Autographed Letter Signed

A Mostly Center-Right Place For Those With Irritable Obama Syndrome and Diversity Fatigue

Sunday Soliloquy: Damn It Feels Good To Be A Victim October 25, 2009

From I Own The World. Com

From I Own The World. Com

Experience is that marvelous thing that enables you recognize a mistake when you make it again.

F.P. Jones



My affection for grocery shopping yesterday afternoon was again trumped by my past anxieties.

Does the memory of past trauma ever end? No matter how successful I become my world will never be devoid of what came before.  Despite a fistful of coupons and a debit card to burn, here I am at the grocery store still feeling like a victim.

Afrocity, you do not deserve those $3.49 Sea Salt & Vinegar Kettle Chips in the organic aisle.

Afrocity, do you really need that pre-packaged salad? Are you too lazy to cut up a head of lettuce?

How dare you buy that 1/2 pound of imported genoa salami just because it tastes better when the domestic is on sale?

I was guilt-ridden and self loathing at the deli-counter. I asked for co-jack cheese, salami, Vienna corned beef, and old fashioned loaf.

Why so greedy? Just how many sandwiches can you make Afrocity?

What was I thinking? I went to the grocer’s market on an empty stomach and a head filled with bad memories of standing in aisles of food which I often could not afford without the government’s help.

Rarely did mom ever stand at a deli counter except to buy corned beef which is my favorite cold cut.  $6.00 a pound it was during the 70′s, for food stamp heads like mom and I that was a luxury…but we bought it anyway.

“Just because we are on welfare does not mean we have to eat like it,”  mother would often say when she would get a cold stare from the supermarket cashier. She was paranoid that because they were white, they felt that blacks should not eat as well. Especially when those blacks happened to be on food stamps.

Philadelphia Ad for Food Stamps

From "Philadelphia Coalition Against Hunger"

“Because they are white and have to struggle to pay for groceries, they think we should too.”

“How can you tell they are struggling?” I asked.

“Look at them! Would you want to work all day bagging groceries?”

I shook my head. Bagging did look like a boring job.

“Well, neither do they… I would rather have NO JOB than to do that all day long.”

Obama_FoodStamp-1Mother’s wisdom was never plain. Tempered with bitterness and the frustration of underdog-dom, she cleverly turned our situation into something that was enviable and virtuous.

“We get corned beef and she gets bologna…and what did I tell you about bologna?” she asked, handing me the lightest bag of groceries.

policybasics-foodstamps-f1Frowning at the mere mention of the word, I proved to mother that I knew my lessons well.  “Bologna is bad for black people and made by whites to slowly poison us with poor nutrition. Just like Oscar Meyer corn dogs and possessed meat.”

“Processed meats,” she corrected. ” P R O C E S S ED.”

I nodded. “No fat, only lean cuts. It is a sin to eat fat the USDA is a liar and so is Nestle.”

Mother nodded, we were ready to retrace our steps back home, hands full of groceries.

Now she left me in 2009, starring off into space as the deli-counter lady was slicing my corned beef.  I don’t need all of this meat but I was hungry and got greedy.  I can’t ask her to stop now.  There are moments when it seems to me that I will never deserve that pound of corned beef. It didn’t feel good then and it doesn’t feel much better now that I can afford it with my own money that I worked for.

As usual ZoNation sums up everything for me this week. My favorite African American conservative has created a hip hop music video which discusses Obama supporters and victimhood. They call them “victicrats”


 

Thursday Stitch n’ Bitch: I Too Sing For Black America October 22, 2009

sewing_of_flagToday’s post is dedicated to my new Facebook friend “Sylia”. Thank you for accepting me as I am.

Being considered “black enough” is something I have struggled with my entire life.  This is probably the one issue I did sympathize with presidential candidate Barack Obama on.  Did his Caucasian mother, Ivy League education, and light complexion exclude him for being black? Obviously not since over 95% of African Americans voted for Barack Obama. Had he been a republican candidate, I doubt the results would have been the same.  A sworn Democrat is the only way that one of African descent could ever be President of the United States of America.

After being called a derogatory name once again by an African American Obama supporter (who claimed to be a fiscal conservative yet she embraces Obama’s policies ????) it is clear that being a democrat is obviously essential to ones acceptance in the African American community. When I use the term acceptance I am referring to the sort of acceptance that means your are accepted unconditionally. Without names or prejudgments (which is actually prejudice) .  I am not referring to being the tolerated friend who gets dragged out of the closet when one needs an entertainment boost at the family picnic. You know the sort. I will pretend to respect your values until I am around my liberal friends/family and then I will join in on the can of verbal whoop ass against the black political sheep.

