BrotherMen

but what the fuck do I know, America loves it!

thehuskybro:

I say, “yes, yes I am”.

Thanks for the compliment.

thehuskybro:

Booker’s Place-A Mississippi Story: A Film Settles Accounts From the ’60s

The new civil rights-era documentary “Booker’s Place: A Mississippi Story” also represents a personal reckoning for two families.

For all of you who think that you could have made it in the Jim Crow South telling white folks off and calling those who actually had to endure the fuckery first hand, cowards, you MUST watch this documentary.

A five-minute excerpt from of the 1966 NBC documentary that serves as the basis for the documentary

A Cut Down of 1966 Frank De Felitta film “Mississippi: A Self Portrait” from George Gross on Vimeo.

thehuskybro:

okay, before somebody comes in an checks me on that, it’s technically 12 Years, 4 months and 4 days, but the years covered would be from the Fall of 1955, his involvement in the Montgomery Bus Boycott to his death in Memphis in April, 1968

thehuskybro:

That’s what The Travon Martin Case Murder means to me.  You (some of American Society) are saying that had Trayvon Martin just stopped when some random ass dude, who the kid doesn’t know from a hole in the ground, who was following him around like some kind of creeper, TOLD him to, that he wouldn’t have gotten shot?

You know what…

thehuskybro:

One day, back in the 20th Century

I was looking through the ashtray, in my car, for change

(What?  I don’t smoke, isn’t that the second option of an ashtray?  Oh, wait, cars don’t come with ashtrays anymore, eh. Okay)

I needed to do laundry and I was a couple of quarters short of having dry clothes or having to put them out on the balcony to dry.

Nobody wants to walk by an apartment and see drawls that big trying to dry…

So I’m looking for these quarters and the radio is on, sports talk radio.

I loved sports back in the 20th Century.

If I could have married Sports, I would have and we would have had a baby and I would named that baby, Rainelle.

So I was listening to sports talk radio and they were talking about Robert Porcher.

Robert Porcher was holding out for more money.

Robert Porcher was feeling some kind of way because he needed 41 million dollars to be happy.  

His team offered him 35 million with a 12 million dollar signing bonus

35 million with a 12 million dollar signing bonus.

35 million American dollars with a 12 million American dollar signing bonus.

Wow.

I thought that if Robert Porcher lost his wallet, he wouldn’t even be that mad.

I thought that if Robert Porcher walked into Dillards, security wouldn’t be following him around, just waiting to see if he was going to steal something, they would be providing him protection and sales clerks would be fawning over him the same way they should be fawning over every customer.

Treat them like they are holding out for 35 million dollars

35 million with a 12 million dollar signing bonus.

35 million American dollars with a 12 million American dollar signing bonus.

I couldn’t knock Robert Porcher’s hustle.  Hell, if somebody was offering me that much money…wait, how did he decide on 41 million?  Why not 42 million, a nice round number and because 42 is ”Answer to the Ultimate Question of Life, the Universe, and Everything”?

(Well, it is.)

And there I was, trying to figure out how a man could turn down 35 million dollars because he wanted 41 and I was in the middle of a quest to find a couple of quarters in a converted ashtray so I wouldn’t have soggy drawls.

It was at that moment when I awoke from my love affair with Sports.

Haven’t looked at Sports the same way since.