I Ain't Scared of You

by Bernie Mac

  Run? Run? We ain’t doin’ no runnin’. Black folks ain’t doin’ that. When we was younger, yeah. We would run. But older brothers? Shit, I ain’t runnin’ unless some gangbangers are chasin’ me. I ain’t runnin’. Shit, your lips be white. Maaaan, shit.

  Speaking of fights, you know when you done really got fucked up in a humbug? When you gotta make an announcement. You ever notice that? Black folks, when they fight and shit, they got to make an announcement.

  Slap!

  “Oh! This muthafucka done hit me in the mouth, got-damn!”

  Or “Man, this muthafucka done stabbed the fuck outta me! Got-damn, man, this muthafucka done stabbed me, man! Ain’t this a bitch!”

  We gonna tell you. We gonna make an announcement.

  Pow!

  “Aw, hell naw! This muthafucka done bust my muthafucking head open!”

  We gots to announce it. We’re funny. It’s the truth. We got to tell you what’s going on, straight up. If it’s a humbug, we make an announcement: “Man, them muthafuckas fighting!” Like we can’t see that! “Man, he got a gun. He got a gun!”

  They gon’ tell you. Black folks are journalists when some shit jump off. We’re informants.

  I talk about black folks, but really, it’s okay to have that nigga in you. You can’t forget that nigga in you. In life you gon’ be tested. You gotta let a muh’fucka know sometimes: “I’m a nigga!” Ain’t nothing wrong with bein’ a nigga. There’s somethin’ wrong with being a “nigger”—but not a nigga.

  In meetings, I’ve conducted myself like a gentleman. White folks say something out of pocket, and before you even realize it, you like, “Muh’fucka, who you talkin’ to?”

  White folks’ll say some shit like, “OK, in the intro to the TV show, we want you to come out and dance. Then we want you and your wife to fight, talk about her like Fred Sanford used to talk about Aunt Esther.”

  Boy, white folks bring the nigga out you! That nigga just’ll slide out you. You like, “What? Man, I’ll kick yo’ ass!”

  You can have a doctorate. You tryin’ to explain something, some white person say some shit: “But, doctor, you have the vertebra—”

  You just snap. “You heard what I just said, nigga?” Your whole voice change.

  See, that’s to bring out the nigga in you. I like a lil’ nigga. My grandmother used to say, “Don’t bring out the nigga!”

  We had a family fight. Our family was all out in the street. We was fightin’ the Tarvers. Me and Earl Tarver was scrappin’. Then his auntie held me—and he got a good hook in on me. Pow!

  My grandmother was standin’ there. She say, “Oh, no! Bring out the nigga! You don’t hold my grandson!”

  My grandmother held him, talkin’ about, “Go get yo’ lick back!”

  She held him. I tried to knock his ass out, that sumnofnabitch! Had to get my lick back.

  Licks was important where I come from. Licks—and “last.”

  Oh, a muh’fucka got “last”? When you thought the fight was over and he stole yo’ ass? Man, one time I was in school and was fightin’ this muh’fucka. And just when they were breakin’ it up, the nigga tagged me, man. And everybody just yelled, “Whooooohooooooo!”

  That fired me up. I’m shaking. Guard all up. The teacher told me to go sit on the other side of the class. I’m all mad. I started scooting my chair up to that muh’fucka and was hummin’. You know how you get so mad you start humming?

  Mmmm-hmmm, muh’fucka. Mmmmm-hmmm!

  I’m getting my lick back. That muh’fucka got last!

  Last make you kill a muh’fucka.

  BYSTANDER: What happened, Bernie? Why’d you stab him?

  ME: He got last.

  Man, that’s some nigga shit right there. What the fuck is some damn last?

  A muh’fucka get a lick in and then they break it up? You can’t even go around nobody. People talkin’ about it. I’d be tight. Can’t even do no homework. I’m mad.

  Like with the fight with me and Earl. Now, my family was peaceful, church-going people. My grandmother and them was like the mayor of our neighborhood. We wasn’t known for no humbuggin’ mess. That’s what shocked everybody, see. We wasn’t known for bringin’ out the nigga.

  But that nigga got last.

  I don’t care who you are. You black and wanna see a muh’fucka bring out the nigga? Get last.