Any situation such as this should cause indignation and protest on the part of the black conservative but for various reasons, conservatives being conservatives, we are usually conservative about displaying our anger.  That is until you are like me and you snap. Not the going street on some folks kind of snapping you see on the Jerry Springer show, but rather the Afrocity no longer gives a damn sort of snapping.

A malnourished Somali child is wrapped in an American "Stars and Stripes" cloth at a therapeutic feeding center at Dagahaley camp in Dadaab in Kenya's northeastern province, June 8, 2009.

A malnourished Somali child is wrapped in an American "Stars and Stripes" cloth at a therapeutic feeding center at Dagahaley camp in Dadaab in Kenya's northeastern province, June 8, 2009.

The colors of the American flag are red, white and blue…How is it that America has become so black and white? How is it that Black America has become so rigid in its internal diversity that there is no allowance for dialogue which involves “alternative thinking”. Here alternative thinking is really not that alternative when one considers that Caucasians have frequent discussions on conservatism versus liberalism, religion, and sexual preference.  There are black conservative revolutionaries like Thomas Sowell who clearly see the destructive element among African Americans whose sole political identifications lie with the Democrats.  As a race we are devoid of true political understanding. A tension lies between what is logical or self advancing versus what is “black”.

Take for instance the situation with the mayoral race in Atlanta, Georgia.  Atlanta has typically always had a mayor of color, however this soon may change. From this article in the  Black Agenda Report:

From the Black Panther Newspaper, Image by Emory Douglass a frequent illustrator of the newspaper.

From the Black Panther Newspaper, Image by Emory Douglass a frequent illustrator of the newspaper.

The End of Black Politics As We Knew It: Will Atlanta’s Next Mayor Be White? Should We Even Care?

October 21, 2009

by Bruce A. Dixon

36 years of black Atlanta mayors have given birth to a thriving and empowered class of black managers, attorneys and contractors. But even after moving tens of thousands of poor blacks who once lived in public housing to areas beyond the city limits, fully one third of black Atlanta remains below the poverty level, making Atlanta number 5 in black poverty among the 40 largest US cities, according to current US Census data. So have the generation of black mayors and the crew that brought them in really done African Americans that much good?

The unfortunate answers are maybe, and maybe not.

The 1973 election of Maynard Jackson was supposed to be a great victory, among the first tangible fruits of the fifties and sixties Freedom Movement. The days of marching and striking and demonstrating and boycotting and defying unjust laws, black leaders told anybody who would listen, were over. It was time for those among us who were prepared by virtue of their educations, resumés, good suits and connections, to move into the corporate boardrooms that were now ready to accept them, and the political offices they could now be voted into. The mass movement which opened up those doors was disbanded and sent home. Collective action was to be a thing of the past, except for voting and patronizing black businesses.

Guaranteeing the prosperity of the black business class and the black elite, so the gospel went, was the indispensable key to the uplift of entire black communities. Because he assumed office at the beginning of Atlanta’s mega-airport construction project, Maynard Jackson was in a better position to prove this theory of black economic uplift than the first generation of black mayors in places like Newark or Gary or Cleveland. Jackson retained a visionary purchasing exec who skillfully leveraged mayoral power to spawn more than twenty new black millionaires in the first few years of his administration and lay the foundation for the thriving and empowered class of black contractors and professionals who dominate Atlanta’s political life today.

After 36 years, the results of this experiment are in. It’s a failure. Census data on black poverty rates in the 40 largest US cities reveal that the strategies of boosting black businesses, electing black officials, and locking in the prosperity of the black elite have done all those things without lifting black Atlanta any further out of poverty than cities like hard-hit Detroit or Chicago, which hasn’t seen a black mayor since the eighties, and both of which have lower densities of black businesses than Atlanta. In 2008 33.6% of black Atlanta was below the federal poverty rate, a higher number than Philadelphia or Columbus, higher than Houston or Memphis, or Kansas City or even Detroit. Nationally, Atlanta ranks number 5 in black poverty behind Milwaukee, Cleveland, Long Beach and Portland.

Atlanta has this alarming rate of black poverty despite fifteen years of one of the nation’s most aggressive efforts to bulldoze and clear lower income black neighborhoods.

In her book "Flag: An American Story," photographer Lauri Lyons documents our mixed emotions about the Stars and Stripes.

In her book "Flag: An American Story," photographer Lauri Lyons documents our mixed emotions about the Stars and Stripes.

Rather than caring whether or not a political candidate is of the right color and the right political party, shouldn’t we as African Americans be more concerned that the political candidate will do the right thing for our communities?  If most of America’s urban areas such as Atlanta are electing, black elites to office who continue to excel in their personal and professional lives, while their constituents continue to decline and lose their lives…then really what are we accomplishing by voting for such individuals?  Why are Chicagoans continuously electing the likes of Democrat Todd Stroger who raises sales tax to 10.25% in a city with 36% of African Americans below the poverty line?

