Professional Grade

Not only did they provide me with a sweet cover, but a sweet write-up too. In author-land that's double dipping with sprinkles on top. Put your eyes on this beaut, then click the link for their blog.

Winter-Hebert

Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be writers.

Sequester Deez

Obama’s second term feels uncomfortably like his first term. It’s like the déjà vu of that time when your underwear hiked and pinched during a big meeting and you couldn’t reach in and smooth that thing out. Click HERE and see if anything seems familiar to you.

While we wait, Eleven Ways To Generate Money For The U.S. Government:

We can already damn near defend ourselves against Godzilla, Klingons, Daleks, and Zombie Jeebus on a ghost rhino. Cut the defense budget in half. We’ve got this.

The government needs to become producers of some hellacious movie blockbusters. May I suggest at least one butt shot of Idris Elba and one full frontal of Sofia Vergara to seal the deal? CGI Komodo dragons growing 80 feet long. Cinematic gold. Billions worldwide. Many sequels.

All elected officials in the Senate, Congress and White House take 40 % pay cuts (or voluntarily give up their salaries if they’re feeling decent minded).

Barring that, put a Congressperson on every corner and teach them to say, “Got that weed.”

Porn. Look, we know there’s hot glory hole, intern, and filibuster action. Might as well monetize that sumbitch.

Constitutional amendment turning the budget over to 3 working mothers who’ll knock that shit out between lunch and making sure the homework was done correctly.

Two words: Promote peace. Social, economic, environmental, inter and national peace.

No more flag lapel pins unless whoever’s wearing it personally buys it.

Form a righteous band and tour. Certain states would pay good money to see Obama sing “I want you, but I want you to want me too..”

If you are an orange politician either give up tanning sessions or just eat Cheetos, ‘cause we know you’re expensing that shit.

Don’t raise taxes on the filthy rich. Bumrush the show.

Tag, You're Writ! -- The Next Big Thing Blog Hop

Author Ru Freeman invited me to play writer-tag. Read about Ru's newest book HERE (available mere months away) while I lace up my Chucks, and visit her blog at www.rufreeman.com. Below, my answers to the question "What Are You Working On, Writer Dude?"

1.What is your working title of your book? The Brothers Jetstream: Leviathan (originally 'The Brothers Jetstream: Afropuffs Are the Antennae of the Universe' -- Yeah. We'll put that one away and save it for the sequel...)

2. Where did the idea come from for the book? A long time ago, in the library of Wayne State University, a group of white students were talking, I have no idea about what, but it had the feel of Dungeons & Dragons. When I--a tallish black guy--approached their table they stopped as though a switch had been flipped. Not a lull, a complete and total stop. I immediately thought "secret enclave" and became the character Milo Jetstream, on a mission to destroy secret enclaves everywhere. It was a funny, goofy name befitting a ridiculous, goofy situation, and this funny, goofy name stuck with me through the years, decades really, even getting Milo a brother: Ramses Jetstream. Now, if you have two black brothers named Milo and Ramses Jetstream, there is absolutely no way they are not going to be adventurers against the status quo, and raconteurs of mystery.

3. What genre does your book fall under? Science fiction adventure. Buckaroo Banzai by way of Ralph Ellison.

4. Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition? Milo, Michael Jai White. Ramses, Idris Elba. But this blockbuster movie would work best with an unknown cast.

5. What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book? Adventurers fight to give truth and art one last stand.

6. Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency? There's publisher interest... but we know how that goes. Agents/Publishers, call a brother!

7. How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript? I started this between 2 other books that I wanted to self-publish to get a taste of what the whole Kindle/Nook bid was like, so it's been in the slow cooker on low for about 3 years. This year I kicked the temperature to high to complete the first draft.

8. What other books would you compare this story to within your genre? As mentioned, Buckaroo Banzai (but that was a movie), but book-wise: The Coyote Kings: Space-age Bachelor Pad.

9. Who or what inspired you to write this book? All the science fiction and adventure that told me to sit back while the daring white guy saved the world. The English Major in me said, 'Hey, I'm a daring guy... for a nerd. I'm sure there are some cooler, daring, black guys who could save the world.' Like to see them? Here they are!

10. What else about your book might pique the reader's interest? It features a beef with Bigfoot between the main characters. And there's a group of angels called The Battle Ready Bastards.

NOW CLICK HERE, QUICKLY!

