i forgot.

the academy oscars thing popped off.
i just woke up with a bit of the hate bug.
so pardon me as i pop off.

it's still a man's world
and we stand up to pee.

dudes have it so easy.


looks like a shower curtain strung around her neck.


not bad.


goth wedding cake.


goddamn disaster.
feathers, bulky short sleeves, and over sized yolk?
looks like a last minute project from a.c. moore.


fully matured aborted fetus costume.


big girls, a bolero/shrug is always a good tactic to cover up that arm/shoulder chunknik but this here is a little too flash gordon for 2007. bring it back in 4 years girl. just saying, if you're gonna cover it up, soften the edges a bit and stay way way away from some shit that a football player would attach to his shoulder pads for intimidation points.


i dunno about this collar bow crap. shit looks bulky, cumbersome and like something i would keep poking my finger at if i sat behind her... it's just big and silly. it also makes me feel like a crystal bowl of fancy feast should be dangling in front of her the whole time she walks around.


i'd hit it.


ditto, even though she looks like she should be working at a make up counter in the mall... it's meryl streep.


pshaw!
them contours almost made me forgot that you is a big girl....
i'd nail it to the cross.


there's always one that has to fuck it up.


i know you're almost a certified genius and all, but take that shit off your boy's head homie... he's already going bald, sooo not cute. sorry lil man, it's not your fault. god fearing black people do some silly shit to their kids. don't believe me? just take a good look around at your church during easter.


i dunno about the whole doily thing, but i'd hit it... prolly only if that dress was involved though.


yeah, and i'm always fly.
the gayest straight rapper you know,
trying to bang members of his extended family,
watching the oscars while shopping on ebay for printer ink
and drinking monsters ignoring increasing palpitations.

ps.
forest,

niggas need to retire the "i came from.... so anything is possible" speech. a lot of people of varying races have came from nothing and made something of themselves. you lucky you started in america my nigga. so chill homie, it's really not that serious... especially when it's the same shit you spit on NPR when interviewed for the same movie. chiiiiilllll. while listening to that impromptu speech and looking at your lady's face i kinda got the feeling that she's about fed up with hearing that shit too.... i know you were nervous and all, and i know if put in the same situation, i'd prolly just succumb to my nervousness and hucklebuck my way around then eventually off the stage, but we believe that you were once "hood" or in the "hood" so chill and put cyrus cole away for now.

I'M THE BIGGEST WIGGER IN HERE

I don't usually like having my photo taken and I hate being on video tape, so none of my friends were surprised when I turned down the opportunity to be on Vh1's The White Rapper Show. I mean, c'mon.....let's just be honest and call a spade a spade here. It would've been a horrible decision. It's hard enough to get people to take me seriously as it is (shit, I don't even take myself seriously half the time).....hamming it up for a reality TV program is not really the look. What am I tryin to say....I don't mind getting up on stage and making a joke or gimmick out of myself, it's all in good clean fun.....but letting Vh1 try and make me out to be the weirdo version of whatever that blond chick on the shows name was ....un uh.

With all of this being said, Ego Trip (you go boys!) struck gold. Admittedly, I never thought the show was a bad idea. My feeling was that if Ego Trip was involved it would be thought provoking, incredibly funny, clever, and without a doubt, well executed. And oh my god was it ever. After watching it faithfully all season, my only regret about not going on it was that I missed the opportunity to fuck John Brown a little more cross eyed than he already is. Seriously, is dude forreal? I don't even care.....he's funny as shit and anyone that knows me knows I love to be able to tell good story. Is that totally fucked? eh.

SO tonight is the season finale. It's down between my boo John Brown and the dude Shamrock. Shamrock isn't that bad, but I do kinda think that if Persia hadn't kept choking, she would be in his place right now.....but she did and she isn't so I gotta root for one of these motherfuckers.

I do plan on going to the wrap party with my girl Roxy Oxycottontail tonight. I'm gonna be secretly cheering on Shamrock. I need John Brown to be miserable so that he seeks a little solace from me in a bathroom stall.....come here, baby.....mama's gonna make it all better. John Brown, win or lose....just know that you have already won my heart and a handjob whenever you want.

The King of the Burbs + The First lady of Acid Wash = True Love Forever

Hallelujah Holla AT ME!!

Bugs Monkey. Classic. Thank you Kurt for keeping me abreast with the latest rap niggery.

IN THE GROAN. Your favorite trappers favorite singer of hymnals.

That Shit Isn't Not Funny.