Curse Afrocity for being a Republican all you want. Call me a slave, mammy, Auntie Tom. Accuse me of being a delusional black woman who curses my skin color every time I look at reflection in the mirror. I too sing for black America. I too care about our situation, but I will be damned if I am going to subvert my political freedom in order to pacify your need to adhere to the black political standard.

Autographed Letter Signed,

AFROCITY

 

Liberal Hypocrisy Files: The Mammy Diaries October 6, 2009

mammyAh, another beautiful day in post-racial America…Where those who agree with the liberal agenda  are shining happy sheeple holding hands…but if you are not watch out. The racism boogie man will get you.

However there are racist lined clouds in the sky.

You were warned that no one is safe. Not even Afrocity.

During a recent Face Book exchange with two African American Obama supporters and a British liberal, I was called something rather disturbing.

The insult was one that will be familiar to many black Republicans. I was called a mammy.

To be fair I will give the proper context before I post her exact quote. The exchange was about the Chicago’s now failed  2016 Olympic bid and Obama’s trip to Copenhagen.

I jumped in and commented that Obama should have stayed in the U.S. .

I was then given a response that basically said how it is about time that an African American was representing (blacks) and the commenter said they feel “free”.

In turn, I responded that it was sad that she needed Obama’s election win to feel free and proud as an African American.

Her following response was this:

…there are African Americans with the “mamie” complex and “yes sir” complex-they will argue and die for their master…and yes, it was a low … Read Moreblow!! The lack of black consciousness in this country is not as common as you think (thank God) especially in the east coast..@ Afrocity-you’re a really smart woman no … Read Moredoubt…probably smarter than all of us combined (you are special…maybe you grew up with some money I presume?)…but you’re not a progressive thinker…you’re a limited thinker with a one sided message—a sound bite– you only speak from the mind not the heart! Clearly, there are whites who hate you because of your skin color…NEO CONS don’t roll with blacks. NEO CONS golf at country clubs while making business deals… and you will always be seen the as help…helping a cause that benefits the wealthy with health care and corporate jets!! good for you!! I’m not one to kiss ass… There is some deep seated issues which goes beyond the scope of politics with you…and you are projecting all the negativity from the black experience and unaware of an audience that view you in a different light than you see yourself…..

auntjemima_1The formative powers of post-racial America’s race card are also turning black republicans and conservatives into mammy dolls and Uncle Tom’s.

According to the commenter, I am

1. ignorant of the fact that white people hate me.

2. I never speak sincerely from my own heart.

3. …”roll” with NEO-CONS who don’t roll with me (?)

4. I am viewed by my fellow conservatives as “help”. In other words my Caucasian conservative friends/readers see me as their …maid…mammy, pickin’ cotton.

Like Condi Rice, Afrocity needs to go back to the Inner-City Racial Re-Education Camp

Like Condi Rice, Afrocity needs to go back to the Inner-City Racial Re-Education Camp

5. Also my readers view me in “different light” than I view myself.

negro-mammySo tell me white racist conservative readers.

How do you view Afrocity?

And please do not hold anything back.

1902 "topsy turvey doll" for self-loathing black conservatives like myself. Sometimes I like to pretend I am white you know.

1902 "topsy turvey doll" for self-loathing black conservatives like myself. Sometimes I like to pretend I am white you know. So I just lift up my skirt and presto change o' cotton balls...I am white just like that.

If you see me shining your Doc Martin combat boots, be honest and say so.

Envision me in your kitchen making chitterlin’ pineapple casserole? Speak up about it. Remove your white hoods so I can see your faces.

By all means confess your antebellum thoughts and desires. I can take it like a good slave.

Obviously I was a fool to actually believe that my conservative friends saw me as being an equal. I should have known when you failed to hand me a welfare application that you guys were all racist in your views.

How dare you praise me for uplifting myself from a childhood of reliance on government funding and homelessness!!! Why didn’t you send me an invitation to become Face Book friends with the food stamp fan club???


mammydoll1335


Autographed Letter Signed,

AFORCITY

Oh. PS…Black male republicans don’t think you guys are off the hook either. Like yours truly, you are self-loathing black people and have an identity crisis.

