The Spotlight: One Way

You A Rapper In Miami?? Watch For One Way!! This Nigga Coming So don't sleep on this Kid for Real. He coming with thAt fire. Check him out (www.twitter.com/OfficialOneway) or (www.myspace.com/305dadecounty1)ThA Mixtapes are coming!! ThA tour is coming!! He Flow Is fire so find some water Get at Him!! Til Next Time. JIKE!!

Kayne The King Of Pop??

"You know everyone loves and respects Michael but times change. It's so sad to see Michael gone but it makes a path for a new King of Pop and I'm willing to take that on," so he told Scrape TV.
On what makes him deserve the title, Kanye said, "There's nobody who can match me in sales and in respect so it only makes sense for me to take over Michael's crown and become the new King." The rapper then added, "First there was Elvis [Presley], then there was Michael, now in the 21st century it's Kanye's time to rule. I have nothing but respect for Michael but someone needs to pick up where he left off and there's nobody better than me to do that. I am the new King of Pop."
Furthermore, Kanye reportedly has reached out to the Jackson family to obtain official permission to use the title but so far received no response from them. It is believed that the family is still mourning over Michael's death."

Part 2

EXCERPT FROM THE HIGHEST PRICE FOR PASSION BY LAURINDA BROWN

Wiping away her tears and drying her hands against her gingham dress, Hattie opened the door and saw Vincent, with Eunice by his side, standing before her with his head hung low. “Uh, Miss Hattie, uh, how ye dis evenin’?”

Hattie replied calmly, “I’se gettin’ long fine, Vincent. Wut kin I do fa ye?”

“Miss Hattie, me and the fellas out der knowed ’bout you and Quancy,” he responded. “Us knowed he quite fond uh ya. Dat’s why sumbody needed te come tell ya ’bout last night.”

“Please, c’mon in. Tells me er’ythang.”

By the time Vincent finished telling her all that had happened, Hattie had no life left in her and fell into his arms, continuing to weep uncontrollably.

Eunice helped take Hattie from Vincent’s arms. “I gots hur. Gone bak outside fo’ ya gits ketched in here wid us.” Until Hattie started falling asleep, Eunice sat with her and wiped her tears as they flowed into her lap. “Miss Hattie, I’ma get on home unlessen ya needs me te stay here wid ya.”

Her eyes wet as rain puddles, she told Eunice to go on home so she could spend some time talking with Jesus. A short time later, there was another knock at the door, and Hattie thought maybe Eunice had decided to come back to check on her. But when she opened the door, no one was there. Standing in the door’s threshold, a gentle wind passed by, and with it was the scent of Quincy. Hattie closed the door and headed toward the corner where she slept, but noticed the back door was slightly open. She got up and closed it, peeping through the crack to see if someone had tried to get in. With the flames of a nearby candle flickering against the wooden floor, her eyes fell upon the top of the pile of straw where she slept. Against her blanket was a sunflower. When she leaned over to pick it up, her senses detected an odor enhanced by the scent of her man. “Quincy?” she called out.

Emerging from the corner of the room that received the least amount of light was Quincy.

“Shhhh,” he directed with his finger pressed against his lips.

“But wut…”

Having returned to the site where he was attacked to get his pants, Quincy was clothed, but his shirt and pants were in shreds. “I’se need ya te get ya thangs real quick, Hattie, and comes wid me.”

Without hesitation, Hattie grabbed her blanket and her flowers. “I’se ready.” Disappearing into the night, the two runaways left their troubles behind and sought freedom.

The next morning it was quickly discovered that Hattie was missing since she worked in the main house from time to time, being responsible for bringing Massa Gray his breakfast. By the break of dawn, he was coming down the stairs, and, before the sun could shed light into the east side of the house, he was sitting at the table with his breakfast of eggs, bacon, and biscuits waiting for him. Ever since Hattie had been working in the house, that was the routine, but on this particular morning, there was no smell of bacon frying or biscuits baking. The minute Massa Gray got to the top of the stairs he knew something was wrong, and, instead of going to the table, he went to the barn to get his horse and headed over to see Silas.

“We got a problem, Silas. Hattie’s run off,” Massa Gray said as he walked toward Silas, who was about to sit down to his breakfast of eggs, grits and hoecakes.

“Well, then, you must be hungry. Have some,” Silas joked, gesturing for his servant, Nan, to fix Massa Gray a plate. Checking to see if Nan was out of sight, he continued. “I know you ain’t surprised. We was shootin’ bullets in the dark, and you musta missed.” He laughed.

