by Bernie Mac
You read the paper: Motherfuckers’ll fuck you up, man.
You ever had that thing with your wife where she’s coming down the hallway? You’re coming from one way, she’s coming from the other. Y’all don’t wanna touch and shit. Y’all sliiiide by and shit.
And black women, they’re a trip. When they’re mad at you like that and don’t want to talk to you for two weeks, and the phone rings? They won’t let you know. They’ll just pick up the phone.
Riiiingggg.
WIFE: Hello? Hold on one minute . . .
Then they just put it down on the table and walk away. Two hours go by.
WIFE: You get the phone?
Hell, naw, I ain’t get no got-damn telephone!
Or if you got kids, they say, “Go tell your daddy, ‘telephone.’ ”
You ever run your kid when you and your woman was fussin’?
WIFE: Tell ya daddy to come eat!
CHILD: Daddy, she said come eat.
HUSBAND: I don’t wanna eat!
CHILD: He said he don’t wanna eat.
WIFE: Tell him that’s all right with me!
CHILD: She said that’s all right with her.
HUSBAND: Tell her I don’t give a fuck!
CHILD: He said he don’t give a fuck.
Two weeks go by, man, and see, the power of the coochie is a bitch. Women got the power ’cause they got that ol’ pink eye. Coochie is something else. Coochie been in power since B.C. And it’s been fuckin’ motherfuckers up. All those Egyptians lost they mind over a piece of pussy.
Pussy can kill you and go to court and get off. Because women start that fuckin’ cryin’ and shit.
WOMAN: (Sob . . . Sob . . . Sob . . .)
JUDGE: Take your time.
WOMAN: (Sob . . . Sob . . . )
Let you, a man, get on the stand and start some fuckin’ cryin’. The judge’ll cuss your ass out.
JUDGE: What’s the problem?
MAN: Boo-hoo . . . Boo-hoo-hoo . . .
JUDGE: Answer the question, motherfucker! Answer the question!
Two weeks go by, you ain’t had no pussy, you know you hot. You wanna make up. But as man, you can’t do it. It’s not right! Any man who make up first is a punk.
Hold out! Fight it out! I know your dick hard. I know you want some. You shakin’. She ain’t helpin’ none—she walkin’ around with some ol’ raggedy panties on with a big-ass hole near the crotch.
You sittin’ in the chair, your dick so hard it’s leakin’. But you don’t want to say nothin’. She know what’s up. Big-ass hole. Coochie just sittin’ out there, just sittin’ out there.
She come bendin’ over near you, askin’ you a fucked-up question while you all hard: “You seen the TV Guide? Huh? Oh, here it is. O-oh, I dropped it. Here it is.”
You lookin’, lookin’.
Now, she walk out the room, stay for five minutes. Come back, ol’ raggedy bra on, one titty all out, just hangin’ out, nipple stickin’ out like a .22 bullet. She scratchin’ it and shit. Oh, you really hot now!
Then she go in the bedroom. Now you got to go in the room behind her. ’Cause you gotta play like you lookin’ for something. You ain’t got shit you lookin’ for. She standin’ by the dresser, you gon’ walk behind her real close.
HUSBAND: You seen . . . Uh . . . You seen my watch?
WIFE: Get off me!
HUSBAND: Ain’t nobody on you! Ain’t nobody on you!
WIFE: You are on me! Get off me!
HUSBAND: Ain’t nobody on you!
WIFE: Get off me, motherfucker! Get off me!
Now, y’all wrestlin’. You throw her on the bed, breathin’ hard, tryin’ to get your knee between her legs so you can pry it open.
HUSBAND: Open yo’ motherfuckin’ legs! Stankin’ ass!
WIFE: I’m not givin’ you shit!
Now, you finally get in there. You kissin’ on her. She movin’ her head left and right.
WIFE: Uh-unh. No, no . . . you . . . no—
She finally start kissin’ you. Now, y’all both fuckin’ and screamin’. Then, you know you done bust a nut ’cause you start gruntin’. Need about ten pumps!
WIFE: Aw, you motherfucker, you done came!
Now, she done came. Both of all y’all breathin’ hard, like, “Whew, Shit.” Y’all lookin’ at each other. Here come the bullshit . . .
