Y’all. I see a LOT of movies over the course of a year.
In the last couple of weeks, I’ve seen Annie AND Selma.

Y’all know I love a good musical. Hence the subject of today’s post.
Yeah. I know that’s not the new Annie. SO? I can like the old Annie too.
And, yes. I liked the new Annie. It was cute and I totally got why the kids loved it.
I was 10 when the original Annie came out. Which, incidentally, is about the age the new Annie is geared toward.
AND? The 10 year old that I went with loved it.

I know people complained because the new Annie was black NOT THE 1982 ANNIE, but listen. I ran across this FB post that explains
perfectly why the new Annie is appropriate.

Annie

Aside from the fact that Annie is a fictional character and REALLY can be any damn color the writer chooses.
Including blue. Although I feel like trying to pass off an Avatar as a human child would be reaching.

But I guess we’re not here for this today, are we?
We’re here ‘cause it’s THE REVEREND DOCTOR Martin Luther (the) King Jr Day. And I’m at work. While most of y’all are not.
Work on the plantation is never done, y’all.
And since I *AM* here, I may as well talk about Selma. Since it came out this weekend, and I saw it.
NORMALLY. I’d say no to this kind of biopic.

Because it’s been done.
“We shall overcome….”
“I have a dream…”
BLAH. BLAH. BLAH. JESUS. DID MLK, JR. SAY ANYTHING ELSE AT ALL?
(Turns out he did. You’re welcome!)

And really, I kinda know how it ends. He’s ASSASSINATED.

That’s not a spoiler! Because:
1. THIS IS HISTORY, SO EVERYBODY SHOULD KNOW THIS.
2. That’s not what this movie is about!
Which. Is why I liked it so much. I mean, in so far as you can like a movie about racist America being racist.
This movie was ONLY about the march to Selma. And about how our government ain’t shit.

Let me show you my/MLK’s shocked face:
MLK
Huh. I guess I’m/he’s not shocked either.

BONUS: I didn’t have to listen to anybody sing “We Shall Overcome” at all. But. They said it an AWFUL LOT.
Still though. I’m calling it a ‘W’.
(QUITE POSSIBLY A SPOILER ALERT. SO SKIP THIS IF YOU DON’T WANT TO KNOW THIS. EVEN THOUGH THIS IS ALSO *HISTORY*)

The Marches from Selma to Montgomery were inspired by the death of Deacon Jimmie Lee Jackson. He was beaten and shot by Alabama State Trooper Bonard Fowler while participating in a peaceful voting rights march in his city. He was unarmed; he died several days later in the hospital.

FORTY-TWO YEARS LATER (2007) Fowler was indicted in Jackson’s death, and then in 2010 he pleaded guilty to manslaughter. he was sentenced to SIX! WHOLE! MONTHS! in prison.

LOOK AT ALL THIS JUSTICE BEING SERVED*

*still don’t have a sarcasm font
(/END)

Also: I was struck by the fact that it’s been 50 years since this March. And we’ve come SO. FAR.
I mean… now all of the pictures are in color.

Selma3Selma2 Selma1
ANYWAYS. That’s today’s BHFOTD/Movie Review.
Oh. Did you not look at the maybe spoiler? Which is where the fact is hidden today?

Then here’s another MLK Jr BHFOTD:
Did y’all know that in 1999 a Memphis jury found the United States government guilty of conspiring to assassinate Dr. King on the balcony of the Lorraine Motel on April 4, 1968 in a civil lawsuit?

Related quote from Dr. King: “Justice too long delayed is justice denied”

Huh.
As always, if you’re looking for more BHFOTD, you don’t have to wait on me. They’re just out there waiting. Now’s your opportunity!

So I…have been busy this weekend. Today is Nesto’s birthday! His ACTUAL, not his Marine Corps one. I know some of y’all get confused ’cause we celebrate that one too. But. He’s a Marine. That’s how it works.

For his birthday this year, I took him to a Marine Corps graduation. Because he’s been trying to get to one and hadn’t been able to. It was my first one! Because when he graduated from boot camp I was…pregnant. And also I hated him then. But that’s a story for another day. AHEM.

ANYWAYS. THEN I took him to the USS Midway. Because he(we) love that shit. Interactive history is fun! I could touch stuff. And y’all know I can’t keep my hands to myself. It had retired military discussing planes! And Top Gun stuff! And it wasn’t even super crowded. Because I took Friday off special, so I could surprise him with all this.