  I don’t care if you a preacher. A muh’fucka get last?

  PREACHER: Oh, you done mess up now.

  ME: Man, I’m always listening to the people around me, always watchin’. ’Cause people are funny, and if you talk to them long enough, they’ll tell you some crazy stuff. You find all kinds of shit to take to the stage.

  FRIEND: Yeah, like he tells this story about kids being smart. It was about my daughter. What happened was, one time, my wife walked into the room and wanted to watch something on TV. She told my daughter, who was three, she was going to switch channels. Before she could, she had to run into another room. When she came back a few minutes later, she tried to use the remote to change channels, but couldn’t. She kept trying for a few seconds, then she finally checked the remote. My daughter done took the goddamn batteries out.

  ME: Hmpph. Kids. You gotta watch them lil’ sum’bitches, man. They too smart for they own good.

  FRIEND: Some mo’ true shit: I’m a cop, right? So I’m always telling him about stories from work and shit. I told him about this dope dealer. Me and my partner, we were looking for the dude who killed this motherfucker. We in the funeral home before anything happens, staking out the place to see if we saw anybody suspicious come in. He laying in the front of the church, coffin open. We’re looking at the book to see who signed in.

  A motherfuckin’ pager goes off.

  I check my shit, my partner checks his shit. Nothing. Damn, man, I know I heard a pager. But ain’t nobody in the church. We finish looking . . .

  Beep, beep, beep, beep. There that muh’fucka go again, right?

  We walk up to the casket and there this motherfucker is laying up there dead than a pager going off! I said, “Yeah, that’s the devil callin’, tellin’ him he late.”

  BUTTER: Another time, we was out doing a ride-along, me and Bernie, out in a police car. We out on the west side. I’m just showing him some of the shit I do, right?

  So we see two other police get out and stop this cat, put him on the hood. He kept looking in the car. Then he figured out who it was.

  He said, “Damn, they got Bernie Mac?”

  Then he said, “Bernie Mac 5-0?” ME: I heard that shit and that’s when I had to get out. I let him know: “Hell, naw! I ain’t the police and don’t y’all start calling me no damn five-oh!”

  So then I start talkin’ to the dude. The brother is about 19. The police done got some weed off of him. I’m like, “Seriously, why you like this, man? Why you out here?”

  That motherfucker told me, he said, “Man, you just don’t know, Bernie. Man, this street stress is a mutha-fucka.”

  I said, “What?”

  Brother said, “Street stress.”

  I said, “That ain’t like regular stress?”

  Street stress! Now that’s some heavy shit, there. You worried about whether somebody gon’ come pop your ass. That’s street stress.

  He was on the car, and he was serious, man. He looked up, he said—like he had just worked for 24 hours straight—“Street stress a muthafucka!”

  He looked like he was getting ready to break down. He needed somebody to talk to. Like he getting ready to get hit tonight. Like he ain’t have somebody’s money.

  “Man, this muthafucking street stress a bitch.” He act like, “I’m busted tonight. I ain’t got dawg’s money.” He act like he was getting ready to get out the game.

  His boys was watching. They knew we had him and were looking to see if that muh’fucka was gon’ talk. He was trying to get up out of there!

  That nigga looked up like he was gon’ cry and was like, “Why don’t y’all take me w
ith y’all?”

  Niggas don’t be knowing how to do their shit, man. You need to study them ol’ crackhead ass hoes that be selling pussy cheap. They be knowin’ how to do wrong.

  Ever see those crackhead prostitutes? The ones with the blue lips? They be higher than a motherfucker, still tryin’ to shake sexy. Blue lips, eyes be yellow like a motherfucker, talkin’ ’bout, “I’ll suck ya dick, ten bucks. Pull ’round the back of the police station.”

  And that’s just what you do, too. When ya do wrong, do it in front of the police. That’s how ya do wrong.

  Ya hidin’ from the law? Get you an apartment across the street from the police station. Ain’t nobody ever gon’ think to look across the street.

  When you wanted by the police just walk past ’em. It can be four police right here, talking to each other.

  Just walk past.

  FUGITIVE: How ya doin’, officers?

  POLICEMAN: How ya doin’? Anyway, yeah, we gon’ catch that motherfucker.

