The Post Game Show

Wednesday, December 21, 2005

White Women, and the Black men they love?

We're almost in 2006, and I think it's safe to say that folks are indeed sexually liberated. No one is forced to hide in shame for the fact that they enjoy sex, and it shouldn't be used just to increase the population. Sexual orientation is still a big issue, but not as it was in the past. However, the sad trend of fetishizing continues, where interracial dating occurs not out of love, but just because of a reputation your partner of a different color or ethnicity has in the bedroom.

Enter Susan Crain Bakos, a middle-aged white columnist for the New York Press, who explains her reasoning for her "love" of black men
  • here
  • .

    Among the gems from this horndog diatribe include:

    Black skin is thick and lush, sensuous to the touch, like satin and velvet made flesh.

    Even in a time when nearly 40 percent of single Americans have dated outside their race, that deliberate seeking of the specific other makes some people, especially black women, damned mad.

    They resent our taking their men. Black men are two and a half times more likely to marry a white woman than a black woman is to marry a white man. Black women can point to that statistic in justifying their wrath. But in truth, black sisters, we're after the sex, not the ring—and these guys aren't the marrying kind anyway.

    According to one school of thought, white women turn to black men when their sex drives kick into higher gear and their social inhibitions recede into the rearview mirror. It's a "yes, baby, now I'm ready for you" reaction.

    There is so much stereotype behind that column it's not even funny. I wish I had a dollar for everytime some obviously unattractive white girl thought that brothers would be knocking down her door to knock her cervix back a couple of inches. My student loans would be like Eric B. and Rakim: Paid In Full.

    It's obvious Ms. Bakos is in love not with the black man himself, but the Big Black Buck stereotype, the one that says that brothers are good for nothing but dropping our boxers and just using our genital weapons to disperse sexual pleasure to who we see fit, in this case, middle-aged white women.

    It's a sinister part of racism that most folks aren't quick to pick up on, and that's the myth that black folk screw like rabbits. Aside from our jobs as NBA and NFL players, singers/rappers, and actors, all we do is bang headboards into walls, IRRESPONSIBLY apparently, and make more illegitimate children.

    As much as Ms. Bakos fawns over the sexual abilities and overall aesthetic pleasure a black man provides, she never once mentions the stigma that is attached to interracial couples who truly love eachother, although reading this gives you the impression that's far and few in between.

    That is why interracial dating is such an issue: People do it to make a statement, not in the quest for true love. White women just want to know what it's like to get done by a black man, while brothers in turn play into that myth that caucasian members of the opposite sex are better at *ahem* oral pleasures.

    Black women, with their slow aging process and wonderfully-shaped bodies are also victims of this stereotype, mainly by white men who are tired of white women with "flat butts and sagging breasts." The wonderful thing about sistas is they aren't as quick to take the bait, if they do at all. They recognize game when they see it, no matter the color of the man that's trying to run it on them. They are aware of the past when slave owners used black women as surrogate mothers and sperm banks back in the days of slavery, and refuse to relive that nightmare voluntarily.

    Personally, I've never been with a white female, not sure if I ever will be. Although I've joked about it on several occaisions among family and friends, I know as well as anybody that there's no better woman than a black woman. No one else can nurture, care for a man, maintain a home, give good love, and a well-placed foot in the ass like a sista. And that is much more important than any white woman looking to fulfill her chocolate fantasy.

    Monday, December 12, 2005

    That Nig Sure Was Crazy....R.I.P. Rich

    I was first introduced to the profane, profound, and downright funny wonder that was Richard Pryor in the summer of 1999. Sure I had heard of this foul-mouthed cat who inspired this generations comedy stars, but the first album my mother allowed me to listen was the double album Wanted: Live In Concert just a couple of months shy of my 18th birthday. I was doubled over in laughter for days at Rich's memories of his grandmother laying the smackdown on him with anything she could find, to his monologue of how hard it is to get a woman to her climax and hunting in the woods with then-heavyweight boxing star Leon Spinks.

    I quickly collected all the Richard Pryor essentials in a box set (That Nigger's Crazy, Is It Something I said, and Bicentennial Nigger) and Richard's musings on life, racism, and dealing with women often helped me get through some tough times of my own by just simply laughing my ass off.

    Richard Pryor finally lost his 19-year fight with Multiple Sclerosis Saturday by virtue of a heart attack. He had just turned 65 on December 1st. Growing up in a whore-house run by his grandmother, Rich had a lot of material to go off of, but had to dumb down for white audiences in the 60s who wanted another good-natured negro to compete with another young black comedian named Bill Cosby.

    By 1974, Richard Pryor had become his own x-rated man, using coarse language and deep thoughts to make people laugh and think, and won his first Grammy for the seminal That Nigger's Crazy (album cover posted above). He also became a movie star, in hit flicks such as Car Wash, Stir Crazy, and Silver Streak

    He also had his demons, letting drugs cloud his better judgement several times, including a Freebase-induced stupor that resulted in him setting himself on fire in 1980, burning over half his body. In the months following that near-death experience, Richard would show his true comedic genius, referencing the incident in a 1981 routine saying "I'm tired of being angry...I guess the fire burnt that out of me."

