Circa 1989, when Chuck D's and KRS-One's words awakened a sleeping revolutionary inside of me that I didn't even know had existed until then - I just envisioned that the future HumanityCritic would be fighting the good fight, against injustice, black republicans, and especially "The Man". At the time my demeanor was that of a new school version of Michael from "Good Times", minus the penchant for cock and the complimentary "reach around" mind you. I was involved in as many socially conscious endeavors as humanly possible then, every T-shirt that I owned had something to do with Black Pride, I had a vast array of African pendants and medallions that I'd sporadically wear on my daily travels, and even though I've been what you'd call a "white girl magnet" for the tenure of my lifetime - my new found pride in my race had me resisting any vagina owner who could easily get a comb through her pre-permed hair. Even though people currently see me as a hothead, a dude whose not afraid to tell someone off, force a clergy member to call him a "dirty cocksucker" during a friendly pick-up basketball game, a man that will knock out an elderly gentleman - heart condition or not. But those are just actions of the lunatic that I've become based on my father issues and not being able to find a woman who would let me eat hot mac and cheese of her gelatin backside, what I did in my mid-teens was the epitome of bravery in my eyes - not letting my history teacher get away with calling Muhammad Ali a "coward", expressing how I thought what he did took bravery, then breaking down all of the possible future leaders who got out of Vietnam based on who their parents were.(How prophetic was that?) Even though the first Gulf War was nowhere near the cluster-fuck that our current war is, me and some of my Hippy white friends held protest signs on one of our busiest streets - while we were pelted with soda cans, threats, and epithets that made me feel as if I was at a script reading of "Mississippi Burning".
Unfortunately, that sort of passion for change has been replaced with a passion to bitch and moan about the current state of Hip Hop, and also a deep rooted love for low self-esteem having women who are talented enough to pick up one dollar bills with their glittery buttocks. The Black Power T-Shirts that I once wore with pride still fit me in that "I think I can see your heartbeat" sort of way, the African Medallions are still around for nostalgia purposes like one of my old sports trophies or that used condom from that time I fucked one of MC Hammer's back-up dancers - and even though I have yet to bed a white woman, my lack of sexual activity over the past year has broadened my scope to the point that my new mantra is the utterly romantic "a hole is a hole". But don't get me wrong, I'm trying to be humorous but at the same time I'm disappointed with my inactivity, both sexually and civically.(Read more here)