  And you keep on goin’.

  ME: I’m always talkin’ about how I’m getting too old to fuck. People ask me, “Well, what about women your age? Are they tired?”

  Lemme tell ya: I think women are in a different mode physically. I think they get tired of it when they get a certain age. But when they get it, they are more in tune to it than we are. Because when they get it, their body chemistry just goes to the left. They gotta have it.

  A woman can last longer than a man physically and internally. She can go longer without. Like a woman might go without sex for six, seven months. But when that muthafucka do get it? Boy, you’d better be in shape ’cause she might break somethin’ off.

  FRIEND: I seen a few that had been celibate for like seven, eight years.

  ME: Oh, yeah. They crazy than a motherfucka, too. A nut will make you go crazy, man, really. If you don’t get a nut, you will cuss a motherfucka out. You see those evil-ass women on the job and shit? ’Cause they ain’t been bustin’ no nut.

  And plus, women got tools. It’s so unfair. When God made us, man, He shorted us. I ain’t chargin’ His work, but women got toys—dildos, vibrators, all that sort of shit—to get off. You can’t compete with no dildo.

  They got this thang called the Beaver, man. It’s a dildo with a little bitty tongue that goes over the woman’s clit. Make a man jealous.

  FRIEND: Shiiit, that’s my added help.

  ME: Uh-unh. A lot of cats are insecure, man. You can’t do nothing with that Beaver. That motherfucka will have women throwing up, man.

  FRIEND: That’s okay. Sheeeiiit. Go ’head, babygirl. Do yo’ thang.

  ME: Man, women get that thang, they be lookin’ like they were electrocuted.

  FRIEND: I just be like, “Want me to help you?”

  ME: You turn that Beaver on they ass, they don’t need you. The only thing that they need you for is to be next to them, for that warmth.

  FRIEND: That muh’fuckin’ nut be getting close, they grab your muh’fuckin’ head, pull you close. Man!

  I’m not a church person really. Don’t get me wrong: I grew up in church, and I love the Lord and all. I believe in God with all my heart and soul, and I’m a born witness that there is a God. But now, as an adult, I’m not one to be all up at somebody’s church.

  I think that church has gotten to the point where it’s a scam. It’s a business. The Catholics have been doin’ it for years. I think that blacks are now getting in tune to it.

  Like the churches in LA. They gotta have all the celebrities out. You got Magic there and Stevie Wonder and all them. It ain’t nothin’ but a conversation piece. It’s about popularity, and I ain’t never been no popularity buff.

  These people get all caught up in the size of the church and the membership and the preacher’s name, and everything else but God. They worried more about the building.

  Any time you got a church that look like a doggone mall, something is wrong.

  People say they go to church to bring themselves peace. Yeah, they go to give them serenity for the wrong they do.

  A muh’fucka go to church on Sunday, but step on the their toe on Monday and see what happens. The do wrong on Monday, get high on Tuesday, get drunk on Wednesday, fight on Thursday, commit adultery on Friday, lie on Saturday—and then they wanna pray on Sunday.

  Or else a muh’fucka just mess with church when things’re going wrong for ’em. It take somethin’ tragic for ’em to straighten up.

  Ya blood test done came back. You got a doctor’s appointment on Tuesday. I call you up like, “Hey, man, what you doin?”

  “Aw, I’m just sittin’ here readin’ mah Bible. Twenty-third Psalm, you know.”

  Hypocrite ass.

  One of the things I hate about how life is now is that you just don’t have quality nothin’ no more. People just don’t make good stuff like they used to.

  Milk used to make bones strong. Now, it makes you sick than a muh’fucka. It’ll have you shittin’. You gotta take pills to drink some milk now.

  Water used to be free. That shit costs you two muh’fuckin’ dollars now.

  You used to be able to take medicine and get better. Now, the medicine will fuck you up worse than the illness. You ever see those commercials for medicine?

  “Take this for your whooping cough. But warning: the side effects will make your nose bleed, could cause high blood pressure, blindness in one eye, stomach aches, and tightness in the wrist.” You like, “Fuck it. I’ll just deal with the whoopin’ cough.”

  Bernie Mac at eight years old.

  ’Cause there ain’t no quality shit no more.