236_cartoon_uncle_thomas_emerge_large



 

Sunday Soliloquy: Afrocity’s Hellfire and Dalmatian Sermon September 6, 2009

English Oil Painting of Dalmatian

English Oil Painting of Dalmatian

On Friday I went out of town, hoping to avoid the bumper to bumper traffic, I decided to take the side street which cut through an old neighborhood I grew up in. I was both horrified and disappointed. It should not have been surprising to me because I had seen the streets just six months earlier. But somehow I can’t go back there without hoping to look at things with fresh eyes. I would have no such luck on Friday. African Americans were in the streets, literally in the streets, confronting cars asking for money, cursing. Huddles of gray haired men were playing dominoes with their pants hanging below their butt cracks.
dalmatians
It was hard to believe that I walked these very same streets during the 1980′s. Most of the stores I remembered are now closed. The signs are still there but the building facades were hollow shells. Even the police station I used to drop off abandoned kittens in was now boarded up and occupied by derelicts clinging to paper bagged bottles.

What was my local supermarket had turned into a “Dollar Tree” store. No need to worry about boycotting your local Whole Foods in this neighborhood. I would argue that even the marijuana is not organic. Does Odwalla make Tang?

On Friday, the prize for the neighborhood’s healthiest food selection went to Jimmy Chan’s Chicken Wing shack. 12 fried chicken wings for $3.I could see a young mom standing in Jimmy Chan’s plopping hot sauce on top of her chicken wings as her toddler son grabbed at her strawberry blond hair weave. Finally she stuck a wing in his small but grabby hands.

A chicken wing meal is okay every now and then but seriously, where are the grocery stores?  A couple of years ago, I was introduced to a sad and troubling term – “food desert”.

From Wikipedia:

A food desert is a district with little or no access to foods needed to maintain a healthy diet, but often served by plenty of fast food restaurants.

The concept of ‘access’ may be interpreted in three separate ways.

‘Physical access’ to shops can be difficult if the shops are distant, the shopper is elderly or infirm, the area has many hills, public transport links are poor, and the consumer has no car. Also, the shop may be across a busy road, difficult to cross with children or with underpasses that some fear to use because of a crime risk. For some, such as the disabled, the inside of the shop may be hard to access physically if there are steps up, or the interior is cramped with no room for walking aids. Carrying fresh food home may also be hard for some.

Map showing food deserts in Chicago. My old neighborhood is district 25. From Chicago Tribune.

Map showing food deserts in Chicago. My old neighborhood is district 25. From Chicago Tribune.

‘Financial access’ is difficult if the consumer lacks the money to buy healthy foods (generally more expensive, calorie for calorie, than less healthy, sugary, and fatty ‘junk foods’) or if the shopper cannot afford the bus fare to remote shops selling fresh foods and instead uses local fast food outlets. Other forms of financial access barriers may be inability to afford storage space for food, or for the very poor, living in temporary accommodation that does not offer good cooking facilities.

Thirdly, the mental attitude or food knowledge of the consumer may prevent them accessing fresh vegetables. They may lack cooking knowledge, or have the idea that eating a healthy diet isn’t important.

In some urban areas, grocery stores have withdrawn alongside residents that have fled to the suburbs (see urban sprawl). Low income earners and senior citizens who remain find healthy foods either unavailable or inaccessible as a result of high prices and/or unreachable locations.

In rural areas local fresh food outlets have closed leaving shoppers without cars in these areas with difficult access to healthy foods, as rural bus services have also declined. Whilst the idea of ‘food deserts’ in the early 21st century has mainly an urban flavour, the first case studies into difficulties faced by consumers accessing healthy foods were made in rural English villages. The Women’s Institute looked at the plight of elderly car-less widows left stranded by closure of village shops and withdrawal of bus services as far back as the 1970s.

dalmationAside from the hunting and gathering nourishment issues, I wondered where the children went to school and even more importantly, where are their leaders?

Here my use of “children” also extends to adults.

Where are the political leaders in this neighborhood?  Chicagoans elect an aldermen for every neighborhood. They are usually Democrats. There are no term limits. Once elected, they often do nothing for the districts they represent.

It is also not uncommon in Chicago for an alderman to be caught living in a wealthy part of town while serving a “ghetto”. Is this presently the case with my old neighborhood? I must say that things have certainly NOT improved since I left in 1989. Red roses used to bloom in front of some of the homes that are now condemned.  Street gang insignia has replaced the hopscotch chalk drawings on the sidewalks I used to play.

Now bevies of soon to be teen-aged moms were on the prowl. In the inner city, a common form of after school recreation is walking the streets with your girlfriends looking for boys (trouble). I tried it a few times myself when I was that age, though don’t think we were dressed as scantily as they are now.  Still, I only lasted the excursion for several blocks as my middle school friend Nan was far more boy savvy than I. Nan had proudly lost her virginity at 9 years of age while watching the movie Popeye in her cousins house. He had Showtime cable and all she wanted was to see a movie. She left that day with a lot less.

