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What Is It? A Doodoo Blizzard!

Friday, September 19th, 2008

questo

First off, let me give a shout to MARC SMOOTH, STONE and HERBERT HOLLER from the Freedom Fridays camp. These brothers hold me down all the time. Yesterday was MARC’s birthday party at this new little spot on Spring Street between Crosby and Lafayette. I figured I could kill two birthdays with one drink by inviting GabeRockka to hang with me. Too bad I gave him the wrong address.

Anyhoo.

MARC SMOOTH did it up in style with a bellydancer, a magician and a trumpeter walking around through the party. And of course some of NYC’s best talent in the highest of heels. The passed hors d’ovaries were top shelf too. Crab cakes, grilled beef, sushi. Gotdamn if your boy never encountered some free food that he didn’t eat. Too bad for me that the free food fell on top of the garbage that I had bought a few hours earlier.

I fell off the wagon party people. I went to McDonald’s for the first time in prA’li 6 weeks. To tell you the truth I have been feeling quite good also. My out of home meals have been at Au Bon Pain lately. There’s a construction project in Manhattan that I am working on now that the Brooklyn Children’s Museum is open to the public and the Au Bon Pain is across the street. Shit is mad expensive up in that piece but I mitigate that by stealing their pastries and their delicious peach iced tea.

I didn’t have lunch yesterday because I had to run back to my base office to pick up my paycheck. Daddy has some bills to pay like it was yesterday. After leaving my office and depositing my check in the bank I decided to stop into McD’s real quick. Looking at the cash in my hand I opted for an Angus Deluxe sandwich and the sweet tea crack. Note to all Angus Deluxe fans… I have them replace the Angus bun with a smaller Quarter Pounder bun. The sandwich just tastes better with less bread. Since I got the last lemon for my sweet tea crack I asked the lady to pour the lemon juice from the container in my cup. Guess who stays winning?

And guess sho stays losing? I was at the second party of the evening when the passed hors d’ouerves encountered the Angus burger in my stomach. This was on some street gang shit where the kobi beef and the sushi ganged up on the McD’s like fucking ninjas. The crab cakes kept it hardbody by kicking the Angus burger in the head when it was down. I looked around the room and realized that I couldn’t smurder the bathroom at this party. It was inside the office of this ad agency and the mens and womens bathrooms were both single fixture closets in the middle of the space. The beatdown that was taking place inside of my stomach was going to leave the foulest of stenchs which would definitely 86 my name from any future invites.

I ran out of the party onto Grand Street in SoHo. It was a typical night in SoHo where all the rich asshats were crowding various pubs and bars standing around holding their beer bottles happy in the fact that they live in Manhattan yet still cognizant in the back reaches of their minds that they were douches. I know this when I look into their eyes and they look away. Maybe it was because I had the crazy eyes “I need to take a shit” look on my face. Whatever. I needed to take a shit.

Option numero 1 bitches and the SoHo Grand hotel was only around the corner. That was when things got dicey. I wasn’t going to make it that far. The dead Angus burger carcass was being expelled from my bowels like some chump forced to walk the plank. There would be no dignity in this dump. I walked into the classic downtown bar Lucky Strike that I had frequented so often back in the early 90’s to peddle grams of that Dwight Gooden white pudding. How ironic is it that I come to this bathroom now for my sphincter’s salvation? GOD is still the greatest comedian. The toilet stall is so tight that you might as well deuce while standing. I squeezed myself in just in the nick of time before the explosion.

I thought I was going to be given a reprieve after that emergency deuce, but to play things safe I headed back home to Freeport. I’m staying out on Long Island again because it made no sense to pay a mortgage and maintenance charges for a place I used as a sneaker warehouse. On the train ride home it happened again. It seems that the passed food was now beefing (literally and figuratively) with each other. The grilled beef must have stepped on the sushi’s tennis shoes. It was on once again. I barely had time to get to my apartment. All this shit had me dehydrated as fuck. I laid my head to bed hopeful that the morning would bring relief.

Here I am on my way to work and what awoke me was the burning sensation in my intestines that there was still something left to be dealt with. The sushi ended up being the final victor because that wasabi that I liberally spread on the California roll was burning a hole in my backside. I was bested by the hors d’oerves yet again. Today I will do the sensible thing and have a soup at Au Bon Pain along with a free lemon pastry and peach iced tea.

Posted in H.A.M., Jig Lit Review, T.O.N.Y., Talking Shit, Weird Science | 12 Comments »

NYTimes: In the Seventh Year…

Thursday, September 11th, 2008

And in the seventh year after the fall, the dust and debris of the towers cleared. And it became plain at last what had been wrought.

For the wreckage begat greed; and it came to pass that while America’s young men and women fought, other Americans enriched themselves. Beguiling the innocent, they did backdate options, and they did package toxic mortgage securities and they did reprice risk on the basis that it no more existed than famine in a fertile land.

Thereby did the masters of the universe prosper, with gold, with silver shekels, with land rich in cattle and fowl, with illegal manservants and maids, with jewels and silk, and with Gulfstream V business jets; yet the whole land did not prosper with them. And it came to pass, when the housing bubble burst, that Main Street had to pay for the Wall Street party.

For Bush ruled over the whole nation and so sure was he of his righteousness that he did neglect husbandry.

And he took his nation into desert wars and mountain wars, but, lo, he thought not to impose taxation, not one heifer nor sheep nor ox did Bush demand of the rich. And it came to pass that the nation fell into debt as boundless as the wickedness of Sodom. For everyone, Lehman not least, was maxed out.

So heavy was the burden of war, and of bailing out Fannie and Freddie, and of financing debt with China, that not one silver shekel remained to build bridges, nor airports, nor high-speed trains, nor even to take care of wounded vets; and the warriors returning unto their homes from distant combat thought a blight had fallen on the land.

