Archive for the ‘Fashion Faux Pas’ Category

Black People Don’t Care About Black People

Wednesday, September 21st, 2005

black love?!?

Very rarely do I receive some pictures that leave me utterly speechless. This is one of those instances. As I pick my jaw up from the floor, I ask you all to discuss this amongst yourselves.

I dream of a day when Black people exist in America in numbers so small that like the Native Americans we are granted licenses from the government to operate our own entertainment complexes. Instead of FOXWOODS we will open brothels and crackdens within QueensBridge and Marcy ‘Houses’.

The great-grandchildren of the DuPONTS, the VANDERBILTS, and the CARNEGIES will visit the Museum of Natural History and see a diorama containing wax figures of American Americans. Those figures will be dressed like the people in these photos.

I have a dream…

Fashion Week in N.Y.C. = +50% Surge in Cocaine and Heroin Sales

Monday, September 12th, 2005

Fashion Week

Four times a year, for 10 days, I can forget that I am a recovering addict. I get to put on my favorite Basquiat tee shirt or my Patricia Fields sweater or my Ralph Lauren bowtie or all the above, and then make my way to Manhattan to attend one of the many parties that celebrate the upcoming fashion season’s trendiest lines. The sexiest nightclubs are filled with glamourous leggy models, gayer than gay designers, vapid celebrities, lecherous talent agents, even more lecherous entourages, people born with zero talent but with the good fortune of having a father who owns General Electric, and me.

Back in the late eighties I was the drug courier for all the above. I would get a call from my high school homie SETH R. (last name withheld to protect his identity) and he would tell me where to show up and with how much. For the people listed above money was no object and I would increase my delivery fee on a nightly basis. For instance, a ‘Z’ would cost $1000 on a Monday night and by Friday or Saturday evening the same 28grams would cost $1500. If you wanted to party on the weekend then you had better be prepared to pay. The other reason I knew that I could charge my rates was because of where I got my ‘work’ from. Jackson Heights, Queens, New York is where TONY MONTANA lived. Yeah, Miami had it good too, but Jackson Heights was filled with Colombians who spoke NO INGLES! Raw and uncut baby. I was patched into this network from another high school friend (JOSE R.) whose uncle was heavy, heavy, heavy. JOSE would drive me to the city and wait in his mother’s car while I handled my handle.

When I started getting larger and larger orders, JOSE started getting a little ‘pet’ and didn’t want to drive around with me any longer. So I started using the local livery service and sometimes my cheap azz would take the subway. Listen to how dumb I am… I hopped the train onetime with $1000 worth of ‘C’ and ‘D’ on me. HA! How stupid is that? What would happen on the occasions that I took the subway is that I would end up hanging out with my clients instead of just delivering and leaving. This is how I got turned on to cocaine. I remember the first time like it was yesterday and here it is 17 years ago. I was in a three story walk up in the Gramercy Park area and SETH was doing his thing which is to get me my money while I wait quietly. Being the friendly guy that I am I decided to take the hostess up on her offer for a drink. This was the first time I had ever tried vodka, but I remember thinking to myself, “It’s clear. How strong can this be?” On my third drink SETH came out of the bedroom with my money. Normally I would leave at this point, but just then, the hostess asked me to stay a little longer because she had more friends coming over. Free drinks and a butter soft leather couch meant I didn’t need much convincing to stay. Plus my pockets was fat.

The hostess’ friends arrived as I was working on my fifth or twelfth drink and the apartment got that much livelier. SETH put on the radio to get people dancing. I asked him to change the station to 98.7fm and just then, the Johnny Kemp song “Just Got Paid” came on. I laughed and started dancing in that inimitable way that I do when I am drunk. SETH pulls me into the bedroom, where the hostess and her friends are sniffing cocaine. The hostess offers me a line. I remember thinking to myself, “It’s white. How strong can it be?” I’m pretty sure I did more than one line that night. Now I see why these people pay so much for this shit. I would have had sex with four girls that night but I’m fairly certain that my penis forgot what it was supposed to do and was about to pee on that next girl that touched it. So I only had sex with three.

So this is what fashion week means to me. Friendship, drugs, sex. And if someone tells you that they fucked four girls, they’re lying. Someone got peed on.

V.M.A. Rhymes With Really Gay

Tuesday, August 30th, 2005

homos
It’s not easy to be funny right now when half of the website staff is still in Miami because of all the flight delays from Hurricane Starrkeysha. I hope that none of the subscribers from Biloxi, Mississippi are homeless right now. Holler at BILLY SUNDAY if you are from Louisiana, Alabama, Mississippi, Florida, Georgia or Tennessee. E-mail me with pictures of the desperation and the carnage and I will try to get you on the website staff as a reporter.

Its too bad that the hurricane couldn’t have done some good for the world by blowing thru Miami last nite and sweeping the entire VIACOM MTV VMA production out to sea. Yeah, I know we would have lost some staffers at the website, but think of what kind of world we could raise our kids in without the vapid and shallow personalities that filled that auditorium.

We would eventually miss KANGAY and R.KELLY doing their smash duet ‘Coming Out of the Closet’ but that’s a small price to pay considering the fact that we would no longer have to see new cellphone commercials from YOUNG JEEZY, LIL’ WEEZIE, BOW WIZZLE or SNOOP DOUBLE GIZZLE.

Is it just me or have the T.I.’s used the DNA from SAMMY DAVIS Jr. to create an army of minstrel clones? There was so much noise and sound and fury and the only thing that was signified was a dancing monkey. Watching PUFFY’s old azz dance and shuffle was fun in retrospect to watching UNCLE LUKE bounce and then seeing M.C. HAMMER slide and then… who the fuck is this TOMMY the CLOWN?!?

