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Straight Talk, No Chaser: The Hair Chronicles

Posted in Uncategorized on August 9, 2012 by theninjaparade

All current and future members of the Joint Committee on Black Cultural Correctness and Keepin’ It 100, as well as their apologists, have a standing invitation to kiss my muthafuckin’ ass—and that’s because I’m feeling charitable. Or not.

If I were really feeling charitable, I would see all of you as merely pitiful and try to reason with you. But not one of you arouses an iota of pity of commiseration from me. I find you all to be despicable in the denotative sense, i.e., you’re so worthless and obnoxious that you rouse my utter moral indignation. And you’re despicable only in part because you don’t appreciate you’re worthless and obnoxious as you camp out on your laptops, tablets and cell phones pontificating from on high about the appropriate expressions of blackness—emboldened, apparently, by the notion that you and you alone are keepers of The Funk.

Fuck. You.

You’re a bunch of liars. Fuck you for that. No, seriously. You know y’all be lyin’ just as sure as you’re reading these words. But has that stopped you from swaddling yourselves in black righteousness and sanctimony as you chastise those of us who dare to speak honestly about our take on blackness? It hasn’t, no. So fuck you, again. Matter fact, muthafuck you.

If you’re black and you saw Gabby Douglas compete during the Olympics, you’re a gotdamned lie if you say you didn’t think, ‘That child’s hair looks a fool.’ Yes, you did. I say that (about her hair) without any malice, something I’ll expound upon later, but to be clear, her hair was popped!!!

Yes, she’s 16 years old. Yes, she has lived in Iowa with a white family for years while training for the Olympics. Yes, she made history by becoming a gold-medal winning gymnast at the 2012 Olympics and deserves to be congratulated for her accomplishment. Yes, she will earn millions of dollars as a commercial endorser (though not the $90 million figure that’s being thrown around).

But, yeah … it’s also true that her hair was bogus as hell, her age, place of residence, training and earning potential notwithstanding. Saying so doesn’t make me a hater or a confused, self-hating Negro, nor does it mean that I’m not “evolved”—a pet-word that the Joint Committee has bastardized into some New Age shit that would find me walking around wearing a faded Bob Marley t-shirt and looking vaguely unkempt, smoking weed and referring to women I don’t know from a hole in the wall as “queen.”

The point of straightening hair is to make it, you know, straight, right? Well, Gabby’s edges had forgot. And the stick-straight ponytail weave? Whole new dimension of confusion.

It should’ve dawned on you self-impressed assholes by now that if anyone should be labeled as self-hating, it’s a person who would sooner have relaxed or straightened hair sitting atop a hidden Afro than to wear it in its natural state. But that’s an inconvenient truth that applies to too many of you who are hurling the “self-hating” barb around so you ignore that. But you’re evolved? I’d rather be honest.

In the spirit of honesty, you know who I hate? Your lying asses.

And what is this bullshit about the focus should be on her gymnastics? If I’d hopped on Twitter and said that I thought her hair looked nice, no one would have told me that I should be focused on gymnastics then.

It is possible for us non-evolved folk to appreciate more than one thing about a person and in this case, I appreciated that her hair was busted and that she was the best gymnast on the floor. If you chose to ignore the obvious, congratulations, Super Black Ass Person! You’re blacker than I am!

But along the lines of staying focused, fuck you. For years we’ve been inundated by all manner of revelations, venting and commentary about natural hair. The shit is annoyingly ubiquitous. Even Oprah is talking about wearing her natural hair now (count me as being among those who were shocked to learn she hadn’t been all along). There are New York Times articles, support groups, a natural hair sorority (Pi Nappa Kappa), websites, You Tube Channels and Facebook pages about natural hair and that’s okay, right? Cool.

But how are you not only going to cram the natural hair discussion down the throats of we who are somewhere between indifferent and incredulous, but also tell me what I should think about a woman’s hair? Get thee whole, entire fuck outta here with that shit!!! If I have to hear all about the big chop, read about parties where women celebrate going natural and see the #happilynappy on Twitter, you’ll excuse me for feeling free to share my opinion about Gabby Douglas’ hair. Why? Because I want to. And all you can do about it is lie, be mad and feel evolved.