So it was in the seventh year after the fall of the towers. And still Bush did raise his hands to the Lord and proclaim: “I will be proved right in the end!”

And around the whole earth, which had stood with America, there arose a great trouble, for it seemed to peoples abroad that a great nation, rich in flocks and herds and land and water, had been cast among thorns and Philistines; its promise betrayed, its light dimmed, its armies stretched, its budget broken, its principles compromised, its dollar diminished.

And it came to pass that this profligate nation, drinking oil with insatiable thirst, could not cure itself of this addiction, and so its wealth was transferred to other nations that did not always wish it well.

Wherefore the balance of power in the world was altered in grievous ways, and new centers of authority arose, and they were no more persuaded by democracy than was the Pharaoh.

For Bush ruled over the whole nation, and so sure was he of his righteousness that he did neglect the costs of wanton consumption. And he believed that if the Lord created fossil fuel, fossil fuel must flow without end, as surely as the grape will yield wine.

Therefore, in the seventh year after the fall, with 1,126 of the slain still unidentified, their very beings rendered unto dust, their souls inhabiting the air of New York, it seemed that one nation had become two; and loss, far from unifying the people, had sundered the nation.

For the rich, granted tax breaks more generous than any blessing, grew richer, and incomes in the middle ceased to rise, and workers saw jobs leaving the land for that region called Asia. And some fought wars while others shopped; and some got foreclosed while others got clothes. And still Bush spake but few listened.

Behold, so it was in the seventh year, and it seemed that America was doubly smitten, from without and within.

And, lo, a strange thing did come to pass. For as surely as the seasons do alternate, so the ruler and party that have brought woe to a nation must give way to others who can lead their people to plenty. How can the weary, flogged ass bear honey and balm and almonds and myrrh?

Yet many Americans believed the exhausted beast could still provide bounty. They did hold that a people called the French was to blame. They did accuse a creation called the United Nations. They did curse the ungodly sophisticates of Gotham and Hollywood and sinful Chicago; and, lo, they proclaimed God was on their side, and carried a gun, and Darwin was bunk, and truth resided in Alaska.

For Bush ruled over the whole nation and so sure was he of his righteousness that he did foster division until it raged like a plague. Each tribe sent pestilence on the other.

And in the seventh year after the fall, the dust and debris of the towers cleared. And it became plain at last what had been wrought — but not how the damage would be undone.

-ROGER COHEN, Op-Ed Columnist

Posted in Harpers Weekly Review, HUFF YOU!, iNternets Celebrities, Politricks, Social Upheaval, T.O.N.Y., Talking Shit, Wig Owners | 6 Comments »

GOD Made D.I.R.T.

Wednesday, September 3rd, 2008

dirt

Heltah Skeltah @ MySpace – preview Da Incredible Rap Team

Heltah Skeltah is back to crack your melon with hardbody rap music. Strictly hardcore rhymes and beats. No club tracks. Nothing to dance to, unless you dance by banging your skull on the wall.

If there were superstar underground rappers it would have to be the entire Boot Camp Clik. The extra schmedium t-shirts inside of their backpacks are used to wrap around the hammers.

Peep the 40 Diesel cameo in Heltah Skeltah’s latest video!

After nearly fifteen years in the rap game it is finally time for Heltah Skeltah to become an overnight success. I am catching the fools tonight at S.O.B.’s along with Ruste Juxx.

Didn’t I just say underground superstars?

Go copp Da Incredible Rap Team on September 30th. Or Sean Price might have to punch you in your face with his fists.

dirt

Posted in Crappers, Ghetto Celebs, Ninjas, Sneaker Fiends United, T.O.N.Y., When I Reminisce..., Wig Owners | 14 Comments »

DP Dot Com Covers Bad Boys – Vol.1

Wednesday, September 3rd, 2008

diddy

*Editor’s nore: The following drop has nothing to do with the King Of All Jigs

I just finished watching the ‘DareDevil’ film again and I have to tell you that it isn’t as bad as people will speak of it. BEN AFFLECK was a little too stiff as DD, but COLIN FARRELL and MICHAEL CLARKE-DUNCAN made up for that poor casting choice. As a matter of fact, COLIN FARRELL killed as DareDevil’s arch-nemesis Bullseye. Literally, and figuratively.

Bullseye to DareDevil is quite possibly the equivalent in ratio as The Joker to Batman. These characters relationships extend past the comic story archs into philosophical notions about good, evil and humanity. FRANK MILLER was the artist and writer who was able to take all of these characters and really describe the inner workings of men’s souls and why we struggle.

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FRANK MILLER made Bullseye a beast. A perfect killing machine beast. Bullseye was peeling back wigs with pencils and playing cards long before the ‘Dark Knight’ made it to the big screen. MILLER used the DareDevil books as the training ground to leap over to Batman.

I’m not mad at him either because DareDevil wasn’t a book I was interested in before MILLER. I loved the way MILLER used New York City’s Hell’s Kitchen as a character in the DareDevil stories. The city was a living animal that spoke to Matt Murdock. When I would go to places like Park West High School and Graphic Communications High School with the Decepts I would see the old shooting galleries and flophouses that the MILLER DareDevil and Bullseye would operate through.

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Bullseye is as malevolent as Matt Murdock is righteous. Bullseye is the world’s best assassin, and he is such a principally-centered sociopath that he refuses to accept any money for killing DareDevil. Albeit, he hasn’t been too successful at this job. Instead he gets foiled time and again by the sightless defender. What drives Bullseye even crazier is the fact that DareDevil won’t kill him. DareDevil instead has simply broken every bone in Bullseye’s body.

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