Broke and facing eviction, as you know your boy Dickie Bhee to be, I took a job working the New York City Marathon Expo, selling $50 socks to freaks, degenerates, foreigners, and people looking for that “extra edge”.
Needless to say, it was a learning experience.
Of course, I’m in no position at all to call anybody else alive a “freak” right now. Poised to enter my 6th straight month with no pussy and on the kind of epic schneid that maybe only the 1977 Tampa Bay Buccaneers can relate to, I was checking out everything. And I was straight up creepy about it.
What I discovered was that I like white girls far more than I would have liked to imagine. See, I’d always thought a nigga with a white girl on his arm looked ridiculous. He might have thought he was being “The Revolutionary”, but the real revolution is Black Love despite all the efforts that have been put in place to thwart it.
Still, aficionados of any discipline see little need to look beyond their field of expertise, including their own inherent racism. And I am, first and foremost when it comes to women, an Ass Man.
You can only imagine the white ass at the New York City Marathon Expo. And as proof that God is, in fact, a sadist, the absolute best ass belonged to a married white girl that was a full time employee of the company for which I was temping. He’s a pic:
Trust me when I tell you that this pic does her no justice but sadly, it was the best angle I could get.
Then there was another white girl that I fell in love with, then another. The final score, I think, was something like white girls 21, Black girls 7. Embarrassing.
I did run into this chick I used to work with. We’d worked together twice, in fact. Once, we’d worked at a magazine together, the next time, doing product placement. She had always been sexy and she told me that not only was she about to run the marathon, but that she was also about to turn 40. I couldn’t believe it. But then we’d met 17 years before. Time flies. I never made a play for the pussy because she’d always given me the vibe of someone who’d be sorry to have to turn me down but would, ultimately, turn me down. So it goes, I guess.
But, back to the expo. I’d been selling those compression tights, socks and running sleeves for two straight days when it hit me: is Allen Iverson behind all this shit?
I mean, cornrows go back to the dawn of time, but Iverson popularized them. Dennis Rodman wore tattoos in the NBA earlier, but Iverson popularized them. Had a whole multi billion dollar industry developed and was now obviously flourishing because a skinny little nigga from Hampton, Virginia eased the pain of his bursitis by donning a shooting sleeve one day?
I mean look at them shits: their ubiquitous now! Almost everybody in basketball, college, pro, high school, or street, wears one.
Under Armour, the alleged leader in the field of compression technology, debuted in 1996, Iverson’s rookie year. And their first hustle was making a fabric that would stay dry, not improve performance. Iverson started wearing his shooting sleeve in 2001. And I’ll give you one guess which company called not too long afterward and asked him to rock a special sleeve they’d developed just for him.
Of course, this wouldn’t be the first time Black culture, style or swag has been appropriated for white profit.
Personally, even though AI is my favorite non championship-winning player in any team sport and, I’d argue, also the best, the guy was only a 43% lifetime career shooter!
If I were going to follow anyone technology wise, I’d watch old game film of Artis Gilmore. See what the fuck that nigga was doing!