“Silas, we can’t afford to have that nigger out there. He could…”

“He could what? Tell? Tell who? He wouldn’t live a second longer if he opened up his mouth to a

White man about it, and he too shamed to tell another nigger. We ain’t got nothin’ to worry about.”

Massa Gray sat there still looking concerned. He was spiteful and evil when he wanted to be.

“We need him dead, Silas. We can’t risk somebody finding out.”

Silas, shoveling hot grits in his mouth with one hand, put his other hand on Massa Gray’s thigh and started rubbing his hand up and down and around his cock. “Tell you what. I got an idea.”

“What?”

“We can post a reward for Hattie. Now you and I both know we don’t give a damn about her. Wherever we find Hattie, we find Quincy.”

Part 1

EXCERPT FROM THE HIGHEST PRICE FOR PASSION BY LAURINDA BROWN

CHAPTER 2
Dinner was eaten in silence as Hattie and Quincy asked and answered questions within themselves. Hattie was unsure about how to explain what had happened earlier, and Quincy wasn’t sure how to explain what he had seen. They had come to Baltimore from Savannah, Georgia to escape death, and Quincy said he would die first before going back there. It had taken him years to regain his dignity, and now, with Ambrose proving he was like the rest, he was watching himself lose it again. While he wanted to believe none of what he had seen was Hattie’s fault, he did not see her trying to fight off the man. Quincy wanted to believe that his love for Hattie would keep him from thinking she had been about to give in to human nature, and not forcefulness, that afternoon.

“You wus lettin’ him tetch ya,” he said softly as he slowly pushed a corn cake into his mouth. “You won’t tryin’ to fight ’em.”

Sitting at the table, staring at her food, Hattie swallowed hard as if she were trying to remove a rock lodged in her throat, and then said, “Wut I’se s’pose to do, Quincy? He come at me and I do the only thang I knowed to do.”

“It ain’t s’pose to be lak dat up norf. De massas, dey s’pose to be betta than dat,” Quincy said disgustedly. Highly disappointed in Ambrose’s actions, he continued, “He jes lak de res uh dem.”

“Dey’s gon be de same no matta whar we go,” Hattie assured him. “I knowed one thang, tho. Us cain’t go back to Joe-jee.”

“Wut chos us got, Hattie?”

“Us kin run.”

“Te whar? Us ain’t got no whars else te go,” Quincy said, slamming his hand against the table. “Massa knowed I’se ain’t gon let ya leave widout me. He knowed dat.”

“Quincy, you knowed dey gon kill ya if dey find ya down dere, an dey might as well take me on wid ya cus I’se ain’t gon be no use to a soul widout ya.”

Quincy got up from the table and walked over to where Hattie sat. Standing over her, he embraced her shoulders and pressed her back into his body. “I’se gon be fine, Hattie. I’se tole ya I’se always protek ya. Us gon be alright. Us gon go wid massa if-n he say so. He seh he gon protek us,” he said. “He kin protek us from de uh-ders.”

Hattie did not trust that. Just like Ambrose had made it a point to remind Quincy he could take her against her will if he wanted, she knew Ambrose, or some other White man, would betray them if it ever came down to it.
***

By the way Massa Theron Gray ran his plantation, Grayson Manor, it was hard to tell there had ever been a ban on slavery in Savannah. With nearly a third of the colony’s people being slaves, most every one of them belonged, or used to belong to Massa Gray or somebody in his family. No one was really sure what went on with that family to make them stop looking for and caring after one of their own, but none of them had anything to do with Massa Gray. They would see him on the square in town and turn their heads when they saw him coming, and his slaves were not treated any better. When they found out a nigger was belonging to him, they were extra nasty by spitting on them and beating them in the streets.

Marriages on the plantation were forbidden because they interfered with work and loyalty to Massa Gray. The cabins were made of logs, and each cabin was big enough to hold two families; if necessary. The spaces between the logs were filled with mud and straw, rarely keeping the wind and rain from entering. There was no glass in the windows – only shutters that were rarely closed, for keeping out the glory of God was simply unheard of. Although the floors were made of dirt, many of the slaves made the best of their homes and kept them well-maintained. All of the women and children lived on one side of the quarters, and the men lived on the other. One would think that it would be strange to prevent breeding and deny oneself the chance to make money, but, for Massa Gray, there was more to life than money. When he needed more help, he relied on a slave trader to go to the auctions near the port of Savannah and bring him back some good help. Sometimes it was really hard to tell where he got those niggers from because they all looked different, and had many stories inside them to tell about their people. Late at night, after the lights went out in the main house, they sat around the fire and talked about where they came from and all the places they had been to, before sailing to the states. For many of them, their entire families had been torn apart or had died while on the cargo ships. Day after day, bodies were thrown from the boats – some of them were still holding on to their lives, and others had given up the day they were put in chains.

