Lil Wayne is headed to the slammer in less than a week. I know, shocker right? Not so coincidentally, he'll miss at least 3-4 of his children's birthday's while on vacation. See, I know a lot of irresponsible cats, but I can honestly say that I don't know any who have several kids who'll all turn the same age in the same year. I figured by now, he would have done an interview, or YouTube video explaining how latex gives him hives, or he's allergic to birth control pill residue, & how "kids" should practice safe sex, even if he doesn't. Hell, he could even throw a "Say Nope To Dope" in there as a sort of private joke. No dice. He just shucks & jives as usual, taking publicity photos with whatever random offspring is visiting him on the tour bus that weekend. Not to sound like a douche nozzle, but a rich, drug addicted father is the stuff that poor kids have wet dreams about. Lucky little dust bunnies. &, as if a gaggle of baby mommas isn't complicated enough, the reasons behind his legal woes (legal woes being the reason he'll miss back-to-back-to-back-to-back parties), are in short, unnecessary. Drugs & guns. Two things that folks with money should never have to worry about carrying. Yet & still, here he is, with a cabbage patch full of garbage pail kids, rivaled only by the life giving 'tang of Erykah Badu, & time behind bars an inevitable reality. Undoubtedly, this man has an Unnecessary Complication Complex. A classic case, if I ever saw one.
Now, should we be surprised that Kanye West has been absent from the past few major publicity events that have been rammed down our collective esophagi?
No.
See, the "average" celebrity would've taken that opportunity to throw a jab at the then-president at face value. Even though the world had a pretty good idea that George Bush couldn't care less about the coloreds, Yeezy spoke for us, with balls the size of monkey fists. [ll]. Maybe we didn't thank him loud enough. It's hard to be heard over a personality the size of San Francisco. You know, there was actually a time in American history where such a remark by a person of the negronious persuasion would've been viewed as mutiny, & he would've been lynched for TWO reasons, instead of the usual one. Ha. But, he got away with it, & continued to Hippity Hop along about his pink, fuzz-covered business. But, along that path, he found several more missteps to make, most of which involved him looking like a slick-talking cock sucker, at the expense of poor, defenseless White people. While rappers are beefing with other unimportant Blacks, Kanye waged war with Taylor Swift, wanna-be photographers, & PETA. For the record, PETA is like the NRA, with fur & paws, instead of rifles & rednecks. Unnecessary remark, after unnecessary remark, each one only complicating the last, making a future redemption song that much harder to write, much less sing. Now, at the Grammy Awards, not only does security have orders that he's a domestic terrorist, but as added insult to an already injured ego, he actually won. Twice, I think. That's like a chick handcuffing you to a radiator, across the room, then having her way with her lady parts, while you watch, leaving you to stew in your helplessness. I've heard that the path of a genius is rife with insanity. In that case, I now understand why Kanye does the crazy shit he does. I also read that Albert Einstein talked to, & answered himself, & was unable to tie his own shoes. So, yeah.
Point is, celebrities are normal people, who happen to be famous for whatever parlor trick they've perfected. & like us "normal" folk, they have the innate ability to pile bullshit upon their shoulders until they topple over into their own hysteria. Trouble is, they're really not "normal" people at all. By the time they've reached such a lucrative apex in life, all the individuals who wouldn't mind getting dirty to keep them clean have been replaced by "Yes!" men, hob knobblers & douche bag leeches who've been praying for that day like Albino's pray for shady places. No shots. If a plain, simple, average, basic man impregnates countless women, & gets caught up for drugs & weapons, it's no big deal. I doubt that his life is headed in a direction where such set-backs will actually hinder his life's work. But, if said man is worth a million bucks, with an undoubtedly bright future ahead of him, those same unwise choices could spell uncertainty, doom, & possible failure. Unnecessary complication, indeed. Same goes with well intended, however misguided outbursts at no one in particular. The homeless guy, on the corner, spouting about how the king needs to be overthrown, in between begging for loose change & throwing rocks at passing vehicles is virtually harmless. To himself & anyone in the vicinity. But, if that man is a brand, a company unto himself, with the world at his proverbial fingertips, said man goes from "crazy dude", to "dumb motherfucker", if you smell my cologne.
One of the perks of being "normal", or a nobody like most of us, is that our mistakes & up-fucks won't have that much of an effect on our lives, however meaningless & disposable. But, once you have things to gain, you also have things to lose, & the last thing you'd want in that situation is a UCC. Unnecessary Complication Complex.
Life is easy. It's the decision-making process that's difficult.
Maybe I'll start an online self-help website for these dingleberry famous people who habitual shit where they sleep. I can charge them an arm & a leg, then get rich & famous on their blood, sweat & tears, & make the same mistakes they did. That would make this the most prophetic drop I've ever penned, word to Nostradamus.
*These are just 2 examples. I'm sure, without effort, you can find many more, within arm's distance.
Showing posts with label very funny mf. Show all posts
Showing posts with label very funny mf. Show all posts
Monday, February 1, 2010
Sunday, January 31, 2010
AS TOLD TO DAILY-MATH.COM:Forgot About Dre?
I'm a pretty optimistic dude, in most situations.
I keep the faith, with my fingers crossed, the whole nine yards. But, there are two things I've given up on for the new year. The first is any naked pictures of Mariah Carey surfacing on the 'Net. No disrespect, Nick. All these D-list celebrities have candid shots, showing their nipple rings, clitoral piercings and what not, so am I a fool for thinking she should have some out there as well? Mariah's far from D-list, been in the business long enough, and has had more than enough emotional outbursts to have had a moment of weakness or three. Who wouldn't want to see that? But I digress. The second thing is Dr. Dre's 'Detox' album. I have 4 reasons why, in case you want to know...
1) Dre's a perfectionist...
We all know there's no such thing as perfection, but it's overly apparent that Dre doesn't agree. By that ethos, he'll never be able to live up to his own expectations. If you've ever watched a child race his own shadow, or a rotweiler chase his own tail, then you have an idea of what I'm saying. People who accept nothing less than exceptional are never satisfied. Especially when it comes to themselves. For years now, Andre Young's been promising this elite, exquisite album. Anxiously, we cling to his catalog of yesteryear hits, hoping to foresee what we are patiently waiting for. No Dice. The problem with being so critical is that, no one else is holed up like some reclusive madman, perfecting a sound that will only be re-invented as soon as it gets leaked to the 'Nets, which is bound to happen. So, for every song that he remixes and remasters to fabled perfection, 15 duck sauce rappers and their chow mein producers are flooding cyberspace with warm feces. More music to distract us, and further help us forget that 'Detox' is even in the works. According to the Hip Hop grade curve, Lil Boosie has a better chance at hypnotizing me than Dre does of mesmerizing me at this point. Of course, it's quality over quantity, but damn, if said quantity is 2-3 songs bi-yearly, if even that, then anything more than 2 songs in a year's span wins by default. Unless of course, he lives up to the hype, and delivers the most magnificent audio experience ever. Keep in mind, when Quincy Jones recorded 'Thriller' with Michael Jackson, he didn't believe in it. He chased perfection until he gave in and settled. Years later, it's the biggest selling album ever. So Dre, there's hope. Don't be so hard on yourself. At least give us a chance to criticize.
2)Dre's kinda a douche...
There's a reason why every time Dr. Dre's in the limelight again, he's usually surrounded by a different group of people than the last time we saw him. It's the same reason that 50 Cent always has the exact same two dudes with him all the time (they forget the other people). If you're familiar with Dre's industry presence, you could run down a laundry list of Dre-affiliated cats that have come and gone quicker than the Swine Flu scare. Aside from that, let us take a look at some of his other moments of douchebaggery:
-He beat up Dee Barnes, female rapper/host of the video show 'Pump It Up' in 1991, for interviewing Ice Cube after the N.W.A. split.
-He aligns himself with acts that are/were arguably more relevant than he is, then wishes them to the cornfields (Eve, Busta Rhymes, Rakim, Raekwon, Joell Ortiz, Glasses Malone, Game, Bishop Lamont, etc.) for seemingly no reason whatsoever.
-He signs new artists, squeezes out a little creative juice for his own purposes, [||]?, then sits them on a shelf, until they go bad or find a better situation. He's almost like Suge Knight, without the cigars, violence or bankruptcy.
-He hasn't even so much as dropped a single. Not even a teaser. Even Big Boi, of Outkast, dropped a single last year, and I don't know anyone who's pining for his next solo outing. In his defense, he did release some designers headphones, though.
A man's only as good as his last accomplishment. Word on the street is that he's losing his touch. I mean sure, Game runs rampant on Twitter espousing about how great 'Detox' will be, but I have a bi-polar cousin. And sometimes my cousin and Game act very similar. Just saying. I wonder what ever happened to the N.W.A. reunion?
3)People don't buy CD's anymore...
Dre's claim(s) to fame has always been his record sales. He's not a rapper (although White folks think he is), so he can't boast about his rhymes, but he can sure as hell brag about the benefits of attaching himself to a rapper's project, especially one who doesn't move a tremendous amount of units until he comes along (see: Xzibit). Undoubtedly, Dre has sold millions upon millions of records worldwide throughout his career, but the industry has changed dramatically over the last 5 years. If you're not T.I., Lil Wayne, Eminem or Kanye West, fans aren't flocking to drop hard hustled recession dollars on your release like they were in Dre's hey day. Today's average rap fan has, more or less, no clue Dre used to be a musical monolith, and would have virtually no idea at all who he was if Marshall and Curtis hadn't been his live action commercials for the last decade. The Old Man Rap market is still in it's early stages, and at this point in his career, he's almost starting over again, so to speak. And before y'all start bringing up Eminem's phenomenal success, trust and believe that every album Em sold was on the strength of Em's lyrical ability. At the very least, Dre gave him that push into popular music status that solidified his achievements. Still, Eminem could've rapped over gorillas grunts and wet farts, and would've most likely had the same productivity.
4)He can never top 'The Chronic', and he knows it...
It doesn't matter what he's doing in the studio right now. The Chronic was, is, and always will be a Hip Hop classic. Classic, in the truest sense of the word. Unless he has a song featuring Satan and Jesus Christ going back and forth over a 'Funky Worm' interpolation, like EPMD, he can never achieve that same level of unexpected brilliance. My guess is that he sits in the studio, alone, and listens to that album, to conceive new ideas from old material. Kinda like a boxer watching footage of his best fight ever. The closest we've gotten to a peek at 'Detox' was that damn Dr. Pepper commercial last year. I don't even like Dr. Pepper, or know a person who does. It tastes like peppermint Kool-Aid, if such a thing were to exist. That said, who gives a damn about the commercial, and who even knew that that was his beat is playing in the background? I did, but then again, my life's not all that exciting, so that only holds so much weight. It's the gift of the curse, or the curse of the gift, depending on your perception. 'The Chronic' single-handedly changed the face of rap, west coast or otherwise, without any gimmicks and no smoke and mirrors. To repeat that feat in today's overwhelming rap industry would seem to be virtually impossible. Even for a living legend. That's not to say that he's not talented, but in this era of live streams, zip drives and downloads, there's literally new music on a daily basis. That's quite a bit of competition. Some people thrive on that type of pressure. Multiply that with the expectations that have been festering for years, and you have enough pressure to burst a pipe. People refer to him as the "Quincy Jones of Rap", but I just say Dre's Dre. No need for extra stigma's for him to live up to. That may be part of the reason we're still waiting on the album. Dre's on of the best producers of our lifetime, no question, but he might have to come to grips with the fact that he may peaked, climaxed and plateau'd all in one phenomenal album-'The Chronic.' That usually doesn't happen repeatedly. Not in Hip Hop, at least. Boy, would I love to be proven wrong.
Maybe, he's trapped in some time warp, like the movie 'Groundhog Day.' He wakes up, complicates his insanity by smoking some superweed, hits the studio, twists some knobs and presses some buttons, calls some niggas to come record, spends the day mixing down vocals and music, goes back home, burns more superweed, passes out drunk and high, wakes up the next day and does it all over again-and nobody has the heart to tell him. There's a pretty good chance Andre's been working on the same song for ten years.
For the record, I'm rooting for Dre, if only because he's been counted out for quite some time, and I love an underdog. [||]. It would be nice to see him jump fresh out of nowhere, but let's be honest with ourselves and each other here. His best bet at this point, is to go with whatever he's been working on for the past decade, and let the chips fall where they may. Surely, some co-producers will blow the whistle and want their credit on the project, and if the ever-fickle public isn't receptive to 'Detox', fuck it, he can just give them their credit, then place the blame them. That's what I would do.
I keep the faith, with my fingers crossed, the whole nine yards. But, there are two things I've given up on for the new year. The first is any naked pictures of Mariah Carey surfacing on the 'Net. No disrespect, Nick. All these D-list celebrities have candid shots, showing their nipple rings, clitoral piercings and what not, so am I a fool for thinking she should have some out there as well? Mariah's far from D-list, been in the business long enough, and has had more than enough emotional outbursts to have had a moment of weakness or three. Who wouldn't want to see that? But I digress. The second thing is Dr. Dre's 'Detox' album. I have 4 reasons why, in case you want to know...
1) Dre's a perfectionist...
We all know there's no such thing as perfection, but it's overly apparent that Dre doesn't agree. By that ethos, he'll never be able to live up to his own expectations. If you've ever watched a child race his own shadow, or a rotweiler chase his own tail, then you have an idea of what I'm saying. People who accept nothing less than exceptional are never satisfied. Especially when it comes to themselves. For years now, Andre Young's been promising this elite, exquisite album. Anxiously, we cling to his catalog of yesteryear hits, hoping to foresee what we are patiently waiting for. No Dice. The problem with being so critical is that, no one else is holed up like some reclusive madman, perfecting a sound that will only be re-invented as soon as it gets leaked to the 'Nets, which is bound to happen. So, for every song that he remixes and remasters to fabled perfection, 15 duck sauce rappers and their chow mein producers are flooding cyberspace with warm feces. More music to distract us, and further help us forget that 'Detox' is even in the works. According to the Hip Hop grade curve, Lil Boosie has a better chance at hypnotizing me than Dre does of mesmerizing me at this point. Of course, it's quality over quantity, but damn, if said quantity is 2-3 songs bi-yearly, if even that, then anything more than 2 songs in a year's span wins by default. Unless of course, he lives up to the hype, and delivers the most magnificent audio experience ever. Keep in mind, when Quincy Jones recorded 'Thriller' with Michael Jackson, he didn't believe in it. He chased perfection until he gave in and settled. Years later, it's the biggest selling album ever. So Dre, there's hope. Don't be so hard on yourself. At least give us a chance to criticize.
2)Dre's kinda a douche...
There's a reason why every time Dr. Dre's in the limelight again, he's usually surrounded by a different group of people than the last time we saw him. It's the same reason that 50 Cent always has the exact same two dudes with him all the time (they forget the other people). If you're familiar with Dre's industry presence, you could run down a laundry list of Dre-affiliated cats that have come and gone quicker than the Swine Flu scare. Aside from that, let us take a look at some of his other moments of douchebaggery:
-He beat up Dee Barnes, female rapper/host of the video show 'Pump It Up' in 1991, for interviewing Ice Cube after the N.W.A. split.
-He aligns himself with acts that are/were arguably more relevant than he is, then wishes them to the cornfields (Eve, Busta Rhymes, Rakim, Raekwon, Joell Ortiz, Glasses Malone, Game, Bishop Lamont, etc.) for seemingly no reason whatsoever.
-He signs new artists, squeezes out a little creative juice for his own purposes, [||]?, then sits them on a shelf, until they go bad or find a better situation. He's almost like Suge Knight, without the cigars, violence or bankruptcy.
-He hasn't even so much as dropped a single. Not even a teaser. Even Big Boi, of Outkast, dropped a single last year, and I don't know anyone who's pining for his next solo outing. In his defense, he did release some designers headphones, though.
A man's only as good as his last accomplishment. Word on the street is that he's losing his touch. I mean sure, Game runs rampant on Twitter espousing about how great 'Detox' will be, but I have a bi-polar cousin. And sometimes my cousin and Game act very similar. Just saying. I wonder what ever happened to the N.W.A. reunion?
3)People don't buy CD's anymore...
Dre's claim(s) to fame has always been his record sales. He's not a rapper (although White folks think he is), so he can't boast about his rhymes, but he can sure as hell brag about the benefits of attaching himself to a rapper's project, especially one who doesn't move a tremendous amount of units until he comes along (see: Xzibit). Undoubtedly, Dre has sold millions upon millions of records worldwide throughout his career, but the industry has changed dramatically over the last 5 years. If you're not T.I., Lil Wayne, Eminem or Kanye West, fans aren't flocking to drop hard hustled recession dollars on your release like they were in Dre's hey day. Today's average rap fan has, more or less, no clue Dre used to be a musical monolith, and would have virtually no idea at all who he was if Marshall and Curtis hadn't been his live action commercials for the last decade. The Old Man Rap market is still in it's early stages, and at this point in his career, he's almost starting over again, so to speak. And before y'all start bringing up Eminem's phenomenal success, trust and believe that every album Em sold was on the strength of Em's lyrical ability. At the very least, Dre gave him that push into popular music status that solidified his achievements. Still, Eminem could've rapped over gorillas grunts and wet farts, and would've most likely had the same productivity.
4)He can never top 'The Chronic', and he knows it...
It doesn't matter what he's doing in the studio right now. The Chronic was, is, and always will be a Hip Hop classic. Classic, in the truest sense of the word. Unless he has a song featuring Satan and Jesus Christ going back and forth over a 'Funky Worm' interpolation, like EPMD, he can never achieve that same level of unexpected brilliance. My guess is that he sits in the studio, alone, and listens to that album, to conceive new ideas from old material. Kinda like a boxer watching footage of his best fight ever. The closest we've gotten to a peek at 'Detox' was that damn Dr. Pepper commercial last year. I don't even like Dr. Pepper, or know a person who does. It tastes like peppermint Kool-Aid, if such a thing were to exist. That said, who gives a damn about the commercial, and who even knew that that was his beat is playing in the background? I did, but then again, my life's not all that exciting, so that only holds so much weight. It's the gift of the curse, or the curse of the gift, depending on your perception. 'The Chronic' single-handedly changed the face of rap, west coast or otherwise, without any gimmicks and no smoke and mirrors. To repeat that feat in today's overwhelming rap industry would seem to be virtually impossible. Even for a living legend. That's not to say that he's not talented, but in this era of live streams, zip drives and downloads, there's literally new music on a daily basis. That's quite a bit of competition. Some people thrive on that type of pressure. Multiply that with the expectations that have been festering for years, and you have enough pressure to burst a pipe. People refer to him as the "Quincy Jones of Rap", but I just say Dre's Dre. No need for extra stigma's for him to live up to. That may be part of the reason we're still waiting on the album. Dre's on of the best producers of our lifetime, no question, but he might have to come to grips with the fact that he may peaked, climaxed and plateau'd all in one phenomenal album-'The Chronic.' That usually doesn't happen repeatedly. Not in Hip Hop, at least. Boy, would I love to be proven wrong.