If it’s okay to compliment a woman’s hair –and I’ve told more than my share of women their hair looked good—then it has to be okay to criticize a woman’s hair. Oh, wait; Gabby’s “just a girl,” right? So? Is there an age restriction on good- or bad looking hair?

You know what? Don’t even answer that. Fuck you.

The discussion about Gabby’s hair became public because the discussion among black people about black hair is happening in private. That’s just how it works so stop talking this shit about not airing our dirty laundry. That genie has been out of the bottle.

Like it or not, hair is how black people communicate our sense of self—or do you think it just so happens to be the case that the black community spends a half-trillion dollars a year on hair products, processes and prosthetics? The real reason the Joint Committee and its supporters are upset is because when they saw Gabby Douglas, they saw themselves, their daughters, sisters, nieces and cousins on television. And they felt ashamed and embarrassed. As hard as they struggle to keep their hair tight, ‘Here you have this little nappy-headed black girl on TV making us all look bad???’

That’s your business and while a small part of me wants to empathize with you, all of you can go play in traffic trying to tell me what I should or shouldn’t say, how I feel about what my eyes saw and what that says about me. What it says is that I didn’t like what I saw. The End.

Fuck you.


If you liked this blog, you’ll love this one  <~~~~~~


You Are What You Read: Legs Wide Open…Eyes Wide Shut

Posted in black culture, black people, bustdowns, Global Ninja, Pimpin', sideline hoes, Uncategorized on April 12, 2012 by theninjaparade

*clutches chest and gazes to the heavens*

Why OH WHY must ya’ll make me act a fool like this?

I was chillin’….I really was.  Had stepped back from the blog scene for a sec, meditated, sought counsel, the whole nine.  But nooooooo, every time I try to get out, you all do some dumb shyt that keeps bringing me back in.  El Jugo is effectively the Michael Corleone of the ratchet blogosphere.

So here’s my dilemma:

I have a brain trust of feminine commentary that I turn to when utterly perplexed by the shyt women do.  This distinguished sorority of sistas lends me an everyday perspective on things that I, as a man, may be oblivious to.  They keep me from acting entirely on my impulses without first seeking a more enlightened perspective.  So, I’ve been seeing some crazy shyt and I text these chicks today.

Question:  What type of inferences can I draw from a chick reading, IN PUBLIC, one of those urban-erotica Zane-screw me hard on the desk of my supervisor so the security guard who’s been trying to get on can see-type books?

El Jugo’s Impulsive Response:  Oh…this bish is a runner, and wants ME to KNOW.

[Disclaimer:  before we confirm or deny whether El Jugo’s impulse is correct, let’s take a moment to analyze the Think Tank’s commentary.  Names changed to protect the innocent]

Giselle N.:  “I’m just sayin…she can’t say she’s reading it for the book club.  Chile please, cover up.” El Jugo’s sentiments exactly!  This is the equivalent of literary porn.  Granted, we at The Ninja Parade, encourage all women to thoroughly explore their inner freak, but damn babygril.  What type of attention are you soliciting??  Did you not notice me noticing you as your thighs rub together about some chick getting d!cked down in the shower?  Quit crossing your legs and read some damn Chaucer.

Janet E.: “If I were a guy, I would talk to them simply because they feel free enough to read a sex book in public, what else is she willing to do in public?”  Great. fcuking. questing. Janet.  Although I don’t think anyone deserves to be disrespected, regardless of her choice of reading materials…I do wholeheartedly reserve the right to discreetly think you’re a freak on the prowl.  What one reads is probably more indicative of their interests than what he or she listens to or watches on television.  Anyone can watch some random shyt on tv or get stupid song stuck in their head….but how many people reeeally read very graphic sexual exploits and aren’t at the least mildly interested in acting some of that shyt out? *crickets*

Pristina W.: “I’m all for women being comfortable in their sexuality…perhaps a sista should get a Kindle”  You see, everybody has a lil El Jugo in ’em.  I’m not saying you shouldn’t read erotica and touch yourself, but El Jugo gets offended at the suggestion that men shouldn’t draw conclusions about what’s in plain view.  You have a right to read whatever you want, just like i/we have a right to think whatever we want about it.  And if you can’t put that shyt down and MUST take it everywhere….damn, get a Kindle.  *Hi-five’s Pristina*

