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

Related posts:

1. ole’ faithful: the people, places, and things that never disappoint us
2. lending a hand: the people, places, and things that helped us make it through puberty
3. Things Drunk White People Do That Black People Don’t Do…Unless We’re Being Black

in order to efficiently survive a recession, a time putting excessive strain on employment, friendships, romance, and finance, you need to be able to sell yourself better than karrine stephens.

today, as another example of how seriously the verysmartbrothas take our crime-fighting ideals, the champ has decided to bless the vsb pulpit with seven recession-proof ways to make yourself seem much more important than you really are.

take notes and sh*t

1. initialize yourself

be creative. don’t let thomas dexter jakes and john pierpoint morgan have all of the fun.

for instance, if you’re sadly deemed cephus tyrone jackson on your drivers license, but your pops last name was smith, think of how much more aka and delta snatch you’d get with c.t. jackson smith on your business cards or stitched into your shirt cuffs.

while professional b*tches merely like the smiley face, they love upwardly mobile initialed n*ggas

2. dress unnecessarily and excessively formal

walking to the market district giant eagle to pick up some milk? throw on that $75 $500 suit you copped at banana republic‘s 85 percent off end of summer sale last week

first fridays at the club? two words: bowtie, b*tches.

if that doesn’t work? next time, three words: tux with tails

casual day at work? f*ck no. for you casual day doesn’t exist. be casual when you’re dead. so what if its 93 degrees and you’re at the company summer beach volleyball game, you’re damn important, and your sandy khakis and tweet blazer soaked in seven gallons of your important as hell sweat proves it.

3. rock lapel pins

as the champ continues to prove, nothing says “i’m important, b*tch. you must hire or fellate me immediately” like a shiny faux gold or aluminum pin attached to your suits. who cares if the pin itself actually came from a bulk pack of good & plenty’s, nobody pays attention to what those sh*ts actually say anyway

4. always put people on hold when they call

so what if you’re about as busy as black rob and and no one has actually called you in 197 hours, putting people immediately on hold as soon as they call you lets everyone know exactly how important you are.

this also gives them the pleasure of knowing that while your important ass has other important sh*t to do, they’re important enough to make you momentarily pause your important ass activity. a win win for all involved.

5. use big-ass words

why say “hey, i thought of a couple new ideas for work” when “hey, i metacognitivately allocated a novel paradigm shifting construct to augment our professional purlieus” works even better??

who cares if you’re likely to frequently induce aneurysms for your audience, you’re important dammit, and its their unimportant ass duty to figure your important ass out

6. organize meetings and sh*t

while you’re definitely important enough to do things by yourself, unnecessarily inviting other people to witness and participate in mundane sh*t only adds to your importance aura.

organize a group carpool to the dry cleaners. invite a dozen people over to watch espn desportes. call a staff meeting to discuss office fridge freezer ice replacement. make an 8 way group conference call to discuss the time of the next conference call.

the possibilities are endless

7. always use a goblet

as an expert in fabricated self-importance, i carry a goblet on me at all times.

it doesn’t matter if the only things i’ve actually drank in the last week were brita, vitamin water, and raspberry kool-aid, nothing says, “damn, that’s obviously an important ass muthaf*cker” than the look on a confused chic-a-fila cashier’s face when you ask if she can fit your entire peach milkshake in a quarter liter goblet with “le champ” embroidered near the rim.

there you have it. seven surefire ways to always keep your bed warm, your inbox full, and your ass employed.

i’m sure i’m missing a few. any additions?

—the champ

Related posts:

1. nevermind: five surefire ways to scare her away
2. Hands In The Concrete: 6 Surefire Ways To Impress A Man
3. hakuna matata: two surefire ways to ensure your happiness

in the history of bad decisions, you can argue that will smith passing up the role of neo in “the matrix” because he needed to finish filming “wild wild west” ranks in the top three, right up there with “praising your argentinian mistress at a supposedly penitent press conference” and “making a 129 year old don cornelius read a 10,000 word intro for the o’jays at the BET awards”.

despite this, smith claims that he “would have absolutely messed up” the movie, and says that he wasn’t mature enough as an actor to let the movie be. whether you consider this to be an honest self-assessment or pseudo self-reflective lily-heartedness, the fact remains that he wants you to believe that his non-decision was actually the best one, a concept i’m extremely well acquainted with.

you see, back before the champ became the champ, he was engaged to be married, waist-deep in the type of star-crossed, self-aware, urban screwball comedy screenplay that the type of people who hate tyler perry movies would love to cop bootleg at the arab oyster spot see onscreen

the ref online

sex and death 101 movie download

on the waterfront download

single black male blogger meets girl in library. single black male blogger dates girl.  girl and single black male blogger share spoons at overpriced shadyside eatery, officially signifying that they’re “together”. not so single black male blogger excitably posts about new relationship on his cousin’s message board

direct contact online

and continually blogs about relationship trails and tribulations on his website over two year span. black male blogger eventually proposes to girl, and posts saccharin 3,500 word account of the events on the day of the proposal, angering liz burr in the process

yet, despite this seemingly clear urban fairy tale veneer, i broke off the wedding five months before the date. although i agonized for weeks before (and after) this decision, i later realized that my disinclination stemmed from the fact that i hadn’t been in love for at least a year, and deciding to get married was probably the best decision i never made (for both of us).

life is full moments like these, crucial choices your gut told you not to make, important instances where intellect or instinct convinced you to back away for the best.

people of vsb.com, what are the best decisions you never made?