Maybe, he's trapped in some time warp, like the movie 'Groundhog Day.' He wakes up, complicates his insanity by smoking some superweed, hits the studio, twists some knobs and presses some buttons, calls some niggas to come record, spends the day mixing down vocals and music, goes back home, burns more superweed, passes out drunk and high, wakes up the next day and does it all over again-and nobody has the heart to tell him. There's a pretty good chance Andre's been working on the same song for ten years.
For the record, I'm rooting for Dre, if only because he's been counted out for quite some time, and I love an underdog. [||]. It would be nice to see him jump fresh out of nowhere, but let's be honest with ourselves and each other here. His best bet at this point, is to go with whatever he's been working on for the past decade, and let the chips fall where they may. Surely, some co-producers will blow the whistle and want their credit on the project, and if the ever-fickle public isn't receptive to 'Detox', fuck it, he can just give them their credit, then place the blame them. That's what I would do.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Snickers vs. Twix
One of the main things I miss from my alcoholic days are the conversations I had with my fellow bottle huggers. Birds of a feather & what not. To a room full of sober people, a drunk dude is just rambling about pseudo-metaphysical aspects of life that equate to ambient jibber jabber. But, a gaggle of booze hounds, espousing about the wonders of the world, is a think tank unlike any other. How many things do you think were invented by some drunk ass guys just pontificating about nothing in particular. Like aluminum foil. That has "sloshed" written all over it. & the vacuum cleaner. You can't tell me liquor played no part in somebody thinking, "well, how 'bout we just suck it up?"
I'd always said I was going to videotape one of our clubhouse meetings, but then I'd get drunk & forget. The closest I've gotten to those caliber conversations post-addiction was in the breakroom at rehab. Really though, shit got hella heavy sometimes. Had the free coffee been caffeinated, it may have turned bloody once or twice.
Back to my couch.
Although debates over Halo or NBA Live were enthralling, all it took was for a chick to walk past the house, or even appear on the TV, & that became the day's topic of choice. Mainly, what's better, a skinny broad & a thickums? Again, drunkards tend to think outside the box, so needless to say, these exchanges often lasted until the wee hours of the morning. Or until my wife got home. Whichever came first.
Personally, I prefer a lady of the healthier persuasion. I've always equated girth with womanhood. Child bearing hips, ample, succulent breasts, a little arm fat, thighs that give the jeans something to hold on to, all scream "adult female." With a skinny chick, I'm always taken back to the days of elementary school, when the male/female physical attributes were about even. Pointy elbows, bird chests, flat asses, etc. Of course there was always the girl or two who'd developed early, but that anomaly was looked at as more freakshow, than freak show, if you smell my cologne. I believe women are works of art, regardless to specifications. But, when I see chicks who appear to have missed a meal, before I can admire their femininity, I have to get past the urge to offer them a cheese burger. Or a peanut butter sandwich. Where as, a skinny girl looks like she could use a meal, I know for a fact that not only will a thickums not go hungry, but she'll feed my yellow ass in the process. To my heart through my stomach, indeed.
When I say "skinny", I don't mean model anorexic. That's not skinny. Thats morbidly malnutritioned. Ain't shit natural about a woman weighing 97 lbs, unless she's 11 years old or Vietnamese. No shots. That's an eating disorder, or a disease waiting to put you in the earth, & either way, I'm not into bag ladies (word to Erykah Badu). I mean skinny, like "one-too-many-trips-to-the-gym-in-one-week" thin, which is not realistic in today's society of stress, fast food & busy lifestyles. Not being curvaceous & voluptuous doesn't take away from one's feminism, per se, it just doesn't appeal to me. & I consider myself an average joe.
It could be because of my family. The only skinny female relatives I have are that way because of drug addiction (pain pills & alcohol included). I grew up around the type of women who cooked, all the time. & if you appeared to be losing weight, before any of them would inquire about your health or sober status, they tried shoving a pot of gumbo & half a fried chicken down your gullet. I'll be the first to admit that this wasn't the healthiest situation, but what could I tell them that their diabetes medication hasn't already? I grew up under the impression that it was "normal" for a woman to have some meat on her bones, thus, that's what I've always been attracted to. I've even bypassed adorable skinny chicks in my days of chubby chasing, & knew exactly what I was doing.
& don't get me started on sex. That's kinda a no-brainer. Sure, I like a good Karma Sutra marathon like the next heterosexual male, but slim jim bonin' versus chubby lovin' might be one of the few times in life where it's quantity over quality. Cushion for the pushin', so to speak; the more of it, the merrier. I'm not an expert on skinny girl sex, but I'm pretty sure that a semi-exposed rib cage or spine protrusion wouldn't help my erection very much. But a cup that slightly runneth over? 'Nuff said.
Usually, by the end of our Snickers vs. Twix debates, it was a 50/50 split as to who preferred what. Which is probably the outcome in the real world as well. But I'll tell you what; the only season of 'America's Top Model' I ever watched was the one when Toccara won, & I think I voted for Jordan Sparks on 'American Idol', so, yeah.
I'd always said I was going to videotape one of our clubhouse meetings, but then I'd get drunk & forget. The closest I've gotten to those caliber conversations post-addiction was in the breakroom at rehab. Really though, shit got hella heavy sometimes. Had the free coffee been caffeinated, it may have turned bloody once or twice.
Back to my couch.
Although debates over Halo or NBA Live were enthralling, all it took was for a chick to walk past the house, or even appear on the TV, & that became the day's topic of choice. Mainly, what's better, a skinny broad & a thickums? Again, drunkards tend to think outside the box, so needless to say, these exchanges often lasted until the wee hours of the morning. Or until my wife got home. Whichever came first.
Personally, I prefer a lady of the healthier persuasion. I've always equated girth with womanhood. Child bearing hips, ample, succulent breasts, a little arm fat, thighs that give the jeans something to hold on to, all scream "adult female." With a skinny chick, I'm always taken back to the days of elementary school, when the male/female physical attributes were about even. Pointy elbows, bird chests, flat asses, etc. Of course there was always the girl or two who'd developed early, but that anomaly was looked at as more freakshow, than freak show, if you smell my cologne. I believe women are works of art, regardless to specifications. But, when I see chicks who appear to have missed a meal, before I can admire their femininity, I have to get past the urge to offer them a cheese burger. Or a peanut butter sandwich. Where as, a skinny girl looks like she could use a meal, I know for a fact that not only will a thickums not go hungry, but she'll feed my yellow ass in the process. To my heart through my stomach, indeed.
When I say "skinny", I don't mean model anorexic. That's not skinny. Thats morbidly malnutritioned. Ain't shit natural about a woman weighing 97 lbs, unless she's 11 years old or Vietnamese. No shots. That's an eating disorder, or a disease waiting to put you in the earth, & either way, I'm not into bag ladies (word to Erykah Badu). I mean skinny, like "one-too-many-trips-to-the-gym-in-one-week" thin, which is not realistic in today's society of stress, fast food & busy lifestyles. Not being curvaceous & voluptuous doesn't take away from one's feminism, per se, it just doesn't appeal to me. & I consider myself an average joe.
It could be because of my family. The only skinny female relatives I have are that way because of drug addiction (pain pills & alcohol included). I grew up around the type of women who cooked, all the time. & if you appeared to be losing weight, before any of them would inquire about your health or sober status, they tried shoving a pot of gumbo & half a fried chicken down your gullet. I'll be the first to admit that this wasn't the healthiest situation, but what could I tell them that their diabetes medication hasn't already? I grew up under the impression that it was "normal" for a woman to have some meat on her bones, thus, that's what I've always been attracted to. I've even bypassed adorable skinny chicks in my days of chubby chasing, & knew exactly what I was doing.
& don't get me started on sex. That's kinda a no-brainer. Sure, I like a good Karma Sutra marathon like the next heterosexual male, but slim jim bonin' versus chubby lovin' might be one of the few times in life where it's quantity over quality. Cushion for the pushin', so to speak; the more of it, the merrier. I'm not an expert on skinny girl sex, but I'm pretty sure that a semi-exposed rib cage or spine protrusion wouldn't help my erection very much. But a cup that slightly runneth over? 'Nuff said.
Usually, by the end of our Snickers vs. Twix debates, it was a 50/50 split as to who preferred what. Which is probably the outcome in the real world as well. But I'll tell you what; the only season of 'America's Top Model' I ever watched was the one when Toccara won, & I think I voted for Jordan Sparks on 'American Idol', so, yeah.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Trina: Baby Momma Drama
"With the current state that Haiti is in right now; I personally feel like donating monetary and physical possessions is a enormous and vast donation...however I would like to contribute on a higher level for more personal reasons in addition to being ready to raise/nurture a child; by being involved on a day to day bases. The tragic and untimely list of events that have happen in Haiti even before the recent earthquake have made me realize how blessed I am as a individual and I want to share that with a child...in addition to adding on to my immediate family circle. I am in the financial position to adopt; therefore I am taking it into deep consideration at this time, I have always admired other individuals for adopting children not so much for their celebrity status but more so because of the 'nurturing' and invaluable change and joy it will bring to a child’s life. Lastly the fact that I am considering adopting a child from Haiti is even more significant to me seeing that a great deal of adopted children that come into the United States are from larger countries such as China, Russia and Africa. I also have family members that are of Haitian descent." - rapper Trina, via HipHopDX
What a tool. Perhaps the entertainment industry has an annual award for pretentious assholes that the public at large isn't aware of. Of course, us average joe's wouldn't get a memo about the elite attempting to one-up each other in terms of being a douche nozzle. Seems Trina's getting a leg up on the competition early. No pun intended. Well, maybe a little.
This is the mentality that chicken heads nationwide have, that just because they're alive & capable of buying a Happy Meal, they'll be an asset to some unfortunate kid's meager existence. No dice. Parenting takes more than an "I think I can" attitude & a bejeweled purse full of strip club dough. She's probably one of those "god parents" that takes that arbitrary title way too seriously. Pictures of her god kids in her wallet & what not. Rap music & fiscal success aside, Trina feels as though she has what it takes to be somebody's mother, all of the sudden, & it only took an earthquake that killed 200,000 people, in another country, for her to realize that. Are there no needy children in America that would love to have a mother? This would appear to be a clear-cut case of stepping over the homeless people outside of your building on the way to help the one's in front of a camera, even if it's all the way across town. Self sacrifice is the Holy Grail of face time. Maybe the life of a Z-list rapstress is too full of blunt smoke & bbq's for her to have noticed any of those commercials about kids who need love, followed by a phone number to a local foster care facility. Hell, I don't doubt that she's spent time in the foster system; she just reeks of needing to be "loved."
Even beyond the posturing it takes to publicly announce that you plan to adopt a child from such a desolate place, there's a certain douche bag tenacity in opting to grab a child & run, versus trying to help the country as a whole. Assuming one can afford to do such a thing. I'm sure there's dozens of people who have big money, & chose to give a sizeable amount to the Red Cross, without saying a word about it to anyone. Trina, on the other hand, is treating the news coverage as a brochure, or a catalog, as if bringing a Haitian kid back to Florida with her is going to help ease the pain & suffering of millions of people. She probably wants a cookie, too. I say this not to demean Trina's efforts at making a difference, but at the very least, this isn't the type of statement you make to the world. Hip Hop or otherwise. If she feels that their catastrophe was a maternal catalyst, cool. Do what you gotta do, sis. But don't start stroking your nuts & rehearsing your acceptance speech for "Humanitarian of the Year" just yet. I'd much rather see you exposing the itty-bitty's & complaining about what a nigga can't do for you instead. For the amount(s) of money she claims to have, she could adopt an entire neighborhood over there, personally funding it's regrowth & rehabilitation. You want to impress me, aside from form-fitting skivvies & shirts that look like bras, then adopt some adults, who are undoubtedly in just as bad a predictament as the kids. Haiti is in epic need of help, fiscally, physically, spiritually, politically & beyond, so pardon me if I don't call you Mother Theresa for picking a child to love, then flying back to your mansion.
I wouldn't call this a publicity stunt, as much as I would say it's just a bad decision. At the least, one of her weed carriers should've been the one being interviewed, then it wouldn't appear so self-serving & shallow. This type of information always comes across more passionately when conveyed by a third party. No matter how sexy one may look in spanx & pasties, patting yourself on the back is some jerk shit. Don't talk about it, be about it, so to speak.
I figured that Haiti's misfortune would bring the vultures down from the trees, but not even my cynicism would've expected this type of nigganometry. Not even from the chick who had people saying "nann nigga" for an entire summer. She has an album due out soon, called 'Amazin'. Coincidence? You be the judge.
What a tool. Perhaps the entertainment industry has an annual award for pretentious assholes that the public at large isn't aware of. Of course, us average joe's wouldn't get a memo about the elite attempting to one-up each other in terms of being a douche nozzle. Seems Trina's getting a leg up on the competition early. No pun intended. Well, maybe a little.
This is the mentality that chicken heads nationwide have, that just because they're alive & capable of buying a Happy Meal, they'll be an asset to some unfortunate kid's meager existence. No dice. Parenting takes more than an "I think I can" attitude & a bejeweled purse full of strip club dough. She's probably one of those "god parents" that takes that arbitrary title way too seriously. Pictures of her god kids in her wallet & what not. Rap music & fiscal success aside, Trina feels as though she has what it takes to be somebody's mother, all of the sudden, & it only took an earthquake that killed 200,000 people, in another country, for her to realize that. Are there no needy children in America that would love to have a mother? This would appear to be a clear-cut case of stepping over the homeless people outside of your building on the way to help the one's in front of a camera, even if it's all the way across town. Self sacrifice is the Holy Grail of face time. Maybe the life of a Z-list rapstress is too full of blunt smoke & bbq's for her to have noticed any of those commercials about kids who need love, followed by a phone number to a local foster care facility. Hell, I don't doubt that she's spent time in the foster system; she just reeks of needing to be "loved."
Even beyond the posturing it takes to publicly announce that you plan to adopt a child from such a desolate place, there's a certain douche bag tenacity in opting to grab a child & run, versus trying to help the country as a whole. Assuming one can afford to do such a thing. I'm sure there's dozens of people who have big money, & chose to give a sizeable amount to the Red Cross, without saying a word about it to anyone. Trina, on the other hand, is treating the news coverage as a brochure, or a catalog, as if bringing a Haitian kid back to Florida with her is going to help ease the pain & suffering of millions of people. She probably wants a cookie, too. I say this not to demean Trina's efforts at making a difference, but at the very least, this isn't the type of statement you make to the world. Hip Hop or otherwise. If she feels that their catastrophe was a maternal catalyst, cool. Do what you gotta do, sis. But don't start stroking your nuts & rehearsing your acceptance speech for "Humanitarian of the Year" just yet. I'd much rather see you exposing the itty-bitty's & complaining about what a nigga can't do for you instead. For the amount(s) of money she claims to have, she could adopt an entire neighborhood over there, personally funding it's regrowth & rehabilitation. You want to impress me, aside from form-fitting skivvies & shirts that look like bras, then adopt some adults, who are undoubtedly in just as bad a predictament as the kids. Haiti is in epic need of help, fiscally, physically, spiritually, politically & beyond, so pardon me if I don't call you Mother Theresa for picking a child to love, then flying back to your mansion.
I wouldn't call this a publicity stunt, as much as I would say it's just a bad decision. At the least, one of her weed carriers should've been the one being interviewed, then it wouldn't appear so self-serving & shallow. This type of information always comes across more passionately when conveyed by a third party. No matter how sexy one may look in spanx & pasties, patting yourself on the back is some jerk shit. Don't talk about it, be about it, so to speak.
I figured that Haiti's misfortune would bring the vultures down from the trees, but not even my cynicism would've expected this type of nigganometry. Not even from the chick who had people saying "nann nigga" for an entire summer. She has an album due out soon, called 'Amazin'. Coincidence? You be the judge.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Brains>Brain
Sometimes, you just have to envy the downtrodden. Mo' money, mo' problems, indeed. I imagine life is easiest when you're biggest worry is if you're going to eat later that day. Really though, worst case scenario, you could stand outside of a McDonalds, & look extremely pitiful, & some empathetic douche would buy you a McGriddle, or a McDouble, depending on what time it is. Either way, hunger knows no caloric intake. Tell a hungry man about his cholesterol, & he'll ask you if you're going to finish all of your fries. I make it a habit to give to the less fortunate, however I can. I save my aluminum cans for this homeless lady who trolls the neighborhood garbage cans, I buy this one dude a couple of burgers when I see him near my sons school, hell, if you need .35, & ask correctly, I may give you an entire dollar bill. Fuck what you plan to "really" do with it, as long as I know my heart is in the right place. That's why I try & feed somebody, as opposed to giving them cash. I'll be damned if a crackhead is going to smoke a .99 burrito. & if he does, God bless his lungs & throat lining. Point is, of all the people I come into contact with on a daily basis, the ones without much are usually the happiest. It may just be famine-induced hysteria, or a lack of nutrients has them unable to do much more than smile & nod, but they sure as hell seem content to me. Content beats contrite everyday of the Christian calendar.
As for these guys with assloads of dough, pause, their lives seem to be hell on wheels, floating in gasoline & nitroglycerin. One would assume that, given the opportunity to live life by one's own jurisdiction, that person would be diligent in finding peace & happiness. If a homeless man can do it, sleeping on a bus stop & eating what I throw away, surely it can be done if a man has the means to provide comfortably for himself. Now, I'm not pointing fingers, but I'm going to use two great examples. This has nothing to do with race, or profession. Any similarities are purely coincidental.
Shaquille O'Neal & Eldrick "Tiger" Woods. For all intents & purposes, these niggas are dumber than Katt Williams. For all the smarts that Eldrick seems to exude, he must not have ever read a book, watched a movie, or listened to a rap song. Otherwise, he'd know how counterproductive the wrong women can be. Especially when there's throngs of them, stroking your proverbial ball sack (pron: ego) to their benefit. I'm sure it's just the fact that guys who play Golf appear smarter than common folk, but I'm just saying. The more I watch, the more I see drunken hillbillies swinging sticks. As for Shaq, anything stupid he does, I just chalk up to him not being the curliest fry in the combo meal, per se. Dude may look like a dolphin, but by no means is he as smart as one. I know plenty dudes who play basketball for their respective schools, & not one of them is a math whiz. Or english, science or history for that matter, but again, just saying.
