Empty-Pockets

*African Americans make up a significant portion of the unemployed. It’s a good thing black folk have been broke since forever. Not sure you fit this category? consider the following:

(Ahem) if you buy church shoes from Ross or Marshalls on Easter weekend and return them first thing Monday morning, you’re broke. Speaking of shoes, it’s summertime: if you’re still wearing those suede Timberland boots you bought at the Swap Meet three winters ago, kill yourself, you’re broke.

If you pretended to be mad and sent your child to bed early with no dinner, shame on you, quit the charade, even he knows yo’ ass is broke. If you buy from the value menu and ask to pay half in cash and the rest with your debit card, you’re one broke ass Negro. If you have forgotten the pin number to your debit card, chances are you haven’t used it in while—that’s pretty much self-explanatory.

If this is your 10th consecutive day eating Hot Cheetos and Cup-of-Noodles for lunch, you’re miserably broke. If you gave birth to your child at the community clinic, yo’ ignorant ass is broke. If you’re a grown adult and could only afford to put 82 cents in the offering pan at church, bless your little heart, you need prayer, and yo’ ass is dead broke.

If your prom dress is made out of bandannas, you’re either painfully ghetto, broke or both. If you can’t afford more detergent and have to wash your clothes with dish-washing liquid, you’re broke. If you reuse cooking grease to fry chicken—that’s nasty, yo’ ass is broke. If your breakfast, lunch and dinner consists of canned vegetables and oatmeal, you’re broke. If you’re a platinum EBT card holder, get yo’ broke ass a job.

If you ask for any less than $10 of gas at the station (and pay in one dollar bills and change from your ashtray), you’re broke. If you send your children to school wearing matching outfits from K Mart, you’re trying, but you’re still broke. If you’re waiting till next year to get that second row of braces put on your teeth, you’re broke. If the hood of your car is tied down with rope, wire or shoe strings, yo’ ass is broke. If you live in the hood and the name of your apartment complex has “Vista” in it—stop kidding yourself, that’s just a fancy word for “shithole,” you’re broke.

If your bridesmaids had to wear dresses from their own closet, slap yourself, your husband and yo daddy, all you niggas are broke. If you’re watching TV and you bang the remote against your thigh for it to work instead of buying new batteries when they’re low in power, you’re either broke or ridiculously cheap.

If you own a “pay as you go” phone, do I really have to say it? If you and your girlfriend smuggle Kool-Aid, Skittles and homemade popcorn in her purse when you go to the movies, take ya’ll broke asses home. If you owe yourself money—yes, that happens—then you’re officially broke. If they know you by name at Big Lots, you’re broke. And if your pockets stay empty, oh that’s such a cliché: YOU ARE BROKE.

How do I know so much about being broke? Ask my penny-pinching boss, Lee Bailey (just kidding). On a more serious note, can one of ya’ll lend me $5 dollars? I take Pay Pal.

Based in Southern California, EURweb editorial associate Cory A. Haywood is also a certified personal fitness trainer. Contact him via: [email protected] and/or visit his websites: www.coryhaywood.webs.com and corythewriter.blogspot.com

cory a haywood

Cory A. Haywood