Very Smart Brothas » pittsburgh

Black Card Denied: Stereotypically “Black” Things You’re Just Not That Into

The Champ — Fri, 20 Aug 2010 04:01:02 +0000

“You’ve never rocked a doo-rag before? Ever?”

This question came about yesterday as a friend and I were having a nuanced discussion about the peculiarity surrounding the idea of blackness. Wait, that’s a lie. We were actually talking about something called a “Dr. Laura Schlessinger“, and the conversation somehow segued to an analysis of women with mustaches (and which occupations they’re most likely to have), morphed to a debate about old men with baby hair, and finally landed on Cheese from”The Wire”. (don’t ask)

As any fan of “The Wire” will tell you, Cheese–a mid-level East Baltimore drug dealer played by Method Man–was perpetually doo-ragged up. In fact, I don’t think there was a single moment in five seasons where Cheese appeared without a doo-rag or hoodie on his head. Anyway, while discussing Cheese’s contribution to the show, my friend made a reference to the acne a loose do0-rag can cause (for the laymen: if you leave the strings hanging down, they can irritate your skin), and that it would be difficult to be taken seriously if you were a drug dealer with adult acne. My reply:

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never attempted to sell drugs in East Baltimore, and I’ve never rocked a doo-rag”

“What? I don’t believe you”

“You’ve known me for 10 years. When have you ever seen me attempt to sell drugs in East Baltimore?”

“I’m talking about the doo-rag, d*ckhead. You’ve never rocked a doo-rag before? Ever?”

“Nope”

“You sure you’re black, right?”

“No, but my d*ck is definitely black. Ask your wife”

“You might not be black, but you’re definitely gay”

Gayness aside, I was telling the truth. I’ve never rocked a doo-rag or stocking cap before, but for good reason(s)

A) Due to one of my great, great, great Native American second cousins, I was able to get waves without having to wear one.

B) Because of my head size/shape insecurities as a youth, I (rightly) assumed that wearing one would make my head look like a condom.

Anyway, this conversation made me think of a few more stereotypically “black” things I’ve just never really been that into, parts of standard American blackness I’ve never experienced, and other things that might jeopardize my black card membership if word ever got back to the committee.

I’ve never seen Love Jones, Love and Basketball, The Golden Child, The Last Dragon, The Wood, Booty Call, Hav Plenty, and anything Tyler Perry. I finally watched The Color Purple for the first time two years ago, and I’m close to 122% certain I won’t be watching Precious any time in the pre-apocalyptic future.

My reasons for not seeing any of these movies vary from “it just doesn’t look any good” (The Golden Child) to “He’s 5’6 in heels. How the hell am I supposed to believe he’s a great basketball player?” (Love and Basketball)

I’ve never been to Atlanta

Although, thanks to YouTube (NSFW!), I have been to Strokers numerous times.

None of my friends in Pittsburgh have any kids

Wait, let me rephrase that. None of my friends in Pittsburgh have any kids they know of.

Seriously though, I realize some people might find this–there are entire crews of childless, 25 to 35 year old black people floating around–hard to believe, but it’s true. I actually have a theory about how black people with kids and black people without kids usually travel in completely separate social circles, and I’d expound upon it if I actually gave a damn.

I always hated Good Times

The entire premise was depressing, none of the jokes were funny, and I could never make the Bob Beamon-esque leap that John Amos and Esther Rolle would have been able to overlook the 932 year age gap between them to form a loving couple. 900 years? Maybe. But, not 932. That’s just pushing it.

I’ve never purchased an R&B album

Unless, of course, you include Ghostdini the Wizard of Poetry.

I grew up in Southwestern Pennsylvania, went to a predominately white college, played a sport, and only slept with one white woman

And, to be perfectly honest, she was somewhat thick before it was cool for snizzles to be thick–her nickname was “Jabba The Butt“– so she didn’t really count.

I haven’t worn a pair of sunglasses in at least a decade

I’m including this even though I’m not exactly sure how “black” sunglasses really are. Basically, sunglasses are exactly like Rashida Jones in “Parks and Recreation”

I’ve never drank an entire 40

Honestly, I’ve never understood how people can do this. I mean, I can’t even drink 40 ounces of water in one sitting, so how the hell do people drink 40 ounces of beer? Are beer drinkers born with extra stomachs? Is the beer in 40s like cotton candy where it evaporates as soon as it hits your mouth? Is there a prize at the bottom of a 40 bottle? Like, is there a pocket-sized Kenya Moore waiting at the bottom of the bottle for you to rescue her from her foamy hell? Someone (preferably someone from south central Los Angeles) please explain this to me.

