“Time Travel or Nah?” Pt.1

10 years into the future or 10 years into the past? You get to meet your future self or the younger version of the current you? If you go into the future, will the life you lead be the one you thought it would be? Or will you go tell the younger you how to kick game, so he/she can be successful in the future? I don’t know about you, but the choice is easy and the actions taken are obvious to me.

I’m going back into the past to visit my old self. No matter if I don’t recognize myself as a 19 year old to my then, 9 year old self I’d approach myself in an informative walk. Come in a comfortable range of myself.  Then, simply kneel down on a one knee. With a mellow look on my bearded face, and nappy hair I’d say to myself. ” Your a pussy, but you get to grow. You get to travel, learn, and adapt to your surroundings, so your values can be met. Once that happens you’ll be an even bigger pussy, but once that happens you get to do it all over again.” Finally, I’d walk off into the distance, with James Bonds theme music playing in the background. With an explosion (my kid self doesn’t explode though) and two beautiful women on my sides. The End


“Time Travel or Nah?” Pt.2

10 years into the future or the past? Where would you go? Do you go 10 years back to warn myself, or do you go 10 in the future to see how your living? Maybe the hardest question for me would be, how in the hell will I know my older self when I’m a kid. Or maybe even, how do I know if I died and I went into the future where I was living because I have traveled in time, so now I’m not dead, but i alive to continue to life that I don’t have because I’ve died. And If I did travel in to the future I would know I’m coming because I traveled into the future knowing I was coming, therefore traveling in the future would be traveling in the past because I know that I have traveled into the future, therefore changing the occurrences in the past to the occurrences in the  future because I’m aware of, and reacting to, the future, making it a past event that has already taken place in the future of the past.

You figure it out.

Fred Gets Shaggy With Scoob.

“Whom in the Mystery Gang is more similar to yourself.” Well to tell you the truth I’m not the exact same as anyone in the Gang. Although I do carry traits of multiple characters in the “Gang.” You’ve got Fred, Daphne, Vilma, Shaggy, Scooby, and Scrappy. I’m more like scrappy than anyone. I can be smart like Vilma on occasions. Finally my swag is strong like Freddy.

Scrappy is very energetic and he loves to fight. I think I closer to Scrappy than any other Mystery member, because I play around with my buddies a lot. We’re always trying to wrestle with one other. Once I made about four or five of my friends go into Walmart. Set up a wrestling ring in the middle of an aisle and we just started going at each other. We did this for about fifteenth minutes, because we were eventually kicked out. My energy is always high. That’s why I better compared with Scrap.

It’s no question that I act stupid a lot of the time. So Scooby, and Shaggy would also be a good comparison to me. However, in high school I had figured out how to be a good student. I had discovered I was kinda smart. My junior year of high school, for the first time I had got straight A’s for three quarters straight. In that, I feel as though me and Vilma are alike. I was geeked. People called me smart. I was pleased with this newly found dick riding that everyone was doing to me. That’s Vilma.

Finally my charm with the ladies goes above and beyond like my man Fred. Going in to high school I shy, but girls would just love me. Some loved how handsome I am. Others because I’m an athlete. Then when I started getting good grades, the bitches just flocked. Freddy gave me a high five once, that how good I am. That’s why I’m like Fred.

Killing Mr. Peanut

After being baptized by heartless kids with lovely put-downs in middle school. I became invulnerable to insults. Laughing off any jokes toward me. Being good at sports helped avoid  any bullying that could have potentially depressed me. Being taller than most kids did wonders. At “white schools” I was feared because I was an African American. I wasn’t always safe though.As athletes we joke and play with each other, but for some reason I wouldn’t let myself get angry and try to physically hurt someone. No matter what happened to me I couldn’t get mad. However, there’s one particular thing that athletes do that pisses me off to the point of “Hulk Mode.”

One day, my buddies in high school thought up a game. There was no name to it. It was simple, hit each other in the nuts. Yes, balls, nuts, family jewels, whatever you’d like to call it. They would  smack/punch each other in the nuts. At first the game was fun, because it wasn’t happening to me. Then more and more brave souls on our wrestling team began to play the game as well. So we all became targets. In the middle of the hallways I’d see bodies drop to their knees instantly. Crashing their knees into the floor. I seen a guy throw up once. I this point I had already been tagged. So I was boiling up inside. I wanted to tell them to stop, but I didn’t want to seem like I was ruining the game. Finally the day came where I snapped.

