Archive for the ‘Talking Shit’ Category

More Swagger Than Mick Jagger, But Regretfully Less Than Jimmy Swaggart…

Saturday, October 11th, 2008

swaggart

But y’all don’t hear BILLY X SUNDAY tho’.

Sometimes I have to talk retard to y’all so that you can understand what the fuck I am talking about. I told y’all that it was way harder to release a studio album than it is a mixtape. This is why Jadakiss is the king of mixtapes along with Wang and Fisty. I’m glad that some of y’all realize this shit now.

Today’s drop however is about swagger. It’s overused, but not proportionately overstood. What the fuck is swagger? Let’s see if we can clearly define it so that generations to come will appreciate just how valuable it is to have swagger. It shouldn’t be a situation where swaggers value can be altered like the stock market. Swagger must have a constant value. But to get the value you first have to know the formula (shout to Buckshot back on his feet)

Sw = 3+x(y)

If a rapper has swagger then he/she should be releasing slang into the culture that is adopted as the paradigm for expressing that idea. Wu-Tang brought the phrase ‘iced out’ into the lexicon. B.G. gave the world ‘Bling’. That is swagger when motherfuckers put your shit in a dictionary. I don’t consider a rapper’s fashion to be swagger because all these niggas have a fucking t-shirt company. Rappers never dressed me. I dress myself.

The only thing that matters for swagger is whether or not you got rhymes. I’m not talking about being lyrical either. I’m just talking about walking down the street and hearing people do your song or talk your talk. A nigga like E-40 gots hell’a swagger. Some niggas got swagger for the wrong reason though. Jay-Z got everyone thinking that a blueprint is the most official shit ever. Ha! A blueprint is like a Xerox copy you dumb motherfuckers. Yes, a blueprint holds information, but why not fuck with the original? I always miss some lines or measurements on a blueprint.

I wish niggas would stop crediting T-Pain for jacking Stevie Wonder’s robot voice swagger. That is my problem with swagger. Fools don’t know who to give the proper swag credit to. People might say that Lil’ Wang swagjacked the phrase ‘Ya Deeeg?’ from DipSet, but Cam and them copped that from Jimmy Walker. I will send five PayPal dollars to the person that pulls down the first rap song with the word swagger in a verse.

Fuck it, ten, ten PayPal dollars. Hahahaaaaa.
*uses The Count voice from Sesame Street*

Or you could go the route that has the word swagger buried for all eternity. I would comfortably return to using F.R.E.S.H. if I had to. Just don’t fuck with hardbody. That’s my shit.

They Came Before Columbus…

Thursday, October 9th, 2008

zulu

Put this on your sched for Columbus Day weekend…


The Aboriginal Indigenous Conference of the Americas
a/k/a “What Was You Called Before 1492?”

National Black Theater
2031 Fifth Avenue, Harlem
(btwn 125th & 126th Street)
October 9-11, 2008
6pm-until
FREE TO ALL!

DON’T H8: ALICIA LEE

Saturday, October 4th, 2008

alicia lee

There’s nothing like a mother’s love. Word to H8TORADE.

This story is so fucked the fuck up, and it comes from the folks at KnowGoodMusic

Mom Sexually Assaulted 2-Year-Old Son, DA Says

What the peanut butter and jelly Mickey Mouse shit is going on with this bird ass chick?

There is a segment of Americana that is so fucking stupid and I can’t wrap my brain around it.

The infant has no contextual reference for the action other than the fact that his skin has all kinds of nerve endings that were stimulated. He’ll be fine in the short term, but maybe not when he turns into a teenager and realizes that his mother was separated from him because she was a dumb ass.

The baby’s daddy got wind of this chick’s stupidity and snitched on her to the local jakes. Cam’Ron wouldn’t have told though. Good thing the father didn’t chin check that broad since this is National Domestic Violence Awareness month. Thirty years ago the kid’s dad would have dealt with the knowledge of this stupid woman’s actions by going upside her head with his shoe.

I know this because I was sexually abused by my teenage babysitter. I told my parents what she did to me because it made me feel good. How the hell was I suppose to know it was a bad thing? My father whupped her ass down to the pigskin and called her mother all kinds of crazy shit. They left the neighborhood that summer for good. And I had to wait another decade for blowjob.

I don’t bring up my past to make a light situation out of this clusterfuck. The mother obviously has issues to conduct herself this way. At the end of the day though I think all of us guys can attest that it is still pretty boss to be only two years old and catching BJ’s.

Is all I’m saying.

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.

Dust In The Wind…

Sunday, September 14th, 2008

dfw

Peace out to a giant…

DAVID FOSTER WALLACE 1962-2008