Massa Gray did not have any children, and not once in his years had he been married. He was a fine man who looked straight through you with his cold, light-brown eyes that were empty of any emotion and exposed a man with no soul. His sandy, brown hair was thin but curly, and when he sweated, his curls were matted to his pea-sized head. Because he never lifted a finger to do a thing, he was fleshy with pockets of fat under his neck and beneath his stomach. When he whipped you, that pocket of meat beneath his chin snapped whenever the whip cracked. He struck until he got tired, and if you died before he finished, then so be it. No one was ever able to mourn. The dead were drug off to the pasture and burned in a bonfire. Massa Gray refused to waste his land on graves for slaves.

“Those holes in the ground can be used for planting – not wasted on domesticated animals. A dead nigger can’t make nobody no money, but a cabbage patch sure can,” he always said.

Not many folks ever came to visit Grayson Manor. On occasion, a few of the other planters came by to talk about the weather and things like that, but they did not stay very long. The only person that visited regularly was an acquaintance by the name of Silas Strong – the slave trader. It was usually around supper time when he came, but no one was sure when he left.

One evening while Quincy was sitting around the fireplace with some of the others, they spotted Silas riding in on his horse. But before he got off, he trotted over to where they were gathered. As the fire crackled, each of the men sat motionless. William, a boy of about sixteen whose twin brother had run off one night and was never seen again, stared into the flames; even though he wanted so much to ask Silas where his brother was. The last time anybody had seen him, he was with Silas. Instead, he focused on the fire. Vincent, who had lost his left eye when Massa Gray got upset with him for not putting the right amount of coals in a fire and stuck him in the eye with a hot poker, put his attention on a cricket whose crooning joined into the popping of the burning wood. Quincy kept it easy and lowered his head as Silas gently paraded behind them.

“You darkies sho’ is quiet. When I rode up, I could hear you laughin’ clear back down to the edge of the road,” Silas said. “What is it y’all talkin’ about?”

No one said a word at first. Then Vincent spoke up, “Us wus jes foolin’ ’rown, Massa. Dets all us wus doin’.”

“Does Master Gray know y’all out here without nothin’ to do? I mean, it’s plenty to be done this time of night. Ain’t that right, William?” Silas jumped off his horse into the dirt—dust bellowing up to his braces—and pulled some oats out of his satchel. First he tossed a handful in the fire, and then he started feeding the rest to his horse.

“Yessuh,” William responded quietly, still gazing into the fire.

Tossing one of the oats into the air and catching it with his open mouth, Silas kept his eye on Quincy but continued to direct his questions at William. His looks were wicked and sinful. “Heard anythin’ from that brother of yours, William?”

“No, suh. I ain’t.” By now, sweat beads were popping off William’s forehead like hot kernels of corn.

“Well, that’s too bad. He was a good nigger.” Silas walked with his horse until he got behind Quincy. “Boy, stand up,” he said, leaning over from behind. “Let me take a look at you. I been talkin’ to Theron about you comin’ over to my place to take care of a few things.” Quincy didn’t move. He didn’t like Silas and was willing to take whatever punishment he had to in order to prove his point. “Nigger, I know you ain’t hard of hearin’ ‘cause I see you runnin’ up behind that wench Hattie when she calls for you.” Quincy still didn’t move. “Okay, I see you want to be a hard ass.”

When he saw that Quincy wasn’t going to move, Silas started rustling with his horse until the ass of the horse was right over Quincy’s head. Fortunately, the horse was gentle, but that was not what Quincy should have been counting on. “You know, boy, I came out here lookin’ for no trouble, but I guess that when you go to lookin’ for shit, you eventually step in it.” He laughed. “What you think, boy?” Then all of them heard the horse grunt and saw him unleash his business onto Quincy’s shoulders. “Well, guess it’s time for me to get on up to the house.” Silas mounted his horse, galloping back up the path to where Massa was standing outside waiting.

William finally looked up and saw Quincy sitting there, petrified. with the horse mess still dropping from his body. “I hear he a sissy and so is Massa.”

