Thank You, Woke Baby Jesus, For Giving Us Ashymania ’17 Between Tariq Nasheed and Dr. Umar Johnson
It is the War to End All Lotions. The Thrilla in the Manila Folders. The Notep Telenovela Marathon. The Battle of Waterloo. And by “Waterloo” I mean “Did these niggas shower today?”
Friday evening, it was revealed that our good friends Dr. Umar Johnson and Tariq Nasheed—men who were assumed to go hand in hand, like hotep ketchup and hotep mustard—have serious beef with each other. It began, as most historical battles between alpha male leaders of men have, on Instagram. Apparently Dr. Pepper claimed he was going to “address” Nasheed with his “gloves” and his bigen off, and
Nasheed responded to Dr. Scholls’ threats on the Gram:
Umar Johnson just put up a post talking about he is going to “address me” and “his gloves are off.” My message to Umar is BRING THAT SHIT ON, Playa! I am NOT these other dudes you talk that slick trash about. I can take the gloves off too. Umar has been disrespecting me for years and I have said nothing. I ain’t giving no more passes to this dude. Try me . . .
What followed were more threats,
an offer, from Dr. Strangelove, to meet each other in a boxing ring—which, I’m assuming, is what was actually built with that GoFundMe cash—too many conjugations of the word “moist,” and both
Nasheed and
Dr. Evil facetiming each other. (And, if you’re wondering why I’m linking to Nasheed’s Twitter and not Dr. Octopus’, it’s because Dr. Seuss has me blocked.)
Also, apparently
Dr. Boyce Watkins—the hotep relish to hotep ketchup and hotep mustard—is involved too somehow. (Also, if you click on that link and you’re confused why I’d post a video of an elderly man drinking water, don’t be, because the first 20 seconds of it is just Watkins . . . drinking water and
talking about the water he’s drinking. These are strange men.)
What’s particularly telling in this Armageddon of Ash is how juvenile and nasty the insults they’re hurling at each other are. (Especially the shit escaping the mouth of Tariq Nasheed, a truly worthless man with less redeeming qualities than an albino cockroach.) Listening to them talk about each other is like watching a movie about 13-year-olds in the hood directed by a white person whose only contact with blackness is through Dolemite albums. These dudes are
performing blackness.
And these are the men that a still very sizable part of our community look to for leadership, information and guidance. They’re shameless and reckless frauds who’ve wrapped themselves in Pan-Africanism like scallops wrapped in bacon to pull confidence scams and long cons over susceptible and rudderless and desperate people. Their
own people.
This is who they are. This is who they’ve always been. Ash on. Fuck it, ash off. Ash on. Fuck it, ash off.