I’ve never shot dice

But, unfortunately…

My house has been shot at…

…which basically makes up for everything else on the list.

Okay, that’s enough from me. VSB.com, can you name any stereotypically black things you’ve never experienced, parts of universally accepted black culture you’re really just not that into?

The floor is yours.

—The Champ aka No Alias (because aliases are a bit too black to)

5 universal dating truths

The Champ — Mon, 19 Jul 2010 04:29:49 +0000

at thursday’s the dating truth live, i moderated a panel where 6 of the pittsburgh area’s most engaging young professionals spoke about dating, relationships, and sex.

***as you can see, i’ve linked to a partial video of the event. because of the camera angle, you can’t really see much of me. well, lemme rephase that. you can’t really see much of me, except for my obnoxious-ass hands. gotdamn, lol. people have always told me that i speak with my hands, but i never realized exactly how aggressive they were until watching this video. it almost looks like i’m doing an impersonation of kevin hart doing an impersonation of a rapper. i probably should have just slipped a “real talk! i kill pittsburgh panel n*ggas!” in there for good measure.***

sometime during the night, one of the panelists (i forget who) remarked “the only dating truth is that there are no dating truths. we all just need to find our own way“, a statement that received a good 10 seconds of applause from everyone in attendance (including me), and it wasn’t until the next day that i realized how wrong that comment was. if experience has taught me anything, it’s that there are a few universal dating truths that are applicable to everyone and every situation, even if we don’t want to believe it.

here’s 5 of them.

1. catching (and keeping) feelings is a choice

we’ve all heard this story before:

after 6 months of bullsh*t convos over mediocre meals and half-assed bi-weekly sex, boy and girl kind of call it quits through a series of passive-aggressive text messages. boy moves on, but girl remains intent on holding onto one-ply thread of reconcilatory hope, stating that she “can’t help that she likes him so much, and wishes that she didn’t” while crying on shoulder of loyal (and cuckolded) “platonic” male confidant. dry-dicked platonic male confidant starts to mimic the unaffected behavior of boy, thinking that it will give him more sexual success, but not realizing that said behavior only works if women are trying not to like you. everybody eventually dies.

regardless of how attracted to someone we might be, we all have a little line in our head that basically says “ok. cross this point, and you’re going to start liking this person. don’t cross this point, and you won’t“. when you catch feelings, it’s not because some uncontrollable galatical force compels you to see grandkids in your future. no, you make the conscious mental and emotional decision to start liking them. and, when a person says that they can’t stop liking someone, what they’re really saying is “i don’t want to completely stop liking this person yet, because a part of me still thinks there’s a chance this might somehow work”

2. don’t do intimate sh*t with people you don’t want to f*ck, because you just might end up f*cking

***not to be confused with “don’t go to a buffet if you’re not hungry, cause you just might end up eating something” and “don’t date a mexican if you hate kids, cause she just might end up pregnant“***

3. nobody cares about you and your bullsh*t

the woman you’re out with tonight doesn’t care that the only reason you threw a spoon at the waiter is because you have anger and intimacy issues stemming from the weekends your dad used to make you wrestle baby deer on film. no, she just thinks you’re a creepy weirdo, and now her focus is on finding a way to walk out without having your creepy jame gumb acting ass follow her to the parking lot.

everybody has issues, and nobody gives a damn about yours. either deal with them and date, or don’t deal with them and stay home and put fawns in the figure four.

4. attractive people attract people

with this in mind, if you’re single and looking, it’s not the worst idea in the world to make the attempt to look attractive. like it or not, you’re in indirect competition with every other person on the market, so it’s in your best interests to compete.

get a haircut. shave (everywhere). brush your teeth. smell good. buy new clothes. work out. save the two year old hoop sneaks and FUBU basketball shorts for hooping, and save the mom jeans and the ridiculously unenthused hair for the saturday afternoon meredith baxter-birney marathon, not the club

5. some people won’t like you…and that’s ok.

regardless of how fabulous and unique you think you are, there are going to be some people who can’t stand the sight of you. sometimes you might even be attracted to these people, but you repulse them so much that they’d dry heave if they knew you were attracted to them. they’d rather f*ck a ceiling fan than throw a lay your way. to them, the only way your sh*t would stink worse is if it came out looking like you.

so, what do to? well, f*ck em. life is too short to dwell on who doesn’t like you and why they don’t. plus, you don’t like everybody, so why the hell would you expect that everybody is going to like your happy ass? brush your communist-ass shoulders off and do you.

people of vsb.com, did i forget anything? can you think of any other universal dating truths?

also (beside louie c.k. and patrice o’neal. wait, i gotta include bill burr in there as well), is there another stand-up act as consistently funny as kevin hart’s today?