At first no one knew what to say, but, as the night hurried on, Vincent spoke first. “Yeh, dey say him and Massa be in der doin’ thangs God neva meant for mens te do. Say Massa be in der ben ova de side uh de bed wit Massa Silas right up ’hind ’em. U kin heer dem sum-times late in de night.”

“I heared dat, too,” William said. “Seh dey gat a posse uh dem dat go ’rown skerrin’ the slaves at night. I’se believe dat wut happ’n te my brudda.”

“Wut? Dat Massa Silas got te ‘um?”

“Yeah, but ain’t no need’n talkin’ ’bout it. Ye knowed dey prolly kilt ’em. Des rott-n like dat.” William started throwing dirt on the fire, signaling it was time to turn in for the night. As the orange faded from the ashes, they watched Quincy work to get himself cleaned off, but offered no assistance.

Walking down to the river at night was something most of the slaves never did, let alone walking down there by themselves. While it was always beautiful to see the moon sitting up there against the blue-black sky and hear the crickets singing their songs, it could quickly become the longest walk anybody could ever take. Quincy had asked Vincent to take the walk with him, but Vincent insisted he was tired and needed to go to bed. The others had disappeared shortly after Silas had left.

As he walked along the red clay sodden from an earlier rain, Quincy heard the owls and the night creatures carrying on as they normally did. The river was about a mile from the quarters, and the closer Quincy got to the rushing water, the further away it seemed. Step by barefoot step, he watched his large footprints squish into the earth, which made him remember the day he had met Hattie. She was sitting in the middle of the yard next to a Magnolia tree with Eunice playing in the mud, and she was about six years old at the time. The two of them were sitting knee deep in a pile of wet earth, making and selling mud pies.

“Ya want one uh dees?” she asked. “Dey cost uh nickel but Ise givs it t’ya fa free.”

Quincy was ten and had been working in the fields with his father for years. Hattie was only old enough to fetch things for Massa Gray; he did not have much for the younger niggers to do. Smiling with his crooked yellow-stained teeth gleaming in the sunshine, Quincy reached for the mud pie and said, “Well, th-th-th-thank ya. I’se gonna eat it all up, too!”

From that moment on, Quincy and Hattie played together when time would let them, and, as she grew older, Hattie felt a sense of protection with him. By the time Quincy was seventeen, he was a big man with round, chipped golden brown muscles from the top of his shoulders to the bottom of his thighs. Hattie had seen thirteen birthdays, and, despite their difference in age and her massa’s rules about relations in the quarters, she had promised herself to Quincy.

The second she set her eyes on Quincy, she knew he would have her heart forever. Her friends often teased her about her glassy stares when she spoke his name. She had taught herself to make simple stitches in fabric by watching Eunice’s grandmother make Massa Gray’s shirts. Daily, Hattie would ask for the scraps so she could practice and perhaps one day help make Massa Gray’s clothes. Before too long, she had enough scraps to make a shirt that she gave to Quincy, and, from the time she gave it to him, he wore that shirt every single day and nothing kept him from it. Whenever they were less than only a few feet from one another, Hattie memorized his scent and fixed it in her nose so she would know when he had just left a room or space she entered. With his shadow absorbing her tiny frame whenever they stood close, she became one with him, knowing he would always protect her. In their quarters, the females were supposed to do all the cooking and cleaning for the men. After they finished in the main house, they planted flowers around the bushes and up and down the path leading to the main road. Just as the other females her age, Hattie’s responsibilities were few but sometimes difficult. If she had to wheel dirt to the front yard for planting, she did it with all her might, but, within an instant, Quincy would appear. If she had to go out back and kill a chicken for dinner, she would get as far as picking out the chicken and taking it to the backyard. Having to step away to check the pot of boiling water, she’d return to the chicken, finding its neck already wrung and its head cut off. Once the chores of the main house were tended to, the females returned to the quarters to prepare dinner for the men who had been in the fields all day. Every night since the first day she had laid eyes on Quincy, there was a sunflower from massa’s flower bed laying atop the single blanket on which she slept. She knew that whenever that stopped, Quincy’s love for her was gone, or he was dead.

