This Jay-Z/Beanie Sigel beef is reaching Twitter proportions, so you know it's getting serious. Once Fabolous the Tweet King chimes in, that means shit's getting official.
Sparing all the details, Beans has gotten fed up with his treatment by rap royalty Shawn Carter. The technicalities have been brewing all throughout the 'Net for the past week or so, & Beanie addressed it himself via diss track & radio interview. On the song, Beanie even takes a jab at Memphis Bleek who, in my humble opinion, should've had a verse on the song as well. But, I'm a douche nozzle, so...
[tony's note: these rappers' names has my spell check bugging out...]
Jay-Z responded from Canada (where the real gangsta vacation at), & threw a few darts himself. Generally, I give Jigga credit for being a diplomatic gentlemen when addressing angry detractors, but this time dude said some real jerk shit. Fuel to the proverbial fire, so to speak. With Beanie (every time I say/type his name, I see his face & giggle) threatening to divulge some unknown details about Jay, I don't think now's the appropriate time to sling mud, even if a dude is insinuating homosexuality. Or, again, I'm a douche nozzle, so he could just be hinting at JiggaMan's inept abilities at business-running, & inability to be a decent friend.
Either way, I'm not too excited about where this can go. Hell, not to sound like a hater, but I'd love to hear Beans spill the beans (ha!) on Jay living a double life. I already think "gay" is the new "alive", so I don't put anything past anybody. Especially when the "anybody" doesn't have a mustache. I don't trust Black men without them, & neither should you.
Beanie's basic complaint is loyalty; Jay's lack of & Beanie's willingness to give it. That's where the problem began. Years ago, when Jay scooped up Beans from whatever corner he was selling heroin on & gave him a new hoodie & a microphone, in exchange, Beans gave Jay his heart. However queer that may sound, dudes from the street often do such as a token of appreciation for a cat looking out. Maybe for all the hustlin' Jay does, he never learned that rule. Treat your friends like enemies & vice versa. That's not to say buy your adversaries Christmas presents while shooting at your right hand guy, but you smell my cologne. Jay made Beans feel like a brother, & Beans acted accordingly. So of course, once Jay started shitting in dude's cereal, things were going to get real emotional, real quick.
Which brings us to this point of heartbreak. Plainly put, Beans' feeling are hurt, & I don't blame him one bit. Jay seems like the consummate business-man, & Beans should've known this from day one. I knew that just from listening to Jay rap way back when, when he said himself-literally hundreds of times-he's all about the money. Rarely did he mention how he'd die for his dogs like a lot of rap cats say, word to DMX.
& when Jay wasn't speaking on money, he was talking about himself. He sort of strikes me as the type of man who masturbates in the mirror, whilst sitting on his doe.
Seriously, I've been through enough things in life that I find it extra hard [||] to trust anyone, outside of my youngest son. People, as a whole, are merely animals who operate on instinct & impulse. As well, I know that my best interests never parallel another person's consideration for me. Thusly, I keep a distance. If only Beanie had've done that. I don't fault Jay-Z for worshipping the almighty dollar, nor do I blame Beans for wearing his heart on his sleeve, but for all that gangsta rhetoric, one would think he knew better than that. Hopefully this won't turn into some messy Hip Hop divorce though, because I'd rather not watch them fight for custody of Memphis Bleek.
I've heard that Jay worships the devil, so expect Puffy Combs to be emerging soon with something to say. Stay tuned, rap fans.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Seinfeld's Law
Remember the last episode of 'Seinfeld', where Jerome, Cosmo, Lainey & George "T-Bone" Costanza were arrested for watching the fat guy get robbed & did nothing but videotape it & make "fat guy" jokes?
[tony's note: yeah, don't front like you've never watched it...]
They were charged with breaking the imaginary "Good Sumaritan Law", which made it illegal to witness a crime without making any attempts to stop it. For the sake of the show, it was a means to an end, signifying the last hurrah for the 'Seinfeld' cast & crew. &, it was funny to see the morbidly obese man squeeze his swollen body from that compact car. Not that morbid obesity is comical, but, you smell my cologne.
Now, to parallel that with reality, a 15 year old student at Richmond High School, in San Francisco, CA was robbed, beaten & raped after the school's Homecoming dance last Saturday. Ironically, she was crowned Homecoming Queen. The West Contra Costa Unified School District has had it's fair amount of controversy lately, with a truancy rate of 69%, & last year's homicide total at 19. Investigations at Richmond High have revealed that only a small number of the school's surveillance cameras are operable & numerous fights on school grounds have been posted on YouTube.
So far, for the reported crime, a 19 year old ex-student & a current 15 year old student &a few more kids have been formally charged, with more arrests undoubtedly to come. Which in essence, sounds about right, but considering the fact that roughly 20 individuals participated makes that horrifying event that much more appalling. Reports say that about half of the participants were witnesses who did nothing to aid the girl, & perhaps some even videotaped it on their cell phones. That's more than likely, given America's voyeuristic approach at life. Eerily though, a very similar situation happened recently in Chicago, IL, to a young man named Derrion Albert, which resulted in his brutal, possibly avoidable murder had someone just stepped in. You may have heard about it. Instead, people either stood around, joined in the barbaric activities & recorded the event for prosperity. Perhaps the one good aspect of the paparazzi mob mentality is that criminals are stupid enough to get caught on tape red handed, some even amplifying their idiocy for the camera man.
We've all been there at least once, where we found ourselves in the midst of something that seemed to be going to far, yet waited on the next person to intervene or hoped it would just go away. Maybe it did go away, it probably didn't, but we see what happened in the cases of this young lady & Derrion Albert. No one said anything, which, at the very least leveled the playing field between witness & perpetrator. & if it didn't, it should have. Otherwise, only prison walls, as opposed to mental stability, truly separate the criminals & the civilians.
Currently, California has no laws that makes it illegal for one to witness a crime without at least notifying the authorities. They do have the "accessory" charge, but watching doesn't necessarily translate into "helping", as much as driving the car or signaling if someone approaches. Maybe they should implement such an ordinance. Granted, it wouldn't sit well with the boisterous "no snitching" ethos that shadows the inner-city, but life exists outside of the fabricated world of gangster politics & subversive criminal activity, so it is a possibilty.
The victim was rushed to a local hospital for her injuries, yet the mental scars of "multiple offenders, multiple people raping over [a] prolonged period" will still be fresh wounds even when stitches are removed & bruises disappear.
No shots, but very few things separate the human race from the rest of the animal kingdom. Judging by the news & urban legends, that line dwindles daily. At this rate, jail will literally be just another version of the zoo, if one doesn't consider it that already. That's not to say that all the dudes who ever experience jail are sub-human, but, again, you smell my cologne. We need to take "Love Thy Neighbor" a little more seriously, folks. If "we" don't like/trust the police, & the government is secretly plotting to destroy our shallow existences with hidden agendas & conspiracy theory actualities, than the least we can do, as a race, is watch each other's collective back. This isn't to say that everyone needs to don a cape & become hero's to anonymous prey, but super powers aren't needed to dial 911. How much of a douche nozzle are you really when you don't feel the incessant need to help keep another person safe? Although, I guess that's beyond douchery. That's more like evil, pathetic cowardice. Without dwelling too deep beneath the surface of societal ailment, there's always two sides to a story but usually only a singular outcome.
[tony's note: sorry for the lack of "comedy". i don't find anything funny about this bullshit.]
[tony's note: yeah, don't front like you've never watched it...]
They were charged with breaking the imaginary "Good Sumaritan Law", which made it illegal to witness a crime without making any attempts to stop it. For the sake of the show, it was a means to an end, signifying the last hurrah for the 'Seinfeld' cast & crew. &, it was funny to see the morbidly obese man squeeze his swollen body from that compact car. Not that morbid obesity is comical, but, you smell my cologne.
Now, to parallel that with reality, a 15 year old student at Richmond High School, in San Francisco, CA was robbed, beaten & raped after the school's Homecoming dance last Saturday. Ironically, she was crowned Homecoming Queen. The West Contra Costa Unified School District has had it's fair amount of controversy lately, with a truancy rate of 69%, & last year's homicide total at 19. Investigations at Richmond High have revealed that only a small number of the school's surveillance cameras are operable & numerous fights on school grounds have been posted on YouTube.
So far, for the reported crime, a 19 year old ex-student & a current 15 year old student &a few more kids have been formally charged, with more arrests undoubtedly to come. Which in essence, sounds about right, but considering the fact that roughly 20 individuals participated makes that horrifying event that much more appalling. Reports say that about half of the participants were witnesses who did nothing to aid the girl, & perhaps some even videotaped it on their cell phones. That's more than likely, given America's voyeuristic approach at life. Eerily though, a very similar situation happened recently in Chicago, IL, to a young man named Derrion Albert, which resulted in his brutal, possibly avoidable murder had someone just stepped in. You may have heard about it. Instead, people either stood around, joined in the barbaric activities & recorded the event for prosperity. Perhaps the one good aspect of the paparazzi mob mentality is that criminals are stupid enough to get caught on tape red handed, some even amplifying their idiocy for the camera man.
We've all been there at least once, where we found ourselves in the midst of something that seemed to be going to far, yet waited on the next person to intervene or hoped it would just go away. Maybe it did go away, it probably didn't, but we see what happened in the cases of this young lady & Derrion Albert. No one said anything, which, at the very least leveled the playing field between witness & perpetrator. & if it didn't, it should have. Otherwise, only prison walls, as opposed to mental stability, truly separate the criminals & the civilians.
Currently, California has no laws that makes it illegal for one to witness a crime without at least notifying the authorities. They do have the "accessory" charge, but watching doesn't necessarily translate into "helping", as much as driving the car or signaling if someone approaches. Maybe they should implement such an ordinance. Granted, it wouldn't sit well with the boisterous "no snitching" ethos that shadows the inner-city, but life exists outside of the fabricated world of gangster politics & subversive criminal activity, so it is a possibilty.
The victim was rushed to a local hospital for her injuries, yet the mental scars of "multiple offenders, multiple people raping over [a] prolonged period" will still be fresh wounds even when stitches are removed & bruises disappear.
No shots, but very few things separate the human race from the rest of the animal kingdom. Judging by the news & urban legends, that line dwindles daily. At this rate, jail will literally be just another version of the zoo, if one doesn't consider it that already. That's not to say that all the dudes who ever experience jail are sub-human, but, again, you smell my cologne. We need to take "Love Thy Neighbor" a little more seriously, folks. If "we" don't like/trust the police, & the government is secretly plotting to destroy our shallow existences with hidden agendas & conspiracy theory actualities, than the least we can do, as a race, is watch each other's collective back. This isn't to say that everyone needs to don a cape & become hero's to anonymous prey, but super powers aren't needed to dial 911. How much of a douche nozzle are you really when you don't feel the incessant need to help keep another person safe? Although, I guess that's beyond douchery. That's more like evil, pathetic cowardice. Without dwelling too deep beneath the surface of societal ailment, there's always two sides to a story but usually only a singular outcome.
[tony's note: sorry for the lack of "comedy". i don't find anything funny about this bullshit.]
Monday, October 26, 2009
Kanye West: Passin' Go & Collectin' $200
We all saw the footage of Mr. West "assaulting" that paparazzi douche nozzle at L.A.X. Oh, sweet irony (double pun intended-ha!). When him & his boyfriend grabbed the camera & slammed it down, I laughed until I peed a little. For his heinous attempt at being gangsta, he received community service, 50 hours worth. Not hard core community service like beat-a-bitch Brown got, though. Chris Brown at least has the opportunity to come across ejected weapons or dead body parts, if he's lucky. God forbid he gets hit by a car while he's out there collecting trash, dude will be like the Hip Hop James Dean. Kanye received 50 hours, probably to be served at the Salvation Army depot of his choosing, where he could sell a homeless man a third-hand shirt AND explain how it should be haberdashered. If so, the next time you come across a well dressed hobo, you can thank Kanye West for that. Although, I'd be hard pressed to toss my loose change at a dude wearing argyle socks, no matter how much he smelled of urine.
Kanye's judge had to have been a fan of his music. Normally, White men that high up on the food chain would relish the moment where that can proverbially backhand a Black man, much less a rap cat. Maybe word got to his chambers that Kanye wasn't a "real" rapper, one who specializes in genocidal, ubermisogynistic messages of self-destruction & false hope. You know, the successful ones. Or maybe the judge watched enough TV to know that there was a chance that an unhappy Kanye would snatch the gavel &/or possibly whine until he was held in contempt. Sounds like an avoidable headache to me; most likely the same reason why that Black chick kicked him to the curb to begin with.