  Why is that, when you’re black and successful, everybody feels like they’re part of that and you owe them?

  Don’t be no doctor. People will come ring your doorbell at three o’clock in the morning.

  DOCTOR: Who is it?

  NEIGHBOR: It’s Antoinette. Pookie sick! He red all around the throat.

  DOCTOR: You should take him to a hospital.

  NEIGHBOR: Well, you know, I ain’t got no medical insurance. Can you write me a prescription out? C’mon, this is Pookie! You know, Pookie used to play with your son for many years. We grew up together. Don’t bullshit. This is me!

  What the fuck does that mean? Why niggas always try to say that? “This is me, man!”

  NEIGHBOR: C’mon now. This is me! Pookie bleedin’ out his mouth and his ass!

  DOCTOR: But I don’t know what he has. Plus, I’m a pediatrician, not a general practitioner.

  NEIGHBOR: You can give me some antibiotics to clear him up.

  DOCTOR: You need to take him to a hospital.

  That’s when the muh’fucka really go off.

  NEIGHBOR: Oh, see, you done forgot where you came from! Well, I didn’t! I didn’t! I remember when your daddy was sucking dick behind the funeral parlor while your mama was in the front selling hot dogs without the bun! I remember when you used to smell like piss!

  I remember all that!

  I remember when your brother got his head busted out on 63rd with a pair of click-clacks! Who rushed him to the hospital, got him three stitches across this muthafucking eye? Me! Now, my son Pookie, you can’t even give him some antibiotics? You’ll get yours!

  And they always say, “nigga” at the end, like it’s punctuation.

  NEIGHBOR: That’s alright. Your day’ll come—nigga!

  Boy, motherfuckers are a trip.

  Most of people’s problems are self-brought-on. People make bad decisions and try to blame other people for their lives.

  You ain’t gon’ get ahead with seven kids. You ain’t gon’ get ahead, and you’re dealing with four, five women. Or if you lyin’ and cheatin’ and partyin’ all night. Somewhere in there, something’s going to have to give. A bill ain’t gon’ get paid or something. And you know what they say about bills: “Once you get behind, that is your behind.”

  But still, people want to do that and then wonder why their life is like it is. And then you gon’ go
and get mad at the brother who’s tryin’ to do something with himself, the brother with triple A credit.

  You comin’ to his house talkin’ that bullshit: “Hey, man, uh, let me use your license plate, man.” “C’mon, man, why don’t you let me borrow your car?”

  Ain’t that some shit!? You done tore up your shit, now you wanna tear up mine. Talkin’ ’bout you’ll get my shit fixed. Nigga, you couldn’t repair your car when the muh’fucka had a flat!

  Your life is all fucked up! Your wife left you, and now you fuckin’ her sister. Don’t think nothin’s wrong with that. But you want respect.

  You scream, “I’m a man!” But you don’t work. Muh’fuckas come in the house, you sittin’ around smokin’ cigarettes. You live in the basement. You go in your mama’s purse, tryin’ to get some change. Talkin’ about, “You want somethin’ from the store, mama?”

  You hopin’ she gives you a ten-dollar bill so you can keep the change. You come back home, “Where the change?” That shit is high than a muh’fucka. Nigga done bought some cigarettes and a quart of beer. Sorry muh’fucka.

  Lil’ kids in the neighborhood don’t respect you. You want the lil’ kids to call you “Mister,” but they still callin’ you June Bug. You mad: “It ain’t June Bug! It’s Titus!”

  I tell kids: you see him standing on the corner talking shit? He gon’ be that muh’fucka 20 years from now. On another corner—talking shit. Or at someobdy’s fucked-up job—talkin’ shit.

  The nigga’s at the job puttin’ down people who work hard: “You know he wannabe supervisor. You know that, right?”

  Like something wrong with that!

  “Ol’ company man ass nigga. Come to work on time. The shit start at seven, he there at quarter to.” The hard-workin’ guy put in overtime and here you go: “Damn, you tryin’ to make all the money, nigga?”

  Bernie Mac with Miller Lite Comedy Search winner Damon Wayans and Miller Genuine Draft representatives.

  I used to work two shifts, right? Muh’fuckas used to walk by, “Wha, you got stock in the company?”