[tony's note: dolphins are mad smart, really though. flipper would kick lassie's ass...]
It's common knowledge that rich guys like toys. Side women, or jump-offs, are no different than a shiny new car or a ginormous television, or what have you. In a lot of cases, the toys can be detrimental. A motorcycle can kill you. A car can kill you. A woman can suck you dry-no pun intended, & drag your name through the mud like a plow mule. When cats get toys, especially real nice ones, they tend to neglect the important things. Now, in the case of inanimate objects, that don't mind the times when you walk away, that's not an issue. But, real-life, silicon/botox filled people? That becomes disastrous on several levels. What begins with wifey asking where you been, quickly becomes fancy plaything asking where are you going, & before you know it, Gloria Allred has you in the figure-four, sodomizing your bank account. Maybe it's my inner-poor person speaking, but that seems like an absolute bummer.
I rarely feel sorry for rich people, even when they're handicapped, but there's always a soft spot in my heart for a fool. When foolish behavior borders on absolute ignorance though, no dice. Even I know when to turn off the video games, & tend to my better half. I actually mean video games, that's not a euphemism.
Money can buy you brain, but it can't buy you brains...
As for these guys with assloads of dough, pause, their lives seem to be hell on wheels, floating in gasoline & nitroglycerin. One would assume that, given the opportunity to live life by one's own jurisdiction, that person would be diligent in finding peace & happiness. If a homeless man can do it, sleeping on a bus stop & eating what I throw away, surely it can be done if a man has the means to provide comfortably for himself. Now, I'm not pointing fingers, but I'm going to use two great examples. This has nothing to do with race, or profession. Any similarities are purely coincidental.
Shaquille O'Neal & Eldrick "Tiger" Woods. For all intents & purposes, these niggas are dumber than Katt Williams. For all the smarts that Eldrick seems to exude, he must not have ever read a book, watched a movie, or listened to a rap song. Otherwise, he'd know how counterproductive the wrong women can be. Especially when there's throngs of them, stroking your proverbial ball sack (pron: ego) to their benefit. I'm sure it's just the fact that guys who play Golf appear smarter than common folk, but I'm just saying. The more I watch, the more I see drunken hillbillies swinging sticks. As for Shaq, anything stupid he does, I just chalk up to him not being the curliest fry in the combo meal, per se. Dude may look like a dolphin, but by no means is he as smart as one. I know plenty dudes who play basketball for their respective schools, & not one of them is a math whiz. Or english, science or history for that matter, but again, just saying.
[tony's note: dolphins are mad smart, really though. flipper would kick lassie's ass...]
It's common knowledge that rich guys like toys. Side women, or jump-offs, are no different than a shiny new car or a ginormous television, or what have you. In a lot of cases, the toys can be detrimental. A motorcycle can kill you. A car can kill you. A woman can suck you dry-no pun intended, & drag your name through the mud like a plow mule. When cats get toys, especially real nice ones, they tend to neglect the important things. Now, in the case of inanimate objects, that don't mind the times when you walk away, that's not an issue. But, real-life, silicon/botox filled people? That becomes disastrous on several levels. What begins with wifey asking where you been, quickly becomes fancy plaything asking where are you going, & before you know it, Gloria Allred has you in the figure-four, sodomizing your bank account. Maybe it's my inner-poor person speaking, but that seems like an absolute bummer.
I rarely feel sorry for rich people, even when they're handicapped, but there's always a soft spot in my heart for a fool. When foolish behavior borders on absolute ignorance though, no dice. Even I know when to turn off the video games, & tend to my better half. I actually mean video games, that's not a euphemism.
Money can buy you brain, but it can't buy you brains...
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Bow Wow?!?...Wow.
I'm not really one to go in on dudes[||], unless I see them as a walking ass load of jokes (pause?), or a pathetic douche nozzle who's adamantly asking for it. But occasionally, some cats are targets for all the wrong reasons. Today is Bow Wow's turn. Plus, fuck it, he could use the publicity. I guess he knows it, too, & has aligned his "star power" with Chris Brown's. Bow Wow's effervescent mom should've told him that straddling the domestic violence poster boy would help his career about as much as naming his last album after a movie where the highlight was a hot, young Christopher Williams ([||]x1,000) getting stabbed through the hand for being light skinned (I took that as a personal slight, BTW). Oh shit, I forgot Chris Rock smoked crack in that piece! Okay, a movie where the highlight was Chris Rock smoking a rock, word to Alanis Morrissette.
Anyway...I won't say that Bow Weezy is a failure. Hell, I'm almost positive he has a watch, cuff link, or toothbrush that costs more money than I can make in a year. & that includes being a sperm donor and selling my piss to people who know I don't smoke weed anymore. But, as the big homie Ron Mexico says, money does not equate intelligence. Even when your mother's in charge of both. FTR, I liked 'Like Mike', but for the life of me, I can't name one Bow Wow song right now. I can sing Da Brat's 'Funkdafied' word for word, though. Just saying.
For some strange reason, despite missteps, bad fortune, &/or an obvious lack of any "grown folk" life direction, Big Bow Wow is still in the public eye. Blame Twitter if you must, although Myspace & FaceBook couldn't have hurt none. Probably the one aspect of Twitter that I truly can stomach is that it gives niggas something to read, & a reason to write, even if 90% of the contents are so grossly mispelled that it doesn't qualify as 'shorthand'. & judging by the majority of dogs & cats that swear by it, reading & writing really is for dumb people. Get it? & to think, I had no idea that I can see the future, like Nostradamus.
On New Year's Eve, in what I take to be an oddly humorous attempt to garner some fresh-out-the-box, 2010 publicity, Bow Wow used the reliable self-snitch machine, a/k/a Twitter, to let the world know that he's light years beyond the stupidity we came to know & love him for:
"Face numb. im whippin the lambo. Tispy as fuck. Just left @livmiami."
"I'm fucked up!!! Ohhhh damn. Y i drive the lambo. Chris might have to drive after next spot."
Apparently, young 'Shad was tweeting while drunk driving in a Lamborgini, a move that can only be pulled off by the most skilled douche nozzles. Think tying a cherry stem in a knot with your tongue, on a trampoline, while getting your sister's best friend pregnant. Yeah, like that.
&, he spelled "tipsy" wrong.
I'm at a loss for what was more saddening; the fact that he felt he had to advise all 300 of his followers that he's driving the same type of car that Rihanna's face beat up Chris Brown's fists (& career) in, or that he thought somebody actually cared. That's just a sign as to his thought process lacking the maturity needed to be the man he claims to be. Although, I guess hanging out with Omarion would make any dude feel a bit more masculine than they really are. Femininity aside though, as an adored public scapegoat, Shad should've known better. God forbid a drunken, pissed off Chris Brown had've been in the Lambo with him. A couple of flashbacks on Brown's part, & them niggas might have been tweeting between open-handed slaps to each other's mouths.
There's a pretty good chance that the majority of Bow Wow's followers are sexually confused teenage girls & impressionable young men who've been looking for father figures since their father figured it was time to blow town.
[tony's note:^^swish!! 2 points!]
Now matter how you slice it, that shit is just irresponsible. Even though he eventually apologized & deleted the original message, any possible damage was done.
"Apologize for that tweet. it was stupid and immature. not a way i want to kick my #2010 year off. i got too much good stuff lined up. my bad."
"Good stuff lined up..." Yeah, Shawty Redd had good stuff lined up too, if you smell my cologne. Even though it's hard for us adults to fathom, a lot of kids love this clown, despite the fact that he looks like the son that Lil Mama & Raja Rondo never had. Really though, Jermaine Dupri needs to step off that Black, male version of 'The View', & go back to mentoring young, misguided entertainment niggas, like he used to. Although, the last time I heard somebody say the phrase "so, so def" was on a television special about the life of Helen Keller. Actually, I would like to think he's old enough to facilitate his own post-teeny bopper career, especially if he's old enough to drive small fortunates while intoxicated. To let a virtual community know you're commiting a felony in real-time takes balls the size of dinner plates, or the same amount of stupidity that Tiger Woods had as he left his name on jump-off message centers. Either way, if it was attention he wanted, now he's got it.
Maybe he has a song coming out. Yeah, & it doesn't take a rocket scientist to guess who'll be doing the hook. No pun intended. Chris Brown & Bow Wow are easily the OJ Simpson & Al Cowlins of the Hip Pop universe. Damn, so many parallels to illustrate there that I'd rather just leave it up to you.
Consider it homework.
Anyway...I won't say that Bow Weezy is a failure. Hell, I'm almost positive he has a watch, cuff link, or toothbrush that costs more money than I can make in a year. & that includes being a sperm donor and selling my piss to people who know I don't smoke weed anymore. But, as the big homie Ron Mexico says, money does not equate intelligence. Even when your mother's in charge of both. FTR, I liked 'Like Mike', but for the life of me, I can't name one Bow Wow song right now. I can sing Da Brat's 'Funkdafied' word for word, though. Just saying.
For some strange reason, despite missteps, bad fortune, &/or an obvious lack of any "grown folk" life direction, Big Bow Wow is still in the public eye. Blame Twitter if you must, although Myspace & FaceBook couldn't have hurt none. Probably the one aspect of Twitter that I truly can stomach is that it gives niggas something to read, & a reason to write, even if 90% of the contents are so grossly mispelled that it doesn't qualify as 'shorthand'. & judging by the majority of dogs & cats that swear by it, reading & writing really is for dumb people. Get it? & to think, I had no idea that I can see the future, like Nostradamus.
On New Year's Eve, in what I take to be an oddly humorous attempt to garner some fresh-out-the-box, 2010 publicity, Bow Wow used the reliable self-snitch machine, a/k/a Twitter, to let the world know that he's light years beyond the stupidity we came to know & love him for:
"Face numb. im whippin the lambo. Tispy as fuck. Just left @livmiami."
"I'm fucked up!!! Ohhhh damn. Y i drive the lambo. Chris might have to drive after next spot."
Apparently, young 'Shad was tweeting while drunk driving in a Lamborgini, a move that can only be pulled off by the most skilled douche nozzles. Think tying a cherry stem in a knot with your tongue, on a trampoline, while getting your sister's best friend pregnant. Yeah, like that.
&, he spelled "tipsy" wrong.
I'm at a loss for what was more saddening; the fact that he felt he had to advise all 300 of his followers that he's driving the same type of car that Rihanna's face beat up Chris Brown's fists (& career) in, or that he thought somebody actually cared. That's just a sign as to his thought process lacking the maturity needed to be the man he claims to be. Although, I guess hanging out with Omarion would make any dude feel a bit more masculine than they really are. Femininity aside though, as an adored public scapegoat, Shad should've known better. God forbid a drunken, pissed off Chris Brown had've been in the Lambo with him. A couple of flashbacks on Brown's part, & them niggas might have been tweeting between open-handed slaps to each other's mouths.
There's a pretty good chance that the majority of Bow Wow's followers are sexually confused teenage girls & impressionable young men who've been looking for father figures since their father figured it was time to blow town.
[tony's note:^^swish!! 2 points!]
Now matter how you slice it, that shit is just irresponsible. Even though he eventually apologized & deleted the original message, any possible damage was done.
"Apologize for that tweet. it was stupid and immature. not a way i want to kick my #2010 year off. i got too much good stuff lined up. my bad."
"Good stuff lined up..." Yeah, Shawty Redd had good stuff lined up too, if you smell my cologne. Even though it's hard for us adults to fathom, a lot of kids love this clown, despite the fact that he looks like the son that Lil Mama & Raja Rondo never had. Really though, Jermaine Dupri needs to step off that Black, male version of 'The View', & go back to mentoring young, misguided entertainment niggas, like he used to. Although, the last time I heard somebody say the phrase "so, so def" was on a television special about the life of Helen Keller. Actually, I would like to think he's old enough to facilitate his own post-teeny bopper career, especially if he's old enough to drive small fortunates while intoxicated. To let a virtual community know you're commiting a felony in real-time takes balls the size of dinner plates, or the same amount of stupidity that Tiger Woods had as he left his name on jump-off message centers. Either way, if it was attention he wanted, now he's got it.
Maybe he has a song coming out. Yeah, & it doesn't take a rocket scientist to guess who'll be doing the hook. No pun intended. Chris Brown & Bow Wow are easily the OJ Simpson & Al Cowlins of the Hip Pop universe. Damn, so many parallels to illustrate there that I'd rather just leave it up to you.
Consider it homework.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
HOW TO CARRY WEED...
There's nothing wrong with having a down ass partner. & rightfully so, there's nothing wrong with being said partner. We all need those people, or need to be those people in life. It creates & sustains balance. Yin & yang, so to speak. A king isn't a king without servants & council, & thusly, servants & council are formless without a figurehead to fall behind. In the Hip Hop world, the main dude, commonly known as the star, the breadwinner or simply "the boss", has an entourage, full of various characters; yes men, "security", barbers, gophers, groupie getters, "the gay guy", etc. But at the top of that hierarchy of hanger-oners is the weed carrier. One doesn't become a weed carrier overnight. It takes years of unsolicited, fellatious behavior with no regard for one's own dignity, esteem, & in some cases, manhood. Most often, the weed carrier's career begins as the sidekick, the go-to man who has stayed loyal, & risen through the ranks of come & go faces, to be crowned the coveted spot next to the breadwinner of the operation. Benefits include: standing directly behind the star in most videos, accompanying the star out on stage during performances to cover all ad-libs & forgotten verses, spokesperson for the star when the star's not available, laughing at all the boss' jokes-especially in public, & lastly-carrying drugs, guns, &/or anything the star has no business carrying on his/her person. A faithful, studious weed carrier can parlay his/her skills as a professional lackey into various careers. Notice the similarities between the words "carrier" & "career". Just saying. Plenty of today's celebrities began as weed carriers, most noteworthy is Flavor Flav, who eventually shucked, jived, & cooned his way into super stardom, surpassing that of his boss, Chuck D. Flav single handedly changed the game, & epitomized the role as mega-sidekick extraordinaire, dancing &"Yeaaaah booooyeeeee"-ing his way through Public Enemy videos, albums, & concerts, eventually dropping lucid verses on politically charged songs that he had no business yelling on. The crowned jewel of that leg of his success being a cameo on Ice Cube's 'Only Out For One Thing', in 1990. Also, see umbrella holder Fonzworth Bentley, back seat rappers Tony Yayo & Spliff Star, & Memphis Bleek. When Flavor stepped into the limelight on his own, he left a big ass pair of clown shoes to fill. Enters Memphis Bleek. With Jay-Z on his back (sort of) & the future on his mind, fleeting success is an ad-lib & a co-sign away, & Bleek has perservered just long enough to see it through. Maybe.
Bleek is the consummate weed carrier. Actually, I'm sure Jay-Z traded weed for illegal cuban cigars sprinkled with hobo ashes a couple million dollars ago, but for conversational purposes, Memphis is a weed carrier. & a damn good one, at that. When discussing with others about business dealings with the boss, integrity should never take a backseat to humility. "We ain’t do nothing yet [for my new album]… One thing about me and Jay, we don’t do forced music… If that’s the case I’da been all over these last [Jay-Z] albums." Now, while he could've said, 'Nah, Jay won't call me back, but it's all good 'cuz he be busy & shit," he opted for the more diplomatic approach, so as not to step on toes &/or make himself uncomfortable the next time he asks for a "loan". That's a smart, well mannered man, undoubtedly with a plan. "It takes a while; you can’t just take over a empire overnight."
"I got this joint called ‘Forever Roc Boy,’ [and] he might, he might wanna get on that because where I’m going on that, man, niggas gonna be mad at me, baby." Any good weed carrier knows that he must not only taunt other possible baggage handlers as often as possible, but keep the boss guessing by wafting blanket statements of what he's got going on. If the boss thinks the weed carrier is growing complacent, he will surely, & swiftly replace him with the next eager beaver in line.
A weed carrier's position does come with some confusing times. One's identity is usually sacrificed in the process if they're not careful, cautious, & cognizant. Truly, only the strong can survive in such a menial capacity, all the while still looking forward to a grander scheme. "Being that Jay’s my brother, and we represent it and we really got that love for each other, he blessed me with the right to [be able] to own [the] rights to everything of Memphis Bleek right now and do my own thing, and where I would own my own masters and all that. Ain’t that what we worked for? So, that’s the best thing. If he achieved it, why not show me the same light. That’s my brother, right"? Notice the rhetorical questions & the symbiotic rambling, so he doesn't forget that he's still his own man, while haplessly suckling the teet that feeds him. That's nothing short of genius. Up & coming weed carriers should note the poise & grace demonstrated, it could be the difference boning the groupies, or going to get them more liquor to drink.
A legitimate weed carrier finds opportunities to praise the boss, simultaneously showing other's why he's the chosen one. "If you really pay attention, man, everybody running around like as if Jay owed us something. That man did all he could do for us. So it’s like, once everybody got they contracts terminated and went to make they own decisions and wanted to go they own way, you had to pick up where you left off and do your thing." Indeed. & his thing is, sticking close to what's good. How can anybody be mad at that?
While the fickle public observes the weed carriers role as useless, somewhat of a dead-end job for kiss asses, the weed carrier is intently focused, careful to pat his own back as much as he strokes the necessary amount of balls. "Like, my loyalty to Jay, definitely that’s something lost in the game. If you really just pay attention to my career, I been down with Jay from before Jay was Jay, when he was known as Shawn in the projects, I been rollin’ with him, ‘til now. We went from borrowing sugar from each other house to this dude - “Yo, let me hold a G5.” And nothing changed. That’s my dude". With the exception of Flavor Flav, & blame the rumors of crack smoking if you must, a weed carrier's responsibility always allows wiggle room for association. As often as possible. Such leverage exposes opportunities for self-promotion, without appearing mutinous. Tony Yayo once used such manuevers, until he decidedly opted to glamorize 50 Cent non-stop, which is clearly the more lucrative decision. Why waste time rapping, when you can be another man's live action billboard. In a perfect world, that's gotta count for something.