Nan’s mother, a welfare hound with 5 kids and no job was perhaps more beautiful and ambitious than my mother but not nearly as encouraging of Nan’s future out of the ghetto. If there was such thing as being ambitious yet a lifetime welfare recipient Nan’s mother was good at stealing men from their wives and getting half of their paycheck and a new gold chain. Nan admired her mother’s entrepreneurial spirit and  once told me that she knew the same thing would happen to her and it did. In college, I learned that Nan had three kids. We were only 20.

dalmation2

Now snapped back into 2009, I stopped at a red light. I kept my gaze off the man in the car next to me who was making eyes as two kids were fighting in the back seat of his rusty Toyota. At the corner, a boy was pressing his body against a girl that looked no older than 13. They were in an abandoned store front filled with nightclub fliers and empty beer cans. The girl’s hair was uncombed and kinky, her shorts were tight. She shoved the boy away but it was a teasing game. I wanted to approach her and say “please practice abstinence, stay in school” but the light turned green and it was not my place anyway. She will most likely be a mom by next year.

Children having children. Again where are the leaders? Again the police station once there was closed. A pretty good indication that you have officially slid south is when your own police station believes your neighborhood is too bad to stay in and the Mayor lets them leave.

The "Blue Light Special" in Chicago. These are boxes installed  by the city police to indicate high crime areas in Chicago's inner city.

The "Blue Light Special" in Chicago. These are boxes installed by the city police to indicate high crime areas in Chicago's inner city.

The only authority in sight was the Chicago Police Department’s “blue light” special cameras installed on the light posts. No sight was a suitable place to anchor my lust for a tiny moment of nostalgia until I saw the fire station. It was the place where I saw my first dalmatian.

dogs_17Wanting a puppy was a major part of my childhood, being homeless was a unfortunate situation Mother and I were in that did not lend itself to responsible  pet ownership. The fire station was the first place where I saw my dream, dog breed. On hot summer days there was an old woman who would sell snow cones. The 25 cent cups of shaved ice and coconut syrup would cool my mother down just enough to get us back home after carrying bags of groceries as far as 10 blocks. Stores had switched from paper to plastic bags. They were easier to carry but the plastic would stick to my skin while canned goods and boxes of powdered milk and eggs banged against my ankles. Taking the bus was not an option. We did not have the 50 cents, even for my reduced student rate. Eventually after trudging several blocks or so, we would stop to rest at a bench or sidewalk curb. Nearing the fire station meant that I may get a snow cone and take a peek at the Dalmatian who worked with the firemen. I never really knew much about the breed, just that I wanted one someday when I had a place of my own.

By now, I was back in friendly territory, with each passing block the neighborhoods got whiter and whiter. I had gone from African American neighborhoods to Latino neighborhoods, to the grunge hipsters of Wicker Park, to Michigan Avenue where the Chanel stores and Gucci handbag carriers resided. My apartment building was blocks away. Collecting my mail, I said hello to my friendly doorman and the urban professionals who I once watched from afar, now my neighbors walking pedigreed pups as they carried Starbucks iced coffee beverages and briefcases.

Francois and I

Francois and I

Despite the safety and serenity of my stainless steel applianced apartment, I could not take the images I had just witnessed back in “da hood” for granted.

My pal Francois greeted me with a wagging tail and nudge for food. There was a time when it seemed impossible that such a blessing would be within my grasp. Something I had always wished for was sitting right in my lap, a Dalmatian. She is my testament that we all turn a corner in our lives where we are responsible for materializing our  own happiness.

Saturday in an email battle, an impassioned Obama supporter labeled me as a hater and white person who was “hiding behind a black face” . Now successful and a Republican, I have somehow lost my membership in the black club.

The woman in the email seemed to have little idea about me or my past struggles. With a barrage of incoherent liberal talking points which she proudly declared as giving conservatives a dose of  “whup ass”, the woman tells me that GOP party chairman Michael Steele would “not be where he is today” if it were not for Barack Obama.

This assumption is beyond laughable. Michael Steel was destined to be everything Michael Steel he is and was before Barack Obama came onto the scene.

To suggest that the GOP only made him chairman of the party because of his race is highly hypocritical, especially coming from a liberal Democrat. This is further evidence that African Americans in the Democratic Party are beholden to the same old myth that blacks need Caucasians to hand us something in order to be successful.

This is why affirmative action is paramount to the livelihood of so many liberal minorities. Whites can never be trusted to actually hire a person of color on their own merits. At the time when Nixon enacted affirmative action, it culminated out of the days of segregated schools and civil rights demonstrations. Now the 40 year old government imposed system of quotas needs a face lift.

This woman’s remarks are a prime exemplify the psyche of the Democrat who is fixated on what blacks can’t achieve without the DNC or what I call on the plantation mentality.