Some folks get their feathers ruffled if you make fun of the dead. They're all on some, "Ooooh, how could you dishonor our forefathers? You know that if you make our ancestors angry the sun will throw a flaming bucket of children’s blood down on Earth and take all the heat over to Neptune while we freeze to death and turn to cannibals from the madness of certain extinction. We better decapitate a virgin before Ramadan. And don’t you care that grandma can hear you every time you swear? She watches you jack off and screams in pain, you know? That’s why you’re going to hell."

Guess what? Dead people can’t hear. Or taste. Or shake their heads in disappointment at the mistake of a life you’ve chosen. They’re dead. Anna Nicole Smith is not sitting on James Brown’s lap in The Copa while Frank Sinatra drinks holy milk from the breast of a nude porcelain angel of purity all the while singing Just The Way You Look Tonight.

Nope. Not Happening.

They’re all dead. All of them have turned into soil. Except Anna Nicole, she’s still in that Dawn of the Dead half rotten state. But soon enough, she too will be spread over a cornfield in central Iowa as nothing more than fertilizer for the grain that will nourish young Bobby and Jane as they grow from teeny suckling cherubs all the way to strapping adulthood. As they excel in all of their courses, win the big game, and crystallize into millionaires with embarrassing sexual dysfunctions and designer drug addictions they will think back fondly on the treasure that was childhood and bask in the lingering taste of corn.

And to me, that is beautiful. The Earth is a self-balancing organism. The universe is harmonious. The winds of time course through all of humanity and we are as one with infinity. All of this goes on without the use of magic or the thumbs-up from God. We, as humans should find peace in the never-ending cycle of existence. We can laugh at the dead because they played a wonderful part in this exhilarating performance and have given them selves over forever so as to be fodder for jokes amongst friends who secretly despise one another.

It’s ok. The dead want you to laugh at them. They told me so.

On the other hand, there is some foul shit in which I find no traces of humor. By this foul shit I will not abide. You may get worked up over dead people jokes, but to me, nothing is more profane than dying people jokes. I’m talking about someone who knows that death could always come with the next breath. I’m talking about someone who has no hopes for the future because the future is measured only in minutes. Larry King for example.

Last night I was watching The David Letterman Show (FUCK JAY LENO. BIG HEAD ASS NO FUNNY ASS SHOULD FIGHT ROBIN WILLIAMS TO THE DEATH ASS SHIT PILE.) He made a joke that I have since forgotten; about how Larry King was really old and was gonna die. What? Where hides the humor in this angle?

Personal suffering? That can be funny. The suffering of an enemy? Downright hilarious. But the suffering of someone who has never harmed you or any one you know in any way? That is just cruel. As far as I know, Larry King hasn’t intentionally caused anyone important to be worse off than they were before they met him. He’s no Roman Polanski. Why would you want to laugh at his impending death? Get some class.

I know a lot of people pretend that they’re not scared to die. They try to convince other folks that death is welcome and that they’ll only be going up to rest in the glorious kingdom of heaven. Check it out. There is no Heaven. You will never get to hang out with your dead dog in a green meadow in the clouds. You will never sit on a cloud. Give it up. Clouds are just vapor, they’re not pillows for you to ride while children laugh.

I don’t pretend.

I’m scared shitless of death. The idea that I’ll never do anything, at all, ever, ever again is the worst thing I can think of. People don’t grasp how long “forever” is. Think about it. Remember that one time you stayed up for three nights straight studying for a test on life in ancient Greece? Remember how you walked around all the time trying to impress people, like, “I’ve been up for 61 hours and counting. Not you. You slept. You’re weak and I’m living on the edge. I’m pushing the limits and you’re just stealing breath that I could be breathing while being awesome and next-level”? Remember how you thought three nights was a long time? Well, if Three Nights walked up to Forever and was like, “Can we hang out?” Forever would pull out a crossbow, shoot Three Nights in the forehead and proceed to scalp him and make a sculpture of his entrails. Forever runs shit and everything else is just trying to stay out of the way so it doesn’t end up as a carpet in Forever’s mansion in Connecticut.

No Clouds. No puppies.

When I think of death it’s just a long black tunnel into a bottomless pit in the bowels of absolute nothing. There will be no rescue. You’re in the pit, bitch. It’s blacker than a trillion midnights. It’s blacker than a POW prison hole. It’s blacker than the basement you used to hide in while your parents fought over which one of them was going to have to keep you after the divorce. It’s terrifying.

