Racist Kids And The Chameleon - 3

The inner office reeked of a mixture of cologne, leather and pipe smoke. Standing in the doorway, now with a scared look on my face, I started towards the oversized burgundy leather couch. The principal stopped me and said, “Sit there!” pointing to a single wooden chair in the corner of the room. As I sat down, fear descended upon me.

The principal began by asking me what I had done…but he really did not care. I sat there and listened to him scold and talk down to me like I was not even worthy of being in “His” school. After leaving his office, I sat in the hall for a few minute and knew that this was going to be a battle. I put my plan into action…full force. The year started with my classroom remarks, making jokes, throwing crumpled papers at the teacher’s desk, and talking back to the teacher. I would get in trouble EVERYDAY and at least 3 times a week I would end up in the principal’s office. I knew that this was not good, but I also noticed that the other kids in the class were starting to laugh at me...whether it was something I said…or the fashion in which I was sent off to see the principal…shit…I did not care, they were actually laughing with me.

I carefully weighed the progress that I was making with the other kids against the trouble I was getting in at school and knew that I had to withstand the punishment that I got from my parents for the good of my physical safety. As the year progressed, fewer of the kids started fights with me and some actually prodded me, in class, to tell jokes and harass the teacher so that they could laugh. I was more than willing to accommodate them. There were still a few of the “tough guy” kids that wanted a piece of me and I knew that this would not end until I was able to hold my own on the playground.

I remember approaching the stairwell that led down to the lunch room one day and seeing a few of these kids standing at the landing…just waiting. I cleared my head and knew that I would have to fight them. There were three of them and I was terrified. As I got closer to them, I averted my eyes to see if I’d be able to just walk by them. That was not going to happen. They moved from leaning against the wall to blocking access to the stairs. I stood there not knowing what to do. There were people behind me and the stairwell above became crowded with kids watching this development. The three started to approach me, when from behind me, I heard a voice of another boy yell out, “one at a time!” I was in complete shock…there was someone that was standing up for me.

I quickly numbed myself, as I had learned to do over the years, balled up my fists and got into a fighting stance. The biggest of the boys moved forward. All I could see at that point was his huge fists. I knew that I would have to avoid them at all costs. The first swing came at my face. Quickly ducking, I felt his fist fly over my head. I backed up and he swung again, this time for my gut. I doubled over in pain as his fist seemed to go straight through me. Just then I told myself that if I did not beat this kid, I would really be in for it and that the plan that was working…would have been a complete waste and things would go back to the way they were. I struck out from where I was and landed a fist to his balls. (shit. I did not care about fair fighting…they never did.) He let out a yelp and went to a knee. I stood straight up and punched him square in the nose followed by the hardest kick I had ever delivered, straight to the center of his chest. The other two boys looked at each other and moved toward me. I did not know who to go after first …so I waited for them. As they approached, a boy from behind them held one of them back. I did not hesitate in my attack. I swiftly began to punch and kick this boy until his friend did not have to be restrained anymore…he just stood there and watched as I bloodied his “tough guy” friend.

A few minutes later, there was yelling from the top of the stairs. It was a teacher coming. Everyone disbursed and ran in different directions. That is...everyone except me. I just stood there with two boys in front of me, blood on there faces and blood splattered on my shoes and dripping from my hands. The teacher got to the landing and immediately grabbed me, while looking at the two kids’ injuries. Needles to say, they went to the nurse and me…off to the principal. Now, with my record with the principal…I was scared of what he might do.

The principal made me sit in his office, on that hard wooden chair for the rest of the day. I sat there, unable to say a word as he called my mother and told her about the incident. I did not know what she was saying, but his recount of what had happened was so ill-founded…the jerk wasn’t even there. I did worry about what I would say to my mother when I got home. I did not want her to make a big stink…knowing that it would only make things worse….but I was not the instigator of the fight and I wanted to be able to tell her that…but I knew that I couldn’t.

After that day, I found that my plan was indeed working. I not only had kids actually laughing WITH me but there were a few that would talk to me. Things got better from there. I still had fights here and there, was in trouble with teachers and the principal a lot…but I was making friends and the tough guys started to think twice before jumping me. Now that I had proven that I could fight.

The year was tough but I ended it with a couple pretty good friends…and a girlfriend. That was a great way to end a year in my book.

Racist Kids And The Chameleon - 2

It was never one on one and I could no longer just try to defend myself…I had to think of something to get out of the fights. Being outnumbered the way I was…I knew that I had to find another way. The fights …and hiding continued through 4th grade and that is when I finally figured that if I could not beat them, I’d have to find a way to join them. I spent that summer trying to figure out a way to make everyone like me …or at least put up with me.