Francois and IThere is no inspiration to be found in such ideologies. Shrewdly, though, the woman was quick to point out that I had left my blackness behind because I had left the Democratic party.

The dog in front of me was perfect. A blending of black and white all living on one body. A beautiful white background with black spots. Why can’t we be like this? A whimper and sad blue eyes told me that feeling chastised for being an African American Republican was the least of my worries. My dreams had turned into a living breathing reality. The spotted canine companion did not care who I voted for, she just wanted to be fed.

Autographed Letter Signed,

AFROCITY

franny and I


 

Moby Cop: Afrocity Becomes Targeted by Left Wing Moonbats August 18, 2009

afro blogger

I knew the day would come when the attacks on me would get personal. The moby cops have alerted me to some anti-Afrocity moonbats. Come to think of it, I have noticed an increase of moby-ish comments being made here. As you can see from the picture above, this is pretty much Afrocity in her blogging habitat, dalmatians and all. See me sleeping peacefully…laptop in starting position…just another innocent blogger.

Unbeknown to me was that Afrocity has a hater base.

Postings and comments about me from Padagon another blog.

Ways To Get Me Malcolm X On Your Ass

Batsh*t CrazyRace

A word of advice.  Well, a few words, actually.

If you are a conservative black person trying to convince the overwhelming majority of black people to stop voting for Democrats, do not call us ”original recipe dark pieces of chicken”.  Similarly, if I want you to vote for Democrats, I will not call you a retrograde shitstain on Michael Steele’s Lando Calrissian Underoos.

Deal?

Comments:

“I refuse to read anything Afrocity writes until I see his original Kenyan birth certificate.”

“OMG, on top of dehumanizing blacks , Afrocity was deeply misogynist and she is a black woman ?

Self hatred doesn’t begin to describe it. What’s next ? Afrocity is jewish and carries Obama = Hitler posters ?”


Since Panda bat mentioned shit stains, I will take a moment to mention what I think about things one finds in one’s pants but would rather not discuss.  At the point when I received an email with an animated gif of a burning cross, compliments of one of your readers, I felt the need to speak. Firstly thank you Panda for sending readers my way. Any attention is good attention. Autographed Letter Signed received over 1,000 extra hits due to your post about me. (thumbs up, wink)

Blog wars are shit stains. I do not participate in them because I feel that a person’s blog is an expression of their creativity. That being said, I will never comment or devote an entire post to a blogger. I just don’t give a fuck to be honest with you and only a loser would go trolling blogs just to find opposition material for their own blog.  I will comment about news stories or events and that is about it.  Most of my content is derived from my heart and experience as an African American woman. If anyone has a different experience great. Go blog about it.  And don’t try that moby shit. It wont work here. What is a “moby”  you may ask?

From Urban Dictionary.com

1. moby

An insidious and specialized type of left-wing troll who visits blogs and impersonates a conservative for the purpose of either spreading false rumors intended to sow dissension among conservative voters, or who purposely posts inflammatory and offensive comments for the purpose of discrediting the blog in question.

The term is derived from the name of the liberal musician Moby, who famously suggested in February of 2004 that left-wing activists engage in this type of subterfuge: “For example, you can go on all the pro-life chat rooms and say you’re an outraged right-wing voter and that you know that George Bush drove an ex-girlfriend to an abortion clinic and paid for her to get an abortion. Then you go to an anti-immigration Web site chat room and ask, ‘What’s all this about George Bush proposing amnesty for illegal aliens?’”

The strategy has been frequently attempted on conservative blogs, but has not been nearly as effective as Moby envisioned, since false rumors are easily debunked by fact-checking minions, and cartoonishly extreme commenters often get immediately identified as mobys and banned.


If you see any moby activity on my blog, please let me know. This includes if it is PUMAs

There are no “birthers” here or Death to Tiller fans.

I also despise blogs that devote themselves to hating other blogs such as the unmentionable anti-PUMA blogs.

This is the last I will speak of this, and frankly I find it humorous. But really, there are more important things for bloggers to post about than me.

Fly  along  moonbat, nothing to see here.  No one has to “convince” African Americans to stop blindly voting for Democrats. They are in a prison cell with the door wide open and no guard.  Remember, admitting you are codependent is step one.

Autographed Letter Signed,

Afrocity

 

Sunday Soliloquy: If You Love Someone…Set Them Free August 9, 2009

jesse 2

Rumor has it that every time an African American baby is born, a Democrat get his wings.

My blog would not be rewarding if it didn’t tell the truth. We could not be friends if I did not look you in the eye and say exactly what is on my mind.