Anna N.:  “I mean maybe they just need some excitement in their lives.  In my opinion  women who read those books are not sexually fulfilled.”  Couldn’t agree more.  Not being fulfilled doesn’t entirely mean you’re not getting ANY…it means you’re not getting broke off by the shockingly intelligent dude who fixes your car on a late evening while your lackluster man gives you regular sex…ya know, the type of shyt that happens in the books.  Funny thing is, the guy that fixes your car probably hits on you every time and you don’t give him a blink.  Grow up and act that shyt out then…or at least leave a copy of that freaky shyt on your front seat next time famo changes your oil.

Cynthia B.: “They want to seem sexually empowered but are actually thirsty as hell.”  Damn, exposed.  Intellectualism, even feigned intellectualism cant hide true thirst.  And *leans in and whispers* it be them smarty art heaux that’s the most goin’.  Bish we see you.  And it’s not like this stuff is written in any way to suggest a true challenge of your scope of imagination…it’s designed to make you hot ‘n bothered.  Whereas some guys may see a book (any book) and think “scholar”…El Jugo checks the title and thinks “runner”.

Londa G. “I also think women who read those books don’t practice discretion.”  Wait…so not only are you thirsty, you messy too?? WTF ever happened to reading hair magazines?

See.  I told you.  El Jugo knows when a chick is, as one respondent eloquently stated, putting together a “marketing plan for the box”. But don’t let our commentary discourage you…it fact, let the transparency be what motivates you.

Go from me and thirst no more.

El Jugo

If you like this blog, you’ll love this one:  The Moscato-ization of Black America

The “EDGE”: Situational Thug Tendencies

Posted in Uncategorized on January 5, 2012 by theninjaparade

Welp, it became obvious after The “Keep-A-B1tch” Baby blog that there were some who were a bit confused about something.  Here at The Ninja Parade we fashion ourselves as a fount of wisdom, diligently striving for clarity in the cloudy blogoshphere.

Sooooo, let’s make some shit perfectly clear…Situational Thug Tendencies (STT) exist on even the highest levels of society and most of ya’ll (and by ya’ll, I mean women) luh this shit.  We didn’t just make this up…nope, couldn’t have.

Definition:  Situational Thug Tendencies~ one’s natural, or manufactured, bravado that seeks to abandon civil discourse temporarily, for the sake of doing some ratchet hood-nigga shit. [ex: “Wait…did dude who runs the non-profit REALLY just do the Folks/GD <or, insert local gang handshake> with my dad?”]

You see, it really is shit like that that turns these heaux on.  Yup, I said it.  These heaux secretly (or not so much) love a guy with an edge.  However, too many times that edge is really just some STT dressed up in a pinpoint oxford, and Kenneth Cole loafers.

To better served you, we’ve complied a brief guide to help you better identify STT in the ones you love.

1. Situational Violence.  Save your criticism and high-road commentary…most of ya’ll heaux love niggas that will pop on a another nigga for something relatively trivial.  And the more trivial the violation that leads to violence, the more STT avails itself to be seen.  No, you may not want fam to get wasted and pick a fight in the parking lot of Outback Steak House…but I KNOW that it makes a woman feel some kind of way when she knows I will kick a grown homeless man in the balls for being too aggressive in his panhandling for change.  And she may have a full blown orgasm is Mr. Certified Public Accountant swings on a full-time thug after an exchange over why yelling “AYE RED!” to CPA’s thick lightskinded lady-friend is not acceptable.

2. Situational Versatility. There’s something to be said about a person who is comfortable in his own skin, regardless of the situation. Situational Versatility is for the Hood Chick (READ: not, Hoodrat) who is dating up but still wants to stay true to her ghetto sensibilities.   You see, just because you’ve moved up out the hood, have a fresh lil townhouse, a small dog, regularly maintained sew-ins, and take trips to Miami with your girls…doesn’t make you entirely divorced from yo hood ass families and/or kids.  It is really debatable whether or not a man can “flip it” and go from sophisticated to hood in an instant.  What isn’t debatable is that a nigga that quote scripture, roll blunts, help lil man with his homework, owns a questionably registered firearm and can effectively not get roasted by yo ignant ass cousins for being a lame at the family gatherings is #winning.