—the champ

rsvp deez: five faux pas of house party hooking-up

The Champ — Mon, 15 Mar 2010 04:01:30 +0000

saturday night, the champ was among approximately 30 or so very smart brothas and sistas (plus a token white guy, invited just in case hbo ppv required that someone with good credit co-signed the purchase of the pacquiao fight) gathered for march’s “game night”, a monthly rotating house party/excuse for pittsburgh-area professional black people to drink juice-box coronas and eat homemade meatballs while playing spades and taboo.

as you can imagine, game night is also a prime hook-up opportunity for many in attendance, as well as a great chance for those already coupled up to observe the multiple social etiquette faux pas committed by those actively looking for their next ex.

here’s a few of my favorite.

1. mr. or ms. “i haven’t figured out yet that i’m wasting my time trying to hook-up with someone who’s clearly not that interested in me”

whether its because of the alcohol or the (relatively) polite setting, there always remains a couple people so unaware of social cues that they continue with their full-court man-to-man press even though the other team is already back at the fucking hotel.

***btw, vsb’s and vss’s, if you ever think you’re in this situation, be mindful of one thing: laughter. basically, if you’re having one of those “i’m exchanging meaningless words with this person just to gauge their interest” convos and they haven’t even cracked a nervous smile or chuckled once, chances are that they probably think a wii directions manual is more interesting then you***

2. ms. “i probably should have either worn a belt or lotioned her butt crack if i planned on sitting like this all night”

a faux pas only rivaled by ms. “i have giant boobs and i’m giving all the guys too familiar hugs“ on the list of “relatively harmless things that will get a woman a seriously strong collective side-eye in a roomful of sistas”

3. mr. “i’m rocking enough unforgivable to suffocate a fuckin moose ox”

usually, this is also the same guy rocking an outfit specifically chosen to accentuate his gold bracelets, as well as the too competitive guy sweating through his shirt while playing charades

4. the “we just now realized that we’ve been talking to/sleeping with the same guy” twins

one of my favorites, along with their close cousin,

5. mr. “i should have looked at the invite list and realized that both of the chicks i’ve been sleeping with were coming so i could have stayed my ass at home“

anyway, people of vsb.com, i’m sure i’m missing a few. can you think of any other faux pas of house party hooking-up?

the floor is yours and sh*t

—the champ

the four best things about winter

The Champ — Wed, 16 Dec 2009 05:16:00 +0000

last week produced pittsburgh’s first real taste of winter weather, with wind chills so violent that the mere thought of any outdoor activity induced some of the most awkwardly vulgar obscenities known to man. seriously, in the block walk from crazy mocha to my apartment last thursday, my brain was so appalled by the cold that it somehow convinced me that screaming “sh*tty goat nipples!!!” repeatedly would some how make it better. it didn’t

despite this, I always get a little giddy during this time of year. winter remains far and away my favorite season, and here’s four reasons why:

it builds character

put it this way: if leaving the comforts of a warm bed, blanket, and brown booty at six in the morning to shovel your percolating truck out of three inches of snow just so you can battle 10 miles worth of black ice, backed-up traffic, and bitch-ass priuses so you can sit in a cubicle and make just enough money to pay for you to repeat the entire process tomorrow isn’t character building, then I don’t know what the hell is.