But, had the judge been a wise man, he would have sent Kanye to jail for at least 30 days. Not only would it have opened up Kanye to a whole new fan base (no pun intended), but the prison system could have benefited immensely. Kanye's the consummate expresser; he makes a living on revealing his thoughts to the public, regardless of backlash. Coincidentally, a lot of dudes in jail are in jail because they couldn't manage their emotions. Like, instead of telling their baby mom's "Fuck You!", they slit her throat (not that I agree, but I understand...). Imagine, if you will, Kanye playing '808's & Heartbreaks' to a cafeteria full of criminals who's Mom's didn't hug them enough & Dad's never showed them how to catch a baseball. He could even use flowers & Barbie dolls as visuals aids. Emo-rap is as therapeutic as it is questionable, & I'm sure at least two dudes would have gleaned something from Kanye teaching the audience that, sometimes, it's okay for a man to cry.
Kanye would've also gained from such an experience. First & foremost, once he found out the origin of one's pants sagging, & what it really signifies, I highly doubt he'd continue to walk around advertising the hershey highway to those hungry for a test drive. Fashion's no longer just "fashion" once men want to penetrate your rectum. & to think, a young, bald headed White kid, in the right light at the wrong time could easily be mistaken for a less flattering Amber Rose to a detoxing Kanye. Between night sweats & withdrawal pangs, he could reach over for comfort & leave the scant amount of manhood he does have in his past forever more.
I wish incarceration on no man, but some time off may do him some good. Especially if he finds the smallest guy in the lunch room & beats him senseless with his dinner tray. While the bigger bad guys may only laugh, the rest of the small fry's will fall gingerly in line, protecting their new leader & washing his underwear, with or without him still wearing them. Maybe then Kanye will fully understand how much of a role model he is, & think twice before
accosting defenseless White girls on live television, even if he intends on letting her finish her speech.
This community service crap only amounts to a slap on his lavender G-shock. & something tells me this won't be the last time he gets arrested on less than masculine charges. Perhaps next time, it'll be something more ballsy, like slapping the shit out of his pool boy or not paying a parking ticket. As long as it's equally as humorous, I couldn't possibly care any less.
Kanye's judge had to have been a fan of his music. Normally, White men that high up on the food chain would relish the moment where that can proverbially backhand a Black man, much less a rap cat. Maybe word got to his chambers that Kanye wasn't a "real" rapper, one who specializes in genocidal, ubermisogynistic messages of self-destruction & false hope. You know, the successful ones. Or maybe the judge watched enough TV to know that there was a chance that an unhappy Kanye would snatch the gavel &/or possibly whine until he was held in contempt. Sounds like an avoidable headache to me; most likely the same reason why that Black chick kicked him to the curb to begin with.
But, had the judge been a wise man, he would have sent Kanye to jail for at least 30 days. Not only would it have opened up Kanye to a whole new fan base (no pun intended), but the prison system could have benefited immensely. Kanye's the consummate expresser; he makes a living on revealing his thoughts to the public, regardless of backlash. Coincidentally, a lot of dudes in jail are in jail because they couldn't manage their emotions. Like, instead of telling their baby mom's "Fuck You!", they slit her throat (not that I agree, but I understand...). Imagine, if you will, Kanye playing '808's & Heartbreaks' to a cafeteria full of criminals who's Mom's didn't hug them enough & Dad's never showed them how to catch a baseball. He could even use flowers & Barbie dolls as visuals aids. Emo-rap is as therapeutic as it is questionable, & I'm sure at least two dudes would have gleaned something from Kanye teaching the audience that, sometimes, it's okay for a man to cry.
Kanye would've also gained from such an experience. First & foremost, once he found out the origin of one's pants sagging, & what it really signifies, I highly doubt he'd continue to walk around advertising the hershey highway to those hungry for a test drive. Fashion's no longer just "fashion" once men want to penetrate your rectum. & to think, a young, bald headed White kid, in the right light at the wrong time could easily be mistaken for a less flattering Amber Rose to a detoxing Kanye. Between night sweats & withdrawal pangs, he could reach over for comfort & leave the scant amount of manhood he does have in his past forever more.
I wish incarceration on no man, but some time off may do him some good. Especially if he finds the smallest guy in the lunch room & beats him senseless with his dinner tray. While the bigger bad guys may only laugh, the rest of the small fry's will fall gingerly in line, protecting their new leader & washing his underwear, with or without him still wearing them. Maybe then Kanye will fully understand how much of a role model he is, & think twice before
accosting defenseless White girls on live television, even if he intends on letting her finish her speech.
This community service crap only amounts to a slap on his lavender G-shock. & something tells me this won't be the last time he gets arrested on less than masculine charges. Perhaps next time, it'll be something more ballsy, like slapping the shit out of his pool boy or not paying a parking ticket. As long as it's equally as humorous, I couldn't possibly care any less.
Friday, October 23, 2009
BREAKING NEWS: Lil Wayne Is Better Than Jay-Z, & Has More Money!
Leave it to Bryan "Baby, Birdman" Williams to make sure that his payche-I mean, artist/adopted son Dwayne "Lil Wayne" Carter stays in the spotlight. Actually, it's not like Lil Wayne ever really leaves the spotlight, or is in need of extra shine time. Between releasing arguably good songs from equally as entertaining albums, tag-teaming the female population with his heart throb protege Drake, unleashing the latest rapping stripper, Nicki Minaj, on an awaiting public, impregnating what seems to be every girl he has sex with, & crisscrossing the country to deal with legal problems from drugs to guns to copyright infringement, one would be had pressed to forget the guy exists. I even heard 'Lollipop' blaring out of this zesty character's Scion the other day. I really didn't think anyone still listened to that song outloud, but leave it to a sexually confused teenage boy to prove me wrong.
This December looks to be a promising one for both Wayne & Baby, as their record company conglomerate, Young Money & Cash Money Records, respectively, prepare to release upwards of 10 (ten) albums. Rightfully so, Baby, who refers to Wayne as his son & signifies such sentiment by kissing Wayne on the lips publicly, has decided to give the Hip Hop world reasons to begin taking about Wayne in preparation of their approaching pay day. Oh, did I mention that Baby bought Wayne a watch for his birthday, estimated at roughly $1 million & got Wayne's birth date tattooed on top of his other tattoos?
In an interview for Tropical TV, Baby was asked about colleague Jay-Z being named the "Top MC in the game" by Mtv.
Said Baby: "I don't think he is the number one emcee in no kind of way. Wayne's the best. He do the most and he make the most money. I don't think no nigga in the business make more money than us".
Us? Freudian slip perhaps? Or maybe Baby is so confident in his ownership of all things Weezy that he doesn't feel a need to censor his entitlement.
"How can you be the best if you don't make the most money? And you don't do the most? Lyrically, come on man, be for real, can't nobody fuck with Wayne. If you number one and you ain't getting no money it don't mean nothing".
& here I was, thinking that Shawn "Jay-Z" Carter was doing all right or himself. If $250,000 cars, private jets & black blood diamonds fresh out of an African mine workers hands isn't "getting money", then I'm further beneath the poverty line then my paycheck alludes to.
"To me, it's 'who's making the most money'? That's number one to me. Fuck all that rap shit. I don't give a fuck about the rest of that shit. Maybe other ones do, but if you making money, that matters to me."
Thats exactly what I'd expect from one of the game's simplest MC's ever. In fact, the age old debate of the difference between a rapper & an MC can be quelled with one listen to any verse penned by Baby. Dude is further from being an MC than Elizabeth Taylor's housekeeper. He's barely a rapper, & that's only because sometimes he rhymes words, & even then, not all that well. For the sake of argument, younger crowds will usually side with Wayne being the better artist, lyrically, but an older crowd will quickly point out that Jay has 10 #1 albums under his belt, countless #1 singles & has sustained relevance in an industry where attention spans are shorter Amber Rose's hair.
That's not to say that Wayne's without achievements & accolades of his own, such as his 'Tha Carter 3' selling over 3,200,000 copies as of July, but he's far from reaching the same level of notoriety as Jay-Z. Case in point, what Dwayne is attempting with the phantom 'Rebirth' album, Jay-Z accomplished on the million-plus selling collaboration with rap rockers Linkin Park, 'Collision Course', years ago. & Jay-Z has never taken a picture holding a guitar that everyone knows he can't play. Just saying.
Hip Hop is possibly the most competitive of all genres of music. Where else do they dedicate entire records to one another for the sake of conveying a point that a simple showing of the middle finger could? What other forms of music find it's performers fist-fighting, & occasionally shooting at each other's baggage handlers over a lyric? Baby's statement is representative of a bigger, more ominous problem. The art form has been replaced by the business protocol, & it's subsequent result. If a product doesn't garner (an excessive amount of) revenue, in Hip Hop at least, it's widely viewed a failure by the vast majority of it's fickle, yet easily appeased listeners. The irony of Birdman's douche nozzle attitude, is that Jay-Z has successfully navigated both critical acclaim & fiscal success, long before Baby's golden child became addicted to cough syrup & unprotected sex. Personally, I feel that had Wayne been aware that Baby had intentions of such a counterproductive tirade, he would've advised against it.
Record sales are an optical illusion; used to provide insight on how well the artist is doing & generally as a demographic based selling marker. It doesn't determine who's the better rapper. That's up to the consumer to decide. Keeping in mind that exposure is usually the main point of record sells, if no one has heard of you, how could you be expected to sell zillions of units, even with the inclusion of the 'Net? Youtube can only take the unlucky ones so far.
In general, I wouldn't say that Lil Wayne is better than Jay-Z, per se. But, that's veritable apples & oranges, being that Hip Hop has no uniform sound to which it adheres. They are, however, the best at their respective crafts. Weezy's good at hormone-exciting, teenage pregnancy rap, while Jay's lane is reminding the 40 & over Hip Hop head that we still count for more than reminiscing about Run DMC & shaking our fists at whipper-snappers.
As long as we have artists who continue to treat Hip Hop as the artistic outlet it was created to be, I don't believe the culture will implode & cease to exist. But in the meantime, beware. Baby's not the only cat that has such an obtuse, skewered view of what dictates penchant. Hell, Jay-Z's not that far removed from the problem himself.
This December looks to be a promising one for both Wayne & Baby, as their record company conglomerate, Young Money & Cash Money Records, respectively, prepare to release upwards of 10 (ten) albums. Rightfully so, Baby, who refers to Wayne as his son & signifies such sentiment by kissing Wayne on the lips publicly, has decided to give the Hip Hop world reasons to begin taking about Wayne in preparation of their approaching pay day. Oh, did I mention that Baby bought Wayne a watch for his birthday, estimated at roughly $1 million & got Wayne's birth date tattooed on top of his other tattoos?
In an interview for Tropical TV, Baby was asked about colleague Jay-Z being named the "Top MC in the game" by Mtv.
Said Baby: "I don't think he is the number one emcee in no kind of way. Wayne's the best. He do the most and he make the most money. I don't think no nigga in the business make more money than us".
Us? Freudian slip perhaps? Or maybe Baby is so confident in his ownership of all things Weezy that he doesn't feel a need to censor his entitlement.
"How can you be the best if you don't make the most money? And you don't do the most? Lyrically, come on man, be for real, can't nobody fuck with Wayne. If you number one and you ain't getting no money it don't mean nothing".
& here I was, thinking that Shawn "Jay-Z" Carter was doing all right or himself. If $250,000 cars, private jets & black blood diamonds fresh out of an African mine workers hands isn't "getting money", then I'm further beneath the poverty line then my paycheck alludes to.
"To me, it's 'who's making the most money'? That's number one to me. Fuck all that rap shit. I don't give a fuck about the rest of that shit. Maybe other ones do, but if you making money, that matters to me."
Thats exactly what I'd expect from one of the game's simplest MC's ever. In fact, the age old debate of the difference between a rapper & an MC can be quelled with one listen to any verse penned by Baby. Dude is further from being an MC than Elizabeth Taylor's housekeeper. He's barely a rapper, & that's only because sometimes he rhymes words, & even then, not all that well. For the sake of argument, younger crowds will usually side with Wayne being the better artist, lyrically, but an older crowd will quickly point out that Jay has 10 #1 albums under his belt, countless #1 singles & has sustained relevance in an industry where attention spans are shorter Amber Rose's hair.
That's not to say that Wayne's without achievements & accolades of his own, such as his 'Tha Carter 3' selling over 3,200,000 copies as of July, but he's far from reaching the same level of notoriety as Jay-Z. Case in point, what Dwayne is attempting with the phantom 'Rebirth' album, Jay-Z accomplished on the million-plus selling collaboration with rap rockers Linkin Park, 'Collision Course', years ago. & Jay-Z has never taken a picture holding a guitar that everyone knows he can't play. Just saying.
Hip Hop is possibly the most competitive of all genres of music. Where else do they dedicate entire records to one another for the sake of conveying a point that a simple showing of the middle finger could? What other forms of music find it's performers fist-fighting, & occasionally shooting at each other's baggage handlers over a lyric? Baby's statement is representative of a bigger, more ominous problem. The art form has been replaced by the business protocol, & it's subsequent result. If a product doesn't garner (an excessive amount of) revenue, in Hip Hop at least, it's widely viewed a failure by the vast majority of it's fickle, yet easily appeased listeners. The irony of Birdman's douche nozzle attitude, is that Jay-Z has successfully navigated both critical acclaim & fiscal success, long before Baby's golden child became addicted to cough syrup & unprotected sex. Personally, I feel that had Wayne been aware that Baby had intentions of such a counterproductive tirade, he would've advised against it.