The basic element of weed carrying, which is somewhat of a lost art in today's cannibalistic rap world, is Kool-Aid sipping. Though it has evolved somewhat since (the real) Jim Jones perfected it decades ago, the premise remains unscathed. Love your leader, follow him blindly, & hold on tight, no matter how much he strings you along. That's the only way to be granted admission into the spaceship, per se. "I never been the guy who made a mistake, took a L, then be in the public eye whining about it, blaming, pointing fingers. I never been that guy neither. From all you ever seen me is, whether my homie’s right or wrong, he always been right in my eyes, and I’ma stand 100% by him". The sky's the limit when eggregious co-signing has no boundaries. If the book 'The 48 Laws Of Power' had an ass backwards, Bizzaro-world, dyslexic edition, it would surely be the weed carrier's survival guide.
When it's all said & done, the weed carrier's job is to make his boss shine, & let people know that, while somebody has got to do the waxing, it's all for a greater good. A feel good story about self-affirmation, with the breadwinner as the nucleus, is the weed carrier's best friend. It's like a publicity hand grenade, for when the talent bop gun gets low on ammunition.
"Like, let me tell you something that just happened recently, right, you know they just did the tenth anniversary photo shoot for Roc-A-Wear? So they called me to come down there and do the picture or whatever. The Roc-A-Wear people tried to pay me, like they had a check for me at the photo shoot. And I’m like, “Nah, I can’t take that check.” I think the check was like for between I think like $7,000 to $10,000. And I’m like, “I can’t take that check.” And the dude he like, “Yo, why not?” I’m like, “Nah ‘cause this my homie's company. Why my man gotta pay me just to take some pictures? Like, this my nigga! We from the [same] projects. You don’t have to pay me. [Doing] this is nothing.” So then Jay called me the next day like, “Yo Bleek, why you ain’t take the money?” I’m like, “Yo Hov, that’s like me stealing from you, just taking money from you, c’mon. What I did for you yesterday took 15 minutes out my day, you don’t have to pay me for that. I’ma get the money some other way.” And that nigga said to me, “Yo that’s why I love you, you one of the realest niggas ever, you would never meet nobody else in the world who would do that...And that’s just the loyalty I have to my team...I’m always for my team first".
Nowadays, niggas are quick to jump to the head of the class. Gone are the days when a dude would politely sit back, & wait, & wait, & wait, & wait, without any obvious signs of his time coming, anytime soon, but still hold it down for the team. Or more specifically, the boss. Memphis Bleek deserves a special place in Hip Hop for that sheer determination. He realizes that if he can't drive the Maybach, he can at least ride shotgun until he get's dropped off at home. & not a lot of hangers-on can say that, with misguided-yet adament pride, & still look in the mirror as men the next morning.
Giving credit where credit is due, Memph Bleek is...the GOAT (of weed carriers).
*with assistance from HipHopDX.com*
Bleek is the consummate weed carrier. Actually, I'm sure Jay-Z traded weed for illegal cuban cigars sprinkled with hobo ashes a couple million dollars ago, but for conversational purposes, Memphis is a weed carrier. & a damn good one, at that. When discussing with others about business dealings with the boss, integrity should never take a backseat to humility. "We ain’t do nothing yet [for my new album]… One thing about me and Jay, we don’t do forced music… If that’s the case I’da been all over these last [Jay-Z] albums." Now, while he could've said, 'Nah, Jay won't call me back, but it's all good 'cuz he be busy & shit," he opted for the more diplomatic approach, so as not to step on toes &/or make himself uncomfortable the next time he asks for a "loan". That's a smart, well mannered man, undoubtedly with a plan. "It takes a while; you can’t just take over a empire overnight."
"I got this joint called ‘Forever Roc Boy,’ [and] he might, he might wanna get on that because where I’m going on that, man, niggas gonna be mad at me, baby." Any good weed carrier knows that he must not only taunt other possible baggage handlers as often as possible, but keep the boss guessing by wafting blanket statements of what he's got going on. If the boss thinks the weed carrier is growing complacent, he will surely, & swiftly replace him with the next eager beaver in line.
A weed carrier's position does come with some confusing times. One's identity is usually sacrificed in the process if they're not careful, cautious, & cognizant. Truly, only the strong can survive in such a menial capacity, all the while still looking forward to a grander scheme. "Being that Jay’s my brother, and we represent it and we really got that love for each other, he blessed me with the right to [be able] to own [the] rights to everything of Memphis Bleek right now and do my own thing, and where I would own my own masters and all that. Ain’t that what we worked for? So, that’s the best thing. If he achieved it, why not show me the same light. That’s my brother, right"? Notice the rhetorical questions & the symbiotic rambling, so he doesn't forget that he's still his own man, while haplessly suckling the teet that feeds him. That's nothing short of genius. Up & coming weed carriers should note the poise & grace demonstrated, it could be the difference boning the groupies, or going to get them more liquor to drink.
A legitimate weed carrier finds opportunities to praise the boss, simultaneously showing other's why he's the chosen one. "If you really pay attention, man, everybody running around like as if Jay owed us something. That man did all he could do for us. So it’s like, once everybody got they contracts terminated and went to make they own decisions and wanted to go they own way, you had to pick up where you left off and do your thing." Indeed. & his thing is, sticking close to what's good. How can anybody be mad at that?
While the fickle public observes the weed carriers role as useless, somewhat of a dead-end job for kiss asses, the weed carrier is intently focused, careful to pat his own back as much as he strokes the necessary amount of balls. "Like, my loyalty to Jay, definitely that’s something lost in the game. If you really just pay attention to my career, I been down with Jay from before Jay was Jay, when he was known as Shawn in the projects, I been rollin’ with him, ‘til now. We went from borrowing sugar from each other house to this dude - “Yo, let me hold a G5.” And nothing changed. That’s my dude". With the exception of Flavor Flav, & blame the rumors of crack smoking if you must, a weed carrier's responsibility always allows wiggle room for association. As often as possible. Such leverage exposes opportunities for self-promotion, without appearing mutinous. Tony Yayo once used such manuevers, until he decidedly opted to glamorize 50 Cent non-stop, which is clearly the more lucrative decision. Why waste time rapping, when you can be another man's live action billboard. In a perfect world, that's gotta count for something.
The basic element of weed carrying, which is somewhat of a lost art in today's cannibalistic rap world, is Kool-Aid sipping. Though it has evolved somewhat since (the real) Jim Jones perfected it decades ago, the premise remains unscathed. Love your leader, follow him blindly, & hold on tight, no matter how much he strings you along. That's the only way to be granted admission into the spaceship, per se. "I never been the guy who made a mistake, took a L, then be in the public eye whining about it, blaming, pointing fingers. I never been that guy neither. From all you ever seen me is, whether my homie’s right or wrong, he always been right in my eyes, and I’ma stand 100% by him". The sky's the limit when eggregious co-signing has no boundaries. If the book 'The 48 Laws Of Power' had an ass backwards, Bizzaro-world, dyslexic edition, it would surely be the weed carrier's survival guide.
When it's all said & done, the weed carrier's job is to make his boss shine, & let people know that, while somebody has got to do the waxing, it's all for a greater good. A feel good story about self-affirmation, with the breadwinner as the nucleus, is the weed carrier's best friend. It's like a publicity hand grenade, for when the talent bop gun gets low on ammunition.
"Like, let me tell you something that just happened recently, right, you know they just did the tenth anniversary photo shoot for Roc-A-Wear? So they called me to come down there and do the picture or whatever. The Roc-A-Wear people tried to pay me, like they had a check for me at the photo shoot. And I’m like, “Nah, I can’t take that check.” I think the check was like for between I think like $7,000 to $10,000. And I’m like, “I can’t take that check.” And the dude he like, “Yo, why not?” I’m like, “Nah ‘cause this my homie's company. Why my man gotta pay me just to take some pictures? Like, this my nigga! We from the [same] projects. You don’t have to pay me. [Doing] this is nothing.” So then Jay called me the next day like, “Yo Bleek, why you ain’t take the money?” I’m like, “Yo Hov, that’s like me stealing from you, just taking money from you, c’mon. What I did for you yesterday took 15 minutes out my day, you don’t have to pay me for that. I’ma get the money some other way.” And that nigga said to me, “Yo that’s why I love you, you one of the realest niggas ever, you would never meet nobody else in the world who would do that...And that’s just the loyalty I have to my team...I’m always for my team first".
Nowadays, niggas are quick to jump to the head of the class. Gone are the days when a dude would politely sit back, & wait, & wait, & wait, & wait, without any obvious signs of his time coming, anytime soon, but still hold it down for the team. Or more specifically, the boss. Memphis Bleek deserves a special place in Hip Hop for that sheer determination. He realizes that if he can't drive the Maybach, he can at least ride shotgun until he get's dropped off at home. & not a lot of hangers-on can say that, with misguided-yet adament pride, & still look in the mirror as men the next morning.
Giving credit where credit is due, Memph Bleek is...the GOAT (of weed carriers).
*with assistance from HipHopDX.com*
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
*no thinking cap required
No shots. Not even warning shots. Just saying...
Hip Hop, rap music more specifically, is mad mundane nowadays. That statement alone is one of the reasons Raekwon's 'OB4CL2' & Slaughterhouse's self-titled albums were so well received by the critical public at large. Also, this is why they didn't sell an ass load of albums, either. More on that later...
The Hip Hop fan has grown accustomed to a certain formula. Brainwashed, perhaps. We've graduated from accepting a mediocre beat, if the lyrics were hot (the '90s) to accepting a bland mixture of okay rhymes & so-so tracks (the '00s) to now, the end of 2000's first decade, & rap music is boring as fuck, for the most part. Sans a handful of artists who genuinely craft witty raps without a bunch of unnecessary violence &/or fantasy lifestyle, & it's the same song, over & over again. It's common knowledge that to be a successful rap guy, your chains, your guns, your cars, & your ability to get bitches ranks higher than your song crafting skills. If we get nothing else, that we get. Multiply that complete lack of originality by some trunk-thumpage that the hood rats & socialites alike can shake their tail fur at, & best believe, somebody somewhere will play your shit, loudly & often, however uninspiring it may be.
"Rewindability" is virtually non-existent at present, unless we're talking about DOOM, Slaughterhouse (as a collective), U-God & Ghostface Killa. Ghostface, not so much because he astounds with the verbiage, but because I don't smoke dust blunts. & even with some rewinding, most dudes still have no idea what the hell he's talking about, unless it's his dick. Pause. If I did smoke the leaf that dare not speak it's name though, something tells me he'd be the illest MC ever to grab the mic. I guess Eminem earned a spot in that group as well, but unlike most rap fanatics, I'm willing to admit that somewhere along his audio journey, Marshall Mathers hit me in the brain with so much awesomeness that I'm now hard pressed to be in awe at the majority of his current masterpieces. His genius has leveled off into normalcy, so to speak. He's more Kobe, less Lebron, if you smell my cologne. Once "greatness" has ascended to such an unattainable altitude, we come to expect nothing less than the best. Which, oddly enough, is detrimental to a degree. I guess that's why you don't mack a female with unmitigated A+ game in the first few months. God forbid you two fall in love, & you used all the heavy artillery just to score some trim. When she gets bored, you can't blame anyone but yourself.
Of course there's more than just who's on my preemptive list, but I'm only attempting to scratch the proverbial surface, not take roll call. This is literally a conversation that could last days, & thousands of words, which neither I nor your attention span is willing to commit to.
Now, you have some artists who by all means have the propensity be great, but operate under such a self-defeating agenda that they refuse to let their own light shine. Lupe Fiasco comes to mind, but he's so much smarter than the rest of us that maybe all this is part of a plan, & his plan is coming together like 2 lesbians on a double-edged deluxe gyrating vibrator. Ha! Kid Cudi is cut from that same cloth, also. In a strange turn of events, his quasi-depressing, melancholy approach at Hip Hop music has become his way of life, knocking cats the eff out & getting thrown off of ridiculously lucrative tours all in the name of anti-love. Toss in a Charles Hamilton, & not only do we see the dark side of "the Force" that Kanye West exposed to the world, but also the reason gangsta rap is on life support. Emo-thuggery is running rampant. Skinny jeans may not be able to conceal weapons, but man-bags & Louis Vuitton backpacks can carry guns, as well as plaid ascots & cashmere mittens.
I, for one, miss the days where I almost had to concentrate on rap music to enjoy it. As of late, it's more like having public conversations with some of my terribly less intelligent homeboys, over loud-ass 808 kicks that only muffle their ignorant jaw-jacking, but unfortunately not quite enough to drown them out entirely. There's no imagination, no drive, no real competitive spirit, outside of viral campaigns, tasteless personal attacks, & episodes of 'Candid Camera', with *insert your favorite rapper* doing his best Alan Funt impersonation. Hip Hop has allowed itself to go from two young, amped up tough guys smoking weed & intensely playing Chess, to two lethargic older cats drinking cheap cognac over a game of Checkers, in between nods & space-out moments. Even when they pick up a piece (no pun intended), everyone knows their next move. It's no wonder people get bored & stop watching them play.
Before the hoopla starts, I'm not one of those golden age veterans, who rubs miscellaneous bottles in hopes that I can wish us back to 1992. Hell, in 1992, I was still a virgin, so, yeah. But, I do wish that more effort would be put into making today's rap a sport again. Not a contact sport, because niggas don't fight any more, but a battle of wits, war of words, per se. Legend has it that, in their hey day, MC Ren & Ice Cube would sit in the studio & write against each other, for the same song. Whoever won that impromptu challenge, won the right to pen Eazy-E's verse, in addition to their own. Or, picture Michael Jackson & Paul McCartney working on 'The Girl Is Mine'. Cats may not hit the bowling alley for beer pretzels & White chicks after the studio session, but best believe they pushed one another to do their best, even if their best was only second place. I'll take second place over last any day of the Christian week.
There seems to be a growing surge of rappers who embrace the basic ethos that separates entertainers from MC's. That's a good look for the culture, plus it's not like folks are running out to drop hard hustled recession dollars on physical albums anyway, even when the record is a genuinely good buy. Ask Raekwon & Slaughterhouse. Might as well give the people what they need, because what they want isn't always what's best for them. Like prostitute sex, regardless how good she looks, she's still a hooker, & we know you can do better than that, mayne.
Hip Hop, rap music more specifically, is mad mundane nowadays. That statement alone is one of the reasons Raekwon's 'OB4CL2' & Slaughterhouse's self-titled albums were so well received by the critical public at large. Also, this is why they didn't sell an ass load of albums, either. More on that later...
The Hip Hop fan has grown accustomed to a certain formula. Brainwashed, perhaps. We've graduated from accepting a mediocre beat, if the lyrics were hot (the '90s) to accepting a bland mixture of okay rhymes & so-so tracks (the '00s) to now, the end of 2000's first decade, & rap music is boring as fuck, for the most part. Sans a handful of artists who genuinely craft witty raps without a bunch of unnecessary violence &/or fantasy lifestyle, & it's the same song, over & over again. It's common knowledge that to be a successful rap guy, your chains, your guns, your cars, & your ability to get bitches ranks higher than your song crafting skills. If we get nothing else, that we get. Multiply that complete lack of originality by some trunk-thumpage that the hood rats & socialites alike can shake their tail fur at, & best believe, somebody somewhere will play your shit, loudly & often, however uninspiring it may be.
"Rewindability" is virtually non-existent at present, unless we're talking about DOOM, Slaughterhouse (as a collective), U-God & Ghostface Killa. Ghostface, not so much because he astounds with the verbiage, but because I don't smoke dust blunts. & even with some rewinding, most dudes still have no idea what the hell he's talking about, unless it's his dick. Pause. If I did smoke the leaf that dare not speak it's name though, something tells me he'd be the illest MC ever to grab the mic. I guess Eminem earned a spot in that group as well, but unlike most rap fanatics, I'm willing to admit that somewhere along his audio journey, Marshall Mathers hit me in the brain with so much awesomeness that I'm now hard pressed to be in awe at the majority of his current masterpieces. His genius has leveled off into normalcy, so to speak. He's more Kobe, less Lebron, if you smell my cologne. Once "greatness" has ascended to such an unattainable altitude, we come to expect nothing less than the best. Which, oddly enough, is detrimental to a degree. I guess that's why you don't mack a female with unmitigated A+ game in the first few months. God forbid you two fall in love, & you used all the heavy artillery just to score some trim. When she gets bored, you can't blame anyone but yourself.
Of course there's more than just who's on my preemptive list, but I'm only attempting to scratch the proverbial surface, not take roll call. This is literally a conversation that could last days, & thousands of words, which neither I nor your attention span is willing to commit to.
Now, you have some artists who by all means have the propensity be great, but operate under such a self-defeating agenda that they refuse to let their own light shine. Lupe Fiasco comes to mind, but he's so much smarter than the rest of us that maybe all this is part of a plan, & his plan is coming together like 2 lesbians on a double-edged deluxe gyrating vibrator. Ha! Kid Cudi is cut from that same cloth, also. In a strange turn of events, his quasi-depressing, melancholy approach at Hip Hop music has become his way of life, knocking cats the eff out & getting thrown off of ridiculously lucrative tours all in the name of anti-love. Toss in a Charles Hamilton, & not only do we see the dark side of "the Force" that Kanye West exposed to the world, but also the reason gangsta rap is on life support. Emo-thuggery is running rampant. Skinny jeans may not be able to conceal weapons, but man-bags & Louis Vuitton backpacks can carry guns, as well as plaid ascots & cashmere mittens.
I, for one, miss the days where I almost had to concentrate on rap music to enjoy it. As of late, it's more like having public conversations with some of my terribly less intelligent homeboys, over loud-ass 808 kicks that only muffle their ignorant jaw-jacking, but unfortunately not quite enough to drown them out entirely. There's no imagination, no drive, no real competitive spirit, outside of viral campaigns, tasteless personal attacks, & episodes of 'Candid Camera', with *insert your favorite rapper* doing his best Alan Funt impersonation. Hip Hop has allowed itself to go from two young, amped up tough guys smoking weed & intensely playing Chess, to two lethargic older cats drinking cheap cognac over a game of Checkers, in between nods & space-out moments. Even when they pick up a piece (no pun intended), everyone knows their next move. It's no wonder people get bored & stop watching them play.
Before the hoopla starts, I'm not one of those golden age veterans, who rubs miscellaneous bottles in hopes that I can wish us back to 1992. Hell, in 1992, I was still a virgin, so, yeah. But, I do wish that more effort would be put into making today's rap a sport again. Not a contact sport, because niggas don't fight any more, but a battle of wits, war of words, per se. Legend has it that, in their hey day, MC Ren & Ice Cube would sit in the studio & write against each other, for the same song. Whoever won that impromptu challenge, won the right to pen Eazy-E's verse, in addition to their own. Or, picture Michael Jackson & Paul McCartney working on 'The Girl Is Mine'. Cats may not hit the bowling alley for beer pretzels & White chicks after the studio session, but best believe they pushed one another to do their best, even if their best was only second place. I'll take second place over last any day of the Christian week.