The night marched on to the rhythm of Quincy’s footsteps, and the sound of the water had gotten louder. Quincy knew it would take a while, if ever, to get the odor out of his skin, and then next he was going to have to wash his clothes. As he approached the river, he could smell the muscadine patches that enveloped the trees alongside the banks. Taking great care in where he stepped because cotton mouths lingered around the brushes for the nectar of the muscadines, Quincy began to disrobe, piece by piece, and then entered the water, taking his clothes with him.
In one deep breath, Quincy submerged himself, cleansing his body and his clothes in the muddied waters. When he came to the surface and was preparing to step back onto the bank, he noticed an uneasy calm surrounding him. The river was still as it appeared flat against the moonlight. There were no crickets, no owls, not one sound coming from the nature around him. Quickly, Quincy twisted the water from his pants and put on his shirt, still dripping with water. Hurriedly passing through the muscadine patches and mashing the sugary juices between his toes, he stopped just beyond the edge of the brush, hearing what he thought to be a horse trying to catch its breath. In the darkness and unsure about which way to turn, Quincy tried desperately to listen for the rippling of the river, but he couldn’t hear it. He did, however, hear the whinny of a horse and its anger with being held back. As his heart began to race, and realizing that he was not alone, Quincy started running and thought to himself to never look back. The only thing he wanted to do was to get back to the quarters so he could see Hattie.

CRACK! The blow to his skull made him fall to the ground face first.

With the earth below him saturating his tongue, Quincy’s trousers were ripped from his lower body like paper exposing his backside and the miniscule curly, black hairs that covered his skin. It felt to him that each one of them was standing straight in the air as he was rammed in the rectum with another man’s wooden peck. He was ordered to lie still and threatened with castration if he made a sound or tried to get away. “Don’t fight me, nigger, or I’ll get that winch of yours and do the same, if not worse, to her.”

Quincy recognized the voice above him as that of Silas, but there was another he also recognized. Soon the other voice, that of Massa Gray who had knelt between the V-shaped contour of Quincy’s anatomy, was right in his ear, and he entered Quincy’s shell with a hardened cock, causing him to tense his muscles even harder.

“That’s a good nigger,” he soothed. “Hold it right there.”

A single tear rolled from the corner of his eye down his cheek and onto his hand that was flat beneath his face. His other hand was pinned behind him. One thrust after another, the attack went on for what seemed like forever until the walls of Quincy’s bowels could not take it anymore, and he let loose like a rabbit that had gotten hold of some bad grass.

“You fucking nigger!” Massa Gray shouted. “You’re going to pay for this with your life!”

Both men, with themselves still at attention, scrambled to their feet to get to their holsters they had tossed into the brush. While they tousled through the darkness, Quincy, lying there with his manhood stripped from him, braced himself to make a run for his life. Slowly raising to his feet just enough so as to not be seen, Quincy took off like a bolt of lightning, being guided by only the moonlight. Every stride he took, with bullets blasting past his head, was for the life he wanted with Hattie, but he knew would never have that at Grayson Manor.
***

Runaways were simply considered “missing.” In the company of servants, Silas, known for his sometimes barbaric antics, was asked by Massa Gray to keep a watchful eye out for those who had escaped and to deal with them accordingly if they were ever caught outside the boundaries of the plantation. Nearly everyone knew that Silas and Massa Gray had something to do with the disappearances. They had never raised a fuss about it more than a day or two. None of the women rarely, if ever, tried to leave. For the most part, they were safe and were rewarded for their obedience and loyalty. For the men, however, there was something different. While, on the surface, they had no reason to run away, there existed a reason that remained within the confines of their quarters. Most times they were singled out in front of their counterparts and subsequently taunted and humiliated to the point of self-destruction. In the case of William’s twin brother, Wayne, Massa Gray and Silas had followed him into the corn fields one morning and tailed him until they had reached a section where the crows had gotten to the stalks.

“Wayne, what you go and let them birds eat up my corn for?” Massa Gray asked.

Wayne, looking around at the others in the field with him until he laid his eyes upon his brother, answered, “Suh, I ain’t knowed dees burds wus comin’ out heer lak dis. I’se kin git a scahrcrow uh sumthin’ te make dem goes away.”
Silas walked over to Wayne and grabbed him by the front of his shirt. “Boy, why should you go through all that when you got a scarecrow already out here?”

“Suh?” Wayne asked baffled.

Then Silas snatched off Wayne’s shirt and slammed it to the ground. “We got you!” He cackled, studying Wayne’s bare chest. Silas got closer to Wayne and began making circles with his fingertips. “You is all we need out here. You black, you ugly, and I’m pretty sho’ you can scare away a bunch of little bitty ol’ birds.”

Shirtless, Wayne stood there waiting for Massa Gray to say something, but no words ever came. “Massa Silas, suh, wuh you want me te do, suh?”