3. Situational Sexy-Talk.  Again, sit yo ass <points to corner> all the way over there if you don’t like this shit babygirl.  THIS. RIGHT HERE…is how babies are made.  Dear Ms. Waiting To Exhale With Mr. Established:  we see you…and if they don’t, El Jugo does.  Everything about your exterior SCREAMS *Tresvant voice* “I want a man with sensativity!”. Love, El Jugo.  But I know something. I know that underneath your neatly folded bra/pantie collection, Coach wristlets, sensible heels…you want your eloquently polished love to talk to you like you’re fresh off a rap video shoot, lowkey still sweating from the lights, half-naked and gone off moscato about to get your WHOLE back blown out in the trailer.  Cool.  Even if your man doesn’t have a single solitary ounce of thug in his heart…if he can pull off some gangta-shyt in the bedroom, he’s already won and so have you.

Go from me and be blessed,

The Infamous El Jugo

If you like this blog, you’ll LOVE this one. <—-Click here.

An Open Dialogue About “Keep-A-B!tch” Babies

Posted in Uncategorized on January 4, 2012 by theninjaparade

Lurking under the surface of the black community, hidden beneath back-issue stacks of Source Magazines in barbershops, wrapped in White Owl White Grapes, and saved discretely on XBOX Memory cards is a dirty little secret that many black men hold. *looks around from side-to-side* So damaging the truth that Ol El Jugo fears for my very safety.

You see, what ya’ll didn’t know (often until years later) is that there are many men who have cleverly laid a trap.  This trap, blessed as it may be, started with the most selfish of notions and eloquently communicated in just 5 simple words…”This bish ain’t goin’ nowhere”.

Yes, that’s it.  The “Keep-A-Bish” baby.

It’s a known fact here at the Ninja Parade and elsewhere that women will attempt to “trap” men with a baby in order to secure tangibles and intangibles.  What is lesser know is *wait on it* …niggas do the same shyt.

Yep, niggas are out here literally getting chicks pregnant to keep them.

“How?”, you ask.  It’s really quite simple.  In our incessant human need for companionship, some men tend to lose something in the details…they aren’t equipped for, qualified to, or tangibly able to sustain a relationship with a woman on their own.  So, these men in question resort to trickery (also known as fuckery in some circles).

It goes like this:  boy meets girl.  girl likes boy.  boy recognizes inadequacy in self (or situation). boy says “let me just put the head in” to girl.  girl obliges.  girl misses period.  boy puts up token sincerity. boy has effectively bought himself 9-months to 18-years of semi-security with girl.


Now that we know the “how”, let’s look at the WHY THO?

1- The Quest to be ‘THE” Babydaddy. As stupid as this is going to sound, upon doing research, I’ve found this to be true…some niggas will not rest until they are some woman’s (or several women’s) 1st Child’s Father.  I know, crazy right?  But it’s true.  Even crazier is this dude usually is the 2nd, or 3rd string babydaddy somewhere else.  Coming into a situation where your baby is #2 (or more) AND trying to “work it out” with your babymama has GOT TO BE infinitely harder than just getting some unassuming single chick with no kids pregnant, right?

2. Monetary Gain.  *sigh* Dear Ms. Independent:  please understand that your independent, good job working, good benefits possessing, health care savings account card swiping,  Remy Saga wearing ass is a financial come-up for a LOT of niggas.  Especially in a recession. Govern yourselves accordingly.  Love, El Jugo.   Here’s where ya’ll get got.  Ya’ll want that nigga with an “edge”.  You see,  “Keep-A-B1tch” babies aren’t just relegated to the lower rungs of the hood…and some random dude scamming on a food stamp card.  Nope.  You, your natural hair journey, and your book club can get it too.  Why?  Because you’re attracted to a guy with an “edge”.  Sure, you’re too smart to blatantly love a thug, but you want a man with STT (situational thug tendencies) who is motivated, goal oriented, blah blah blah.  Nothing wrong with this, just understand that said tendencies often come with side effects.  He NEEDS you go come up.  And will blow your WHOLE back out and lay on your couch and quantify how much money he’s saving you in child care to get to his destiny.