Record sales are an optical illusion; used to provide insight on how well the artist is doing & generally as a demographic based selling marker. It doesn't determine who's the better rapper. That's up to the consumer to decide. Keeping in mind that exposure is usually the main point of record sells, if no one has heard of you, how could you be expected to sell zillions of units, even with the inclusion of the 'Net? Youtube can only take the unlucky ones so far.
In general, I wouldn't say that Lil Wayne is better than Jay-Z, per se. But, that's veritable apples & oranges, being that Hip Hop has no uniform sound to which it adheres. They are, however, the best at their respective crafts. Weezy's good at hormone-exciting, teenage pregnancy rap, while Jay's lane is reminding the 40 & over Hip Hop head that we still count for more than reminiscing about Run DMC & shaking our fists at whipper-snappers.
As long as we have artists who continue to treat Hip Hop as the artistic outlet it was created to be, I don't believe the culture will implode & cease to exist. But in the meantime, beware. Baby's not the only cat that has such an obtuse, skewered view of what dictates penchant. Hell, Jay-Z's not that far removed from the problem himself.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Sean Combs Wears Prada!
I've always said Puffy Combs was the devil ("Puffy Combs"-that sounds like a hair care product for chicks with bad perms). I've noticed lately that many people share my sentiment, ver batim. It's got to be more than coincidence that 2 of his flagship artists left his camp only to become religious zealots, one is dead, others have never been seen on the face of the Earth again (Craig Mack is not the type of nigga you'd walk past without noticing), one is still in Jail, one is fresh out of Prison, & the rest just dissipated into music irrelevance (including Bad Boy Records as a crew, a label & a motherfuckin' staff). & I'm not buying into any of that conspiracy theory rhetoric about "The Oath" & secret society propaganda, as if he sacrificed their respective lives to buy his baby momma a brand new car. But, I will buy into the possibility that dude, if not the Devil incarnate, is at least higher up on the totem pole of those who signed away their souls to become rich & famous beyond one's wildest dreams.
Seriously, I never understood exactly what dude's talent was. I do think he has an uncanny ability to hypnotize (no pun intended) people into buying his bullshit, though. By that theory, he would have been phenomenal at whatever profession he chose. Not to bring up Craig Mack again, but Puff convinced millions of people to look past what appeared to be a Halloween mask & focus on Mack's music. Tell me Craig Mack didn't scare one of your kids, nieces, pets, etc., & I'll call you a liar. That's "air conditioner in Alaska" salesmanship right there. I'll give him credit for having an "ear" for what sounds good, & having the gumption to make people his contractual worker bees. He even had clauses in his contracts where his own artists had to pay him to do cameos in videos & perform on their own songs. Unknowingly, said artists thought that Puff was showing them love by bullying his way onto their singles, when in actuality, he was padding his pockets. Genius.
Notorious B.I.G was growing hip to Puff's shady ways, but similar to Tupac, by the time enough wisdom was accrued to fight the proverbial power that was, his life was cut short. Some say Puff may have had something to do with it, & it's believable if only I thought Puff was as street smart as he is chattel savvy.
Now, he has a new opponent to face. Rapper Shyne, just released from an almost 10 year prison term, that he received as a result of showing Puff the kind of love that should never leave the streets. He attempted to kill another man. It's understandable, because Shyne's back story reads like an after school special, & when Puff sold him his diamond-encrusted bullshit, it had a chapter in it called "Love You Like A Little Brother". Puff apparently did, & Shyne bought it. So much so that Shyne jeopardized his bright, limitless future just to make sure that a particular guy would never disrespect Puff again. Well, the guy didn't die, & Shyne was arrested, along with Puffy.
Puff was never charged with any felonies, while Shyne was. On the advice of his equally as jackassed legal counsel, Puff even made sure the two had seperate lawyers for the trial. When it was all said & done, a free Puff disappeared back into the star-studded fog from which he emerged the day Foxy Brown introduced the two.
Which brings us to Shyne's release date last week, a day Puff probably thought about hard & often. How could he not? I know I have friends in the Pen right now, who I haven't written in months, & I know when these dudes come home, they'll have a bone to pick with me just because I didn't send them semi-nude pics from King magazine. I can't imagine what Puff may be thinking about. But, as only the Devil could do it, Shyne's freedom has taken a turn for the unusual, as he's being deported to Belize for improper citizenship. Something similar happened to Slick Rick after he tried to kill his cousin, back in the early 90's. They shipped him off to England, if only temporarily.
If Puff is smart, the effort he should've put into his little homie's legal trouble ten years ago, will come now. Undoubtedly Shyne has a bone to pick with Combs, but nothing quells deep-rooted disdain than a timely rescue, free of charge. Shyne's not the same young, street hood he was 10 years ago, but hey, I'm still mad that my son ate the big piece of chicken last Tuesday. So, I know Shyne is a bit miffed. &, if Puff doesn't take this opportunity to help Shyne now, like he should've then, he deserves every bit of Tupac-esque anger & hatred that will be coming his way. & we all know it's coming, it's just a matter of how & when. Internet clamor suggests that Shyne should beat the mink off of him, but that would surely be backwards hustling. I've even heard that, with the right legal team, Shyne can sue Puff for damages. But I say, dedicate an entire record to Puff's business dealings & lack of manhood when it comes to life in general. An audio tell-all book, if you will. Not only would Shyne sell some records (because face it, niggas love to hear about how much of a douche nozzle this jerk is), but he could vent his frustration in a way that wouldn't send him back to the stockade for a decade. If he does nothing at all but go back to Belize, fry up some plantain, & bone all the natives, he still wins because he handled his situation like a man, according to the No Snitch act of 2000.
Shyne's still young, & Hip Hop loves a rehabilitated convict with a story to tell, so I'm sure he'll be okay. Puff, on the other hand, has an unavoidable debt to settle with Satan.
Karma's a bitch & God is her father.Be careful, Puffy. It's cold outside.
Seriously, I never understood exactly what dude's talent was. I do think he has an uncanny ability to hypnotize (no pun intended) people into buying his bullshit, though. By that theory, he would have been phenomenal at whatever profession he chose. Not to bring up Craig Mack again, but Puff convinced millions of people to look past what appeared to be a Halloween mask & focus on Mack's music. Tell me Craig Mack didn't scare one of your kids, nieces, pets, etc., & I'll call you a liar. That's "air conditioner in Alaska" salesmanship right there. I'll give him credit for having an "ear" for what sounds good, & having the gumption to make people his contractual worker bees. He even had clauses in his contracts where his own artists had to pay him to do cameos in videos & perform on their own songs. Unknowingly, said artists thought that Puff was showing them love by bullying his way onto their singles, when in actuality, he was padding his pockets. Genius.
Notorious B.I.G was growing hip to Puff's shady ways, but similar to Tupac, by the time enough wisdom was accrued to fight the proverbial power that was, his life was cut short. Some say Puff may have had something to do with it, & it's believable if only I thought Puff was as street smart as he is chattel savvy.
Now, he has a new opponent to face. Rapper Shyne, just released from an almost 10 year prison term, that he received as a result of showing Puff the kind of love that should never leave the streets. He attempted to kill another man. It's understandable, because Shyne's back story reads like an after school special, & when Puff sold him his diamond-encrusted bullshit, it had a chapter in it called "Love You Like A Little Brother". Puff apparently did, & Shyne bought it. So much so that Shyne jeopardized his bright, limitless future just to make sure that a particular guy would never disrespect Puff again. Well, the guy didn't die, & Shyne was arrested, along with Puffy.
Puff was never charged with any felonies, while Shyne was. On the advice of his equally as jackassed legal counsel, Puff even made sure the two had seperate lawyers for the trial. When it was all said & done, a free Puff disappeared back into the star-studded fog from which he emerged the day Foxy Brown introduced the two.
Which brings us to Shyne's release date last week, a day Puff probably thought about hard & often. How could he not? I know I have friends in the Pen right now, who I haven't written in months, & I know when these dudes come home, they'll have a bone to pick with me just because I didn't send them semi-nude pics from King magazine. I can't imagine what Puff may be thinking about. But, as only the Devil could do it, Shyne's freedom has taken a turn for the unusual, as he's being deported to Belize for improper citizenship. Something similar happened to Slick Rick after he tried to kill his cousin, back in the early 90's. They shipped him off to England, if only temporarily.
If Puff is smart, the effort he should've put into his little homie's legal trouble ten years ago, will come now. Undoubtedly Shyne has a bone to pick with Combs, but nothing quells deep-rooted disdain than a timely rescue, free of charge. Shyne's not the same young, street hood he was 10 years ago, but hey, I'm still mad that my son ate the big piece of chicken last Tuesday. So, I know Shyne is a bit miffed. &, if Puff doesn't take this opportunity to help Shyne now, like he should've then, he deserves every bit of Tupac-esque anger & hatred that will be coming his way. & we all know it's coming, it's just a matter of how & when. Internet clamor suggests that Shyne should beat the mink off of him, but that would surely be backwards hustling. I've even heard that, with the right legal team, Shyne can sue Puff for damages. But I say, dedicate an entire record to Puff's business dealings & lack of manhood when it comes to life in general. An audio tell-all book, if you will. Not only would Shyne sell some records (because face it, niggas love to hear about how much of a douche nozzle this jerk is), but he could vent his frustration in a way that wouldn't send him back to the stockade for a decade. If he does nothing at all but go back to Belize, fry up some plantain, & bone all the natives, he still wins because he handled his situation like a man, according to the No Snitch act of 2000.
Shyne's still young, & Hip Hop loves a rehabilitated convict with a story to tell, so I'm sure he'll be okay. Puff, on the other hand, has an unavoidable debt to settle with Satan.
Karma's a bitch & God is her father.Be careful, Puffy. It's cold outside.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
5 Reasons Female Rappers Are Out Of Style
I grew up in the era where an occasional female voice in Hip Hop could be totally appreciated. We had Queen Latifah, Yo-Yo, MC Lyte, Ms. Melody, the lesser known's: Bahamadia, Boss, Monie Love, Rah Digga, and dozens of other X-chromosomed p.o.v.'s. Nowadays, not so much. Every blue (or pink) moon, a woman attempts to throw her panty hose into the ring to no avail, unless you're a scantily clad Nicki Minaj. The past is no more. Today, the female rapper is virtually extinct. But, why? Maybe it's because of...
#5. Porn
In theory, women should be seen, not heard. Not that I subscribe to this belief, but let's face it; it's not about what I think. Men don't want a women clamoring about things. They'd much rather watch them bounce around, keeping their precious thoughts to themselves. In Hip Hop, the female MC is very vocal, about everything from broke dudes, to women's liberation, to their skill set in fellatio. As long as there's porn though, all the visual gratification is meet, without opinions & lip-service. & porn soundtracks are usually pretty funky. With the evolution of the Internet, what once was a hunt to flesh out the flesh, is now a finger's push away. I'm surprised they still have women on the news doing the weather.
#4. Male Femininity
All the things that make a woman a woman, in Hip Hop at least, can & is done by men now. If you follow the rap scene, you can easily name several cat-fights that have broken out between male MC's over the last few years. Yes, cat-fights. Oddly, male rappers are screaming & pawing at each other without any fear of an altercation ever taking place. If you say a rapper's name in your song, good or bad, expect all the finger pointing & neck-rolling you'd witness at your local hair salon, or on the Tyra Banks show. Except, from guys. Rappers used to bank on being dirty, grimy & "from the streets". Now, they wear more jewelry than my grandmother at Easter service. & don't get me started on the tight pants, hair 'do's, bright colors. Take Kanye West for example. He's had more emotional outbursts than Anne Heche, & that can't be a good thing.
#3. Female Masculinity
Let's face it, women are threatening enough without taking on the role of a man. Nothing's more frightening than being out duded by a non-dude. Men like to feel we're in control of such things as promiscuity, violence & blissful ignorance. Take that away from us & all we're good for is taking out trash, killing insects & moving furniture. In most instances, record companies are run by guys, & it would be difficult to move on to other record labels looking for employment with "got my ass kicked by MC Cupcakes" on his resume. A strong, independent, tenacious woman is a powerful entity, but if said entity is hell bent on beating you in arm wrestling or winning a spit contest, & will be shaving their legs immediately following, that can be uncomfortable.
