While I try to be as open as I can be with things on this blog, there are certain things I won’t touch with a ten foot pole. Anything I take seriously, that I am affiliated with that has real legal power I won’t eff with. I’m not stupid. Alternative Spring Break…I’ll talk about that for billions of years because they can’t do crap to me. But the NAACP can…I think. CRAP! Oh well, I mentioned them by name and I’m too lazy to retype all of this junk…so yeah guess I am stupid. I’m in Cincinnati for the 99th NAACP convention. Before I begin, let me honor this city (even though it still sucks a 7.8 instead of an 8.3 on the ten point crap meter). Cincinnati has a Black mayor as well as a Black chief of police (I think. I don’t know, there was some guy dressed all fancy and the cops referred to him as the chief, so I assume my aforementioned statement to be true…if it isn’t, oh well)
As a member of the executive board for a certain chapter that just happens to have sprung up where I live, I get to attend a very cheap conference. So I will sum up everything that has happened so far on this trip.
Ale battered salmon is never a good idea: Me and the rest of the colored roundtable; Mr. President, Daisy, Ye-Ye, Uh-oh (she’s White, but she’s as cool as the other side of the pillow) and Cox (yeah this nickname sucks, oh well I’m on a time table here…) decided to go out to eat our first night here (as we would decide for the remainder of the nights up until this post). We went to this one cowboy-esque looking place where everything on the menu looked gross for the most part. So after we received our drinks and still couldn’t decide on what to order the waiter gave us a minute to get our ish together. Interesting fact about Cincinnati…it turns out that one minute is equivalent to around ten here…I guess we hit a time distortion portal on I-64 or something. So after billions of minutes later (approximately ten) the waiter comes back and takes orders around the table. Mr. President gets something that looks tasty, but unhealthy. Daisy gets the exact same thing (more or less), Ye-Ye gets a burger, Cox gets some form of a chicken sandwich that looked like an aborted chicken fetus. Uh-oh gets some Mexican type dish that looked suspiciously like eggplant (it most likely was) and then it was my turn. After much debate between getting something chicken related, and looking not only like a douchebag that copied Mr. President and Daisy, but a coonish caricature of a fat Black man as well, I decided that I wanted a veggie burger. You know, those precooked things that most people that are sensible (omnivores) don’t like and are imitations of actual meat. I love those. In response to telling him that I wanted a veggie burger he told me that there was a vegetable shortage in the nation, so vegetarian burgers weren’t being served anywhere. First of all, I highly doubt that, second of all, veggie burgers are made from soy. Soy NEVER runs out. Not enough people eat that crap for it to run out. Just Friday (the day before the supposed soy epidemic) my girlfriend ordered some soy dish at a restaurant. So how in the heck can is a shortage on something as simple as a friggin soy patty that is colored with yellow-5, red-3487 and blue 89332? Against my wishes to yell at him and call his mother a failure at life for bringing him into the world, I looked to the closest thing to being healthy without looking coonish. I saw salmon, so I ordered. As soon as I ordered I could tell he was getting fed up with waiting our table so I didn’t change my order after ordering a platter of ale battered salmon. The damage was already done, so I figured that I’d go all out and substitute some nasty slaw for onion rings. Our food came out and most everyone other’s dishes were quite amazing. Mine looked like Poseidon has just passed some kidney stones onto my plate and then pissed his mighty oil urine onto my plate to saturate it in grease. I killed the onion rings because I love onions. When I got done the main task was at hand. MP and Daisy were right across from me with delicious looking chicken and mashed potatoes (quick pause…if you take one potato and mash it, is the product still mashed potatoes? Deep. I know). I bit into the last two years of my life and it tasted horrid. However…if I pay for something, I will finish it with all of my might. My entire meal was eaten in angry spite as I gladly would have sacrificed looking like a chicken-loving Sambo to our non-punctual douchebag waiter for a better meal. The best thing I had was the cup of water I had as my drink. I’m still pissed about this…and that was on Saturday.
