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careycarey

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Everything posted by careycarey

  1. Is that right, my deep wrinkled old friend? Lets take another look. I think the words said: "Hold up. Why are you reading that garbage?" "Now don't get offended. I mean, I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU ARE READING. First, strike out the CRAP part. The question is or should be "Why do you read what you read?" AND, you wrote this "Why do people have to justify their reasons to people like you who have the gall to pose such a question??? I mean, JUSTIFY?! Now my jealous hearted naysayer, I believe a less hateful eye saw those words as nothing more than a simple post title. Titles are designed to grab attention. You did read the rest of the post... didn't you? Sure you did. You were the first one to reply. But maybe you were set-up to be nothing more than a nuisance. And look at you sitting there looking stupid. How were you feeling when you wrote this... "BTW, I'm waiting for somebody else to answer your question. Could it be that your verbal stumbles didn't inspire them??" ? I mean, was it hard for you to find the right emoticons to express the look of someone that got drunk on a gallon of witches brew? But lets see, I may be a wannabe writer that's crying for help but I am pretty good with math. Cynique, get behind me and watch me work. Well, although nearly 10,000 eyes have graced the new posts, there has only been less than 300 replies. Quick, you do the rest of the math. Don't do it to yourself, Cynique. You can't keep throwing yourself on the mercy of the crowd because you are old. From 8 to 80, blind, cripple or crazy... in my book, you reap what you sow. Listen, what you appear to BE speaks so loudly, I doubt that you need to say anymore. But go right ahead, it's show time!
  2. See, why do you always take the cynical approach to every damn thing. In your haste to draw a dark cloud on most things that don't appeal to you or that you don't understand, you come in with your hater-aid. You are a perfect example of a person that's miserable and wants everyone to be down in the dumps with you. Why don't you take the time to write something that inspires conversation instead of throwing bricks at others. Ain't nobody trying to smell your venom. You cry about the new board. You bitch because a woman didn't agree with you about Bill Withers. GAWD DAMN! Do you sleep or do you whine about having to go to sleep? You're just a dull stick in the mud! How in hell did you take this to the negative side of the street?! Are there some elements of writing that are essential to your reading pleasures? Good book vs Bad book? The argument continues, but obviously you took offense to someone asking you to go deep. Well, not even deep, but can you define what makes you smile? One man's garbage is another mans joy. I like short sentences without a lot of metaphors. I do not like reading sex scenes. Sci-Fi novels baffle me. Awkward sentence struture f*cks with me. When I've tried to read "you go girl" books, I've felt like a sissy sitting in an Avon party. I like reading about black family life. What about you? What do you like? I know you don't like reading my posts. Zane is a big hit. Street lit is blowing up and many people enjoy it. That's cool, real cool. Some of the writing sucks, imo, and the opinion of many others, but nevertheless people are buying it. But, street lit aside, other than the subject matter, I wonder what draws individuals to a particular writer or a certain genre? Okay, so you didn't feel inclined to join that type of discussion. Or, maybe you didn't have anything better to do than jack with me? Cool, you can go back to the bathroom.
  3. What are you reading... Hold up. Why are you reading that garbage? Now don't get offended. I mean, I don't know what you are reading. See, that's where I am at today. We read what we read because we like what we read, right? Did that make sense? Well, over the 10 years that I've been posting on this board there's been all types of discussions. Not drive-by tweets or pat on the back comments like those at blog sites, I'm talking about bare knuckle, no holds barred discussions. Ouuuuweeee, we've went there. *LMAO*... what about the time someone started a thread (I think ABM or Yvettep) in which Troy had to jump in and delete a few pictures? Come on, yawl know what I'm talking about. Well, if you don't, let me remind you in a subtle way. It had something to do with gigantic BOOTIES and LOOOONG loins, okay? Troy has said that he's never had to bar anyone from the board but he wiped that mess off the face of the earth *lol*. Anyway, I asked the question "why are you reading that?". Over the years there has been many debates/discussions on good books vs bad books, right. Well, in another thread I was asking for advice on how to write a decent book. A few brave souls jumped in to share their words of wisdom. All of the advice was something I needed to hear, but something in particular caught my eye and led me to this place and the title of this post "What is everyone reading? Why do you read that crap?" First, strike out the CRAP part. The question is or should be "Why do you read what you read?" The other day Ferociuoskitty was giving me a little advice. I was taking it all to heart, because, for one thing, she knows some things about me that only a handful of other people have ever heard. She's not only a Ivy league grad, a mother, a good writer, and an excellent editor, she knows how to keep a secret. Well, I think she does, because it hasn't come back to me. Well, it's nothing that I am not open about, it's just that I haven't shared many things of my life with a hoard of individuals. Take for instance the short story she let me write for her wonderful site. See, that's a classy place and my writing can get a little ugly, but she guided me through it. The story centered on a double life that I was living. *I'm getting to the meat of this post * Anyway, as I said, it was a short story but it was actually a part of a bigger story. See, the woman in that story (Baby Mamma Drama Parts I II & III) is the same woman in this little piece: "The US military is one of the largest vehicles for drug smuggling in the world. Rita was my friend ....my lover and my company. She agreed to come along on a trip after receiving a promise of adventure. She was very attractive ....stunning ....movie star quality ....she liked me. While passing through the gate Rita's face showed the look of impending doom. The officer ordered everyone out of the vehicle ....a search was about to begin. Earlier we were in a village ....it was called the jungle ....an area frequented by blacks who were accepted by the locals. It was a humid day ....the sun was bright ....Rita and I were filled with excitement. She was from Virginia and had not traveled much ....she trusted me. We were free and fear was not our enemy. Prior to our journey we talk about the future and the dangers of our travel. I carefully questioned her on the what-if's ....the possibilitie of roadblocks ahead. The officer again said to vacate the vehicle ....Rita went to work" See, I was a drug smuggler for many years. Looking back, it's nothing that I am proud of, it's just what it was. Hell, I've done a lot of dumb sh*t that I'll never do again. So anyway, there's a lot more to that story (it's on paper). Re: The advice Ferociouskitty gave me the other day. She told me to read something that I like, to find out how something is written. Okay, I went to my little library of books to see how conversation is written and how other writers "show" a scene. I wanted to get an idea of how I would re-write the above passage and the rest of the chapter. Well, here's what I found. I found out that I read certain kinds of books that all have a common writing style that I wasn't even conscious of. I mean, I've never paid attention or analized my reading pleasure. Sure, there's subject matter that doesn't ring my bell, but I am talking about a writing style that suits my taste. After thumbing through a few of my favorites, I went to my top shelf. I pulled down a book by an author that I don't believe many have read. Well, she's sold millions of books but I don't hear her being discussed anymore. The author's name is Ann Petry. She wrote The Narrows, The Street, Miss Muriel and Other Stories. Well, because I am a rookie, I don't even know how to describe her writng style or the styles of all the others that I like, but they are all very similar. What are you reading? I mean, why do you read what you read? Do you know why you read what you read?