WIFE: Bernie, Why you do me like that?
HUSBAND: You did me like that.
Punk ass!
See, I respect women. With a man, you get into it, you can tear some furniture up. With a woman, you hit her, she’ll go in that kitchen and open that drawer up and start messin’ with them knives.
You hear that silverware jinglin’; that drawer open, and she start screamin’ “I’ll kill ya!”
Get the fuck on outta there! She start cussin’ you out with her eyes closed—“Motherfucker, I done told your motherfuckin’ ass!” Get the fuck on outta there!
When you go get the gun and don’t know how to put the bullets in that motherfucker? Get the fuck on outta there!
When she go in the garage and get that axe and come back swingin’ that motherfucker backwards? Get the fuck on outta there!
When she get up and break the glass and hold a piece in her hand while she’s bleedin’ like a motherfucker? Get the fuck on outta there!
A woman will kill you, man. A woman will fuck you up!
My wife a lil’ short motherfucker and always wanna argue all the time: “What? What?”
Short motherfuckers always wanna argue with somebody. “Who? Who?” Lil’ Miss Shortsum’bitch wanna argue with me. Lookin’ up at somebody.
* * *
My wife like to argue on bullshit. She think I ain’t goin’ nowhere. She think she gon’ be with me forever. She’s complacent. I just might flip out and do a brother move on her motherfuckin’ ass. You know, how a brother get a lil’ money and just go. Get a white woman or somethin’. I might act like I forgot to get gas the other day. She gon’ blow a motherfuckin’ gasket.
WIFE: You get the gas?
ME: Damn! Fuck! That’s what I forgot!
WIFE: No, don’t get nothin’. Don’t get a motherfuckin’ thang.
ME: I’ll go back and get—
WIFE: I said don’t get a motherfuckin’ thaaaaang!
ME: What the fuck you singin’ for?
WIFE: Because I want to motherfuck aaaa!
They’ll just make up a song on your ass.
WIFE: Black ass motherfuckaaaaaaaaaa!
I’m lookin’ at this crazy-ass sum’bitch.
WIFE: You act like you wanna hit me?
ME: Now, why would I want to do that?
WIFE: Because you starin’ at me.
They think because you’re staring, it’s gotta be related to wan-tin’ to hit her. But I’m just lookin’.
ME: Ain’t nobody said nothin’ about hittin’.
WIFE: Well, I just wanna know—’cause I’m here! I’m here!
What the fuck that mean, “cause I’m here?” Now, I done got caught all up in the shit.
ME: Well, I’m here, too!
WIFE: I’m here.
ME: I’m right here! I ain’t movin’ no motherfuckin’ where, either!
I accidentally slapped my wife the other day. I ain’t gon’ lie to you. She kept fuckin’ with me. I told her to go on. I told her!
She kept fuckin’ with me and aggravatin’ me. She “marked” me: Everytime I’d say somethin’, she’d say it.
I said, “Quit playin’!”
She said, “You quit playin’!”
“All right!”
“All right!”
“I done told you!”
“I done told you.”
“You think I’m playin’?”
“You think I’m playin’?”
“Say somethin’ else!”
“Somethin’ else.”
Kept fuckin’ with me. So I tagged her. I must’ve enjoyed it ’cause I hopped. In the back of my
mind, I’m screamin’, “Beee-yatch!”
She left, didn’t come back for nine hours. Now, I’m callin’ all over the place tryin’ to find her. I called my mother-in-law’s house. She knew what happened ’cause she was short.
ME: Hey, Ma—
MOTHER-IN-LAW: Hi.
ME: Rhonda over th—
MOTHER-IN-LAW: Noshe’snothere.
ME: When you see her—
MOTHER-IN-LAW: I’lltellheryoucalled.
I hung up. Fuck you, too!
* * *
Black funerals? Don’t go to no more black funerals. Bar ’em. Because black funerals are full of shit. I’m serious. They make me sick. Layin’ up there in the fuckin’ coffin for three days, and we gotta go see this motherfucker, and he dead for three days. What the fuck we gotta go sit down and watch this motherfucker in the coffin for three days for?