There seems to be a growing surge of rappers who embrace the basic ethos that separates entertainers from MC's. That's a good look for the culture, plus it's not like folks are running out to drop hard hustled recession dollars on physical albums anyway, even when the record is a genuinely good buy. Ask Raekwon & Slaughterhouse. Might as well give the people what they need, because what they want isn't always what's best for them. Like prostitute sex, regardless how good she looks, she's still a hooker, & we know you can do better than that, mayne.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Are You Guccified?
Gucci Mane is easily the most popular rapper right now. Ugh. Next to the dump truck loads of hate that T.I. is receiving for an early, early release, Gucci Gucci stays in people's mouths (no prison humor).
Not since Lil Wayne's proverbial apex roughly 2 years ago has there been such an even playing field of adoration & loathing. Really though, Gucci is one of only 2 rap acts on the Billboard top ten, as of today, or something like that. Don't quote me. Funny thing, I've only heard his music twice; on a family trip to Shreveport, Louisiana, where I don't necessarily expect them to know any better (no shots, but you should see some of their street lights), & at a DMV picnic, the perfect culmination of food, liquor & ignorance. Imagine the horror that surged my veins when I saw 8 year olds shaking their future thong holders to Gucci explaining the different ways he can beat up a vagina. My word, not his. Actually, there was one other time, but I didn't know it was Gooch until later. There was 3 extremely greasy young cats, smoking weed in their car, bouncing around & repeating "I'm the shit, bitch!" in time with the music. They couldn't have been older than 18, with their neon clad t-shirts & untamed multi-mullets. But, they looked like those 90 year old ladies who, when they get the Holy Ghost, James Brown up & down the church aisles. Silly, out-of-touch me, I had know idea what the big deal was, but my curiosity was piqued as they drove away in their Kia Sportage. Yeah, a Sportage, so they were probably gay too, in addition to being receptive to awesomely horrid "music". When I found out that was a Gucci Mane song, the puzzle pieces began to take shape. Those poor kids were being Guccified, right before my very eyes. Had I have known that then, I would've lunged into that little car, & attempted to rescue them from their fate. By now though, they've probably already gotten eyebrow & neck tattoos, & more neon shirts. Raekwon help us all.
I believe, in order to be a pop icon, there has to be an unlimited amount of ignorance within ink-covered arms distance. Remember how there was that one retarded kid at your school who EVERYBODY knew? Even the bullies, barely above him academically, had mad love for that critter. It's that same neanderthal appeal that draws massive amounts of clearly sane people into these pop culture phenomenons, subsequently lowering their standards & expectations to become part of the movement. Gucci Mane is as clearly a celebrity as he is a fool, so why would his celebration be any different? Answer: it's not.
Congratulations! You've been Guccified.
Nowadays, all the things that made a rapper an "MC" have been forsaken, lost, forgotten & replaced by the cloak of douchbaggery. Skills have taken a back seat to finance. When the argument is made that Gucci obviously lacks said skill set, the response in most cases is a warm-hearted, "Stop hatin', bitch! Gucci gettin' all dat paypah, fuck boy!". Or something to that effect. Talent is now overshadowed by appearance. Like a preacher; never mind how sincere his message may, or may not be, what truly matters how nice his suit & watch are, or in some cases, how fancy his robe is. Gucci is so high up on the "look at me" ladder that he doesn't even need to wear shirts. No clothing manufacturer's wares/wears can exemplify, or contain, such a tremendous amount of nigganometry. Seriously, Gucci is so hood that his magical tattoos probably incinerate shirts as soon as they touch his canvas-y flesh. Or maybe I'm over thinking it, & to him, it's not worth the hassle of pulling a $500 scmedium tee over your arms when they're covered with Wonder Woman bracelets & 2-3 divers watches.
[tony's note: gotta love that irony of divers watches on niggas that don't swim...]
For all Gucci Mane's mono-syllabic word play & modernized shuck & jive (complete with "chains & whips"), he seem cognizant enough to have embraced the concept of "hate". There are hordes, legions if you will, of anti-Gucci Maners, who spout nothing more than his hopeful demise. Publicity is publicity, whether good or abundantly bad. & on some level, he must understand that if one takes the time to say, or type "Fuck Gucci", then they have, in essence, taken the time to say, or type "Fuck Gucci". If he doesnt, then he wouldn't have so much zing in his voice when he scoffs at the haters who make him so, umm, popular. Dig, if X-amount of people continuously tell me how bad something is, at some point, if only out of sheer boredom, I'm going to try it at least once. Like the time I boned a really skinny girl just because I'd heard how unsatisfying an experience it would be.
[tony's other note: do not try that at home...]
My big homie Combat Jack had a drop on Daily-Math.com about how enamored he'd become with Gucci, against his will. Although I value his opinion as much as Dallas Penn's, I wasn't quite sold on giving G. Mane a voluntary listen until I got to the comments of the drop. "Wow", I thought aloud. 95% of the responses made this guy sound like the worst rapper ever. So naturally, I set aside any preconceived notions one would have about a nigga named "Gucci Mane", & gave him another shot. The music wasn't that bad. The music, meaning the instrumentation, production & mix-down of the song, mind you. The lyrics, however, made me feel like I forfeited my junior & senior years in high school. I found myself thinking twice before using any words with less than 3 syllables for the duration of that day. In his defense, though, I've never heard him say that he's the best rapper alive, or anything remotely close. I'm sure he'd confess to being extraordinarily mediocre, if his lexicon allowed either word. & I'm positive he couldn't care less about not having that accolade. Him receiving the newest cover of XXL doesn't help matters either, because there's undoubtedly a nation of under achieving up-&-coming rappers who'll follow his mold, without ever once attempting to be clever on the mic. & every time they see him count a stack of dough, or yank one of his slave chains in gaudy, tastless defiance, they'll lick their lips, knowing that the rap game ain't what it used to be.
Gucci Mane's success stems largely from his buffoonish behavior reaching comical levels. One would be hard pressed not to note that everytime he has an important album release date pending, he has an equally, if not more so, important court date looming as well. Coincidence? Possibly. Hilarious? Without a doubt. America's love affair for such stupidity is nothing new, but Hip Hop was an untapped resource for such idiocy about 15 years ago. Now, rappers provide just as much levity as Wee-man & Steve-O, back in their hey days, putting raw chickens in their adult diapers while wading a river chock with crocodiles. Imagine, as entertaining as "we" thought 50's online antics were over the last year or so, just imagine how funny it was to a room full of caucassian stuffed-shirts, who'd enjoy monkeys jumping around cages & throwing shit at each other just as much. If the monkey's hump trees, that's a bonus.
For what it's worth, God bless Gucci. I hope his success is long lasting. His kids should be straight, his bills should be paid, & just maybe he'll put all his profit to good use in his community. Yeah right. That nigga needs more jewelry & cars. He says so himself like, on every song. Even still, good luck & Godspeed Radrick, Dredrick, or whatever his momma named him.
Not since Lil Wayne's proverbial apex roughly 2 years ago has there been such an even playing field of adoration & loathing. Really though, Gucci is one of only 2 rap acts on the Billboard top ten, as of today, or something like that. Don't quote me. Funny thing, I've only heard his music twice; on a family trip to Shreveport, Louisiana, where I don't necessarily expect them to know any better (no shots, but you should see some of their street lights), & at a DMV picnic, the perfect culmination of food, liquor & ignorance. Imagine the horror that surged my veins when I saw 8 year olds shaking their future thong holders to Gucci explaining the different ways he can beat up a vagina. My word, not his. Actually, there was one other time, but I didn't know it was Gooch until later. There was 3 extremely greasy young cats, smoking weed in their car, bouncing around & repeating "I'm the shit, bitch!" in time with the music. They couldn't have been older than 18, with their neon clad t-shirts & untamed multi-mullets. But, they looked like those 90 year old ladies who, when they get the Holy Ghost, James Brown up & down the church aisles. Silly, out-of-touch me, I had know idea what the big deal was, but my curiosity was piqued as they drove away in their Kia Sportage. Yeah, a Sportage, so they were probably gay too, in addition to being receptive to awesomely horrid "music". When I found out that was a Gucci Mane song, the puzzle pieces began to take shape. Those poor kids were being Guccified, right before my very eyes. Had I have known that then, I would've lunged into that little car, & attempted to rescue them from their fate. By now though, they've probably already gotten eyebrow & neck tattoos, & more neon shirts. Raekwon help us all.
I believe, in order to be a pop icon, there has to be an unlimited amount of ignorance within ink-covered arms distance. Remember how there was that one retarded kid at your school who EVERYBODY knew? Even the bullies, barely above him academically, had mad love for that critter. It's that same neanderthal appeal that draws massive amounts of clearly sane people into these pop culture phenomenons, subsequently lowering their standards & expectations to become part of the movement. Gucci Mane is as clearly a celebrity as he is a fool, so why would his celebration be any different? Answer: it's not.
Congratulations! You've been Guccified.
Nowadays, all the things that made a rapper an "MC" have been forsaken, lost, forgotten & replaced by the cloak of douchbaggery. Skills have taken a back seat to finance. When the argument is made that Gucci obviously lacks said skill set, the response in most cases is a warm-hearted, "Stop hatin', bitch! Gucci gettin' all dat paypah, fuck boy!". Or something to that effect. Talent is now overshadowed by appearance. Like a preacher; never mind how sincere his message may, or may not be, what truly matters how nice his suit & watch are, or in some cases, how fancy his robe is. Gucci is so high up on the "look at me" ladder that he doesn't even need to wear shirts. No clothing manufacturer's wares/wears can exemplify, or contain, such a tremendous amount of nigganometry. Seriously, Gucci is so hood that his magical tattoos probably incinerate shirts as soon as they touch his canvas-y flesh. Or maybe I'm over thinking it, & to him, it's not worth the hassle of pulling a $500 scmedium tee over your arms when they're covered with Wonder Woman bracelets & 2-3 divers watches.
[tony's note: gotta love that irony of divers watches on niggas that don't swim...]
For all Gucci Mane's mono-syllabic word play & modernized shuck & jive (complete with "chains & whips"), he seem cognizant enough to have embraced the concept of "hate". There are hordes, legions if you will, of anti-Gucci Maners, who spout nothing more than his hopeful demise. Publicity is publicity, whether good or abundantly bad. & on some level, he must understand that if one takes the time to say, or type "Fuck Gucci", then they have, in essence, taken the time to say, or type "Fuck Gucci". If he doesnt, then he wouldn't have so much zing in his voice when he scoffs at the haters who make him so, umm, popular. Dig, if X-amount of people continuously tell me how bad something is, at some point, if only out of sheer boredom, I'm going to try it at least once. Like the time I boned a really skinny girl just because I'd heard how unsatisfying an experience it would be.
[tony's other note: do not try that at home...]
My big homie Combat Jack had a drop on Daily-Math.com about how enamored he'd become with Gucci, against his will. Although I value his opinion as much as Dallas Penn's, I wasn't quite sold on giving G. Mane a voluntary listen until I got to the comments of the drop. "Wow", I thought aloud. 95% of the responses made this guy sound like the worst rapper ever. So naturally, I set aside any preconceived notions one would have about a nigga named "Gucci Mane", & gave him another shot. The music wasn't that bad. The music, meaning the instrumentation, production & mix-down of the song, mind you. The lyrics, however, made me feel like I forfeited my junior & senior years in high school. I found myself thinking twice before using any words with less than 3 syllables for the duration of that day. In his defense, though, I've never heard him say that he's the best rapper alive, or anything remotely close. I'm sure he'd confess to being extraordinarily mediocre, if his lexicon allowed either word. & I'm positive he couldn't care less about not having that accolade. Him receiving the newest cover of XXL doesn't help matters either, because there's undoubtedly a nation of under achieving up-&-coming rappers who'll follow his mold, without ever once attempting to be clever on the mic. & every time they see him count a stack of dough, or yank one of his slave chains in gaudy, tastless defiance, they'll lick their lips, knowing that the rap game ain't what it used to be.
Gucci Mane's success stems largely from his buffoonish behavior reaching comical levels. One would be hard pressed not to note that everytime he has an important album release date pending, he has an equally, if not more so, important court date looming as well. Coincidence? Possibly. Hilarious? Without a doubt. America's love affair for such stupidity is nothing new, but Hip Hop was an untapped resource for such idiocy about 15 years ago. Now, rappers provide just as much levity as Wee-man & Steve-O, back in their hey days, putting raw chickens in their adult diapers while wading a river chock with crocodiles. Imagine, as entertaining as "we" thought 50's online antics were over the last year or so, just imagine how funny it was to a room full of caucassian stuffed-shirts, who'd enjoy monkeys jumping around cages & throwing shit at each other just as much. If the monkey's hump trees, that's a bonus.
For what it's worth, God bless Gucci. I hope his success is long lasting. His kids should be straight, his bills should be paid, & just maybe he'll put all his profit to good use in his community. Yeah right. That nigga needs more jewelry & cars. He says so himself like, on every song. Even still, good luck & Godspeed Radrick, Dredrick, or whatever his momma named him.
Monday, December 21, 2009
The Night Before: A Holiday Poem By Tony Grands
'Twas the night before Christmas, & all through da hood,
one time stayed on watch for cats up to no good,
The stockin's were hung up with tacks by the door,
'Cuz it ain't no damn chim-a-neys on the first floor,
All day there was clamor & noise in the street,
'Cuz the gas man done came & he turned off the heat,
But that's not enough to stop niggas from blazin',
What potheads will do to get high is amazin',
They gathered their quarters & counted their nickels,
But left out the pennies 'cuz the weed man is fickle,
Who cares 'bout the weather-the rain & the breeze,
As long as there's Swishers & bags full of trees,
Egg nog is for squares & the taste makes 'em squimish,
So real nigs celebrate by sippin Olde English,
All they want from Santa is intoxication,
& not to get knocked for parole violation,
Too high to sing carols-the words they'd forgotten,
Called up a few hoodrats & asked 'em what's poppin',
"Ain't nothin'" the rats said & bid them farewell,
Cuz broke dudes can't help them with their hair & nails,
No gas for the heater-but they still had power,
& all the Doritos 4 dudes could devour,
They played PS3-Madden 10 as always,
Then heard heavy footsteps stomping down the hallway,
The rent was past due & the landlord was comin,
They sobered up quickly-tried to think of somethin',
He banged on the front door confusin the thugs,
That spent all their rent money on booze & drugs,
"Hold up!" they yelled out & started to panic,
Not knowin' what he said 'cuz he's speakin' spanish,
"It's Christmas, amigo-show us some compassion!",
What he said translates into "Fuck your Black asses!",
"By this time tomorrow you'd better be gone!",
"Or you'll sit on your couch while it sits on the lawn!",
They pleaded but he wasn't moved one iota,
They offered him weed, chips, even a soda,
He said "Never mind this-I'm calling the cops!",
Then a noise from the roof caused the landlord to stop,
"On Dancer, on Cupid, on Donder, on Blitzen",
Niggas ran to the broken window in the kitchen,
"On Dasher, on Prancer, on Comet, on Vixen!",
The landlord was too shocked to continue bitchin',
"Whoa Rudolph" the voice said-it sounded so odd,
& niggas was so high they thought it was God
The voice started laffin'-so seemingly jolly,
One nigga said "That's Joe the Crackhead, prolly",
They opened the door & looked at the front entrance,
A White man? Around here? That's quite suspicious,
No badge on his jacket-no gun in a holster,
He had a big velvet bag over his shoulder,
He said "Ho Ho Ho"-they looked 'round for Renee,
But that Hoe was home, she don't work holidays,
The niggas stared at 'em-wide eyes & dropped jaws,
One said "What the fuck? Is that Santa Claus?",
Just then Santa waved-turned around & he vanished,
The landlord amazed, mumbled somethin' in spanish,
The landlord just walked off, clearly in awe,
& the niggas couldn't figure out what they just saw,
Went back inside-looked at the clock & their watches,
12am, then they saw all types of boxes,
With laughter so nervous-like something was funny,
First box that they opened had bills & rent money,
They counted & counted it-like they were rich,
That really WAS Santa? Damn-ain't that a bitch?
