Welcome to the list of The Most Spectacular Songs Ever Recorded.

Sorry young'ns, there won't be any Daft Punk on here. If you're lucky you can trip over their gems in some other far off corner of the blog-o-dome.

#1 Bring It On Home To Me

This jammy is by Sam Cooke and features Lou Rawls on some throat punching harmonies. Possibly my favorite song in the universe. Run and tell your babies about how many times this song made me cry.(4)


25%20Bring%20It%20On%20Home%20To%20Me.mp3

Here's the thing I like about your mom.

She tells the truth. That's rare these days. I don't remember the last time I got not lied to. I just expect it now. Everyone's a four year old that stuck a finger in the birthday cake 20 minutes before your surprise party. You look them straight in the eyes and ask,

"Did you stick your finger in the cake mommy baked for my birthday?"

(eye contact, shake's head)

"Nope Daddy!" Comes the lie.

"Yes you did you simpleton. I can tell that you're stoned. Didn’t you know mommy puts weed in all my cakes? Now you're fucked up and you're about to start bugging out thinking a miniature sheep is inside your head singing Dionne Warwick tunes and that he’ll be there until you die."

They all just stare straight in your eyes and say “Nope Daddy!”

All a bunch of poisoned tongued rodent faced double talky snake oil salesmen. All except your mom. Take this for example. The other day I took a shit at your crib when you were at work. Chill, duder! I always hang out with your moms in the afternoon. She kills it with the chicken fried waffles. Who would have known you can deep fry a waffle in used bacon grease and breadcrumbs and have it come out tasting like a puppy must taste to a cheetah.

Anyway, I blew up your bathroom. And your mom, in her dry and frank manner said, “That shit stinks.”

“But don’t worry, boy, my shit stinks, too.”

Wow, thanks Mrs.(your mother's name).

Not many people can look me in the eye while I’m dropping “SoCo Splashbombz”, shirtless, reading about hockey (don’t even like that shit) and sweating like Patrick Ewing at Guantanamo; this due to the combination of an out-of-work air conditioner and the hedes like temperature of Philadelphia in nearly all seasons. Furthermore, most could never do so while telling me how putrid my insides smell. And lastly, no one could ever do all this and admit a true fault of their own. Most people would rather wait in the living room hoping that I somehow choke to death during a freak toilet paper accident even though they know the odds of this are slim.

Not your mom. She comes correct. That’s why when she told me to cop the new Wale joint I immediately borrowed your track bike, rode into the sunset, and copped doubles.

Fr-Fr-FRASH!$!$!$!$!

A review of The Klaxons(It's not over yet)

Klaxons got ya'll fooled. The "hair" and the "cool"" attitude."

It’s just a ruse to keep you from focusing on the “music”. Because they know that when you start listening to the sound that their voices and “instruments” are making you’ll realize what you’re hearing. They’re a dance version of the late 90’s soft-electro-epics version of late era Hall and Oates.

All you have to do is close your eyes and picture Coldplay singing "It's Not Over Yet" and you'll see what I mean.

Everybody knows, if you like Coldplay you're an old dude. You’re an oldy-old-old. You're older than your dad was when you were 9 and you were like "That man is fucking old. I mean, he's got a fucking greasy beard and warts. My dad is close to death."

If you dig the Klaxons, well, then you're just an old dude who still thinks he's young because he's making sweaty sex-time eyes as he jogs in place like a fitness guru at the club.

Guess what. Those aren't sexy eyes. That's a leer.

Guess what else. Real young people don't dance to music. They fuck on beat standing up.

That "moving your body cuz your high on music "shit is finished. You need to have your dick out as soon as you get past the bouncer. You need to start humping the air and walking towards all females. Because chicks in the club are not looking to "vibe." They're trying to get pregnant. Why are they trying to get pregnant? Because their feminine intuition tells them that 1.) A relationship with you outside the confines of the club would be a dreadful waste of happiness and all positive energy and 2.) The Apocalypse is coming, males will be annihilated, and they need to plant that seed and repopulate the Earth or else mankind will be wiped without a trace from the face of the planet.

See, once again you've failed. You're a horrible boyfriend, a lousy dancer, a failed novelist and a Klaxons fan.

Have fun looking back.

I found this bit of copy that i wrote in 2004 for a Plastic Little show that was at a voter registration drive. 4 people showed up to the show.

Like, dude, you need to fucking vote or like George Bush will shoot missles into like, Muslim women's vaginas and then like the price of kindbud will go up like 400% and then like Al Quida will totally blow up the Giant Golf Ball at Disney World, uh..... I mean Epcot Center, because they soo hate us and shit.