WHICH. Is how I missed another important birthday/ Founder’s Day!

January 9th is the Founder’s Day for Phi Beta Sigmas! Happy (belated) birthday to my cousin and Unc!

And I would be remiss if I didn’t take this chance to shout out my sister’s brother Fraternity. Because I never pass up a chance to poke at my sissy. (Hey, Nisha!)

*Pushes up glasses*  Phi Beta Sigma Fraternity was founded at Howard University in 1914. The Founders wanted to organize a Greek letter fraternity that would truly exemplify the ideals of brotherhood, scholarship, and service.

The Founders wished to create an organization that viewed itself as “a part of” the general community rather than “apart from” the general community. They believed that each potential member should be judged by his own merits, rather than his family background or affluence….without regard to race, nationality, skin tone or texture of hair. They desired for their fraternity to exist as part of an even greater brotherhood which would be devoted to the “inclusive we” rather than the “exclusive we”. Inclusive. Yes. That means even you, white people.

The Founders also conceived Phi Beta Sigma as a mechanism to deliver services to the general community. They held a deep conviction that they should return their newly acquired skills to the communities from which they had come. This was mirrored in the Fraternity’s motto, “Culture For Service and Service For Humanity”.

(My family and their love of service. Huh)

Since this is the FIRST BHFOTD for the New Year (Happy New Year!!), let’s talk about some Sigma firsts, shall we?

  • First and ONLY Black Greek-Letter Fraternity to have one of its members on the face of a U.S. Coin. (George Washington Carver: The 1951 Half Dollar)
  • First Black Greek-Letter Fraternity to be recognized by Howard University, AND…
  • First Fraternity to have Presidents of other countries in its membership (Hon. Bros. Kwame Nkrumah, Dr. Nnamdi Azikiwe, and Nelson Mandela)
    • (Nelson Mandela! Well, shit. You fancy, huh?)
    • (Rhetorical. Of course, they are. They’re my fam’s fam)
    • (And also ’cause….YOU KNOW)
    • (I can never resist. I’m not sorry)

I hope you enjoyed the first BHFOTD of the year. And a look into Nesto’s birthday adventures. See you in February!

I feel like it bears mentioning that some of the people I love most are in law enforcement.
They are fair, and respectful, and kind in ways that I am not.
And I think that they picked careers that are perfect for them because they want to do good.
Because they believe in service.
I personally don’t love people enough to want to deal with the fuckery that they have to.

I commend them ‘cause they are the kind of people that law enforcement should be.

I say all that to say it’s not an either/or situation.
You can support law enforcement who are decent people
and doing good things in the community,
and still be critical of the bully boys, racists, and assholes.
Some of you need to realize that.

It’s not fuck ALL the police.
It’s fuck the police who murder with impunity.
Fuck the police who hide behind their badges.
Fuck the police who think that some lives matter less than others.
And fuck the system that does not punish or police the police when they are wrong.

Being in law enforcement does not exclude you from the law.
It shouldn’t give you a “get out jail free card”
Your jobs are ones of service.
You should and NEED to be held accountable for your actions in the course of your job.
You should be disciplined for behaving badly.

And if you unable/unwilling to serve and protect your communities then you should quit.
Or be fired.

The People deserve better.
ALL of them.

(even the black ones)

And I’m not going to lie to you, I’m not feeling very Christmassy.
This Song has been stuck in my head for months.

MONTHS.

There are 43,200 minutes in a month. ISH.
30 days hath September, blah blah blah. All the rest have 31.
Except February. February fucks up everything.
That’s a loose interpretation of how the song goes. You’re welcome.

ANYWAYS.
It makes me sad.

five hundred twenty-five thousand
six hundred minutes
how do you measure- measure a year?

So many things can change in a year.
It’s not really a lot of time.
And it’s a lot of time.
Time enough to be created and born.
Time enough to die.

How about love? Measure in love

These people are mothers and fathers
Daughters and sons.
They are loved by someone.
Somebody feels blessed for having them in their lives.
They’re best friends, and husbands and wives, and cousins.

How do you measure the life of a woman or man?

Who gets to decide if I am worthy?
Will I be judged for what I’ve actually done?
Or just what I look like?

Two hundred and seventy minutes.
That’s how long they left Michael Brown lying in the street dead.

