Hustler's Guide to the Game Called Life

If you want to learn about motivation and inspiration, don't spend all that money going to workshops and seminars, just go stand at 14th and Broadway and watch Marvin X at work. He's Plato teaching on the streets of Oakland.--Ishmael Reed, poet, playwright, novelist, essayist, professor emeritus, UC Berkeley

Hustler’s Guide to the Game Called Life

The worse sucker in the world is a pitiful no-hustling, job-ass nigguh waiting for the white man to give him a paycheck or a woman to bring him money as in pimping. Let’s be clear on the last point—the pimp has no relation whatsoever to the hustler. The pimp is a bitch ass nigguh too trifling to do for self and make his own money. The true hustler will never wait on anybody to bring him shit—he gets his with his own wits and game. It is beneath his dignity as a man to wait around for somebody to help him when he can hustle with toilet paper and come up.

The square nigguh can’t figure out his ass from a hole in the ground, but sits around like a frog on a lily pad trying to figure out how to come up. He will pray to a mystery God to help him when the God within himself has already answered: Nigguh , get yo black ass up and do for self!

And you nigguhs with Supreme Wisdom are just as pitiful because you got it but didn’t get it—Supreme Wisdom. If you are God then wake up the town. Shake up the universe by letting your little light shine. Get yo ass out the mosque and do something for self. What does a hustler need to fellowship with some dead ass nigguhs sending all their money to Mississippi. Even the dead preacher don't send his money nowhere but his pocket.

I am a revolutionary hustler standing on the shoulders of my ancestors who made something out of nothing, who took animal food and cooked it into a gourmet meal, who were raped, lynched, tar and feathered, who couldn’t read or write but came through it all to see a better day.

You pitiful motherfuckers whining about the white man should be shot in the head as a disgrace to your ancestors, Nat Turner, Denmark Vesey, Gabriel Prosser, David Walker, Harriet Tubman, Sojourner Truth, Ida B. Wells, Ella Collins, Mae Mallory, Queen Mother Moore, Fannie Lou Hamer, Clara Muhammad, Betty Shabazz, Coretta Scott King, Booker T., DuBois, Garvey, Noble Drew Ali, Master Fard Muhammad, Elijah, Malcolm and Martin.


How can you get up each morning and go to your wage slave job with the white man and call yourself African, Black, Colored or Negro. You a bitch ass nigguh and should be pimped until your drawers fall off, then given a fake gold watch after thirty years loyal service. A one week general strike will cause the fall of America! Can you sacrifice one week for your freedom? No, you must collaborate with your woman and her addiction to white supremacy conspicuous consumption. You are a co-dependent that needs to detox with her and your children.

The Hustler is a rebel, outlaw, incorrigible and recalcitrant, the type the white man had no choice but to kill or allow to go free, yes, that crazy nigguh each town had that nobody fucked with, not even the white man.


The Hustler is fearless and don’t give a fuck—his life and death are all for Allah! He fears nothing and serves nobody but Allah! His objective is not to satisfy a woman, he is content to let her satisfy herself as long as she doesn’t interrupt his flow. Most importantly, the Hustler is independent, meaning he will never move in with a woman to be under her control, at her whim and emotional disposition, to be thrown out in the middle of the night when she calls her real boyfriend, 911, otherwise known as the peckerwood, pig, devil.

It is proper for a man and woman to move into a place together or she can move in with him. The hustler cannot put himself in a weak situation that will interrupt his flow. Either you are about business or romanticism, make up your mind. Now if his woman is a hustler too, there is no limit to what they can do together, and ideally, a hustler needs a hustling woman, not one of those job loving women who look down on the hustling life, otherwise known as a square, willing to get pimped for life by the white man and make her man a ho too.

In his independence, he usually, and most often, must hustle alone because all around him is a bunch of punk ass, jealous nigguhs who are out to down him or prevent him from coming up in a big way. There are those well heeled hustlers who will only help him a little, never in a big way so he can come up and possibly surpass them in the game.


Most people fear the hustler or won’t join with him because they fear the unknown—how can they start out with nothing each day but come up at the end of the day? It is the beginning that scares them. Therefore, the real hustler must leave his friends alone when he discovers they ain’t real hustlers but punks who got to go pray during prime time hustling hours. What the hell are you praying for when God has already answered? When God gives you a product to work, work it!


In the hustler’s mentality, business is war, something he learned from the Japanese who have executed this philosophy to the max, and now China is learning the game, with India following suit. Where is Africa in the game? Somewhere down the line trying to be the world’s greatest criminal that will get them nowhere except to drown in their greed and corruption.


The hustler will sell anything and everything to come up, for he knows he can get anything and everything again. He will sell the clothes off his back because he knows he can get a new pair of shoes, it is only a matter of time. There is no shortage in the universe. Everything Job gave up he got back double for keeping the faith.

The hustler is self confident because he knows the game and how to play it. He doesn’t burn bridges because he needs contacts, networks of fellow hustlers who are for real and not running scams. He has respect for the game and all true fellow hustlers, but he scorns fake hustlers who think they are getting over but will ultimately only go under and never be heard from again in the game.

These are the motherfuckers who fuck up the game for the real hustlers with their punk ass actions and insincerity. You can look at them and smell their phoniness. They are rats of the worse kind and are thus short-lived in the game—they only fool square ass nigguhs much like themselves who don’t know shit from Shinola.

From The Wisdom of Plato Negro, Parables/fables, Volume II, by Marvin X, Black Bird Press, Berkeley, CA, 2010, $100.00.