Toss – A – Cross (4-28 to 4.30-2007)

NNOTE: I was askd to post a sample of my fiction to myblog so here goes. I wrote this over the weekend. It's fiction, all else is accidental. It is th last of 16 short stories fro my Book FREAK TYPE SCENE, scheduled to be relased Jan 2008. Enjoy



There is nothing more certain that a man will be a man, and that for his seed, he is the first line of defense, if there is no dog outside. The simple truth being, such a person is never off guard and the only fear they have is not being able to feed and provide for their children. Unfortunately, this makes such a individual diabolic and sinister – the worse attributes for anyone who feels that all that their children have in the world to protect them is them.

It was one of those nights in between spring and summer, with the night being more reflective of winter than either of the aforementioned. The only difference was that the sun could still be seen allocating pastel hues into the cloudless and anticipating dark. The crickets were in full bloom, just as if they were some species of perennial. It was time now for the rest of the flowers to catch up. The trees all seemed to be the first to bloom, outside of the bulbs, and they$ bloomed in the order of the pink and purple crab apple tree, the whites of the pear trees and the opaque shades of the box woods – which were really shrub, but in his yard, the size of a bush the height of a tree.

He was outside as usual. It was beverage time and a good time to just enjoy life for its own sake. There was no distillate of the Agape plant but rather this time, Sake’. Sake’ and one 24 ounce can of Tecate’ beer. He walked out in the gravel road that in any urban or city area would be a driveway, with the exception that it was 110 yards from his house. He, Jones, Mac Jones often marveled at the symbolism and the distance, since even not being from Harlem. He was a country boy – a Memphis nigga.

He walked inside. His glass was empty. His son and daughter were in his son’s room. He was making music and she was bellowing into the microphone. Unintelligible certainly, nonetheless she was jamming. He walked to his room. The house was large and gave any stranger the locution that the 4,000 square feet was divided into wings. She followed quickly, as quickly as any child a few months before the age of two could waddle in a straight line. To him, she walked like Bobby Cox.

On his floor in front of the television, fully muted he sat down and began to fold clothes. He had been at work since early morning and his son’s baseball game was rained out. Thank goodness for leftovers. But before he could finish the towels, she came in. She only had a few words in her vocabulary but affection was what she communicated best. Crawling over him and placing her head on his chest. She wrapped her legs around his and started to go to sleep.

When she went to sleep, he got up out of the bed. Again he returned outside, to the crickets and the night air. The stares seemed to talk to him but he really couldn’t tell if it was the stars or the sake’.

He looked over by his fruit tree. The backhoe was still there. The plumber needs it to replace the pipe. The $1700.00 worth of pipe. The thought of it in itself mad him sick at the stomach. But he had the lot, and it made his property better, more valuable they said if he replaced the pipe.

He had just broken up with his woman. All he could repeat to himself was their last verbal exchange.

“I’m gone have some one come out her and take care of you,” she said, somewhere in between a manic rage and cynical rant.

“Well send them on,” he said. “If they come out here, let them play cowboy and I’ll make it the Okay Coral.

He erased that from his mind and again looked back at the stars. They made him fill full, restive, placated and at ease – a feeling he had not felt in a while. He walked down the driveway, again, which was really just a dirt gravel road. He sipped his sake’. A few rabbits ran across his path. They did not disturb him. He sat patient I his stance looking at the pine trees and the cars pass by.

It was strange to him, at this time of night to see the lights of a vehicle turn in his direction. Maybe it happened all the time and maybe he was just outside at the time. But they did not seem as if he others, as if it was a mistake, and accident. But maybe it was, for they weighted and dimmed the lights. He thought it was out of respect. Nonetheless, he went to his truck and pulled that yellow bag from under the passenger seat and returned to the spot. He had anticipated that hey would have backed up and turned around, but they had not. They were still there. So he stood and looked, as if to provide the locution that this was his property, the property of Mac Jones.

They approached slowly and then speed up briefly. The car stopped. One man got out. “Hey, who live here, you live here?”

He said nothing and looked.

“Yo Nigga, I’m talking to you, this your place?”

“Main, you in no position to ask, not to mention, you must be a fool.”

“A fool who you calling a fool?” Mac pointed to the sign right below one of the many cameras on his land. It read TRESPASSERS WILL BE SHOT.