It’s time now, to sing out
Though the story never ends

Because the story never ends.
One thousand, six hundred and eighty minutes.
That’s 28 hours. For those who don’t want to do the math.
That’s how often a black person is killed by their local law enforcement.

I went to a protest in Hollywood two weeks ago.
A march.
Because the lives of my husband, children, sisters and brothers matter to me.
Their black lives matter.

There was a die-in on the corner of Hollywood and Vine.
Four minutes and 30 seconds.
For four minutes and some change I was laying on the ground.
“Dead”
While I thought about all of the black men and women who didn’t get to get up after time was up.
Dying. Or maybe dead for real.
Who didn’t go home to their families.
Who then had their characters assassinated by the media scrounging for reasons to prove their death was deserved without due process.

I’m not going to lie to you: I may have cried a little. Or maybe a lot.

Remember the Love

So I do. I try to remember the names of black lives taken too soon.
I say a prayer for families, their loved ones.

One hundred-ninety eight thousand, seven hundred and twenty minutes. And counting.
That’s 138 days for the mathematically impaired.
That’s how long these protests have been going on.
And I hope they continue. Until open season on black lives is over.

That’s how you remember the love.

Seasons of Love

(This one is a gimme, y’all)

When I was a teenager, I hated catching the bus. I mean HATED.

Couldn’t wait to drive.
And now that I drive. I wish I could catch the bus, because I hate driving.
But I also hate waiting. And strangers. And strangers that sit too close on the bus.
Or strangers that stand in front of you so that you either have to stare directly at their junk or stare off into the distance wishing that person got a charlie horse in their dangly bits.
NO. I’m not speaking from experience. Why do you ask?

Public transportation. It’s the best. And also the worst.

Speaking of the worst (of humanity, that is) on this date in 1955, was the beginning of the Montgomery Bus Boycott.
WELL. TECHNICALLY, December 2nd was the day they borned the idea to boycott, and created fliers for distribution in places that black people hung out. But that ACTUAL boycott started Today. In 1955.
It lasted 381 days.

The flier read: “Another Negro woman has been arrested and thrown in jail because she refused to get up out of her seat on the bus for a white person to sit down. It is the second time since the Claudette Colvin case that a Negro woman has been arrested for the same thing. This has to be stopped. Negroes have rights, too, for if Negroes did not ride the buses, they could not operate.”

Blah blah blah, Bus stuff…THEN goes on to say… “If we do not do something to stop these (murders of unarmed black men)arrests, they will continue. The next time it may be you, or your (son) daughter, or (husband/father) mother.”

It’s been 119 days.

Normally this is the kinda BHFOTD I’d ignore, FOR OBVIOUS REASONS.
BUT I’M PRETTY SURE YOU KNOW WHY I DIDN’T.

Love y’all!

I was talking to my sissie while I drove around town running errands(hands-free guys. Calm your tits). I got in a workout, a quick stop at the Farmer’s Market by my house and an even quicker trip to the mall to pick up a gift card for my neighbor’s tween-ager. Is that a word?
Whatever. You know what I’m talking about. And they’re worse to shop for than ACTUAL teenagers in my opinion.

I pass a police car. Because, listen. I don’t care if you ARE the officer of the god damn law. If you’re going 20 miles an hour for no apparent reason, there’s a pretty good chance I’m gonna pass you if the speed limit allows. I am NOT afraid of the police. I’m a grown ass woman.

Well.

I don’t think the police lady person cared for that too much because she went through too much effort to catch up to me. BUT. I got into the turning lane because THIS IS WHERE I TURN TO GO HOME.
I see her pull up behind me in the next lane to run my license plate. And because I’m an asshole, I made sure to look back and make eye contact. I also made sure she saw the “FUCK YOU” implied in my raised eyebrow.

I know that SOME police officers get off on seeing if people are bold enough to pass them when they’re driving like assholes. (Yes. Yes they do. One of the many jobs I had growing up was at the CHP, and I remember them laughing about it)
And yes. I am bold enough. But here’s the thing: Why SHOULDN’T I pass you? Why are you going out of your way to intimidate people? Why are you running my plates hoping I got tickets or warrants or a REASON for you to pull me over?

More importantly: WHY ARE YOU OUT HERE FUCKING WITH ME? YOU REALLY DON’T HAVE ANYTHING BETTER TO DO?