They called up the landlord & told him no worry,
Your money's right here-come get it & please hurry,
He said he'll be there in the mornin'-"I'm tired",
That shit freaked him out-he went home & got wired,
Just then they heard *pop pop*-a thud in the bushes,
They ran to the window-all shovin' & pushin',
Some car tires screechin & somebody yellin',
Laid out was poor Santa-got shot in the melon,
Headed to the rooftop, he started to fly,
Just as some young knuckleheads did a drive-by,
The reindeer had fled-scared away by the sound,
& their master-dear St. Nick-was dead on the ground,
They dialed 911, but what could they tell 'em?,
That Santa caught a hot slug in his cerebellum?,
Even when it's real people cops take 'bout an hour,
So they got Santa's corpse & put him in their shower,
Some hours passed by & cops finally came,
They told them what happened-with no one to blame,
So the cops called for back up & pulled out their cuffs,
No witnesses either, they were shit outta luck,
In back of patrol cars-headed down to the station,
Charged with murder one & parole violations,
The coroner took Santa to the morgue in his van,
To perform the autopsy that was part of the plan,
But when they arrived & opened up the back,
The stretcher was empty & the white sheet was flat,
"This is some kind of joke, it must be" it was weird,
But the joke was on him, Santa just disappeared,
But still, the cops kept them niggas in cages,
They been doin' this type shit to Black folks for ages,
The moral of this story-to say the least,
is follow your gut & don't trust the police.
one time stayed on watch for cats up to no good,
The stockin's were hung up with tacks by the door,
'Cuz it ain't no damn chim-a-neys on the first floor,
All day there was clamor & noise in the street,
'Cuz the gas man done came & he turned off the heat,
But that's not enough to stop niggas from blazin',
What potheads will do to get high is amazin',
They gathered their quarters & counted their nickels,
But left out the pennies 'cuz the weed man is fickle,
Who cares 'bout the weather-the rain & the breeze,
As long as there's Swishers & bags full of trees,
Egg nog is for squares & the taste makes 'em squimish,
So real nigs celebrate by sippin Olde English,
All they want from Santa is intoxication,
& not to get knocked for parole violation,
Too high to sing carols-the words they'd forgotten,
Called up a few hoodrats & asked 'em what's poppin',
"Ain't nothin'" the rats said & bid them farewell,
Cuz broke dudes can't help them with their hair & nails,
No gas for the heater-but they still had power,
& all the Doritos 4 dudes could devour,
They played PS3-Madden 10 as always,
Then heard heavy footsteps stomping down the hallway,
The rent was past due & the landlord was comin,
They sobered up quickly-tried to think of somethin',
He banged on the front door confusin the thugs,
That spent all their rent money on booze & drugs,
"Hold up!" they yelled out & started to panic,
Not knowin' what he said 'cuz he's speakin' spanish,
"It's Christmas, amigo-show us some compassion!",
What he said translates into "Fuck your Black asses!",
"By this time tomorrow you'd better be gone!",
"Or you'll sit on your couch while it sits on the lawn!",
They pleaded but he wasn't moved one iota,
They offered him weed, chips, even a soda,
He said "Never mind this-I'm calling the cops!",
Then a noise from the roof caused the landlord to stop,
"On Dancer, on Cupid, on Donder, on Blitzen",
Niggas ran to the broken window in the kitchen,
"On Dasher, on Prancer, on Comet, on Vixen!",
The landlord was too shocked to continue bitchin',
"Whoa Rudolph" the voice said-it sounded so odd,
& niggas was so high they thought it was God
The voice started laffin'-so seemingly jolly,
One nigga said "That's Joe the Crackhead, prolly",
They opened the door & looked at the front entrance,
A White man? Around here? That's quite suspicious,
No badge on his jacket-no gun in a holster,
He had a big velvet bag over his shoulder,
He said "Ho Ho Ho"-they looked 'round for Renee,
But that Hoe was home, she don't work holidays,
The niggas stared at 'em-wide eyes & dropped jaws,
One said "What the fuck? Is that Santa Claus?",
Just then Santa waved-turned around & he vanished,
The landlord amazed, mumbled somethin' in spanish,
The landlord just walked off, clearly in awe,
& the niggas couldn't figure out what they just saw,
Went back inside-looked at the clock & their watches,
12am, then they saw all types of boxes,
With laughter so nervous-like something was funny,
First box that they opened had bills & rent money,
They counted & counted it-like they were rich,
That really WAS Santa? Damn-ain't that a bitch?
They called up the landlord & told him no worry,
Your money's right here-come get it & please hurry,
He said he'll be there in the mornin'-"I'm tired",
That shit freaked him out-he went home & got wired,
Just then they heard *pop pop*-a thud in the bushes,
They ran to the window-all shovin' & pushin',
Some car tires screechin & somebody yellin',
Laid out was poor Santa-got shot in the melon,
Headed to the rooftop, he started to fly,
Just as some young knuckleheads did a drive-by,
The reindeer had fled-scared away by the sound,
& their master-dear St. Nick-was dead on the ground,
They dialed 911, but what could they tell 'em?,
That Santa caught a hot slug in his cerebellum?,
Even when it's real people cops take 'bout an hour,
So they got Santa's corpse & put him in their shower,
Some hours passed by & cops finally came,
They told them what happened-with no one to blame,
So the cops called for back up & pulled out their cuffs,
No witnesses either, they were shit outta luck,
In back of patrol cars-headed down to the station,
Charged with murder one & parole violations,
The coroner took Santa to the morgue in his van,
To perform the autopsy that was part of the plan,
But when they arrived & opened up the back,
The stretcher was empty & the white sheet was flat,
"This is some kind of joke, it must be" it was weird,
But the joke was on him, Santa just disappeared,
But still, the cops kept them niggas in cages,
They been doin' this type shit to Black folks for ages,
The moral of this story-to say the least,
is follow your gut & don't trust the police.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Douche Nozzle of the Decade
'Entertainment Weekly' just announced that Kanye West's debut album, 'College Dropout', is the album of the decade. Whether I agree or not is unimportant. What is important however, is that I'm always suspicious of a bunch of White people telling me how good something is. I'm almost positive the exact same thing happened in Africa, some half a millennium ago, when a bunch of filthy, underweight, scurvy-infected pirates convinced a handful of tribal patriarchs that their servants & field hands would enjoy a trip on their big, shiny boats. You see where that got us, right? If I was a (bigger) douche nozzle, I'd say that by that same standard, people should've been leary of Barack Obama. Just saying. Anyway, these so-called "Best of..." lists are always funny to me, because who decides who wins & loses? Somebody somewhere is always winning some type of award, but who the fuck has the say so?
Case in point; Flo Rida's album 'R.O.O.T.S.' was nominated for a Grammy. Dude, the only people I know that have his album are horny fat chicks & openly gay guys. Not that I condone either lifestyle, but I don't judge. I'm not to familiar with the Grammy nomination process, but I know Flo Rida's music is shit biscuits. No shots, but I just don't get how his music is worthy of such a prestigious accolade. That 'Low' song is at least a year & a half old, & it's not even on this 'R.O.O.T.S.' album. It would appear he's paid a visit to those homo's & hippo's, but what do I know? The closest I've ever been to a "Grammy" was not being able to pronounce my mom's mom's name correctly as a toddler, so eff my opinion regardless.
I don't know if Kanye's album was they best of a ten-year period, but it was damn good. & I don't need a bunch of soccer moms who think fist-bumps are cool to convince me of that. Hip Hop-wise, I'd be more apt to say it was 50 Cent's 'Get Rich Or Die Tryin', but I like my music with a little aggression. Kanye, even when he throws out a curse word or two, is always a safe bet. On the other hand, I'd definitely give him the "Douche Bag of the Decade" award. The only possible way he could be more of a jerk is if he shaved off his mustache. Only a tool bag would carry around man bags & wear a shag long enough to trick uppity negro babies into thinking it was cool, then swiftly cut it off. Only an asshole would walk a red carpet holding a bottle of Hennessey, swigging away like he hated his liver, on camera. I know hard body alcoholics, with no morals or standards, who wouldn't do that, because they know how pompous they'd look. Poor & dirty, but pompous nonetheless.
Many have said it before, but Kanye's "life threatening" car accident was indeed the turning point in his life, & career as well. But, the audience missed the point. The song 'Through The Wire' wasn't about overcoming adversity to become a champion. It was a direct slap in our faces, an advertisement that he was now transformed into a bigger, stronger Kanye. & he's better than everyone. That's the kind of impetuous attitude one must have to walk into Louis Vuitton's home building & demand an internship. Shit, niggas wouldn't walk into Macy's & demand a job, so that's an example of the elephant balls dude's got tucked away in his mandex jeans. Let us be reminded that this man went on record, research if you choose, saying that he would prefer to be referred to as Martin Louis the King, Jr. Wtf?
I'm positive Kanye smokes clove cigarettes. If you've ever met anyway who smokes clove cigarettes, you know exactly what I'm talking about.
One has to wonder, if you will, what types of shenanigans this cat has up his sleeves for 2010. He'd be hard pressed to top schmedium mohawks & sunglasses that resemble window blinds. If he & Amber Rose get married, like they're rumored to do, then he will have legitimately become rap music's David Bowie. A misunderstood sonic genius, trapped in shiny, too small clothing with an exotic, overrated model by his side. & before Brad Garrett & Mike Tyson made it trendy to spaz on paparazzi, Kanye was in Europe, surrounded by what seemed to be flamboyant superheroes, screaming at the top of his shirt-constricted lungs about his right to privacy. The same privacy one forfeits once they decide to tread down the road of popular music. The same privacy that douches expect to have, as you go out & support their products, even when they do their best Peter Frampton impersonations.
[tony's note: peter frampton was using the vocorder long before roger troutman...]
Since these "list" are so important to modern society, unlike homelessness, disease & poverty, I'm sure he'll end up on some "People to watch" compilation with other like-minded doorknobs. Expect him to buy some African kids, move to Russia, get a reality show, or stop wearing shoes altogether, within the next 10 years.
[tony's next note: if i left out any jackassery, feel free to remind me...]
Case in point; Flo Rida's album 'R.O.O.T.S.' was nominated for a Grammy. Dude, the only people I know that have his album are horny fat chicks & openly gay guys. Not that I condone either lifestyle, but I don't judge. I'm not to familiar with the Grammy nomination process, but I know Flo Rida's music is shit biscuits. No shots, but I just don't get how his music is worthy of such a prestigious accolade. That 'Low' song is at least a year & a half old, & it's not even on this 'R.O.O.T.S.' album. It would appear he's paid a visit to those homo's & hippo's, but what do I know? The closest I've ever been to a "Grammy" was not being able to pronounce my mom's mom's name correctly as a toddler, so eff my opinion regardless.
I don't know if Kanye's album was they best of a ten-year period, but it was damn good. & I don't need a bunch of soccer moms who think fist-bumps are cool to convince me of that. Hip Hop-wise, I'd be more apt to say it was 50 Cent's 'Get Rich Or Die Tryin', but I like my music with a little aggression. Kanye, even when he throws out a curse word or two, is always a safe bet. On the other hand, I'd definitely give him the "Douche Bag of the Decade" award. The only possible way he could be more of a jerk is if he shaved off his mustache. Only a tool bag would carry around man bags & wear a shag long enough to trick uppity negro babies into thinking it was cool, then swiftly cut it off. Only an asshole would walk a red carpet holding a bottle of Hennessey, swigging away like he hated his liver, on camera. I know hard body alcoholics, with no morals or standards, who wouldn't do that, because they know how pompous they'd look. Poor & dirty, but pompous nonetheless.
Many have said it before, but Kanye's "life threatening" car accident was indeed the turning point in his life, & career as well. But, the audience missed the point. The song 'Through The Wire' wasn't about overcoming adversity to become a champion. It was a direct slap in our faces, an advertisement that he was now transformed into a bigger, stronger Kanye. & he's better than everyone. That's the kind of impetuous attitude one must have to walk into Louis Vuitton's home building & demand an internship. Shit, niggas wouldn't walk into Macy's & demand a job, so that's an example of the elephant balls dude's got tucked away in his mandex jeans. Let us be reminded that this man went on record, research if you choose, saying that he would prefer to be referred to as Martin Louis the King, Jr. Wtf?
I'm positive Kanye smokes clove cigarettes. If you've ever met anyway who smokes clove cigarettes, you know exactly what I'm talking about.
One has to wonder, if you will, what types of shenanigans this cat has up his sleeves for 2010. He'd be hard pressed to top schmedium mohawks & sunglasses that resemble window blinds. If he & Amber Rose get married, like they're rumored to do, then he will have legitimately become rap music's David Bowie. A misunderstood sonic genius, trapped in shiny, too small clothing with an exotic, overrated model by his side. & before Brad Garrett & Mike Tyson made it trendy to spaz on paparazzi, Kanye was in Europe, surrounded by what seemed to be flamboyant superheroes, screaming at the top of his shirt-constricted lungs about his right to privacy. The same privacy one forfeits once they decide to tread down the road of popular music. The same privacy that douches expect to have, as you go out & support their products, even when they do their best Peter Frampton impersonations.
[tony's note: peter frampton was using the vocorder long before roger troutman...]
Since these "list" are so important to modern society, unlike homelessness, disease & poverty, I'm sure he'll end up on some "People to watch" compilation with other like-minded doorknobs. Expect him to buy some African kids, move to Russia, get a reality show, or stop wearing shoes altogether, within the next 10 years.
[tony's next note: if i left out any jackassery, feel free to remind me...]
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Bran Flakes
For what it's worth, Nicki Minaj is eye candy. Don't know how bright she is, not really concerned about how well she raps, but if nothing else, she can take her shirt off & do some jumping jacks, & all would be good. Can I get an amen? That's the role of the female rapper these days. Soft porn with a voice over. & who knows, maybe Remy Ma is penning super-raps in between doing push-ups & taking soups & spreads from lesser hoes, but with all the bitchassness in Hip Hop, we really don't NEED females to rap, per se. I, for one, can only spend but so much time in a sausage factory, & would appreciate the ladies touch, but these days it's either skank skeezer or dyke butch. Or, an odd combination of the two, which just takes me right back to all the rap dudes who have vaginises.
[tony's note: vaginas + penises =...]
So, what would you do if you were a semi-famous, out of work r&b starlette? Well of course, try to satisfy Hip Hop's feminine void. That's where 'Bran Nu' steps into the game. Y'all might remember her as Fredro Starr's jump-off, Moesha, from the "hit" TV series 'Moesha'. The show with the two fat chicks & the post-Urkel, pre-Jordan geeky black kid with huge ears. He never did grow into them joints. Brandy Norwood, Rodney Jerkins' ex-wife, is throwing her weave into the ring as an MC. Why, you ask? It may have something to do with 'Moesha' not being in syndication anymore, or that song 'I wanna be down' was a cry for Hip Hip acceptance. Either way, I don't see much transpiring from this.
Maybe she saw Drake singing, acting & rapping, & figured she's a big enough star to pull off the trifecta as well. She has a rappity-rap song on Timbaland's latest release, 'Shock Value 2', but where the hell is Magoo? I'd much rather hear him humpty-dumpty his way across futuristic triple-time drum sequences than the other girl from 'The Boy Is Mine'. Monica has a TV show. & so does her brother, Ray J. Just saying.
“What I’m doing on the album is a little bit different than what everybody knows me for. It was a great experience. I got a chance to be another part of myself,”- Brandy via AllHipHop.com
If I was her, I'd get some breast implants & the best ghostwriter coochie can buy. Otherwise, this may go down as a horrible career move. Again, Monica has a TV show. Mediocre rapstresses are nothing new, plus it's hard to follow behind the imprints left by Lyte, L-Boogie, Lil Kim & Fox Brown. The main factor in being a femcee is "sexability" these days, & in all my years of watching 'Moesha' (y'all niggas watched it, too!), I never once thought to myself, "word, I wanna hit that". Yes hetero. What's she going to rap about anyway? Gunning down fellow lady rappers? No dice. Sex? Eh. Women's liberation? Look, if I wanted to hear a Black chick yammer about the fruits of equality, I'd call my grandmother while she's watching Oprah Windbag.
Think about it: Jean Grae can't make it because the game doesn't respect her. Nicki Minaj won't make it because the people don't respect her. Where would Moesha fit in to this cycle? If I don't like Coke & can't stomach 7-up, then I damn sure don't want that generic grocery store sugar water. Watered down r&b songs are user-friendly. However, watered down Hip Hop is an attack on my intelligence. Then again, she could be opening up a whole new market: Menstrual flow. & for a week each month, while women bleed, bloat & bitch, she can provide a soundtrack. Kind of like how 'Coke Rap' comes off really well between the 1st & the 15th every single month, no doubt about it.
Being a female rap star is hard enough with certain aspects working FOR you. I guess she doesn't follow rap music that closely.
[tony's note: vaginas + penises =...]
So, what would you do if you were a semi-famous, out of work r&b starlette? Well of course, try to satisfy Hip Hop's feminine void. That's where 'Bran Nu' steps into the game. Y'all might remember her as Fredro Starr's jump-off, Moesha, from the "hit" TV series 'Moesha'. The show with the two fat chicks & the post-Urkel, pre-Jordan geeky black kid with huge ears. He never did grow into them joints. Brandy Norwood, Rodney Jerkins' ex-wife, is throwing her weave into the ring as an MC. Why, you ask? It may have something to do with 'Moesha' not being in syndication anymore, or that song 'I wanna be down' was a cry for Hip Hip acceptance. Either way, I don't see much transpiring from this.
Maybe she saw Drake singing, acting & rapping, & figured she's a big enough star to pull off the trifecta as well. She has a rappity-rap song on Timbaland's latest release, 'Shock Value 2', but where the hell is Magoo? I'd much rather hear him humpty-dumpty his way across futuristic triple-time drum sequences than the other girl from 'The Boy Is Mine'. Monica has a TV show. & so does her brother, Ray J. Just saying.
“What I’m doing on the album is a little bit different than what everybody knows me for. It was a great experience. I got a chance to be another part of myself,”- Brandy via AllHipHop.com
If I was her, I'd get some breast implants & the best ghostwriter coochie can buy. Otherwise, this may go down as a horrible career move. Again, Monica has a TV show. Mediocre rapstresses are nothing new, plus it's hard to follow behind the imprints left by Lyte, L-Boogie, Lil Kim & Fox Brown. The main factor in being a femcee is "sexability" these days, & in all my years of watching 'Moesha' (y'all niggas watched it, too!), I never once thought to myself, "word, I wanna hit that". Yes hetero. What's she going to rap about anyway? Gunning down fellow lady rappers? No dice. Sex? Eh. Women's liberation? Look, if I wanted to hear a Black chick yammer about the fruits of equality, I'd call my grandmother while she's watching Oprah Windbag.
Think about it: Jean Grae can't make it because the game doesn't respect her. Nicki Minaj won't make it because the people don't respect her. Where would Moesha fit in to this cycle? If I don't like Coke & can't stomach 7-up, then I damn sure don't want that generic grocery store sugar water. Watered down r&b songs are user-friendly. However, watered down Hip Hop is an attack on my intelligence. Then again, she could be opening up a whole new market: Menstrual flow. & for a week each month, while women bleed, bloat & bitch, she can provide a soundtrack. Kind of like how 'Coke Rap' comes off really well between the 1st & the 15th every single month, no doubt about it.
Being a female rap star is hard enough with certain aspects working FOR you. I guess she doesn't follow rap music that closely.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Hip Hop for Vegetarians
I really hope this rumor about Jay-Z doing the 'Empire State of Mind' remix with NaS AND 50 Cent isn't true. Think of the possibilities...
Is this where it's headed? 2009 was the year of the emo-rapper, I get that. I kinda figured 2010 would find us with more emo-thugs, like Game. Imagine how I felt when my dude Don McCaine dropped this info on me last night. For the sake of conversation, I'm just going to consider it true, not to mention it's plastered on the interwebs. & we all know everything on the 'Net is factual.
After a less than excited Young Jeezy made amends with an incarcerated Gucci Mane, & "Freeway" Rick Ross wrangled a handful of unimportant Hip Hop "stars" for a peace summit (via telephone--do people still use those things?), I guess I should've expected so much. Well, maybe not something of this magnitude. NaS, I could see him squashing all unnecessary beefs, for the sake of making all the dough he can. Hell, he might want to start making some new friends while he's at it. Just saying. But if this is Jay's way of being the bigger man, I fear it will backfire in a most unattractive way. As much as I'm a fan of Curtis Jackson, I'm aware that he's not to be trusted further than he can be thrown. & Jay's never appeared terribly muscular to me. There are just certain things you can't do, when it comes to disagreements.