The diversity of the NAACP: I’m not knocking the organization. Unlike some people *coughjessejacksonalsharptoncough* they have actually done uncountable things for the plight of minorities across the world. But as much diversity as it stands for, I don’t think it is as diverse as it should be. The makeup of the organization at this conference has to be around 60% age 50+, 30% 17 and under and like 10% people that actually matter to the here and now. I just think that you can tell how horrid conditions were (or how much people cared) back in the day because it seems like everyone’s mother and grandmother…and great grandmother is here at this friggin conference, eating dinner at 4:30 PM, acting like you built this country instead of your parents, like you’re better than me because I am young and criticizing me for being late when it’s none of your old folk business what I do with my grown people time. And then you have the people that are the youngins. There were these three clowns who I will refer to as D-0, Socks, and Bean. Bean could have been like 20, but the dude was 5′0 with shoes. Socks was someone who I would want to hide from R. Kelly. But D-0 took the cake (and probably ate it). He was this douche that sat right in front of me at the speech last night. He said he got offered a full ride in his Jr. year to play football at Tenn. State. The dude was like shorter than me (I’m barely 5′9) and weighed maybe 220 (mostly baby fat) and…to put it lightly; If he was given a grade at life, his parent/guardian would have to sign the report card. So the beginning of the rally include Bean cracking jokes (this dude sounded like Lil’ Boosie) on the old people section to our left. Socks kept turning around trying to get me and Ye-Ye locked up and D-0 trying to get into this girl’s pants with awful, horrid, atrocious game. Sadly even though she wasn’t feeling his game, she was falling for it. In fact, given more time, he actually could have accomplished his goal of ruining this poor young sister’s life. Why couldn’t females had been this dumb when I was 17? Hmmm, now that I look at it, the NAACP is pretty diverse.
I didn’t learn my lesson: After the atrocities that I endured eating the little mermaid and a can of Crisco’s love babies. I should have learned to go cheap and simple. But I didn’t (Go me…). We went to a place called Cadillac Ranch. The journey began with 6 hungry college aged people. It ended with none of us getting our food for an hour and fifteen minutes, at which time our appetizers came our…before our food. Around 20 minutes and 2000 useless calories later some of our food came out. None of us had exactly what we ordered. It was off at least one item per person. For reasons that will most likely increase my anger and blood pressure, I won’t go into gruesome details. Just know that I paid 11.50 after we got 50% taken off our bill for horrid service and extremely subpar and lukewarm food. If you are ever in the Cincinnati downtown area, never eat at this place. Your wallet and your integrity as a human being will hate you.
YES WE CAN!: Last night I saw one of the best speeches I have seen in my life (even if I didn’t agree on 33% of the speech), it was delivered with such devotion, confidence and oratory skill that I stood in amazement proud not only to be a HAAA (half African all amazing) or a black man, but to be an American, because I feel that the giver of the speech has the skills to make America into the superpower we once were, where French people and their frou-frou money couldn’t touch the U.S. dollar fueled by the powerful discourse of oppression and ignorance (rather than toast, fries, and flaming desserts). But the title of this section isn’t because I’m Jim Jonsing myself off the BHO flavor-aid, it’s because the old people section to our left kept trying to start a chant of “Yes We Can!” Chants are like slow claps. If others around you don’t want it to happen…it won’t. Being next to a moderately apathetic youth section, you’d think they would have figured it out. However these old women tried (I kid you not) six times to get this crap started. I felt bad because I wanted to help them get it started, but I wasn’t as big of a fan to devote my energy towards chanting and getting 500 youths involved. Oh well. I see why with those types of people fighting for us, that minorities today have civil rights. Getting them to stop was like trying to kill a zombie. Have you ever killed a zombie? I think not. Impossible right? Exactly.
I was right now one thing: In my post on Louisville, I addressed cities similar to Louisville as well. Cincinnati was included in the post. Well turns out when we went to Donato’s pizza there were these two ‘thug lite’ people (‘thug lite’ is a term I use for those people who claim to be real OGs and Thugs, but ride around on public transportation and freestyle whack lyrics mixed with a beat that any infant with at least one hand could accomplish). The fact that they existed wasn’t enough to prove my claim, but one of them was listening to some sort of Discman or cassette player (does family dollar even sell these anymore?) and freestyling something about how quote “You dun wannit wit a Nati n*gga…” most of the stuff after that was nonsensical trash mixed with Midwest swagger and impeded speech by his lukegold grill. He was a disgrace to sentient beings everywhere in the universe.
Well time for a job fair…maybe I’ll put some pics up from this trip. Most likely not because I don’t care that much.
