B.o.B Is The Dumbest Man Alive

All jokes aside, how many dumb ideas can one dude have, son? Look, in my eyes, everyone has to pick a thing, man. Like, we all should only be allowed to have one ridiculous belief, fam. For me, I believe The Rolling Stones are better than The Beatles, bruh. Yes, I know some people may think I’m insane, but no one can convince me otherwise. With that being said, rapper B.o.B is DETERMINED to have the most preposterous ideas, folks. First, he claimed that the Earth was flat. Shit, he even got into a beef with Neil deGrasse Tyson about it. Now, he’s claiming that slavery never existed in America. All in all, this clown can’t be fucking serious, people.

Ok, as I stated in the previous paragraph, Bobby Ray is alleging that slavery didn’t happen in America. So, he posted some bullshit on his Instagram page and proudly proclaimed that there was no slavery in his DNA. Furthermore, he wondered why we could find dinosaur bones but couldn’t find any slave ships. Now, outside of the fact that he’s insane, his fuckery bothers me for another reason, son. Look, if this clowncake did even the SMALLEST amount of research, he’d know that everything he’s stated has already been debunked. With that being said, let’s start with slave ships, man.

Now, in Washington, D.C., there’s a little Smithsonian museum called the National Museum of African American History and Culture. Essentially, this museum chronicles the entire history of Black people in the United States. Please note, I’ve written about this exact place on my blog before. Meaning, the virtues of this building have already been added to the zeitgeist. In any case, this museum has tons of valuable items on display, such as artifacts from slave ships that B.o.B claims don’t exist. As it stands, anybody can go to D.C. right now and see remnants of the São José Paquete Africa, a slave ship from Portugal.

Moving on, what confuses me even more is the fact that B.o.B is from the South. I mean, he can go to a bunch of different states and see a preserved plantation right this moment, fam. At the end of the day, there are millions of conspiracies, bruh. However; the existence of slavery isn’t one of them, folks. It just is what it is, people.

In the end, I don’t want to hear any more tomfoolery from B.o.B, son. At this point, I only need him to do one thing, man: give me Sevyn Streeter’s number, fam. I mean, that woman is fine as fuckity-fuck, bruh! In any case, Bobby needs to leave the happy dust alone and go back to making music that people actually care about. Keeping it a buck, he hasn’t really done that in a number of years, folks. LC out.

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My Day At The National Museum Of African American History & Culture

First off, I want to give a major shout-out to the Christian Divas at the Epworth United Methodist Church in the Bronx, New York. My wife is a part of this group/church and they’re the ones who organized the trip to the Smithsonian National Museum of African American History and Culture in Washington, D.C.. Now, before I continue, let me make a public service announcement: everyone needs to go to this museum, man! It truly is a rich and detailed history of the Black experience in America. Meaning, it wholly documents the good, the bad, the ugly, the super ugly and the egregiously ugly. With that being said, I just want to talk about my day at the museum. Let’s go!

To begin, our group started from the building’s lower levels and worked our way to the top floor. The History Galleries occupy the bottom three floors and they tell our history from the 15th century until today. Now, I won’t lie, son. Walking through these exhibits can be very taxing on the soul. It’s incredibly infuriating to see how we were kings and queens, willfully trading goods with Europe, and ended up being the merchandise ourselves.

On the real, seeing actual chains, illustrations of how we were packed onto ships and quotes from some of our callous captors can be an absolute mind-fuck, son. In addition, seeing things like real slave auction blocks, Nat Turner’s Bible and authentic cowskin whips can leave the strongest people feeling deflated. However; looking at Emmett Till’s casket nearly did me in, man. For the life of me, I will NEVER understand how anyone could do that to a 14-year-old boy. So, for that, Carolyn Bryant Donham can burn in the deepest depths of Hell. Recanting her story does NOTHING to bring that boy back, man.

Moving on, walking through gallery after gallery started to take a toll on me. Seeing my people go from slavery to segregation to the prison industrial complex can be extremely heavy on the heart. With that being said, thank the Lord for the Community and Culture Galleries on the upper floors, son! Being the musician I am, I immediately found myself in the music section. How could I not be happy after taking pictures of J Dilla’s MPC, Funkadelic’s Mothership and Chuck Berry’s red Cadillac? Side note, Rest In Peace to Chuck Berry, man. Fuck what anyone else says, THAT MAN invented Rock & Roll, son! No ifs, ands, or buts about it. Anyway, walking through these galleries was exactly what I needed after the History Galleries.

In the end, I really enjoyed my time there. It was dope to bring my oldest son and watch him learn. I mean, it would be hard for him to grasp everything so soon, but I definitely wanted him to start learning about history. Ultimately, it doesn’t matter what ethnicity anyone is. Everyone needs to visit this museum, man. Well done, Smithsonian. Well done indeed. LC out.

P.S. Shout-out to singer-songwriter Kendra Foster. I ran into her at the museum and she was awesome to talk to. Outside of her dope self-titled debut album, she also helped D’Angelo write the lyrics to most of Black Messiah. Now, anyone who knows me knows how much of a D’Angelo stan I am. In any case, she’s awesome. That is all.