“Nigga, I can read, but I aint scared.” He raised his shirt again, this time to show the .380 that was tucked under his shirt held in his pants. Mac laughed.

“What you laughing at? You don’t know who you fucking with nigga.”

“Naw I don’t, but not only are you a fool, but you are obviously a bitch too, totin’ around that bitch pistol.” Mac laughed but continued. “Why you on my property, who you looking for? Would you like some Sake’?

“I’m looking for you.”

“Jones main, you don’t know me to look for me.”

“You Mac Jones aint you? Your old lady asked us to pay you a visit.”

“OK.”

“You don’t recognize me, I’m a rapper main, I’ve been in Video’s”

“Nope can’t say I Have Jones.”

“You heard of ‘Welcome to Murda Valley?” Mac shook his head in disagreement. “That’s my song shawty.”

Then it clicked. He knew that she was incapable of reason, but such should have been expected from a distorted and psychotic mind. He backed back slowly. Jones continued to approach him. He was short but fronted like he was hard as concrete and he was black, so black he could barley see him except for the shine from the parking lights on the vehicle and the glimmer of the moon off of his yellow teeth.

He looked in the car and said something to the other two men that were in the vehicle with him. He closed the door and approached him. It was a slow approach; as if he was uncertain of himself and what he was about to get into. H looked backed into the car and laughed. Now his approach was assertive, like he was the one who owned the land, or as f the bravado of he drive over had made his testicles fortified with concrete.

“Is you Mac Jones nigga?”

“Yep,” Mac said, finishing his Sake’.

“Well I came to tell you something.”

“You can stand where you are and talk sir.”

“Naw, can’t folk.”

“I ain’t yo’ folk.”

“Main, you pathetic, you come on my property, insult me, no, first trespass, come without invite, turn down my offer to beverage, while my children are inside asleep, and you expect me to talk to you. Can’t do it main, but can make you my ho and afterwards send you black ass to pre-K, cause it is obvious to me you a dumb ass fuck boy. You come up in m camp cause some woman thinks you hard and you think you hard. You fake ass wanna be gangster. He laughed.

“Whoop that Nigga’s ass,” was heard coming from the car.

He continued to walk. As he approached, he began to pull something from his shirt. It was more as if he was trying to send a message without action. Mac looked at Jones. The he ran and took a wild swing at Mac. As he swung, Mac sided stepped, dropping is little yellow bag and with a full fist popped Folk in the jaw with his right had and popping him in the left side of his jaw with a full fist from his left hand. He was taught by his uncle that the best punch was not to the face straight on, nor was it an upper cut, but rather a full-balled fist swung like a club to an intruders face.

As he tumbled he grabbed him behind is neck and need him in is chin, immediately grabbing his head and snapping it. He dropped almost instantly to the dirt gravel that Mac had always considered to be his driveway.

His boys didn’t like what the saw and jumped out of the Chevy pulling weapons from under their shirts also. He figured it was move thing for he would never tuck a gat in his pants that aimed at is dick and scrotum sack. Before they could shot he rolled behind a Magnolia tree. Picking up a seedpod from the same tree, he grabbed his yellow bag and pulled out the .44 magnum from the bag and slammed the pod on his barrel and fired two shots. The both dropped. He rolled over father away from the action, breathing deeply and holding his chest. He never knew he was that proficient with a handgun. In fact he preferred rifles and was taught growing up that if he needed a pistol, that he was too close. He was even impressed himself, even surprised, but it was a magnum and the slug was expected to go through a little plastic subcompact and the glass.

But now there where three corpses on his gravel road. It was completely dark now and once again he could hear the crickets. He dragged rapper dude to the other side of his pear trees. Then he returned to the vehicle and pushed what was outside of the auto in appendages back in the auto. Thank goodness one was in the back seat and the rapper Jones was he driver. He drove the car over to the first body and parked it. Walking gingerly, he went to the house to check on is children. They were sound asleep. He went back outside and went to the backhoe. Right then he began to dig a new hole. It took him almost two hours but he had managed to build a hole big enough for the auto to buried 7 feet below the surface. He had hardly worked up a sweat thanks to modern technology, hydraulics and the spirited night breeze. He moved the backhoe in position behind the auto ad got out. Next he placed the real black guy with the yellow teeth back in the back seat and position the car right in front of the hole from the side. Placing it in Neutral, he used he backhoe to push it in the hole.

