Archive for September, 2013

The Obamacare Handbook

For all those who ask about ObamaCare, this is the best posting I could find. Props to the author!!!

Awake Black Woman


This post will have pretty much everything you need to understand what the Affordable Care Act can do for you, and in many cases is already doing for you. The focus here will be in debunking myths and lies, consolidating truth and information, and will be geared toward individuals and families, but will include info on what to do if you are a business/owner and want to/already are compliant with ACA law.


Many of you are confused about what the dealyo is with Obamacare. And I don’t blame you. certain entities have spent a lot of time and effort and your tax money to do just that. Please don’t let someone else decide things for you. This post is to help you along the way so you get all the FACTS and then can make an informed decision Your Self.

For you net-savvy ones all you need is THIS…

View original post 1,246 more words


Follow The Money!

Hey, all you BET-lovers, who think it’s “Black!”


Read this:


Let Me Finish This….

Let me finish this story…I’ve got some f’real stuff to tell you about!

For those of you who aren’t caught up, here ya go…

Now, where was I? Oh, yes:

I turned, and out of the corner of my eye I could see White Guy walking briskly back to the table. Just five more seconds, and…

“Come see, Brian!” Super Soul Sister was waving excitedly at White Guy, er, Brian. He pivoted sharply, making me admire the tensile strength of his ankles. White men can’t jump, but they can turn on a dime, let me tell you.

“Brian,” my daughter whispered to my wife.

“Watch this,” my wife whispered back. I’m not a believer in domestic violence, but these two were pushing it.

“Sorry I took so long,” Brian arrived, a bit breathless. “You weren’t leaving, were you?” I rolled my eyes; this fool was hooked, and he didn’t even know it. I briefly considered enacting Man Rule #64C—Always Help A Fellow Man With Female Trouble, but one look around let me know I was outnumbered. Both Madame and Mademoiselle M had their talons out, and SSS’s 48DDs had my flank covered. White Guy was on his own, kinda like the mother gazelle on the Serengeti who realizes her baby gazelle is now the appetizer, and if she doesn’t run like hell, she’s the entrée. WG should have left SSS at the water cooler where she was.

Oh, well. Sometimes you just have to let stuff play out, and just make sure none of the schnitzel don’t land on you. Kinda like Obama and Syria.

“Oh, no, Baby,” SSS said, holding her erster, I mean, oyster, up towards Brian. “See? It’s a raw erster! Try it!”

Well, Brian looked like he’s rather eat soap, but I’ll be dogged if he didn’t take that er—oyster out of her hand and pour it in his mouth, hot sauce and all. “Mmmmph,” he mumbled, not sure what to do with it. Yeah, he was hooked. Raw oyster with green hot sauce is not for the faint of heart. He gulped, and managed a crooked smile. “N-n-not bad,” he lied.

“Well, I shure hope it don’t do you like they say it do,” Sister laughed; the other two females joined her. He laughed weakly, or at least he tried to. That hot sauce was kicking him, and the sudden realization of what she said kicked him at the same time. I felt sorry for him, but hey, it was his first date. Let him see how dating a sister felt like. Besides, I had my own troubles.

“Why don’t y’all sit down and join us?” my wife asked. “It’ll be on us! Right, dear?”

I gave her Husband Look #108, I’m Smiling, But We’re Headed For Knuckle Junction When We Get Home. “Right,” I said through slightly clenched teeth.

“Good!” she answered, giving me Wife Look #108A, No, We’re Not, “Y’all get your chairs! Honey, go help him.”

I got up, noting my daughter texting busily; her best friend Shooney’s phone was blowing up, I was certain. A Swirl Date, up close and personal? Their phones would be smokin’ like Joe Frazier in the fifth round, for sure.

The women chattered like magpies, like newly introduced women are prone to do; all the while taking note of hairstyles, fingernails, perfume, makeup, etc., you know, the important female stuff. Brian and I discussed sports, as men are supposed to do when we first meet. True to form, however, Madame tried to turn the conversation, or, as I call it, mind other people’s business.