So. Nah. I’m not scared for you to run my plates. I don’t have a reason to be. And really, even if I HAD gotten pulled over, I probably still would’ve been low-key talking slick. ‘Cause I’m an asshole, but I’m not STUPID.

FOR THE RECORD, I’ve had more positive experiences (and by that I mean not awful) with law enforcement than bad ones. I mean, at least once a year (at our annual tailgate) some asshole calls the cops because LOUD PARTIES ARE LOUD.
And the cops are pretty good natured and polite when they come over to tell us our jackass neighbors (the ones who weren’t invited) want us to be quiet in the middle of the afternoon because we’re having too much fun.
(Relatedly: why are all the cops in my neighborhood UCLA alumni/fans?)

But one thing I can say about all of the bad experiences is that they’ve been bad because of the police officer.
Because they start off bad. Because they jump out the car talking shit from the very beginning.
And I have questions. SO MANY QUESTIONS:
Why is that a thing? Why am I supposed to show you respect when it is not reciprocated?
Why are so many of y’all so quick to act a fool and then want to claim self-defense/threat to your safety when y’all come at the public (of color) sideways from the jump?
Why are y’all out here wilding out like y’all don’t know the age of camera phones are upon you and mother fuckers are tired of your bullshit and are now filming you for their own (and others) safety?
Why do y’all act like y’all don’t have any idea why most of the public (of color) can’t trust y’all?
Why do my white friends with black babies need to worry about having “the talk” wherein they gotta tell them that yeah, sometimes the police will target you because you’re black.
Why do black/brown people grow up afraid of the police?
Most importantly: WHY DO BLACK/BROWN PEOPLE NEED TO BE AFRAID OF THE POLICE?

I’m SURE THEY’RE NOT ALL LIKE THAT. But really, who has the time to figure out which ones are the cops and which ones are the decepticons when they’re all wearing the same uniform?

Like. A lot a lot. Because I’ve lived a lot of places.

Random stuff, like:
Coconut Bras
Shot glasses
The world’s largest wrench. (Don’t ask)
A toboggan (This was the most fun I ever had with my clothes on. Not lying*)

But some of my favorite stuff is stuff that my mommy gives. It’s important! And OLD! And HISTORY!

Poll Tax

*Teacher Briya voice*
(I’m kidding. I don’t have a teacher voice)
(Only a *I’M NOT PLAYING WITH YOU, YOU ARE ABOUT TO GET THE BUSINESS*voice)
*pushes up glasses*

This here is a receipt for a poll tax.
Poll Taxes were used as a way to keep black folks from voting. Along with bullshit laws like grandfather clauses, literacy tests and intimidation (No, people still aren’t trying to scare people away from the polls, why do you ask?).

SO. This ISN’T a BHFOTD. This is just a copy of a poll tax receipt used so that this person, who is most probably black, whom I may or MAY NOT (mommy WTF did you get this from?) be related to was like HA MOTHERFUCKER, I WILL PAY YOUR FUNKYASS POLL TAX SO THAT I CAN VOTE.

WHY THIS IS IMPORTANT: Because today is National Voter Registration Day!
With all the random fuckery happening these days all over the country,the best way to express your displeasure with the current events is to VOTE. Vote because not even 100 years ago, this right was denied to A LOT OF FUCKING PEOPLE.

Vote people in who care, Vote out people who don’t.
You care about an issue? VOTE.

The best way to tell the people in charge FUCK YOU AND THE HORSE YOU RODE IN ON
Is to stick it in a ballot box.

Okay. That’s today’s not BHFOTD. I’m hopping down off my soap box. See you the next time I decide to post random ramblings about whatever I randomly ramble about!
*I love all of the music guys. And since I write the facts, I pick the music. And there’s (almost) ALWAYS music, and you know why.

I love musicals. Because I love to sing along. Luckily, I’m part of a family who are ALWAYS singing something. ALL. OF. THE. TIME.

So this weekend when my Sister From Another Mister was all #auntiesbabies are gonna watch The Wiz (and also the Wizard of Oz), I got all excited ‘cause OOOOHHH… I hope it’s on Netflix.

It isn’t.

