I Ain't Scared of You

by Bernie Mac

  CUSTOMER: Come on, man. That’s bullshit!

  People are lookin’ at you, whispering: “He broke.” It’s embarrassing. I know. That happened to me.

  I’m broke, right? So I wrote a check for $35, just hopin’ I might be able to get it through. But I knew I ain’t have no money.

  But when I came to the bank, I couldn’t let that show. So I walked through the line like I was strong, like I had a couple of thousands up in there. I handed the teller the check. I’m whistlin’ and shit. A few minutes later, they’re like, “Excuse me, sir, can we talk to you?”

  I said, “What’s the problem?”

  I started to yell and stuff. Then the teller came over and said, “Look, you know you ain’t got no money in here. Now just gon’ head and go before they call security.”

  But you can’t run outta there. You gotta walk strong, take long strides, so that in about three steps you at the door and the door is 50 feet away. Then you hit the door, and that’s when you sprint out.

  When white folks come to see you:

  WHITE FAN: I’m going to see Bern. Got-damnit, that’s who I’m going to see!

  Black people, we don’t give a fuck about nobody:

  BLACK FAN: I’m going to see some nigga.

  We don’t give a fuck.

  When you fart, ain’t nothing worse than that mean, quiet muthafucka. That means that shit is close like a muthafucka. That’s when you lock your ass.

  You can piss on yourself and get away with it. But when you shit on yourself, muthafuckas bring that shit up ten years later: “Aw, shit, nigga. Remember when you shitted on yourself? Stanking ass bastard.”

  Ain’t no fucking difference between black and white people. Stop that old bullshit. Quit saying everything the world tells you to say. Be your own person.

  Farrakhan said, “Don’t go to work,” and your dumb ass stayed home. You know your lights gettin’ ready to get cut the fuck off. Now when they put your ass out, call Farrakhan to come help you move.

  White people, man, they don’t care about how they look. They got their priorities together. They’ll wear the same clothes. They don’t give a fuck about how they look. They got their business together. We’ll be clean than a sumbitch. And broke. Ain’t going no got-damned where, but sharp! Nails done, hair done every day. You see this fucked-up hairdos our women be wearing around here? Chandeliers—high and hard. And when they get their hair done, you ain’t getting no pussy. They don’t even want no sleep. That shit’ll be hard. Black women, when they get their hair done, that shit gotta last. They got it planned. They get their shit done on Thursday, no pussy on Friday or Saturday. You might get some pussy on Wednesday, when they need to get it done again. And you know how you can tell their hair needs doing? It starts itching. They be patting tha muthafucka. You know I ain’t lying. Then they’ll get a pencil and start scratching it. What type of shit is this?

  We don’t give no credit to nobody:

  MAN 1: Jesse Jackson is over there.

  BLACK MAN: Fuck Jesse!

  Africans hate our asses. It’s bad when you jet black with pink gums. That’s ah ugly muthafucka there. And Arabs and shit—we sure be fucking with them. Go in the gas station: “Give me two cigarettes, muthafucka.”

  Black folks got a certain look on their face when they got to throw the fuck up. They swallow a lot. And when they get that look like they’re smiling—they’re about to throw the fuck up on your ass.

  Black folks is a trip—come in to the show all late. Orange-ass hat too small. We got white folks in the house, and y’all coming in all late. That’s why they be talking about us all the time.

  WHITE WOMAN: Look at them, Joe. Fucking late niggers!

  That silent muthafuckin’ fart—you can start an argument with that. You and your boy can be as tight as a pair of draws. But let him pssssssss! and it get in your mouth: “Man, don’t do that bullshit no more, muthafucka! Stanking-ass bitch! Trifling muthafucka!” You get mad as a two-year-old baby. I can’t stand them silent muthafuckas. Grown-ass man smelling like pure-dee shit: “What’s the matter, muthafucka, your water cut off?” My brother smells like shit. He don’t even care; he just get all close to you smelling like dead-ass shit. You know, at first you think maybe they don’t know they stank. They just used to it! Stanking-ass bastards! A musty muthafucka make me sick, too. He know his shit ain’t working, but always want to talk with his hands.

  We pay our bills when the fuck we’re ready. And we ain’t gon’ pay all of it. The bill $125, we giving you $40. Because we got to smoke. We got to drink. If you don’t drink or smoke, black folks think it’s something wrong with you. Be on the job not saying nothing for three weeks, on the fourth week they coming at you.