Mid summer, it came to me. Now, I had 5 brothers and sisters and at home, I was a pretty funny guy and I also found that I had the ability to “change.” I could adjust my attitude and personality to fit well with the person that I was with. I spent the rest of the summer honing my chameleon-like skills…as well as my humor. It was going to be all or nothing this year. I could not continue hiding bruises, bloody nooses and fat lips on top of lying about the cuts and scrapes that I had gotten used to over the past few years.

At the arrival of the first day of 5th grade, I was waiting for the bus with my brothers and sisters. I was overrun with anxiety about the day ahead of me. With the recent years of practice I had become a pretty tough kid, but there was only so much I could do while outnumbered. I got frustrated, thinking of how I might be able to avoid the impending beatings that day. Just then, the bus pulled up. After watching my siblings hurry onto the bus and find seats with their friends, I realized that once again I would have to sit alone in the back seat.

Staring out the window, seeing a miserable little boy in the reflection in the glass, I knew that I had to change things…NOW. Hearing the laughter and fooling around in the seats in front of me made the silence and solitude of the back seat that much more intense. The 20 minute ride to school usually seemed like an eternity, but that day …it was different. By the time the bus pulled up in front of the school the reflection that I saw in the window had changed …to one resembling that of a scientist discovering the cure for a deadly disease. I had an idea and with all of the courage that I could muster…would try it today.

Making my way down the long corridor to class, I noticed the usual dirty looks, snickering and racist comments following me as I walked. I quickly took refuge in my classroom, which was empty for the moment. I sat at a desk and put more thought into the details of my plan. Smiling to myself, I was startled when the door opened again. It was Mrs. Brooks, my new teacher. As she walked in and closed the door, she looked over at me and greeted me with a smile and “good morning.” After putting her things down at her desk, she turned and asked me if everything was OK. Now I knew Mrs. Brooks from last year…she was one teacher that had always treated me fairly…and now I was going to ruin that. I, trying to hide the unfamiliar mischievous smile on my face, told her that everything was fine.

Just then, letting my eyes move back down to their normal position…staring at the front of my desk, as to not attract any unwanted attention. I watched as the other kids in the class started to file into the small classroom. All of the chatter and moving around ceased as Mrs. Brooks rose from her desk. My anxiety was high and I know that I was sweating profusely. I was lost in my own head, trying to decide when I should put my new plan into action.

I knew that my attitude change could not be too drastic – I needed this to work. After about 15 minutes, I found my first opportunity for my plan to start. After the class was done reciting the Pledge of Allegiance, the class was silent, waiting for our teacher to sit down and prepare for class. All of the sudden a fart erupted and echoed throughout the entire room. The whole class began to burst out into laughter…all except Mrs. Brooks. As the other kids in the class saw the extremely irritated look in her eyes, there were suddenly about a dozen fingers pointed directly at me.

Mrs. Brooks marched through the classroom and stood over me, with her hands on her hips. The look on her face was one of complete disgust and anger. This was a new side of her…one that I had never seen before. Her daunting presence gave off a very unfamiliar air of unemotional superiority from her…which was far different than the empathy and safety that I had felt …until now. Mrs. Brooks instructed me to stand up. As I did, she barked, “Why did you do that? It disrupted the entire class.” My planned response, an attempt to make my classmates laugh again – “I only burped…it just came out of my ass.”

Mrs. Brooks grabbed me by the back of my neck, obviously not worried about the fingernails that were working their way beneath my skin. She stormed me down the hall to the principal’s office. Upon entering the outer office, Mrs. Brooks informed the secretary that I had disrupted the class and was being vulgar and rude. On her way out the door, she glanced over her shoulder and added, I don’t want to see him in my classroom until after lunch.”

The secretary pointed to a row of hard wooden chairs across from her desk and instructed me to “sit.” She then quickly picked up her phone and whispered something …while glaring at me. Perched atop one of the uncomfortable wooden chairs, my eyes surveyed the room. There was a mixture of pictures, certificates and school rules pined to the textured walls. Until now…I had never noticed anything about this office…I had been here before, but generally stared at the floor. Time seemed to stand still, but it was really only a matter of minutes before the phone buzzed. The secretary looked at me and said, “He’ll see you now.”

Racist Kids And The Chameleon

Stemming from my adoption…I will give you a bit of a back story on me.

My natural mother is white and natural father is black (making me…an Oreo.) I was adopted in 1967, when I was 10 days old by a very loving couple (both white.) They already had one daughter and then had a miscarriage, so they decided to adopt me. Now, I can’t say how I felt then…cuz I was tiny little thing that only knew to cry, poo and eat. What I can say is that we lived in rural New Hampshire…where everything (except the leaves in the Fall) was white. Oh….but not me…I was/am more of a caramel. Anyway, life was good, at least from where I sat and in my baby world.