  4. Thanks Kitty, I hope I don't embarass you, but you've inspired a post. This place (TC's) is truly a discussion board. It's unlike Twitter, Face book, text messaging, or even blogs, and I'll tell you why. Well, to do it justice, I'll have to start a new thread. See, there it is already, I couldn't write about this in a blog post. Well, I could but it wouldn't have the same flavor or find it's proper audience. The title: What are you reading Why Do You Read That Crap?
  5. Chris, thanks for your reply. I've received several replies by e-mail and yours was very insightful. I few things caught my eye. 1. "My experience has been that this is something requested by those who are unsure about their talent, reception, etc" In my case, that's very true. I am very unsure if I have a product that others want to read. 2. "What do you want an editor for? To find all typoes? Spell check and your own eyes do that. To make suggestions about character, setting, theme, and the like" Again Chris, you asked the right questions. Typos are not my concerns, they will come to the light. I am interested in proper sentence structure. Since I consider myself a storyteller and not a "writer", I write like I talk. That's not a bad thang, but considering the fact that the written word is absent of many of the nuances of verbal communication, I'd like to make sure my sentences are not confusing. One author, (with several published books) that repied to my request, had this to say: "I consider myself a developmental editor. I’ve seen Harvard English degree type editors butcher the author’s original voice and tone. Sure, all the sentence structures are grammatically correct, but the essence is lost. For example: I try to keep the author’s voice intact. If you’re writing in a conversational style, then it won’t be perfect grammar usually. Of course together we’ll find a perfect balance. I won’t change your stories. I only suggest ways to make them stronger. Ultimately you decide if you want to use my suggestions or not. For example, let’s look at your story about boxing in the basement. “When I was a kid I lived in the projects.” In the south, the projects have yards, grass, etc. Whereas up north, it’s “brick city.” So as an editor, I’d suggest spending a few sentences describing YOUR projects. Set the scene. Give you readers a foundation as they read. “My father told us that one day he was going to buy a house with a basement. In the basement, he was going to build a gym.” Let the reader “hear” your father. Maybe write in a brief conversation between the two of you. This gives your readers insight into the kind of relationship you two shared at the time. Also include some of his physical attributes. All of these things help your readers connect to your tale. And when they connect, they begin to care about what happens (which is what you want). As I look over your works, I notice that you do a lot of “telling” the stories instead of “showing” the stories. This is common with new writers. If you work with me, I will teach you various methods of “showing” your story. Congrats again on taking the next step. I hope to work with you soon." Chris, I understood their comments. However, I never write "conversation". I've found it very difficult to do. Well, when I've tried doing so, my wording is redunant. And I've been too lazy to find the correct transitional phrasing to make it work. More so, since I am telling a story (my life story) I have not found it necessary to do that. I sort of understand the concept of "showing" a story but I don't know if my voice requires that method. I am sure it does (to some degree) but I don't want the book to get bogged down with what I consider to be unnessary pie filing. In short, although I am a black man that has lived several lives, I don't want to "sound" black and ignorant. The common argument of good books vs bad books, has a lot to do with bad writing. It's seldom about a bad story because that subjective. I am looking for someone that understands things such as an independent clause,a dependent clause, adjective clauses, elliptical clauses, run-on sentences, fragments, mood shifts, shifts in person, misplaced modifiers, etc. I think proper sentence structure can enhance reading pleasure without destroying the voice of the writer.
  6. Well Thump, since LiLi doesn't know a thang about movies or music, what's your take on this new release. I mean, LiLi thought Notorious should have been picked for an Oscar.
  7. Troy, I don't care how you TRY to frame it, it's merely your opinion. Now that's a fact. You thought the information in questions was necessary, but what if someone else thought the same about other little tid bits, huh? If it wasn't there, the producer would be a lying dog, right? Look, lying by omission is knowingly not including something that you obviously are trying to evade. Therefore, since YOU do not know why the producer left it out, you will forever remain wrong in trying to call this a lie by omission. Give up the ghost Troy, tap the mat. So this is your take on documentaries... "THAT is the POINT of documentaries! To teach you something you don't know". Come on NEGRO, sooooo, you knew everything about Mr. Withers (scars & bruises), but you're crying and calling the producer a lier because it wasn't in this documentary. Make up your mind, you can't have it both ways. Again, Although you thought his marital affairs are worth talking about, I think millions will disagree with you. That's TMZ's job. But wait, what if there's a documentary about James Brown, should the producer of such included all his marital problems? You know he had a heavy hand, right? Troy, go find a dictionary and come back and holla! While you're at it, check out lying by omission, google it! You seem to be a little confused.