–the champ

Related posts:

1. all points bulletin
2. the end of the beginning
3. 5 movies that will end your half-assed relationship

***before i begin today, i want to thank gemmie, poison ivy st, kamakula, killa k, pgh muse, wudaman, voiceofreason, buboniccalypso, and everyone else who came out for the pittsburgh-area vsb happy hour and brownie-eating contest friday evening. although pgh muse didnt flash any bartenders, we still had a blast and sh*t, and i really appreciated everyone coming out.***

it usually starts the exact same way.

i’ll be on my pc in my bedroom, surfing for p*rn farmers markets, animal shelters, and places to volunteer, when the first barely audible “ooh” is heard. since my comp is near a window, i usually dismiss this as one of the random street sounds (noiseless priuses, j crew ponchos scraping the pavement, asexual shih tzus, drake mixtapes, etc, etc) associated with living in a gentrified neighborhood.

then, the “oohs” slowly crescendo, which, combined with the now sporadic wall thumps and random smacks, create the unmistakably cacophonous evidence of close apartment coitus. the neighbors are definitely doing the nasty, i’ll definitely be their reluctant audience for the next five to thirty-five minutes, and there’s definitely nothing i can do about it…or is there?

today, i’ll attempt to tackle this awkward and common social dilemma with the three best things to do when you know your neighbors are doing the do

1.  listen, laugh, and learn

once you get past the initial “damn…they’re really over there f*cking, aint they?” shock, what better option is there then to just listen? despite your efforts to ignore, you’re not gonna be able to not pay attention to it, and since they had the utter audacity to include you in their sunday spine spinning session, be an active audience member.

shut your window. find a glass. rub peroxide on your wall. (not sure if this actually works. just saw macgyver do it once and thought it was cool)

also, what better way to really get to really know your neighbors than to hear them at their most vulnerable (is he a sadist? is she a drama queen? was that a squirt hitting the wall?), and what better comic relief is there than hearing your neighbors bf scream “release the hounds” right before he climaxes¹?

2. “pass the plate”

according to the u of shadyside medical journal, there are three normal adult human responses to the sound of lovemaking

a) disgust

b) arousal

c) disgust at your arousal

since its medically proven that you’ll have at least a 66 percent chance of being aroused², why not just pop two birds with one bone?

3. up the ante

my personal favorite, ante upping occurs when the spider-monkeys next-door annoy and arouse you and your significant other so much that you decide to make it you own personal mission to out-coitus them. sh*t, you already have concrete evidence that the walls in your cheap-ass apartment are thin, so why not have a little competition?

be a banshee.

smack her ass and the wall simultaneously.

growl and meow.

use more and more cowbell.

speak in tongues, and, if you can’t speak in tongues, just say sh*t you’d imagine joan rivers would say if she were boned by brian pumper.

i’d continue, but i think my neighbors are at it again, and i’m due for some evening pastor macing.

people of vsb.com, what say you? did i miss anything?

¹no bullsh*t, although i cant really tell if its “release the hounds” or “increase the pounds”

²unless, of course, you’ve seen these neighbors, and these neighbors resemble the construction workers from fraggle rock

—the champ

No related posts.

the champ, before his morning toast

although i don’t have any 2520′s in my immediate circle, i’ve had more than a few white acquaintances, co-workers, f-buddies, and i even know a few people who have a couple white friends. when you combine this information with the fact that i’ve attended predominately white schools my entire life, it’s apparent that i’m a white person expert. i know white people. if “white people” were “crack”, i’d be jojo hailey. if “knowing white peoples habits” were “lazy ass music”, i’d be “jockin effing jay-z”.

although this expertise has proven to be extremely valuable when creasing khaki’s or watching “the house of payne“, in no other way has it helped me as much as it has when comparing and contrasting the habits of young whites with us (“us” being, “american black people” or “north american n*ggas”…whichever you prefer)

now, it’s common knowledge among us that white people admire and emulate much of the sh*t that we bring to the table. from our music and our women, to our “cool” and justin slayer, there’s a multitude of sh*t born in our community that continue to inspire adulation and envy. yet, as i continue to observe the actions and general mores of our paled skinned brethren, i realize that there are a few aspects of their behavior that i admire as well.

today, in true vsb.com fashion, the champ will discuss one “typically white” behavior that could prove to be extremely benefical to us and our dating selves if we chose to adopt it. of course, i’m referring to…

…their ability to have unadulterated and unpretentious fun.