My nigga Federal Ranga (www.youtube.com/federalranga) addressed "beefs" on his vlog, & made some good points as to when not to bow down. This, for Jigga Man, is one of those times. Even if, as I read on the grossly misspelled pages of AllHipHop.com, this is for the unification of New York, 50's a bully. This move would be the equivalent of buying your ex-wife's boyfriend lunch, after you found out she was pregnant by him. You're already kind of removed from ground zero, but it still stings enough to where a handshake is about as far as the relationship can go. & as he sips his Ice Tea, & makes small talk about sports, all he's thinking is, "Ha ha, that's my uterus now, punk!". If Jay wants to prove to the fans that he's bigger [||], than have lunch with the nigga at one of the L.A. spots that the paparazzi seem to sleep outside of. But, to put him on a song with you? That's just too close for comfort, no Monroe.
To the outside world, that would just seem like a chump way to go out. Granted, 50 hasn't launched a furious attack on Jay (yet...), but he's made it clear that he takes him for a joke. I applaud Jay for not lowering himself to such standards, but he hasn't responded on wax at all. If you've been on that high road all this time, there's no reason to deviate. Really though, if Beyonce had've kicked Kelly Rowlands' ass the other day at court, we wouldn't even be having this conversation.
For the record, I don't believe it to be true, but I also laughed when cats told me that Jay was taking Oprah Windbag to the projects. Imagine my surprise when I saw footage of them sitting on some steps discussing why he smelled so good. It was probably a crack house nearby, & we all know Oprah used to-never mind.
This takes me back to my initial question...is this where it's headed? Is "friendly guy" the new "mad rapper"? I hope not. It's not that I like beef, but put it this way; would you watch football if all the players were buddies, & knew each other's moms' & shit? Hell nah, because than it would be like a flag football game. Same with Hip Hop. If everybody's "cool" with one another, then where's the competitive nature? "Friendly competition" is an actual phrase simply because there's nothing "friendly" about wanting to crush your opponent. & let us not forget Laws of Power #3, #14, & #21, because I'll bet my collection of porn that Curtis hasn't.
[tony's note: yeah, you need to get that book...]
This could set off quite the chain of events, & rest assured Game would be the first link. This collaboration would certainly be enough to set his ADD/Bi-polar disorder into over drive. Dude might kill himself in the vocal booth, while recording a song, just to let niggas know he serious he is about his beef. & Beans would most likely just stop rapping all together, & take it back to the block, literally & figuratively. Them dudes would need MORE security at that point, because I imagine Beanie would be at every show he could, waiting to rob them cats time after time. Like the industry's personal Deebo.
I'm sure we've all heard that LOX are releasing their next album on Bad Boy, after quelling their feud. & Puff & Jay have been hanging out with each other lately. & Puffy Combs is the devil. & Jay-Z worships the devil. If Jay is bringing 50 into this realm, do the math. If Beyonce starts singing Aaliyah songs, I'm getting the fuck out of dodge.
Stay tuned as this drama unfolds.
Is this where it's headed? 2009 was the year of the emo-rapper, I get that. I kinda figured 2010 would find us with more emo-thugs, like Game. Imagine how I felt when my dude Don McCaine dropped this info on me last night. For the sake of conversation, I'm just going to consider it true, not to mention it's plastered on the interwebs. & we all know everything on the 'Net is factual.
After a less than excited Young Jeezy made amends with an incarcerated Gucci Mane, & "Freeway" Rick Ross wrangled a handful of unimportant Hip Hop "stars" for a peace summit (via telephone--do people still use those things?), I guess I should've expected so much. Well, maybe not something of this magnitude. NaS, I could see him squashing all unnecessary beefs, for the sake of making all the dough he can. Hell, he might want to start making some new friends while he's at it. Just saying. But if this is Jay's way of being the bigger man, I fear it will backfire in a most unattractive way. As much as I'm a fan of Curtis Jackson, I'm aware that he's not to be trusted further than he can be thrown. & Jay's never appeared terribly muscular to me. There are just certain things you can't do, when it comes to disagreements.
My nigga Federal Ranga (www.youtube.com/federalranga) addressed "beefs" on his vlog, & made some good points as to when not to bow down. This, for Jigga Man, is one of those times. Even if, as I read on the grossly misspelled pages of AllHipHop.com, this is for the unification of New York, 50's a bully. This move would be the equivalent of buying your ex-wife's boyfriend lunch, after you found out she was pregnant by him. You're already kind of removed from ground zero, but it still stings enough to where a handshake is about as far as the relationship can go. & as he sips his Ice Tea, & makes small talk about sports, all he's thinking is, "Ha ha, that's my uterus now, punk!". If Jay wants to prove to the fans that he's bigger [||], than have lunch with the nigga at one of the L.A. spots that the paparazzi seem to sleep outside of. But, to put him on a song with you? That's just too close for comfort, no Monroe.
To the outside world, that would just seem like a chump way to go out. Granted, 50 hasn't launched a furious attack on Jay (yet...), but he's made it clear that he takes him for a joke. I applaud Jay for not lowering himself to such standards, but he hasn't responded on wax at all. If you've been on that high road all this time, there's no reason to deviate. Really though, if Beyonce had've kicked Kelly Rowlands' ass the other day at court, we wouldn't even be having this conversation.
For the record, I don't believe it to be true, but I also laughed when cats told me that Jay was taking Oprah Windbag to the projects. Imagine my surprise when I saw footage of them sitting on some steps discussing why he smelled so good. It was probably a crack house nearby, & we all know Oprah used to-never mind.
This takes me back to my initial question...is this where it's headed? Is "friendly guy" the new "mad rapper"? I hope not. It's not that I like beef, but put it this way; would you watch football if all the players were buddies, & knew each other's moms' & shit? Hell nah, because than it would be like a flag football game. Same with Hip Hop. If everybody's "cool" with one another, then where's the competitive nature? "Friendly competition" is an actual phrase simply because there's nothing "friendly" about wanting to crush your opponent. & let us not forget Laws of Power #3, #14, & #21, because I'll bet my collection of porn that Curtis hasn't.
[tony's note: yeah, you need to get that book...]
This could set off quite the chain of events, & rest assured Game would be the first link. This collaboration would certainly be enough to set his ADD/Bi-polar disorder into over drive. Dude might kill himself in the vocal booth, while recording a song, just to let niggas know he serious he is about his beef. & Beans would most likely just stop rapping all together, & take it back to the block, literally & figuratively. Them dudes would need MORE security at that point, because I imagine Beanie would be at every show he could, waiting to rob them cats time after time. Like the industry's personal Deebo.
I'm sure we've all heard that LOX are releasing their next album on Bad Boy, after quelling their feud. & Puff & Jay have been hanging out with each other lately. & Puffy Combs is the devil. & Jay-Z worships the devil. If Jay is bringing 50 into this realm, do the math. If Beyonce starts singing Aaliyah songs, I'm getting the fuck out of dodge.
Stay tuned as this drama unfolds.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
a Tiger in the doghouse
How long did Tiger think this fantastic voyage would last?
Certain forces cannot be contained forever. Especially one with such fortitude & resilience as being a Black man, regardless of what other race he's cut with. Tiger stopped acting like a Black man years ago, but there was never any denying that he's a nigga, through & through. All that Nike money helped replace menthol loosies with Cuban hand-rolled cigars, & backyard bbq's are now literal backyard golf tourneys, but high society snobbery is no match for nigganomics. That type shit is universal, like the word "no".
When Tiger Woods first burst on the scene, the commotion wasn't from his god-like golfing ability, but rather is dual ethnicity. What began as murmurs of "How dare this jigaboo play our game so well?" evolved into "Oh, he's only half-Black. Never mind, it's cool". & like that, America forgot that it's newest, club-swinging sweetheart was in fact a Black dude. For the longest, I really didn't see what was all that "Black" about him until I saw his Snow Bunny wife. If getting rich & wifing a white chick doesn't scream "successful Black athlete", then I don't know what does.
[tony's note: wife whips that ass for cheating, busts out your car window & not snitching on her=nigga shit...]
See, I call it the "Werewolf Theory". No matter how white-washed & multicultural a brother may be, certain situations are like a nigga full moon (Wesley Snipes, anyone?). Enhanced White chicks notwithstanding. For all we know, Tiger has his own Popeye's built into his mansion. That would possibly explain why he always appears to have eaten his chap stick. Chicken grease is the most hardbody lip gloss ever. I've seen that shit go head up against Ivory soap & emerge victorious.
The White women are out the bag, the police are lurking around, Tiger has no choice but to sip some cognac & let the transformation take place. What goes ignored, however, is that he's half Asian also. Theoretically, he's probably 3 steps ahead of the cops by now, with scientific notions & mathematic equations to keep his boo out of harm's way, like any real nigga would.
In all his successful year's as America's poster boy mulatto, he might've forgotten that he was half-Black. I'm sure he was reminded as his wife haymaker'd him & chased him down their luxurious driveway with one of his signature golf clubs in tow, though. & I'm positive the sentence "Ya Black ass!" had to be muttered at least once. It's only right. She must not be familiar with the beloved antics of one Orenthal James Simpson. Or maybe even she forgot he was par Black as well, & by the time she remembered, it's was too late.
Now Tiger has called off of his own Tournament. I guess that was easier than wearing some big ass sunglasses to hide the black eye she gave him. Domestic violence is real people, & if you don't believe Tiger's doctors, ask Al Green's face. Then again, this could all be one big misunderstanding, & if that's the case, then Tiger my money's on Tiger being a tremendous closet drunk, & it's the White woman who truly came to his rescue. Which is probably why he got with her in the first place.
Certain forces cannot be contained forever. Especially one with such fortitude & resilience as being a Black man, regardless of what other race he's cut with. Tiger stopped acting like a Black man years ago, but there was never any denying that he's a nigga, through & through. All that Nike money helped replace menthol loosies with Cuban hand-rolled cigars, & backyard bbq's are now literal backyard golf tourneys, but high society snobbery is no match for nigganomics. That type shit is universal, like the word "no".
When Tiger Woods first burst on the scene, the commotion wasn't from his god-like golfing ability, but rather is dual ethnicity. What began as murmurs of "How dare this jigaboo play our game so well?" evolved into "Oh, he's only half-Black. Never mind, it's cool". & like that, America forgot that it's newest, club-swinging sweetheart was in fact a Black dude. For the longest, I really didn't see what was all that "Black" about him until I saw his Snow Bunny wife. If getting rich & wifing a white chick doesn't scream "successful Black athlete", then I don't know what does.
[tony's note: wife whips that ass for cheating, busts out your car window & not snitching on her=nigga shit...]
See, I call it the "Werewolf Theory". No matter how white-washed & multicultural a brother may be, certain situations are like a nigga full moon (Wesley Snipes, anyone?). Enhanced White chicks notwithstanding. For all we know, Tiger has his own Popeye's built into his mansion. That would possibly explain why he always appears to have eaten his chap stick. Chicken grease is the most hardbody lip gloss ever. I've seen that shit go head up against Ivory soap & emerge victorious.
The White women are out the bag, the police are lurking around, Tiger has no choice but to sip some cognac & let the transformation take place. What goes ignored, however, is that he's half Asian also. Theoretically, he's probably 3 steps ahead of the cops by now, with scientific notions & mathematic equations to keep his boo out of harm's way, like any real nigga would.
In all his successful year's as America's poster boy mulatto, he might've forgotten that he was half-Black. I'm sure he was reminded as his wife haymaker'd him & chased him down their luxurious driveway with one of his signature golf clubs in tow, though. & I'm positive the sentence "Ya Black ass!" had to be muttered at least once. It's only right. She must not be familiar with the beloved antics of one Orenthal James Simpson. Or maybe even she forgot he was par Black as well, & by the time she remembered, it's was too late.
Now Tiger has called off of his own Tournament. I guess that was easier than wearing some big ass sunglasses to hide the black eye she gave him. Domestic violence is real people, & if you don't believe Tiger's doctors, ask Al Green's face. Then again, this could all be one big misunderstanding, & if that's the case, then Tiger my money's on Tiger being a tremendous closet drunk, & it's the White woman who truly came to his rescue. Which is probably why he got with her in the first place.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Fact, Fantasy, Fiddy, & Freddy...
*puts on bulletproof vest*
I like 50 Cent, the rapper. I really don't think he's that bad at what he does. He brags, boasts, fronts, stunts, flosses, shines & all the other coontastic buffoonery that makes a successful gangsta rapper. What he eats doesn't make me shit, & like the next man, I'm a sucker for an aggressive beat & suggestive lyrics. Throw in the requisite gun references & misogyny, & I'm sold. Coincidentally, I like Rick Ross, the rapper, for the same exact reasoning. Irrational, subversive fantasy.
See, I believe a lot of people have forgotten that, along with being a contact sport, Hip Hop is entertainment. Would Muhammad Ali have been as popular if he didn't bust a rap when reporters asked him questions? Would Iron Mike have been so much fun to listen to if he didn't attempt to use mutli-syllabic words surrounded by that hilarious lisp? Professional wrestling, anyone? Too much emphasis is put on the reality of the rap world, when the reality of the rap world is based on fiction. I never heard one person call out Will Smith when he rapped about stealing his Dad's "brand new Porshe". We all knew that was bullshit, because if it was my Dad, I'd be blogging from one of those Steven Hawkins machines. & he wasn't called a fraud when he told us Freddy was trying to gut him, on his street, as if I'm to believe Fredrick Kruger moved to Philadelphia. The only Black kid Freddy worried about was that one fat dude in that mental hospital, who was friend's with that heroin addict broad. Remember Freddy's finger knives became syringes? & home chick's track marks started freaking out! Oh shit, I know y'all remember that episode! That was the same one when he turned to kids into roaches, & trapped them like the 'Roach Motel' commercial!
"...but that don't come out."
Sorry, I digress. Why now then does that matter so much? By today's "standards", Kool Keith is the biggest lie Hip Hop has ever sold us. This nigga says he visits other planets, & has sex with 5 women at once. In his defense though, he made some pornos, so yeah, there's that.
When I do happen to have the debate on who's real or fake in Hip Hop, I always come to the same conclusion; I couldn't give a fuck less. Not to mention, if I decide to spend hard earned recession dollars on a concert outing, the last person I want to see is some maniac madman who, by his own repeated admission, is probably going to kill me & everyone I came with. If I were to take rap dudes seriously, I wouldn't want to run into them at the mall, or at the beach, or the barbershop, because quicker than I would recognize them, there'd be a shoot out, hammers popping left & right, weed holders chopping down niggas like trees, for absolutely no logical reason at all.
Hip Hop two biggest bad guys, 50 & Ross, aren't hated for lack of skill, or inability to entertain. It's because they are arguably the biggest douche nozzle's in the business. Ross is a delusional liar (lying about what he did do, as opposed to what he didn't to, if you follow me) & 50 is the consummate cyber bully who should've stopped when he acquired his mark (Law of Power, #47). Both of these men have proven they possess the talent to sell records, but stubborn arrogance is a quality I don't like in my salesmen. You ever go shoe shopping, where the guy helping you was such a pretentious dick waggle that you didn't get the kicks you wanted? Right, you smell my cologne then.
In an era where 11 year olds ask for MP3 players as Christmas presents, one would have to really give the consumer a reason to buy physical CD's. Especially when the bulk of today's musical content is centered around dance songs &/or silly pop cultural references (I'm waiting on Kid Cudi or Lupe Fiasco to do a song based on the 'Twilight' movies), & is as accessible a free porn. Gangsta music basically ran it's course throughout the latter half of the 90's, with only a handful truly carrying on tradition today. Even Scarface & Ice Cube called it a wrap quite some time ago, & started seeking executive positions. Perhaps it's time 50 did the same, for real, & not by claiming to be the boss, yet dropping a verse on his artists' albums like Puff Devil Combs. In all seriousness, 50 has enough asshole charm to be the next Byron Allen or Aresenio Hall. I'd watch him make other, less famous people uncomfortable, in between nonsensical jokes & sips of lukewarm water.
Ross still has a way to go before he can truly claim to have an empire, so he's not yet worthy of my advice. But, judging by 50's latest record sales, in comparison to his previous ones, there's an obvious glitch in his matrix. So, 50, if you're reading this, throw on some tight jeans, start smoking weed all day every, & perhaps in a year's time, you'll begin to reel us back into your universe. Or, you can just become a male stripper & take the table dancing community by storm with Game. I'm sure he still has connections with his old "business partners".
I like 50 Cent, the rapper. I really don't think he's that bad at what he does. He brags, boasts, fronts, stunts, flosses, shines & all the other coontastic buffoonery that makes a successful gangsta rapper. What he eats doesn't make me shit, & like the next man, I'm a sucker for an aggressive beat & suggestive lyrics. Throw in the requisite gun references & misogyny, & I'm sold. Coincidentally, I like Rick Ross, the rapper, for the same exact reasoning. Irrational, subversive fantasy.
See, I believe a lot of people have forgotten that, along with being a contact sport, Hip Hop is entertainment. Would Muhammad Ali have been as popular if he didn't bust a rap when reporters asked him questions? Would Iron Mike have been so much fun to listen to if he didn't attempt to use mutli-syllabic words surrounded by that hilarious lisp? Professional wrestling, anyone? Too much emphasis is put on the reality of the rap world, when the reality of the rap world is based on fiction. I never heard one person call out Will Smith when he rapped about stealing his Dad's "brand new Porshe". We all knew that was bullshit, because if it was my Dad, I'd be blogging from one of those Steven Hawkins machines. & he wasn't called a fraud when he told us Freddy was trying to gut him, on his street, as if I'm to believe Fredrick Kruger moved to Philadelphia. The only Black kid Freddy worried about was that one fat dude in that mental hospital, who was friend's with that heroin addict broad. Remember Freddy's finger knives became syringes? & home chick's track marks started freaking out! Oh shit, I know y'all remember that episode! That was the same one when he turned to kids into roaches, & trapped them like the 'Roach Motel' commercial!
"...but that don't come out."
Sorry, I digress. Why now then does that matter so much? By today's "standards", Kool Keith is the biggest lie Hip Hop has ever sold us. This nigga says he visits other planets, & has sex with 5 women at once. In his defense though, he made some pornos, so yeah, there's that.