#2 The Waning Recording Industry
It takes lots of money to fund an artists' project. Money that goes to food, transportation, clothing, & miscellaneous needs. See, with guys, this budget is usually slashed by a month's supply of white t-shirts & all they Whoppers they can stuff into their mouths in between gulps of generic champagne (or cheap malt liquor-depending). Women don't just eat whatever's piled in front of them (& those that do, well, God bless them). Not to sound sexist, but most women actually eat fruit & other healthy things. The closest men get to fruit is if it's packaged in some sort of wax paper & sold on the candy aisle. Women are just more expensive creatures, even the smaller ones. I can get a 3-pack of boxers for around $7. One pair of thongs, mind you it's only 1/3 the size of regular panties, is at least that much. A 4-pack of tank tops for me, about the same amount. However, one bra, depending on mojumbo size, starts at roughly $10, & thats before taking under wires & straps into consideration. "It's cheaper to keep her" only refers to divorce settlements & child-support payments.
And....
#1. They Just Really Aren't Built for It
Sad, but true. Women, to me, are genuinely stronger & more resilient than men on any given day. Especially if that day involves period cramps or child birth. But when it comes to rapping, not so much. The one's who are good at it eventually encounter some traumatic emotional experience that they're never able to fully recover from. Why? Because females are emotional creatures, which works great for raising families & supporting dead beats, but emotion is the main ingredient for music industry failure. Take Da Brat, for example. She got drunk at a club, & tried to lobotomize another chick with a champagne bottle. Up & coming MC Remy Ma suspected a close friend was stealing her money. So, she did what any rational minded person would do, & shot her friend in the stomach. & human Barbie Doll Li'l Kim, well, thats all I'll say for her. Just, Lil Kim. Lastly, Lauryn Hill was a beast of an MC, female or otherwise. She's arguably the nicest rappette to do it, ever. Nonetheless, before her ability came to full fruition, what happened? She fell in love with a crazy ass, still married, quasi-famous dude, his craziness rubbed off on her, & next thing you know, she's instructing people to call her Ms. Hill while wearing clown make-up & reciting haiku's to sold out crowds in Europe.
Personally, I don't mind women hovering around, doing whatever it is they do. Actually, I'd prefer if women did more things in society, & if they did those things naked, that would be even more awesome. & I'll even compromise; I'll settle for topless. Go ahead & keep on your pants, because honestly, there's nothing worse than a broad farting with no clothes on. Well, maybe a naked broad farting while she's facing the other way & bending over touching her toes. That ranks up there with digging in your nose during sex.
#5. Porn
In theory, women should be seen, not heard. Not that I subscribe to this belief, but let's face it; it's not about what I think. Men don't want a women clamoring about things. They'd much rather watch them bounce around, keeping their precious thoughts to themselves. In Hip Hop, the female MC is very vocal, about everything from broke dudes, to women's liberation, to their skill set in fellatio. As long as there's porn though, all the visual gratification is meet, without opinions & lip-service. & porn soundtracks are usually pretty funky. With the evolution of the Internet, what once was a hunt to flesh out the flesh, is now a finger's push away. I'm surprised they still have women on the news doing the weather.
#4. Male Femininity
All the things that make a woman a woman, in Hip Hop at least, can & is done by men now. If you follow the rap scene, you can easily name several cat-fights that have broken out between male MC's over the last few years. Yes, cat-fights. Oddly, male rappers are screaming & pawing at each other without any fear of an altercation ever taking place. If you say a rapper's name in your song, good or bad, expect all the finger pointing & neck-rolling you'd witness at your local hair salon, or on the Tyra Banks show. Except, from guys. Rappers used to bank on being dirty, grimy & "from the streets". Now, they wear more jewelry than my grandmother at Easter service. & don't get me started on the tight pants, hair 'do's, bright colors. Take Kanye West for example. He's had more emotional outbursts than Anne Heche, & that can't be a good thing.
#3. Female Masculinity
Let's face it, women are threatening enough without taking on the role of a man. Nothing's more frightening than being out duded by a non-dude. Men like to feel we're in control of such things as promiscuity, violence & blissful ignorance. Take that away from us & all we're good for is taking out trash, killing insects & moving furniture. In most instances, record companies are run by guys, & it would be difficult to move on to other record labels looking for employment with "got my ass kicked by MC Cupcakes" on his resume. A strong, independent, tenacious woman is a powerful entity, but if said entity is hell bent on beating you in arm wrestling or winning a spit contest, & will be shaving their legs immediately following, that can be uncomfortable.
#2 The Waning Recording Industry
It takes lots of money to fund an artists' project. Money that goes to food, transportation, clothing, & miscellaneous needs. See, with guys, this budget is usually slashed by a month's supply of white t-shirts & all they Whoppers they can stuff into their mouths in between gulps of generic champagne (or cheap malt liquor-depending). Women don't just eat whatever's piled in front of them (& those that do, well, God bless them). Not to sound sexist, but most women actually eat fruit & other healthy things. The closest men get to fruit is if it's packaged in some sort of wax paper & sold on the candy aisle. Women are just more expensive creatures, even the smaller ones. I can get a 3-pack of boxers for around $7. One pair of thongs, mind you it's only 1/3 the size of regular panties, is at least that much. A 4-pack of tank tops for me, about the same amount. However, one bra, depending on mojumbo size, starts at roughly $10, & thats before taking under wires & straps into consideration. "It's cheaper to keep her" only refers to divorce settlements & child-support payments.
And....
#1. They Just Really Aren't Built for It
Sad, but true. Women, to me, are genuinely stronger & more resilient than men on any given day. Especially if that day involves period cramps or child birth. But when it comes to rapping, not so much. The one's who are good at it eventually encounter some traumatic emotional experience that they're never able to fully recover from. Why? Because females are emotional creatures, which works great for raising families & supporting dead beats, but emotion is the main ingredient for music industry failure. Take Da Brat, for example. She got drunk at a club, & tried to lobotomize another chick with a champagne bottle. Up & coming MC Remy Ma suspected a close friend was stealing her money. So, she did what any rational minded person would do, & shot her friend in the stomach. & human Barbie Doll Li'l Kim, well, thats all I'll say for her. Just, Lil Kim. Lastly, Lauryn Hill was a beast of an MC, female or otherwise. She's arguably the nicest rappette to do it, ever. Nonetheless, before her ability came to full fruition, what happened? She fell in love with a crazy ass, still married, quasi-famous dude, his craziness rubbed off on her, & next thing you know, she's instructing people to call her Ms. Hill while wearing clown make-up & reciting haiku's to sold out crowds in Europe.
Personally, I don't mind women hovering around, doing whatever it is they do. Actually, I'd prefer if women did more things in society, & if they did those things naked, that would be even more awesome. & I'll even compromise; I'll settle for topless. Go ahead & keep on your pants, because honestly, there's nothing worse than a broad farting with no clothes on. Well, maybe a naked broad farting while she's facing the other way & bending over touching her toes. That ranks up there with digging in your nose during sex.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Bites, Barks, & All Things In Between
I've never considered myself a "man's man" per se. I've always opted to take more of a Jerkwater approach to masculinity. Armchair coach, back seat driver, that sort of thing. Although, getting a women pregnant is possibly the manliest thing one can do, & I've done that a few times. Thats said, I don't know a lot about football, & even less about boxing. What I do know about boxing though, is that Mike Tyson finally snapped. For those of you too young to remember Mike when he was literally an animal, back in the late 80's, this man's fights would generally last less than about 3 minutes. That old joke, "Two hits. I hit you, you hit the floor" may have be born of Mike's aggression. Some blamed it on his trainer back then, Cus D'Amato, but I'm more apt to say, "Giving a crazy nigga gloves doesn't make him less crazy, just gives him a reason to hit harder!". When I saw Mike broken down to tears on Oprah Windbag-I mean Winfrey's Couch of Despair, all I could think about was DMX's upcoming fight & how he probably should've been a boxer to begin with.
In order to be a boxer (fuck skill, talent, strength & detachment from all things human such as pain & emotion), one must be a certifiable psychopath. If DMX has proven anything to us since he first album, it's that he's crazier than a paralyzed nymphomaniac in a strip club. Nuttier than a Gay Rights protest march. This dude had the music world on it's ear, releasing 2 million-plus selling albums in a year's time, back in the late-90's. This was a time when if someone said they rapped, it actually meant something. Earl Simmons p/k/a Dark Man 'X' had people's grandmothers talking about "Y'all gon' make me lose my mind!". Little did we know, that line he wrote was a glimpse into a future that only DMX saw coming.
Arf arf, indeed.
We just digested his incessant barking as homage to his dead dog Boomer. Btw, he has a tattooed tribute to Boomer sprawling his back, shoulder to shoulder. I have my wife's name on my left bicep, but the shit's only 3 inches across, 4 tops. I'm just saying. That was only the tip of the iceberg, though. He's been busted on drug & gun charges-on a few occasions, was arrested for impersonating an officer (what rap dude pretends to be the police? The one who smokes crack, duh?!), he's also been arrested for excessive speeding, & his last state funded vacation involved the mistreatment of dogs at his home in Arizona. Niggas don't move to Arizona to begin with, unless they're in the Witness Relocation Program, so a Black man murdering puppies in his backyard shouldn't even be on the program listing. & no sooner than he growled "I got top bunk" & got comfortable in his pink striped, jail-issue jump suit, he allegedly attacked a CO [corrections officer]. By this point in his public life, DMX was fucking awesome, like a real life action hero! Somewhere in USA, kids were probably dressing up like him on Halloween, barking & shit while they toilet papered the gay couple's Volvo for giving out real apples as opposed to apple Now & Laters.
To his credit, DMX carved himself a healthy niche in Hollywood by starring in several above average films. Many compared his talent to that of Tupac, although the consensus was that Tupac just acted "crazy". Same consensus concluded that X was "acting" sane. I think he was smoking drugs personally, & reports of him taken into custody with crack cocaine only solidified my assumptions.
Upon his release from one of America's toughest jails, DMX vowed to do better & leave that detrimental lifestyle behind him. He'd found God while incarcerated, like most men would when facing ass violation &/or death by sharpened toothbrush. His future looked bright from all outside vantage points, & I for one believed him. He even appeared on a couple of other artists' summer singles, perhaps to show the Hip Hop world that he's well on his way to save a dreary, slightly homosexual rap industry from skinny jeaned auto-tunery.
Then he announces that in December, he'll be taking part in a boxing match against actor Eric Martinez, in a fight billed "Alabama Pride", on the same card as Butterbean. Yeah, Butterbean. I figured that guy would have mistaken has hand for a pack of hot dogs by now & eaten himself alive years ago.
[tony's note: who the fuck is eric martinez? & what exactly has he acted in? & wouldn't the better contest have been x vs. butterbean?]
Morbid curiosity would have me pining to see this, but staunch reality argues against watching an over aged rapper & a z-list pseudo celeb slap box each other until a referee decides he's earned his paycheck. If this is a publicity stunt, which I know it is, X could have picked a much more formidable opponent to fight. Speaking of Mike Tyson, why not challenge him? In the state of confused disarray that Iron Mike appears to be in, & as long as X's ears aren't anywhere near Mike's mouth, that would be the fight to see. X barks like a dog, Tyson bites like one. If thats not a leveled playing field, then I don't know what is. Both are lunatics; one minute, they're screaming at the top of their respective lungs about the torment they have in store for you, & the next, they're thanking God, apologizing to White people & trying to convince John Q. Public to give them another chance at precious fame.
Mike seems to pretty much be at his lowest point, & with losing his daughter, I'm sure he'll never again lose his grip on reality. That shit has to suck horribly, day in & day out. RIP Exodus. But the X man? No Dice. Dudes just getting started on chapter 3 of "What You Want, Dope Or Dog Food?: The DMX Chronicles". I'm definitely a fan of Earl's music, but I'm an even bigger fan of his antics. He reminds me of the many drug-addicted family members I have who's pathetic lives tug on my heart strings, yet tickle my funny bone like nobody's business.
God bless X, & all those lost sheep who can't find our sheppard, but I'd be lying if I said I'm not entertained by the irony of X having a song called 'Slippin'', whose chorus is, "I'm slippin', fallin', I can't get up". Maybe I should remind him of that song, via e-mail, so when this Martinez clown cleans his proverbial clock, he'll have an excuse ready.
All this assuming that he'll even show up for the fight. I've never seen a crack head wearing a watch.
In order to be a boxer (fuck skill, talent, strength & detachment from all things human such as pain & emotion), one must be a certifiable psychopath. If DMX has proven anything to us since he first album, it's that he's crazier than a paralyzed nymphomaniac in a strip club. Nuttier than a Gay Rights protest march. This dude had the music world on it's ear, releasing 2 million-plus selling albums in a year's time, back in the late-90's. This was a time when if someone said they rapped, it actually meant something. Earl Simmons p/k/a Dark Man 'X' had people's grandmothers talking about "Y'all gon' make me lose my mind!". Little did we know, that line he wrote was a glimpse into a future that only DMX saw coming.
Arf arf, indeed.