  8. Shameless begging: I got money, I need an editor [Carey] “Your family stories are always so touching. You should write a book” - PPR_Scribe “Your life reads like an excerpt from a Novel that I would not only buy but stand in a long line that wraps a corner, just for the Author's signature. WOW - Now that's what I call a Testimony” - Free Spirit People will pat you on the back and I may be the biggest sucker in town, but I need an editor. I need an editor. I will pay $5 - $10 a page for editing. $300-$500 up-front. I accept the risk. I’d send the first $300-$500 along with a few pages. I believe the stories are okay, but I know they need a little cleaning. Some pages might not need anything but a sentence shift or comma here and there, but the page will still be paid for. I don't think it's bad part-time money. I know it’s not a lot of money but it could be fun. If you think I have something I can work with, let me know. Check out these short stories. I call them snippets. They all come from larger chapters. I heard the shot... I felt the combustion... a loud thunderous roar ....it felt as if air was trying to force it's way through my head. Six told me that no one would be shot, we were only taking guns to scare them. I'd seen people shot on television but it was nothing like that. Blood was spurting from the man while he lay crying and moaning on the floor. I was only 18 ....I was involved in a bank robbery and a possible murder. I entered the bank after giving the appearance of a man shoveling snow outside. Bank robbery is relatively simple ....there are seldom guards. It's the escape and entrance that harbored my concerns ....pedestrians are also unwanted factors. After placing my shovel outside the door, I entered the bank and without saying a word I handed the tellers a large bag, suggesting that they should fill it. One clerk fell to the floor ....she was too scared and weak to comply. The other ....with eyes widened, trembling from shock and fear, stumbled through the process. I was covered from head to toe ....they couldn't tell if I was a man or a woman, white or black ....I walked out. As you know that was not my first bank robbery. At an early age I witnessed the small nuances between tricks and the women that served them. Everyone enjoys the touch of another and many need to feel as if they belong. I learned that men who paid for the company of women didn't do so merely for sex. They needed to feel like they were a match for the women ....that she may even like them. The women did not have to be beautiful ....many were not. Eva wasn't in many opinions an attractive woman .....she was clean, barely 5'5" and overweight. She was sweet and always carried a smile. Smooth was cool, he wasn't like the winos that everyone poked fun at. He dressed sharp and everyone wanted to be like him. People said he wasn't a junkie ...but he used Narcotics. Smooth was the talk of the town ....all the women loved him ....I would later find out why. I wanted to be like smooth but I couldn't. I already had a family and I didn't even smoke cigarettes. My brother Carl was a wrestler, a state champ. He told me that he was good because he worked harder than others at his craft. He got up earlier than others .....no one knew what he was doing. He did it his way. I latched onto that idea. I was young ....the world was in front of me and I wanted it all. I wanted to be cool like smooth, a family man like my father, tough as my brothers and go to college. Women whispered their pleasures to me and I entertained the possibilities. College was fertile ground for young attractive women. Cool was in me ....it had touched my soul. I was about to travel a road that I could never have imagined ....no one told me ....they didn't know. The US military is one of the largest vehicles for drug smuggling in the world. Rita was my friend ....my lover and my company. She agreed to come along on a trip after receiving a promise of adventure. She was very attractive ....stunning ....movie star quality ....she liked me. While passing through the gate Rita's face showed the look of impending doom. The officer ordered everyone out of the vehicle ....a search was about to guidance. Earlier we were in a village ....it was called the jungle ....an area frequented by blacks who were accepted by the locals. It was a humid day ....the sun was bright ....Rita and I were filled with excitement. She was from Virginia and had not traveled much ....she trusted me. We were free and fear was not our enemy. Prior to our journey we talk about the future and the dangers of our travel. I carefully questioned her on the what-if's ....the possibilitie of roadblocks ahead. The officer again said to vacate the vehicle ....Rita went to work. My life spiraled out of control for several years ....one day in the midst of a storm, I called my mother for help ....she said that she had given it to god and suggested that I pray ....I didn't have a relationship with god at that time and was very depressed about my situation ....I nevertheless sent a weak prayer to god and things changed. I didn't know how to pray ....yet I knew I couldn't continue along this path ....I sat in my cell and asked God for help and guidence. Some have said that there are no time stamps on prayers ....I waited. I am here today ....grateful and alive. My mother told me that although I didn't have a relationship with god at that time ....he had never left me. I've come to believe that to be true. NEXT Here’s another very short one: When I was a kid, we lived in the projects. My father told us that one day he was going to buy a house with a basement. In the basement, he was going to build a gym. He did that. Well, it wasn’t a big gym, in fact, it was nothing more than a few items like a bunching bag and small weights, but we loved it. My father screwed in a spring resistance thang in a support beam. It was a used item that my father purchased from the Salvation Army, so there wasn’t much resistance but we made it work. My father said if I stood back far enough and worked that thing long enough, I would eventually see some results. Okay, I had faith in my father’s words, so for days and days, for hours and hours, I pulled on that contraption. One day I noticed a little bump on my arm. It was a muscle! Years later, I had gun boats. Many more years later, I bought a home, and I had a gym in my basement. To make a long story short, take a look at my son’s arms. (picture not available in this medium) And, Daddy’s little Girl: I've always thought being a man was about being tough and strong. I put a great deal of emphases on providing for my family and protecting them. I believe it's safe to say most fathers... real fathers feel the same way. Looking back... the hardest thing for me to do on a continual basis was share my emotions. I gave my family most things that I thought would be beneficial for their survival. Yet I sometimes wonder if I gave them all the tools necessary to endure the long haul of life. I now look back and wonder if I gave them all of me. It would be easy to take the less painful road and say it's not about me. I could blame everybody and everything ....I could open the door to excuses. Yet, I've come to believe that would be closing the door on growth. How does one prepare for the departure of their only daughter. In many ways my daughter was a bond that kept my family together. She was an integral part of my family unit. She was not planned .....her mother and I were kids playing house and she became pregnant while we were in high school. We married and struggled as young parents .....We shared dreams and spent many days and nights preparing our daughter for the day I will never forget. Being a young father .....I was just like the birds and the four legged animals that had to find safety in a tree. I could change my spots to look like a man and talk like a man but I wasn't a man. I seldom reached inside to find the soul of a man. I had always mimicked my father ....he was a great influence on my life .....I watched his moves but I never saw his tears. When I became a boy with a child I was scared and insecure .....I masked my fears and shoved those emotions behind. I thought it wasn't manly to show fear .....I found