Of course, the main drag of marijuana eventually becoming legalized is all those strong and healthy ties you’ve made with your plug over the years are suddenly no longer necessary and best severed.
No need to protect a relationship based on nothing more heartfelt than commerce.
I mean, even if ya’ll were fucking, now that his pockets are about to take a substantial hit, you can do better.
And not to worry; they’ll find something else irrelevant and transitory to lock brothers up en masse for so the community dynamic will remain the same.
Frying chicken any day of the week but Sunday will be criminalized except for people that apply for exemptions because fried chicken helps their glaucoma.
One more note on weed; seems like Black people stand to eventually be (unsurprisingly) cut out on the distribution end altogether.
You won’t be granted a license to distribute if you’ve got a criminal record meaning the only types of Blacks that could potentially look to profit off weed would be the type that don’t fuck with weed to begin with.
Therefore, it’d be best to get your grandma – well, some grandmas – and we all know this is a problem because Black people’s bizarre sense of right and wrong usually prohibits us from even profiting in businesses we find morally objectionable.
Maybe why there are so few Black liquor store owners, you think?
But none of all that is my point. My point is this: I made myself very proud recently because after that shadow text message went out – you either know about it cause you got it or you don’t cause you didn’t – I did what I would have believed to be Impossible; I quit drinking Coca-Cola for over a month.
Again, I know why you’re thinking; big deal; I haven’t smoked crack since 1987.
Which means that clearly I was more addicted to coke then you were to crack; and yes, I know how that sounds/reads.
But what this test of endurance proved to me was that I am, indeed, strong.
I mean, I’ve never been the type to project what I’d do in certain situations (if I was a slave, nigga, Django wouldn’t have shit on me! I’d kill more white people that Jerry Bruckbeimer!), but I can now say this with certainty; the Montgomery Bus Boycott would’t have failed because of me.
Couple that with the fact that we know how much our culture gets ripped off.
Whatever with the weed, what about the number? How’d that shit become the lotto?
Also, while I used to be so pro-movement of any sort, I didn’t care if people only joined because it was a fad, now I’m not that welcoming.
Carmelo might have been the last “woke” athlete I’ll take, I’m not buying Jordan at all.
And all this leads, ultimately, to my final point: dashikis are back in style!
They have been really since the end of two winters ago.
Dashikis, as you should know, are the west African shirts and dresses made popular during the 60s and 70s and at the height of the pan-Africanist movement.
Being African attire, dashikis are best made by (and sold by and profited off of by) African people.
Still, unlike the fiscal integrity that prevents most of us from shopping at places called Marshawn’s Chinese Food or LeBron’s Pizza or buying fake Gucci or Polo, we seem to have no problem whatsoever supporting non-Black people that knock off our shit.
Then we complain about not having anything.