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Black President Love Month


Ahh, February. It’s the month of love, the month of presidents, the month of Black History. Therefore, it’s the month of Black President Love. But since there’s not been a black president yet, we have to either wait until that happens or just send a card to Bill Clinton. He is, in the words of Dyna Girl from the Electra Woman movie of ’76, “close enough.”


Medi-SIN-al Tax


So the governor didnÂ’t get the money for the teachers. Let me drop some mad hood logic on the electorate. You donÂ’t necessarily have to tax tobacco. ThatÂ’s the wrong cash crop to tax. You need to tax the medicinal herb. (ThatÂ’s marijuana for you white folks; dank for you black folks out there.)

I know what you’re saying: “It’s illegal.” But you still can get money off that cash crop. Lemme tell ya’ how you do it. All you have to do is tax zig-zags, blunt wraps, flavored blunt cigars, bongs, cigarette rollers, tweezers, and late-night Taco Bell profits.


Higher Power Education


Would you like to attend college, but youÂ’re fed up with traditional institutions of higher learning? If so, please consider a Bible college! There are many reasons why both high school students and partially mentally retarded adults alike should consider a higher education in Christ. Ivy League schools are typically out of reach both academically and financially. Perhaps the state colleges are too secular or impersonal for your liking. Maybe the technical collegesÂ’ requirements to learn an actual trade are too demanding.

Feed The Monkey (by The Ghost of Hank Williams)


By Lloyd ChristmasGot a little monkey and she wonÂ’t say no Got a little monkey and sheÂ’s ready to go Took my monkey to the Dollar Store Taught my monkey two and two is four Told my monkey not to be so sad SheÂ’s the best damn monkey that I ever had Feed the monkey 
Put my monkey on a TV show Told my monkey not to be so slow Bought my monkey a bass guitar Now my monkeyÂ’s gonna be a star Kissed my monkey on a Saturday night Married that monkey on the Isle of Wight Feed the monkey Feed the monkey 

Candy Edwards


This month's hero has set an outstanding example for all those who know that speed limits and other laws of the road are only for the common folk and do not apply to those who were once married to someone who formerly wielded much power. That's right: This month, we're honoring the former wife of the former governor of the great state of Louisiana, Candy Edwards.


The Rime of the Ancient Whoremonger


By Mr. E. BatesOf all of them I laid, And all of them I paid, With only one to ever say – “I love you.” 
She was willing and dove white, A young lady of the night, Who wanted me alone, Forever more. 
Yet being young and vain, I repaid love with pain, Rejecting the affection of a whore. 
I canÂ’t forget the wreck, Or her arms around my neck, With the deadly poison coursing through her veins. 

The Fantastic Four


I was lucky enough to see an advanced screening of The Fantastic Four. I was really excited because I thought it was about two hos with nice racks. It was really about these five white people that went into space. Normally, this lack of black representation would make me mad. There is, however, a very good reason there were no brothers in space: Any brother with half a brain knows, if he goes to outer space with five white people and something goes wrong, heÂ’s the first one to die. 

Running Rebel


IÂ’m sitting here, watching The Dukes of Hazzard on TV, and I canÂ’t believe we fell in love with this show. It had to be the corniest show in the world, but then I realized it started in the late seventies and blossomed in the early eighties. I mean, everyone loved it, from the Asian community to the high-class, house-on-the-hill folks.

The Great Esc8pe


I’ve always said this world is full of crazy people. You know what? I’m right! Authoring “Altar Call” provokes a constant stream of emails to my inbox. They’re usually chock full of assertions about how bad I “suck” or how I’m the “father” of their “child.” However, I was quite disturbed by a recent email from a young man who identifies himself only by his internet handle, “Esc8ped_Cult_69.” Be forewarned: his story, which I will encapsulate here, is not for the faint of heart, as it involves being raised in and then escaping from a cult.

You Gotta Go Through What You Gotta Go Through to Get Where You Need to Go


The old folks always say, “Never judge a book by its cover.” I have been very judgmental of this brother. As I sit in his office, preparing myself to interview him, I see, hear, and smell a lot of African ancestry, from the jazz we’re listening to right now to the many, countless books that line his bookcase. Judging by the titles, all of them have significant meaning. The brother I’m referring to is Ed Buggs: journalist, entrepreneur, and radio and television talk-show host.


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