The Illusion of Wealth-fare

Money’s just not that into you. It’s time you realized that and stopped embarrassing yourself. The Capitalist Dream of ‘If you work hard enough it’ll come’—stop it. You’re better than that. 10 hours. 12 hours. 16 hours. What’s enough? Look at you. You’re always tired, always nervous, money never calls, you’re a wreck. The Capitalist Dream of corporate providers? Come on, really? I’ve seen what they do to you. They treat you like shit. Are you that desperate? Even the privately wealthy are just stringing you along. They can job-create a kiss under my ass. As your friend I have to be blunt: Money wants you to suck it off and then go home. That’s not what you want out of a relationship. No, for the love of god, money is NOT going to change. Seriously, what are you, 16 years old? Next you’ll say it’ll leave its spouse for you. Newsflash: Money screwed 700 billion people for the crumpled dollar in their pockets; how special do you feel now? Stop letting it use you, OK? It makes you beg for health care, wages; hell, basic freaking equity… and you’re going to defend it?! It’s a jerk! And if you’re not going to see that for yourself—No, don’t walk away. Don’t you dare. You’re going straight for a lottery ticket, I know you are. Seriously, hookers only benefit pimps. Yes, the lottery’s a hooker. Hell, while you’re at it why not go ahead and cut a platinum-selling album, or that novel that a million people are yearning to read. No, how about you get on Youtube, get famous for absolutely nothing, then sit back and let the offers roll in. When money puts you out of its house after letting you move in with it for a day, don’t come to me. Maybe SC Johnson will take you in. They’re a “family” company.

Poking Tigers

Poking a tiger is not like playing 'Pin the Tail on the Donkey.' If you plan to poke a tiger you'd best know precisely where its tickle spots are, otherwise shit will be the exact opposite of funny. The Onion thought it was being arch and funny over the weekend when it called a 9 year old actress a cunt. It wasn't funny. The actress was black. It wouldn't have been funny, cutting, or satirically relevant if the actress had been white, olive, or a glowing avatar. Some things you just don't do. You don't call a 9 year old a cunt and expect that to not get back to her. Then there was the fashion magazine, Numero, that featured a photo spread of a 16 year old white girl bronzed to look brown, captioned "African Queen." It's a fashion magazine. The only thing worthwhile to come out of fashion is the movie 'Zoolander.' Everybody knows fashion is fucking stupid. "No, he/she's not just a model, he's a supermodel." Expectations are automatically lowered in that arena. But we're in 2013 now. This is the future. Nobody gets to sing the theme song from "Kimba, the White Lion" anymore. Tarzan doesn't get to beat up an entire village of black folks. The African continent is not the supporting character/black friend of the cool white world. In case anyone is still unclear, that shit was foul back in the day, that shit is foul today, that shit will get your ass kicked. Race is a huge tiger. Don't pretend otherwise. Instead of celebrating a little 9 year old girl who'd done a good job at a difficult task, the decision was made to poke a tiger. That's as baffling as denigrating an Olympian because of her hair. Which happened. Instead of an editorial board nixing the idea of painting a child black in the pages of their pedo-fetishistic magazine, heads nodded in agreement and said, "Yes, this is a good thing." Will there be outrage? I actually hope not. Outrage is just publicity misspelled these days. Instead, I hope there's a gigantic, mile high wall of TIRED slamming their way. Bone-tired, gut-tired, Son of a bitch, what the hell-tired TIRED of this shit. Tired and bored with it. Move the hell on, get the hell out of the way, be thoroughly ignored to the point of eradication. Then there was everything that didn't get reported on the news or shared on Facebook. Sexisms, racisms, isms, schisms--petty fucks trying their best to get under the skin and rattle the bones just to hear what a full life sounds like in comparison to their empty homes. You can only hurt somebody who's more compassionate than you. Many, many examples of people poking tigers. I wish they'd realize how tiring it is to see that finger coming all the time. I sent a note to Numero magazine. It said this, clearly referencing their 'African Queen' spread: "We are tired of you. We are tired of the attitudes that foster such tunnel vision. Signed, Clarence Young, American of African descent, 47 years on this earth." That's it. We're tired of giving you the satisfaction of outrage. Tired of tolerating yet another "Ha ha, I'm not racist" moment from you. Tired of talents marginalized, heritages gentrified like so much cacao into Cocoa Krispies, tired of the stupid games you play in order to make money. We're tired of your laziness, your insipid thought patterns, and especially the ways you pander to your idiotic base. I'm not going to engage you in a dialogue, a diatribe, nor reverse demonization. I'm going to hope that you get a million billion emails and letters saying simply "We are tired of you," and that those million billion emailers and writers turn their backs on you. Forever. We know your pressure points. While you've been indiscriminately poking tigers, we've studied your anatomy. We know what gets you. We know what sticks in your craw. FTDS stands for 'fuck the dumb shit' my friends. It was something me and my friends in high school bandied about. I'm grown. They're grown. We don't plan to wait on you. FTDS. Good bye.

