertation on the horrors of past relationships and the stupidity of his daughter’s mother.  One  changed the title of his truck into her name when he sent her to renew his registration and drove off into the sunset.  One cheated on him with her babies’ daddy and is now producing porn for said babies’ daddy somewhere in suburban Texas.  His daughter’s mother is quite simply an imbecile.  NOW, NONE OF THIS SHIT HAS ANYTHING TO DO WITH ME (except that it made me question his taste in woman) and I said as much.  I was then treated to the “I have trust issues” speech…needless to say I was pissed (and still am a little) that he’d wasted my damn time knowing full well he wasn’t trying to commit.  Or maybe I just wasn’t The One.  Either damn way, he should’ve spoken up in January rather than in July.  And yes–I’m a little bitter. **shrug**

4.  The Commodity

This is the good guy.  The educated, financially sound, emotionally stable, FINE man who embodies everything your mama wants for you.  He’s as close to perfect as you’re gonna get.  So…what’s wrong with the commodity?  Absolutely nothing–until he realizes he’s a damn commodity.  Suddenly, the “good guy” morphs into a semi player.  He’s not out and out heauxing around because he doesn’t want to ruin his choir boy image, but you can tell he’s enjoying the benefits of being a big, attractive fish in a small, quickly dwindling pond.  He doesn’t call or text as frequently.  He’s careful to meet you at events rather than driving there with you.  You see him check in at various places or events on Facebook or Foursquare that you had no idea he was going to…shit like that.  He never makes any type of firm commitment or solid plans for the future because honestly he’s enjoying the notoriety.  He’ll keep you on the line with a well-timed phone call or invite and a sweet “ good morning beautiful” text message that he’s sent en masse to you and 14 other girls.  Unlike a player, however, this specimen eventually tires of the fun and games and comes looking for you.  By then, you’ve hopefully gotten bored with the run around or have sadly settled for one of the other types of candidates.  He’s missed out on a woman who might’ve been goof to him and probably would’ve been good for him.  But hey, he’s got options.

5.  The Married Man

This one is last and certainly least for a reason.  I have yet to fully understand the allure of a married man.  Sure he’s a nester and open to commitment, but he’s  ALREADY FUCKING COMMITED TO SOMEONE ELSE!!!!  For men, it’s much simpler: They want the excitement of a second relationship without relinquishing the comforts of the first ( i.e.  a second income and condom-free sex).  I dated a married man, but it was the result of sheer naiveté.  I was freshly released from my marriage (the ink on my divorce decree wasn‘t even dry), and although I was happy to be free of my ex, I wasn’t feeling the long nights with an empty bed and a vagina collecting cobwebs.  I was emotionally fragile and undersexed–basically I had EASY TARGET stamped on my damn forehead.  I believed the claims of an impending divorce and a psycho wife.  When she threw his shit out on the lawn, I accepted him packed bag and all into my home.  But when she showed up a two a.m. on my doorstep, eight months pregnant and threatening to slice up the soft top of my Mercedes, the rose colored glasses finally slipped off.  There are some things I’m not willing to do for a man and risking my Benz and a high ass insurance claim is one of them.  I still got ten payments left.

[Author’s Disclaimer: I’d like to say that I’m not a cynic.  I have every confidence that there are good men out there.  As a matter of fact I know plenty.  I’ve just yet to meet one that’s right for me.  I hold no (well not much) ill will against  the men I’ve dated, loved, lost, or kicked to the curb–it’s all a part of the experience of being on the market. And it makes for pretty interesting reading, lol.  Until next time…]

****If you liked this blog, you’ll LOVE:  Why Educated Black Men Don’t Settle Down

The Everyday Black Woman & Beer: A Love Story

Posted in black culture, black people, Global Ninja, hip hop, Ninja Sports, ninjas, sideline hoes, Uncategorized with tags , , , , on June 23, 2011 by theninjaparade

The blogosphere, especially, is saturated with images and ideas of common sistas being inept, overly domineering, inconsiderate, and basically a bunch of onry bishes when it comes to relationships.  Bullshit.

“Not so!” , we say, here at The Ninja Parade.  All these females can’t be clueless and only #winning if they’re ridiculously gorgeous, with nice firm asses and breasts like casaba melons (or, more popularly…white).

Some of these chicks have to be doing well.  Real well.  We know the statistics, 50% of marriages end in divorce…that means 50% of them shyts last F-O-R-E-V-E-R.  And ya know what?  That’s alright with us, because the aforementioned “forever” is predicated on two looming premises that we like to conveniently ignore: 1- ninjas need love too…and it’s not just women wanting to be in long-term joints. 2- the women who want it…get it, sans the ridiculously fat asses and casaba melon-esque breasts.

