Aight. Here it is. I told Becky I\u2019m getting rid of the car. Deuces, Henry! I\u2019m going to watch his whack taillights fade into the sunset while I get my priorities in check. Number one? Her\u2014low-key, the best girlfriend I\u2019ve ever had.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou can do it, Beef Cake!\u201d she said. \u201cWe can do it!\u201d<\/p>\n
Nah. It\u2019s me who\u2019s going to be doing it. It\u2019s been me doing most of the changes \u2018round here. But all for love, right?<\/p>\n
She has been saying for a minute that she wants to go car-free. Seattle\u2019s got them bike lanes now, plus pretty good buses. Without a car, we could take out fewer student loans to help her finish undergrad. And save some money for a house or to get married, whatever\u2019s clever.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd I can lose some weight,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou don\u2019t need to lose no weight,\u201d I said. If she only knew. I like a little junk in the trunk. I ain’t your typical white guy.<\/p>\n
\u201cShut up, you man-bimbo you. My mimbo,\u201d she said, as she put her arms around my neck and I filled up my hands with the twin hams of her butt, giving them a lil\u2019 squeeze.<\/p>\n
I thought about putting a bug in her ear again to come to one of my shows. But why ruin the moment when I was riding high? Pretty sure the answer\u2019d be N-O. Anyways, I had to hustle to my job at Target aka, Tarjay. We French it up for fun. And I can\u2019t be late no more. I\u2019m a manager on the receiving dock and got to be on my business and all that. Lugging my ride out of our pad\u2019s basement bike locker, I got cranking up the hill, knowing Becky\u2019s checking me out at least part of the way up.<\/p>\n
I oughta hurry up and marry her. But we watched marriage fuck our parents up so bad, we\u2019re taking things slow. Plus, I be broke. And I think she be all in her feelings about my car. And my music too.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
There\u2019s some things we just got to stomach, I guess. Like how Moms and Pop got to stomach me trying to be the next big thing in hip hop\/R&B. Like how I had to stomach my Moms being a teacher\u2019s assistant at my high school and Pop owning a junk yard and them getting divorced and me having to make nice with Moms\u2019 square-ass boyfriend Stewart. And how I have to stomach Becky\u2014my ride-or-die\u2014 not coming to any of my shows.<\/p>\n
Becky\u2019s only come to one. A rap battle. And that was three years ago when we first started dating. That shit was rough! I\u2019m way better now! I don\u2019t battle no more as I got more tracks of my own I\u2019m trying to get out there instead of slinging half-cocked rhymes \u2018round a bunch of fair-weather fans and tag-a-longs. I don\u2019t even rap half as much in my songs as I used to, opting for more soul and R&B with guitar. Haters say I got lazy, but they just dissing on me cuz I\u2019m a triple threat: an emcee, a singer, and guitar player. It\u2019s hard for them to handle. Not that I\u2019ve ever cared what they think. People want you to only be one thing, to stay in one lane. Like everybody else, they put me on blast for sounding Black but being white, calling me a \u201cwigga\u201d and a culture vulture. Yeah, okay, I\u2019m a culture vulture. A scavenger. But when growing up in a cultural food desert and along comes hiphop, serving up sides of meat and produce in the form of fresh beats and juicy melodies, what was a goofy-assed white boy to do? Besides, all my friends were Black.<\/p>\n
Now, Becky\u2019s never made fun of how I talk or how I am. Never even commented on it, calling it \u201ccute\u201d like my exes. I think she just accepts it all as the Frankenstein story of me. At least, I used to think that. Now, I don\u2019t know. Maybe she\u2019s got thoughts she\u2019s keeping close to the chest. Like a trump card she\u2019s waiting to play till I\u2019m too far in.<\/p>\n