    In the last 10 years, he was largely out of the public eye due to his illness, leading a private life up until his last breath that one of his numerous ex-wives said was peaceful.

    Richard Pryor touched a lot of lives through his ability to make people laugh, think, and sometimes cry. Now heaven is a whole lot funnier now that Rich is up there. R.I.P, Jack. Life is going to be a motherf***er without you.

    Thursday, December 08, 2005

    Some more stuff about Chris

    Stole this from Sherlon, not exactly sure who else may be doing this, but check it out.

    *First *
    First job: I had my first two jobs in the same summer, one working in an office, another working for the city of Wilmington's Community Youth Clean teams (yeah, bootleg garbage man, who knew?)
    First screen name: Chris80102
    First funeral: My great aunt over two years ago.
    First pet: A goldfish
    First piercing: None
    First tattoo: None
    First credit card: None
    First kiss: First kiss ended with the loss of my v-card. Two for one, good day I'd like to think.
    First enemy: Yvonne Polk, a love-hate sort of relationship. We used to make fun of eachother non-stop, mainly because I liked her and I think she liked me too. Yeah right, I aggravated her, LMAO

    Last car ride: Today to Chick-Fil-A
    Last kiss: October
    Last movie watched: Friday After Next
    Last beverage drank: Water
    Last food consumed: Chick-Fil-A chicken sandwich
    Last phone call: Mom
    Last time showered: This morning

    Single or taken: Single
    Gender: Male
    Birthday: September 25th
    Sign: Libra
    Siblings: One older sister, one younger, a toddler who may as well be my little brother now
    Hair color: Black
    Eye color: Brown
    Shoe size: 15-16
    Height: 5'10"

    Monday, December 05, 2005

    Colts on the way to perfection

    While it's still too early to tell, I'm a firm believer that the Indianapolis Colts can finish the season with a bagel in the loss department, winning the Super Bowl as the final nail in the '72 Miami Dolphins' coffin. Mercury Morris, one-third of the Dolphins' three-headed running back monster during that season, said recently on ESPN2's Cold Pizza not to call him when Indy was in his town, but when they were on the block. The way the AFC and NFC playoff pictures are clearing up, the Colts are at the door and would like a word with you, Mr. Morris.

    The Colts have finally put together a Tony Dungy-worthy defense to go with an offensive attack that simply can't be stopped, and with the rest of the AFC beating the dog snot out of eachother trying to get to the Hoosier Dome for the title game, it looks like Indianapolis is in position to blow all records and opposition away.

    Defensively, Dwight Freeney has emerged as one of the top two or three pass rushers in the game right now, despite being the same size as Grambling quarterback Bruce Eugene. Freeney is just too quick for any offensive lineman to handle, and he has help up front with Philadelphia Eagles evacuee Corey Simon, Larry Triplett, and linebacker Cato June leads the NFL in interceptions to go to along with the improved Colts secondary.

    Then you know about the offense. Peyton Manning is the conductor of this 30.5 points per game symphony, and is still his mild-mannered self, never changing in the public eye. He's still regular ol' Peyton, however, behind the scenes and that mask, the elder Manning brother has a death stare that lets the rest of the NFL know that he is not to be...messed with, gosh darnit!

    The wild card to the offense is not the deceptively quick yet physical running style of Edgerrin James nor the uncoverable speed and hands of Marvin Harrison and Reggie Wayne, but tight end Dallas Clark opens up the floodgates up top and on the outsides by being a tremendous underneath threat.

    While the schedule still has to play itself out, and of course an injury can happen at any time, let's look at what's left in the regular season for the Colts. The biggest thing to jump out in the remaining four games is Indianpolis West Coast, the San Diego Chargers. The Chargers are still fighting for a playoff spot and the AFC west, so expect LaDainian Tomlinson, Drew Brees, Antonio Gates and others to bring their A-game to Indianapolis. As the only offense that can match Indy shot for shot, the Chargers chances are limited by a defense that is more suspect than that remix of the Star Spangled Banner R. Kelly performed at Taylor-Hopkins II. Edge (no pun intended) Colts.

    The playoffs in that loud dome and with Peyton switching plays up, making opponents pick their poison, it could be a long day for anyone who's fortunate enough to get out of the first couple of rounds. The NFC poses no real challenges, even though Seattle, who's also left on the Colts' schedule, could be the team to breakway from the pack and earn the right to play for the chip in Detroit.

    Finally, even though the Colts refuse to talk about it, it's on their mind. 17-0. The '72 Dolphins. Those guys popping champagne bottles everytime the last unbeaten team in the NFL falls. The Colts can not only go unbeaten and kill that noise Mercury Morris is talking, but they can add another two games to the streak (the NFL went from 14 regular season games to 16 in 1978, and three playoff wins would make them 19-0).

    With that said, I hope Tony Dungy goes for it. I hope he encourages his playerss to go for perfection. Although there are supposed to be no perfect beings, there can be a perfect sports team. The Indianapolis Colts can do that, and here's to hoping they do. So the '72 Dolphins can make room on the block for the 19-0 2005 NFL champions. There goes the neighborhood.