Black History Month: Black Like Matt-Man

February may not be the warmest month of the year but it certainly is action packed.

We just had Groundhog Day. This Sunday is the Super Bowl and the birthday of yours truly. Also this month, we have Valentine’s Day, Mardi Gras, President’s Day, and…

On the 17th, Ash Wednesday kicks off Lent along with my 46 day long Breadless Journey for Jeebus, but there’s another big event going on this month.

It’s Black History Month, and Matt-Man is all over that like ebony on a Sri Lankan wood carving. Boo Yah and Word, Bitches.

My hometown of Bagwine, Ohio is rich and well-represented in the area of black history and culture.

Former World Featherweight boxing champion Davey Moore was a resident. Johnny Lytle, one of the greatest vibe players ever was a Bagwiner, as is current multi-Grammy winning recording artist John Legend.

But…

There’s a guy I grew up with who has made an enormous and lasting impact upon African-American culture and we to this day, remain close friends.

All through junior high and high school, one of my very best friends was a guy named Van Camp Jones, or as I call him, “Beans”.

We were close. I was close with his sister, Edwina as well. Their parents called her, Weenie. All through those glorious times, it was me, and Beans and Weenie.

We were like a tight knit Minstrel Show act, however the only black face I wore was when I was having sex with Weenie. Nothin’ like havin’ some hot weenie on Weenie action, but I digress.

Back to my original point and the significance of Van Camp Jones in black culture.

After High School, Beans got a job working at the local landfill in Bagwine. It was a good job. He inspected what people were bringing in to make sure nothing toxic got through.

It was during his tenure there some 26 years ago, that Beans would spontaneously originate a phrase that to this day remains a staple of the black and urban lexicon.

One Friday evening right before the dump closed for the day, a huge chick pulled up to the entrance. She was driving a big ol’ Electra 225 with the ass end of it straight up and wide open exposing the ton of old furniture and trash that was contained inside.

Beans stopped her at the gate.

The massive woman got out of her car, thunderously waddled over to Beans and said, “Tell me where to go to dump all of this old furniture n’ shit.”

Beans replied, “You ain’t dumpin’ all of that here today, ma’am. We’s gettin’ ready to close.” The corpuscular woman jumped up and down, and screamed…

“Why the hell won’t you take my trash?”

Beans, shouting in order to be heard over the quaking ground said,

“Cuz…there ain’t enough time today. You gots too much junk in your trunk, Bitch!!”

The infuriated woman drove away, but not before the urban phrase, “junk in your trunk” had been born.

To this day, Beans wishes he had known what he had set in motion, for he often thinks how grand his life would be today had he copyrighted that phrase some 26 years ago.

But it’s okay. We're still a two man posse. He even calls me his favorite nigga.

In fact, since I am off today,Beans and I are going to kick-off Black History Month together later this afternoon.

He and I are going to drink some Wild Irish Rose and watch the Tyra Banks Show with the sound turned down as we listen to my collection of Rick James CDs.

As for his sister Edwina? She’s still around too. She opened a restaurant near Bagwine that serves nothing but variations of hot dogs. It’s called, “Just Weenies”.

Yeah, I know.

Here’s to Black History Month, Bitches. Have a wonderful Wednesday.

Cheers!!