But nah, we got a connection! She\u2019s deep. A prism! Makes me think about things in a different light. Plus, she\u2019s got them high cheekbones, firm thigh muscles, wavy, chocolate-colored hair, and freckles sprinkling just the right amount of adorable into her sexy. I don\u2019t care that she\u2019s put on a couple of pounds. Girl\u2019s in college, pounding those books! What do you expect? She\u2019s a religious studies major at UW who goes to Shabatt Saturday evening because she\u2019s half Jewish. Then on Sunday morning, she goes to a church at a refurbed Greek Row house. They got a pretty dope band, not going to lie. But Pop always says church is just another way they try to control people. I don\u2019t think Becky is about controlling me, though. She don\u2019t seem to care that I don\u2019t go! Just so long as I listen to her tell me all about it. And I do. I could listen to her voice for days, sounding like sunshine and honey, even though I don\u2019t understand everything she says about how we get to be in God\u2019s family. When she looks at me, it\u2019s like I\u2019m the only man alive. She\u2019s my soulmate. Pretty much perfect. Other than her steering clear of my shows. And wanting me to get rid of my wheels.<\/p>\n
He\u2019s not just some broke-ass old beater. He\u2019s John Henry! He was a gift from my downtown Renton high school homies and Pop. My boyz and me came up out of the ghetto together, so we stayed tight even when I moved to Seattle to try to make it in music. Even with everything going on with the shows and the clubs and busting ass at Tarjay just to earn some bread, I\u2019d still drive out to them to make beats and freestyle. And when that POS Pontiac\u2019s transmission blew up on me, them and Pop scrounged up some cheddar and put me together John Henry\u2014a restored \u201996 Mazda Prot\u00e9g\u00e9 with a new engine. It\u2019s the faded gold of a hard-earned, well-loved little league trophy. Or a thirty-year-wedding band. It’s passenger door\u2019s the wrong color\u2014stainless steel\u2014but the thing runs!<\/p>\n
\u201cThis ol\u2019 car\u2019s just like everybody,\u201d Pop said. \u201cAll our parts trying to make a whole.\u201d<\/p>\n
It was to be the car that was too legit to quit. I\u2019d grown up with Pop playing guitar and singing me all the different versions of the John Henry story. \u201cBut can this car beat the steam drill though?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s for you to find out.\u201d<\/p>\n
Every time Becky hears the story, she touches my arm and tells me I\u2019m sweet.<\/p>\n
But she does bring up a good point that I don\u2019t really hang with my old homies anymore. They\u2019ve all given up the game. And there\u2019s a bus from downtown that makes a B-line out to Pop\u2019s in Skyway. So, I really don\u2019t need a car right now.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd wouldn\u2019t your Dad and your friends want you to do what\u2019s best for you now? I bet they\u2019ve changed some too, right?\u201d<\/p>\n
Pops? Nah. He\u2019s still the Junkyard Dog; part of why Moms left his ass so she could become a full-time teacher. But my homies? Yeah, they done changed. Most of the old crew has wives and jobs and don\u2019t do music no more. All of them are still real, doing what they gotta do. But they make fun of me for biking. Have fun fucking around on your crotch rocket! Bet you like that banana hammock seat up yo ass!<\/em> All that. But I still got my high school six pack, whereas all of them gone tubby in their middles. And they all have kid-and-wifey troubles that make mines seem bitty.<\/p>\n And back to Becky being right about Henry\u2026. Dude\u2019s a little punked out. Ghetto fab, for sure. I got in a fender bender a couple of years back, so I rigged a black bumper to his frame using zip ties. The mismatched bumper makes Henry look like a boxer with a fat lower lip. Plus, the silver door on his gold body makes him look like the inside of an old man\u2019s mouth. All those fillings.<\/p>\n And anyways, what\u2019s the point of having a car? I already bike to work every day, rain or shine. Becky usually biked with me, except on her \u201clazy daisy days\u201d when she rode the bus. But this last year, with school kicking her behind so much, she\u2019s been having more and more lazy daisy days on the bus. Not that I\u2019m throwing shade.<\/p>\n Couldn\u2019t she drive the car to school?<\/p>\n Too many bills for parking and she don\u2019t drive stick.<\/p>\n \u201cBesides, Mitch, by selling Henry, by going car-less, we\u2019ll be taking a stand. Getting humanity off carbon one couple at a time.\u201d<\/p>\n She\u2019d talk about how Gaia needed our help to ease up on the fossil fuels, with me getting lost in her eyes. And she\u2019d say, \u201cThe change can start with us.