***sidenote: the champ realizes that he is making many blanket generalizations, but is only doing so because he feels that he needs to use some hyperbole to get his point across. if you have a bit of an issue with the subject matter, please try to remember that even though the champ is a virulent racist, sexist, homophobe, and jingoist he’s fair.***

to expound a bit, here is a list of things a typical “north american n*gga” needs in place in order to have fun when partying

—perfect music. in this case, “perfect” describes a certain type of music that must be played and the percentage of time devoted to the playing of said music. what defines “perfect” varies from person to person, but unless the music at the establishment falls within 85 percent of that persons personal perfect music quota, the experience will not be seen as favorable

—a favorable male to female ratio

—a favorable number of cute-to-bagable/bangable members of the opposite sex

—a slight to moderate level of intoxication

—favorably priced (or free) access to their favorite intoxicant

—favorable “outside clothes”, an outfit which allows one to moderately stand out without looking like they spent 70 minutes plotting exactly what to wear

—a favorable number of like-minded comrades accompanying them

here is a list of things a typical “white person” needs in place in order to have fun when partying

—oxygen (and this is negotiable)

case in point: i live in shadyside, an area of the burgh filled with the type of white people parodied at stuffwhitepeoplelike.com. i can’t even leave my apartment without tripping over a prius or an american apparel skinny tie. basically, a perfect place to bag drunken, liberal, snizzles continue my observations.

anyway, last saturday, a couple young women who live below me (ha!) decided to grill some chicken and swine, setting up shop in a somewhat shaded section of our parking lot, an area which can’t be any larger than 150 square feet. not exactly the optimum place for a party, right? well, that’s exactly what i thought when i left the crib for a minute to drive to the arab seafood/soulfood spot to buy some blank cd’s home depot. when i returned an hour later, that tiny square section of our parking lot had turned into south padre island. there was a four man touch-tab football game, badminton, a one woman wet t-shirt contest and some convoluted yet compelling game which looked to be a combination of the westminster dog show and twister. all of this at 10:15 in the f**king morning.

as i watched them party like it was the last episode of ma.s.h., i couldn’t help but think to myself how much easier sh*t would be for us if we allowed ourselves to just let the f**k go sometimes, and how that would translate to our dating selves.  how much happier would we be if we didn’t have these terrible self-limiting constraints about appropriate labels for non-married significant others, and weren’t so unreasonably obsessed with swagger and exceedingly optimum ass-to-waist ratios. if we didn’t require our potential mates to take both the pool and the extended pinkie test. if “nice” wasn’t a four letter word, and asking someone to smile wasn’t akin to asking them to volunteer for a colonoscopy.

but then…i remembered that i hadn’t eaten yet, and all idealistic thoughts went astray as i sauntered over to the party square to grab a hot dog and quarterback the football game. i scuffed up my white pro-keds a bit too…but it was cool. its just a sneaker, right? it’s really not that serious.

—the champ

No related posts.

***excerpt of a convo between the champ and one of his boys sometime last week***

the champs boy:“so, d, i wouldn’t be breaking any man laws if i banged eric’s little sister, right? i mean, sh-t, they don’t even really look that much alike, so theres a possibility they’re not even really true siblings!!!”

a mildly disinterested champ: “nah. go right ahead. eric’s grown, he should be cool with it. but, just in case he decides to whoop your ass, here’s my work number so you can reach me if you need a ride to UPMC shadyside“

so, later on in the week, this convo had me thinking…yeah, we all know that we shouldn’t actively try to sleep with the dead or amy winehouse anything that has its own separate food aisle at walmart, but how beneficial to culture would it be if people had a universally mental list of people too taboo to do?

along with providing the amazingly, stupendously sexy, one of our services here at verysmartbrothas.com is to make it a bit easier for everyone to navigate the unremitting morass of romantic interaction, and the easiest way to make things easier is to just eliminate certain options.

so, unless you plan on actually marrying them, heres a list of people you should probably try to avoid if you want to try to go throughout life without ever getting sued or shot at. these aren’t necessarily bad people…just people you shouldn’t actively try to sleep with if you want to maintain your (and everyone else’s) sanity

A direct superior at work. Your staff working directly underneath you at work. A sibling of a close friend. A close friend of a sibling. A mother, father, aunt, uncle, grandmother, grandfather, son, or daughter of anybody you know well. An ex of a close friend or family member. An unrequited long-time crush of a close friend or family member. A family member, unless you’re near the mason-dixon line or the Everglades. Anyone who has ever worked in your home. Step-cousins. An ex-spouse or ex-fiancée. Anyone willing to have sex with you in their parents or grandparents bed. A current student or teacher of yours. A former student or former teacher, if there’s more than 10 years separating you two. Anyone who’s more than double or less than half your age.

did i miss anyone?

—the champ

No related posts.