Columbia City Paper

     Peace & Blessings!!!  The Holiday Season is over and people are
becoming more and more impatient with this world.  It’s crazy how when
you set goals, have dreams, and designs for yourself…it takes those
around you years to catch up.  I’ll tell you like this, f*ck the hate,
the negativity, the disbelief, the doubt, and fear people try to place
on you.  Remain faithful & focused on working your plan.  Day in,
Day out, you have to look at yourself in the mirror.  Remember
that….Let’s get to it!!

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Some of Columbia’s most successful and well-known artists have come
together to present their new work to the public. The Ninth Annual
Winter Exhibition opened Friday, Jan. 23 at Gallery 80808 with
participating artists Stephen Chesley, Mike Williams, Edward Wimberly,
and David Yaghjian. This year’s exhibit will feature oil and acrylic
paintings, drawings and sculpture.

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I love the wife I married two years ago, but she absolutely can�t come
unless she uses a vibrator on herself. She�s asked me to let her use it
during sex or for me to use it on her, but I�ve refused. It�s bad
enough knowing I can�t compete with that thing without having to look
at it.

Let�s Insert My Prick

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http://www.flickr.com/apps/slideshow/show.swf?v=63961

By Bryan Alexander

Photo’s by Brittany Barton 

�There will be 4 hour waits for the Metro starting at 4
a.m.� one friend said. ÃƒÂ¢Ã¯Â¿Â½Ã¯Â¿Â½The traffic is already getting bad in the DC
area,� warned another.  �There are already lines several hours long at the
Metro stops for tickets.�  Etc. Perhaps it was the contrarian in me (I
didn’t vote for Obama �or McCain for that matter�but was still going to the
inauguration) but I took this as a good sign.  Such stories typically
scare many people away from an event, and I was determined to be proved
right.  Unfortunately, my roommates started to get nervous, so we left the
evening before the inauguration to travel to DC. 

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Letters to the reader 

Dear Southern literature stereotype,
    From the porch I can still see Deddy spreadkneed and a-workin’ the
soil of that burnt up patch of land like the generations of my kin duly
passed. Out thar in his good church shoes. He’d fussed a right piece
this morn’ cause he couldn’t find his work boots. And finally he’d made
his way, headhung, on out across the yard past the great magnolia where
Essie Lee lay buried, his Sunday shoes gleaming in the light and
sounding clack, clack, clack across the gravel road to the family
fields.
   But how do I tell him what I seen? How do I tell him that the dawg
he won in a turkey shoot ain’t right? How old Duke broke his rope
yestday evenin’ as if the Devil hisself took holt of him and struck out
past the thicket that blooms them berries Mama bakes into pies in the
spring. Deddy ain’t seen Duke dragging his back end in the yard,
pulling hisself by the legs afront with a bootlace hanging from his
behind as if he’d growd a second tail. And it was then that I knew what
became a them boots beloved, that Duke had ate ‘em, by God! And sweet
Deddy out thar a-workin in his church shoes, them ruint now too, on his
knees as if searching for a thing forever lost to him.

Columbia City Paper

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