Politics Sucks Monkey Balls But Let’s Indulge A Second (or: Being 47% A-Hole should disqualify one from human contact, & Ronald Reagan was not a god)

Let’s see if I can follow the numbers. 1. When the powers finally convinced the poor that getting pissed on in the face, with patience, would turn into lemonade, things slid with the quickness. Reagan and crew didn’t invent the ethos of trickle-down economics, but they perfected the marketing of it. Trickle-down economics is a terrible psychology to live under. 2. Meanwhile the 1980s world felt like it was an itch away from nuclear annihilation so there was this huge, mass ‘Fuck It’ when it came to personal responsibility and caring about one’s future. 3. Bush One was elected only because of his link with Reagan. 4. Bush Two – same by extension, but more out of a sense of desperation on Republicans’ part than anything else. Hence all the voting shenanigans, outright fraud, and Florida. Beautiful Florida. 5. With no publicly viable links left to Reagan, GOP turned into McCain/Palin. Then Romney/Ryan (the same, only strangely stickier in the way that a noxious booger is), a team that came out of the most ludicrous batch of contenders for the highest office in this land that this country has ever seen. One would think we’ve been in the grips of a massively funded, national performance art piece, one which we’re not sure when it’s ended and we’re too embarrassed to leave our seats. That said, let’s move on to the polemic. Prosperity always comes at the expense of others. It’s been America’s heartbeat since day one. Worship the hoarders known as the wealthy, demonize all else; invest obscene resources into commercialization with which to buy expensive husbands, wives, cars and lives, and create intricate systems of industry-- like prisons or the cattle-car public school system-- designed to propagate social woes. Keep people focused on winning the lottery, becoming American idols, becoming instant chefs, eating diets of fool’s gold in the hope of ingesting enough iron to become lightning rods for that one good strike. Do that, and wealth can put the country (the world) on cruise control. I guess if you’re gonna “Thelma & Louise” you might as well do it in a luxury car, huh? “On Star? Hi, yes, I see a cliff up ahead and I have no plans on stopping so I just wanted to see if there was anything you could do before I kiss my ass goodbye. No? Ok, thanks.” Monkey balls.

Wagging The Dog

Why is verbiage about a man's willy always in inflated form? You'd think we're talking about High Science. "Erectile Dysfunction." "Premature Ejaculation." "Men with erections lasting more than four hours should seek medical help." As well as an attorney for the very much deserved harassment suit you'll receive at work. Even the balls get to sound like Greek heroes: "Testicles, the hidden Argonaut." So much foofery, when willies are the goofiest, most Forrest Gumpish things on the planet. Even Idris Elba's willy is goofy. I'm sorry, ladies. Truth hits everybody. Whereas technical lingo for lady bits always sounds like something Jabba the Hutt's dentist might mention about Jabba's general oral health. Woke up with this on my mind, y'all. It's on my mind. There's a reason the "running in slo mo on a beach" scene is never of a man with "a lot on his mind," yes? This isn't to say there aren't some majestic ones out there, otherwise we would never have come up with the names "Sweet Dick Willy," "Goldenrod," or "Thy Rod and Thy Hammer." This isn't to say they can't be cute and cuddly. I'm sure if we men could get the message out it would be "Hold one every day," but, lo, we are prevented from expressing our true feelings. But such a tiny minority hardly grants every dong wearing a Gomer Pyle smile ambassador status. No more pomp and circumstance, Erectile Dysfunction commercials. As my man Willy Shakespeare said (y'all didn't realize that's the first porn name ever, did you?): "What a piece of work is a rupert, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and admirable, in action how like an angel, in apprehension how like a god! The beauty of the world, the paragon of animals—and yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust..." {pre-edited version. Historical note: "Rupert" wasn't seen as aristocratic enough so it became "Richard" and then shortened to the colloquial "Nixon."} What is this quintessence of dust, this schlong of such pedigree that Cialis commercials must interrupt my every waking moment? Willy Shakespeare (yes he will!) knew what was up. The rupert might have its recommendations, but nothing about it is like attaining Everest.