When I was a teen, I grew up on the mean streets of Detroit, before my parents could afford to leave the city we lived in an apartment next to this older black man whose name was Malcolm.
I thought he dressed funny, but I always saw woman, extremely attractive women (white and black), coming in and out of his apartment all the time. My parents both worked and as soon as they could afford to move us, they did. After when we moved, I thought that would be the last I’d ever see of Malcolm X, but I was wrong.
One day I happened to be walking home from “Holy Redeemer” a Catholic High-School, when I saw Malcolm, near the cross-streets of Livernois and Michigan Ave.
There was a motel on the corner called “The Eldorado” but it was actually a whore house. For some reason it had a large picture sign that was colored orange, I’m sure it had lights, on the inside, but I never saw the sign lit. Even at night. The sign reminded me of a piece of toast because of its shape.
I recognized Malcolm immediately, as he was buying off some uncover cop behind a dumpster near the alley. I waited nearby until their business was concluded.
Malcolm X, I said, announcing my approach.
“Ratt,” he mispronounced my name on purpose, letting me know he remembered me,
“Punk-Ass, White Boy, he to say after my name, because one time I was running for an Irish bully with Red-hair named Billy. Malcolm tripped Billy, as we ran past him. And Billy fell into several trash cans that were metal before they switched to plastic, and the sound reminded me of pins falling over in a bowling alley.
Billy got up pissed to face the “dead-man” was that had tripped him.
Malcolm always with a cigar, blew the smoke in Billy’s face, which Malcolm say was covered with freckles as he approached.
Malcolm seemed to know everything about everybody, “Little Billy acting like he da Red Head King-Pen, growing up without a daddy, and figuring cuz he 13, and me 38, I won’t whoop his ass.
Boy, I just pretend I is your daddy, cuz I probably fucked your momma anyways.”
It was really ironic that he said that, because Malcolm X, had freckles on his face too, he looked a little like Morris Day from “The Time.
And then Malcolm slapped Billy so hard that he almost knocked him down again, “You got the same freckles on your face, that your mamma had on her ass.
“Billy just stood there stunned, rubbing the cheek with freckles that Malcolm had just slapped, and he looked like he was about to cry.
“Now go on get ya punk ass out my yard boy, before I teach you ghetto-folk play connect-da dots. And then Malcolm took out his switch blade, and started laughing like “Predator,” from the Arnold Schwarzenegger Movie.
Malcolm said he never say a white boy run in my life, he was so scared that he past me, who I thought he was still chasing the whole time.
Dot. Dot. Dot, Malcolm yelled after him !!!
The first time I saw Malcolm after school, he looked at me and shook his head. He told me that I was ugly, and that when I was still little, he thought I was retarded like one of those A.D.D kids that white people hide in the basement when-ever company came over. He didn’t say A.D.D thou he just said, “ADD” like the math term.
So when I corrected him, trying to give him sass, Malcolm said,
“That’s why your parents didn’t multiply no more -after you, cuz they short-changed when you got the ADD, and he mispronounced the abbreviation wrong again on purpose.
See when I teased Malcolm there was never any disrespect behind it. I never felt threatened by him, in-fact, I actual felt safer with Malcolm. Nobody was going to fuck with Malcolm X.
I just pretended he was my best friend, and I treated him the same way, I mean I loved hanging out with Malcolm because he was funny. Malcolm could be every bit as funny as Richard Pryor in his hey-day. He always made me feel better. And it was genuine. As I got older I really did look to him.
But after so much time he would chase me off because he knew that my parents would be shocked to know that I was hanging out with a pimp, so he was very careful to be “appropriate” within the boundaries of his friendship.
“Go on boy, go home and bug your parents, they prob-ly forgot what you look like.”
“You want anything Malcolm before I go, I would always ask him whenever we where he was in front of his woman.”
“Boy what you going give me, except a head-ache, he would say.”
And then everybody would laugh at me, before I left. But I did that on purpose, because I wanted to give Malcolm the opportunity to good in-front of his woman, even at my own expense.
Making him look good, was the highest compliment I could give a man like that in his profession. And that is how me and him became and stayed friends.
As I got older Malcolm would brag to me about his sexual exploits, and I even based one of my characters “Assad” in a book i wrote based on him. The entry is listed on the bottom.
When he was ten he already had sex, and by the time he was fifteen, he was already pimping. Anytime I needed advise on woman I would always go to Malcolm “X”
At least that’s what everybody called him. I just called him Malcolm, so one day I asked him what the “X” stood for, and he said Xavier because that was his Middle name.
There was a famous black revolutionary named Malcolm “X” who was a big activist and very popular with the black community. I asked Malcolm what his last name was, and he said Young, but he didn’t use his last name, because he said Malcolm X sounded better than Malcolm Y.
There aint no “why” with a pimp, the money’s the why. Period.
So I said, as a joke, since there was already a Malcolm X, why didn’t he use both his middle and last name, and then he could call himself, “Malcolm X-Y.”
Malcolm starting laughing so hard that the cigar he was smoking fell out of his mouth, and into the street. He stooped over and I tried to help him get his balance, even picking his cigar.
But he knocked it out my hand as he recovered, and called one of his bitches to pick it up instead and put it back in his mouth.
Boy don’t you never do no woman’s chores.
After that he didn’t follow my name with “Punk-Ass, anymore” now he called me “Smart-Ass” which was actually a really big compliment.
Sometimes I would say something so ridiculous that Malcolm would have to stop laughing first and then call his bitches over, so that they could hear it too. I could always make the entire room laugh but i was never as funny as Malcolm.
But Malcolm recognized talent, and he said that the ability to make a mother-fucker laugh was a gift, and that I need to should share it with the rest of the world one day. Before I went off to college I promised him I would.
Malcolm X-Y, was a fascinating character and I could listen to him for hours. I will start posting my memories of his words and deeds in this post shortly.
One day I asked Malcolm, “What do Ho’s need Pimps when they can Pimp for themselves?”
Malcolm laughed like he had never heard anything so ridiculous.
Bitches always be selling their pussies, even “Squares” know that, but “Ho’s” don’t know how to market. They got the goods, but not the services, and that’s why ho’s need pimps. Cuz they don’t know how to “Pussy Promote.”
Okay, so what’s the difference between a bitch and a Ho?
Bitches don’t ho (whore), and ho’s don’t Bitch (complain). And then he would look at my confusion (Mind you I’m an honor student), and laugh at me like I was an idiot. And I felt like one too. But I never stopped asking questions, and I learned a lot about woman, and life from Malcolm.
In fact when I worked for the phone company as a service rep (heavily female dominated profession), I had so much incite into woman, that other woman would come up to me to explain why another woman acted the way she did with her specifically.
But I would never tell her, even thou I knew, because I knew women, and that was the correct response, me not telling he. So, I would say instead.
“Okay, now you want me a man, to explain to you, a woman, why another woman acts the way she acts???
That’s crazy, I would say to her.
And it was.