Now, imagine being old. You can’t get erections. Your back is hunched. You can’t carry your own groceries. You shit yourself in your seat at the Kimmel Center while the millionaire right next to you sneers, glares, and finally spits on your wife. And the only reason you are there in the first place is because you got the tickets from your friend- who’s actually just your boss who didn’t need the tickets because he was going to Vegas to have sex with hookers on the set of Cirque Du Soleil and felt sorry for you because your life is empty of enjoyment and you could never retire because you squandered all of your money on botched investments and get rich quick schemes.

What a miserable and painful existence. You’ll be there some day. Wandering around in a stupor, falling down at the movies, shitting yourself in public, crying constantly as you peer into the abyss. These will be the worst days of your life. What the fuck is funny about that?

I've never posted a blog before. I'm not really sure what to say. I told Jayson I wanted to be a part of this, but I'm a terrible writer, don't know how to spell, and failed english in highschool due to truancy so I was totally prepared to never actually do it. I talk a lot of shit about getting things done, but i'm mad unmotivated and generally like to keep it that way. Doing shit is for pussies. However, Kurts previous post really sparked something in me and I thought i'd take this opportunity to publicly share some warm tender feelings and to really reinforce what we, over at Brandywine Manor, are talking about.

A new Rap Super Group is apparently in the works. Professional Rapstresses Shawna, Remy Ma, and Jackie O are starting a trio, salt-n-peppa style. While this makes me incredibly excited (how can one's dick NOT get big for these three ladies on a full length album together?) I have to admit that they have nothing on the ultra femme power trio, Yo Majesty.

These three bitches, not only kill every beat they rap on, but they know what it truly means to rock a party (see Kurts photo post below). And when I say that they rock it, I mean it. These ladies don't play it up for hipsters who live for ironic music movements and lastnightsparty.com photo ops. They wear their hearts and dirty mouths on their sleeves for wastoids, party monsters, and most importantly.....the kids. I love these hoes. They make me want to be a better rapper, a better performer, and a better woman.

Unfortunately, they will not be playing in philadelphia anytime soon*, but they do have a few New York dates in early march. If you like big fun, big beats, and big titties you should check them out. They don't really play up north too much so you can totally be that scenester douche that claims they knew about it first.


Fuck your blog, son.

*YM, if you ever do play philly, I swear we will buy you all blizzards and soft pretzels and take you to the Key West to score you the best ass you've ever seen. Please come here. SweatHeart wants to take you to cinnabon.

Yo Majesty.


fuck that shit, fuck that shit nigga.

Legend has it that a 14 year-old Roberto Durán knocked out a horse when he was dared to punch it.

airhorn....

artist beef
in order of appearance.





who wins?

i don't care, but i wish shit like this would carry over into the gallery scene.... "get slapped up at your opening dunnie, this ain't a game.... and i'm taking all your wine and cheeses."

I overheard the best conversation on the subway today.

"Hey Jennifer, how you doing?"

"I'm cold. And depressed."

'Well, I'm going bowling, take care."

Regarding Religion...

After watching Season One of Wonder Showzen(thanks Tina) on dvd, I've come to see my faith in Christ as faulty at best. How can I truly believe in Jesus Christ as my one and true savior when I know of the existence of a more powerful being? Simply put, I can't. So goodbye Jesus and Helloooo Lord Kramdar! Your dark wish is my soul's command! What, My Dark Lord? You want an egg and cheese on a croissant from Dunkin' Donuts? And a White Hot Chocolate? Yes my Liege! Coming right up!


The Dark Lord Kramdar contemplating Being and Time.

Hey Fuck-face! Come here!

So The Philadelphia Weekly has made the mistake of giving me a small weekly column. I don't know how long my writing privileges will last there (they've already asked me to refrain from Jew jokes), but while it does it would be in your best interest to pick up a copy of the Weekly. The column is called Black Like Me and it reads somewhat like autobiographical prose and somewhat like the plain old rant. But let me tell ya, it's hard to rant in under 425 words. I've tried and my penis almost exploded. Woah! I mean my head! My head almost exploded in frustration. So I've sorta had to re-adapt my writing for this small amount of space and apply a bit of self control. One peice has already been published. Check it out, niggas!

Oh yeah, it's also online, but i'm not going to give you the URL. I'll let you find it on your own. If you can find it, i'll toss your ass some Scooby-Snacks, you sleuth you. Personaly, I think it reads better in print than online anyway.

Hallelujah Holla Back!!!

uhm. yeshh.