I HAVE IT ON DVD, but I couldn’t find it. Probably because Nesto hid it from me. Because I suppose there’s only so many times you can listen to me sing, YOU CAN’T WIIIIIIIN, without wanting to punch me in the throat.
NOT THAT MY HUSBAND IS ABUSIVE BECAUSE HE’S A MARINE, NOT A MEMBER OF THE NFL AND ALSO HE’S AWARE I’M CRAZY AND I KNOW HE’S CRAZY, SO WE LIVE IN FRAGILE STATE OF
“EVERYBODY IS CRAZY SO LETS NOT GET RILED UP, LET’S JUST GIVE EACH OTHER THE SILENT TREATMENT UNTIL ONE OF US GIVES IN AND DECIDES THAT I DON’T CARE HOW MAD YOU ARE I STILL WANT TO CUDDLE” type of existence.
I’m kidding, of course. Because we’re adults, and adults discuss their problems rationally and probably don’t dump buckets of cold water on people while they’re showering or take unflattering pictures of each other sleeping and post them on the internet, or stand over them with air horns while they’re sleeping to wake them. Because that’s just ridiculous.

Moving on! The Wiz was NOT on Netflix, but you know what was? SGT PEPPER’S LONELY HEARTS CLUB BAND. It’s in all caps because I can never resist singing it. LOUDLY. So I watched that instead. Because Nesto was not there to stop me.

Some random things:
• Steven Tyler in 1978 was pretty damn handsome. Not my type, but still a pretty good lookin’ cat.
• This movie is both the worst and the best.
• My favorite thing about this movie is the very end when all these random musicians (Minnie Minnie Minnie…MINNIE!!) are doing a sing along to SGT PEPPERS LONELY HEARTS CLUB BAND.
• I was probably an adult before I realized THESE WERE ALL BEATLES SONGS.
• My second favorite thing is that Earth Wind and Fire are in this movie!

Which brings me to the facts. Or something:

FACT: I’m gonna go see them at the LA County Fair this September. Because I can! Because I love EWF.
FACT: EWF is the first African-American act to sell out Madison Square Garden.

And there’s your fact ladies and gents! Random and for no reason at all, except to say: Earth Wind and Fire. SQUEEEE!!

On August 9, 2014 August 28, 1955, Michael Brown Emmett Louis Till , an African-American boy who was murdered in Missouri Mississippi at the age of 18 14 Ferguson police officer Darren Wilson drove up to Brown and a friend, Dorian Johnson, and ordered them to move off the street and onto the sidewalk. An altercation then took place between Brown and Wilson through the window of the police car. after reportedly flirting with a white woman. Till was from Chicago, Illinois, visiting his relatives in Money, Mississippi, in the Mississippi Delta region, when he spoke to 21-year-old Carolyn Bryant, the married proprietor of a small grocery store there. . A shot was fired from within the vehicle and Brown and Johnson began to flee. Wilson left his vehicle, fired his pistol at Brown and confronted him. Wilson then fired several shots at Brown, fatally wounding him. Witness reports Brown was on his knees with his hands up when Wilson shot him multiple times. Several nights later, Bryant’s husband Roy and his half-brother J. W. Milam went to Till’s great-uncle’s house. They took Till away to a barn, where they beat him and gouged out one of his eyes, before shooting him through the head and disposing of his body in the Tallahatchie River, weighting it with a 70-pound (32 kg) cotton gin fan tied around his neck with barbed wire. Brown’s body is left lying in the middle of the street for four hours. Three days later, Till’s body was discovered and retrieved from the river.

Till’s body was returned to Chicago. His mother, who had raised him mostly by herself, insisted on a public funeral service with an open casket to show the world the brutality of the killing. “The open-coffin funeral held by Mamie Till Bradley exposed the world to more than her son Emmett Till’s bloated, mutilated body. Her decision focused attention not only on American racism and the barbarism of lynching but also on the limitations and vulnerabilities of American democracy”. Tens of thousands attended his funeral or viewed his casket and images of his mutilated body were published in black-oriented magazines and newspapers, rallying popular black support and white sympathy across the U.S. The shooting sparked unrest in Ferguson due to longstanding racial tensions in one of the most segregated metropolitan areas in the United States. Protests, and other forms of social unrest continued for more than a week, with night curfews being imposed and escalating violence by State Police Department. Intense scrutiny was brought to bear on the condition of black civil rights in Mississippi, with newspapers around the country critical of the state. .Rep. John Lewis (D-GA), who nearly 40 years ago suffered a fractured skull as police officers attacked civil rights protesters with dogs and billy clubs in Selma, Alabama, denounced the police treatment of protesters and journalists in Ferguson, recommended the federalization of  the Missouri National Guard to protect citizens from police brutality. . Although initially local newspapers and law enforcement officials decried the violence against Till and called for justice, they soon began responding to national criticism by defending Mississippians, which eventually transformed into support for the killers. A support campaign for Darren Wilson, the Ferguson police officer who shot 18-year-old Michael Brown six times, has managed to collect over a quarter million dollars in a few days via GoFundMe, a crowdsourcing site. Several donors passed racist comments on the page while making donations, prompting GoFundMe to disable the comments as it was in violation of the site’s terms