Today, we’ll address the latter premise, and answer the burning question:

How do average, everyday, sistas attract, secure, and maintain healthy relationships with capable upstanding black guys??

It’s really quite simple…beer.

You see, Ol El Jugo was educated at one of the finest Universities around and the majority of our student population was comprised of African American women.  It was there that I noticed something peculiar about a certain group of women that ignited an informal case study that I’ve been conducting ever since with a working hypothesis that: sistas who could enjoy themselves in the presence of beer seemed to be cut from a different cloth then those who didn’t.

They just are.

Blame it on the fact that they probably had a father, or father figure, who drank beer and loved they mama…blame it on the “Homegirl Syndrome” that connects beer with sports (which is most men’s first love)…hell, blame it on the rain, but a sista and a nice frosty mug, into perpetuity, are as sexy (if not more so) as stelletos/boy-shorts/wifebeater combination that we’ve grown to love.

Soooooo…

Instead of clowning heaux, which we have become quite infamous for, today we shall uplift, rejoice over, and dare I say…champion the marginally attractive-to-fine black woman with beer.  Today we’ll get our Special Agent Dr. George Huang from Law & Order: SVU on…and create a profile of these beautiful beer-clad nubian princesses.

Scenario One: She’s Married, buying Beer at the Grocery Store.  This bish IS. IN. LUH. Not just in luh, but a champion. No seriously.  She’s the epitome of winning.  Not simply because she’s married, but because she sees the value of beer’s synergistic magic in the peace and sactity of her household.  She gives good (not great) dome, washes clothes in Gain, and makes a mean ass homemade taco.  Not only that, she gives her husband the obligatory 45 minutes of complete silence that he needs upon entry of the home. She secretly runs the show, while making him feel like a Kang. *salutes* [Editor’s Note: the beer doesn’t actually have to be for him, if lil mama needs to throw back a cold one to shut the fcuk up...May God & Klkeninja keep her.]

Scenario Two: She’s Married, buying Beer at the Liquor Store.  Location, location, location.  Ok, she’s got the right idea…just hasn’t been married as long and jawn in Scenario One, but was surely mentored by her.  She get’s the big picture, however, the fact that she’s at the liquor store…when she was undoubtedly at the grocery store, or at least rode past it, earlier suggests her priorities are a bit out of whack.  It’s all good boo…we see you though.  Maybe daddy wasn’t there growing up, but your dedication to the cause of not coming home without a cold and refreshing Heineken, suggests she makes the best grape Kool-Aid in the contiguous United States AND definitely has hood tendencies and is probably a hood chick. (not to be confused with a Hood Rat. See also: Hood Chicks vs. Hood Rats) She keeps dish soap in the bathroom (why? we have NO CLUE, maybe it loosens the glue in her tracks better, or her nigga is just as hood and likes his boo to smell like Lemon Joy fresh out the tub…who knows?), but she’s winning.  Times get tough, but she knows where to go for comfort. *kee-chee* <—that’s the sound of a cold one being cracked open, and of winning.

Scenario Three: She’s Single, buying Beer at the Grocery Store.  Legendary football coach Vince Lombardi is quoted as saying…”success comes from knowing that you did your best to become the best that you are capable of being”. The single woman in the grocery store choosing between Yuengling Amber Bock and Newcastle Brown Ale is a champion in the making.  When you see her grab that 12-pack, take note of that moment in history.  It is a young Michael Jordan raising up over two Georgetown Hoyas defenders in ’82.  It’s magical.  And any woman who has ever bought beer in a grocery store and been approached by SEVERAL men can attest to the starry gaze they/we have in their/our eyes.  She may not cook or clean that well, but you’ll never hear her complaining about *Allen Iverson voice* practice?  Why? Because that’s where champions are made and she knows it.  And if you think niggas aren’t slick judging you when you host cookouts, Super Bowl parties, baby showers where men are invited, and any other shyt that would allow any man to glance into your fridge and see a beer that *looks* like its been there for a while…you crazy as hell.  We see that shyt and we’re either gonna shoot our shot right then, or toss an assist to one of our single homeboys and let him know just how special you are.  Real talk.