White folks, you die tonight they bury your ass tomorrow. I like that about them. They have a funeral for 45 minutes and the lights on. It’s bright. Bright curtains and everything. The guy sings, Oh, Lord I’m so happy God saved me! And then they close the fuckin’ coffin. If you ain’t see him, you fucked up.
Us? Three fuckin’ days. He die, we gotta take some clothes over there, like he goin’ some-motherfuckin’-where.
And something about black people: When somebody dies, black people love to find out how you died.
OLD WOMAN 1: How he die?
OLD WOMAN 2: Girl, I was rollin’ my hair and I heard a thump. I went downstairs, that motherfucker was on the floor dead. I knew somethin’ was wrong ’cause it was rainin’ and I was rollin’ my hair. I heard a thump. I had to put my gown on. And I walked downstairs, and he was layin’ against the stove. I didn’t get a chance to finish rollin’ my hair, ’cause I heard that noise. He was layin’ there! (Sob . . . sob . . . )Layin’ there. I knew somethin’ was wrong ’cause I was rollin’ my hair! And I heard a thump! And I walked downstairs! (Sob . . . sob . . .) ain’t have my house shoes, neither! And this motherfucker was dead.
Boy, the doorbell rang, and I never will forget! It was a Friday! And I was rollin’ my hair! And I heard a thump! I walked down there, my brother was layin’ on the floor dead! Oh, God, he was dead! I said, “Oh, Lord,
I gotta call my sister and tell her!” ’Cause I heard a thump! I knew that motherfucka was dead!
Bernie Mac and daughter Je’Niece at his surprise birthday party.
Then you got the wake. Why they call it the wake? He ain’t wakin’ up! You gotta sit there and watch this motherfucka in the coffin! Every now and then it look like he breathin’.
And she down at the end of a bench, “I was rollin’ my hair.”
Shut the fuck up down there!
And then black preachers . . . I’m sick of ’em. Why black preachers can’t just come out and say, “For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son. Yes, he did. And whosever believes in Him shall not perish, but shall have everlasting life.”
Why they can’t just say that shit? It’s gotta be dramatics, theater. Why the preacher gotta growl at us?
BLACK PREACHER: Heh-heh-heh . . . I-I-I . . . I just wanna tell somebodeee . . . Heh-heh. Okay? I just wanna tee-ell somebodeee . . . Aw, whoa, Lord. Oh, Lord! Hunh-hunh! Ohhh, Looordd . . . I just wanna tell somebodeee . . . Tell it! Tell it!
OLD WOMAN 2: I was rollin’ my hair.
SHUT THE FUCK UP!
Then after they do all that, they gotta introduce some fat woman to come sing some song. Now, don’t nobody know this heifer. The funeral parlor people don’t know her. The deceased’s family don’t know her. Ain’t nobody asked this heifer to sing.
She wanna make you cry—on purpose. She gon’ sing an ol’ song, “Precious Lord.” But she gon’ rewrite the shit. So here she come with her fat ass . . .
FAT LADY: First, givin’ honor to God, the pastor, members, and friends. I’m so happy to be here this evening, by the grace of God. Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! I want you all to bear with me as I attempt to sing this song, “Precious Lord Take My Hand.”
This how she wanna make you cry. She clears her throat.
When I want to get in tune, I go back into the city. That’s what got me here, that kind of humor. We don’t know what we have until we don’t have it anymore. We lose perspective on what life is really about. Money, success—all that’s fine. But everybody ain’t living like that. They don’t have the mentality. They’re still under the struggle. Still living check to check. Something get broke, they gotta prioritize. We had to prioritize. You need gym shoes for gym, but your auntie need glasses. I think we better go with these glasses before she go blind.
You miss those days. Do I want to go back? Hell, naw. But I can’t forget either.
I have an agenda. My office is downtown, right in the middle of the city. When I go, I let it flow. I’m spontaneous. That’s where my humor and my life comes from. I don’t know what I’m gon’ do. I don’t know. That’s when I have the most fun, when it’s not scripted. When I go to the city and I see something, I put it on tape. That’s how I write. I let it come to me. I don’t come to it.
