Sho' nuff, if it ain't no shame in their game.

Per usual, when I venture into The Outer Limits of my spaced out cranial system, you can be sure my spin will be on the dark side. So, mayhap, I should first warn Black faces in high places to censure this epistle from their male pickanninies, because my Eyeview is why my man-child (that proudly proclaims to be a “Chip” off the old block), is currently being held captive in a TDCJ cellblock. Hey, I don't want to corrupt nice, respectable young brothers who aspire to become what brainwashed sisters call “a good Black man.” Henceforth, you have my permission to emulate those four handicapped primates (Monkeys that see, hear, speak, or know no evil) that intelligent Black folks “ape” in the land of the free. Denial notwithstanding, we elders are duty bound to explain why T.O. is pro sport's current whipping boy. Hello Barry Bonds.

In addition, a warrior/griot would be remiss not to expose the historical pattern of putting bold, arrogant, defiant African Bucks in their place. Hey, I would rather leave the social orientation of our confused, young African warriors to our intelligentsia. But, alas, they fail to grasp the concept of being flogged economically, instead of a lash. Aw come on and pray with shallow minded brothers, my sisters, and me you think T. O. is a damn fool for forfeiting “all of that money” because of his misguided notion of manhood? Shazam! Like the stupid Black preachers are wont to do during passionate sermons, “Touch your neighbor” and tell them that the old warrior is gonna talk about manhood. Yeah, yeah, I hear The Twilight Zone theme. Hey! Any good communicator will tell you to never, ever, break a captive audience's focus once you get their attention.

Nevertheless, to each his own. Meanwhile, let's talk T.O.'s desperate need of manhood lessons. Lest he'll keep making a fool out of himself under the guise of not being scared to express his opinions. Conversely, I'm first to tell a nonviolent brother to never try to prove his manhood with his African soupbones. Be well advised, my dear, confused, nappy headed, young warriors, getting your ass kicked because you're too proud to run ain't worth “50 Cent.” Surely, a frontal assault-- against impossible odds, sans somebody at your back-- is courageous. It's also dumb. Verily, verily I say unto you, my young Bucks , the main thing separating men from grizzly bears is an ability to think critically. Death before dishonor aside, but you can believe that a smart warrior realizes that there're smorgasbords of ways to put hurt on a powerful foe.

And if you don't believe that, I'll give you bin Laden's cell phone number. Yeah, yeah, I know T. O. To cut and run is punking out in the ‘hood. Then again, I understood where my Uncle Blue was coming from, when a 5 th Ward thug pulled his gun to discourage him from filleting him with his “Texas Jack.” “Did you run Uncle Blue?” I asked. “Hell naw,” Uncle Blue chuckled, “I shot him with my knife.” Square business, what I want to tell T. O. is that the key to being a strong Black man is: saying what you mean, mean what you say and don't give a damn who don't like it. Yet, a smart man knows when to hold ‘em, fold ‘em, walk away, or run…. so that he'll never have to eat his words.

Shame, shame, shame on you T. O. “Crawfishing” with that public apology (after the Eagle's plantation started flogging you economically), ain't no difference from Kunte Kinta whining, “My name is Toby,” when old “Boss” put that whip on his arrogant Black behind. I wonder if anybody knows where I'm coming from?