Today was a big day for me to reflect. Seems I’ve done quite a bit of that lately. 25 years ago, March was officially recognized in the United States as Women’s History Month. Now, mind you, prior to March 2, 1974, I never had any contact with a woman (if I was born 40 weeks after conception, March 2, 1974 is the magical day/night)… OK let me space out for a second, I’m a FREAK, and so I’m hoping Big Sam and my fast Mama (for a later post but not what you think) got busy in a car, the Superdome, or in either of their parents’ bed. OK, where were we? Yeah, that’s right, this post will probably prevent me from ever running for office and winning (unless y’all like skeletons), but the demographic of Homo sapiens that I least trust is WHITE WOMEN – cue CAVE BITCH by Ice Cube f/ Khalid Muhammed. No, I’m not racist, this is from experience. I do like some white women, and the reason I distrust white women is empirical, historical and ecumenical. But more than anything, white women are the counterpart of my favorite demographic is that of Black Women. I’ve never met every white woman nor have I met every Black woman, but the truth of the matter is that Black women are the most forgiving, the strongest, and the, *sighs in ecstasy,* most inspirational race and gender combination ever CREATED. And because of that axiom, I pay tribute to Black Women.
Now, let me confess, I have dated, been involved in a relationship, and fucked non-Black women… I spent time around Lake Minnetonka and I was in a full-blown relationship with a blonde-haired, blue-eyed angel. She played golf, she BBQ’d for me every Sunday, and she was cool with me smoking cigars. The problem with the relationship was that I couldn’t get over the fact that when she was riding me, reverse cow girl, there was a tan line where her thong was… I mean not just a tan line but it was the difference between 2% and Chocolate milk (unless you are in my brain, don’t try to understand). I would hang out with the Lynx and Mercury and I was embarrassed to bring my girl around. What was wrong with her, she wasn’t a sister.
I recall the poetry of the rhythmic American poet, AMG, who once stated in the song “Bitch Better Have My Money,” There ain’t nuttin’ like Black pussy on my dick, word to the muthafucka, DJ Quik…” I know this song is steeped in misogyny, but there is a Black woman somewhere in the world that will forgive me for calling her a BITCH. Man, hold up, I’m not calling my mother, daughter, sister a bitch, are you crazy? But if I would have, she would forgive me. Our mothers walk with grace, accept the bullshit that they endure from Niggas, Wiggas, and Bitches and cook us biscuits in the morning. Prime example is the FLOTUS, Michelle Robinson Obama. She was educated in the best schools, she learned game from her brother, she fucks a dude that could fuck YOU or your girl (OK), and is a mother to two beautiful Black daughters. She loves your kids and she’s, oh yea, the most well-educated first lady in the history of the United States. And she deals with people calling her a terrorist 
and anything that you can imagine that would disrespect a Black woman 
… And what does she do in response: (at least publicly)
C’mon Son… But really, I think of the women that I’ve done wrong and at the end of the day, that’s the reaction I got… I mean, I’ve done some fucked up stuff… I mean, what’s the worst you’ve done? I’ve done worse. Black women endured the rape, pillage and plunder of their land (I’m talking slavery) and you’ve never seen an insurrection led by a Black woman. (LOOK UP THE WORD INSURRECTION). But although FLOTUS is the most famous example, I want you to think of a Black woman you know, she will accept your friends and she will forgive your dog ass when neither are expected or necessary. I’m working on a book that consists of letters to Black women I’ve done wrong, so you’ll over-stand this point when you buy the book… LOL (Shameless Plug).
My favorite erudite once said of Black women: “but we have, too, a vast group of women of Negro blood who [have] strength of character, cleanness of soul, and unselfish devotion of purpose…” This is a tribute to my mother. Carolyn Sonnier raised 4 boys… Her second, the best looking… But seriously, my mom, fought puberty and beat cancer and remains classy. My father was for all intents and purposes a deadbeat… (nah he wasn’t that bad) but nigga didn’t pay child support (I still love my late Father but this ain’t about him) and my mom worked her ass off to get us out the projects into a small ass house. My younger brother’s dad (my former step dad) beat the shit out of my mom… I remember well… I couldn’t be more than 7 or 8. I never saw a beating that bad before or since. Fuck, the memories… But my mom, I can’t remember her missing a beat (we left). My baby brother’s dad was a pure alcoholic… He wasn’t abusive but he was soon, gone (I’ve wondered if that was the catalyst of the aforementioned ass whoppin) – NO EXCUSE. I know that now but that was the thought of a pre-teen thinker. She remarried again and won the prize with a bona fide crack head. I mean he’d come home late Friday night (every one) drinking all the milk in the house *Kanye shrug* with lips swollen and have the nerve to claim he got robbed or some other lame ass excuse. What I remember is what I remember. I remember my mom, teaching me how to play football. I remember my mom getting off of work and going to a second job. I remember my mom contemplating suicide while I feigned sleep on the sofa. I remember her sacrificing simple pleasures for herself to send me to New Orleans to debate in high school. So forgive me if I’m impressed by Black women, look at my example. She is my rock and even today she’ll send me a text “Good Morning Handsome, just thinking about you…” just when it’s needed.
No I also mentioned the erotic excitement Black women. No I’m not going Oedipus on you. I’m talking about every other Black woman out there. When I lived in DC, Craig (my big brotha from anotha) and I used to play this game, we’d walk down the street and one of us would yell out, “Say something nice about her!” She was always Black but she didn’t always conform to the Cosmopolitan view of beauty. However, it could be a smile, it could be how she walked, it could be how she just looked nurturing… all signs of beauty that I submit is a quality innate to Black females.
In this month of March that is dedicated to Women in general, let me give a SHOUT OUT to all my BEAUTIFUL BLACK WOMEN… I love you and I SALUTE YOU… The Sorrow that you have seen has done nothing to change your status with me. The Darkness of your skin comforts me in my times of absence of light… this paradox is reconciled by the fact that I see your beauty from the inside out. So as W.E.B. DuBois penned in the Damnation of Women:
“For this, their promise, and for their hard past, I honor the women of my race. Their beauty,—their dark and mysterious beauty of midnight eyes, crumpled hair, and soft, full-featured faces—is perhaps more to me than to you, because I was born to its warm and subtle spell; but their worth is yours as well as mine. No other women on earth could have emerged from the hell of force and temptation which once engulfed and still surrounds black women in America with half the modesty and womanliness that they retain… I have known and seen and lived beside them, but none have I known more sweetly feminine, more unswervingly loyal, more desperately earnest, and more instinctively pure in body and in soul than the daughters of my black mothers. This, then,—a little thing—to their memory and inspiration.”
This is my Tribute to the Black Woman.
N-Visible Manifesto 