  EMPLOYEE 1: So, hey, how you like it? You like it?

  EMPLOYEE 2: Yeah.

  EMPLOYEE 1: Where you be hanging out at? You smoke? You don’t smoke? Nothing? You drank? You don’t drank? You can’t be trusted!

  Know you ain’t paid no bill, but you gon’ argue. You be down at the light place and talking to everybody but who the fuck you’re supposed to talk to. The lady right there (behind the counter), but you ain’t gon’ talk to her.

  BILL DODGER (to other people in line): Muthafucka gon’ cut my muthafucking lights off! My kids and shit all up in there! What the fuck am I supposed to do now? I’ll be done tore this muthafucka up!

  Certain shit brothers just don’t do. How you think they be solving murders and shit like that? Be twenty-something bodies up underneath a house. That ain’t no nigga, that ain’t no nigga. We too clean. Nigga can’t stand a fart. Muthafucka leave a plate on the table and we got a problem. If you stank, we ain’t going over your house:

  RELATIVE 1: We’re going over Debra’s house.

  RELATIVE 2: I ain’t going over there. That bitch smell like sour pussy.

  Oh, we’ll tell it. We like to eat, but if you cooking and you nasty, we ain’t eating shit.

  White people be having papers all over their house and shit: “Come on in!” See, we nosy, first thing we do is we’re looking around. Don’t let us go in the wash room, we are going to open up your medicine cabinet. We’re nosy, man!

  We’ll tell our business when it comes to paying bills.

  BLACK PERSON (on phone with bill collector): I’m doing the best I can. I lost my leg in a car accident. It’s just been me and my son. Lord know I ain’t lying. Oh, Lord, Lord!

  You can tell when a muthafucka is turned on: “Ughhhhhhh!” You ever been in a room full of grown folks watching a porno? I’ll put the shit in on purpose—especially if it’s old folks around. My auntie and them’ll come over. I’ll slide the thing in there, and they’ll be trying to play like they ain’t watching while they’re trying to hold a conversation.

  AUNT: Girl, I went over there and . . . and, when I saw that, yeah . . . Bernie what you done put on with your crazy ass? Ughhhhh!

  Man, I fucked them old folks up. They about 55, 60. My auntie say, “You so nasty.” Yeah, and you hotter than a muthafucka wasn’t you. That grey squirrel poppin’, ain’t it!

  * * *

  Us, we’re clean, sharp. Ain’t going nowhere. Ain’t no food in the refrigerator. Kids crying. But we look good. We got to look good—tight jeans, nails, hair all done—hey! That’s some meaningful shit to us. White folks be like, “Why does that mean so much?” Because we ain’t never had nothing! If you ain’t never had nothing, you’re always wanting. “Man, I wish I could get a job paying nine dollars an hour.” That was some big shit to us. Nine dollars an hour? Get paid every week? Benefits? Boy, you was somebody. White folks always had good jobs. Man, we ain’t never sit in no office. If we could just put on a suit going to work, we thought that was special. You thought you was somebody important. Smiling. That shit meant a lot to you. My point is don’t be sad, don’t be ashamed of who you are. I ain’t ashamed of shit.

  My first muthafucking suit I had was a three-piece suit. I wore the pants, my sister wore the vest, my brother wo
re the jacket. And was proud like a sumbitch.

  FAT LADY: Ahem. Y’all bear with me. I just got outta the hospital. Pre-shus Lo-o-ord. Ta-a-ake my . . . hand . . . Le-e-ead me on-n . . . Let me . . . s-s-s-sta-a-a-and . . .

  She try to get you here.

  FAT LADY: Ooooooooooo . . . Oooo . . .

  Bitch! If you don’t put that microphone up! And while she’s singing, she be lookin’ at you.

  Why you lookin’ at me singin’ like that? Like I’m next or something.

  I’m sick of the bullshit. I’m over my brother’s house the other day. My nephew came in the house. He’s goin’ to jail. He ain’t got long, he ain’t got long. He ain’t no motherfuckin’ good.

  Bernie with Byron Woods and the Moods.

  You know your kids. Quit bullshittin’, playing like you don’t know your kids. Just like Michael on Good Times. You knew he was a sissy!