Or like if you don't vote, then like Kerry will win and the whole country will fall to shit, Mexicans will start beheading super models in southern California, the blacks will overrun the street with their advanced levels of dancing and B-Ball skills since they've looted every Foot Action, Foot Locker, and Sneaker Villa in the U.S., and like Al Quida will totally blow up the Giant Golf Ball at Disney Land.... Fuck... I mean Epcot Center, because we let a slacker run the country.

Orrrr if you don't vote, then like Nader will win and the planet will be overrun by 4 tittied space alien women, sorta like the ones from Total Recall but plus one tittie. Shit dawg, thas the muh fuckin bomb!!! Vote Nader/Alf in 04!!!!!!

GET YOUR FUCKING VOTE ON! (Non Partisan Voter Registration Drive)

Plastic Little (IndieClash Titans/hella ignurant, like racist pop-pop ignorant)

man, that was pretty funny. and considering that the spawn of satan's weakest sperm is running the free world, it is also somewhat sad.

THIS THURSDAY!!!!!!!!THE 31ST!!!!!!!!

nightmare.

i had a dream in which i was working at the art store that i worked at ten years ago when i first moved to philly. i guess i was in a tight spot financially and needed a proper job and my old boss offered me a job, despite how bad of an employee i was in the past. I spent a majority of my time in the dream avoiding customers and trying to steal shit, just like i did back in the day. though nothing particularly bad happened in the dream, i still decided that the paycheck from working retail at an art store wasn't worth the indignity of wearing a red apron and wasting my day away under flourescent lights touching exotic paper. "fuck this shit" i told myself. i walked out of the art store with a stolen plastic ruler in my pocket. it was 12 inches long and a deep purple.

Affirmation of dedication

"Ripping the microphone 'til i'm motherfucking 60"
- KRS-ONE

"We ball 'til we fall, til a player age 90"
- Juicy J

Peep how many substances Lord Infamous raps about doing in this verse from 3-6 Mafia's Fuck That Shit.

In the middle of the club, dolla on swoll
Take me a scoop, put it to my nose
Walkin through the crowd, knock your trick down
Pistol in my draws, don't make me pull it out
Twist another blunt, fill it real krunk
40 in the club, Outside it's the pump
Top off the syrup, take me a swig
There go my dawgs, What's Up My Nigs?
Security starin, they better not try it
Cuz we will start a mother fuckin riot!
The crowd is swayin, Three 6 playin
It's on now, no rules we obeying
Security pissed, they started to march
Just in time, I got outta dutch
But I was spotted, and kicked out
Ran back in, shots rang out!

"Yo Ghost! Yo Rae! What's up with ya'll niggas? What the fuck ya'll niggas ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"

Yo. Please buy Hail Social's new album, Modern Love & Death. This is their myspace page. They are good. Good music makes the angels and pigeons happy. It will make you happy just the same.




Click the image to purchase their album on amazon.com. But it's also on itunes too, and they probably will make more money if you buy it off of itunes.

-rats.

homicide is illegal
and death is the penalty
then what justifies
the homicide
when he dies?

White People Smell Funny


my 2007 is better than yours, and this here glove is a large part of why my 2007 has been so amazing. i sometimes actually look forward to showers now. when before i would dread the whole process of getting naked, waiting for the water to warm up, getting wet, lathering, washing off, etc... until i'm back to fully dressed and going about my menial business. i just got put on to this around christmas time and now that it's been 6 months without any odd blemishes or breakouts, i strongly recommend you go out and cop one of these to get your shower on with. mainly for the fellas out there... well, the black fellas, since white guys don't use washcloths. some white girls do though, kudos my bitches, but for most of you crackers a washcloth is as unheard of as spf to a negro. so with that said, i think everybody (mainly black folks) should go out, cop a pair, and fall in love with showering all over again.

ps. if you have pussy ass hypersensitive skin and shower with chapstick then i suggest you stay away from this shit since it is as exfoliating as a motherfucker.

Mother's Day is coming. Let's see what the experts have to offer on gift giving tips.


Thanks Jim Houser.

DREAM GIRLS!



Thanks, Puja. You Go Girl!