\u201d<\/p>\n Then we\u2019d usually smash, which was always fire! But then she\u2019d ask about the car again and I\u2019d say I\u2019d think about it. She\u2019d also ask if I wanted to try coming to church with her. Just once. Either one.<\/p>\n \u201cWell, it\u2019d have to be the Sunday one. Cuz I\u2019m not Jewish.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNeither was Rahab or Ruth.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWho?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cJust think about it,\u201d she\u2019d say. \u201cIt might just blow your mind.\u201d<\/p>\n Then it would be time for me to go for a drive.<\/p>\n Sure, I could pound pavement in my sneaks. But I\u2019m usually so tooled up from biking and hauling boxes around the Tarjay, that I don\u2019t want to strain my hardware. Anyways, I love me some cruisin\u2019 time. Time for some space, time to reset. Time to realign all my parts like how sit ups click my back bones back in place. I always come back to Becky freed up.<\/p>\n Sometimes the rain even lets up long enough for me to roll the windows down.<\/p>\n Behind the wheel then, with the air flowing \u2018round, I get some old school tunes bumpin\u2019. A Tribe Called Quest. Digable Planets. Saul Williams. Mos Def; Talib Kweli. The Roots. Some Atmosphere, Common Market, and Citizen Cope to give this white boy hope. Real music. About shit. Not just getting crunk at the club which nobody real\u2019s got the money for. Behind the wheel of John Henry, I zoom-zoom over the hills and the overpasses, singing and rapping and not giving much of a fuck about all that stuff Becky say \u2018bout being in the family of God and all that\u2014 because behind the wheel, I\u2019m alive and that\u2019s \u2018nuff said.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n You want a laugh? Becky and me met because of my music. Three years ago, I was at UW, posted in Red Square pushing my demo and this shorty come over. Her eyes were low-key 24 karat! And I passed her a disc. Unlike most people, she took it.<\/p>\n \u201cThank you!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, uh\u2026. Sure,\u201d I said. College kids think everything\u2019s for free. \u201cFor somebody as cute as you, you can take it. That one\u2019s on the house.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh my god, I\u2019m such a dumbass. I\u2019m sorry. Of course you should be compensated. It\u2019s\u2026 your work!\u201d<\/p>\n By that point, she could have taken it all. I was in love!<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2026 don\u2019t have a lot of money. I\u2019m a student.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDon\u2019t even trip.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI mean, it\u2019s fine. Don\u2019t worry about it.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell, how about\u2026\u201d and she bit her lower lip. \u201cHow about I take you out for coffee?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI was going to ask you out anyway,\u201d she told me later. What she never told me though is whether she dug the tracks on the CD. Or if she even listened.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n About a month ago, Henry had this epic meltdown. I\u2019d just taken Becky on a spree at Northgate Mall for a pants suit to sport at some big presentation she\u2019d be giving and we were heading back to our crib. It was dry July and peak Seattle heat: 99 degrees and each degree a problem for John Henry\u2019s radiator. And by the time we crested this hill\u2014more of a molehill by Seatown standards\u2014Henry started smoking. Big, pluming tokes right out of his grill.<\/p>\n When she saw his dome going all Mt. St. Helen, Becky gave this little whimper. And I turned in time to see her shake. My hands came down on Henry\u2019s steering wheel. You\u2019re making her cry, dude! The fuck is wrong with you?<\/em> A part of me felt like telling her to chill. But I didn\u2019t want to say nothing.<\/p>\n I pulled onto the shoulder and killed the engine.<\/p>\n \u201cYou okay if I walk the rest of the way?\u201d Becky asked. \u201cI\u2026 could use some air.\u201d<\/p>\n I got a jug of water from the corner store to cool off the car and drove it fine the rest of the way back to our apartment. But when I hustled up the stairs, I found the door open and Becky at the table with her hands in her lap.<\/p>\n After I sat down, she took my hand and said, \u201cI know you love your car. And part of the reason I love you is because you love your car. But. Would you feel safe putting our baby in it?