  We don’t never say shit about no Chinese. But we sho’ laugh at those muh’fuckas everytime we go to they restaurant. Don’t you start laughing when they start with that “ Mong-mong-ming-dong-mang-mong”? You love to hear their asses talkin’.

  That’s how they name their kids. They get a bunch of silverware, and they throw that shit up in the air. And when it hits the floor—pang-pong-ping-pang—that’s what they name their kids.

  You don’t play with your asshole. I wish a muh’fucka would play with my asshole. What type of shit is this? I don’t care how fine you is, you put your finger in my got-damn ass—pow!—I’ll break your motherfuckin’ jaw. Filthy bitch!

  Fuck is wrong with you? You don’t play with that asshole, man. You think I’m bullshittin’? When you put your finger in somebody’s ass, watch the noises that come out that motherfucka!

  You’ll be like, “Hey! Hey! Hey!” My wife gon’ rub her finger on my ass. I said, “Don’t go up in there!” Don’t put your hands in my got-damn ass. What type of shit is this?

  GIRLFRIEND: You mean so much to me.

  ME: Keep your fingers on the got-damn side!

  The type of fart you cut tells what wrong with your got-damn stomach. If you cut one of those mean, heavy farts—Rrrrrrrrttttt.

  BYSTANDER: You just got gas. You just got gas.

  When you cut one of those farts like it’s tearing your slacks—Flllrrrrrrrrrfffrrrrttt—you ate some bad ham or some shit like that.

  Black folks like to keep up shit when we wrong like a sumhabitch. Black people the only people go to jobs and swear we run that motherfucka. I know white folks talk about our asses like a dog when they go home.

  WHITE EMPLOYEE: I’m so tired of these African-Americans, I swear to God.

  We always keepin’ up some shit on the job. Don’t let it be no telephones in that muh’fucka. Shit, we gon’ call everybody but who the fuck we supposed to call—and get an attitude when they tell us to get off the phone.

  SUPERVISOR: Hello, Bernie? I need you.

  ME: H-hold on, man . . . Got-damn, man, what is it?

  SUPERVISOR: We need you over here.

  ME: I’m comin’! Man, call me back in 15 minutes. This job be trippin’ like a motherfucka!

  White folks do the same shit we do, they just do shit different. They’ll tell creditors to fuck off. “Fuck off!”

  You know how creditors call you—like it’s their got-damn money.

  CREDITOR: When can you pay? Can you borrow it from somebody?

  Ain’t that a bitch? Don’t they?

  CREDITOR: Well, how soon can you fuckin’ get it, pal?

  I told the motherfucker, “I got motherfuckin’ money right got-damn now! Come get it now, sum’bitch! I’m sittin’ in the got-damn front! Come get the motherfucker now!”

  White folks’ll tell ’em in a minute: “Fuck off! I don’t have it! Ya can’t get blood from a turnip!”

  Us? Bills scare the shit outta black people. When the creditors call our house, we’ll tell a lie on our got-damn self.

  CREDITOR: Can I speak to Bernie?

  ME: Uh, he ain’t here!

  CREDITOR: You know when he’ll be back?

  ME: Uh, he died this mornin’.

  You know you’re successful when white folks come to see your ass. Then black folks come in and mess everything up. Show about to start and white folks sitting their with their programs; they done read the muthafucka and everything. White folks is cordial, they respectful. Black folks come in late, their pagers going off.

  That’s all we hear: black this, white that. The white man this, the black man that. I’m sick of racism. The world ain’t all black and white. White, black, Chinese—mixed—that’s the way it’s supposed to be. We all peoples. But all you hear is white this, black that. If I was Chinese, I’d be mad than a muthafucka: “They don’t never say nothin’ about me!” But we quick to talk about Chinese when we go to their restaurants: “Gimme a number fourteen, fifteen.” Then they start talking that “Beyong, yung, yeeng,” and we kicking each other under the table laughing and shit.

  Keep laughing at muthafuckas fixing your food. See what the fuck will happen to you. Chinese come back and feed your ass some cat or dog or some shit. You be barking all fucking night.

  Man, don’t fuck with your stomach. Your stomach is the most delicate thing on your body. That and your ass. When your stomach is fucked up, you ain’t in no shape to do shit. When your stomach is fucked up, you know what you got to do. When you fart, your fart will tell you what you got to do. If you get a fart that go brrrrr, your stomach just hurting; that ain’t shit. That ain’t nothing but some gas. You cut that silent muthafucka, you get a fart that go pssssss, you got to shit. When you hear that psssss, your ass is wet. Ain’t nothing worse than a wet ass. Worst thang a person can do is fart and don’t tell you. Especially if you getting ready to talk.