Do yourself a favor and watch Peep Show. It is the funniest show I have ever watched in my entire short life of almost 30 years on planet Earth. Go to youtube to watch it. Trust me. This is PackofRats speaking. I would never lie about funny. I love you.

holy fucking shit

I'D FUCK ME


People are crazy. This is nothing new to anyone i'm sure. Britney shaved her head and Tom Cruise is an alien. No big deal. I'm not usually too shocked or taken aback by weird shit, especially when it's a little dirty. I mean, I can admit I was a little surprised the first time I heard about Adult Babies or people with sexual balloon fetishes, but shocked? Naaah. People are fucked in the head and get off on weird shit all the time (i'm not even gonna go there about my own secret fantasies of one boy by the name of Atreyu in a magical land called Fantasia!)
All of this being said, I experienced the other night for the first time ever my first real major shock in the world of bizarro ways to get a boner. Let me set it up for you: I was at a birthday party for a friend being held in a local new york city club. As I got to the bar to order a drink, I tripped over something big, soft, and kind of cushy. It was dark and I couldn't see so my girlfriend Astrid shined the light from her cell phone on the floor. It was still a little too dark to see so I figured I'd kick it over and over with my 5 inch high heel! Was it a bag of clothes? Some weird sort of pillow? We couldn't figure it out so Astrid comes to the conclusion that it was a courtesy stool/stump type of thing for her to get close enough to yell her drink order to the bar tender. She jumps (literally) right on up. I'm still confused and am an amazon woman in those ugly shoes, so I stay away. A drink later, we go back for more. As our friend stood up on this very courteous little foot stool, he feels a hand grab his leg Addams Family style. He was standing on the face of the man who so generously was offering himself up for the tiny ladies of the party to order their drinks with ease. He was the human carpet. And he was there for us.

Did he have a pack of tissues in his pocket? Was there a dress made of skin in there? who knows....but, God bless a man that gets a raging hard-on from a woman trampling him unknowingly in her high heels or mary jane flats.

HIP-HOOOPPPPPP!!!!


Is it me, or does it just some dumb as shit to screw your face up for a promo photo when your like 32 years old?

Son!

Alright. Check 1-2 ya'll.

So, I was trying to write a reveiw for the poster of that new "movie" Pride. The one that stars Hustle and Crash Howard as a black man who can swim. But little did I know that when you type the word "pride" into Google you just get a plethora of cumshot/foreskin/rainbow/goaties and 1950's leather biker caps. Oh, yeah. You also get pictures of buttoxses. Weird buttoxes. Some even look like two aliens kissing. Peep game.

New hate mail for my column, "Black Like Me".
In response to my R. Kelly Column(3-21-07)

ITS AMAZING TO ME HOW YOU COULD EVEN BEGIN TO PUT YOUR IGNORANT SELF IN A BLACK MANS PLACE LET ALONE R.KELLY NEVER IN THE HISTORY OF CELEBERTIES BLACK OR WHITE HAS ONE MAN BEEN TREATED WITH SO MUCH DISRESPECT THE FACT AS A FAN I FEEL THE NEED TO WRITE THIS EMAIL. THE THING THAT BAFFLES YOU PEOPLE IS THE FACT THAT R,KELLY IS UNSTOPPABLE AND REMAINS A HITMAKER ,A HIGHLY SOUGHT AFTER SINGER ,PRODUCER AND SONGWRITER WHICH THE GREAT WHITE HOPE MICHAEL JACKSON HAS NEVER BEEN ABLE TO MAINTAIN.YOUR CONSTANT OBSESSION AT WHAT HE DID OR DIDNT DO( HE HAS NOT BEEN CONVICTED OF ANYTHING) HAS TAKEN A DIFFERENT TURN FROM WHAT ALL THE NEGATIVE MEDIA HYPE HAS MADE R.KELLY MORE ENDEARING TO HIS OLD AND NEW FANS. THE MORE NEGATIVE YOU PEOPLE SPIN ON R.KELLY MORE SUCESSFUL HE BECOMES REMEMBER (DUMB LIKE YOU) THE BUYING PUBLIC MAKE THE DECISION AS TO WHO STAYS ON TOP.I WISH YOU PEOPLE WOULD CHOOSE YOUR BATTLES MORE WISELY.YOUR OBSESSION WITH R.KELLY IS NOT NORMAL WRITE ABOUT ELVIS AND HOW HE BOUGHT AND PAID FOR PRICILLA AT 13 , OR JERRY LEE LEWIS WHO MARRIED HIS 12 YEAR OLD FIRST COUSIN AT 12 OR ROMAN POLANSKI WHO RAPED A 15 YEAR OLD GIRL AND IS A FELON AND A FUGITIVE FROM THE LAW AND WAS GIVEN A OSCAR.IF WHITES CAN CALL ELVIS THE KING WHO HAD ABOUT AS MUCDH TALENT AS R.KELLY HAS IN LITTLE TOE THAN PROUDLY I SAY GOD BLESS R.KELLY AND HIS FAMILY .THE KING OF R-B.

3am riding the cruiser up 3rd street, ole head in wheelchair says to the man pushing him west on bainbridge "i put so much fucking baby oil on that bitch's ass, sheeeeeiiiit!".

go ahead playboy.

PackofRats' Saturday Night (3-10-07)



What ya'll niggas know about the dirty south?

