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Nappy Headed Hoes · by R.H.S.
Peep this: a smarmily churchless Sunday wasted carousing deep in the homely backstreets of New Jeruz’s filth belt. Not a single pixel of gray came out to shoot the shit with the sunshine, for once already. A Nor’Easter recently flooded the yuppie miracle mile along Route 18, and pangs of irrational childhood fear wobbled down the gelatinous spines of the insurance-shielded downtowners. Us hardened folk out on the dingy precipice bordering the “inner-ring” were spared such indignities. Time to move on and get it crackin’.
10:00AM and already mi cielo, a ringlet ‘fro sporting Puerto Rican Jill Scott stunt double, fully recharged from last night’s Asti Spumante soaked romp on the kitchen floor, is steady shaking her thick ol’ asscheeks to some ancient bassy salsa-disco slop. I’m with it though, at least while she whips up her prize-winning omelettes but her ear to ear sonrisa reveals that she knows too damned well that Prodigy’s new mixtape is coming on sooner than later. We discussed this already, after all.
We spar for a hot minute, arguing about why women stay going to church and how men treat their cars like trash cans and stupid irrelevant shit like that. She gets in a playful bite or two before I can force the CD into the changer and by the time Alchemist’s orchestrated grime is in full effect we’ve kissed gently and moved on to the day’s tasks, which include burying our noses in tomes of Critical Race Theory, and avoiding ironing at all costs.
Return Of The Mac stays on loop because we both agree it’s dope enough to leave on. When I first played it for her she said it was negative and brooding and all kinds of foul but now shit is straight. We break from our reading to sit outside on the decaying stoop and contemplate the mysterious yard work we will never get started. My enterprising if crude neighbors are scrambling flat-screen TVs for $250 a pop at the rate of four per day. Their leisure music of choice sways between Kirk Franklin and faggot-ass Chingy. No profanity, no sexist diatribe will crackle over their cheap-ass speakers. This is law.
The love of my life launches into some spirited lecture about maw-dare fawuk-ers who insist she iron her hair into doldrums. I kiss her forehead and tell her only a lecherous douchebag with no style would ask her to do that. We look ridiculous even in this neighborhood – she is swathed in tangerine and teal and I’m rocking burgundy down to my Wallabees. My neighbors, male or female or indeterminate, wear pristine ghostly white t-shirts down to the blank canvas sneakers, and barely speak to each other except when counting and dividing cash. They look at us like we’re monsters.
Fuck these bitches I say. My woman playfully backhands me and I grab her wrist like I got it sewn. She asks if we can listen to Corrine Rae and before I can protest she’s racing for the CD in that way that pleasantly chubby people who are faster than they look will do. How the fuck she moves that fast is completely beyond me. I follow her to the living room and grab a hold of her ringlets and whisper in her ear that this is the last time I’m gonna sit and listen to this bourgie songbird sing the blues about niggas like me. The last fucking time. She laughs like she’s cumming and it’s time to move on.
a very poetic post.
— Lee Apr 26, 12:10 AM
Excellent!
— brandonsoderberg Apr 26, 01:16 AM
Good post, especially the ‘is steady shaking her thick ol’ asscheeks to some ancient bassy salsa-disco slop’ bit.
Your girl sounds tidy, ‘you better watch me round your girl if you ain’t fuckin her right’(c)Big L
I kid, I kid. Good post.
— EnglandRepresent Apr 26, 02:49 AM
I love the way you conflate the personal with the political.
Amongst a sea of material attacking (or responding to the attack on) hip-hop, this post should be required reading.
— Rafi Apr 26, 02:24 PM
A very good post
— hiphop world Apr 26, 05:02 PM
Beautiful and poetic. I want my life to be like this.
— wreck 9 Apr 26, 10:23 PM
that shit was ill
— ken Apr 27, 01:25 PM
Ha! Behind enemy lines on your own land.
I can’t front, though..I’ll take one of those flat-screens from your neighbors for 250.
— Just Apr 27, 04:11 PM
Somewhere along the line R.H.S. you got it twisted. I keep my Sky immaculate, it’s my wifey’s car that looks like the dumpster at a Chinese takeout. But yeah big girls do move fast. :)
— DJ Flash May 2, 01:26 AM
That was dope!!!!!!!!!!!!
— james cooper May 14, 05:31 PM