 

The trial attracted a vast amount of press attention. The Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) opened a civil rights investigation of the shooting. President Barack Obama issued a statement expressing condolences to Brown’s family and committed the U.S. Department of Justice to conduct an investigation. “When an all-white, all-male jury acquitted Bryant and Milam of kidnapping and murder in September, the verdict shocked observers across the country and around the world. And when, mere months later, the men openly admitted to Look magazine that they had, in fact, mutilated and murdered Till, the outcry was so intense — and the reaction of Till’s devastated family so dignified — that it lit a spark that helped ignite the modern civil rights movement”. Bryant and Milam were acquitted of Till’s kidnapping and murder, but only months later, a Look magazine reporter interviewed Bryant and Milam. Protected against double jeopardy, they admitted to killing him, which further inflamed black opinion. Till’s murder is noted as a pivotal event motivating the African-American Civil Rights Movement. The shooting of Michael Brown is under investigation by a grand jury. The demographics of the jury are 68 percent white and 24 percent black.

If you don’t learn from your past you are forced doomed to repeat it.

 

You guys, my anniversary is coming up. Next weekend I will have been married for 22 (!) years. I think. I’m pretty sure it’s 22.
I’m also fairly certain it’s next weekend… I’ll be honest: I have a horrible memory. But I’m absolutely certain of two things: We got married. AND it was a LONG ASS TIME AGO.

YES. I GOT MARRIED REALLY YOUNG. (see also: 24 year old son. Hi, Adam!) I did a LOT of things really young. Heh.

ANYWAYS. Not the point. The point is that I never know what to do about our anniversary. I looked up wedding anniversaries; apparently this is the year I’m supposed to gift copper.
A copper WHAT, though? Really, it doesn’t matter because when you’ve been married as long as we have, I feel like you pretty much have all the things you could ever really want.
EXCEPT JEWELRY, YOU CAN NEVER HAVE ENOUGH JEWELRY. So I guess I’ll just sit tight until my 25th anniversary: Sterling Silver. Tiffany’s here I come!

And while I was looking up anniversary stuff, do you know what ELSE happened on my anniversary?

Houston Riot of 1917 (also called the Camp Logan Riot)!
So what had happened was… two Houston police officers busted in this (black) lady’s house(they were “looking for a suspect in the neighborhood”). They assaulted her and then dragged her into the street.
A soldier from the 24th Infantry was like, Well WTF IS HAPPENING HERE?
And the police officers were like, you can get some of this too.
The official reports and later news reports stated the soldier was charged with interfering with the arrest of a publicly drunk female.
Later on, Corporal Charles Baltimore went to the Houston police station to investigate the arrest, as well as beating of another black soldier, and attempted to gain the release of the soldier.
An argument began which led to violence, and Corporal Baltimore was beaten, shot at, and himself arrested by the police.
Once he was set free and sent back to camp all beaten up, the infantry became angry and decided extract revenge.

The riot began the evening of August 23, when 156 angry soldiers stole weapons from the camp depot and marched on the city of Houston.
They were met outside the city by the police and a crowd of armed citizens, frightened by the reports of a mutiny.
A virtual race riot began, which left 20 people dead – four soldiers, four policemen, and 12 civilians.
Order was restored the next day, and the War Department disarmed the soldiers.

There you have it folks! Your unnecessarily long, but still informative BHFOTD!

But I don’t want y’all thinking I’m trying to insinuate some sort of correlation between police officers from 1917 to the present day are out here causing riots because they don’t know how to treat black people. So, may I share one more anniversary with y’all?

This year marks the 25th anniversary of the movie, Do the Right Thing.

SMIRK
#jerks4life

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