dumpin.net

HORROR SOUL 2

2009-11-01T09:47:00.002-05:00

30 minute mix of slowed down soul songs to get mellow to. Download and pass it around.

DOWNLOAD HERE

Oh god Dumpin

2009-09-28T20:11:00.002-04:00

I'm just updating this because I don't want that shitty video being the last thing anyone sees on this crap site. We may come back. We may not. The domain name is up again soon so who knows. I'm currently actively writing for Armchair Linebacker though, and there's always Twitter, which I waste my time with pretty regularly. It's like Dumpin except 140 characters at a time. I live in Brooklyn now. BFD. Oh and I'm currently doing two podcasts, and working on Horror Soul 2. Horror Soul 1 is still available for DL a few posts down. Horrow Soul 2 will sound like an actual mix though and not just a comilation of songs. Yaaaaay.

White People Problems

2009-04-03T22:04:00.001-04:00

BWT/USA TODAY / BET TOP 25!

2009-03-05T18:23:00.003-05:00

Hello Dumpin doods I'm back. In an effort to not be as gay as that Vibe tourney this is my list of the top 25 best rappers alive in conjunction with USA TODAY and BET. Enjoy wiggers.

This entry was killing the loading time on Dimpin, so if you are late to the game and want to read it, you can go to BWT's personal blog and see it RIGHT HERE

Buncocky Episode 28: Fatso & The Gay

2009-03-05T00:03:00.001-05:00

BUNCOCKY EPOSODE 28: FATSO & THE GAY

Mikes family and their recent purchases, what Mikes perfect baby would look like, People Mike wont miss from Providence, what is Metallicas sex life like, Does being bipolar make you awesome, Jay comes out of the closet and says he thinks Sublime is genius which makes Mike threaten to quit the show, a quick plug for another lowly podcast, shout out to the listeners for knowing more about Murphy Brown than anyone really should, Jay sticks his foot in his mouth again and goes on a tirade about who should and shouldnt talk about rap music. www.buncocky.com voicemail is 206.279.9972

Subscribe through itunes

www.buncocky.com

Listen at: www.blubrry.com/buncocky

Dumpin.net March Madness

2009-03-03T20:15:00.002-05:00

A few years back, in a project that ultimately created the Xpert Whiteboyz Analysist Posse (or X-WAP... we have a hand signal/gang sign that spells it out, but you have to have six fingers on your left hand, which, oddly enough, both John Dawson and Keenon Mobb both have), we did this Best MC Evar!!! tournament by poll thing to coincide with actual NCAA March Madness on some fucking dork ass message board we all posted on back then, and like most overblown projects where public opinion decides thing, it ended up all screwy, and internet people thought us asseaters for our opinionz.
Well, it's been long enough time, me and mike have been pretend talking about starting up new shit on dumpin for like a month or two now, I am mostly unemployed, with not much to do once my food stamp EBT card runs out each month, so I figured fuck it, let's do it again, like a whiteboy would. Except we (I say "we" but thus far, this has mostly been my brainfuck, because no one is really "motivated" because most of us are either not working or raising newborns or both or mulatto which mixes the laziness of black and the feelings of entitlement of white into one person and that means trouble) figured it better to do something different than just repeat the Best MC Evar!!! gimmick. At one point last year, we had started working on a megalist (which of course was never finished) of living people who could make the hip hop awesome again. So that will be the category. First, here are some disclaimers and proclaimers and rulings regarding that category...
A) the whole "hip hop is dead" meme is fucking played and a half and actually about two cycles of the blogosphere away from becoming retro-hip on the nostalgia tip
B) if you think hip hop is more awesome than ever right now and love you some pink polo shirts with hand-knitted scarves, that's all good; just go ahead and rephrase the "make hip hop awesome again" into "make hip hop even more fucking better than it already is;" let us not argue about semantics fore that might get in the way of useless arguing about what half-obscure shithead is better than some other half-obscure shithead
C) the only people to be considered are still alive fuckers (for-real alive, not Tupac alive) and individuals, not groups/crews/collectives; in the case you are thinking about a crew, pick your favorite/ringleader/backbone to that crowd
D) all of the above

What I am asking for at this point is your input, random fuckers inside the robot screen, as to who should or should not be included in the field of 64. There are multiple ways you can do this. First off, you can go to the sorta dumpin.net message board aka The Secret Clubhouse and there is a thread there in the music folder where this can all be discussed at length. You have to register and then get approved, so sometimes none of us show up for a while, so don't be all like "damn, I registered 21 minutes ago, why can't I post?" It is a laid back place not full of the usual internet faggotry yet, so don't come in there wiping your feet on the coffee table and shit. Although I doubt anyone cares.
If you'd prefer, you can just suggest, discuss, and libel up the list as a response to this post. The making of the field will happen inside the Clubhouse, but I'm certainly not against anonymous nominations here. Also, if you know me or mike's email (I think his is in the sidebar, and mines is ravenmack at gmail you know the rest of the deal), you can send us electronic messages about it. Did you hear about how the post office was gonna start charging like stamps for every email? Yeah, supposedly starting in April. So email us now, before it costs 47 cents.
The first polls will kick off on March 17th, and this whole thing promises to be a thing. How great or stupid it ends up being is entirely up to you, and I will probably blame you for it anyways. So you might as well get in where you're gonna fit in now.