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWait, wait. Hold up. Our what?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m not pregnant yet. But, I would like to be. One day. With you\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n And I realized that I lowkey wanted that too. More than anything. I missed my high school homies always having my back, even though I was white and they were all Black. I missed waking up to breakfast with Moms and playing with Pop in the junkyard. But those days were long gone. Maybe a way to remix those good times was to have a couple littles of my own.<\/p>\n So, I decided to shuffle things around. Sorry, John Henry. Gotta do what I gotta do. Hope it\u2019ll be enough.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n It\u2019s not just Becky that\u2019s itching for Henry to go. All the other emcees always be roasting me about my car. What you doin\u2019 driving that POS, Mitch? Thang look like dookie on wheels!<\/em> But I\u2019m a salvager\u2019s kid. A junkyard dog myself, at least inside. I\u2019ve never been into the glam culture associated with rap. They all got this rabid mindset of \u201cbuy a new one.\u201d Something breaks, buy a new one. The toaster oven goes out, buy a new one. Your Jordans get holes in \u2018em, buy new ones. You wouldn\u2019t treat your body like that. You wouldn\u2019t treat somebody you love like that. So why treat your things like that? Why treat the earth like that? That attitude is why Pop\u2019s still in business. That attitude is what\u2019s shrinking the oceans. Soon each ocean will have a Texas-sized floating island of trash. My gut is always to try to fix something. Well, honestly? Pay somebody to fix it because I\u2019m all thumbs in that department. But I can\u2019t keep dumping money that we don\u2019t have into John Henry. Especially when I\u2019m not about to drive my babies around in that thing! Yeah, babies. I want at least three little Mini-Mes! We going to be running this block!<\/p>\n After I knocked off the clock and came back home from Tarjay, I put Henry up on Craigslist for $650.<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s a little much, sweetie,\u201d Becky said. \u201cMaybe we could just donate it. Him. Sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m not ready to do that. He\u2019s John Henry. Too legit to quit! Besides, the used car market\u2019s hot right now.\u201d<\/p>\n In the ad, I wrote how he\u2019s been driven by the same owner since 2008. That he\u2019s in need of some love, but reliable with a good battery and alternator. I wrote how after his last breakdown, Pop and one of my Renton homies replaced the timing belt, water pump, thermostat, alternator belt, power steering belt, and flushed the cooling system, no charge. Well. Not exactly no charge. Pop said I could pay him in visits and six packs of Miller Hi-Life for life. As for my homie, I got his wifey backstage passes to Shabazz Palaces.<\/p>\n Anyways, after the ad goes live, I swallow my pride and ask Becky if she\u2019ll come to my next show.<\/p>\n She bites her lip, normally my favorite expression of hers. But her eyes are turned down. \u201cMitch. Baby. We should talk\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhy don\u2019t you want to come?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cPlease don\u2019t be angry. I\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIs it because you\u2019re white? I\u2019m white!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, that pretty much sums it up.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cEminem is white. Macklemore is white. Slug from Atmosphere is white. Why do they get to rap but I can\u2019t?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cExactly. I don\u2019t know who decides this stuff. But\u2026. Aren\u2019t you even a little bit worried about cultural appropriation?\u201d<\/p>\n I hadn\u2019t been until lately. About a year ago I was outside Northgate Mall, selling CDs and wearing my Clarence Greenwood Recordings t-shirt and some Karen roll up on me saying Citizen Cope should be canceled for culturally appropriating and that I should be canceled too! Bad enough I got to dodge the mall rent-a-cops but I got to duck and cover from the PC police too! Now it looks like they got to Becky. Shoulda seen that one coming with all them books she be reading.