cold weather music

by “cold weather” i’m referring to music thats best appreciated when heard through headphones, in your house by yourself, or in a whip with the windows up. usually this music either inspires you to make babies (ie: “who is jill scott? words and sounds vol. 1″), write your own songs (ie: the roots’ “things fall apart”), reluctantly sell drugs (ie: the gza’s “liquid swords”), or kill people (ie: mobb deep’s “the infamous”)

you can keep your heavy bass, boom-boxes, and laid-back breezy beach beats. gimme a hoodie, a skully, an ipod, and “the war report” and i’m good

the start of hoop season

although “below the rim: a former d-1 players’ awkward journey in search of his missing abs, hops, and pride” would be a perfect title if anyone made a documentary about me now, i still look forward to the beginning of basketball season more than any other single annual occurrence, including my birthday and the season premiere of “for the love of ray j”

the curious cases of the cold weather cuties

while I’ll always adore the energy, liberty, libido, love, and std’s produced by the summers heat, you can’t beat the intrigue and whip appeal of seeing a december sista so fine that her glory finds a way to shine through a parka, two thermals, fur earmuffs, and snow shoes.

plus, unwrapping that gift always makes for a great game of late night coitus kwanzaa

anyway, people of vsb, does anyone share my sentiments? if so, why? what is it about winter that you adore?

if not, what do you store in the space where your soul used to be? milk? staples? condoms? mexicans? I’m curious and sh*t

—the champ

five completely selfish reasons why i’ve never cheated

The Champ — Mon, 14 Dec 2009 05:01:06 +0000

although i’ve always suspected that i live in a bit of a vacuum, the conversations i’ve had, heard, and read over the past couple of weeks have basically confirmed this. apparently infidelity is the new 30, and my lack of experience in this arena apparently either means that i’m hopelessly behind the cheating curve (the preferred option) or so undesirable that both me and the equally undesirable women i’ve chosen to be with exist in cheat-free alternate universes (the, ummm, unpreferred option)

thing is, even if you disregard the “cheating is wrong and sh*t” thought, the idea of cheating has never even really been a relevant issue for me, for five completely separate and somewhat selfish reasons.

1. i’m lazy as hell

the walls in the dining area (“area” because calling it a “room” would be like calling the mud puddle in my parking lot a swamp) of my apartment are decorated with framed 24 x 36 inch vintage art posters. sure, they’re a bit cliche and definitely pretentious, but they’re colorful and black chicks with glasses, asses, and advanced degrees seem to dig them.

anyway, this framed poster…

…is actually laying on the floor next to my dining area table. it fell off the wall when my air conditioning broke, making my apartment so hot for a week or so that the wall adhesive basically melted, and its been there ever since because i’ve been too lazy to put it back up.

if that alone doesn’t convince you of my transcendent laziness, lemme inform you that this frame fell in august…of 2008

basically, a man who has spent 18 months walking past a fallen picture of a wino monkey because he just hasn’t felt like putting it back up yet probably isn’t going to bother trying to juggle multiple chicks.

2. i’m a bit of an assh*le

to expound, i’m a bit of an assh*le who will break up with somebody i still actually like.

basically, while others might stay in a relationship where they’re still relatively happy, but cheat to fill whatever void they have, i don’t have a problem with just saying “sorry, this isn’t working,” pulling the kanye shrug and bouncing if i feel a strong inclination to step out.

3. it seems too time-consuming

between working, blogging, watching basketball, playing basketball-like activities three days a week, the time spent in showers taken after masturbat1ng, and the time spend b*tching about the state of black relationships over cheap beer, i barely have enough time for my one girlfriend as it is.

i hate using condoms

i know that isn’t the most politically correct thing to admit, especially in light of world syphilis awareness week or whatever the hell it is right now, but f*ck it. yeah, i get tested and blah, blah, blah, blah, but isn’t being able to say “hey, look, ma: no condoms!!!” one of the perks of being in a long-term and faithful relationship?

nevermind. don’t answer that.

4. i live in pittsburgh

a common saying about the burgh is that it’s the biggest small town in the country. while six degrees of separation may connect you to everyone everywhere else, the burgh’s unique dynamics make it so that its somewhere between seven tenths and one and a quarter here.

basically, if you can’t even go to a home depot in the hood on a thursday morning without running into (in order) an old teacher, your godsister, franco harris, and an old f-buddy from the summer of 2003, how the hell do you expect to be able to creep here without getting caught?