It was easier to cover the vehicle up compared to digging the hole. As if something entered his mind, he stopped, went and grabbed his yellow bag, and using the material of the pouch, he was able to sling the gun into the open window. He figured that by leaving the windows open, the bodies would be able to decompose faster and larva would have an eaiser time to get to them. After all the gun was a throwaway, a toss-across like they used to say back where he was from. It was only meant for one time use only. He and his boys had always joked that he had enough land to bury somebody and their car. Now he chuckled briefly. He was a Libertarian, so he was not the kind of guy who would call 911. He didn’t need the government to protect him.

When he had finished he sat that, pulled a Kool Mild from his pants pocket and lit it. He repositioned the back and climbed down from its perch. Again he looked in the sky. Now al he would have to do, was take a shower, get some rest and prepare his children for school I the morning. On the way home from work, he could purchase a few boxes of daffodil bulbs, maybe a few lilies, and some lavender to take root in is new flower bed.

Beauty but No Substance

For those of you who read my blog on the regular, you should have learned a few things about me. First is that my family comes first. Also, that I am an old school Memphis Mac, I love writing and making music, women, got an IQ way over 150, that I’m working with a lot of something (u make the call) and that I am a simple country boy. This past week I was in Bethesda making a presentation to the National Institutes of Health on my infectious disease prevention work in prisons in South Africa. I was there with about 25 or so other scientist from around the world who are doing work in the country and were also funded by NIH.

One of the people there gave a presentation on their work, which was also on correctional populations. His slides were beautiful, the colors were vivid and his statistical presentation of the data seemed appropriate. However, when he neared the end of his presentation, he concluded, “participants with low levels of impulse control were six times more likely to be incarcerated and therefore, impulse control is a major factor in incarceration.” Me being a supposed expert in the area, and concerned regarding his implication that mental deficits account for incarceration more than any other factor, asked him a question at the end of his presentation: “Did you discern how much of the variation in self reported impulse control was a function of education, or race, or proximity to living in urban areas given increased penalty enhancements for conducting a criminal act in a drug free zone for example?”

His answer was “No.”

“Well how can you assert such? Doing such is almost Sir Francis Galton like.”

I was told by my grandmother and have heard other say that “Beauty is only skin deep.” Meaning that what is on the surface is not important, but rather what is on the inside. It is what is on the inside that makes one beautiful. It is what is inside that reflects integrity, responsibility, commitment, value respect and passion. Moreover, it is what is inside that makes one reflect such in acts of kindness and positive unconditional regard to others. Otherwise, one can be the most attractive or beautiful person in looks and external features but uglier than a motherfucker on the inside and reflect such in the way they treat people.

I am glad I had the chance to ask him about his presentation. For if I did not, people would have just said how great it was and how good it looked, and how well put together it was. His findings were useless without the substance attached to plausible explination. Underneath it all, it was ugly for he tried to assert that factors related to ones mental state were the most significant variables of all when it comes to individuals being incarcerated. Again, I say, beauty is only skin-deep; it is what is on the inside that counts, which means beauty is nothing and pointless without substance.

Father Knows Best

What is the difference between a woman who was raised with a father in their lives versus a woman that had no such influence? I asked myself because as some of you may know, I am the father of a precious little piece of pound cake I named Chianti. In addition to that, I have been involved with a multitude of women and it just dawned on me that those that were the most turbulent and tumultuous were with women who had no fathers in their lives. Let me see if I can explain. My boys, all of which have little girls and I have all come to the general conclusion that our little girls will be alright just for the simple fact that they have active men in the form of fathers in their lives.

We all joke and say things off the cuff about this asserting that they will make fine wives because the look at football, or that they will not want to have some thug fuckboy for a man because they will expect more from a man and know what a man is supposed to be by having an active father.

So I assert that a girl who never sees such, will not know what a man is in character and action, and as such will not know what qualities she should look for and expect from a man and as a result will not know how to treat a man and sustain a meaningful relationship with one. All this is just philosophical conjecture on my part but I do think it has some merit. I mean if the role of a man is to provide, shelter and protect his family, and a man does such, a woman who has never learned that the aforementioned comprise a strong mate, will not know how to reward such actions, and may even complain about such qualities if she if fortunate to find such a person. In fact she may even over look such qualities and take them for granted. Or worse end up with a man that beats and disrespects here on the regular.