“Where did you two meet?” she asked Brian.

“On Soul Train,” I answered with a grin, “Where do you think?”

“I think,” she answered, “that I’m talking to him.” She glared at me, and I stuck the tip of my tongue out at her, lightning-quick. To the uninitiated, it looked like I was just licking my lips, but she knew better. “Grrrh,” she said softly.

“All right, you two,” my daughter said, mid-text. We weren’t about to ruin this Swirl Date for her, no sir.

Brian began telling us how they met. Queesa, that was her name, short for some long pseudo-African schit her momma found in a baby name book. Took my daughter three times to text-type it right, and I doubted seriously if Shooney would be able to pronounce it. Queesa was one of the IT people at the company, and Brian had been called in for a training session. Queesa had been explaining the importance of not using Facebook during company time when she noticed ol’ Brian, sitting on the front row. “He was sooo cute,” Queesa bubbled, “all I needed was some gravy to sop him up!”

Oh, geez. IT person? Queesa? Yeah, right. I started looking for a polite way to signal the waiter for the check, while hoping Brian would insist on splitting it. Least he could do, since Queesa ordered the lobster Pontchartrain. At least she ate it, claws and all. “Kinda, er, crunchy, aint it?” she had mumbled, trying to spit in a ladylike fashion.

Like I said, claws and all. You people don’t listen.

Anyway, my daughter had been punching buttons on her IPhone, discreetly at first, then she became increasingly more annoyed, frowning at the screen. “Where did you buy this thing, Daddy, Dollar Tree?”

“I wish the bill would come from there,” I answered.

“Put that thing up,” my wife said. “It’s rude.”

“Gimmie that ,” Queesa said, extending a French-tip manicured hand.

“Huh?” my daughter said, looking at me quizzically.

“Give it to her,” I commanded.  “Serves ya right.”

I briefly hoped Queesa would stick in her bra, purely as a logistical exercise, of course. Not so much as to how she would get it in, but, rather, how she would fish it out. Maybe she would need some help, or something. I tucked that salacious little thought in the back of my mind, while I watched Queesa fiddle around with the IPhone. She took her phone out of her Brahman  purse, then removed a little squiggly wire-and-ink pen pointy looking thing, and stuck each end into both phones.

“What’s that?” my daughter asked. I shrugged. “Heck if I know,” I said.

“Satellite jumper,” Queesa said softly, whistling what sounded like “Smooth Operator.” She hit a few buttons on both phones, then looked up at us. “It’s what I do,” she said, as if that explained it all.

Brian beamed. “See? That’s what I’m talking about!” I glanced at him; he had gotten a bit loud.

“Shush,” Queesa said. “I’m twistin’ this cat’s tail.” Brian lowered the volume, in fact, he shut up completely. Dang! I thought. He aint even got none yet, and she got him all twisted up! Hate to see what happens when she twirk him for the first time!  “Here,” she said, handing the phone to my daughter. “Be careful what you download, sometimes you get some real crap.”

“Madmoiselle M’s eyes widened. “Wow,” she said softly. “Thanks!” Her thumbs began moving at warp speed. I rolled my eyes inwardly; this was not the way it was supposed to go.

Madame spoke up. “So, what’s in the cards for you two? To be, or not to be? That is the question! Brian?” She put her chin in her hands.

Uh-ohhhhh. This was the Watching the Wildebeest From 50 Yards Out position…

Brian was doomed. All we were missing was the rice and the ugly-dressed bridesmaids. My daughter hitched forward in her seat a little. She’d probably be allowed to sit in on the upcoming feeding frenzy. Queesa smiled. “Oh, this is just our first date, ma’am. We’re jus’ learnin’ about each other, y’know, we’re so different!”

“Really?” I mumbled. 3 sets of eyes turned my way. “Oh, come on!” I protested. “It’s–it’s rather obvious, isn’t it?”

Queesa looked at my wife. “When the shoe is on the other foot,” she purred, “does he have the same reaction?”