5. apparently i’m prone to make funny f-faces

i’m already self-conscious enough as it is. i don’t need a bunch of off-brand sluts knowing exactly what the champ looks and sounds like when he’s making baby champions.

anyway, in the past two weeks we’ve devoted approximately 372 entries and 10,000 comments to why people cheat, why monogamy is unreasonable, and why blasian n*ggas named eldrick can’t be trusted.

for the remaining seven percent of us who haven’t cheated on their mate, i have one question: why? why haven’t you stepped out, and what has allowed you be a faithful tree in a den of inequity and easy p*ssy?

also, for those who’ve cheated on some but not others, what made the difference? was it circumstance, condition, or did you just wake up one day and decide to stop being a b*tch ass muthaf*cker?

the floor is yours

—the champ

hay season: the people, places, and things that make me itch

The Champ — Fri, 06 Nov 2009 05:01:28 +0000

along with unusual virility, and a head shaped like the working end of a cruise missile, my parents passed an acute sensitivity to idiocy on to me. as i’ve grown older, these sensitivities have become so concentrated and pronounced that i can now honestly say that i’m seriously allergic to bullsh*t.

this affliction is extremely troublesome, as it causes me to start itching uncontrollably whenever i’m in the presence of or a witness to it. in fact, just last week i almost scratched my entire left forearm off when trying to listen to “ghetto techno” all the way through

anyway, because writing about bullsh*t can be very therapeutic and cathartic for me, i’ve decided to name a few more people, places, and things that have been making me itch.

black men who sound like white men trying to sound black (aka “the stu scott” or “the kappa”)

yo, champ. this blog is slammin'. word up.

the phrase “grown and sexy”

a term which is now just a three word euphemism for “drug dealers who launder their money through rim shops and the social services chicks and teachers who want to sleep with them”

grown women rocking pocket-less jeans

has officially replaced clear heels as the standard universal, “she’s probably a ho. nttawwt” uniform

soft chicken wings

there’s nothing more itch-inducing than ordering a dozen cajun chicken wings, but getting a dozen pieces of slippery meat with skin that looks like it came from the bedridden pedophile in seven.

coffee shops that don’t offer free wi-fi

every time i enter one i’m tempted to call up the manager and ask “they still make you?” like i’m chris rock

the “i can make your p*ssy whistle” line in drake’s, “best i ever had”

while i admittedly don’t mind drake as much as my vsb partner does, since when is a whistling p*ssy what’s torrid on the thoroughfare?

seriously, am i missing something here? what woman wants a stepin fetchit-ass p*ssy, and what guy would brag about giving a woman something that sounds like the premise from an episode of “tales of the crypt”?

the fact that i have great mobile internet service everywhere except my own f*cking apartment

i don’t know whats more itch worthy, the fact that i live in the only 900 square foot part of “the most connected community in pittsburgh” without good service, or the fact that i live in a 900 square foot apartment

not being able to grow a beard like black thought

***simultaneously filed under “some bullsh*t” and “things champ has said that are at least 84 percent gay”***

that’s enough therapy for me. people of vsb.com, what bullsh*t is making you itch right now?

—the champ

Friday Fun: Seven Up, Three Down.

Panama Jackson — Fri, 07 Aug 2009 04:00:59 +0000

Back in the early days of VSB, we used to do this Friday Fun thing where The Champ and I would basically come up with some random yet entertaining way to pass the Friday.

Today we’re going to return to the glory days.

The Champ and I decided to do a little fact or fictioning. What that means is that we’re going to play the guessing game. We’re each going to provide you with 7 facts and 3 fictions. But it doesn’t just stop there, we want everybody here to do the same. We can call it “Getting To Know You 101″ VSB style. Considering the posts from this week and how much personal information has been put out there, I figured what the hell, we might as well go balls to the wall.

Seven Truths and Three Lies About The Champ

1. he wears a pair of women’s eyeglasses roughly five days a week

2. he’s lived in pittsburgh, pa his entire life

3. of the last 5 women he dated before his current gf, 4 of them are married.

4. he hasn’t had an alcoholic beverage since august of 2005

5. not only has he never met panama in person, they’ve only spoken on
the phone roughly five times

6. he got some mean medulla from a dominican in italy (who may have
been a hooker) when he was 19 years old

7. he was once number 9 on sportcenter’s top ten plays of the week

8. he has six older sisters.

9. his close childhood friends know him as “beav” (short for “beaver”)

10. the only white woman he’s ever slept with just happened to be the
one to take his virginity and sh*t

Seven Truths and Three Lies about Panama Jackson

1. I was actually shorter than my little sister until the summer between my 10th and 11th grade years when I grew 6 inches. By the way, my little sister is 3 years younger than me.

2. I’m clearly prone to nicknames, and all throughout high school, my nickname was Phife, named after Phife Dawg from A Tribe Called Quest because I was so short.