I am not saying that women don’t have a role in this – they do. For a girl raised seeing a loving and caring interaction between her mother and father will learn how mates reward each other and take care of each other needs. From a woman, they should learn how to treat a man and keep them happy. However, I feel that girls raised on households with just a mother, may not learn these lessons (just as boys without fathers). Being such, they will add to a more dysfunctional society by not knowing what defines a man, how to select a man, or even how to keep a man. Such people are and will be never satisfied with anything they see in their mate because they will not know what qualities merit respect, value and appreciation. For I woul;d not like her to grow up like the 14yr old girl Akon freaked on stage in. Well, at least the way I see it. But not my little girl, even I have to show or try to show her what a woman is.

I, I, My

Was stuck in DC during the earlier part of this week, dark country, chocolate city; really Bethesda. Working - getting another check. My personal goal or at least one of them is to collect a check everyday. Not one a month or twice a month. As such, this is the reality I attempt to create and evince via work ethic. But that’s another corollary.

Since the shootings at Virginia Tech University, there wasn’t really much on so I searched the cathode ray tube before I overdosed on inaccuracy and conjecture in the form of personal vanity that major media networks define as news.

Any who, I flipped and flipped and I flipped through the channels. ESPN even had coverage about the horrible outcomes of Virginia Tech – such in itself was devastating. Personally, after an hour or two of incessant coverage, I do not desire to see any more on carnage. Add to that everyone is reporting something different and showing the same cell phone video, talking to the same white kid who was shot in the arm.

The first placed I stopped was some channel with Mo’nique on it with the babes who were trying to get Flava Flav’s money show. So I looked, but could only contrive three minutes worth. I went to another channel which I think was right behind it and it had another supposedly reality show. Can’t remember what it was called but it was about these women who were supposed to have real attitude problems living together.

In summary, I can tell you this. On one show the women took 4 hours to go up hill two miles and the other defined the ultimate of cackling and whining. However, I did notice a few things in the 6 or 7 minutes I watched both shows. The first is that since it is on television, its acting if it aint a sporting event or cartoon, and c-span. But what stuck out the most was the focus on I, I and my by all of the women participants. Not to single out women, but this is all that were on these shows – with the exception of one white man who ran beauty pageants, which made his gender questionable as well. I mean every one of them, constantly talking about themselves and no one else as if the universe circled around them, like the read Alexander Pope Essay’s. Talking as if they were quitters - complaining about how life is so hard. They were also leaning towards being pathetic and helpless, as if they had no control over themselves or their lives.

I hope this is acting, and not indicative of the people in this age. I hope that it does not mean, as I view it, that folks in generally are mentally and emotionally weak. Feeling as if everything is so unbearable that they cry, whimper and whine. If so, it don’t strike me unusual why a person who thought as such would do something unreasonable and drastic like cap and kill a lot of innocent people. Because in the long run, guns don’t kill people, people do. People who complain about how life is so hard and that I want to die, and that if I can’t have you I will kill you and everybody in my class. Is that what I, I, my leads too?

Both them show’s WAS weak, so I changed the channel again.

They on the other team

I know that many of us are still steamed over the comments made by Don Imus regarding the 2007 women’s Basketball runner-up Rutgers University Lady Scarlet Knights. I also know many of us are fumed over his awkward attempt to shift the blame to African American men, especially rappers for the manner I which they often vilify and degrade our sisters. Not me , at least for the time being, for a Wood is a wood is a wood and since the Knights of Templar and even Rome, history shows us that “these folks” have never thought highly of our greatness – so I do not expect them to.

I would however like to give an example of this; a heinous example of how black and swarthy is associated with bad, evil and vile and is manifested in common thought as presented by the mainstream culture and media. In March of this year, the New York Post ran an article that started with the caption: “Should a couple be entitled to sue because a fertility clinic mistakenly impregnated the woman with sperm other than her mate's?”

Now under normal circumstance, this is a no brainier, given the complications of invitro fertilization in general. However, the issue was raised specifically because it was stated that a Hispanic woman and white man were “devastated - after a black baby” was born to the couple. As a result, the couple has revealed it will file a law for a mistake made during in-vitro conception. When Jessica Andrews was born, it was noticed that she was much darker (black). The physician, Martin Keltz, said that the child’s condition an "abnormality," and said that she would "get lighter over time." However, DNA testing showed hat the child was not the product of the husband’s sperm.