Dumpin Presents: HORROR SOUL VOL. !

2009-03-03T15:45:00.003-05:00

(I wanted to make a cool cover picture for this, but I don't have access to my own computer and the one I do have access to doesn't have Photoshop, so just pretend there is a cool cover photo right here)

So I'm unemployed right now, and when I get unemployed I end up completing ideas I had three years ago that I was too lazy to complete at any given time. Sometime in 2005 I was listening to a Quiet Storm style internet radio station when there was some kind of mess up with the stream and a few songs played slightly slower than normal. Slowing down that kind of stuff really brings out this haunted vibe in the music while improving the overall listening experience for those of us who partake in marijuana smoking (or recreational cough syrup usage).

I am obviously not the first person to think of slowing down music. I'm probably not even the 56,293rd person to think of it, but this isn't exactly "screwed", it's slowed down just enough to zone out to, but you can still listen to it in pulic without people thinking you are too much of a weirdo.

This mix was my first attempt at creating "horror soul". It is unblended and nothing fancy because I'm just testing the waters, but I hope to make more volumes in the future. All tracks were lifted from my own records and not some bullshit mp3's that were manipulated in some crap program. It took me a few hours to do. Feedback is much appreciated (as in, 'this is not slow enough' or 'this is just right 4:20 everyday')

HORROR SOUL VOL. 1

1. Heatwave - Star of the Story
2. The Dells - Give Your Baby A Standing Ovation
3. Delphonics - La La Means I Love You
4. Dionne Warwick - I'm Your Puppet
5. Brighter Side of Darkness - Love Jones
6. Africa - Here I Stand
7. David Ruffin - Just Let Me Hold You For A Night
8. Harold Melvin & The Blue Notes - If You Don't Know Me By Now
9. The Stylistics - Break Up To Make Up
10. The O'Jays - Back Stabbers
11. Andrae Crouch & The Disciples - It Won't Be Long
12. Marvin Gaye - Distant Lover
13. Demon Fuzz - Hymn to Mother Earth

DOWNLOAD HERE

Keith, is that you?

2009-02-26T19:38:00.002-05:00

I'll tell you something guys. Running this blog is a serious uphill battle for me. We've always tried to deliver our unique brand of meta-humor to the rap blog world, but the rap blog world doesn't seem to be interested in unique brands of meta-humor. There are literally thousands of sentences on this blog baiting readers to jump out of the computer screen and strangle us, and we hardly ever get a bite. We'll get the usual "good job guys" or "funny shit" comments and at the very worst, the shit I hate the most: "Can you re-up ______ please?" comments under some bullshit post I put up two years ago that someone obviously found google searching and unfortunately landed on the one rap blog not at all interested in stroking someone's hard drive to full blown pirated mp3 ejaculation.

So a few days ago, I almost had a heart attack when I received an amazing comment for another two year old blog post. Not since that one guy in the chatbox that would pop up once a month to tell us how stupid we are, have I been so moved by an anonymous commentor.

The comment was posted under our Masta Ace entry for our TOP 100 HIP HOP JAMZ ongoing countdown (I swear we are finishing this!). Here is the original entry

If you don't feel like reading, I will highlight the good stuff. It was actually something Raven wrote that got this guy so riled up:

"Mike made the Kool Keith mention, and I can just tell you right now that Kool Keith doesn't make this list, so fuck off hipster fuckwads and go pick up a 12-pack of PBR to go watch World Cup soccer and shit. Masta Ace was two times better than Kool Keith back when it was the '80s and nobody had solo careers really and one was ultramagnetic and the other was juicy, and then in the '90s, Masta Ace was still four times better, just he didn't rap about schizophrenic bullshit all day long, which confuses hipsters into thinking somebody's clever."

Now this is mainly hilarious because it was a giant lie. Kool Keith ended up finishing 12 spots ahead of Masta Ace on the top 100 list, but Anonymous Commentor was in too much of a rush I guess to go through the entire list before posting this:

"Actually, Keith's just over your stupid heads. Can't take anything away from Masta Ace, but don't act like Keith ain't the shit. So his rhymes ain't always the spiffiest. He still always has his own flows. Dude is hands-down the funniest MC, he's the pissiest, and his metaphors are clever as ever if you got the brains to catch what he's saying.