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m\u2026 uncomfortable with the whole hip hop scene. I don\u2019t think it\u2019s for me.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDo you like it?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOf course I like it. Who doesn\u2019t like it?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDo you listen to Black people when they talk about The Struggle?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou know I do!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThen it\u2019s for you. Why you got to complicate everything?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re mad at me.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m not mad! I just don\u2019t know why you don\u2019t support me.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI do support you! I love you. I want to be with you. Aren\u2019t you more than your music? How about we separate your art from you for just a minute?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cCan you separate body from soul?\u201d I ask, knowing damn well she know the answer.<\/p>\n She stares at me.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m giving up Henry for you! You want me to give up hip hop too? And make me go to church? Is this all some mission to remix me into Becky\u2019s lil\u2019 Ken Doll?\u201d<\/p>\n And then my phone blows up with calls from people wanting to buy Henry. Becky goes for a walk to clear her head while I filter out the weirdos who just want the car as either a get-away whip or to sell as scrap to feed they crack habit. Where are you right now, bro?! I\u2019ve got cash on me. Tell me!<\/em> one guy barked. Yeah, nah. Deuces! Click. I\u2019ll be doing the interviews at the coffee shop down the block.<\/p>\n I hear Becky\u2019s voice in my head. Interviews? Hon. Do you think that\u2019s necessary? You are just selling a car. I know it\u2014he\u2014 has personhood to you, but\u2026.<\/em><\/p>\n I\u2019m not going to pawn Henry off to just anybody. Sorry, Becky. I\u2019ve got to make sure it\u2019s a good owner who\u2019ll treat him right. See through his rough edges to his real potential.<\/p>\n Looking at the list of caller names I\u2019ve racked up, I don\u2019t know who it\u2019ll be. But I\u2019m hoping when the time comes, I\u2019ll just know. Kinda like love.<\/p>\n Becky comes back in. She\u2019s soaked. It is Seattle. Damn! I towel her off and ask if she\u2019s okay.<\/p>\n \u201cI didn\u2019t even realize it was raining.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou were in the zone,\u201d Becky says. She\u2019s seen me there before, bent over my drum machine or synching up beats to vocals or laying down a sick bass track. I\u2019m an arranger too, dog! Why promoters ain\u2019t lining up outside my door be beyond me!<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m sorry I was harshing on you,\u201d I say to the staccato of the rain dumping outside.<\/p>\n She sighs. I don\u2019t like the sound of it. Like telltale winds of a hurricane. She tosses her curtain of wet hair out of her face and adjusts her bra. Its pink, lacy fabric smiles at me from underneath her tank top.<\/p>\n \u201cMitchell. I\u2019m not pretty enough to be a rapper\u2019s wife. I\u2019m just not. I\u2019m not even pretty enough to go to those shows! I\u2019m just not a \u2018hot\u2019 girl. I\u2019m sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou should see some of the fugly skanks that be up in there.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s supposed to make me feel better?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou are a hot girl! That\u2019s all I mean.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cEven if I was the type\u2014which I\u2019m not\u2014I can\u2019t appropriate Black culture. Not after Elvis. Not after The Rolling Stones. Not after Vanilla Ice. Not after Iggy Azalea. I can\u2019t even just mindlessly consume it. And I don\u2019t think you should either.\u201d<\/p>\n That\u2019s what she thinks I been doing? I feel like hurling up my guts right there. I have to sit down. I\u2019m reeling. Dark clouds are closing in.<\/p>\n \u201cThere. I said it,\u201d she says, as if they were just words and not a category 5 storm crashing down on my life. My whole life. As if all my music hasn\u2019t really been me. Just an act I been putting on. Why hadn\u2019t she said anything before? How long has she been holding this in?