it hard to admit that I didn't know how to handle certain things. I was about to leave my daughter on the steps of a large University .....with strangers. My daughter had never seen me cry .....my wife had never seen me cry ....in truth, after leaving my parents home ....I had never cried. I thought back to the day my father told me to leave his home and go raise my family .....I remember his pain .....I now was sharing those same emotions. I wondered if I was making the right decision or was I living through my daughter by suggesting she go to a large University far away from home, when she could have gone to a local college with similar benefits ....did I think her chances of being an Olympic star were greater .....living my dream? My wife and I were about to leave our daughter at her new home ....The University of Kentucky. We were proud yet fearful ....I was her track coach. I had accompanied her on most of her trips. My wife would always be by my side ....assisting as mothers do ....she even ran along during training ....we used her as a rabbit. My daughter would spot her yardage and try to beat her to the line. My son was along ....he was just joyful of the promise of a Happy Meal. My daughter was a high school and national age group champion .....she now was going to Kentucky ....A College National Champion. In many ways my wife and I didn't plan for this day. Sure, we planned for our daughters new day but not our lives together, without our little girl. The days were gone when we would nudge one another to see who would change her diaper or pick her up from practice. There would be no more loading of the car .....the four of use for family trips to wonderful cities. What would my wife and I do when we didn't have our daughter around? Someone we felt we had to stand guard over. Was this like retirement? Was I retiring from being daddy and she daddy's little girl. I couldn't fake this one ....I couldn't change my spot from a sad, insecure and fearful father to one that appeared as if he had it all together ....this was real. Emotions flooded me ....I looked at my wife for answers ....her eyes and posture told me that she too had visited a dark place. Emotions I seldom dealt with, invade my soul ....rationalization and ambiguous thought were no match for the pains I was feeling. I was the leader of the family. As we got closer to the moment of goodbyes ....I again looked in the eyes of my wife ....and with some reserve and trepidation .....I looked into the eyes of my daughter ....they both were looking for answers from their leader. That was a defining moment in my life. At that moment I think I became closer to being a real man ....I lost it ....I cried ....I couldn't talk, I cried. I showed my vulnerability ....I didn't have all the answer and I didn't know anything else to do. Okay Thumper’s Corner, I am looking for a good editor. I have more stories. Much more. I have stories of all kinds. I have childhood stories, crime stories, lost love stories, young fatherhood stories, drug abuse stories, gun play stories, work place stories, drug smuggling stories, seeing death stories, incarceration stories, pimp stories, my family stories, love stories, church stories, loneliness & depression stories, overseas stories, blogging stories, lessons I've learn stories, life in the military stories, racism stories, self-discovery stories, grandchildren stories, my education stories, did I say love stories, shame and guilt stories, all true stories... All on paper. I need help. Editor wanted Another short one: Baby momma drama... If a women has children by different men what is she? Some are quick to call her a scank or a ho. Others might say she's a woman of low principles. Let me tell you a story and I'll tell you what I call them. I have a definition that's counter to the popular opinion. This story is about a man and a women that fell in love. Do you like a good love stories - I do. Like most love stories there's a beginning, a middle and the end. This story begins with a man that had lived a few years and a young beautiful black women that was just leaving her nest. They met in the military; he a fast talker, slick walker. She was a young innocent girl out to see the world. He had a history. In fact, he was denied entry into one branch of the military because of past criminal behavior. He was young but the streets called him at an early age. Being of a criminal mind and no ones fool, he found a way to slip into a different branch of the armed forces. Since he considered himself a lover and not a fighter and wasn't going to shoot at anyone, he wiggled his way into the cool confines of office life. He felt like one of the Beverly Hillbillies ....swimming pools, movies stars AND air conditioning. Life was good, he had a first hand view of all the new women that arrived on the base. Aside from greeting them at the door, their records preceded them. At first he felt kind of funny looking at their past but he rationalized that it was his job to make sure all their records were in order - it was one of his jobs. He came from the streets so he'd witnessed all the pimps and hustlers trying to lay their magic on women but his thang was different. An old player told him that women love sincere men that make them smile. So his thang was sincerity with a smile and a pinch of dishonest ....just a pinch. He knew that most women felt isolated in the military and longed for home. Well, while looking through their records to see if they had any ...ahhh, any ...ahhh, things he didn't want to catch, he would look to see what high school they went to and the city they were from. He was a cleaver old fox. While greeting them at the door he would extend his hand and then quickly pull it back with a startled look and say, "Helen Lampkin, German Town High School, women you haven't changed one bit". The ice was broken, the women was comfortable with her lost and found homie. Now, he still had work to do but friends before lovers was the name of the game and two friends had found each other on a lonely military base. One such women tweaked his heart along with his love of hide and go seek. She was a city girl that walked with a long stride that said, I know I look good and you can't have any. Her shoulders were back and her chin was slightly tipped up. She had heard all the lines. Women like that don't have to sleep alone. The old wolf knew he had to come with a new game. He decide just to be sincere without any lies. He told her what he generally did when anticipating a new arrival but that he just want to be straight up with her. He told her that he just wanted to meet her and he didn't want to start a friendship off with a lie. She paused and asked him if he looked in her medical records. He looked deep into her eyes and told her that he had not - he lied but the relationship blossomed :-). Hey, he was a wolf, okay. Life was good, they were the talk of the base. They drove around in a brand new block long Oldsmobile Ninety Eight that she helped him pay for. They yelled out the windows at the other soldiers and turned up their music to blast Marvin Gay .....what's going on .....what's going' on. They were in love. There was only one problem. This wolf turned serious lover had another lover - back home ...a child too. I went in the military to start a new life. But as my mother would say, if you play with a puppy, it will lick you in the face. My father's version was, if you sit in a barbershop you will eventually get a haircut. I fathered a child as a teenager and her mother was waiting for me back home. We had planned a life together yet I was in the arms of another women. I was hesitant about telling this part of my story because there remains a sense of guilt that I hurt others by my selfish ways. The shame and guilt goes away when I address the issues and honestly accepted my wrongdoings. When I jacked up my slacks and said I messed up, I can then move on. But to share my story and my pain with others is a new journey. The road is tough when the fingers of fault are pointing directly at me. However, I've grown tired of many depicting mothers with children by different men as some sort of women with flawed character or low morals. I was involved with two wonderful