When I do happen to have the debate on who's real or fake in Hip Hop, I always come to the same conclusion; I couldn't give a fuck less. Not to mention, if I decide to spend hard earned recession dollars on a concert outing, the last person I want to see is some maniac madman who, by his own repeated admission, is probably going to kill me & everyone I came with. If I were to take rap dudes seriously, I wouldn't want to run into them at the mall, or at the beach, or the barbershop, because quicker than I would recognize them, there'd be a shoot out, hammers popping left & right, weed holders chopping down niggas like trees, for absolutely no logical reason at all.
Hip Hop two biggest bad guys, 50 & Ross, aren't hated for lack of skill, or inability to entertain. It's because they are arguably the biggest douche nozzle's in the business. Ross is a delusional liar (lying about what he did do, as opposed to what he didn't to, if you follow me) & 50 is the consummate cyber bully who should've stopped when he acquired his mark (Law of Power, #47). Both of these men have proven they possess the talent to sell records, but stubborn arrogance is a quality I don't like in my salesmen. You ever go shoe shopping, where the guy helping you was such a pretentious dick waggle that you didn't get the kicks you wanted? Right, you smell my cologne then.
In an era where 11 year olds ask for MP3 players as Christmas presents, one would have to really give the consumer a reason to buy physical CD's. Especially when the bulk of today's musical content is centered around dance songs &/or silly pop cultural references (I'm waiting on Kid Cudi or Lupe Fiasco to do a song based on the 'Twilight' movies), & is as accessible a free porn. Gangsta music basically ran it's course throughout the latter half of the 90's, with only a handful truly carrying on tradition today. Even Scarface & Ice Cube called it a wrap quite some time ago, & started seeking executive positions. Perhaps it's time 50 did the same, for real, & not by claiming to be the boss, yet dropping a verse on his artists' albums like Puff Devil Combs. In all seriousness, 50 has enough asshole charm to be the next Byron Allen or Aresenio Hall. I'd watch him make other, less famous people uncomfortable, in between nonsensical jokes & sips of lukewarm water.
Ross still has a way to go before he can truly claim to have an empire, so he's not yet worthy of my advice. But, judging by 50's latest record sales, in comparison to his previous ones, there's an obvious glitch in his matrix. So, 50, if you're reading this, throw on some tight jeans, start smoking weed all day every, & perhaps in a year's time, you'll begin to reel us back into your universe. Or, you can just become a male stripper & take the table dancing community by storm with Game. I'm sure he still has connections with his old "business partners".
Sunday, November 22, 2009
...Howard Cosell would be proud.
I don't usually drop about sports. Those conversations can be as circular as "who's the best rapper?" or "could Wendy Williams get it doggystyle?". Since I'm a creature of habit, this won't be about sports either, per se. More like sportscasters.
I'm a Lakers fanatic, so no broadcaster will ever touch the microphone of the late, great Chick Hearns. My man had more one-liners than Jay-Z. Following the vein of a true Lake Show supporter, I hate the Clippers. Always have. When they moved to Staples Center, I laughed at them, & hoped that somehow, Mike Dunleavy would have to drop a log in the same stall that Phil Jackson just pissed in, without bothering to lift the toilet seat. What was I thinking? The soft-ass Clippers probably use those paper butt guards when they squat. The Lakers, on the other hand, just shit on the competition.
See what I just did there?...
The best thing about the few Clips games I've watched has always been the announcers, Ralph Lawler & Michael Smith. They really appear to enjoy their jobs, with witless banter & personal conversation like two niggas waiting to be called at the Family Court building. I mean, neither of these guys are as incoherent as Stu Nahan, but entertaining nonetheless. Sportscasting has to be one of those "approach with caution" professions, because all you do is talk about what's going on to whoever's listening. Cats smoke weed & get drunk & do the same thing all weekend long, for free. & I know for a fact that I make off-color remarks all the time (like when Howard Cosell said "look at that monkey run" about a Black running back), so why would these dudes be any different? Plus, there's a 50% chance that one of them drinks heavily, word to John Madden. I'm surprised they're just now getting in trouble. I wouldn't have lasted a full season, especially in major league baseball. Eventually, the league would've grown weary of my "how many Dominicans does it take to..." jokes, & like that, I'd be narrating cat food commercials.
Ralph & Michael received a one game suspension during a game versus the Memphis Grizzlies last week. It probably wouldn't have gotten noticed if it wasn't for some douche nozzle viewer who emailed Fox Sports Network to voice their displeasure of the conversation. How much do you want to bet that it was some 50-something year old white lady, who calls midgets "little people" because it's PC? Fuck all that, they're
midgets. So, Grizzlies player Hamed Haddadi entered the game off the bench, & the two classy gentlemen did what two bros watching a basketball game would naturally do--talk to each other about it:
Smith: "Look who's in."
Lawler: "Hamed Haddadi. Where's he from?"
Smith: "He's the first Iranian to play in the NBA." (Smith pronounced Iranian as "Eye-Ray-Knee-In.")
Lawler: "There aren't any Iranian players in the NBA." (repeating Smith's pronunciation.)
Smith: "He's the only one."
Lawler: "He's from Iran?"
Smith: "I guess so."
Lawler: "THAT Iran?"
Smith: "Yes."
Lawler: "The REAL Iran?"
Smith: "Yes."
Lawler: "Wow. Haddadi, that's H-A-D-D-A-D-I."
Smith: "You're sure it's not Borat's older brother?"
*pause*
Smith: "If they ever make a movie about Haddadi, I'm going to get Sacha Baron Cohen to play the part."
Lawler: "Here's Haddadi. Nice little back-door pass. I guess those Iranians can pass the ball."
Smith: "Especially the post players."
Lawler: "I don't know about their guards."
If you're anything like me, that shit was funny, especially when Lawler spelled Hamed's last name out, as if Homeland Security needs to be notified that the dude was here, in case there were pipe bombs in his locker. For all the, umm, greatness that America has achieved throughout the years, we sure can be some whiny ass babies. Whoever sent that email is surely an asshole. & what's worse is that FSN could've emailed her back a cordial "Blow us, sperm bucket!", & thanked her for her concern. Hell, I should've sent them an email that said, "ROFLMMFBAO!", but I was too busy laughing out loud.
We clearly need to get over playing poker with race cards all the time, & learn how to laugh when shit is funny. That shit was funny, & Howard Cosell would be proud.
I'm a Lakers fanatic, so no broadcaster will ever touch the microphone of the late, great Chick Hearns. My man had more one-liners than Jay-Z. Following the vein of a true Lake Show supporter, I hate the Clippers. Always have. When they moved to Staples Center, I laughed at them, & hoped that somehow, Mike Dunleavy would have to drop a log in the same stall that Phil Jackson just pissed in, without bothering to lift the toilet seat. What was I thinking? The soft-ass Clippers probably use those paper butt guards when they squat. The Lakers, on the other hand, just shit on the competition.
See what I just did there?...
The best thing about the few Clips games I've watched has always been the announcers, Ralph Lawler & Michael Smith. They really appear to enjoy their jobs, with witless banter & personal conversation like two niggas waiting to be called at the Family Court building. I mean, neither of these guys are as incoherent as Stu Nahan, but entertaining nonetheless. Sportscasting has to be one of those "approach with caution" professions, because all you do is talk about what's going on to whoever's listening. Cats smoke weed & get drunk & do the same thing all weekend long, for free. & I know for a fact that I make off-color remarks all the time (like when Howard Cosell said "look at that monkey run" about a Black running back), so why would these dudes be any different? Plus, there's a 50% chance that one of them drinks heavily, word to John Madden. I'm surprised they're just now getting in trouble. I wouldn't have lasted a full season, especially in major league baseball. Eventually, the league would've grown weary of my "how many Dominicans does it take to..." jokes, & like that, I'd be narrating cat food commercials.
Ralph & Michael received a one game suspension during a game versus the Memphis Grizzlies last week. It probably wouldn't have gotten noticed if it wasn't for some douche nozzle viewer who emailed Fox Sports Network to voice their displeasure of the conversation. How much do you want to bet that it was some 50-something year old white lady, who calls midgets "little people" because it's PC? Fuck all that, they're
midgets. So, Grizzlies player Hamed Haddadi entered the game off the bench, & the two classy gentlemen did what two bros watching a basketball game would naturally do--talk to each other about it:
Smith: "Look who's in."
Lawler: "Hamed Haddadi. Where's he from?"
Smith: "He's the first Iranian to play in the NBA." (Smith pronounced Iranian as "Eye-Ray-Knee-In.")
Lawler: "There aren't any Iranian players in the NBA." (repeating Smith's pronunciation.)
Smith: "He's the only one."
Lawler: "He's from Iran?"
Smith: "I guess so."
Lawler: "THAT Iran?"
Smith: "Yes."
Lawler: "The REAL Iran?"
Smith: "Yes."
Lawler: "Wow. Haddadi, that's H-A-D-D-A-D-I."
Smith: "You're sure it's not Borat's older brother?"
*pause*
Smith: "If they ever make a movie about Haddadi, I'm going to get Sacha Baron Cohen to play the part."
Lawler: "Here's Haddadi. Nice little back-door pass. I guess those Iranians can pass the ball."
Smith: "Especially the post players."
Lawler: "I don't know about their guards."
If you're anything like me, that shit was funny, especially when Lawler spelled Hamed's last name out, as if Homeland Security needs to be notified that the dude was here, in case there were pipe bombs in his locker. For all the, umm, greatness that America has achieved throughout the years, we sure can be some whiny ass babies. Whoever sent that email is surely an asshole. & what's worse is that FSN could've emailed her back a cordial "Blow us, sperm bucket!", & thanked her for her concern. Hell, I should've sent them an email that said, "ROFLMMFBAO!", but I was too busy laughing out loud.
We clearly need to get over playing poker with race cards all the time, & learn how to laugh when shit is funny. That shit was funny, & Howard Cosell would be proud.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Iron Mike Strikes Again.
I grew up watching boxing matches on HBO, before pay-per-view was so fashionable. I saw dudes like Sugar Ray Leonard, Marvelous Marvin Hagler, Leon (& his brother Michael) Spinx, & Boom Boom Mancini step into the squared circle to prove a point to one another, if no one else. They did it for the love of blood lust, sportsmanship & pugilism, as opposed to paychecks, celebrity & a chance to start a record label. In the 80's, we didn't have MMA yet, so imagine how violent the fights were.
The greatest to emerge from those days was Michael Gerard Tyson b/k/a Iron Mike Tyson. Still to this day, this is a man I would not fuck with. Even without factoring in his old fights, or what he did to Mitch "Blood" Green in plain view of anybody walking down that street that day in 1988, the mere fact that he bit off (AND SWALLOWED [||]) a piece of another man's ear is enough for me to never want to give him a reason to hone in on me as a target of any sort. Apparently, paparazzi photographer Tony Echevarria doesn't know who/what Mike Tyson is, or his burning alcoholism is seeping into his professional life.
"Former heavyweight boxing champion Mike Tyson was arrested on suspicion of battery on Wednesday [Nov 11] after a confrontation with a photographer at LAX, who was also arrested in the incident"-via AP
Now seriously, this paparazzi jerk who approached Mike at LAX recently was upwards of 50 years old. First of all, dude should have a grown up job by now. Adult males, following other adult males around with cameras-that aren't secret agents or legit photographers, clearly suffer from a mild case of arrested development, & are probably some type of registered sex offenders anyway. If you ask me, that paparazzi cat looks like a Chester to me, & Mike had his 10 month old daughter & his wife in tow. Plus, like I tell y'all, never trust a man without a mustache, especially a Black one.
[tony's note: neither one of them niggas have mustaches. just saying...]
Let's be real, here. There's far too many real celebrities galavanting through Los Angeles International airport to be bothering Mike Tyson to begin with. & it's not like he's the most coherent person. He speaks that common boxer dialect of broken, mismanaged english that sounds like he's drunk or too happy (except Lennox Lewis-his speech is exceptional), & if the guy didn't work for TMZ, he's even a bigger nincompoop than he looks to be. I really doubt 'The Enquirer' is dishing out big bucks for pictures of Mike. All of America has seen his face tattoo & baby toothed smile by now. Nothing new there. & it's not that he's irrelevant, it's just that he's crazier than an armless blind man with a porn addiction. Maybe Mr. Echevarria thought Mike had gotten soft since he sat on Oprah Windbag's Couch of Confession & told Evander Holyfield he was sorry. Crazy motherfuckers have feelings, it's good sense that they lack.
This situation reminds me of Kanye West's episode with the paps, when he grabbed a guy's camera & angrily threw it to the ground. & by reminds me, I mean I've forgotten how gay Kanye West is. Yeezy could've at least slapped the dude. That poor camera didn't do anything wrong, it was simply doing what cameras are supposed to do. Mike on the other hand, went full fledged neanderthal, & dotted the poor guy's forehead. Then, to add insult to injury, Mike made a "citizen's arrest" while the dude did all he could to keep from slipping on puddles of his own blood like banana peels. Mike's defense is that he was protecting his family, so apparently Mike thought he looked like a Chester also.
[tony's next note: tyson's daughter died a few months back. running up in his face while he pushes his newborn daughter is the ultimate "shit-for-brains" move...]
Really though, I hope Iron Mike doesn't go to jail for this. On more than one occasion, these glorified picture jockies have proven that they can be more than just an annoying nuisance, & a man protecting his family from perceived doom is an unstoppable force of animal instinct. For what it's worth, that paparazzi guy should be sending Mike a thank you card...
"Dear Mike,
Thank you for not killing me, or biting off my ear. Sorry about the misunderstanding. Let's meet up for raw meat sometime, my treat."
If he does have to serve time on a probation violation, it's not like jail would be the worst thing that can happen to him. First of all, there's a 98.41% chance that he can beat the scurvy out of every inmate. Secondly, he's not terribly attractive, so I doubt even the staunchest homosexual would risk blunt force trauma just to attempt sodomy on such a man-beast. At the most, Mitch "Blood" Green would put money on one of his son's books to try & shiv Mike when he's asleep. But, Mike seems like he sleeps upright, like a cyborg, so I doubt a sharpened toothbrush would do anything more than make him angry, like a Black Hulk with an unusually high voice. If the probation officer isn't a super douche nozzle though, they'll probably just settle out of court, the charges will be dropped & Mike will go back to Vegas & resume life as the freak of nature that he his. Just in case, I got them "Free Iron Mike" t-shirts, 2 for $5. Holler at me on the gmail.
[tony's last note: what the fuck ever happened to zab judah...?]
The greatest to emerge from those days was Michael Gerard Tyson b/k/a Iron Mike Tyson. Still to this day, this is a man I would not fuck with. Even without factoring in his old fights, or what he did to Mitch "Blood" Green in plain view of anybody walking down that street that day in 1988, the mere fact that he bit off (AND SWALLOWED [||]) a piece of another man's ear is enough for me to never want to give him a reason to hone in on me as a target of any sort. Apparently, paparazzi photographer Tony Echevarria doesn't know who/what Mike Tyson is, or his burning alcoholism is seeping into his professional life.
"Former heavyweight boxing champion Mike Tyson was arrested on suspicion of battery on Wednesday [Nov 11] after a confrontation with a photographer at LAX, who was also arrested in the incident"-via AP
Now seriously, this paparazzi jerk who approached Mike at LAX recently was upwards of 50 years old. First of all, dude should have a grown up job by now. Adult males, following other adult males around with cameras-that aren't secret agents or legit photographers, clearly suffer from a mild case of arrested development, & are probably some type of registered sex offenders anyway. If you ask me, that paparazzi cat looks like a Chester to me, & Mike had his 10 month old daughter & his wife in tow. Plus, like I tell y'all, never trust a man without a mustache, especially a Black one.
[tony's note: neither one of them niggas have mustaches. just saying...]
Let's be real, here. There's far too many real celebrities galavanting through Los Angeles International airport to be bothering Mike Tyson to begin with. & it's not like he's the most coherent person. He speaks that common boxer dialect of broken, mismanaged english that sounds like he's drunk or too happy (except Lennox Lewis-his speech is exceptional), & if the guy didn't work for TMZ, he's even a bigger nincompoop than he looks to be. I really doubt 'The Enquirer' is dishing out big bucks for pictures of Mike. All of America has seen his face tattoo & baby toothed smile by now. Nothing new there. & it's not that he's irrelevant, it's just that he's crazier than an armless blind man with a porn addiction. Maybe Mr. Echevarria thought Mike had gotten soft since he sat on Oprah Windbag's Couch of Confession & told Evander Holyfield he was sorry. Crazy motherfuckers have feelings, it's good sense that they lack.
This situation reminds me of Kanye West's episode with the paps, when he grabbed a guy's camera & angrily threw it to the ground. & by reminds me, I mean I've forgotten how gay Kanye West is. Yeezy could've at least slapped the dude. That poor camera didn't do anything wrong, it was simply doing what cameras are supposed to do. Mike on the other hand, went full fledged neanderthal, & dotted the poor guy's forehead. Then, to add insult to injury, Mike made a "citizen's arrest" while the dude did all he could to keep from slipping on puddles of his own blood like banana peels. Mike's defense is that he was protecting his family, so apparently Mike thought he looked like a Chester also.
[tony's next note: tyson's daughter died a few months back. running up in his face while he pushes his newborn daughter is the ultimate "shit-for-brains" move...]
Really though, I hope Iron Mike doesn't go to jail for this. On more than one occasion, these glorified picture jockies have proven that they can be more than just an annoying nuisance, & a man protecting his family from perceived doom is an unstoppable force of animal instinct. For what it's worth, that paparazzi guy should be sending Mike a thank you card...
"Dear Mike,
Thank you for not killing me, or biting off my ear. Sorry about the misunderstanding. Let's meet up for raw meat sometime, my treat."
If he does have to serve time on a probation violation, it's not like jail would be the worst thing that can happen to him. First of all, there's a 98.41% chance that he can beat the scurvy out of every inmate. Secondly, he's not terribly attractive, so I doubt even the staunchest homosexual would risk blunt force trauma just to attempt sodomy on such a man-beast. At the most, Mitch "Blood" Green would put money on one of his son's books to try & shiv Mike when he's asleep. But, Mike seems like he sleeps upright, like a cyborg, so I doubt a sharpened toothbrush would do anything more than make him angry, like a Black Hulk with an unusually high voice. If the probation officer isn't a super douche nozzle though, they'll probably just settle out of court, the charges will be dropped & Mike will go back to Vegas & resume life as the freak of nature that he his. Just in case, I got them "Free Iron Mike" t-shirts, 2 for $5. Holler at me on the gmail.
[tony's last note: what the fuck ever happened to zab judah...?]
Saturday, October 31, 2009
"It Was All Good Just A Week Ago..."
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)