“No, baby,” my wife purred back, “he usually says, ‘Cuz got him one! Go ‘head, Cuz!'”

“Then he laughs like it’s funny,” my daughter joined in, her thumbs moving furiously, then she stopped and looked up. “He laughs like it’s funny.” She had the faintest hint of a growl; I felt like a hyena on the fringes of a lions’ feast: We’ll let you know when you can join in, but if you bark too much, we’ll run you off, and maybe, just maybe, make you the dessert.

I looked at Brian, poor thing. He wasn’t going to even get a whiff tonight, but, he seemed happy just to be with her. Oh, well. He’d learn, big ‘uns do not a relationship make. Takes affection and respect, not to mention a good hiding spot for the remote.

“Got any advice for me, sir?” Poor thing, so trusting and all. Madame and Mademoiselle were both looking at me with that Don’t you DARE! look on their faces; Quessa shifted in her seat, making them wiggle a bit. Trying to throw me off my game with those big 52’s pointed at me, I suppose. Like I said, fish and breast stories get bigger with the tellin’.

My wife opened her mouth; a cocked eyebrow from me closed it back. “I thought so,” I said. “If you need to check and make sure, the bathroom’s that-a-way.” I pointed, but her mouth remained shut. I’d hear about it later, but she knew she had it coming. I leaned back, and clasped my hands behind my head, the default Here Comes Some Manly Advice position.

“My dad does that,” Queesa said to the other females, who rolled their eyes.

“Wise man,” I answered, then, to Brian: “Son, there’s two kinds of women in the world, women you play with…and women you stay with. Women you play with, they flashy and cute, and they’re fun to have around, y’know, for dates and sex, y’know?”

He nodded.

“And the good thing about them is when you’re done is, you just put ’em back where ya got ’em from, like a pool stick or a tennis racquet. Or, if you like ’em a lot, you buy a case for ’em, and put ’em up, keep other men from gettin’ his hand on ’em, y’know what I mean? Then, when you’re done with ’em, or find you a better one, you pass ’em on to the next man. Understand?”

He nodded again, and Queesa said, “Damn! That’s cold!”

“Life is cold,” I answered, “But that’s how it works. Men take you the way you present yourself. You act like a toy, you get treated like a toy. You act like you got some value, you get treated like you got value. You know why baloney is cheaper than diamonds? It’s easier to get. Any grocery store carries baloney. But diamonds? Only special places carry it, and you better have your money. You don’t buy diamonds out of your front pocket, do you?”

“What about the second kind?” Brian asked.

“Women you stay with?” I answered. “Them’s the kind you make commitment to, introduce them to your mother and your kinfolks.You want to lock ’em down quickly, before another man with better sense comes and takes her from you.” I looked at Queesa. “How do you know when a man got proper intentions towards you?” I asked. “Don’t listen to what he says, watch what he does. Men have a habit of marking what is his; we personalize everything. Why? Because we don’t want other men to think they can take it.”

She was taking it in; I could tell. “How will I know how he feels about me?” she asked.

“Check your hand,” I answered. “When there’s something on it that wasn’t there before, he’s serious.”

“Uh-huh,” she answered. “I hear ya.”

“See what’s on that hand?” I pointed @ Madame, who shot out her left hand like a Scud missile. “Two-and-a-half C’s” she said proudly. “He did that right,” she said.

“That aint all I do right,” I answered, eliciting a blush from Madame, and an eye roll from Madmoiselle. “Y’all quit that,” she said.

“You best be glad Poppa can swing the hammer,” I replied, “Otherwise you’d be one of them cherubs sittin’ in Heaven with nothing to do.” We laughed; all except her, that is…

On the way home I said, “You think ol’ Brian scored?” Madmoiselle was snoring, so it was safe.

“Not if Queesa got good sense,” Madame answered. “White man always get what he want too quick. Making him wait be good for their relationship. Now, as for me,” I said with a grin, “I been waiting long enough. Time for Poppa to swing the hammer!”