The parents say they “love Baby Jessica” yet at the same time describe her as a “terrible mistake” and are reminded of such “each and every time we look at her."

Then there is the issue of what has happened in Paris, Texas, where 15-year-old Shaquanda Cotton was sentenced to seven years in prison for pushing a hall monitor at her high school. Now this is a child with no prior history of bad behavior but Judge Chuck Superville of Lamar County convicted Shaquanda of “assault on a public servant" and sent her to prison at least until she turns 21. The strange this is that this is the same judge who three months earlier that awarded a 14-year old white girl probation for burning down her parents home intentionally (arson is a felony). The same judge also gave probation to a 19-year old white male who was convicted of killing a 54-year-old Black woman and her 3-year-old grandson with his truck. The Judge just requested that he send the family a Christmas card every year.

Although Ms. Cotton is no longer in jail, its just the simple fact that it happened in the first place that is deplorable. So, I write this to say that this is America and regardless of it being 2007, the history of this country was founded on the oppression and maltreatment of folks that look like me. Don Imus is no different and is a part of the same culture ergo, it don’t even strike me as unusual that he would see women matriculating at the college level as nappy headed hoes, for he likely sees all African American women as such. Fuck Don Imus and all the Woods, they have never been on my team.

i miss coaching little league

I just realized how much I miss coaching little league baseball. Yea, I played baseball my entire life, but I did not know how much I really missed coaching until this week. Over the weekend, I found out that a kid that played in my league, a fine young man that we played against was found murdered along with his cousin in Union City. When I heard the news for the first time, I over looked it namely because I could not fathom that I would know the individuals. I was however saddened that such reckless violence was taking place and that we lost two great futures in the progress.

They say little African American boys are not playing baseball anymore. I know the numbers are dwindling, but I want to disagree. We played baseball at old national and we won. We had several state champions since I was coaching there including my T-Ball team (40-2). I had my boys since they were four and they are 14 now. In addition, we had fun, sub states, districts and the whole nine. My best memory was my 9-10 team beating the best team in our league on a lasting double play hit to my son at second base and his shot to home when the bases were loaded. 5-4 was the final score and they had scored three runs in the last inning until we got the force out and ran off the field. That year we sent 4 teams to the state and 3 of ours to the sub-state.


But last night it really sank in, at the Braves game, sitting behind the dugout with my number one son and number one daughter. I love baseball. And what I liked most about coaching was that it taught young men: to depend on teammates and work with others (because you cannot bat every time nor can you play each position at the same time). But what I remember most, other than the dugout chatter “we got em scared now”, was what I always told them. “Anybody can be an athlete, but you all have to be scholars, gentleman and athletes in that order. Rest in peace Delarlonva Mattox.

man among toothpick fish

With all the shit, floating around that is presupposed news worthy; there are every now and then, some special things that deserve extra attention albeit they may not receive such. I am not talking about the idiotic statements of Don Imus calling the Rutgers’s women’s basketball teams nappy headed hoes or his jigga-boo statement. Nor am I speaking about the ridiculous suggestion that Akon bought a diamond mine so that he could get the world record for having a diamond chain around his neck (I will get to that another day).

This time, it is about a Slovenian man by the name of Martin Strel, who at age 52, swam the Amazon River (3,272 miles worth) in 66 days. This is a miraculous feat especially since the distance is about the same as from swimming from Seattle Washington to Miami, Florida. Add to that the river is home to a number of dangerous critters including Anacondas, piranhas, crocodiles and the infamous toothpick fish.

For those who do not know of the toothpick fish is a fierce and treacherous creature that is called "candirú” by the inhabitants of the region. The toothpick fish is a bloodsucker that prefers to swim into open body cavities to do its damage. The candirú is a tiny catfish that although it has limited sight, uses smell to find its victim. Its favorite place to attach itself is to the urethra. For it is attracted the traces of urea and ammonia that are given off by this part of the body. Again, saying that if a person is barely covered in the water,it will swim into an orifice (the anus or vagina, or even the penis—and deep into the urethra.

Mr. Strel is no stranger to rivers and in the past completed the Yangtze, Mississippi and Danube rivers. The Amazon is the world's largest river, as well as the second longest. During this swim, it is reported that he lost 26 pounds and was plagued with cramps, diarrhea, larvae infections, dehydration and delirium. I just want to take my hat off to this man, who swims in water where blood-sucking fish attracted the opening in the penis live. Now that is a man - a man among toothpick fish if you asked me.