Scenario Four: She’s Single, buying Beer at the Liquor Store.  This bish just like drinking beer…and I ain’t even mad at her.  There’s a certain sexiness to women who independently purchase and consume beer.   I’ll bet two paychecks that ol girl has a great sense of humor and nice rack, and even if she’s not into sports (which she probably is)…she’s smart enough to enjoy a good game and *wait on it* …shut the fcuk up from tip-off and last shot.  Unlike the other three scenarios, where the purchaser could easily be buying for another person (presumably male), nah…jawn likes beer and drinks beer.  She’s the independent woman that pop culture song writers write about without all the pomp and circumstance.  She is in complete ownership of her social life, whether romance works out for her or not she can rest on her blessed assurance that when that nigga don’t call back she can paint her toenails, throw back a cold one, and bump that new Jill Scott until she goes to sleep and tomorrow will be a new day. God is able…ahhhhhshaddabowshay!

“I don’t always drink beer, but when I do…” – The Most Interesting Man In The World.

~ El Jugo

****if you liked this Blog, you’ll love: The Sideline Heaux Chronicles

Food & Liquor: Why Some Ninjas Should Just Stay In Their Lane

Posted in black culture, hip hop, Music, niggas, ninjas with tags , on June 20, 2011 by theninjaparade

<<insert image of El Jugo reading hard cover book, in front of blazing chimney, smoking pipe, in maroon smokers jacket…glass of Scotch in arms reach>>

[Editor’s Note:   Oh, Hello.  As a brief aside from the rather crass lambasting that the creative forces behind The Ninja Parade serve up on a regular, we would like to offer you today a more polished and refined piece.  Consider this a sprig of fresh cilantro on the side of your normally ignant Flamin’ Hot Cheetos.  Don’t get it twisted though, despite the rather high brow approach, we are actually SONNING THE SHYT out of famo.  Now, I’ll turn the blog over to our Sr. Geo-Political Correspondent, KatcherNTheRye]

‘Cause a ninja wear a kufi, it don’t mean that he bright

America is a more perfect union in part because its citizens have the right to free speech as provided by the 1st Amendment to the U.S. Constitution. America has become a less intelligent society in part because too many of its citizens exercise that right despite not knowing what they’re talking about.

Hello, Lupe Fiasco, nee’ Wasalu Muhammad Jaco.

During a recent CBS interview, Fiasco, a critically acclaimed rapper and Chicago native, had this to say:

“For me, the biggest terrorist is Obama in the United States of America. I’m trying to fight the terrorism that’s causing the other forms of terrorism. You know the root cause of terrorists is the stuff the U.S. government allows to happen. The foreign policies that we have in place in different countries that inspire people to become terrorists.”

I don’t know about you but I feel absolutely fucking terrified.

All that stands between us and the biggest terrorist, President Obama, is Lupe Fiasco, who is trying to fight the terrorism that’s causing other forms of terrorism. Except, well, what other forms of terrorism are being caused by the terrorism he’s fighting? And by what means is Fiasco fighting this terrorism? By his own admission he doesn’t vote.

My brain atrophies each time I try to pick through Fiasco’s word salad, which is neither cogent nor salient. It’s the hubris that’s to be expected when someone who’s content to regurgitate the scattershot rhetoric of anti-establishment blowhards is given the opportunity to speak his mind publicly. Serious, thoughtful political discourse suffers another casualty each time someone such as Fiasco weighs in.
That’s intellectual terrorism and Fiasco needs to be called out, not celebrated.

In particular, his statement that,

“The foreign policies that [the U.S. has] in place in different countries that inspire people to become terrorists,”

…barely constitutes the shell of an argument. It’s much closer to being an accusation, one that is lacking wholly in substance.  What foreign policies, specifically? How are people inspired to become terrorists? What people?

To those who pride themselves on feeling (as opposed to actually being) “conscious,” Fiasco is killin’ it! [These same niggas typically have Ph.d’s in the most popular conspiracy theories and cut hair on the side, See Also 4 Great Myths & Conspiracies] It doesn’t really matter than he didn’t get around to saying what makes President Obama not just a terrorist, but the biggest terrorist. And I guess it doesn’t matter, either, that Fiasco didn’t cite an example of America’s foreign policy toward even one nation.

But words have meaning, so, yes, it does matter. Lots.

In the micro, the reality is that President Obama is not a terrorist. The far-left fringe is upset because America is prosecuting three wars that it can’t afford to fight and, unfortunately, have resulted in the deaths of innocent civilians.

In the macro, the reality is that no one who is elected president of the United States begins his term with a clean foreign policy slate. The policies he adopts and pursues are necessarily influenced by the policies his predecessor adopted and pursued. Then there’s the matter of the countries these policies affect.