<\/p>\n \u201cYou are more than your music,\u201d Becky holds both my hands now. \u201cYou\u2019re a great guy. A guy I want to spend my life with.\u201d<\/p>\n I shake my head, feeling the big hot wet ones coming out my eyes. Don\u2019t be a bitch, don\u2019t be a bitch, I say to myself just like the thug rappers say, but it don\u2019t work. And I hate that shit anyways because of how nasty they are to women. I\u2019ve been trying to make a whole with all my parts. But she don\u2019t want, like, half those parts! How am I going to be whole then? What\u2019s going to be left?<\/p>\n \u201cI know we can get past this, Mitch.\u201d she says. \u201cPeople change. They can change together.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Going through the motions, a little zombie-ish, I pawn Henry off for $600 to a couple a little younger than us who work on cars together. They\u2019re biracial: she\u2019s Black and he\u2019s white. Which I got mad respect for.<\/p>\n \u201cAll our parts trying to make a whole,\u201d I say as I\u2019m signing away the title, wishing I could feel something. I just can\u2019t get what Becky said out my head.<\/p>\n \u201cGood job, Beef Cake,\u201d she says when I get back. \u201cI know that was hard for you.\u201d<\/p>\n That night, I\u2019m laying there. Her arms are around me. I think of how I was wanting to name our baby after him\u2014the car\u2014if we have a boy. But now I think it\u2019s a little basic. And I don\u2019t think I\u2019m solid enough to take another N-O from her.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n It\u2019s Sunday. When I wake up, she\u2019s gone. Out for a walk or something. On her side of the bed, there\u2019s a copy of So You Want to Talk About Race<\/em>, the chapter on culture-vultures dog-earned just for me. I read it and guess she wants it to be some kind of death blow to my dreams. I done sold Henry, now she wants me to sell them off too.<\/p>\n But when she gets back, she\u2019s all smiles and sweet. She gets me to cycle over to the frat-house-turned-House-of-God. I tell her I\u2019m going to bike across the 520 Bridge to catch some rays and get my heart pumping. But I\u2019ll be back in time to bike home with her.<\/p>\n She plants her lips on my face before heading in and takes a seat in one of the front pews. But the strut her hips make is lost on me, knowing that inside that banging body is a distaste for something that\u2019s made up such a big part of me for so many years. Plus, there\u2019s a lot of pretty boys up in there. The Hallelujah from the band wells up like somebody\u2019s stoked the fires of some big ass machine till it about to blow. If I don\u2019t come back, Becky can just get herself a new boy toy. A new one to wind up and make go like how she want.<\/p>\n One of the greeters\u2014or bouncers\u2014is a line-backer-sized black dude with big ol\u2019 genie earrings. He waves me on in, all lazy-like. And I know he don\u2019t really care if I come in or not. They got enough bodies in there already.<\/p>\n And like that, I\u2019m on my bike, pedaling across the 520. One side of the lake\u2019s crazy, the waves like a flash mob thrashing. The other side\u2019s Patr\u00f3n smooth. And in the middle, there\u2019s me.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" I like a little junk in the trunk. I ain’t your typical white guy.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":182,"featured_media":24841,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[4606,154,4607,2898,4604,105,4608,4605],"class_list":["post-23936","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","tag-artists","tag-cars","tag-college-age-relationships","tag-race","tag-rap","tag-relationships","tag-seattle","tag-soul","writer-shaun-anthony-mcmichael"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/23936","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/182"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=23936"}],"version-history":[{"count":6,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/23936\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":24843,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/23936\/revisions\/24843"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/24841"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=23936"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=23936"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=23936"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}