women that just happened to run into a guy like me. While playing house with my new lover we brought another child into the world. I wasn't man enough to tell either of the women about each other so I maintained two separate lives. I was close enough to my home town that I could drive home when I choose to do so. I lived this lie for 2 years until everything came tumbling down. I had become so comfortable with living like this that I even drove my second family to my parents home to let them visit with their new grandchild. I put them in an awful position. My father would give me the look of deep concern and ask me what the hell I was doing. My mother was force to take the route of don't ask don't tell. Everyone paid a price when the news broke. After visiting my parents one weekend, I decided to stop at a local horse racing track on my way out of town. My skills at picking winners wasn't very good so I decided to leave after the 5th race. I was with Rita* (*name changed) and my son. As we approached the car a voice said, "how are you doing Carey", it was Debbie*, the mother of my first child. She had a gun in her hand, a 2 shot derringer. I was stunned, I walked toward her. My son ran behind me saying daddy daddy. He didn't know there was danger, he just couldn't understand why I was walking off from him. At that moment my life changed and so did the lives of several others. To be continued ...........later Okay, one more short one: All kinds of momma’s day! Another Mothers Day has come and gone. That's my Mother and Father in the picture (not included here) It was a great day. I started my day at church with my lady. I was around all types of mothers. I also experienced several emotions. My mother no longer lives in her home, my sister now lives there. My mother had to move to a place that didn't have stairs. Mom lived in her home for nearly 50 years. Yesterday we eat dinner at my mothers old home. Although it was her house it no longer felt like home to her. My sister has made it her home and I could see the sadness in my mothers eyes. We had a good time but after a few hours my mother was ready to go back to her new home. Later in the day I turned into the cook. My lady and I entertained her mother and her family. We broke out the old pictures and turned on some music. Yes, laughter and all types of dance steps hit the floor. Well, my girls mother thought she was doing the stanky leg but it was just stanky. I swear, the women is about 65 yrs old and is still trying real hard to hold onto years gone by. She started breakin' down this one move that made her look like she was going to take a dump. Of course I was encouraging her with shouts of "GO DORIS GO DORIS". They call it mothers day but one of the mothers has stopped being mom. Well, she has 2 children but she now straps down her titties and her lover is another momma. Yep, dey snatchin'. I don't have a problem with who licks on who. In fact, when she came through the door I punched her in her arm just like she was a dude. Shit, you would have thought I gave her a million bucks. She smiled like a sissy in a penis farm. She no longer does penis but you know what am talking about. Why do negros come late? I am so tired of CP time ....what about a time called now? If dinner is at 3pm they drag their ass up in the house at 4:30 ...what's up with that shit. They worked me. I cooked prime rib. Yeah, that steak is easy to prepare and it's easy on the gums of the old folk. My ladies son, his wife and their 2 children came late. They didn't even get in the door before they started talking about food. I started to say it was mothers day and NOT "late niggas" day. But I was cool, I hooked them up. There should be a day called new mommas day. Well, one of the younger boys in the house was working on a new momma. See, he had my ladies phone and decided to do a little texting. When she asked him what he was doing, he quickly said, "nothing". We knew that meant he was up to no good. Yes sir, he was sending messages to some female telling her all the nasty stuff he was going to do to her. The kid is only 14. I was wondering if he was a octopus because he would need 8"Johnsons" and 4 tongues to do all the nasty thangs he was talkin' about doing. It was a good day. We took new pictures and laughed at old ones. We eat and danced. Every mother got a flower. I cleaned the kitchen and vacuumed the floor. When I started cleaning up I thought everyone would know it was time for them to hit the road. Oh no, they asked me if I had any new bootlegged movie. See, I knew they were getting a little too comfortable when grandma fell asleep with one of the babies in her arms. I pulled out plan "B". I went straight to the bathroom and started running bath water while pulling off my socks. Aretha Franklin said, "company is all right with me ...every once in awhile, but when me and mine start making love". See, my day wasn't done. I had another job to do. I ain't tryin' to tell my business but the eagle landed. Okay, one more time Thumper’s Corner, I am looking for a good editor. I have more stories. Much more. I have stories of all kinds. I have childhood stories, crime stories, lost love stories, young fatherhood stories, drug abuse stories, gun play stories, work place stories, drug smuggling stories, seeing death stories, incarceration stories, pimp stories, my family stories, love stories, church stories, loneliness & depression stories, overseas stories, blogging stories, lessons I've learn stories, life in the military stories, racism stories, self-discovery stories, grandchildren stories, my education stories, did I say love stories, shame and guilt stories, all true stories... All on paper. I need help. Editor wanted I am very serious about this. If you think I have a viable product hit my e-mail. What I am thinking about doing is having 2-3 editors at one time. Each will get the same pages( and money) . I have nothing to lose but a little money. Money is not my biggest problem and I’ve been around long enough to know I have to pay to play. But look, if you think the stories are crap, I don’t need stroking, nor do I want to just give my money away. Carey.m@mchsi.com Last Sample: A Dream Deferred There are many things I should be doing today but I am consumed by the current events. There was an article on Yahoo, asking the question, "Why Did Obama Win"? I'll get back to that. I am sure we all have stories of struggle. It's been said that if a man controls your mind he controls you. I am not the type of man that blames others for my faults. However if a person's dreams are deferred by limited exposure, who's to blame? Maybe no one, because in doing so, we look back and not forward. When I think about the dreams of my grandfather, six generation past, I know he looked forward to a day in which he would no longer be a slave. In 1865 he was released from slavery in Kentucky and moved north. While a slave he was responsible for the care of the farm animals. He was in essence an animal doctor. Skills in hand, he headed North. He settled into a white community on the banks of Mississippi River in northern Illinois, Port Byron. Generations later, my Great-Grandmother's dream was to simply go to school. She never had that opportunity, she raised 10 children while working beside my grandfather as sharecroppers. One of my mother's dreams was to go to high school and graduate, she did that. I was talking to my daughter this morning and we conversed about my grandson. Her voice made me stop and think of a dream my wife shared with me. See, my daughter was not planned. My wife became pregnant while we were in high school. There was talk of abortion and adoption. We married and struggled as young parents, yet, we shared dreams and passed them along to our children. My daughter went back to Kentucky, not as a slave, nor to find her roots but as a student at the University Of Kentucky. My wife passed away 6 months before the birth of our grandchild. While talking to my daughter she told me that my grandson, who is 5 yrs old, said that he and Obama were just alike. My daughter said, yes, you are both black. He declared, NO MOMMY! We are both presidents. His school held class elections to familiarize students with the voting process; he was voted president of his 1st grade class. Ignoring the comparison that most adults would make, my grandson focused on something greater than race. He was proud of the fact that he won the presidency. He knew the job of president was important, yet too young to understand the significance of skin color in the past election. It wasn't important to him that they shared a color. He was proud of the fact that he was good enough to be president. Maybe one day it will cease being such a big deal. My grandfather didn't look back. I have a grandson- his name is Carey-he's the president. Why did Obama win? Because he was the best man for the job! ~CareyCarey
