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5:50 p.m. - 2002-12-12


What's up my niggaz?

I was recently flirting with the idea of changing the name of the now-dormant Uncle Bob's Army to Uncle Bob's Niggaz because I'm just so in love with the word.

Keep in mind...I'm saying "Niggaz".

Not "Niggers".

If I was saying "Niggers", we might have some room for discourse here.

But "Niggaz" is an affectionate term to call each other. It's like a supercool way to say "Friends".

Can you imagine if NBC picked up on this and retitled "Friends" "Niggaz"??

I bet ya that droves of people would tune in to watch "Niggaz"!!

"Yo, wassap Rachel? How's my nigga doin'?"

I was always kinda hesitant on using the word "Niggaz" both in this diary and in social situations, but after standing in line last night at KFC and listening to the two young gentlemen behind me affectionately call each other "Nigga" about 3,589 times in a two minute period, I have come to the conclusion that it's a perfectly acceptable word with no social repercussions whatsoever.

So yo.

Be strong, my nigga.

Ahhhh...Tupac. You didn't die in vain, my nigga. Your legacy and mangled attempts at mastering the English language live on.

It looks like this may be the first Christmas where I'm rushing around from store to store making frantic attempts to get that last minute toy that will make Christmas complete.

In this case, it's the main toy...that damned Imagisound Playhouse.

During my lunch break yesterday, I putt-putted over to Toys 'r' Us yesterday to pick up one of these fine heavy duty durable plastic houses for my son who is either anxiously awaiting Christmas or anxiously awaiting his diaper rash to subside. Either way, it'll make him stop shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably.

I walk up to the board with all the pictures of the playhouses and their paper tags that you grab and take to the cashier that informs them you're there to spend hundreds of dollars on a cheap piece of shit.

...There is no paper tag for the Imagisound Playhouse.

Now I'm the type of guy who refuses to believe that just because there's no tag in the holder that they're all sold out of the Imagisound Playhouse. I'm sure there has to be at least one in the back somewhere. Jesus loves me. He ain't gonna leave me hangin' at Toys 'R' Us.

So I waltz over to the service counter where the young lady behind the counter is listening to someone on the phone.

"I'll be right with you, sir," she says.

"Take your time, my nigga," I say, waving my hand at her.

She stares at me with these huge eyes. I'm pretty sure she was trying to check out my package.

She gets off the phone and I explain that I'm there to pick up an Imagisound Playhouse but there's no tag in the holder out front so maybe she needs to skip on back to the back of the store and dig one up out of the pile of toys in the back room.

She gets on this walkie talkie and asks someone if there's any more Imagisound Playhouses.

The voice on the walkie talkie says no.

I panic.

"There has to be!" I blurt out. And it's going to help matters, I say "It's for my son!" know...the playhouse was for my fat ass or something.

The girl calmly explained to me that they get shipments in every day and that I can have a raincheck.

Now, I don't want no stinkin' raincheck. I want an Imagisound Playhouse. What the hell is my son going to do with a freakin' raincheck on Christmas morning? Lift it above his head, let go and watch it fall to the ground???

Is THAT really going to make him squeal in delight, people?!?!?

At this point, I'm speaking in tongues, all frantic and worried that I won't be getting an Imagisound Playhouse for the boy.

"Do you think one will come in before Christmas?" I ask, like all of a sudden I'm dealing with Miss Cleo here.

"I'm not sure sir, we get shipments every day."

"Do I need to call you people every hour on the hour to see if the shipment's come in?"

"No sir. We'll call you when an Imagisound Playhouse comes in."

"Will lightning strike you if you're lying to me?"

"No sir. I'm not lying. As soon as one comes in, the computer will let us know that we need to call you."

"How does that work? Are you going to input all this information into the computer??"

"Yes sir. Don't worry. You'll be the first one to get an Imagisound Playhouse if and when they come in."


"I mean...if they come in before Christmas."


(Okay...that's a lie. He's getting a lot of little stuff, affectionately called "crap" by me. But the Imagisound Playhouse is the major gift. The creme de la creme. The one gift that will earn and win my son's love forever and ever or at least until he turns 13.)

The lady behind the counter tried her best to reassure me that everything will be okay.

But I can't help but have this anxious feeling that I need to have a Plan B here.

I'd order it from Amazon...but it won't be here before Christmas and there's a shipping charge of $120.

That shipping charge shall be properly fucked by me.

In other words...fuck that.

Soooo...I'm in freak-out overdrive.

The other toy stores and Walmarts and K-marts don't carry Imagisound Playhouses.

What is my baby boy going to do when he wakes up Christmas morn and there's no Imagisound Playhouse under the tree?

Can you imagine his disappointment in Santa Claus?

Ohhh...the humanity!

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