3. I once told Roberta Flack to get over herself.

4. I’ve never smoked anything in my entire life.

5. At one point in my life, I was being groomed to become a preacher.

6. My senior year of high school, two white chicks used to stroll the halls of my high school singing my name over and over again as my official theme music. My girlfriend was very unhappy about this and threatened to whip their a*ses.

7. Thru the course of my 4 years in college, I witnessed a murder,was an accessory to drug trafficking, and at one point had over $150K in cash in my possession.

8. I once drove Erick Sermon of EPMD to pick up his car from being serviced because he couldn’t find anybody else to take him.

9. I’ve never been to a professional sporting event of any kind. I have also never been to a D-I college sporting event of any kind despite attending a D-I major state school that is always nationally ranked in basketball and football for graduate school.

10. There is a drink named after me on a menu at a popular restaurant in DC.

***

Okay, friends, which one’s are true and which one’s are false? And let’s hear what you have.

The floor is now open.

-VSB P aka THE ARONIST aka A SCHOLAR AND A 3 and THE CHAMP

gretchen

The Champ — Fri, 13 Mar 2009 04:01:41 +0000

***before we get started today, i wanted to give a shout-out to the homie luvvie for spearheading the red pump project this week. all snark aside, that was some really good sh*t. ***

***flash back to the spring of 2003***

11:15: after some intense pre-gaming and skank ducking at arts, the champ and his crew of inebriated assh*les head to whiskey dicks, a fairly popular friday night spot in the burgh

11:30: just to confirm that they are in fact, inebriated assh*les, the champ and his crew of inebriated assh*les begin a three-man freestyle cypher while waiting in line, with each of us trying our hardest to find the most cleverly nasty way to incorporate “whiskey dicks” and “whiskey chicks” in a verse while simultaneously invoking disgust, amusement, appreciation, and intrigue from the women also in line. this tactic always works on wamo nights.

also, because we were listening to “diplomatic immunity” on the ride there, we each rhyme with a cadence eerily similar to juelz santana¹

11:47: the champ orders his customary two jack and cokes and does a solo walk through of the club, “taking attendance” because the champ doesn’t like surprises. the champ also doesn’t like guacamole, or racially ambiguous women. i’m not exactly sure how relevant any of this is, but i just thought i should share.

11:55: after the walk through, he orders two more jack and cokes, and chills at the bar. while doing this, the champ creates a scenario in his head where he’s the silent majority owner of the club, and then proceeds to lean back in his stool, slipping his jacks and watching the action with a detached air of subtle and self-righteous aristocratic bemusement. he stays in character for at least seven minutes².

12:01: the champ makes eye contact with chick who could easily pass for a lighter, hooder, version of nia long³. he approaches her. they introduce themselves (her name was “gee”).

they talk.

12:05: they talk some more.

12:10: they dance.

12:15: the champ takes the short break between songs as an opportunity to get gee’s number. the champ enjoys getting women’s numbers in the middle of packed dance floors, because it give him the opportunity to show everyone that he has a sidekick.

12:16: because of the noise level, the champ can’t really understand what she’s saying, so he hands her the phone to put her name and digits in herself. when finished, she hands the phone back to the champ, gives him a very nice hug, and goes back to chill with her girls.

12:18: before going to search for the rest of his crew of extremely inebriated assh*les, the champ glances in the phone to make sure she saved her info correctly, sess that “gee’s” full name was “gretchen”, and debates whether or not he was mentally, spiritually, and emotionally prepared to continue his life with a woman named “gretchen” in his address book.

12:20: sadly, the champ deletes the number.

ok, vsb…you’ve just read mine. now i want to hear yours. whats the shallowest, strangest, and most shamefully superficial reason you’ve ever had for dismissing a potential mate? we all got em, so no holier-than thouedness allowed today.

¹i’m at least 97 percent sure that i will regret admitting this publicly.

