Archive for the ‘H.A.M.’ Category

Streetlife In Real Life…

Thursday, January 21st, 2010

streetlife


Crusaders featuring Randy Crawford – ‘Street Life’

After parting ways with Rafi Kam last night leaving the Gordan Voidwell / Mickey Factz / Das Racist / Freddie Gibbs show at the Highline Ballroom I caught the Brooklyn bound #4 train. It was half past 1am which is still relatively early as far as NYC streetlife goes.

While waiting for the train on the Union Square platform this shorty walks past me. I sort of laughed in my head like “uh oh, lil’ mama speedin’ with no brakes on”. I say this to myself whenever I see something wayward in the streets. This is because after uhdeen years of seeing this shit I know how it goes. I don’t really pay shorty too much mind.

streetlife

Once we get on the subway shorty sits directly across from me and then proceeds to lay out on the seatbench like she is going to sleep. Dayyyyum lil’ mama. Let me find out you are homeless? She looks too clean to be a bum like that though. Not that she looked clean, but she didn’t have the grimey luster of someone who regularly slept on subways. I switched my attention from the Blackberry Brickbreaker program to the image capture function.

I snapped her picture.

Shorty asked me if I was taking her picture. I told her I was. I said that you never see someone as cute as her laying down in the subway. It was always oldheads and washed up peoples. Never really no one young, good looking and well dressed. Shorty had it in her mind that I was complimenting her and then she just opened up.

She was laying down because she was bored(?!?). She had just left the Bronx and she was thinking about going to Webster Hall, but she didn’t really know if she wanted to go there, but she still wanted to hang out and get some drinks. I asked her how old she was to be getting drinks. Lil’ mama def looked statutory status. She said she was 21. Ha. So was I. I’ve been 21 for the past 19 years.

I asked her what she was trying to get into tonight. She reiterated that she was looking to get some drinks somewhere. I asked her what she liked to drink. She shrugged her shoulders. Hennessy she offered. I asked her what she knew about Hennessy. I don’t even drink that shit I told her. I caught myself just before I started sounding like someone’s parent which I’m not. I’m not out here to save this chick either. She is on her way and she is going to find the things she is looking for. Will she be able to handle it when she gets it? Maybe, but prA’li not.

streetlife

This was the type of shit that I would scrape after leaving the club. It was just this simple. Some little piece of group home shit that didn’t want or couldn’t go back home. I had a little one bedroom apartment in Corona back when I was 17yrs old. A lotta these type chicks fell through to drink 40 ozs and puff an el. It doesn’t stop internets. The cycle of life, death, desperation and redemption in the city stays on repeat like my iTunes player.

If this were twenty years ago then you already know the outcome. Instead I went home to my lady. I didn’t even ask shorty her name. I didn’t want to know it either. For all I know she could be my daughter.

streetlife

Dick Tracy >>> TV Wiggles…

Wednesday, January 20th, 2010

dick tracy watch

Dick Tracy’s Chester Gould had it all figured out way back when. Gould knew that television was killing fools even though the medium was in its literal infancy when he created the evil villain character TV Wiggles.

I’m definitely not thinking about a flatscreen now that this report dropped…

Watching TV May Shorten Life for Couch Potatoes

Mobile media is the only way to fux with receiving information. I’m getting myself a Dick Tracy watch so I can do my internetsing from my wrist. All I need to remember is to peep pr0n videos from my left arm.

Brianna Love FTW (never, EVER SFW)

dick tracy watch

Vanity = Venus of Hottentot 2010…

Wednesday, January 13th, 2010

vanity

I’ve kicked it with y’all before about Saartjie Baartman aka Hottentot Venus. We seem to revisit her story in popular culture every few years. This year, the Hottentot Venus award goes to Vanity the 8th Wonder. That is her stage name. Her reported government name is Kenyatta and you can only imagine how many Black girls trying to break into, er, modeling, already have that name.

I salute Vanity and her Jessica Rabbit backside. You know that joint has got to be stanky. In honor of her glorious stanknasty boonkey I thought we could listen to one of my fave joints off Mos Def’s ‘The New Danger’. This should be played in every gentlemen’s club.

Mos Def – ‘The Easy Spell’

vanity
vanity
vanity
vanity
via The Rap-Up via MarkDub

Never Trust A Big Butt And A Smile…

Sunday, January 3rd, 2010

booty pop

Bell Biv Devoe – ‘Poison’

During the Martin Lawrence marathon I was buggin’ the fux out after I watched this infomercial for ‘Booty Pop‘ panties.

Between all the tanning salons, colagen lip implants and now fake booties Black girl bodies are getting swagger jacked to death.

I’ll take my Black girls like I’ll take my coke – raw and uncut. Ya’ deeg?!?

booty pop

From Bada Bing To The Gaza Strip…

Wednesday, December 16th, 2009

gaza

Editor’s note: This drop comes to us courtesy of Slumbilical Chord of Nah’Right.com comments thread fame. You should already know that the Nah’Right comments section is nothing to fux with. In ten years these folks will be running the Earth. Pray for all of us.

Sup Dallas,

I have a business proposition for you. We should open a really raunchy strip club. Given that America has colonized the Middle East virtually in its entirety (Iraq and Afghanistan – Iran next and maybe other states), it’s only right that we do an ethnographic performance art tribute to our fellow statesmen. The strip club would require all women to wear belly-dancer harem attire — veils, nose rings, etc. All broads 9s and up (natch) – the types of broads that would inspire one with the desire to smell behind their ears… by using ones tongue.

But the atmosphere inside would be mad abrasive. Bouncers would be wearing Israeli military attire, and some of the bouncers would be broads, in line with Israel’s policy of having women in the military. The inside would be falling apart – walls cracking, ceiling beams leaning… Like the whole shit would collapse if you sneeze on it. VIP rooms would be mad grimy. Just like the finest Atlantic City spots, there would be no stripping in the back rooms. Just pure flesh on flesh fornicating.

Finally, the club’s name: Gaza Strip. The only question left is… Do you smell me? I’ve copied my ba’y bro N8 to get his thoughts as well. We could go three ways on the investment… [ll].

Warmest Regards (c) KAWS,
Slumbeezy

Dallas: Uh, no. I’m not sure exactly who knocked down the Towers, but I know for sure that shit would get blowed the fux up when they found out Osama’s niece was giving up the ThunderDome in the Champagne Room.

gaza strip