“Negro, please,” she answered, but I could tell she was fighting a smile…

He’s a smooth operator…


The Cost of Racism (From “Awake Black Woman”)

I’m trying to finish the story, but I keep running across stories you need to read.

I AM a social commentator, y’know…


I could have hit the “Reblog” button on this, but I’d rather read/post the highlights.

Full link is below.

“…While historic events were happening last Saturday, while so many marched on Washington, and many more watched, an incident came up on the social media radar that really angered me. This had happened a few weeks ago, and was only now, and interestingly on this particular day, starting to make headlines. Headlines such as these:

African American Family Denied Service After Diner Felt “Threatened”

I feel a lot of things about this incident, and I’ll try to coherently express some of them here today. The one thing I want to make clear is that there always, always needs to be a price paid for racist actions.

You may think that I’m going overboard, that this is just one incident caused by one racist customer backed by one employee. No big deal, lets just move on.

I think not. Because it is oh so much bigger than this. Because this isn’t just a Mom & Pop restaurant. Bad if enough this happened at all, and wherever it happened. This is a corporate business operating nationwide, all over this country. That manager was a representative of that corporation.

That person felt it was just fine to cater to the needs of a racist, to put the corporation she worked for in a bad light, and at the same time, incur a significant financial loss (there were 25 people in that dining party) for that establishment.

So I’m all for making it extremely financially unwise to run around practicing racism, to allow for employees to exercise their racism at their jobs, and also to make it impossible for everyday racist people to exercise their racism and have it backed by the same.

We saw this same thing happen with the swastika tattooed father who didn’t want any Black nurses caring for his sick newborn. I do believe that hospital was sued and settled for around $200K. Along with the payout it looks like there were policies and procedures put in place to have them not ever again cater to the whims of a racist.

A Pennsylvania swim club denied paying minority students access to their pool and ended up being sued, going bankrupt, and having the remainder of assets – over 1 million – being given to the claimants in the suit. All that was handled by the U.S. Justice Department.

Discrimination being highly illegal and whatnot.

People can keep being racist if they want to. Have at it. But understand there is a price to pay for it.

I want corporations to think twice about hiring known racists. I want corporations to move swiftly to fire those that practice their racism on their jobs. I want it to be financially unacceptable for businesses to back employees who express their racism on their jobs.

I want places of businesses to include sensitivity training or whatever they call it now across the board. They will have to if they want to keep raking in that dough. A lot of that sort of training and awareness is merely lip service, and put in place if it is at all, in order to “look good” from the outside.

The hospital that catered to that racist has the most multi-cultured website I’ve ever seen. Their TOS/Mission Statement reflected that too. But guess what they did when faced with the choice to discriminate or tell Mr. Swastika to take a hike?

Guess they had to learn the hard way.

Understand. African-Americans have over 1 Trillion in buying power. Yes, Trillion with a T.

We have immense power in that. Unfortunately we do not turn it towards ourselves. We aren’t worth that one Trillion. We SPEND that 1 Trillion, and mostly outside of our communities.

So spend it wisely. Take away the profits from those who foolishly think there isn’t a price to pay for racism, catering to racists, and allowing racists to represent them.

One day we’ll wise up and turn our money towards ourselves and be WORTH that Trillion. But until then, exercise that buying power carefully, and put a hurt on the Bottom Line of those who richly deserve it.

Lastly, before I go.

Please understand that “I Feel Threatened” is code for allowing racism and discrimination to happen, and to excuse it after the fact. It allowed for GZ to walk free. It allowed for this cop to open fire on two unarmed women with children in the car. It allowed for this man to shoot and kill Jordan Davis.

Think about it for a minute.

One customer told the manager at a restaurant that they “felt threatened” and 25 Black people were kicked out of a restaurant.

They had been waiting over 2 hours, peacefully, just chilling like normal people do. One person saw a group of Black people and immediately felt threatened. That right there is fine. If you want to buy into society’s media-backed hype about how threatening Black skin is, then that is on you. Go for it. Live your life that way.