As Silas stood there with his hazel-green eyes piercing through the sweaty flesh of William’s twin brother, he replied, “I want you to get up there on that there pole and scare them crows off your master’s crops.”

“Yessuh,” Wayne offered silently and proceeded to climb up the pole to take his stand.

Laughing out loud and looking to Massa Gray for approval, Silas called out, “You sho’ is a dumb nigger.”

Wayne looked confused as he stepped back onto the ground. “Iz der sumthin’ ’rong, suh?”

“Well, hell, yes, somethin’s wrong. You ain’t no damn good to the them crows with your pants on. You gotta get up there on that pole and show them birds how ugly you is. I want you to take your pants off and get on up there and scare them birds away.”

Under the apologetic eyes of the other field hands, Wayne removed his pants and got up on the pole and sat perched in the sun until his skin and the bird droppings melted into one. Later in the night, Wayne took a walk down to the river, and a few minutes later Silas left the house going in the same direction. Wayne was never seen again.

A whole day had gone by, and Hattie had not seen Quincy. Although she did not mind doing the chores without his assistance, she thought perhaps Quincy was too busy to help her at different times throughout the day. Massa Gray was good for hiring out some of the men to work for others, and they may be gone for days at a time. Even then, though, Quincy made his way back to the quarters to put a sunflower on Hattie’s blanket. When she got home that night, there was no flower waiting for her.

After the lights went out in the main house, that’s when the men and women would sneak out of their cabins and meet around a small fire at the back of quarters; closest to the edge of the woods. Those that had eyes for each other sat and held hands until the sun had started to brighten the sky. Others who had gone beyond hand-holding disappeared into the trees and did what came naturally to them. On the few occasions that a wench ended up with child, Massa Gray sold her at the auction. To punish her for disobeying him, he had Silas cut a deal with the new owner by refunding his money and paying him back twice what he had paid, if he gave the baby back to Massa Gray when it was born. And that is exactly how Hattie ended up on the plantation.

Hattie looked out her back door and saw the others getting on and laughing around the fire but didn’t see Quincy. She contemplated going out to ask where he was, but she did not want to spoil the evening for the others. Taking a seat in a chair next to the table where she kept an arrangement of sunflowers, Hattie released a waterfall from her eyes. She knew she had done nothing to make Quincy stop loving her; therefore, she had no choice but to think otherwise. Then, as she buried her head into her folded arms on the table, there was a soft knock at the door.

Sex Goddess by Maggie Estep

I am THE SEX GODDESS OF THE WESTERN HEMISPHERE
so don't mess with me
I've got a big bag full of SEX TOYS
and you can't have any
'cause they're all mine
'cause I'm
the SEX GODDESS OF THE WESTERN HEMISPHERE.\

"Hey," you may say to yourself,
"who the hell's she tryin' to kid,
she's no sex goddess,"
But trust me,
I am
if only for the fact that I have
the unabashed gall
to call
myself a SEX GODDESS,
I mean, after all,
it's what so many of us have at some point thought,
we've all had someone
who worshipped our filthy socks
and barked like a dog when we were near
giving us cause
to pause and think: You know, I may not look like much
but deep inside, I am a SEX GODDESS.

Only
we'd never come out and admit it publicly
well, you wouldn't admit it publicly
but I will
because I am
THE SEX GODDESS OF THE WESTERN HEMISPHERE.

I haven't always been
a SEX GODDESS
I used to be just a mere mortal woman
but I grew tired of sexuality being repressed
then manifest
in late night 900 number ads
where 3 bodacious bimbettes
heave cleavage into the camera's winking lens and sigh:

"Big Girls oooh, Bad Girls oooh, Blonde Girls oooh,
you know what to do, call 1-900-UNMITIGATED BIMBO ooooh."

Yeah
I got fed up with the oooh oooh oooh oooh oooh
I got fed up with it all
so I put on my combat boots
and hit the road with my bag full of SEX TOYS
that were a vital part of my SEX GODDESS image
even though I would never actually use
my SEX TOYS
'cause my being a SEX GODDESS
it isn't a SEXUAL thing
it's a POLITICAL thing
I don't actually have SEX, no
I'm too busy taking care of
important SEX GODDESS BUSINESS,
yeah,
I gotta go on The Charlie Rose Show
and MTV and become a parody
of myself and make
buckets full of money off my own inane brand
of self-righteous POP PSYCHOLOGY
because my pain is different
because I am a SEX GODDESS
and when I talk,
people listen
why ?
Because, you guessed it,
I AM THE SEX GODDESS OF THE WESTERN HEMISPHERE
and you're not.