²the young champ was a strange drunk

³i realize that, with this description, i could have easily just said “she resembles pam from total“, but i wanted to find a way to incorporate nia long into vsb someday. congrats to me

—the champ

link of the week: mixed signals

“i’m from a place…”

The Champ — Fri, 27 Feb 2009 05:05:39 +0000

the people

exceedingly (and sometimes annoyingly) unpretentious, passionate, and unflinching, they remain the best part about the burgh. i’ve been to thirty-six states, four countries, and two continents, yet i haven’t seen a group of people with the same combination of folksy wherewithal and metacognitive sincerity. a place where, since everybody knows their own name and what the hell theyre supposed to be doing, there’s no need for wolf tickets and disingeniousness. no flashes in the pan. just fries. with everything…

…cause if you spend your entire life with your heart on your sleeve, theres no shame in it attacking you when its time to go.

the radio jingle for davids shoes…which every black pittsburgher can recite on demand

” i get my shoes from davids. davids shoes in east libetttttttttttttttttty”

kennywood day

quoting sully:

“Kennywood is a Pittsburgh tradition and historic landmark founded in 1898. Completely ingrained in the Pittsburgh culture, it’s practically assumed that every school districy, township, borough and several companies will host an annual Kennywood Day.

Virtually every Pittsburgher visits Kennywood each year and many more than once. Many end up working there at some point. I currently work with at least 2 ex-Kennywood employees, one of whom is married to an ex-Kennywood employee. Having lived in other cities, I can think of no other amusement park as completely ingrained in a cities identity as Kennywood.”

the friday before a steeler game

from baby’s with big ben bibs to sweet and senile grandmothers spewing savages swears at the mere mention of a seattle seahawk or baltimore bird, the entire city becomes a single-minded molitov cocktail: the borg with black and gold fangs

put it this way: downtown pittsburgh the friday before a steeler game is the only place in the country you’ll see lawyers rocking polamalu jerseys underneath $200 dollar jones new youk suits from burlington $3,000 zegna suits.

thats enough about me. tell us, people of verysmartbrothas.com: where are you from, and what about it makes you smile?

—the champ

Friday Fun: Seven Up, Three Down.

club champ

The Champ — Thu, 26 Feb 2009 05:01:33 +0000

**flashback to 2006 as the young champ hits his favorite “pre-game before the club” spot.“**

10:45

we leave.

(in this case, “we” is the champ, my man, his sister, two of his female cousins…and his estranged baby-momma. quite an eclectic group. if eclectic pre-gaming groupings were “purple lips” we’d be “alex f*cking rodriquez“)

11:05:

we make it to “arts”¹, easily the best pseudo-legal spot north of the mason-dixon line to down cheap booze while dodging gunfire and skank spit.

11:06

its always a joy when women do the packed bar “put my arms in the air to make myself as “skinny” as possible while walking past and rubbing my boobs against his chest while i stare him dead in the eye like my boobs arent playing racquetball with his chest” maneuver. its actually one of my top six favorite maneuvers in any context.

11:20

: “is that lasagna you’re wearing?”

a woman at the bar, with a somewhat intriguing princess leia thing going on with her hair, turns around, looks at me, then presses her nose to my chest and takes a sniff. puzzled and slightly frightened, i continue drinking my vitamin water™ and rum. a few moments later, she does the exact same thing, which is basically my cue to put my hand on her mid-back/rib area and whisper in her ear:

“what the hell are you doing?”

princess leia, who easily had the deepest whisper of any woman ive ever met: (seriously, her whisper was a mixture of alicia keys, garfield, and God): “somebody smells good as hell”

the champ, honing in on the kill: “it’s probably me”

princess leia, sniffing again: “nah…its not”

11:40

we decide to leave

***the ladies wanted to go to “aces and deuces”, a dirtier, pricier, and scarier version of arts, which is basically like saying “no thanks stacey dash, keep your money. i dont want to sleep with you. do me a favor, though…introduce me to courtney love. also, if you could, let her know that i hate condoms.“***

princess leia, who i bagged 10 minutes earlier, gets up from the bar stool to give me a hug, and i immediately regret my number procuring decision. honestly, in the history of mankind, has anybody ever gone from a “definite 8, possible 8.5” to a “definite 3, possible tranny” just by standing up???? in less than five seconds she went from a “nice bag” to “glen rice in drag”. maybe i should have paid more attention to the fact that her hands were bigger than my feet.

i’d continue with the story, but i’d probably face some sort of legal ramifications.

anyway, people of vsb.com…its time to share. what are some of your funniest, craziest, zaniest, club-related chronicles? don’t be scurred and sh*t.

¹it was a giant controversy in the hoods of the burgh several years ago when “nats” changed its name to “arts”. apparently “arts” made it sound “too white”. i live in a stupid f*cking city

—the champ