We Playin' Baskeeeeeeetballllllll...

...we love that bas-ket-ball
We playin' basketttttttballlll
We love that bas-ket-ball... -- Kurtis Blow

That Lilliputian was hoopin' on my ass!

Wait...wait...did that nigglet just cross me up?

Huh? What?

Naw...we wasn't on no court.

My little niece Moe was crossin' me up like TV Guide puzzle, and doing lookaways and fingerrolls on me like she was the Iceman Cometh and I was white.

...on a back-of-the-door hoop, with a palm-sized ball.

Yeah.

Feel my chagrin.

I start to clothesline the munchkin.

Take that, midget!

But I didn't think I was gon' be able to explain the palm print on the side of her face to her momma.

I been trying to tell them since that child was two that she was extraordinarily manually dextrous. How many 2 year olds that YOU know can dribble...with each hand. Continuously for minutes on end? Shit, I can't even do that.



I stopped playing when she skyhooked on me.

*blank stare*

Cuz if this little muthafucka dunk on me. I'm. I'ma have to dispose of her little ass body.



My poor nieces and nephews.

They had to grow up listening to me and my sisters singing and dancing...all the time.

It's not that we're talented. Cuz we aren't.

We just like to sing.

I suppose they're used to it, cuz when the Middle Child stands up and says, "Remember this dance, ya'll?" and proceeds to start doing the Bus Stop or the Freak, the children know to start helping us move the coffee table out the way.

*doing the Windmill Robot*

You'on know nothing 'bout that! You'on know nothin' 'bout that!



What is Kanye's fascination with Greekdom?

Yeah...yeah, I know he's puttin' up the Roc sign, but follow where I'm going here...

And just imagine how my girl feel
On the plane, scared as hell that her guy look like Emmett Till
She was with me before the deal, she been tryin to be mine
She a Delta, so she been throwin that +Dynasty+ sign

Uh...who gives a fuck, Kanye? I mean, is it JUST me, or does this nigga sound like some GDI sorority-girl flunkie always mentionin' what colors his girl rocks?

Go back to school and pledge, Kanye. It ain't that serious.

And what the fuck is this all about?

Alpha, step. Omega, step
Kappa, step. Sigma, step
Gangstas walk, pimps gon' talk
Oooh hecky naw that boy is raw
AKA, step. Delta, step
S G Rho, step. Zeta, step
Gangstas walk, pimps gon' talk
Oooh hecky naw that boy is raw

I'm convinced if I wasn't convinced before that Kanye dropped line or got rejected or somethin'. Had to have.

Probably an eternal Crescent or some shit.

The hohwah!



I hate nutcrackers. Kanye's a nutcracker. Says me.



My neighbor NEVER goes to work.

By the time I get home in the evening, the smell of overpowering incense damn near knocks me down, and I hear a gang of niggas in his apartment.

Gettin' faded to the blackest of black.

But that muthafucka be up in the morning. EARLY, ya heard?

What the fuck he be up in the mornin' for? That's what I'm tryna understand.

I half-wanted to knock on his door and ask him. How would that turn out?

Me: Hey. Whatchu doin' up?
Him: Shit.
Me: Aaah. You'on work?
Him: Naw.
Me: That's wack.
Him: *slams door in my face*
Me: It ain't like I interrupted your triflin ass! Not like you fi'n to GO NOWHERE today!

Fuckin' loser.

Then I had the nerve to catch him bringing a little Beck-Beck up to his apartment last weekend.

He out there...in his house shoes, no doubt...waiting for Miss Ann to get out of her car.

She get out her car with the millenium white-girl uniform on. Low-rider jeans. Somebody told them they had butts and now we gotta look at pink crack all the time.

Oh wait...I tangented.

So this low-expectation-havin' muthafucka escorts Beck-Beck in the building, and you know what I'm doin' right?

I had stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, and I'm watchin' this Jungle Fevered hotfuckin'mess like I'll be damned.

You know you'on have to pay no bills for white girls though. Just pay attention.

Now don't get me wrong...love who you love. Be wit' who can stand your rotten ass! I'm all for love in whatever form it comes in.

Actually, I get an intense pleasure knowin' that this weed-smokin', house-shoe wearin', dingy shirt, young sweatpants havin' numbnut ain't in the bed of or failing to come through like he said he would for one of my fellow black sistren.

Beckster can have him.

Shit. If we want a scrub, we'd get on our hands and knees? Feel me?