A few of my favorite things

Was cold again this weekend in Georgia. Another reason why it would not surprise me if it snowed again in April. Was in the bed and it had dawned on me that this was good cuddling weather. But since that wasn’t possible, I sat there with little momma, who had just woken up talking “ Eat, eat, eat up.”

But the night was not as bad as I thought. I landed on the ABC Family channel, an outcome that could have only occurred as a function of their being no more college basketball and four months before the first NFL game. But I was pleasantly surprised. The sound of Music was on. It reminded me of how we took city buses on a field trip from my elementary school in Memphis to go and see it at the Malco Theater. What I remember most about it other than the fact I was out of school was the fat as crib the Captain had and the sound track. Yep, it had the fat sound track.

Now I was looking at it in m bed, with my little princess eating rib eye steak. It was so rewarding, her sitting under my arm, loving each song as I did. Even standing up and holding m hand, dancing with the music. It is without question a timeless classic and one of the best love stories I would ever desire to show to a kid. Not to mention the Mack lines. Like when the Captain asked Frauline why she came back and hinted that he would have hoped that he was one of the reasons or that she missed him. That’s when he snuck slim off in the greenhouse and said “you can’t marry someone if you are n love with someone else – pure merciful.

They used to make some classic movies back in the day. Wonder if they will ever get around to making more classics today?

You a soldier….daddy's going to buy you this chopper.

Dear CNN

I would like to apologize for my brethren displayed on air at the West Bank Pawn Shop in GRETNA, La. According to the manager of the paw shop per your report, he hears the man say over and over, “This is how you hold it, like this. Anybody in front of you, you can mow them down. Kill everybody; soldier, because daddy's going to buy you this chopper.”

First, there is nothing wrong with teaching a young boy the rights of manhood inclusive of shooting, fishing and building something with ones hands. Nevertheless, an infant, I do not think so. I just would like to thank you CNN for airing out my dirty business again and for showing us that WE (not including you CNN) have left to do in our community.

That includes explaining that this is not Cambodia or Serria Leone and that children, especially infants are not soldiers or killers. Whom would he have been a soldier for and why would a father want to spend money on a ‘Chopper” for a two year old instead of some books, blocks or crayons? We have to show that violence and using a gun is not the way to solve problems and that killing someone is not an act one should strive to be proficient at.

Thanks CNN for reminding us that making a baby do not make you a father.

The teaching of sociopathy

This past weekend I was in DC presenting at a conference. One of the presenters on the agenda with me made a presentation on how music, in particular hip-hop music has turned into a means of teaching sociopath behaviors to young children and adolescents. It was an interesting premise. He based it on the stages of cognitive development as expounded by Piaget. In essence, he said since young children learn through images and music, it is not unlikely that the images seen on videos, associated with certain words and lyrics and music, can lead to mental disorders including but not limited to oppositional-defiant disorder.

ODD is a psychiatric disorder that is characterized by two different sets of problems. On the one had, there is aggressiveness and a tendency to purposefully bother and irritate others. Individuals present with this disorder tend to display a pattern of negativistic, hostile, and defiant behavior lasting over extended periods. Such individuals often: loses their temper, argue with other regularly, actively defies or refuses to comply with requests from significant others, deliberately annoy people, blame others for their mistakes and behavior, angry and resentful and are spiteful and vindictive. As a result, this may lead to major impairment in social, academic, or occupational functioning.

He suggested that the images in most Hip-hop music tends to focus on violence, illegal acts, criminal behavior and lewd sexual behavior so much that in many respects it may play a role in forming behaviors in the same manner that nursery rhymes do for children. He went on to assert that as a function, children are learning and hearing things that only adults should hear and consequently may continue childhood behaviors even well into adulthood since they may skip valuable phases of their cognitive development.

I say this just to remind us that the problems that we may be seeing in many of our children and young adults may actually be due to the message and images that they get on television, in movies and videos and music. Now I am not saying this is a function of pure causation, but it is funny to note that our environment contributes a lot to our personal and cognitive development.

Used to be a time, when groups like NWA even presented Hip Hop as a form of social commentary. Now, the messages we hear mainly deal with the preaching of sociopathic practices that have no benefit to the good of our community. Parents, let get back to parenting, before we raise a cadre of adults, who are merely child-like, irresponsible and take their values from celebrities and what they see and hear in music and television.