As I got a bit older (5 or 6), I started to experience racism…and this was even before I really knew what it was. I obviously knew that I looked different than EVERYONE…but I just thought that everyone WAS different…some pale, some pinkish, some fat, some skinny, some had black hair, some blonde, etc. I guess that I never really brought it up cuz I thought my skin was a bit darker. Boy it would be great if everyone had my 6 year old attitude. Soon after going into first grade and coming home from school with stories of people being mean and not seeing anyone else that looked anything like me, my mother sat me down for a discussion.

My mother told me that (in a longer, more descriptive way) that I was adopted and that one of my natural parents was black. At the time…I guess that was enough…now I knew why I was different. The community that we lived in was completely white. Iwas the only person of colorin the entire school at that point. My mother then told me that if people were being mean to me, that I should immediately tell my teacher or the principal. At the time…that sounded good to me, figuring that the teachers would straighten things out.

As time went on, kids were still mean and basically ignored me…unless they were picking on me. I told the teachers a few times, but the message that I got from them was, “kids this age can be mean…you have to just get used to it.”

In second and third grades, things got worse. There was more of the same nagging and kids making fun of me as well as a lot of pushing and instigating trouble. It was in third grade when I got into my first real fight. It was not what one would think of third graders, it was me trying to defend myself against several boys throwing punches and calling me “nigger.” After I thoroughly got thrashed, I did go to the principal’s office to report the fight and the boys who were responsible. The principal flipped through a book and then looked over at me before stating that there have been a lot of “reports” of trouble that included me. Then he proceeded to tell me that I would be in serious trouble if there were any more.

I knew, from that point on that the teachers and the principal would be of no help to me. I did not want to tell my parents because I knew that they would call the principal and then I would be in worse trouble. Now, looking back on this…it was some pretty intense thought for a 9 year old. After that first fight, the fights became a regular thing. I came to expect that I would spend my recess either hiding or fighting. At that point, I did not want to call on my older sister or younger brother for “back up, cuz I did not want them to have to endure what I was going through and did not want them to have to fight my battles for me. I knew that this had to be figured our by me…and me alone.

TO BE CONTINUED….

Fingers

Brothers and sisters all linked together
Gripping me hard, or light as a feather
Fingers so sexy, a delight for me to see
One stroke by them is never enough for me
One at a time, searching my skin
Finding the best place for caressing to begin

Brushing on my face or grabbing me below
Your gentile touch make my juices start to flow
From the fist touch until the last
It seems to me that an eternity has past
Touching, licking and sucking them – I like
How to work them - like riding a bike

I love your fingers, so sexual and sweet
Just remember…NEVER touch my feet

Sunday slides, Funnies, Caption contest

Little Robert attended a horse auction with his father. He watched as his father moved from horse to horse, running his hands up and down the horse's legs and rump, and chest.. After a few minutes, Robert asked, 'Dad, why are you doing that?' His father replied, 'Because when I'm buying horses, I have to make sure that they are healthy and in good shape before I buy. Robert, looking worried, said, 'Dad, I think the UPS guy wants to buy Mom ...'

hehe

1. I hope I'm the first one t the privy! I don't wanna haveta poop on the bottom!


2. Oh yeah it ain't even close!


3. I think I ate hee and swilled much beer here, well thats my best guess after waking up!


Very important information has just been made public that I think is something you should all be aware of: Gonorrhea Lectim. The Center for Disease Control has issued a warning about a new virulent strain of this old disease.
The disease is called Gonorrhea Lectim. It's pronounced "Gonna re-elect 'im."

The disease is contracted through dangerous and high-risk behavior involving putting your cranium up your rectum. Many victims contracted it in 2008 ..... but now most people, after having been infected for the past 1-2 years, are starting to realize how destructive this sickness is.

It's sad because it is so easily cured with a new procedure just coming on the market called Vo-tem-out! You take the first dose/step in 2010 and the second dosage in 2012, and simply don't engage in such behavior again, otherwise it could become permanent and eventually wipe out all life as we know it.
Several states are already on top of this like Virginia and New Jersey , and now Massachusetts , with many more seeing the writing on the wall. Please pass this important message on to all those bright folk you really care about.

Amen to that!

4. My kids understand this truth!


5. I think I could pass these out by the tub full.
6. Do y'all rad a lot of blogs? These chicks are out there! Be careful!