Are the Chinese, for example, going to wake up one day and decide it’s just fine that America sells tens of billions of dollars of arms to Taiwan? Are Americans going to be energy independent anytime soon, thereby freeing the government to stop supporting the oppressive House of Saud?

People are entitled to their opinions but not their own facts.  If people want to be taken seriously even after they’ve offered their opinion –often unsolicited– it must be informed by understanding and an appreciation for context. Fiasco’s opinions are informed by abysmal ignorance and a pitifully myopic world view.

That’s enough to get Facebook to get “Likes,” Retweets and blog co-signs, but among people who have a real interest in geopolitics, Fiasco can kick … and push … and coast his ass the fcuk outta here.

What.

@KatcherNTheRye

Little Girl Lost: Confessions of A Sista, That’s Been There…Done That

Posted in black culture, black people, bustdowns, Global Ninja, Music, niggas, ninjas, Pimpin', sideline hoes with tags , , , on June 15, 2011 by theninjaparade

“LOVE?  You know, what do you know about love? What do you possibly think you know about love? You know LOVE should have brought your ass home last night!”

[Editor’s Forward:  As stated in other blogs, we at the Ninja Parade are taking great strides to diversify our content.  Our ignorance can no longer be confined to the sheer mockery of society and putting a muthafuka on blast for kicks and giggles…but we desire also, to show our softer, more compassionate, ignant side.  Enjoy, ~The Infamous El Jugo]

Little girl lost

I’m a virgin to the ninja parade [Editor’s Note: …and to the Ninja Parade only] but I’m going to rock this shyt like I’m Tyler Perry at a Women in White “Usher Board” Baptist Church convention.  

So, my so called adult life started out like a story straight out of black college life weekly.  Girl goes to black college, pledges sorority, meets boy, falls in love, dates all through college, gets married, and *wait for it*… Divorces boy.

Then I spend the next two years grieving over a failed marriage. <<cues up Mary J. Bilges’ “I’m Not Going To Cry“, blazes blunt of that Afghan, sips Pinot>> to say the least, I was a fcking wreck <<insert picture of fcuking wreck>>  

I am ashamed to admit it, but I even thought of several ways in which to ruin my ex husbands career. *yeah, I was on some bitter sour apple b*tch shyt*

I even went through his emails and forwarded out all his philandering emails with other women [See Also: The Sideline Heaux Chronicles, vol 1] to his new main chick.  I must say, that was some of my best work.  I had to show the New b*tch, I mean new chick, nah…I mean bitch:  he cheating on you and you just a couple months in, heaux [See Also: The Sideline Heaux Chronicles, vol 2].  You not special…bwhahaha…But I digress.

As more time passed, I discovered that I was in fact a little girl lost.  I didn’t know what I wanted out of life anymore.  I didn’t know what true love meant anymore.  I questioned everything that I once knew to be fact.  All I knew was that, things changed and they were not for the better.

I spent day in and day out working, hanging out occasionally, and just surviving.  It’s like my life was on auto pilot and Phyllis Hyman was singing the soundtrack to my new life. *and we know how that story ended*  <<cues Phyllis Hyman “Living All Alone”, takes extra long hit of that Afghan, sits down glass of Pinot…picks up bottle>>

And while the days have gotten better, it’s still an uphill battle to find myself again and I’ve currently drawn the following conclusions…

  1. I Don’t Know Shyt About Men…I Admit it…You F*ckas Confuse the Shyt Out of Me.  Some of you ninjas want a quiet submissive woman, some want you to be they momma, and others want you to be a fucking mind reader…I give up…you win…Ill just love on B.O.B till I figure out an alternative…<<insert images of Bullet named Leroy>>
  1. I’m a Strong Punk…What I mean by this is…I cry about everything, yet I manage to pick myself up and get right back on the horse.  At first I thought this showed my weakness, but I have learned it shows my never give up nature. <<cues “We Fall Down” by Donnie McClurkin with strange vibrating sound in back>>
  1. The biggest thing I hate to admit it  *drumroll* As Much as I Want to Say I Don’t Need or Want a Man, I Know That is The Farthest Thing From MY Truth.  I need and want the right man for me. But I have to learn to stop fucking up with the good ones, and allowing the bad ones to stay passed their expiration date. <<insert picture of jobless ex-boo, in dingy, loose-fitting wifebeater, rolling blunt on formica end table>>

I’ve always been told the first step to healing or solving a problem is to admit it.  So here it is.  I am a lost little girl who is trying to find her way in life and love with a broken compass.  I think its time to ditch the compass and actually learn from my mistakes, listen to sound advice from creditable individuals, and trust that tiny voice inside that I have ignored in the past.