  9. Oh no Troy, I wouldn't be surprised in the least. That's a very good page. Of course history is important. Here's my thang. Without a doubt it inspires further discusion. I was merely suggesting that "answers" alone are like a hotdog bun without the hotdog. In reference to inspiration, I am reminded of people that go to church and throw their hands in the air and holla like they just don't care. They say AMEN!, preach pastor. When the choir stops singing and the lights go out, so does their praise. So now we are sitting at the table of Black History Month. Excuse me Troy, could you pass me a little of that "Richard Allen". Troy: Certainly Carey, btw, did you know his master was a kindly gentleman? Carey: You're kidding me? Troy: Nope, he let Richie buy his freedom. Carey: Are you talking about the son of Miss Maddie and that one cracker... I mean Quaker, Benjamin Chew? Troy: YES! You do know that he was instrumental in establishing the African Methodist Episcopal Church? Carey: Really? Is that why we are now called African Americans? Troy: I think so. Carey: Okay Troy, if you're so smart, who said "Too long have others spoken for us!"? Troy: That's easy, Helen Keller. Carey: That's funny Troy, pass me some of that John Brown Russwurn. Troy: Okay Carey, but you better put some of this Cornish on it. Carey: OH Yeah! We don't have but a month to grease like this so you know I'm gonna throw down. So you're up on Samuel E. Cornish? Troy: Nope, but it sounds good. Carey: Hey Troy, do we have any sweets? Troy: Boy, are you serious? Don't you see that Josephine "the" Baker? Carey: But Troy, I am looking for some real soul food. I don't see any dirty rice or Condoleezza Rice? I like my Louis "Rich" Farrakhan slow smoked in some Tiger Woods. Troy: That's not slave food! Be quiet, white folks get riled up when you mention those delicate morsels. Carey: Do we have a bunch of greens? Troy: No, we do not, but if you promise not to tell anyone, we have some Ralph Bunche. I bet you don't know anything about that? Carey: Well Troy, your eyes may shine and your teeth my grin, but that's not slave food... so it's a sin. Look Troy, somebody might come in here and ask us for the right answers. I mean, if they ask us what we are eating and we say Muhammed Ali instead of William Wells Brown, we could be in big trouble. What are they gonna say when we are licking our fingers and soppin' up some Barack Obama? Look at you, wipe that Colin Powel off your face. Am all for a little adventure but I'm trying to stay at the table. Remember, we only have a month. Troy: Carey, you're right. Try some of this Frederick Douglas. After you slam that down, we are going to get ugly on some of that Thumper. Carey: THUMPER! Is that slave food? I think I've seen that over at Mr Johnson's house. Troy: You're silly, Carey. I was trying to tell you that Thumper is bringing his Red Velvet Cake. Carey: I know you're not talking about the Wizard of Books & Movies? You can't be becuase er'body knows that boy don't know nothing about cooking. Hurry, call him and tell him to bring some slave food. Ask him if he has any William Wells Brown. Troy: You're probably right. Maybe I should tell him to bring some music. Carey: ARE YOU NUTS?! You know Thump doesn't play anything but Aretha Franklin and Etta James. Troy: Well, what wrong with that? Carey: Come on Troy, stop thinking like a mental midget. First, when Thumper starts playing Aretha's "Jump To It", you don't want to see him do his Mr Brown. That's some ugly mess. Besides, this is a slave celebration. We need some of that moaning music. Troy: OuuuuWeeeee Carey, have you tried some of this Isaac Murphy? You know that's slave food. It has something to do with horses. Carey: Yuck! Cats eat horse meat. But I do love me some Isaac Hayes. You know, "by the time I get to Phoenix" Troy: If you don't stop running your mouth, by the time this month is over, we will be looking real stupid, cuz we'll be real hungry. Carey: I don't know what "we" are going to do, but am going to buy me some books. Troy: Book?! Do you know how to read? Carey: Oh, you got jokes. Of course I know how to read. I've been reading about Oprah and ... Troy: Hush your mouth boy! Here, put some of this Harriet Tubman in your mouth. Are you trying to spoil the party? Besides, you can't even put hot sauce on Oprah. That's already too strong. But we can always warm up some Harriet Tubman. Yes sir, that's fine slave food. Carey: You're right again ol'wise one. You did say "We all don't assimilate information the same way". But Troy, I've never seen much of this food that you are giving me. Troy: Duh! That's why we are having this great feast. See Carey, negroes like you need to know this food exists. And you know what, white folks need a little bump of this too. They need to know every closed eye ain't sleep. Carey: But Troy, the eat chitterlings too Troy: Stop being stupid, Carey. They need to know they left a little cream in our coffee. Carey: Yeah, and I hate that. Troy: Well, we are the hate that hate created. Carey: What?! Troy: Eat boy, just eat. That's too deep for you. Keep your eye on that pig. You can't handle the truth. You'd probably gag on some prime rib. Carey: Forget you Troy. I got your fat pig. You go right ahead and crame your face with a plate of T. Thomas Fortune cookies. I am going to buy me a double stack of books. Soon as my feet stike zion, am gonna lay down my heavy burdens, I'm gonna put on my robe in glory/ am gonna shout and tell my story/ am gonna tell him all about my struggles/ my soul looks back and I wonder how I got over. Troy: No you didn't! Did you just try to drop the deal breaker? I mean, I've been to church and I recognize a gospel song when I hear one. So now you wanna bring God to the table. See Carey, God knows my heart. Carey: Yes he does Troy, and he knows what you do... at all times! Troy: What are you trying to say, Carey? Are you saying my heart is not in the right place, and that we shouldn't be filling up on slave food! CareY: No, that's not what I am saying. Well, where is Thumper? Did he bring his old school music? I was going to put on Aretha. I love this line... "company is alright with me every once in awhile, but when me and my baby start making love" ... It's time for the slaves to move around. Troy: I think I gotcha. Perhaps you are suggesting that the information be obtained from a book. If soe I'm all for that too. Carey: Bingo Baby! Now you're cooking with Crisco. I am not Paul Harvey, but I want to hear the rest of the story. Er'bdy can't stand the truth. But I want to know what's really going on. Listen Troy, put down that pork chop and lend me your ear. I am not Big Red from the Five Heartbeats, and you are not their manager, but I am trying to put some money in yo pockets and some knowledge on your brain. I am tired-tired-tired of hearing regurgitated slave stories. I know some negroes like to wax poetically about days gone by, but What About A Time Called Now? Let the slave ship ride off into the sunset. Make my funk the P-Funk, I love to get funked up! I do not look in caskets. If I did, I'd be taking my eyes off the prize. Pass the peas.
  10. Well Troy, to Ismael's Fade to White, I say Bull Shit! We've done this before so I'll move on. Ismael is very deep. I read ALL of the AALBC link. Man, that was long! This caught my eye..... "RM: It seems to me that black writers have to be marketed into neat little categories to sell books, and if you're not able to fit into any of these slots, then you have a problem" There was a load of wisdom in that interview.