7. BWahahahahahahhahaah

No Toilet Paper

A little boy asked his teacher if he could go to the bath- room.
She said yes.
When he went to wipe his fanny there was no toilet paper so, he used
his hand.
When he got back to class, his teacher asked, "What do you have in
your hand?"
The boy said, "A little leprechaun and if I open my hand he'll get
scared away."
He was then sent to the principal's office and the principal asked
him, "What do you have in your hand?"
The little boy said, "A little leprechaun and if I open my hands
he'll get scared away."
The principal got mad and yelled, "Open your hands NOW!"
He did and the little boy said, "Oh great , now look what you did,
you scared the shit out of him!"

acccccccccck that's just wrong!



Caption contest!!! Give it a shot!


Y'all have a big ole Sunday, maybe it won't rain out the race!

Go see what the Real World has going on!


<<< NSFW pics here.

Happy Is As Happy Does

Happiness – it is one of mankind’s emotions that can’t be explained in any set way. Everyone reads and expressed happiness in a different way.

I know that for me, I see true happiness only in a person’s eyes. They can speak cheerfully…and still not truly be happy. They can walk with a ‘pep in their step’…but may just be suffering from ADHD. They can smile, give a high five or even compliment someone…but still not be happy on the inside.

I guess there might be something to that old adage “the eyes are the windows to the soul.” When I look into someone’s eyes…I can instantly tell if they are happy, sad, scared, angry or confused.

One of the things I love most in life is looking someone in the eye and seeing pure joy and happiness flickering around like a star-filled night…right there in their eyes.

The downside to all of this is the fact that when I look into people’s eyes…and do not see the happiness sparkling around…it makes me sad…or confused as to my possible involvement in their unhappiness. It also makes me feel as though I should try to help them…do something to make them happy.

It is one of those things that I consider to be like the yawning contagion … being around unhappy people …and seemingly not being able to help fix their situation…tends to suck the sparkle from my eyes. I end up not looking at people’s eyes, walking like a freakin sloth and battling with how I make myself once again happy.

Since I don’t know where this is going…if anywhere…I’ll just say that for anyone who is or plans on being around me…..BE HAPPY and let your eyes sparkle!!!!!!

When a mistress goes from "victim" to "target"

"I want to say to the rest of the country, 'Stop taking it out on the mistresses and start taking it out on the men who are cheating on their wives.' Why are these men getting off scot free while the mistresses are considered whores, and we're stepped on and we're booed and we're called nasty names? It's the man's responsibility, they're the ones in the marriage, they need to keep their vows. It's very easy to say, 'You know what I'm a married man.' They can easily walk away." - Michelle "Bombshell" McGee

This quote really bothers me.

For those unaware, McGee is the original mistress of Jesse James who crawled out of the woodwork to tell the world that she was sleeping with Sandra Bullock's husband. She then went on to say that she did it all because of the potential money that she'd earn from telling the story. Now she's wondering why she's the one being attacked.

I can tell you why...she's a whore.

And no, she's not a whore because she slept with a married man. This is absolutely James' fault because he was the married man and couldn't keep his dick in his pants. Much like Tiger Woods, he deserves every bit of the ridicule that has been thrown his way. The guy didn't just make a mistake and cheat on his wife once...he cheated multiple times with multiple partners, showing a complete and utter lack of respect for his spouse. He's slimy and has earned his new reputation for being as such.

No...McGee is a whore because she's whoring herself out for a few bucks. She didn't tell her story to simply break the news to help out Bullock in any way. She waited until Bullock won her Academy Award and rode that wave of high-profile fan-love until, like a viper, she struck at the most opportune time. She went out of her way to hurt Bullock in the worst way imaginable for her own personal gain.

And she's surprised at why the media and the public is attacking her.

Here's the thing...people can see through bullshit. And if you're going to break the news to the world that you're sleeping with a married man, and that married man is married to one of the most beloved celebrities in the country, and you're selling this story for money...then you better be prepared for the storm of attention that comes your way.

The primary victim here? The person who was actually cheated on. Sandra Bullock...Elin Woods...these are the women who were cheated on multiple times by their asshole spouses. They are the people who don't deserve this attention on them...and for the most part, the tabloid websites have been quite kind to them.

The secondary victims? Yes...the mistresses. Let's be honest, 90% of the mistresses of both Woods and James knew EXACTLY what they were getting themselves into...and they can cry and whine to the media all they want about how they were treated, but the fact of the matter is that they knowingly slept with married celebrities. So I have zero sympathy for them. Sell your stories to the tabloids and go away.

But yes, there are some mistresses who don't like being called that. They were "girlfriends" of James and Woods...they were told, and believed, that there were marriage issues and were seriously hurt when the truth was finally revealed. So I absolutely feel for these women as they were lied to by two unbelievable douchebag cheaters.

So when does one turn from being a "victim" to being a "target"? Do you feel sorry for Bombshell McGee? What about any of Tiger's girls on the side? Do they deserve sympathy? If so, which ones? All of them?