3. She FINE.  Fcuk it…some niggas can be real petty.  So much so that he can look at your delicately draped coifs, pretty brown eyes, seamless MAC  cosmetic skin, slim waist (and corresponding ass-to-waist ratio) and think nothing more than having you barefoot and pregnant so the next man can’t have you.  Like I said, petty.  Instead of trying to see if this can be “forever” he opts for the crudest way to keep you on ice (usually while he explores his options)…he get’s this bad chick pregnant.  Note:  if he can pull one bad chick, he can certainly pull another.  *smh*  Problem is…super-bad chicks are usually the most gullible; and don’t let dude have a lil loot…shiiiiiiiiid. Some of ya’ll reading this right now shaking your damn head.

You’re Welcome.

The Infamous El Jugo

If you like this blog, you’ll love THIS ONE <—click

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.


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

I Got The Victory: These Heaux Is WINNING

Posted in black culture, black people, bustdowns, Global Ninja, hip hop, Music, sideline hoes, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , on June 16, 2011 by theninjaparade

Spoiler alert bish!

It’s the second quarter of 2011, and if you haven’t noticed, MVP Kim Kardashian is wearing a Sierra-Leonian knee cap on her left ring finger. Leading the league in assists is Evelyn Lozada. [Formerly noted for running behind cars in heels, Lozada,  has moved on from the Rookie of The Year victories of head for handbags to the All Star team of wifey/ aspiring baby mama]

And, please… Spare me the cries of hate that “That ish won’t last” and “she’s not happy” commentaries because their sponsors are black and their lambos are blue ninja! The heauxs are winning, plain and simple. Here’s why:

Heaux Skills Are Transferrable: Gone are the days when a heaux was just a heaux. Neo-heauxs are bringing back the Margie Hendricks brand of heauxing. The self-professed Mrs. Ray Charles Robinson on the road was his wife away from home, not just nookie. She was ride or die, contributed to his financial gain and, most importantly, she shut the fukc up! {see klkeninja’s “ Put a ring on It “ post.}.  Heauxs are making dollars and sense as the low-key, high-return alternative to wifing loud ass, broke ass chicks who can’t cook and hate their jobs.

Keeping His Name Hot in These Streets:  That’s right, while you were at the bar screaming “ninjas ain’t sh!t”, heauxs were having the BEST YEAR EVER. Heauxs are becoming better at talking to the right people. Talking to your girlfriends about him gets him nowhere… talking to the press keeps him relevant. Heauxs are the best PR for ninjas in NFL-lockouts, bad seasons, jail stints and whatever fukcup your man has gotten himself into. Ladies, trust me and Beyonce, be the light that keeps the streets on and upgrade his reputation whenever you get the chance. If you don’t, the heauxs will (and heauxs  will light it up on twitter, faceook, vimeo, foursquare and via press release while yo’ ass sits up somewhere hating)

Heauxs Have Money:  Get your weight up BISH!! Heauxs are bringing their own money to the table. Regardless of who they threw a drink on to get it, neo-heauxs have dough. So, why are they chasing money, you may ask? This isn’t about getting money for them…it’s about doubling money and stackin that shyt.. Longevity. Stability. Twenty-Four hour champagne diets! Selling Body Magic is not an entrepreneurial plan, honey! And for this reason, girls, your man is on to the next one…

Heauxs are Heauxs: I know what you’re thinking:  “This chick is a heaux.” Not exactly. I just know what I want out of life (name that tune). I’m a believer in fundamental truths begetting other truths. The Secret, or positive visualization, works because it stands on the fundamentals of faith. Heaux visionaries understand that keeping him focused in the bedroom lessens idle time in the streets. I employ said fundamental tendency in my marriage. Yes, homie, marriage. Get you one!

[Disclaimer: The mayhem and foolishness spewed in the above article is indeed the shared viewpoint of a population of happily married women who ain’t mad at heauxs for being heauxs. All subsequent emails (which can be forwarded to will receive automated messages of the “Put a Ring on It” post strictly re-inforcing your need to STFU and listen.

~The Fundraiser

****if you liked this blog, you’ll love: The $15 Million Dollar Question