I had stopped playing the game, because I didn’t want to hit anymore. Every agreed that we were going overboard with nutshots. However, there’s always that one kid who doesn’t know when to stop. A freshman of course. I’m chilling with my headphones in listening to music when all of sudden he whacks me right in the balls. This whack had pulled the trigger on a loaded AK-47. Click, and punches just left my hands. It was like a Batman comic strip. “POW!” “Bam!” BOOM!”. Will-I-Am from the Black Eye Peas was singing “Boom Boom Boom” while I was pounding this kid. Blood gusted from his face in a little cherry filled stream. It was lovely.I had snapped, because he had punched me in the nuts.

In conclusion, don’t hit me in the nuts. Especially if I asked you once to stop. It will make me angry enough to try and physically hit someone. That’s what makes me angry.

Shield Of Honor

“Love In Mind”. If my family had a slogan that would be it and the creature that would be lucky enough to represent us is the Honey Bee. Throughout the years of my life, when my siblings would be together, my dad would talk (lecture, yell, whatever makes you happy) to us. In the early stages of life it was,”take care of yourself before you try taking care of someone else”.Puberty was,”you watch, the same dumb shit you do to me is the same dumb shit that will happen to you”. Teenage years came,”believe in yourself and never quit”. Now it’s,” you have to think of your nephew’s”. Confusing a first, but as I got older and understood what I liked, I began to understand my dad.

“Love in Mind” means to always have the best interest in mind for you and your family. To be selfless. That’s what my dad preached to us. He cared for us more than he cared for himself. Although he knew in order for us to have great lives he had to take care of himself. Every action I make right now will have an effect on me and my family. So, I choose what I think are the best decisions to make. Go to class to learn, practice hard on the field, revise my paper one more time, run a little bit harder, etc. Though I hate these things and I ‘d rather have an easy life. Ultimately I love those things , because I know my family will benefit in the long run. Love in mind is our slogan and the Honey Bee is our animal.

Up until my older brothers and sisters left the house to lead their own lives, our family had the same routine. Wake up at 5:00 A.M, go to school or work, go from school to daycare or work, then go home or be coming home from work. In bed at 9:30 P.M. We were like Honey Bees. Going from flower to flower collecting pollen then coming back to the hive to contribute honey. Our productivity lied in school work and whatever my mom and dad did at their jobs. And if we had an issue, we were willing to sting something and die for it. That’s a little over exaggerated, but you get my point.


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Tony Montana

When I was kid, there was one thing I wanted more than anything in the world. More than girls, soda, games, etc. Hell, even more than Christmas presents. I wanted to be the biggest drug peddling, coke whipping, money getting, cop killing, drug dealer in the whole city. I grew up in a “”rough neighborhood””, were my family was a victim of poverty. So my big brother, Joel had sold drugs and came home with money to feed us most nights. Moreover, I was interested in the lifestyle of characters in movies like, Scarface, and Paid In Full.

My first experience with drugs was in elementary. My brother had left some Tony ( cocaine) on our attic stairs. So my curiosity took over, and I had decided that I wanted to sniff it because that’s what they did on the movies. I don’t remember a particular feeling or if it did anything at all. So I had wondered why Tweekers (Crackheads) would  always buy it from Joel. I wanted to be a drug dealer because my brother had been one. I looked up to him. Joe would also come home with food and groceries after nights of asking my mom,”what do we have to eat other than Coco Puffs”. Although, I did adored Coco Puffs. We ate real food because Joe had sold drugs. However, groceries wasn’t as manipulating as car chases, shootouts, and a luxurious lifestyle.

As I got older, more of my friends in school had sold drugs. They had not change very much. Their lifestyles weren’t filled with glamour, and happiness. Though some never came to school because they had lots of money and very little time for school. On the contrary, as a kid I thought drug dealers were the most fortunate people on the planet. I remember filling my 4 by 4 tub up with bubbles, lighting, and smoking a sticking note filled with paper to imitate Tony Montana. Tony had the girl, the house, the cars, the money. He was untouchable. Killed people with no regard for law enforcement. Moreover, he easily evaded cops. I wanted to be like Tony someday. Hell, I still want to be like him. Just without dying.

In conclusion, It was my brother who aspired me to be a drug dealer. Being hungry some nights motivated me too. Even more than Joel and being poor, it was the lifestyles that the media had portrayed drug dealers to be living that gave me the urge to be a drug dealer. So that’s why I wanted to be a Drug Dealing.