I just got news today that my man Art Porter—he died not long after doing Midnight Mac; his boat tipped over and he drowned—I just found out his wife died in January. Now his kids are orphans. I asked my assistant to find more information on them. I want to see if there’s anything I can do. I like doing stuff like that.
I don’t like to be told where to give. I don’t like to be told what I need to do for the community. I like to give for many different reasons. I don’t give for superficial reasons. Because it sounds good or because I want to be commended on something. I do it because I believe in that donation. I believe it’s going to benefit the people.
I was listening to Whoopie Goldberg. Brother asked if she gave back to the projects she come from. She said no. Audience went “Ooooo!” Whoopie said, I don’t give a damn.
I left 69th in 1971. I don’t know nobody from over there. And I got a tribe of nieces and nephews who need my help. That’s my community. I ain’t been criticized. I don’t have to make an announcement. It ain’t nobody’s business where I give. That doesn’t bother me.
I give where I want to give. You worry about where you give and what you give, those who want to will criticize.
I used to sponsor summer programs. Wasn’t making much money. It was $70 a kid for the summer. My wife looking at me like I was crazy. I had to “help the children,” you know. But we sittin’ over here hungry as hell.
I was doing 12-hour days, opening and closing. Dealing with the kids. Swimming, basketball, football. And I enjoyed it. Because it gave me joy. When I saw those kids, I saw me.
I think it’s unfair. First of all, it’s none of your business. That should be your main focus, on yourself. It’s not your business to tell Oprah Winfrey what to do. Some people are politically endowed to do stuff like that.
Bill Cosby done helped a lot of people. He done sent a lot of people to school. All those things are great. Richard Pryor has helped so many people. Redd Foxx was a giver. It’s their business to give to whom they want to. People critize for numerous reasons: they’re envious; they want something and they want to bash you.
I’m lookin’ at Real TV recently, and I’m lookin at these bulls tearing these cats tails up. White folks crazy. White folks crazy. They be messing with wildlife. I saw a lion caught in some trap. This cat gon’ go release the lion from some trap. That lion ate his butt up. Ate everything, his clothes and everything. He ain’t got no business messin’ with the lion.
White man, he sees a bear in a tent, he go over there with some fruit. The bear thought he was the apple.
You better leave well enough alone. I was watchin’ one show where this deer was laying down. He was sick. Guy went over there to where the deer was. Man, the deer was on two legs fightin’ this guy. He was kickin’. Those hooves was knockin’ hair off his head.
White folks better leave these thi
ngs alone. They always meddling. If I see any kind of wildlife, maaan . . .
There was a fox in my shed one time. Rhonda said, “There’s a fox who done made himself a home.”
I’m not going back there. I’m not messin’ with no wildlife. That’s why they say “wildlife.” That mean they ain’t tame. They ain’t got no sense. A lot of animals have nervous breakdowns, man. They’ll tear yo’ ass up.
People see a cub in the woods and they want to go and mess with it. “Oh, look at the cub!” But they don’t be thinkin’ that if that cub is there, that mama is not somewhere far off. All that cub gotta do is whistle. That mama’ll come kill you.
Then people want to take up a collection for somebody who died like that. “Um, he died last week. A lion killed him in the forest.”
I’m not givin’ nothin’! He ain’t have no business meddling. Leave things alone.
He’ll see a racoon laying in the street and wanna go help him. But he ain’t dead yet! Leave him alone.
I told you about me and rats. We used to have rats everywhere. They scared me. Somebody’d say, “A rat’s by the refrigerator.” I’m like, “Look, as long as he ain’t by us, don’t bother him!” Leave that rat alone. That rat’ll crawl up your legs. Whooooo . . . your skin be pink. I don’t mess with nothing like that.
Black folks are conservative. They ain’t jumpin’ off no cliff. We ain’t bungee jumping. Ain’t too many of us skiing—unless they went to Stanford or some shit like that.
I’m lookin’ at these cats on these skateboards. You don’t see too many black kids doing that. Flipping, riding down banisters, hurtin’ theyself.
See, we don’t like no pain. Black people, we gotta look sweet. You playin’ baseball, you swinging and everything, missin’. You struck out everytime. Zero for four. But you looked good!