Can I get a shout out from my African American readers? (Elder J waves his hand)

How many of you are Democrats? (Elder J,  puts down his hand)

spineOkay, for those of you who are African American, and a Democrat please tell me how it feels to have possibly 99.9% of Americans know how you are going to vote, 99.9% of the time? How does it feel to be so predictable that no politician cares about advancing your causes anymore? Sorry, not even the black politicians.

What do you do when you are taken for granted and your man cheats on you? You lose your “shine” and he begins to court others? Women, Latinos, gays and lesbians…

He does not care about you anymore. Why should he?

You are always going to be there waiting in bed for him when he staggers home at night no matter how badly he neglects you. His dinner will always be waiting for him, warmed in the oven.

Yes, it is all your fault.

You have provided little if any contrary evidence that you are nothing more than a doormat. Step on it, brush it off, roll it up, store it in the closet for several election cycles, open the storage room, look for it beneath the old Ku Klux Klan robes Democrats would wear and there it still is…The Black VOTE. Loyal as wounded puppy kicked by its owner.

Oh sure, it snarls. Sometimes it barks about getting a spine replacement. Does it bite? Never.

The Party of Ass knows this and relies upon this unfortunate truth to do whatever it does not want to do for blacks.  Historical predictability is an invaluable partner for the Democrats.

Like a KFC fried chicken dinner, one can expect the  original recipe dark pieces of chicken. Blacks will give their thighs, legs and sweat for the DNC. In return they get a bland Styrofoam cup of mashed potatoes and a stale white guilt bread roll.  As with any relationship, there will be spats along the way.  Some customer will always come in to redeem a coupon. They will want more in the form of political positions, laws, or campaign contributions .

democrat-road

When Al Gore lost his bid for the presidency in 2000, it was evident that African American voters had not turned out as they should have. It was even more evident when John Kerry challenged President George Bush in 2004.  Afrocity did not vote in that election.

By that point, my enthusiasm for the political process  of voting had depleted.  It would take time for me to realize that it was not the process I loathed, it was my chosen – or I should say my pre-ordained party that contrasted with everything I believed in. Freedom from government intervention, fiscal responsibility, and lower taxes.

I packed my bags and left. It was an unhappy marriage and why would I want to stay in it for another moment?

Of course the jackass begged me to stay. Threats of losing my blackness and accusations of self loathing were flung in my direction.

Nope. These donkey hoofs were made for walking.

He offered me the change he said I needed.

What was this “change” I wondered. There was a gift for me by the door. I sat down my suitcase, shook the gift to check for bombs. The gift was wrapped in transparency and had a familiar smell. Postmarked from Chicago, Illinois with Martin Luther King Jr.  and Rosa Park stamps all over it.  I opened it, and there it was. BarackObama. The same damn fried chicken dinner but this time it was “Popeyed-up” with red beans and rice. Dirty rice at that. How sweet for the jackass to include a doughy buttermilk biscuit that I could chew on for hours.  It took a heart of stone for me to turn such a lovely racially thoughtful gift away but I was far more politically advanced than the jackass had anticipated.  Suitcase in hand, I opened the door and left screaming kids  in soiled diapers grabbing at my feet and all. Having been shocked, the jackass just stood there in the doorway holding the Kool Aid drink with a straw sticking out. My lips would not touch it.   He had super-sized me for nothing.  (Donkey shrugs shoulders, sucks on straw in cup).

A video which justifies my feelings for black democrats in political positions.

(Hat tip “Racer X” from Little Green Footballs)

Autographed Letter Signed,

Afrocity

 

Senator Boxer’s Minority Death Match:UPDATE July 21, 2009

irony1

California Senator Barbara Boxer (D) was thrown a knock out punch by Black Chamber of Commerce CEO Harry Alford.  I have never liked Boxer before this incident and I care less for her afterward. Bravo to Harry Alford for calling Barbara Boxer out on playing the race card.

Townhall.com

Boxer Reamed By Black Man For Racial Condescension

By Greg Hengler

July 18, 2009

Clip comes via Ed Morrissey at HotAir. Watch the National Black Chamber of Commerce President and CEO Harry Alford accuse Senator Boxer (D-CA) of playing race politics during an EPW Committee hearing on green jobs. You can almost see steam coming out of his ears.

Too bad blacks in America fails to see what Mr. Alford is probably experiencing for the first time from his so-called liberal/Democrat friends. Unfortunately, unless problems arrive on one’s doorstep, they fail to exist.

You may recall that Senator Boxer is the same woman who just a few months ago, barked at a military officer for calling her ma’am.