We just digested his incessant barking as homage to his dead dog Boomer. Btw, he has a tattooed tribute to Boomer sprawling his back, shoulder to shoulder. I have my wife's name on my left bicep, but the shit's only 3 inches across, 4 tops. I'm just saying. That was only the tip of the iceberg, though. He's been busted on drug & gun charges-on a few occasions, was arrested for impersonating an officer (what rap dude pretends to be the police? The one who smokes crack, duh?!), he's also been arrested for excessive speeding, & his last state funded vacation involved the mistreatment of dogs at his home in Arizona. Niggas don't move to Arizona to begin with, unless they're in the Witness Relocation Program, so a Black man murdering puppies in his backyard shouldn't even be on the program listing. & no sooner than he growled "I got top bunk" & got comfortable in his pink striped, jail-issue jump suit, he allegedly attacked a CO [corrections officer]. By this point in his public life, DMX was fucking awesome, like a real life action hero! Somewhere in USA, kids were probably dressing up like him on Halloween, barking & shit while they toilet papered the gay couple's Volvo for giving out real apples as opposed to apple Now & Laters.
To his credit, DMX carved himself a healthy niche in Hollywood by starring in several above average films. Many compared his talent to that of Tupac, although the consensus was that Tupac just acted "crazy". Same consensus concluded that X was "acting" sane. I think he was smoking drugs personally, & reports of him taken into custody with crack cocaine only solidified my assumptions.
Upon his release from one of America's toughest jails, DMX vowed to do better & leave that detrimental lifestyle behind him. He'd found God while incarcerated, like most men would when facing ass violation &/or death by sharpened toothbrush. His future looked bright from all outside vantage points, & I for one believed him. He even appeared on a couple of other artists' summer singles, perhaps to show the Hip Hop world that he's well on his way to save a dreary, slightly homosexual rap industry from skinny jeaned auto-tunery.
Then he announces that in December, he'll be taking part in a boxing match against actor Eric Martinez, in a fight billed "Alabama Pride", on the same card as Butterbean. Yeah, Butterbean. I figured that guy would have mistaken has hand for a pack of hot dogs by now & eaten himself alive years ago.
[tony's note: who the fuck is eric martinez? & what exactly has he acted in? & wouldn't the better contest have been x vs. butterbean?]
Morbid curiosity would have me pining to see this, but staunch reality argues against watching an over aged rapper & a z-list pseudo celeb slap box each other until a referee decides he's earned his paycheck. If this is a publicity stunt, which I know it is, X could have picked a much more formidable opponent to fight. Speaking of Mike Tyson, why not challenge him? In the state of confused disarray that Iron Mike appears to be in, & as long as X's ears aren't anywhere near Mike's mouth, that would be the fight to see. X barks like a dog, Tyson bites like one. If thats not a leveled playing field, then I don't know what is. Both are lunatics; one minute, they're screaming at the top of their respective lungs about the torment they have in store for you, & the next, they're thanking God, apologizing to White people & trying to convince John Q. Public to give them another chance at precious fame.
Mike seems to pretty much be at his lowest point, & with losing his daughter, I'm sure he'll never again lose his grip on reality. That shit has to suck horribly, day in & day out. RIP Exodus. But the X man? No Dice. Dudes just getting started on chapter 3 of "What You Want, Dope Or Dog Food?: The DMX Chronicles". I'm definitely a fan of Earl's music, but I'm an even bigger fan of his antics. He reminds me of the many drug-addicted family members I have who's pathetic lives tug on my heart strings, yet tickle my funny bone like nobody's business.
God bless X, & all those lost sheep who can't find our sheppard, but I'd be lying if I said I'm not entertained by the irony of X having a song called 'Slippin'', whose chorus is, "I'm slippin', fallin', I can't get up". Maybe I should remind him of that song, via e-mail, so when this Martinez clown cleans his proverbial clock, he'll have an excuse ready.
All this assuming that he'll even show up for the fight. I've never seen a crack head wearing a watch.
Friday, October 16, 2009
a little somethin' for the weekend...
I find myself taking jabs at Black women sometimes (figuratively; no need to email Oprah Winfrey), without provocation. I mean, sure, a lot of them have these atrocious attitudes that negate any sense of logic. &, yeah, sometimes they don't seem to operate within the same confines as "normal" people. But thats not necessarily an excuse, or reason to be so hard on them (no pun intended). In most instances, it's way deeper then some air headed groupie chick who just wants to be the center of attention.
I'll give you an example; I've known my wife for approximately 10 years. Honestly speaking, I stopped looking for what's "wrong" with her some years back. I could just be blinded by her beauty, I could just have grown accustomed to her "ways", or it could possibly be that, what may actually be "wrong" with her, in comparison to what's wrong with a lot of young, Black women, is so minuscule that I won't ever find what I'm searching for. When we met, she had no kids, & she was in college. Hell, theoretically speaking, I could be the worst thing to ever happen to her. That rationalization & cognition may very well be the reason I appreciate her so much. Black women don't get that type of gratitude & humility from Black men much. We're too busy high signin' & stuntin' & flossin' for everybody else to see. Fuck everybody else.
This same selfishness trickles down to our daughters; has done so for generations. Then, when she turns 14 & comes home in tears, horrified as she says she's pregnant, we want to blame her. Spank her. Oh, now you want to touch her, when thats all she wanted as a child? See what I did there? I'm a firm advocate in healthy hypnosis. Not brainwashing, you idiots, but telling a child, repeatedly, how important they are, how smart they can be & how they can accomplish anything with enough tenacity. Basically, the same things these God-forsaken rap songs do, except with positive intentions. I'm thinking I'll release a set of self-help audio books for children, that consist of nothing more than me repeating positive phrases over melodies & drum patterns. Of course, I'd have to put some stank on it, get 'em grooving a little. You know, lubricate the attention & slide the affirmations right on in there. Ground level morality. A grass roots campaign for positive reinforcement, embedded so deeply into the child's psyche that no man will be able to erase it.
When we blame irresponsible, incoherent women for societal problems, Black or otherwise, it has to boomerang. Father's play a large role in what positions women find themselves in, I believe. Sans the psycho-babble, females look to men for protection, guidance, companionship, & if those needs aren't met before they're old enough to, say, audition for King magazine (R. I. P.) or find some club's stripper pole to keep warm, then what can we possibly expect anything other than that?
Often, I look at my mother, wife, daughter (who I rarely see through no fault of my own), & female friends to get a glimpse of how I can become a better husband & father. Although I usually recognize some common sensical aspect that I should've automatically known, I'm grateful that I learned early enough that I can still hand it down to my son before he's hypnotized by movies & rap music. I'm on a crusade to educated Black men as to their roles in the development, as well as the demise of the Black woman. & any woman, for the matter.
Without them, there'd be no us.
This is why mistakes are such valuable life tools, be it ours or the next human's. If people didn't fuck shit up, we'd never know how to gauge success. Kudos to my dudes that have their eyes open. Keep fighting the good fight, niggas.
Word.
I'll give you an example; I've known my wife for approximately 10 years. Honestly speaking, I stopped looking for what's "wrong" with her some years back. I could just be blinded by her beauty, I could just have grown accustomed to her "ways", or it could possibly be that, what may actually be "wrong" with her, in comparison to what's wrong with a lot of young, Black women, is so minuscule that I won't ever find what I'm searching for. When we met, she had no kids, & she was in college. Hell, theoretically speaking, I could be the worst thing to ever happen to her. That rationalization & cognition may very well be the reason I appreciate her so much. Black women don't get that type of gratitude & humility from Black men much. We're too busy high signin' & stuntin' & flossin' for everybody else to see. Fuck everybody else.
This same selfishness trickles down to our daughters; has done so for generations. Then, when she turns 14 & comes home in tears, horrified as she says she's pregnant, we want to blame her. Spank her. Oh, now you want to touch her, when thats all she wanted as a child? See what I did there? I'm a firm advocate in healthy hypnosis. Not brainwashing, you idiots, but telling a child, repeatedly, how important they are, how smart they can be & how they can accomplish anything with enough tenacity. Basically, the same things these God-forsaken rap songs do, except with positive intentions. I'm thinking I'll release a set of self-help audio books for children, that consist of nothing more than me repeating positive phrases over melodies & drum patterns. Of course, I'd have to put some stank on it, get 'em grooving a little. You know, lubricate the attention & slide the affirmations right on in there. Ground level morality. A grass roots campaign for positive reinforcement, embedded so deeply into the child's psyche that no man will be able to erase it.
When we blame irresponsible, incoherent women for societal problems, Black or otherwise, it has to boomerang. Father's play a large role in what positions women find themselves in, I believe. Sans the psycho-babble, females look to men for protection, guidance, companionship, & if those needs aren't met before they're old enough to, say, audition for King magazine (R. I. P.) or find some club's stripper pole to keep warm, then what can we possibly expect anything other than that?
Often, I look at my mother, wife, daughter (who I rarely see through no fault of my own), & female friends to get a glimpse of how I can become a better husband & father. Although I usually recognize some common sensical aspect that I should've automatically known, I'm grateful that I learned early enough that I can still hand it down to my son before he's hypnotized by movies & rap music. I'm on a crusade to educated Black men as to their roles in the development, as well as the demise of the Black woman. & any woman, for the matter.
Without them, there'd be no us.
This is why mistakes are such valuable life tools, be it ours or the next human's. If people didn't fuck shit up, we'd never know how to gauge success. Kudos to my dudes that have their eyes open. Keep fighting the good fight, niggas.
Word.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
I Gotcha Back, Barack Obama!
American's have got to be the most hypocritical nation of people since Asians started getting those operations to make their legs longer. They are the same group of folks who, hundreds of years ago, made their Geisha girls wrap wet cloths around their feet to the point of purposeful disfigurement, just to appear dainty & petite. When they took off their shoes, their feet looked like the grossest sushi rolls made of flesh & bone. Now, all of the sudden, they're breaking their legs & stretching them, for the sake of 1, maybe 1 1/2 inches of extra height. Yeah, American's are no different.
For the sake of argument, the entire country rallied around itself to celebrate the first colored man to be elected Commander In Chief earlier this year. I'm surprised Hot97 & Power106 don't play old negro spirituals in between Gucci Mane & Orange Juice Da Man, of whatever the hell his mom call's him. So, once the novelty of a Black dude calling the shots wore off, the hate rains like $1 bills at an Atlanta strip club. Americans, as a whole, were even mad that Barry received the Nobel Peace Prize. Wtf? Some went as far as to say he should have declined it. Yeah, that would have given ammunition to more right wing conservatives than O. J. Simpson's book release. Bill O'Reilly would've probably dedicated an entire show to how President Barack Obama, THE representative of the U. S. A., turned down such a prestigious accolade just to show how little he cares for our country. Sounds about right; O'Reilly's a Douche Nozzle Grand Wizard.
I think he deserved it, but not for the obvious reasons. In fact, here's a list of awards that President Obama gets, care of Reading & Writing Is For Dumb People. You heard me right, we hand out awards. Hopefully next year, I'll get Mike Epps to stand around & read over my shoulder while I'm typing...
The "Braver than me" award: When he made his speech at the inauguration, all I kept thinking about was J. F. K.'s assaination. & I was thousands of miles away, at home. For him to walk out, after all the racism that surfaced upon his election, without full body armor & a federal agent toting a gun bigger than Mini-me says a lot about the size of his balls [||]. To this day, I argue the point that he probably did have a vest on under that fancy ass suit, though. I know cats who wear vests to take out the trash.
The "I take care of my kids"
award: President Obama showed the world that Black American males do have the ability to love their mate & children simultaneously, & in one setting. All of us don't go scurrying into the woods to forage for more nuts (no pun intended). Actually, this award goes to all the Black guys I know that sacrifice it all for the betterment of their clan. It's not easy, but it's worth it. Thanks to Barack, there's now other places negroes can be observed outside of music videos & episodes of 'Cops'.
The "Reading & writing ain't for dumb people" award: Barry O. is as articulate, & in cases of the southern representatives of office, more so than plenty of people in the government. No matter how candid the recording, I've heard him pronounce all the letters of the words he uses, especially 'g' & 'r'. I think I heard him say "ain't" once, but they may have been just been Joe Biden in the background.
The "Keeping it real" award: Even though we like to put presidents higher on the social hierarchy, it's good that not only does President Obama play basketball, but he still walks like a brutha. I've seen some old photos of him, while still a resident of Hawaii rocking the 'fro, where he was chilling back, smoking Newports. Eff what people think, that dude still smokes Newports. & to the company's, ummm, credit, I've never met anybody other than niggas that smoke Newports. There's some viral video of him & Michelle dancing, & again, Black folks sure can cut a rug. It wasn't like he was doing the "Stanky Leg" or any other atrocious ghetto-tastic routine, but he was getting his groove on. I'll bet my Blackberry that, when he does the "Cupid Shuffle", he's in front of the crowd.
On behalf of Reading & Writing Is For Dumb People, we'd like you, President Barack Obama, to accept these awards. & since only 30 or so people read this, don't worry about a backlash upon your acceptance. You're welcome.