But this person took it that one step further, that then put all of this into play. They felt privileged enough to make their private feelings publicly known. They had enough confidence, that they figured the manager would back their racism. They were right. Because that is exactly what happened.

And now the price for those privileged and racist actions must and will be paid.

And SMH at the “nopology” and offering of a free meal. Like the guy said, they weren’t there for a free meal.  A party of 25 is a nice windfall for a restaurant. Those people were there to spend money.
They wanted to celebrate their friend at a place they regularly patronize, and be treated like normal human beings going out to dinner.
It must become extremely unprofitable for businesses, companies and corporations to practice racism, have employees practice their racism on their jobs, and to be viewed as racist entities.
End of Story.
Boycott Wild Wings Cafe.”

For the full blog, click this link:

Back to the Story…..

…Continued from July 27…

“Is that true what they say about ersters?” she had asked, her 48DDs pointing somewhere between my neck and chin. My wife had leaned forward, her hands cupping her face, which was stuck in Expression #16B–No Matter What You Say, You’re Screwed. Time for a little technique…

(Side Note: As far as guys are concerned, a big breast story is like a good fish story; they both get bigger with the telling. Just so you know.)

“I’ve heard people say that,” I began, “but the scientific community has proven it’s just a myth. Oysters, however, are a very healthy food. If you eat just four medium-size oysters every day, you’ll get the recommended daily allowances of calcium, copper, iodine, iron, mag—“

“She didn’t ask you all that,” Madame M interjected, trying not to frown. “She did not ask you all of that.”

Good! I had succeeded in deflecting ol’ #16B, as well as ignoring them 48DDs—quite a feat, if I say so myself. Rookies, you should read my chapter entitled Statistics: Making Females Shoo on Cue. Lotta good stuff in there, fellow brethren, lotta good stuff.

Keeping my face straight, I answered, “Oh, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to bore you.” Brightening a bit, I put a finger in the air and said, “But did you know oysters can be roasted, steamed, fried, scalloped, stewed—“

“Nobody cares, Bubba Gump,” my wife said firmly. “Look, miss,” she said to Super Soul Sister, with a quick Expression #9C—I’m On To You, Mister towards me, “My husband (did I hear a slight inflection on the word “husband”? Hmmm…) can be a little dull at times. But if you ask the waiter for a saucer, I’m sure he will spare one of his oysters so you can try it. Won’t you dear?”

“Of course,” I answered. “I hope you don’t mind a little green hot sauce on it.”

“Oh, uh, I don’t want to take yours,” S.S.S. replied dubiously, staring down at my tray.

“He doesn’t mind,” my daughter spoke up, a bit quickly, eager to stick her two cents in. “Besides, he’s only on his second dozen, and they’re on special tonight, so go for it!” She giggled; my wife smiled along with her.

Co-operation, eh? I’d fix both of them later.

“As a matter of fact, here’s an empty saucer right here,” Madame M said, leaning over my tray, “Let’s give her…uh…this one.” She grabbed the biggest one and put it on the saucer. “There,” she cooed. “Well, hand it to her, dear,” she said, after I had hesitated momentarily. My wife don’t coo for nothing, Jack.

Uh-huh. I was on to her, too. Both of them, to be exact. I glanced at my daughter; she was trying to keep her face straight, but it was a no-go. She grabbed her napkin and busied herself wiping imaginary crumbs from her face. Madame, being more experienced, was hiding behind Expression #20, Smug. I handed the saucer to S.S.S., making sure to hold it high enough so she didn’t have to bend for it. You see, that was the killshot my wife was looking for, me making The Big Valley bend low, so I could get a glimpse at ‘em. I may be crazy, but I aint stupid.

Don’t think it didn’t cross my mind, though. Would have served everybody right, especially if one of them puppies would have popped out and said hello. Served ‘em all right…

I turned, and out of the corner of my eye I could see White Guy walking briskly back to the table. Just five more seconds, and…