A Freaky Story From Zane

They say frat boys are hornier than any other kinda college guy. I didn't believe it because he was cool, calm and quite collected. This sexy as hell Hispanic joined a black fraternity and my, my, my, Poppie was yummy from the floor up. He had the sexiest body & smile, pure Latino perfection. The party ended about 2AM and picked back up at the frat house about 2:15.
Me and my girls were ready to go. Each young philly was hot to trot and doing her damn thing. We watched Poppie and his brothas all night doing their line step across the floor and each of us picked one out to take home. Every girl for herself, I thought. I said nothing all night as about 5 of the 10 girls verbally picked Poppie to be their fuck buddy that night.
He paid no mind to any of us (or so I thought). Why should he? Girls were gawking at him all night anyway. Of course all my girls went in for the kill, each making a failed attempt at hooking him at the after party.

By this time, it was about 3:30 and hell, my drink needed a serious refreshing. It became frustrated because I couldn't find anyone with anything other than beer. After looking aimlessly for about 15 or 20 minutes for something decent to knock the edge off of my fatigue, a soft, deep and sexy voice reached out and grabbed me making my pussy instantly soaked. The voice
said, "You look like you could use a drink." I stood there cup in hand and damn near drooling when I managed to fumble the words, "You got something?" He nodded and led me straight to his room through the crowd of people dancing and grinding and throwing up (pissy drunk).

When we got to the room he asked me had I ever drank Bacardi 151 (Puerto Rican Rum) I said no but trying to stay cool, I said "But I am sure I can handle it" He responded, "STRAIGHT?" I said, "YEAH" That had to be to best mistake I had ever made. I got drunk after 2 burning coconut cup full of the stuff. I immediately started pulling on him and sucking on him, telling him I had been eyeing him all night and that I wanted him. He asked if I was sure. I managed a severe, YES!!!!! He tossed me on the bed and I began to really get excited. He held my legs open and started to lick my clit until I moaned. I moaned and whimpered because I could feel his dick rise through his pants with the point of my toe. I knew this dick was gonna be good. I tried to get up and start a new position for fear that if I came for the 5th time there won't be anything
left when he gets up there (stupid college notions). He didn't let me up, he held me down and went right on sucking my pussy. He went as deep with his tongue as his finger. He drank the juices straight from my inside and spread them all over until he was ready to join me up top.

He turned me around and ripped off the remainder of my already tattered panties and delivered a dick so heavy in me that I could almost feel it coming though my throat. He plunged in with long deep strokes as my pussy juices dripped down his leg. Poppie wouldn't stop thrusting. I thought he was going for an Olympic goal or something. He lifted my leg, tossed me upside
down, Held me up with zero gravity, 69-ed me, fucked me on the floor, the walls, the computer table, and every other surface in the tiny room that would hold up. He butterflied me so deep that me g-spot erupted and I came six straight more times before he could even dream of cumming once. When he did cum, I was almost relieved although, I was in pure heaven. Then
to top it off, I topped him off. I had never given head before but he was a great teacher and so he got a lot that night. We fought like a couple of wrestlers in a Sumo match. It was amazing!

By this time, My Girls were so drunk that they didn't even notice that I was gone. They took a cab home and left me to do the Bacardi 151 romp with Poppie all night. When I woke up the next morning my pussy was so sore. Worst of all (and don't laugh but) I had a swollen mouth from my first dick sucking session that looked like I was beat up. I mean that shit was fucked up for almost 2 straight days. Thank God it was the weekend, and I didn't have classes. My girls all wondered how it happened, I told them that I had an allergic reaction to my make up. THAT WAS MY STORY AND WAS STICKING TO IT!! Those bitches couldn't take it if I actually said, I was fucking the man y'all wanted last night, sucked his dick for about 2 hours
collectively and that is how my mouth got fucked up. The would have died. So I rubbed it in later. That is... after the 20th or 30th time with Poppie. That was years ago and he still remains one of my best sex-capades.

A Poem by Maya Angelou

Still I Rise

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

The Spotlight: Taz Mula Money

And The Spotlight Goes To TAZ MULA BABY!! Get Yo Weight Up Niggas!! Taz Is The New Dope Nigga in town Bxtches! Don't Sleep On Him For Real. He Getting It In On Ya'll! Don't Call Him A Rapper. Call Him An Artist! Get With It Or Get Rolled Over Lames! Check His Music (Taz Mula MySpace) He Is The Future of Hip Hop, If You Don't Know. The Spotlight Is Here. JIKE!!