In all seriousness, I voted for Barack, & I'm not disappointed that I did. What I think people fail to realize is that, even the leader of the free world is a human being. Multiply that by the mantra, "You can't please everybody", & divide that by his responsibility to govern over millions of people, & how much can we, as a nation, possibly expect from him. His decisions may not always reflect my personal interest, but it's not like he's MY president. He's our president, & there's more to that position than starting wars & funding schools. He probably has the hardest job in America (next to bouncers at Black strip clubs), & even when it seems like he's lying, or not making good on a promise, I truly believe dude's trying to do the best he can.
The more his constituents go in on him, the more the outside world views America as a fragmented country. Conincidentally, Obama's the reason that America's not globally public enemy #1 any longer. All I'm saying is, not only has he not been in office less than a year, but let's give him a chance. Rome wasn't built in a day.
For the sake of argument, the entire country rallied around itself to celebrate the first colored man to be elected Commander In Chief earlier this year. I'm surprised Hot97 & Power106 don't play old negro spirituals in between Gucci Mane & Orange Juice Da Man, of whatever the hell his mom call's him. So, once the novelty of a Black dude calling the shots wore off, the hate rains like $1 bills at an Atlanta strip club. Americans, as a whole, were even mad that Barry received the Nobel Peace Prize. Wtf? Some went as far as to say he should have declined it. Yeah, that would have given ammunition to more right wing conservatives than O. J. Simpson's book release. Bill O'Reilly would've probably dedicated an entire show to how President Barack Obama, THE representative of the U. S. A., turned down such a prestigious accolade just to show how little he cares for our country. Sounds about right; O'Reilly's a Douche Nozzle Grand Wizard.
I think he deserved it, but not for the obvious reasons. In fact, here's a list of awards that President Obama gets, care of Reading & Writing Is For Dumb People. You heard me right, we hand out awards. Hopefully next year, I'll get Mike Epps to stand around & read over my shoulder while I'm typing...
The "Braver than me" award: When he made his speech at the inauguration, all I kept thinking about was J. F. K.'s assaination. & I was thousands of miles away, at home. For him to walk out, after all the racism that surfaced upon his election, without full body armor & a federal agent toting a gun bigger than Mini-me says a lot about the size of his balls [||]. To this day, I argue the point that he probably did have a vest on under that fancy ass suit, though. I know cats who wear vests to take out the trash.
The "I take care of my kids"
award: President Obama showed the world that Black American males do have the ability to love their mate & children simultaneously, & in one setting. All of us don't go scurrying into the woods to forage for more nuts (no pun intended). Actually, this award goes to all the Black guys I know that sacrifice it all for the betterment of their clan. It's not easy, but it's worth it. Thanks to Barack, there's now other places negroes can be observed outside of music videos & episodes of 'Cops'.
The "Reading & writing ain't for dumb people" award: Barry O. is as articulate, & in cases of the southern representatives of office, more so than plenty of people in the government. No matter how candid the recording, I've heard him pronounce all the letters of the words he uses, especially 'g' & 'r'. I think I heard him say "ain't" once, but they may have been just been Joe Biden in the background.
The "Keeping it real" award: Even though we like to put presidents higher on the social hierarchy, it's good that not only does President Obama play basketball, but he still walks like a brutha. I've seen some old photos of him, while still a resident of Hawaii rocking the 'fro, where he was chilling back, smoking Newports. Eff what people think, that dude still smokes Newports. & to the company's, ummm, credit, I've never met anybody other than niggas that smoke Newports. There's some viral video of him & Michelle dancing, & again, Black folks sure can cut a rug. It wasn't like he was doing the "Stanky Leg" or any other atrocious ghetto-tastic routine, but he was getting his groove on. I'll bet my Blackberry that, when he does the "Cupid Shuffle", he's in front of the crowd.
On behalf of Reading & Writing Is For Dumb People, we'd like you, President Barack Obama, to accept these awards. & since only 30 or so people read this, don't worry about a backlash upon your acceptance. You're welcome.
In all seriousness, I voted for Barack, & I'm not disappointed that I did. What I think people fail to realize is that, even the leader of the free world is a human being. Multiply that by the mantra, "You can't please everybody", & divide that by his responsibility to govern over millions of people, & how much can we, as a nation, possibly expect from him. His decisions may not always reflect my personal interest, but it's not like he's MY president. He's our president, & there's more to that position than starting wars & funding schools. He probably has the hardest job in America (next to bouncers at Black strip clubs), & even when it seems like he's lying, or not making good on a promise, I truly believe dude's trying to do the best he can.
The more his constituents go in on him, the more the outside world views America as a fragmented country. Conincidentally, Obama's the reason that America's not globally public enemy #1 any longer. All I'm saying is, not only has he not been in office less than a year, but let's give him a chance. Rome wasn't built in a day.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Nick Cannon: Man on Fire
Now, we all know who Nick Cannon is, I assume. Even the fellas who aren't all that partial to other guys know him, if only because their girlfriends or daughters love that scene from 'Drumline' where he faces off against the other squad. Not that it was the feel-good flick of that year, but drums & thousands of Black people = mild humor, if nothing else. He also had a show on Nickolodeon, called 'Wild N Out', which I never quite understood, but to his credit, I drank a whole lot back then. So, it was either that, or the show really did suck & I'm trying to play nice.
[tony's note: i took a poll [||]. it sucked.]
More recently though, he's achieved a trifecta of B-list stardom unmatched by most of his colleagues. First, he married the heiress to Whitney Houston's R&B drama queendom; Mariah Carey-more on that later. Next he became the host/resident token Black for the show "America's Got Talent", where not only is he NOT one of the judges, but one would assume that he only got the job because he's possibly the most non-threatening negro in Hollywood, right next to Daryl "Chill" Mitchell (the handicapped dude on the show 'Brothers'). Lastly, he engaged in a, umm, heated war of words with pop star terrorizer/rap phenomenon Eminem. Em & Mariah have a strange history, where they may or may not have had sexual relations, & frequently through his music, Marshall Mathers throws Mrs. Cannon under the bus, then jumps down there right along with her. Like kamikaze paparazzi. Ftr, I don't condone stalking, but sometimes it's funny to see successful men flailing their arms at women who wouldn't take the time to squat & piss on them if they were on fire. The last effort to drag her through the mud wasn't very well received by Mr. Carey, & he took to his blog with chants of racism & threats of violence. He even went as far as to invite Em to settle it "like men", whatever that's supposed to mean coming from a guy like Nick. He's not big enough or ashy enough to strike too much fear in anyone this side of the Nickelodeon Network. Of course, Eminem only picks on people he knows won't do shit, ie White girls, but he probably wasn't expecting such a chivalrous move from Cannon. I'm not mad at Nick; I protect my wife as well, really though. Little known fact; Cannon is in very good shape, at least physically. I'm more apt to believe an attention-starved pseudo-celeb can kick the shit out of a 40 year old, ex-drug addict rapper. Especially a white one (no shots). Plus, cougar or not, Mariah is definitely the type of bride whom one would easily find themselves having as much sex with her as she allowed. Maybe even sneaking a little piece if she's too tired. Why not defend her honor?
By these three matters of happenstance, Mr. Carey finds himself in the spotlight again, per se. The fact that he's in the background of Mariah's paparazzi pictures holding her purse & mink stoles only lends more credit to his celebrity. Hey, it works for Common.
But now, Nick may be up against his most formidable adversary yet. Word is, Mariah's got a bun in the oven. Assuming it's Nick's, those boobs won't just be his to motor boat at his leisure. Those hips won't just be for grabbing as he straddles, but for bearing children. This baby stands the chance of knocking Nicky off of the radar for at least 18 years. For the sake of argument, the kid will be cute, talented in some way or another & easier to carry around then Nick, a grown man. How could Mariah not see this as publicity beyond her wildest dreams? The headlines will read "Mariah & Child!", & the pictures will have Nick C., as usual, handling baggage. If I were him, I'd not only be pissed that I didn't sign a prenup, but also that I didn't get a vasectomy. This unwitted, unprotected sex move might have cost him much more than bedazzled diapers & solid gold baby bottles. His greatest publicity feat, marrying arguably the sexiest 50-something year old woman ever, will be all for naught in approximately 8 or so months.
So my advice for Nick; beat the hell out of Eminem. Go looking for him. Immediately. Seriously, wait for the dude backstage at an awards show, alone, & run at him throwing all the punches those little arms can muster up. It doesn't matter if he's not alone; you may get effed the eff up, but that will play on people's sympathies. Another win! You can't lose here. & your child will hear stories of the day you protected it's mom's reputation, subsequently making you a man that your seed can look up to. More so than cooning around on stage in a 3 piece suit & introducing folks who can turn their eyelids inside out or twirl hula hoops while double-dutching. Don't worry about 50 Cent or G-Unit; they have better things to do than run to the aid of their aging boss man. In fact, you may want to throw that race card out there before you attack. Remind 50 Cent that a White man is pulling his strings, & how every album he releases is the equivalent of another row of corn & cotton being shucked for the White man's pocket book.
Hear my cries Nick, the time is now. Don't wait for your wife to give birth to a precious baby girl. Dude, you won't win that popularity contest. Good luck & God speed...
[tony's note: i took a poll [||]. it sucked.]
More recently though, he's achieved a trifecta of B-list stardom unmatched by most of his colleagues. First, he married the heiress to Whitney Houston's R&B drama queendom; Mariah Carey-more on that later. Next he became the host/resident token Black for the show "America's Got Talent", where not only is he NOT one of the judges, but one would assume that he only got the job because he's possibly the most non-threatening negro in Hollywood, right next to Daryl "Chill" Mitchell (the handicapped dude on the show 'Brothers'). Lastly, he engaged in a, umm, heated war of words with pop star terrorizer/rap phenomenon Eminem. Em & Mariah have a strange history, where they may or may not have had sexual relations, & frequently through his music, Marshall Mathers throws Mrs. Cannon under the bus, then jumps down there right along with her. Like kamikaze paparazzi. Ftr, I don't condone stalking, but sometimes it's funny to see successful men flailing their arms at women who wouldn't take the time to squat & piss on them if they were on fire. The last effort to drag her through the mud wasn't very well received by Mr. Carey, & he took to his blog with chants of racism & threats of violence. He even went as far as to invite Em to settle it "like men", whatever that's supposed to mean coming from a guy like Nick. He's not big enough or ashy enough to strike too much fear in anyone this side of the Nickelodeon Network. Of course, Eminem only picks on people he knows won't do shit, ie White girls, but he probably wasn't expecting such a chivalrous move from Cannon. I'm not mad at Nick; I protect my wife as well, really though. Little known fact; Cannon is in very good shape, at least physically. I'm more apt to believe an attention-starved pseudo-celeb can kick the shit out of a 40 year old, ex-drug addict rapper. Especially a white one (no shots). Plus, cougar or not, Mariah is definitely the type of bride whom one would easily find themselves having as much sex with her as she allowed. Maybe even sneaking a little piece if she's too tired. Why not defend her honor?
By these three matters of happenstance, Mr. Carey finds himself in the spotlight again, per se. The fact that he's in the background of Mariah's paparazzi pictures holding her purse & mink stoles only lends more credit to his celebrity. Hey, it works for Common.
But now, Nick may be up against his most formidable adversary yet. Word is, Mariah's got a bun in the oven. Assuming it's Nick's, those boobs won't just be his to motor boat at his leisure. Those hips won't just be for grabbing as he straddles, but for bearing children. This baby stands the chance of knocking Nicky off of the radar for at least 18 years. For the sake of argument, the kid will be cute, talented in some way or another & easier to carry around then Nick, a grown man. How could Mariah not see this as publicity beyond her wildest dreams? The headlines will read "Mariah & Child!", & the pictures will have Nick C., as usual, handling baggage. If I were him, I'd not only be pissed that I didn't sign a prenup, but also that I didn't get a vasectomy. This unwitted, unprotected sex move might have cost him much more than bedazzled diapers & solid gold baby bottles. His greatest publicity feat, marrying arguably the sexiest 50-something year old woman ever, will be all for naught in approximately 8 or so months.
So my advice for Nick; beat the hell out of Eminem. Go looking for him. Immediately. Seriously, wait for the dude backstage at an awards show, alone, & run at him throwing all the punches those little arms can muster up. It doesn't matter if he's not alone; you may get effed the eff up, but that will play on people's sympathies. Another win! You can't lose here. & your child will hear stories of the day you protected it's mom's reputation, subsequently making you a man that your seed can look up to. More so than cooning around on stage in a 3 piece suit & introducing folks who can turn their eyelids inside out or twirl hula hoops while double-dutching. Don't worry about 50 Cent or G-Unit; they have better things to do than run to the aid of their aging boss man. In fact, you may want to throw that race card out there before you attack. Remind 50 Cent that a White man is pulling his strings, & how every album he releases is the equivalent of another row of corn & cotton being shucked for the White man's pocket book.
Hear my cries Nick, the time is now. Don't wait for your wife to give birth to a precious baby girl. Dude, you won't win that popularity contest. Good luck & God speed...
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Calizonamexitexana (...now say it backwards)
My people, I'm back! California to Arizona to New Mexico to TEXAS to Louisiana.