  11. Troy, your comment is ridiculous. Look>>> "I guess we are all so used to being lied to we don't even notice or give a shit when it happens!" booooooooo! Excuse me, where is the lie?! You do know what a lie is? So it's a lie if a director leaves out something that YOU think should be included in a documentary? That's nuts Troy. I am glad you changed you words from "a mistake" to "horrenous journalism". See, as you stated, that's your opinion, but you can not call it a mistake or a lie. Well, you can and you did, so I am glad you game back to clean up that mess. Bill Wither's vs O.J. Simpson? Come on Troy, Simpson's baggage was world wide news. I doubt a person would say "the abuse Denise" if you asked them to name 5 things associated with Bill Withers. Hell, I didn't know anything about it.
  12. LiLI, this is not a dating service. Sucking up will get you nowhere. You should try prayer and let me do my thang. Did you read the topic? The man didn't come here to sell you a book, DAMN. Did you have a question, or was your sole purpose rooted in starting mess? Huh, what's really in your wallet. Thumper said "Actually, the cover was the trigger that made me pick up the book". Do you have anything to add to the conversation? Haters, ya gotta love'em. *smooche*
  13. I agree ABM, how would that be a mistake?! Lied to?! That's akin to a person going to see Michael Jackson's "This is it" and then saying they were lied to because they didn't talk about his drug use.
  14. Mr Gaiter, It’s quite a joy to see you brave the halls of Thumper’s Corner. You are one of a long line of writers that have stopped by for a little chat. Many have come, and even stayed awhile, but few possessed your writing skills. They may have sold more books than you, however, your command of the English language is matched by few. As you may or may not know, Troy has invited you into a lions den *lol*. I am just kidding about that but this can be a hard place to make your lunch. I like to think of this place as a watchdog group. They generally do not play favorites (although many have been known to such up to Zane) they have no problem telling it how they truly feel. If you are easily bruised, catch your hat and run for the hills. Well, maybe I should speak for myself. As I said, your words were easy to follow. And, it would be a fool’s errand to disagree with your words and/or opinion. They are yours to own. However, I not only read your words, I felt your tone and what you did not say. Well, although you said you understand the white man, can you possibly understand them better than they know themselves? You implied the “cover folks” had not read your book, or you didn’t know if they had. Is it possible they had read the book or were advised that the cover that was chosen would garner more book sells? Is it possible the publisher didn’t think it was strong enough to carry a white audience? Now, I am just asking the questions because I have not read your book. You mentioned white books that also use the words “tart” and I don’t know why. I didn’t see a prostitute on your cover. I saw a naked woman. Was it a black woman on the cover that made you say "I believe the cover could have done a much better job of projecting the tone and content of the book while being equally provocative, and just as inviting to a black as well as white audience" I am wondering if we are dealing with an image that you wish to project, or principle verses money? You can write for the masses but it’s doubtful you can have your cake and eat it do. I mean, do you think your book would have done better if the cover didn’t project a black theme? For you, maybe it has nothing to do with money. You said you have black characters in your other books. Are they black just because they have black skin or does their culture come along with their blackness? Maybe it’s about a writer that desires to be judged by his skills and not by the color of his skin? I believe that's what you are saying? Okay, roll the dice. If I roll snake eyes, I’ll still be a good writer that’s standing on my principles, and not simply a broke black writer?
  15. Buy a book, not a slave. This is a touchy subject, so work with me. Hip HiP Hurray! It’s Black History Month. But slow your roll Gym Shoes, what’s it all about? I get so tired of the multiple questions. You know, like , which of the following was the first black man on the moon: A) John H. Johnson John Hope Franklin C) Jean Baptiste Pointe DuSable D) Jesus Okay, that’s a trick question but Mr. DuSable died a pauper, but yet, he is remembered as a symbol of African American ingenuity and self-reliance. Boy, that’s something to remember. Here’s another great question. Who was the first “woman” Heavyweight Champion? A) Maggie Lena Walker Mary McLeod Bethune C) Madam C. J. Walker D) Cynique This answer is obvious. We know black women will spend a fortune on their nappy head, so the answer is Madam C. J. Walker. Are you kidding me, without her, more black women would be putting their money in a bank like the one Maggie Walker owned, instead of trying to look like white women. Next: Who gave the most? A) Dred Scott Crispus Attucks C) The Buffalo Soldiers D) O J Simpson Lets see, Dred Scott won his freedom, but wait, they sent him back to slavery less than 2 years later. Crispus Attuck was sold from massa to massa but he eventually escaped to freedom. He then became the first man to die at the Boston Massacre. Now that’s something to shout about. The Buffalo Soldiers ran up San Juan Hill in Cuba in 1898. By the twentieth century they could only run their mouths. They were not “allowed” to fight. But look at us now! Ali Said “hell no, I won’t go”. It looks as if O. J. is the winner. He had to give up white girls. Next: He or He? Booker T Washington the “Great Apologist” or William Monroe Trotter the “Guardian”? Next: Who’s the greatest, She or She? Harriet Tubman, the union nurse, scout and spy or Oprah? That question is a gimme, right? Next Question: Who was the most militant. A) Frederick Douglas Malcolm X C) Nate Turner D) Phillis Wheatley This is not a trick question. Phillis Wheatley dared to be the first black to publish a book and only the second women in the United States to publish a book of poetry. I say we should spend less time and money answering questioning on slavery. We are losing ground. What happened to The New York Freeman, The Liberator and The Crisis? Who’s read The Autobiography of an Ex-Colored Man? What director/producer is making the most “black” money. Don’t take your kids to a Jeopardy game of “Name That Black Slave”. Take them to a book store.
  16. Okay Thump, I see your meds have settled down. It looks like another love TKO. But before I leave, I have to say a couple of things. See, I wasn't going to bring up the old board. You know, I was going to let that go. But nooooo, you wanna challenge my memory. I have to admit it's not what it used to be, so, at times, you have me in handcuffs. But sometimes I get a flash alert. Yep, I see the woman that you said (on the old board) wasn't a good actress, and wasn't going to be nothing, Jennifer Beals. I think I just saw her in The Book Of Eli. I know you're big daddy woo woo in this Oscar thang, but you made your move to soon on that one. That's right, about 10 years ago, you tore her a new one. Don't make me say what movie. Hint: Walter Moseley. I don't mean to bring up the past, because I sure don't want you to reach for your meds, but sometimes you have me confused. Good night, sleep tight, and don't let the bed bugs bite you... anymore.
