morpheme-less monday

Ok we got snow in Atlanta and the city closed (outside my kitchen window)

Lil Momma had to drive her jeep (love Palmetto, GA and farm life)

On deck (outside of my sons bedroom window)

Outside my bedroom door

In the back of house

From back porch

Lil momma making a snow -gel on deck (she forget the An)

And of course my favorite (hot sauce not included)

just had to share some Sunday images & shouts to Brandi Bates and her son for coming by the shop Sat.

I don’t wanna see you draws jones

Jones man, while me and my folk was in the shop putting up some extra display space, I saw two dreads across the street walking. I suspected they may have been lovers the way they were holding hands, but that is beside the point. Both folk had wife beaters on and jeans. But what struck jones here was that they wife beaters was down under they asses with the jeans held with a belt below them.

My boy Aston, the owner of Clay Gallery next to me saw this. I was about to scream to folk across the street “Jones mane, pull you draws up, don’t nobody wanna see yo azz, you running away my customers.” But Aston looked at me and said don’t mane. But I felt like it and I’m writing this cause I felt I should have and because I neglected my obligation of expressing how I feel.

Now I know I aint the coolest folk on the planet, but I do feel that this draw and wife beater for draws with a belt around your thigh shit has gone too far. Now true, me with my none underwear wearing self may not be the correct conduit for this message. But it is about time that somebody suggests a trade in of white tee’s, and airforce ones for some Linen’s and sandals or Cole Haan’s. But I think its too late. For they don’t listen to men.

And you women, some women, a lot of women that is, are part of the problem. Until you actually tell a mutha fuca that that shit aint attractive or sexy, or mature they will keep doing it. But that is like expecting George Bush to care about Iraqi civilians or Africans in Dafur because yawl help propagate this nonsense. Yawl (some) be the main ones in the clubs liking and singing and wanting to make “love to a thug in the club with his Nikes on? “ Not realizing you just gone get fucked without any love. Even knowing that that mentally, physically and emotionally shit is just a lame pick up line-yep. Yawl be the main ones singing “buss it baby” Knowing that you are one of many.

But I will calm down, just like I calmed down today, went in my shop and got my hot sauce, and like Brylcream, a little dab will do u. So I did my little dab, watched it dissolve in my tequila and threw it back with a smile. I may not wear draws, but u cant see my ass, unless im at the cut – I hate clothes. vote

im with dumb f**k

I hope that none of us forget that we got folk over seas battling on two fronts: Iraq and Afghanistan. It seems sometimes as if we do, myself included. Being more concerned with Nick Cannon marrying some singer or Bow Wow turning drinking age, or even a trivial personal problem or a night out at the club with our folks or a woman acting out on a train because she has not taken her medication. But too, there is nothing wrong with that for different things hold the interest of different folk.

I just want to remind folks that aint nothing has changed, except we are myopic, and maybe more interested in folks in suites (Hillary included) running for political office than the fact that folks are still returning home in plastic bags or maybe even alive, with their leg or arm lost some where on a road in a place called Kirkuk or Kabuoom or Mosul or Tikrit. I would even speculate that most of us couldn’t name five cities out side of the capitals of both countries le alone tell which of the aforementioned is not in Iraq. But our self-induced ignorance is a divagation I will save for another day.

Maybe our nescience is why we don’t notice or hear about Osama bin Muhammad bin 'Awad bin Laden anymore. The way they talked him up, you would have though Jones was the New Dillinger or Baby Face Nelson – public Enemy number one. I don’t even see his picture up in Post Offices. Once upon a time I did.

I just wonder why? I wonder if he is even mentioned in the back rooms of the Pentagon or White House any more. All I know is that we have not found him but boasted we will. This is not a slap in the face of our military personnel. Nope we have some of the bravest, smartest and efficient service men and women in the world and will forever have such. They carry out their task with expert precision and do it with out one complaint. Yes, they are true professionals, more so that I. However, I do wish they had some help on the behalf of military intelligence. Makes me think that the combination of both words is an oxymoron.

I know some folks say all black folk look a like, maybe the same is true for Arabs and Muslims, maybe this is why they have yet to locate Osama. Then we know that Osama Jones is hiding in a remote region of Afghanistan, maybe even Pakistan. Both of which are places where we have goo-gobs of military personnel and the assistance of folk who supposed to be our allies.

Maybe I am wrong. But I don’t think so. Like I said, the folk we have fighting on our behalf are smart, very smart. But military intelligence, the question is still up for grabs to me. I mean it did take them about 5 years to find Eric Rudolph and we knew where he was plus he was state side. It also took them 11 years to find the Uni bomber. Maybe I just think too much and just need to stop and have me a shot of Tequila with hot sauce.

Ode to Miss Anne

As I have recanted an inordinate amount of time, I am a country boy. I’m proud to be a country boy and from flip flops and socks, to wearing my hair in Plats, I personify that pick-up truck driving, wild boar throat cutting while its live, Jones who owns throwing axes, rifles and 11 acres to personification.

This weekend, in-between auto junkyards looking for some parts to fix my truck, or get it fixed, I stopped by an associate of mine Birthday party. His woman had asked me to come through. Now this not one of my real folk but he my folk and I see him regularly at this little Jamaican redneck joint in Fairburn, Georgia called Latitudes. Now I’m in Palmetto, and to put into perspective it is about six miles down Roosevelt Highway from my spread.

The bar, well, they serve Jamaican food, is owned by this kat named Les who is originally from Negril, Jamaica. Like I say, he a cool kat, and a real Rum dranker. The catch is that since it is in the country, half the clientele are NASCAR, bud-drinking rednecks. And they my folk and I love them.

While at the party, one of the bartender, all of which are women, Miss Anne, had added a dish to the buffet – Brunswick stew. If you all aint never heard or tried it, let me tell you it’s the bomb. Again, from me, this country boy, for if anything, you all should know I love sports, getting head, sex, Tequila and Food.

Miss Anne is my girl, she an ole white woman that legend tells us, can cook her ass off, like all of the other r bartenders according to patrons. And I’m glad to be one. The bar is better than Cheers, I mean everybody knows your name and what you drinking. Not to mention the pool tables and DJ that be dropping the best cuts from the ATL to Memphis, as well as country music. Everybody needs a placed like this to go too. And if any yawl in town, best believes I’m gone take yawl there. Now back to this stew. The bomb in one word. And to show how country I am, it was made with pork, possum, Rabbit, Chicken and squirrel. All I could recognize was the squirrel.