Lil Wayne said What?!?!

In a recent Interview Lil Wayne (My Favorite person In the world) was quoted saying "I'll Murder Your newborn child." I got this from (www.theybf.com) To me I feel like people taking this shXt too seriously. I've heard worst!!! Are you serious nigga!?!?! People rap about killing people ALL the fucking time!!! Niggas get over yourself. I'm sure you have said some shXt like that before. You Niggas acting like you'll saved and Holy Ghost fulled. NO! You be wit a groupie every night! But thats irrelevant. I love Wayne and No what he said was not right BUT At least this Nigga being real!! Too Many fake Niggas in the world today. Mane thats all i got to say on that note. JIKE!!

R.I.P Michael Jackson

In our darkest hour
In my deepest despair
Will you still care?
Will you be there?
In my trials
And my tripulations
Through our doubts
And frustrations
In my violence
In my turbulence
Through my fear
And my confessions
In my anguish and my pain
Through my joy and my sorrow
In the promise of another tomorrow
Ill never let you part
For youre always in my heart.
-Michael Jackson
(Will you Be There)

I'm Hurting...

I'm Hurting
Like My Heart Just Broke
I'm In Anguish
Like My Nightmare has become a Reality
God Heal this Hurt
I thought I heard Myself ask
I'm Hurting
Like A mother who can provide
I'm In Agony
Like A Child Without Love
God Help Me I'm Hurting

Hello Bloggers, I wrote this because I am hurting emotionally. I can't talk about it now but Pray for me. Peace.

The Spotlight: Nature Boy

WhAt Up!! Th!s Th!s D0p3n3ssM0j0 Ch3ck!n In!!! Th3 Sp0tl!ghT !s 0n NAture Boy Youngin!! (www.myspace.com/natureboy314)Check Him out!! He the truth!! Th!s Nigga Go hard!! Fosho. While you at it check out Mii nigga Pimptastic(www.myspace.com/thedudepimptastic)ASAP A Star on The Rise!! Next Week We G0t A Time We got a new Spotlight til then JIKE!!

The Spotlight: D.V.B

H3ll0 Bl0gg3r!! F0r y0U GuYs wh0 b33n L!v!ng uNd3r a R0cK 4 A l!l azz t!m3, D.V.B. (Dem Vibe Boyz) Is th3 Future of R&B. The Members are Yung Luv, Yung Ty, J-Love, & Zai Boi Check em out (www.myspace.com/demvibeboyz) Th3y on they Grown men shxT fo real. Wanna know who produce they tracks...Kelz the Great (www.myspace.com/kelzthegreatmusic) Get at him too. But on some real shxt don't sleep on these niggas!! Next week there will be a new spotlight star on here til then JIKE!!

:)

H3llo Bl0gg3rs!! I hAv3 a CruSh 0n s0m3on3 on tw!tt3r.. :)

G00dn!t3!! 2 h0urS t0ps.. ZzzzZzzzz...

H3ll0 W0rLd!!

0KAy, S0 I'm SUPER tr!3D bUt ! hAd 2 V3nt A l!l.
Plz T3LL M3 WHY I f33L s0000...CRAPPY! LOLz
I'm s0 tr!3d buT N3wAyz... I m!ss mii (D0ug!3).
H3 b33n g0n3 4 a w33k.. I h0p3 b3hAv!ng..(<_<)
I th!nk..Th3m H03s b3 aLL 0n h!m!! BuT H3 Kn0w b3tt3r s0...
!'m gucci th0,W3ll I'm b0uT 2 BuMP WAyN3 & TAk3 A nAp!!
☮Peace

Quote 4 Today:

&& i swear to everything when i leave this earth,
its gonna be on both feet never knees in the dirt

-Mr.Carter (The Carter III)
(Lil Wayne)

A New Me.

An epiphany (from Ancient Greek ἐπιφάνεια Epiphaneia, “manifestation, striking appearance”) is the sudden realization or comprehension of the (larger) essence or meaning of something. The term is used in either a philosophical or literal sense to signify that the claimant has "found the last piece of the puzzle and now sees the whole picture," or has new information or experience, often insignificant by itself, that illuminates a deeper or numinous foundational frame of reference .

In other words NIGGA I'M OVER YOU!!!!!!!