  17. Okay Buggin Out, it's time for you and Radio Raheem to silence that boom box. Ain't nobody trying to hear that "Fight the Power". I know you didn't try to flip the script by telling ME about Judi Dench & Geraldine Page's 10 minute performances. That was my point! You were crying and talking in tongue about Alan Arkin only being in the movie 18 mintutes, and he still beat your boy Eddie Murphy. Come on Thump, you're slippin'. Btw, why you gotta talk so nasty? Huh, why you wanna talk about my skin? I have said nothing about that wig you wear and those pull out teeth. But lets cut to the chase. I am not denying the fact that racism is alive. Nope, not gonna do that. All I am saying is Gabby's performance was nothing special. You tell me how hard it is to fall down on a street after being pushed by corner thugs? How much brilliance does it take to look fat and cry? Oh, I forgot, she really brought it in those flashback scenes... NOT! That mess was campy as hell. Again, take Mo'nique out of the scene with Gabby and Miriah Carey, and what do we have... nothing! Take Mo'nique out of the home scenes, and what do we have... zip-nothing. But wait, she really reached in her acting bag in those school scenes. Nope, the other actresses carried those. Maybe it was the scene in which she stole a 30 piece box of Sambo's chicken. That's it, that scene was priceless. Come on Thump, I know this is Black History Month, but you're standing in black quicksand, and your sinking fast. Look, come closer to the screen, you seem to be missing something. If you're standing in doo-doo, and another person is standing in poo-poo, ya both stink. But one of yawl might be the funkiest of the all. Listen, you can put on Gone With The Wind and say Mammy Hattie was the best thang smokin'. You can say Taraji Henson was robbed for not winning the Oscar for Benjimin Button. But to knock the other actresses in an attempt to raise your Gabby above the crowd, IS NOT gonna work. Let you tell it, Uncle Remus was robbed in Song Of The South. Oh yeah, "zippity do da, zippity day, my oh my oh... Thumper's gone insane. Okay, tell me why Gabby should win? But please Tupac, no more "look at the white girl". That's right, lets look at Gabby's performance. You say Oscar, I say boxer. Box her up and send her to the BET awards. The Oscar is for the best performance of the year. It's not a black thang.
  18. Grasshopper I may be King Cobra, but you should stop wiggling in the low grass, that peyote is making you hallucinate. If I am not mistaken, Sandra Bullock is up for a Razzie (this year). So you are trying to tell me that Eddie lost the Oscar because he released Norbit prior to the vote. Hogwash I say. Besides, Alan Arkin was great in Little Miss Sunshine. Furthermore, who sits around and counts the minutes an actor is on screen. In Pulp Fiction, who was on the screen the most, Samuel Jackson, Bruce Willis, Ving Rhanes, or John Travolta? The award goes to the Best Actor, not the one with the driest hair. I mean, standing in front of those hot lights can damage the cuticles. Gabby can turn into Oprah, and she'd still never win. She could pass out diamond rings and refrigerators, and she would still come in last. See, you have brown butter in your eyes. Throw a black woman up there, and you faint with praise. Let it go Thump, wiggle out of that ditch weed. The woman is fortunate to even be nominated. If we take Mo'nique out of the equation, and all the other great actors, Ms. Gabby's performance pales in comparison to the rest of the nominees. Take down that H Rap Brown poster. The awards go to the Best.
  19. "A flirtatious black tart" Wow! I wonder if Leonce has a thing against black women? Okay, I read the article and I see his point. The man basically said, don't put anything black on my cover because it will not sell. The man was serious. He said something about going to war before he'd let that happen again. He said call him what you want but he's trying to get paid. If I knew the brother, I'd ask him a few questions, but since I don't I am going to give him a pass. I would like to hear the publishers view. Is it possible they thought the book wouldn't make it outside the lines?
  20. Well Thump, as much as I like disagreeing with you, I think you are on target. But you know what, I've never seen "Milk". So I can't speak on the Sean Pen thang. I did however enjoy Mickey Rourke. But wait Thump, no Avatar? I mean, generally the best director award goes to the director of the best picture. Well, unless there's some "color" in the movie. The Hurt Locker was very suspenseful and the acting was tight, but I don't understand the criteria for best director? Yes, Mo'nique is a lock. I don't remember Eddie Murphy's "supposedly" showing of his ass? You'll have to fill us in on that. Who beat him? Was he up for best actor or best supporting actor? I could google it, but that wouldn't be any fun. Any old fool can act like they know something, but you, my man, are the real deal. Now don't let your head swell, and go looking for the Real Deal Hollifield. I mean, you are good at picking movies, so don't go pick a fight with a boxing champion. But seriously, you might be on to something. But why don't you think Ol'Julie (what's her name) is not going to sneak in there? So, I guess we can agree that the actor from Inglorious Bastards is running away with best supporting actor, right?
  21. After reading your post, I set it on the stove and brought it to a simmer. Well, not a simmer, but I had to think about it. See, I don't think I can answer this question... "Is diversity equally important to the AA audience as it is for all of the other book reading audiences?" The question implies that I should know what "other" book reading audiences read and what's important to them. However, maybe I can address the question by taking a poke at this... "it is possible for some AA to have been reading nothing but AA titles without reading one title written by a non-black writer" Although it may be possible for some AA to have been reading nothing but AA titles, we, for the most part, live in their world. I don't care if we are reading their novels or their short stories, we read about their lives and their stories on a regular basis. Their cupboards has never been bare. If can jump into the skin of the "others" I am trying to figure out why I'd want to read your stories. I mean, were is my vested interest in reading stories about a culture that I really do not have socialize with? You can't make me, you can't make me. You can't shame me into reading your books, and I don't want my friends to know that I even care about you. But Thump, maybe I missed the question.
  22. Well Yvettep, I don't know how this goes, but it has something to do with a boiling pot. Grab a seat, all4you33 is ploting as we speak. She's trying to figure out how to write in pig-latin. You know, she's desparately trying to disguise her voice. Take your eyes off the pot.
  23. Well Cynique, have you noticed my new avatar? Let me sing you a few lines... "I think I better let it go/ it looks like another love TKO!"
  24. The names may change but a Thumpette will always be a TC alumni! **snicker** For all that may have forgotten their past, their words live in infamy. http://www.thumperscorner.com/discus/messages/47723/42311.html?1231359969 Read them and weep. Remember, no words were changed. The words came out of the postees mouth. Don't hate the player. LOL
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