&, wow...fuck a road trip. I won't even ever watch "National Lampoon's Vacation', or any movie kin to it again in this lifetime. I lived it. Dude, if the situation to travel cross-country arises, & the method of travel is a car (or van), do yourself the biggest favor & say no go, word to Hall & Oates. Actually, I'll say be hesitant & leary; make sure that you travel with like-minded individuals. There's nothing worse than being held captive in a vehicle, miles from home with a bunch of folk who don't understand you & probably don't like you much anyway. I speak from fresh experience.
My "fam" & I left L.A. for Shreveport, LA last Friday morn. We arrived that Saturday night. Easily the suckiest, most uncomfortable 30-something hour experience of my life. Shit, if it wasn't for my homies over at XXLmag.com, I might have thrown myself under the bus (or van), literally. But, I did enjoy Shreveport, though. It's a quaint, countryside city; a far cry from the horrible, war-torn pictures that Lil Wayne & C-Murder paint about their respective state with their abysmal *ahem* music. It could just be that I spent the majority of time around my wife's Louisianian family, with their daily home cooked meals & adorable ebonical speech. Me being a city boy & such, I thought the bigger the family, the bigger the ratio for convicts to mental illness. Imagine my surprise when I meet people who genuinely spent time with each other doing nothing at all because they chose to, as opposed to a few uncles on house arrest & some cousins who can't leave the house because "the streets is watchin'". My wife's Grandma, who was the reason for the trip, is the coolest, nicest lady in the world. She's what a seventy-something year old Black women should be, rather than Tyler Perry's uberpopular homoerotic manifestations, seething with self-hate & ignorance. No shots at today's Black women, but you gals can only hope to eventually become that type of matriarch. Nah, fuck that, shots fired! Black girls (who become women, sort of) are in a state of emergency; lemmings diving off the cliff of practicality into pits of certain doom at breakneck speed. & most are either too stupid, too proud or too busy chasing children & various types of checks to see what lies ahead. I would feel sorry for said Black women, if I wasn't so put-off by their shitty attitudes & lack of self respect. There are exceptions though, & you know who you are.
Anyways...
I spent a week trolling around town, trying my hardest to look like I'm from Los Angeles & still blend in simultaneously. If you know about Lewzanna, you know light skins are a dime a dozen, so 50% of the time, I fit in perfect with the homegrown Creoles, or "Geechies" as their refered to by the older crowd. But the other half of the time, gold teeth & dreads were noticeably absent from my person, which had your boy sticking out like a nipple ring through a bra-less wife-beater. I'm calling niggas "bruh" & "dude", which had to be some sort of dead giveaway, what with their "fowkz" & "playaz" & the occasional "shawty". One could also assume that, because none of my clothing had dollar signs plastered across it, or an "LSU" insignia, I probably didn't buy my clothes from the same swap meets that they did. I didn't see one pair of True Religion's or Ed Hardy's. Except what I was wearing. But I saw lots of Dickies. Whole suits, like niggas got them tailor-made in every color imaginable. With fedoras & cowboy hats & drivers caps & doo-rags, etc. We went to church & the preacher had on a Dicki-nah, I'm bullshitting. But, he had gold teeth though.
[tony's note: i'm joking. in actuality, the methodist church we attended had a lovely female pastor. service that day consisted of prayer & communion. unfortunately, no "down home" fire & brimstone heathen hate. guess we chose the wrong sunday.] At the risk of sounding tourist-y, the landscapes were breath-taking. Even the dilapadated houses appeared regal; rife with history & a story to tell. & the state is covered with moisture & lush greenery; I hadn't seen that much water & trees since my uncle stopped selling dope.
Black people in major cities always seem to have hidden agendas. There's always crab's that need to be pulled back down to the bottom of the barrel. But, out there, it seemed like all the crawfish (as opposed to regular old crabs), or mud-bugs, were comfortably resting where they may, waving at strangers & kindly smiling at one another. It was quite beautiful. Me being born & raised in Los Angeles, a nigga smiling at you means he's about to rob you, he's with the cat who's about to rob you, or he's about ask you for your phone number. My apprehension withered away though, as the days passed & I realized that this was just a laid-back, relaxed city amongst a country of contrite narcissists & ego-maniacal know-it-all's. Right, wrong or indifferent, folks in Louisiana were just chillin'. Can't be mad at that at all.
Normally, unfamiliar surroundings automatically activate my pretension, like some time-release, douche nozzle, anti-personality pill. But, it never went off down there. Maybe because I was too busy hoping a tornado didn't rip through our parrish. Or was preoccupied with slapping big-ass mosquitos away from my ears & mustache. I mean, BIG-ASS mosquitos. I can only imagine what their roaches must look like. Like shiny-ass hamsters that probably run as fast as a three year old.
As for the music, I didn't get to hear much, but when the occasional hooligan drove past, he was playing 'Gucci Mane'. Not that the guy's an exceptional lyricist; on the contrary. Dude's as basic as you can get, topic-wise. Lyrically, he blows [||]. Wack juice must stain his sheets when he sleeps on his back. Definitely not what one would get an earful of in the City of Angels, but don't tell him that. For what it's worth, I'd rather hear my son freestyling to a beat from 'Mario Kart'. No really, my son can actually bust a rhyme or two. Gucci, nah. No Dice. But God bless his gold-toothed heart for trying.
All-in-all, I don't have too much to say bad about Louisiana. Even the police are pretty down to Earth. You'd never catch a cop in a big city like Los Angeles texting while on duty (no dry snitching). L.A. cops are too busy racially profiling coloreds & looking for the next young nigga (or ese) to shoot in the back. You know, doing their job. But, I guess when every other person isn't potentially wanted for attempted murder, there's more time to chillax like normal folk. Don't get me wrong; there were a couple of shootings not too far from where we were. It's not like niggas are down there trying to rekindle the civil rights movement or anything. If a group of people were marching, it was most likely to Sam's Seafood. If you're ever in Shreveport, do your mouth a favor [||], & indulge in some of their delicious cuisine. It'll make your tongue slap your brains out.
Perhaps the most, umm, slighty hypocritical facet of the "down south" experience was the amount of love swirls I saw. See, in Los Angeles, it's not uncommon to see people paired up in a variety of unnatural ways. Black/white, girl/girl, sickly/obese, etc. But for all of America's southern racist complexities, I didn't expect so many bi-racial couples. I saw a nappy head Hip-Hopster & a blue-eyed (yet well-endowed) she-devil making out under trees where I'm virtually positive an ancestor of his was hung from at some point in the state's history. But, it didn't faze him. I had the urge to yell out, "Obama for life", but decided against it. Now, if dude were smart, he'd use that race card throughout the entire relationship, making her his sympathetic, guilt-stricken slave. Reparations, per se. Nothing says "40 acres & a mule" like brand new Jordans & a PS3 from a white chick who you've convinced is related to your Great grandfather's owner. & If he were even smarter, he'd break out the sex-whip during Black History month. Just saying...
Eventually, the time came to head back home. Ugh. Piling back into the dreaded van I'd grown to hate a week before, I asked Jehovah to once again grant us safe passage through America's dangerous highways. The irony of that prayer is that as soon as we pulled off of the 10 freeway onto Normandie Avenue, we barely avoided an accident. I guess I should've expanded the prayer a little, to include "all the way to our front porch", or something. For the most part, fuck Los Angeles & all the asshole denizens I share it with. But, there's no place like home. Really though.
**HONORABLE MENTIONS**
I met what may have been the oldest living white dude at a Texas truck stop. & he seemed as intrigued to talk to me as I was to him...
The outskirts of New Mexico at 2:30 am is colder than a vampire's vajayjay. Not only was I the only Black man at that truck stop, but I was the only guy wearing a jacket. Go figure...
Skunks really stink. Like in the cartoons, when they have radiation waves of ass funk emanating from their body's. Yeah, that shit is for real dude...
The cemeteries in Louisiana are so God-awfully close to the homes that no one can convince me that those folk's ain't living on top of dead people...
Monster energy drink + truck stop black coffee + blood pressure medicine = what the halfway mark of a crack high must feel like...
Shouts out to Tricie, Feewee, Collin, & Sean for making us feel at home...
&, wow...fuck a road trip. I won't even ever watch "National Lampoon's Vacation', or any movie kin to it again in this lifetime. I lived it. Dude, if the situation to travel cross-country arises, & the method of travel is a car (or van), do yourself the biggest favor & say no go, word to Hall & Oates. Actually, I'll say be hesitant & leary; make sure that you travel with like-minded individuals. There's nothing worse than being held captive in a vehicle, miles from home with a bunch of folk who don't understand you & probably don't like you much anyway. I speak from fresh experience.
My "fam" & I left L.A. for Shreveport, LA last Friday morn. We arrived that Saturday night. Easily the suckiest, most uncomfortable 30-something hour experience of my life. Shit, if it wasn't for my homies over at XXLmag.com, I might have thrown myself under the bus (or van), literally. But, I did enjoy Shreveport, though. It's a quaint, countryside city; a far cry from the horrible, war-torn pictures that Lil Wayne & C-Murder paint about their respective state with their abysmal *ahem* music. It could just be that I spent the majority of time around my wife's Louisianian family, with their daily home cooked meals & adorable ebonical speech. Me being a city boy & such, I thought the bigger the family, the bigger the ratio for convicts to mental illness. Imagine my surprise when I meet people who genuinely spent time with each other doing nothing at all because they chose to, as opposed to a few uncles on house arrest & some cousins who can't leave the house because "the streets is watchin'". My wife's Grandma, who was the reason for the trip, is the coolest, nicest lady in the world. She's what a seventy-something year old Black women should be, rather than Tyler Perry's uberpopular homoerotic manifestations, seething with self-hate & ignorance. No shots at today's Black women, but you gals can only hope to eventually become that type of matriarch. Nah, fuck that, shots fired! Black girls (who become women, sort of) are in a state of emergency; lemmings diving off the cliff of practicality into pits of certain doom at breakneck speed. & most are either too stupid, too proud or too busy chasing children & various types of checks to see what lies ahead. I would feel sorry for said Black women, if I wasn't so put-off by their shitty attitudes & lack of self respect. There are exceptions though, & you know who you are.
Anyways...
I spent a week trolling around town, trying my hardest to look like I'm from Los Angeles & still blend in simultaneously. If you know about Lewzanna, you know light skins are a dime a dozen, so 50% of the time, I fit in perfect with the homegrown Creoles, or "Geechies" as their refered to by the older crowd. But the other half of the time, gold teeth & dreads were noticeably absent from my person, which had your boy sticking out like a nipple ring through a bra-less wife-beater. I'm calling niggas "bruh" & "dude", which had to be some sort of dead giveaway, what with their "fowkz" & "playaz" & the occasional "shawty". One could also assume that, because none of my clothing had dollar signs plastered across it, or an "LSU" insignia, I probably didn't buy my clothes from the same swap meets that they did. I didn't see one pair of True Religion's or Ed Hardy's. Except what I was wearing. But I saw lots of Dickies. Whole suits, like niggas got them tailor-made in every color imaginable. With fedoras & cowboy hats & drivers caps & doo-rags, etc. We went to church & the preacher had on a Dicki-nah, I'm bullshitting. But, he had gold teeth though.
[tony's note: i'm joking. in actuality, the methodist church we attended had a lovely female pastor. service that day consisted of prayer & communion. unfortunately, no "down home" fire & brimstone heathen hate. guess we chose the wrong sunday.] At the risk of sounding tourist-y, the landscapes were breath-taking. Even the dilapadated houses appeared regal; rife with history & a story to tell. & the state is covered with moisture & lush greenery; I hadn't seen that much water & trees since my uncle stopped selling dope.
Black people in major cities always seem to have hidden agendas. There's always crab's that need to be pulled back down to the bottom of the barrel. But, out there, it seemed like all the crawfish (as opposed to regular old crabs), or mud-bugs, were comfortably resting where they may, waving at strangers & kindly smiling at one another. It was quite beautiful. Me being born & raised in Los Angeles, a nigga smiling at you means he's about to rob you, he's with the cat who's about to rob you, or he's about ask you for your phone number. My apprehension withered away though, as the days passed & I realized that this was just a laid-back, relaxed city amongst a country of contrite narcissists & ego-maniacal know-it-all's. Right, wrong or indifferent, folks in Louisiana were just chillin'. Can't be mad at that at all.
Normally, unfamiliar surroundings automatically activate my pretension, like some time-release, douche nozzle, anti-personality pill. But, it never went off down there. Maybe because I was too busy hoping a tornado didn't rip through our parrish. Or was preoccupied with slapping big-ass mosquitos away from my ears & mustache. I mean, BIG-ASS mosquitos. I can only imagine what their roaches must look like. Like shiny-ass hamsters that probably run as fast as a three year old.