~ Aye Red The Ninja

**if you liked this blog, you’ll love: The Basic B!tch Home Testing Kit

You ARE Your Hair: An Open Letter to The Natural Hair Nazis

Posted in black culture, black people, Global Ninja, ninjas, Uncategorized with tags , , on June 1, 2011 by klkenned

Dear Natural Friends,

Allow me to begin with a disclaimer:
First, not everyone with natural hair is a bitch. Second, I attended a historically black college (in fact, the first historically black college)so I know all about oppression, European standards of beauty, and society’s impact on my psyche. I get it. You are not your hair.

And neither am I, BITCH.

Recently i had the opportunity to come under the ire of The Natural Nazi. A friend tweeted, during the Super Bowl, “My daughter has hair like Troy Palamalu.” I retweeted, as my daughter is similarly situated,  and moved on, unprepared for the shitstorm that followed. @afrobitch47 (not her real tag) said, “congrats?” Then @nappyheadhoe21 (also not her real handle) said “I know right? Does she want a cookie?” Then @nap4life (made that one up, too) throws in some shit about me having a “slave mentality.”

Bitch, what?

So let me set s few things straight here. First, in the effort of full disclosure,  I am a jiggaboo (rather be me than you). My confirmed European ancestry is not only lacking an appearance in my skin tone, but in my hair texture as well.  Without a relaxer, I have hair like a slave. Like a pure, uncut, fresh off the shores of Ghana, slave. So to be clear:

This is not an assault on your choice of hair styles. This is an assault on your excessive bitchiness as it pertains to your constant insistence that anyone with a perm (or who might not *need* a perm) is demonstrating a “slave mentality” for appreciating their silky locs, whether they were achieved naturally or not. So before you engage me on the merits of being chemical free based on some sort of effort to thwart the psychological impacts of The Man, allow me to remind you of some undeniable facts, none of which are based on science, data, or historical accuracy.

Here goes:

Natural isn’t always natural. Why do The Natural Nazis give the Relaxed such a hard time, but they can dye their locs all kinds of orange? So what you’re saying is, I can blow dry the shit out of my hair, causing as much damage as a relaxer, dye it blonde, but slide some dark and lovely on it, and now I’m a victim of the oppressor’s standard of beauty?

Are you serious right now?

Natural Hair isn’t impacting your dating life. But you looking homeless and unloved is. You’re over here thinking men don’t want you because your natural hair indicates a  woman who might be “too strong” for them when in actuality, it might indicate a woman who has questionable personal hygiene. You might struggle in love because you think “natural” means not having to shave your upper lip. Seriously, wax that shit.

Natural hair is not easier/cheaper to care for. There are women who can do their own hair, and there are women who can’t and therefore pay a lot of momey to have someone else do it. A perm doesn’t dictate the difference. Your inability to follow the directions of a youtube video does.

Natural hair ≠ Revolutionary. You’re not an intellectual. You’re not a visionary. You’re not “different.” You’re not making a statement with your hair, unless that statement is, “I’m a pretentious asshole.”

Natural hair is NOT for everyone. This is an undeniableFACT. I recently saw a woman who had chosen to cut her hair into a fade. This is not a good idea if you’re not sure of the actual shape of your head, or the potential to have what appears to be a pack of hotdogs on your neck. Or, most importantly

You’re ugly.

Natural hair  only emphasizes your natural beauty. And if you are unfortunate enough to not have any of that, it only emphasizes the fact that you might look like a wildebeest. Know what you need? Two packs of indian remy, cut with a long side swept bang, Aaliyah style, to hide half of your hideous facade so that I can talk to you without throwing up in my mouth.

I haven’t relaxed my hair in over a year, but I hold that secret close to my chest because I don’t want to be associated with people who think it’s a good idea to make people with hair like Troy Palamalu feel bad about it.

So instead of exposing your own self-consciousness about your own “situation” by telling me what to do with mine, you should probably just…

STFU.*

*I tried. I seriously tried to write a blog where I wouldn’t have to tell someone to STFU, and I failed :/
Oh well.
Please direct your hatemail to idontgivefuck@yamama.com.

*raises black power fist*
Love, peace, and hair grease,

Klkenned
@klkeninja on the twitter