HERBERT & HERBERT

And the Spam of the Day is:

I can't remember from who, but the title was 'Do the Euthanasia'

Is that like the Rocaway?

sesame street says,

it's okay to be mediocre
and a junky
embrace the trash life

Alright, motherfucking humanity, if you're tired of not seeing the best movie of the last 5-7 years then do yourself a favor.

Cop - rent - swipe - download and watch The Hidden Blade. If you care about anything important you will be ready to ride for this movie to the death.

Not only did it make me cry, it has the illest death-by-ill-ass-dude since Magua got offed in The Last of the Mohicans.

If you can name a better film in recent memory than this (say "Little Miss Sunshine", I dare you) I will personally find you and kill you using the Hidden Blade. No, I won't kill you with the movie The Hidden Blade, I wll kill you will the technique from which the film takes its name. I dare you.

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.

I had a dream in which for some reason or another I had to go to jail. while there I was introduced to Clarence 13X, who turned out to be a fairly deisel fellow with a short conk hairdo.

Clarence was seated on a toilet seat and I felt bad in introducing myelf to him in such a situation. I said "Peace, god." as he shook my hand, that phrase sounding dumb even to myself in the dream. Clarence was surrounded by members of the prison office staff, all of them seated together at small wooden tables talking amongst themselves quietly. None of them seemed to be wary of their safety as members of the general prison population were walking by or just lingering about in close proximity to them with no sign of gaurds anywhere in sight. In fact this scene seemed more like a cafeteria than a prison, and this made me really nervous. I was expecting a prison riot to break out at any moment with the prisoners taking these care free members of the staff as their first hostages.

I had no desire to be involved in a riot so I made my way away from Clarence and these office workers to my bedroom within the prison where two double size beds occupied the room, on one of which lay my grandmother. I addressed her by my aunt's name and she laughed at me for this mistake. Not being able to recall what my grandmother's name was, I simply kissed her on her cheek and said "Goodbye, old woman. I have to leave. I have a show". She laughed again.

I gathered my things and went to see the warden. She was a blonde woman in her late thirties. I explained that I had to leave prison so I could perform a plastic little show later on that night. She thanked me for serving my time, which was only a day and gave me permission to leave the prison.

The time for drinks is over.

Bring on the country music.

The future is great.

The crystals on my beard tell you that I was there.

I'm faded.
Sent via BlackBerry from Cingular Wireless

Don't eat this garbage.

Dr. Praeger's California Style Veggie Burgers. They tatse like dog pee marinated cabbage bits held together with sand. Deesgusting. I only eat it because there's nothing else in my fridge, and my roomate's parents bought him a box of like 50, but he won't even touch them, they're so bad. I pretty much try to stay away from this shit, but every now and then i fool myself by saying "If I put enough ketchup on this burger, it'll taste alright." But that never works.



Dr. Praeger. The 'chef' himself. Look at him. Does he look like a nutritional specialist? He looks like a rapist with a stethoscope on. Don't eat anything with his name on it, lest your tongue be tainted by his foul potions.

Note to the 6 people that read this:

I am going to try my haaaaaardest to update this peice of shit blog. Like I said in my original post; i don't do much. Actually i do do stuff, but i'm busy doing it, and most of it is personal nonsense that you would find boring anyway, so why post it? But such questions assail the nature of the blog itself, so i'll stop posing them. Enjoy my desert of words.





Please check back weekly! Something may have happened.

It was cold as fuck out tonight.






As I was riding my bike home I saw a billboard for Cinderella 3 on DVD. When the fuck did part 2 come out?

Danka.
Thanks to all the folks that came out to The Black Boy George. exhibition at Space 1026 last friday. It made an old man proud to still be of this world (not dead). The zine will be for sale soon on the site, just gimme some time dammit. Also, I'm really working on getting an NYC exhibition soon of Too Black Episodes I and II, so if anybody out there knows a legitimate (emphasis on legitimate) curator and spot in NYC. Shout me a hollar, or hollar at me a shout. Yeah, you get it.

I had to do it. I've thrown my hat into the ring of online thought publishing/ declaration of feeling and whatnothaveyou. My friends, my respected enemies and detractors, welcome to Fuck Your Blog, Son. Now I'll be the first to admit that I really don't got much to say about the world at large, I mean yeah it appears to be going deeper into hell on a daily basis, but as Billy Joel once sang about the fire: "It's been burning since the world's been turning." So on that defeatist note, I solemnly welcome you to my blizog. What will I talk about on this thing, you ask yourself? To tell you the truth, I don't really know. I don't do that much interesting shit on a daily basis to even warrant having a blog, but blogs are the new mesh hat and I just love me whatever else the kids are smoking, snorting or shooting up into their veins. Stay In School.

-Jayson Scott Musson.