As for the music, I didn't get to hear much, but when the occasional hooligan drove past, he was playing 'Gucci Mane'. Not that the guy's an exceptional lyricist; on the contrary. Dude's as basic as you can get, topic-wise. Lyrically, he blows [||]. Wack juice must stain his sheets when he sleeps on his back. Definitely not what one would get an earful of in the City of Angels, but don't tell him that. For what it's worth, I'd rather hear my son freestyling to a beat from 'Mario Kart'. No really, my son can actually bust a rhyme or two. Gucci, nah. No Dice. But God bless his gold-toothed heart for trying.
All-in-all, I don't have too much to say bad about Louisiana. Even the police are pretty down to Earth. You'd never catch a cop in a big city like Los Angeles texting while on duty (no dry snitching). L.A. cops are too busy racially profiling coloreds & looking for the next young nigga (or ese) to shoot in the back. You know, doing their job. But, I guess when every other person isn't potentially wanted for attempted murder, there's more time to chillax like normal folk. Don't get me wrong; there were a couple of shootings not too far from where we were. It's not like niggas are down there trying to rekindle the civil rights movement or anything. If a group of people were marching, it was most likely to Sam's Seafood. If you're ever in Shreveport, do your mouth a favor [||], & indulge in some of their delicious cuisine. It'll make your tongue slap your brains out.
Perhaps the most, umm, slighty hypocritical facet of the "down south" experience was the amount of love swirls I saw. See, in Los Angeles, it's not uncommon to see people paired up in a variety of unnatural ways. Black/white, girl/girl, sickly/obese, etc. But for all of America's southern racist complexities, I didn't expect so many bi-racial couples. I saw a nappy head Hip-Hopster & a blue-eyed (yet well-endowed) she-devil making out under trees where I'm virtually positive an ancestor of his was hung from at some point in the state's history. But, it didn't faze him. I had the urge to yell out, "Obama for life", but decided against it. Now, if dude were smart, he'd use that race card throughout the entire relationship, making her his sympathetic, guilt-stricken slave. Reparations, per se. Nothing says "40 acres & a mule" like brand new Jordans & a PS3 from a white chick who you've convinced is related to your Great grandfather's owner. & If he were even smarter, he'd break out the sex-whip during Black History month. Just saying...
Eventually, the time came to head back home. Ugh. Piling back into the dreaded van I'd grown to hate a week before, I asked Jehovah to once again grant us safe passage through America's dangerous highways. The irony of that prayer is that as soon as we pulled off of the 10 freeway onto Normandie Avenue, we barely avoided an accident. I guess I should've expanded the prayer a little, to include "all the way to our front porch", or something. For the most part, fuck Los Angeles & all the asshole denizens I share it with. But, there's no place like home. Really though.
**HONORABLE MENTIONS**
I met what may have been the oldest living white dude at a Texas truck stop. & he seemed as intrigued to talk to me as I was to him...
The outskirts of New Mexico at 2:30 am is colder than a vampire's vajayjay. Not only was I the only Black man at that truck stop, but I was the only guy wearing a jacket. Go figure...
Skunks really stink. Like in the cartoons, when they have radiation waves of ass funk emanating from their body's. Yeah, that shit is for real dude...
The cemeteries in Louisiana are so God-awfully close to the homes that no one can convince me that those folk's ain't living on top of dead people...
Monster energy drink + truck stop black coffee + blood pressure medicine = what the halfway mark of a crack high must feel like...
Shouts out to Tricie, Feewee, Collin, & Sean for making us feel at home...
Monday, October 5, 2009
gone fishin'
Guess what?
I'm on a family vacation!First time ever, road trip & all. My wife's family lives in Louisiana, so we drove from Los Angeles to Shreveport to visit for a week. I've never been on a vacation in my life, so this is a new thing for me. I'm a creature of normalcy & routine. I like to know where my draws are, & that I can walk through the house in them & such. But, everybody needs time to cool their heels every now & then, I guess. You guy's have seven days to miss me, so enjoy yourselves while I'm gone. & don't do anything I wouldn't do.
But first...
I'd like to thank all of you, my supporters, who give me a reason to want to share my thoughts & opinions & snarcasm. I started my blog in January, & honestly, if I didn't have all y'all to write for, I would've stopped a long time ago. I'm deeply appreciative to be invited into your computers & enjoyed ([||] for the fellas) on a regular basis. Sometimes this site is my therapy, & I'm just thankful you guys have the patience, understanding & sense(s) of humor to ride with me. I'm not going to name names, but I know who my folks are. If you think this post is directed to you, there's a good chance it is.
So, even though I'll miss y'all, say a prayer for boy, & don't forget about me. & believe, when I get home, I'll have some stories to tell.
Be cool, & be careful motherfuckers. I'll holler next Monday.
*Btw, it says it on top of the page, but I'll say it again down here;
tonygrands@gmail.com
That's in case you business with me, or just want to chat*
In a minute...
I'm on a family vacation!First time ever, road trip & all. My wife's family lives in Louisiana, so we drove from Los Angeles to Shreveport to visit for a week. I've never been on a vacation in my life, so this is a new thing for me. I'm a creature of normalcy & routine. I like to know where my draws are, & that I can walk through the house in them & such. But, everybody needs time to cool their heels every now & then, I guess. You guy's have seven days to miss me, so enjoy yourselves while I'm gone. & don't do anything I wouldn't do.
But first...
I'd like to thank all of you, my supporters, who give me a reason to want to share my thoughts & opinions & snarcasm. I started my blog in January, & honestly, if I didn't have all y'all to write for, I would've stopped a long time ago. I'm deeply appreciative to be invited into your computers & enjoyed ([||] for the fellas) on a regular basis. Sometimes this site is my therapy, & I'm just thankful you guys have the patience, understanding & sense(s) of humor to ride with me. I'm not going to name names, but I know who my folks are. If you think this post is directed to you, there's a good chance it is.
So, even though I'll miss y'all, say a prayer for boy, & don't forget about me. & believe, when I get home, I'll have some stories to tell.
Be cool, & be careful motherfuckers. I'll holler next Monday.
*Btw, it says it on top of the page, but I'll say it again down here;
tonygrands@gmail.com
That's in case you business with me, or just want to chat*
In a minute...
Thursday, October 1, 2009
My Favorite Part of the Chicken
It's been yet another hard week for us, aye America? I'm aware it's only mid-week; cut me some slack. Lots of bad shit went down, regardless to who we think we are, or what we assume we've accomplished. So, let's have some fun, shall we?
Simply put, I am a Breast Man. Yeah, capital letters, like a friggin' super hero. There's just something about knockers when they-well, knock, that gets the saliva flowing. If you have a dog, wildly dangle some sort of lunch meat in his face, & see what happens. My reaction is more tame, but similar. Now, I could be a douche nozzle, & blame it on a lack of breast feeding as a kid, but I've quite frankly never gathered up the balls to ask my mother if I've ever put my mouth on her jahoobs. That sentence alone screams "therapy!!". I guess it started long before puberty, watching cartoon caricatures of women in all their curvaceous glory. Jessica Rabbit, anyone?
Now, I'm not talking gargantuan, over sized, freak of nature, manufactured headlights that look as though they might weigh as much as newborn Samoans, but a nice set of natural, God-given majombos makes all the lunacy that a women brings to the table sort of worth it. Never mind that one day they may sag along floors, or eventually lazily rest upon their owners thighs when sitting like a lap dog. I'll always roll the dice on that gamble. If I can still motor boat them, s'all good. That could very well be the reason that men of other nationalities/races/cultures dig Black chicks (because it damn sure can't be their attitudes *rimshot*). The Black women's boobs are built perfect for leisure as well as recreation. Not that other women's aren't, I'm just not that well versed in other Kool-Aid flavors. However, I know from experience that they can be utilitarian & utopian simultaneously. If you don't believe me, ask a happily married man & his suckling son.
As far as the hind quarters go, I'll admit, I don't mind a little brown, round mound. It's every man's fantasy to caress that fabled hour glass figure made so popular by the aforementioned cartoons. I believe the "ideal" measurements are 36-24-36 for one to successfully be a "brick *da-dun-dun* hooowwse!". Again, Jessica Rabbit anyone? See, the boutros is in a class all alone. Unlike melons, a caboose is basically all work & no play, unless you're R. Kelly or a porn star. Although it may look nice walking away, like puppies tumbling about ever so gently, there's a pretty good chance it stinks. Let's be real, no matter how cute a girl is, she farts. No matter how voluptuous she may appear with her hands on her child-bearing hips, she undoubtedly poots like the rest of us. Dogs fart, cats fart, so it's common knowledge that those jiggly cakes are only a housing unit for gas emission, like a car muffler. &, I'm not motor boating that. Last thing I need is shit stains on my mustache hairs. Really though. & at some point, the girls with glamorous weaves, those streamlined legs & marshmallow backs start to resemble a minotaur, those mythical half-man, half-horse creatures. Although, one trip to the Crenshaw Mall on a Saturday afternoon & you wouldn't think they're so mythical.
On the other hand, ta-ta's very rarely stink. If you disagree then, A) you're a women & you need to hurry home & scrub your cleavage & under-breast, or B) you're a dude who has an eye for women who need to hurry home & scrub their cleavage & under-breast. In any case, one would be hard pressed to find an argument against a nice rack. Speaking of cleavage, why is it that women tease us with such a glorious crevice, then look at us like child molesters when we try, but can't look away? Seriously ladies, we can't look away! It's like footage of a car accident in slow motion. You SHOULDN'T look, but you're scared that as soon as you turn away, something will pop out that you don't want to miss.
& don't get me started on hard nipples. God bless arguments & air conditioners, word to Kelly Bundy.
I won't go any further into detail about my unique obsession, for fear of making myself look like a weirdo, but rest assured, I know I'm not alone.
Simply put, I am a Breast Man. Yeah, capital letters, like a friggin' super hero. There's just something about knockers when they-well, knock, that gets the saliva flowing. If you have a dog, wildly dangle some sort of lunch meat in his face, & see what happens. My reaction is more tame, but similar. Now, I could be a douche nozzle, & blame it on a lack of breast feeding as a kid, but I've quite frankly never gathered up the balls to ask my mother if I've ever put my mouth on her jahoobs. That sentence alone screams "therapy!!". I guess it started long before puberty, watching cartoon caricatures of women in all their curvaceous glory. Jessica Rabbit, anyone?
Now, I'm not talking gargantuan, over sized, freak of nature, manufactured headlights that look as though they might weigh as much as newborn Samoans, but a nice set of natural, God-given majombos makes all the lunacy that a women brings to the table sort of worth it. Never mind that one day they may sag along floors, or eventually lazily rest upon their owners thighs when sitting like a lap dog. I'll always roll the dice on that gamble. If I can still motor boat them, s'all good. That could very well be the reason that men of other nationalities/races/cultures dig Black chicks (because it damn sure can't be their attitudes *rimshot*). The Black women's boobs are built perfect for leisure as well as recreation. Not that other women's aren't, I'm just not that well versed in other Kool-Aid flavors. However, I know from experience that they can be utilitarian & utopian simultaneously. If you don't believe me, ask a happily married man & his suckling son.
As far as the hind quarters go, I'll admit, I don't mind a little brown, round mound. It's every man's fantasy to caress that fabled hour glass figure made so popular by the aforementioned cartoons. I believe the "ideal" measurements are 36-24-36 for one to successfully be a "brick *da-dun-dun* hooowwse!". Again, Jessica Rabbit anyone? See, the boutros is in a class all alone. Unlike melons, a caboose is basically all work & no play, unless you're R. Kelly or a porn star. Although it may look nice walking away, like puppies tumbling about ever so gently, there's a pretty good chance it stinks. Let's be real, no matter how cute a girl is, she farts. No matter how voluptuous she may appear with her hands on her child-bearing hips, she undoubtedly poots like the rest of us. Dogs fart, cats fart, so it's common knowledge that those jiggly cakes are only a housing unit for gas emission, like a car muffler. &, I'm not motor boating that. Last thing I need is shit stains on my mustache hairs. Really though. & at some point, the girls with glamorous weaves, those streamlined legs & marshmallow backs start to resemble a minotaur, those mythical half-man, half-horse creatures. Although, one trip to the Crenshaw Mall on a Saturday afternoon & you wouldn't think they're so mythical.
On the other hand, ta-ta's very rarely stink. If you disagree then, A) you're a women & you need to hurry home & scrub your cleavage & under-breast, or B) you're a dude who has an eye for women who need to hurry home & scrub their cleavage & under-breast. In any case, one would be hard pressed to find an argument against a nice rack. Speaking of cleavage, why is it that women tease us with such a glorious crevice, then look at us like child molesters when we try, but can't look away? Seriously ladies, we can't look away! It's like footage of a car accident in slow motion. You SHOULDN'T look, but you're scared that as soon as you turn away, something will pop out that you don't want to miss.
& don't get me started on hard nipples. God bless arguments & air conditioners, word to Kelly Bundy.
I won't go any further into detail about my unique obsession, for fear of making myself look like a weirdo, but rest assured, I know I'm not alone.
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