While in Chi-Town, iNternets Celebrities super director and sneaker fiend CASIMIR NOZKOWSKI sends me pics of the most Hip-Hop sneakers. Evar.
CAS said he would copp me a pair, but I can’t choose which one.
Do I run with the flamingo gangster themed patent leather colorway or do I copp the snakeskin accented bootlegg Air Force 1’s? I will let y’all decide
My badd to the DP Dot Com fam that came up on this flagrant NSFW pic when I first let this drop fly. I need to not get get any of y’all fiscal situations fucked the fuck up when you read this blog from ya’ grizzlies. The PrA’li fund ain’t gonna get us all high. Shout to my ni- LionXL
Maybe when Soulja Boy Tell’Em grows up he might have a chick that lets him ‘Superman ‘dat ho’ in front of an audience of 500 sweaty men who mostly last saw a real live titty when they were being breastfed. That ICE T exploits his wife on stage during Body Count’s rendition of ‘KKK Bitch’ isn’t what makes him so much greater than Soulja Boy. What makes ICE T so much greater are all the hardcore anthems he crafted that still matter sixteen years later to the 500+ people gathered here in Brooklyn to see him perform. Will anyone be doing that for Soulja Boy even two years from now? I doubt it.
The Body Count show was so fucking awesome bananas that I am going back again tonight. I’m going back to see COCO’s magnificent mammaries. And I’m not even a titty man like that. Mostly I’m going to rock the fuck out with Body Count who were everything that I hoped they’d be as live performers. They jumped the fuck around and moshed with us and they motherfucking shredded their axes like animals. They were fucking beasts. The crowd was out of control. The venue was next door to a police precinct. When ‘Cop Killer’ came on the joint exploded. I have no fucking voice right now.
I had to turn around this morning and go to a project meeting in lower Manhattan at 9am. Then head back to my base office for my unit’s monthly staff meeting. I feel like a sack of shit stuffed in a pillowcase. I’m still going to that show tonight. It was the best live performance I have seen in a minute. I wish Game Rebellion had been there. I would have loved for them to see these old men slay the motherfucking crowd. Figuratively, and literally. Body Count covered a Slayer track too. Plus they closed the show doing a HENDRIX song. Damn sonn, I am on some wild fanboy shit right now.
Or else BILLY X. SUNDAY might have to go to jail.
If I had a high school diploma I might be able to wrap my head around the statistics that detail the incarceration rates for African American males. it’s some confusing shit like…
In twelve states, between 10 and 15 percent of adult black men are incarcerated.
The gist of all this is that Black niggers stay getting locked up while white niggers don’t get broken off with bids as often.
I’m not here to debate the causes of this shit. America is a racist country. Period. Point blank. White is shook to get on some equality shit because then they might have to get the proverbial shoe put on them as often as the Blacks catch it. White knows that shit ain’t no fun. White knows when to get the fuck outta Dodge. These are the same dudes that jetted from the Black plague, the potato famine and that faggy New Wave music from Soft Cell.
*reminds self to play extended version of Tainted Love*
Being Black sucks, yada, yada, yada. I didn’t have to watch CNN’s Black In America to know this. What is scaring the fuck out of me though is how much the list of people who are have-nots is increasing. It’s as if poverty were having an expansion draft. I’m not worried about being the first pick, but in the later rounds I might get selected.
Being poor AND Black is just about the pits. You see how the poor were shot in the back in New Orleans? People were hungry and sick and BlackWater USA was allowed to shoot to kill if you were outside of your home after dark. If the rate of economic disenfranchisement continues at the rate of social disenfranchisement my ass will be getting arrested pretty soon.
*note to XXL managers: send me that check*
My one saving grace that is keeping me and several other African American males from being incarcerated is the fact that DMX tries his damnedest to get arrested every single day.
A few weeks ago Dark Man X was arrested four(4) times in one day. Once in Miami. Then in Arizona. He was extradited to New Mexico on a bench wartrant, and then he was arrested in his sleep while returning to Arizona.
How many motherfuckers can get a warrant while they are asleep? That is how bad ass DMX is. This fool is possibly the most hardbody rapper of all time and I want to personally thank him for being that gully.
Every day the police are out arresting DMX that means that some lucky Black man gets a reprieve from brutality somewhere. That anonymous Black man is free to buy fried chicken wings from his favorite supermarket or chinese kitchen. He is free to enjoy Crystal light Mango Iced Tea from his favorite sippy cup while searching for downloadable video clips of his favorite adult actress(Lauren Phoenix) from his computer station in his parent’s basement. All because DMX carries the burden of others on his back.
Not that I’m wishing any ill will on DMX, but at some point the authorities will incarcerate him which will mean that the arrests of regular semi-law abiding Blacks will have to increase again. I know my white understand how statistics and averages work. When that shit happens that DMX is put under the jail I am staying my ass in the fucking house until Mike Tyson shows his face.
‘Nuff Said.
Peep this article in Newsweek about the importance contained in the way shit smells. Shit, meaning all kinds of shit, including, of course, shit.
I have been telling y’all for years that the way someone smells determines what their relationship with you can become. The wrong smell could mean disaster. My classic story goes like this…
I had this fine little shorty in my Corona apartment a few years ago. I was about to give her the business something good too. I had been waiting to cut this chick for a minute and since I knew her ex-beau I kept my hands off her in public but she knew she had that official beatbox.
Boom. So fine and dandy shorty comes over the crib to spend the night and let me get mine. I prA’li even prepared my special bachelor beatbox dinner special – a BirdsEye stir fry meal kit with fresh shrimps added. Wouldn’t you know this chick was a seventh day adventist and she wouldn’t eat shellfish. My Hebro vows be damned I love me some scrimps. I should’a knownt right there though that homegirl was off.
We made out a little bit on my crappy futon. Homegirl had one of the baddest bodies in the game. Five foot three with the cola bottle shaped body. Perfect B+ breasts in the fanciest little bra and panties set I could remember. I couldn’t wait to notch lil’ mama’s name on my bedpost. I was about to win.
Inside my bedroom we climbed under the sheets and I began to kiss her upon her neck. That is when I smelt something. I tweaked my head up like when a forest animal hears a twig snapping underfoot a stranger. But this smell was no stranger to me. This was the smell of the ass kicking I used to get when my dad tried to comb my hair with that metal rake pick. This was the smell of that Posner’s blue-colored hair pomade that he would put on my hair before pulling out that pick. Homegirl’s scalp smelled like that grease.
I jumped up with stark terror on my face. It was like I was seven yrs old all over again and my dad was about to de-napp my afro. My dad used to be able to keep a lit cigarette on the edge of his lip while he cussed at my unkempt hair. It was like that shit lasted for hours. By the time my dad was done my scalp was sore and throbbed like I had been clubbed with an aluminum little league bat.
This chick had to go. Not now, but right now. I told her to get dressed and I called her a taxi. I never got another chance to smash that bad little shorty, and truth to tell you, I didn’t even give a fuck. That is the power that your nose knows.
True fuckin’ story.