As I have stated in past my posts, Democrats irritate me beyond belief when they treat African Americans like children, which is not true equality. Conservatives have said this to the democratic for years.  Obviously Mr. Alford was not getting on board with the Democrats and their environmental concerns including the teachings from the  Holy Goran.  Senator Boxer like a good Democrat had to remind Mr. Alford that he is indeed black. Alford fought back by telling her that she was being a condescending racist.

UPDATE: I forgot to include the footage from Mr. Alford’s appeareance on the O’Reilly Factor


 

Afrocity on the road: With what majesty do we there ride above the storms! June 18, 2009

Afrocity on the steps of Monticello in Charlottesville, VA

Afrocity on the steps of Monticello in Charlottesville, VA

“And our own dear Monticello, where has nature spread so rich a mantel under the eye? mountains, forests, rocks, rivers. With what majesty do we there ride above the storms! How sublime to look down into the workhouse of nature, to see her clouds, hail, snow, rain, thunder, all fabricated at our feet! And the glorious Sun, when rising as if out of a distant water, just gilding the tops of the mountains, and giving life to all nature!”

-Thomas Jefferson 1786

Monticello 023Dear Readers,

I want to apologize for my delay in posting to Autographed Letter Signed. I have been in Virgina for the past few days. I call it my “American Tour”. Words cannot describe how I feel when I am in touch which the relics of American History and my stop at Monticello, the estate of Thomas Jefferson did not fail to move me to tears. As I walked through the stately neoclassical structure and the serene, lush gardens I cannot pretend that the lives of the slaves did not figure prominently in my thoughts. There was a distinctive tension between beauty and sadness. Beauty represented by the picturesque grounds, the well preserved furniture, the awesome bond that one feels with America upon seeing Jefferson’s original chess set, his bed or the portrait of Martha Jefferson – the only female member of the family not to die during childbirth. She would raise 11 children.   This brings us to the ghosts of sadness.  Sadness when one thinks that the labor involved with maintaining such a grand place relied on slave labor, over 400 slaves to be exact, I felt the need to pray. The African American Graveyard was the proper place for this. I thanked God for my freedom and the opportunity to be born free in the greatest country in the world. I thanked god for the lives of the slaves and the wonderful work they did on Monticello. I prayed that the slaves were at peace and free from shackles literally as well as those which were self imposed.

40 slaves are buried at the Monticello African American graveyard

40 slaves are buried at the Monticello African American graveyard

I stood before those graves, wearing nice clothes and a postgraduate education, swatting the dragonflies. I would have made a terrible slave, it was so hot and humid- and those hills! I looked from the windows of Monticello and wondered if the view I saw was the same that Sally Hemmings looked at everyday.

The social hierarchy of the time was present in placement of the slave quarters, particularly the kitchen. The kitchen was far away from the main house. A loudspeaker piped in the kitchen sounds. Slave women were humming as they prepared the 1/2 Virginian, 1/2 French meals that Jefferson so loved. The community of unpaid cooks and servants. At that moment, I was so glad to be a Republican.  Why have African Americans come so far only to trade their true liberty for the false security offered by the Democrats and their government programs?

Individual freedom is what this country was founded upon. A copy of the Declaration of Independence hung in Monticello, our tour guide  explained that while the words “All men are created equal” were included, Thomas Jefferson was a man of contradiction. Slavery was in direct opposition to the American Dream.  The constitution says nothing about our right to abortion or heath care but it does afford us the freedom to carve our own destiny. This battle in Washington, DC  does  not concern health care or abortion or the economy. Not really. The battle is about individualism versus collectivism. The slaves collectively cleaned the “masser’s”  house, tended his gardens, cooked his food, raised his children. I as an individual and citizen of the United States of America  am free to walk away from that plantation. I am no body’s slave. Yes as an American, I have obligations to my country, obligations to my family, my community – my very own social contact with America,but that is my choice as an individual. Collective life  demeans and stifles freedom. People who rely upon the government are slaves. Forgive my proselytizing but my rant is simply my shocked reaction to Americans who feel that it is the job of government to be our master and guide. When I see the slave quarters at Monticello, I intuitively respond with anger and strong justification to be proud of my life’s accomplishments- post poverty, post welfare.

Taking a stroll in the Monticello garden.

Taking a stroll in the Monticello garden.

NBRA Cartoon Obama Socialism1Monticello is a gorgeous home. Thomas Jefferson was a great man, a scholar, a man of books. Despite his faults he is a founding father of my country. He may not have wanted me, an African American woman to stand before his great home a free woman. I walked through his dining room as a guest, not a servant. I did not use the slave entrance and when I was finished with my visit, I did something that Jefferson’s slaves could not do…I left on my own.

God Bless America

Autographed Letter Signed,

Afrocity

Monticello 014

Monticello 025

Many great men have walked the path to this house.

Many great men have walked the path to this house.

 

 
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