  We all the same, ain’t nobody different. I’m gon’ tell it like it is. Ain’t no difference between black and white. We the same fucking people, we all gon’ die. White folks the same kind of people we are, we just do shit differently. Black folks, we the only ones go to our job and swear we run that muthafucka. I know white folks talk about us like a dog when they get home: “I’m so fucking tired of these Negroes, I swear.”

  Because black folks, you say the shit your got damned self when you get to the crib. “These brothers make me sick like a mutha-fucka.” Don’t let them go on break. White people go on break, you can find them. They sit at their desk and eat their sandwich and drink they fucking tea. When we go on break, that’s just what the fuck we do—break. You got to look for those sumbitches.

  And don’t let it be no telephone on the job. We calling everybody but who we supposed to be calling. We gon’ call our whole got damned family. And get mad when they tell us to get off the got damned phone. You’ll wait for your supervisor outside.

  You know they always talking about black folks are some violent people. Naw, we ain’t. Black folks are some loving people. We just talk a lot of shit. We ain’t gon’ cut nobody up. We’ll blow your head off. And cuss you out while we doing it: Pow! “Now, muthafucka!” White folks will chop your ass up: “Hold his legs, Joe!” We ain’t gon’ watch nobody get stabbed no 37 times. We can’t handle it. After a few stabs, we’re screaming: “You’re killing that muthafucka! You’re killing him!”

  They say black people cuss too much. That’s bullshit. White people can do some cussing too, now. Like can’t nobody say cock-sucker like white people. That and asshole. You driving on the expressway and cut them off? “Fucking cocksucker!” Everybody got their words. Mexicans got “punto.” Blacks’ word is muthafucka. We’ll muthafucka you to death. Can’t nobody say muthafucka like black people: muthafucka. Look at how black people talk. (A muthafucka can be a person, place, or a thing.) You listen to a conversation. You’ll hear 15 muthafuckas. And one regular English word. But the sentence make sense like a muthafucka.

  BLACK PERSON: Man, when I see that muthafucka, man! He owe me five muthafucking dollars. He ain’t paid me my muthafucking money yet. The muthafuc
ka told me he was gon’ pay me last muthafucking Tuesday. I ain’t seen the muthafucka. But when I see that muthafucka, I’m gon’ bust his muthafucking head!

  You know I ain’t lying.

  Everybody say this group do this, that group do that. That’s all bullshit. They say we fuck all the time. White folks fuck, too. They love to fuck. They on TV more than us, fucking. You see it on those x-rated tapes. (Our tapes be fuzzy and shit.) They just fuck for different reasons. White folks fuck for trust funds, insurance policies. They fuck for inheritance. We fuck for rent. Outfits. Light bills. We got to do what we got to do.

  And everybody knows that when you get older, you’re supposed to get better. I’ll tell you for a fact, I ain’t gon’ lie. I’m old. I can’t fuck like I used to. I’m not in shape. Sex ain’t nothing but hard got-damned work, man. Ain’t shit but some physical got-damned labor. Just pumping all got-damned night. What the fuck you trying to achieve? Fuck until your heart stop? Bullshit. Forty-five minutes, just fucking. Just fucking. Chest hurting, lips white. My back hurt, and she laying there talking about, “Right there! Ooh, right there!” What the fuck is a “right there”? Bust a nut so we can go to sleep. I’m tired of this shit. I’m old! She talking about, “I want to make it last.”

  “Bitch, you don’t bust a nut, I’m gon’ choke the fuck out of you. You ain’t gon’ kill me. I’m tired.” You got your fucking clothes everywhere, mattress twisted and shit, pillows sprinkled every got-damned-where. And she sitting there going, “Cheee . . .”

  Listen to the words that come out of people’s mouth when they’re making love. I be busting up because, see, I’m stupid. I’m not well. I be making love, and I’m listening to all those stupid-ass sounds. What the hell is a “Ba-ha-ha-huh”? I’m making love to my wife, and I did my thang and all of a sudden I hear, “Eh-hugh!” What the fuck is “eh-hugh”? Bust a nut! All that hollering and groaning and shit, I’m tired!