This is definetly some plan of the T.I.’s. I don’t know what it is just yet, but I am going to get to the bottom of this (extra JOHN LEGEND is KANGAY’s kept man no-homo).

Now that VIACOM has reduced Hip-Hop vis-a-vie rap music to colorful homo clowning it is time to go back to the rebel roots of soul music. I have been ready to get back here. Y’all should come along too.

Nahhh, y’all jiggs are prah’lee practicing your krumping.

A LETTER FROM THE MANAGEMENT

Monday, August 29th, 2005

boss man

Finally!

We couldn’t continue to massage and coddle the site any longer. It was time to come out and meet the world. Time for me to stop confiding my darkest secrets to a talking stuffed animal celebrity hating photograher named BLU CHEEZ. Time for me to leave my parents’ basement and get a girlfriend(preferably a white woman).

fab four

High time for BILLY SUNDAY to stop sleeping on the streets, to get a job and start bathing regularly.

sunday asleep

I don’t know if we all can make a difference in the way that you view the world, but we are sure gonna shoot the shot. I thank all of you that have made it this far with us and I promise on behalf of BLU CHEEZ, WILLIAM H. SUNDAY and the entire crew that we won’t stop giving you the passionate real talk that you have come to expect from us.

I am sure that you won’t like everything that you read, but you have the choice to holler back and put your voice and your language on the site. Real talk is the key to love and life so don’t be skerred to have your voice heard.

I would like to take a second to shout out a few of the folks that helped me go ‘live’ this weekend. JAQUI HERNANDEZ, APPLE HALSEY, CURLY SUE, EXTRA P, TAHERO, PEDRO MARTINEZ(N.Y. METS), DIDDY, N.A.S.A.(for naming the hurricane after a sister – KATRINA), BeYONCE, JAY-Z, FLAVA FLAV, BOBBY BROWN and last but not least, IDI AMIN.

Well family, here goes nothing… actually, here goes everything.

-the ‘Dallas’ (I owns this shit. Biatch!)

DIAMONDS ARE FOR NEVER

Friday, August 12th, 2005

amputations are forever!
When I heard that KANYE WEST’s latest song was titled ‘Diamonds from Sierre Leone’ I was pleasantly intrigued. Way back in February, during ValenTIMES’ Day we talked about diamonds and how much bloodshed their production cost. We learned about the diamond industry’s new rating device that termed some of these gems as ‘NON-conflict diamonds’. I was happy that a rapper was taking the lead to speak to the world about the atrocity and injustice that the diamond industry has wrought on Africa.

What the fuck was I thinking???

KANYE WEST’s song doesn’t say shit about the socio-eco-political misdeeds of the DeBEERS Corp(they run over 80% of the diamond trade), the song doesn’t speak about civil wars or child mutilations and kidnappings. The song is about KANYE, JAY-Z and DAME DASH. Goddamnit this is the last time I will look to a crapper to use their platform for the power of good. I should have known better anyway. On the slee sly, DeBEERS prah’lee owns the company that distributes Def Jam anyhoo.

So where does that leave us? DALLAS PENN, BILLY SUNDAY and BLU CHEEZ are for the children so we have no choice but to keep it real. I don’t mind admitting that I was bamboozled when it came to learning about diamonds, but now that I have some more info I will ask y’all to do the knowledge with me.

‘Conflict diamonds’ are diamonds that are sold to fund the unlawful and illegal operations of rebel, military and terrorist groups. The countries most affected by conflict diamonds are Sierra Leone, Angola, Liberia and the Democratic Republic of Congo, all places where citizens have been terrorized, mutilated and killed by groups in control of the local diamond trade. In response to a few bleeding heart Americans, the diamond industry concocted this cockamamie certifying process to establish if a diamond was from a ‘conflict’ region or a ‘NON-conflict’ area.

The big problem with this system, called the Kimberly Process is that NO diamond can be certified from a location of origin. The molecular composition of the gem does not describe where in the Earth it has been mined from. Because diamonds are small and easily portable and their lack of metal molecules also helps to avoid detection from an array of security devices it is possible to transport them over thousands miles to be sold anywhere.

Lastly, and most importantly, ALL of Africa is fucked the fuck up! I don’t care if the diamond came from a place that isn’t undergoing a civil war. Africa has the AIDS like the U.S. has soda pop(incidentally, the SPRITE Remix Aruba Jam is the best soda ever, but I digress). Africa has a kazillion dollar debt burden, which still confuses me since they have had so many mineral resources I don’t understand how they could be so broke(okay, I do understand, but let’s just pretend like the Versailles Treaty never happened).

The fetish for diamonds and other precious items here in the States has continued the instability in the African continent to this day. I certainly can’t blame crappers and Jigs for starting this situation, but they are certainly the ones that perpetuate the madness. Oh yeah, also Italian peoples with really dark tans love diamonds too. The question now is… where do we go from here? Its not like I am a big fan of the Africans anyhoo. If it wasn’t for some greedy Africans my family may never have been shipped over here, but I do recognize a need to help stabilize Africa. If at least to keep those motherfuckers from coming over here and bootlegging everyone’s CDs. Although the Africans do make great target practice for the NYPD(DIALLO stand up – if you can).

By refusing to buy diamonds you can help Africa get her shit together and stop sending us hair-braiding, bootlegg CD selling, 41 bullet holding bodies. These were always the traditional lifestyle choices for your average American Black.