Which one of you rich Black Americans (or rich immigrants that genuinely understand what’s going on) that lurk my tweets wants to open up your brownstone for me and likeminded homies to converse and plan?
Black History is American History retweeted
Sly Stone wrote Everyday People and Family Affair. At 71 he was living in an RV. A jury awarded him $5 million in his royalty case against his old manager, and a judge took it back.
In the video below, it is two days after the verdict. A reporter outside his RV asks what he will do with the money. "Probably get a bigger new RV," he says.
Three of his songs went to No. 1. For 20 years, he said, not one royalty check arrived.
In 1989 he signed with a new manager, Jerry Goldstein. His royalties went into a company they set up together, Even Street Productions, in exchange for a 50% stake.
In 2010 Sly sued him for $50 million. A year later he was found living in a camper van in Los Angeles.
In January 2015 a Los Angeles jury agreed the royalties had been diverted. It awarded him $5 million, $2.45 million of it from Goldstein.
Asked what he would do first, Sly said he would think of his kids.
Then a judge threw the verdict out. The 1989 signature was legal. He never got the $5 million.
Little Richard sold Tutti Frutti for $50. Sly Stone wrote three No. 1 hits and ended up in an RV.
Was Sly robbed, or did he sign it all away himself?
Pretty sure @MielleOrganics the reason my hair is right above bra strap length for the first time ever.
Black History is American History retweeted
Yall still asking this misogynoir for beginners ass question…
Black History is American History retweeted
What did I tell you?
All of these celebrities are evil & broken. They should never be taken seriously.
In the 2024 election cycle, this illiterate comic was giving out political advice. It’s insane.
D.L. Hughley casually admits he couldn’t read for years and felt “stupid,” then drops that Chris Rock once called him a “dumb nigga” to his face and claimed he only had his show because of him
“That I couldn’t read… I just used to feel stupid… But I used to feel small. It made me feel small. That’s the worst feeling to me. When somebody makes me feel small.”
“The only person that ever called me nigga that hurt my feelings was Chris Rock… He was the producer on my show. And I called him… He said, me and Ken and I are the only black people that ever got Emmys. And if it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have this show, you dumb nigga. And I said, next time I see you, I’m beat the shit out of you.”
“That’s the only person ever said to me that made me feel small… When somebody makes me feel, or tries to make me feel small, I’ll do anything to stop that from happening.”
“I went to go see my mother… and my mother has dementia… and I think dementia is a great thing for people who’ve done a lot of evil shit… She said… people always thought you were dumb, but I knew you weren’t… and it was the first time I ever left her home and didn’t feel small.”
Imagine imagining something like this.
An enslaved person could never be in a position to fuck a master’s wife. The word is rape.
Bob Costas was 18 when his father dropped dead at JFK airport. At the wake, a man handed him a thick envelope with $6,000 in $100 bills. It was everything his father left behind, and a bookie would never have paid it to a dead man.
In the video below, he tells the story himself.
His father, John, was a big-time gambler. Not casinos, not racetracks. Ball games. Bob says the mortgage was literally riding on his bets.
When the games went the wrong way, he threw things, cursed and yelled. Bob’s mom and sister would leave. Bob stayed, because watching the games with his dad was the only way to be close to him.
Friday, May 15, 1970. A cop knocks on the door. Before he says a word, Bob’s mother asks, “My husband’s dead, isn’t he?” John Costas had a heart attack walking through JFK. He was 42.
At the wake, one of his gambling buddies walked in with the envelope. “Your father was up when he died. Give this to your mother.” A bookie never pays a dead man, so the friend went to the bookie himself and said John sent him to collect.
Decades later, Bob Costas refused to read sports betting ads on air. Today the bookie lives in everyone’s phone. Is that progress?






