About half of his stuff is too weird. He takes chances. He don't go for that same bullshit formula, album after album, riding whatever beats were the most popular at the time. Someone as ballsy as him is bound to fail.

Pound for pound Keith has twice the classic tracks that Ace does. More than that. Dude's only released fucking 50 albums or something. How many can Masta Ace claim? How long does it take him to come up with a new idea? How long does that motherfucker sleep for? Keith's up the next morning with a new idea.

But like I said, can't take shit away from Masta Ace or most of anyone involved with Juice Crew. Obvious legends who's music is still relevant today. Especially today.

You guys are just pissed because Keith's always dissing on the backpack scene. You can't handle the fact that he has no use for you. You can't handle the fact that Keith will diss anyone he wants to and they never come back because they know what would happen. They all know who he is. They all heard his album when they heard they were dissed on it. Then they sat back, crossed their fingers and hoped no one noticed. And they didn't, because backpack motherfuckers like you need to hear that same shit over and over again with whatever underground beat is popular at the time.

Suck my dick."

There were so many things about this comment that floored me. The first being that someone took the time out to write a few hundred words in response to a two year old blog post by idiots. The second being that this was pretty well thought up but the person didn't want credit for his comment so he posted it with no name. The third being that some guy thought that two white guys running a rap blog over the age of 27 would somehow NOT like Kool Keith and this wasn't some kind of joke, and the most intriguing of all to me, this comment popped up at 7am on a Tuesday.

My first thought was that this guy must be a foreigner. What kind of American Kool Keith fan is up at 7am on a weekday writing pro-Kool Keith tirades to hardly viewed blogs ? So I checked my stats and sure enough someone was googling "masta ace kool keith" at 7am, but shockingly enough, that person was from New York City!

I can only assume this anonymous commentor is Mr. Kool Keith himself (or at least his manager). It's 2009, Dr. Octagon was like 27 year ago. No American cares about Kool Keith enough anymore to be penning eloquent blog comments at the butt crack of dawn just for the hell of it. SO please Mr. Keith, you must understand that this blog is supposed to be humorous, and we didn't mean any offence. I celebrate most of your entire musical catalog and I even went to that one shitty Warped Tour you played just to see you play like an 18 minute set and it was still the highlight of my year. I understand you had to remain anonymous because you didn't want to blow up your own spot, but deep down, I know that was you on the other end of that keyboard at 7am last Tuesday. Or if it wasn't you, maybe it was Jackie Jasper or Marc Live or Tim Dog or Motion Man, but either way, I am honored that you guys view Dumpin.net and you make it all worth while. Thank you so much.

Fuck White People.

2009-02-24T22:51:00.007-05:00

This article came from The Guardian and if the proposed legislation miraculously gets passed, it would be only a matter of time before weed was legalized in my home state of Connecticut. Connecticut has some crazy fucked up rules. We research stem cells, gays get married, but liquor stores have to close by nine. Every single politician to ever come from CT is a spineless piece of shit. People assume that it's all farmland but really it's super rich places next to super trashy places (where Mike and I were growed). I doubt it will get passed because we'd all become heroin addicts with AIDS and sex fetishes, but here's to hoping:

A California state assemblyman from San Francisco has introduced legislation that would legalise and tax marijuana, a move he hopes will help shore up the state's dire finances.

The bill by San Francisco representative Tom Ammiano, would legalise the cultivation, possession and sale of marijuana by people 21 and older. It would charge growers and wholesalers a $5,000 (£3,400) initial franchise fee and a $2,500 annual renewal fee, and would levy a $50 per ounce fee on retailers.

The law, which would make California the first state to legalise marijuana, would inject an estimated $13bn a year in revenue into California's empty coffers. Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger on Friday signed a $130bn budget that raises sales and income taxes, and dramatically slashes spending. States across the country are facing massive revenue shortfalls, as income and real estate tax receipts fall and outlays for unemployment insurance and health coverage rise.

Is it just me or did every single weed smoking revolutionary propose this exact idea? I remember sitting in my wife's attic bedroom (long before we were married) playing Mario Kart with Mike and her while this dude JewJay preached this exact same fucking plan. JewJay could almost make weed suck by talking about it too much. He listened exclusively to Weird Al and Bone Thugs, wrote heroic epics with names like "Ode to the Bitchass Blue Oinkers," and never, EVER, let his stash fall below an eighth. He called(s) it "Ganj" and "Endo." He also idolized Smoky from Friday. He was usually the supplier of the weed so we'd have to follow his rules. He had a bowl he liked to pass around and he implemented the "Puff, Puff, Give" rule that Smoky made when Craig was bogarting a blunt. If it doesn't sound completely backwards, try "Puff, Puff, Giving" with a bowl. It really drags things out (no pun).

Anywho, JewJay loved weed like crackheads love crack. During his eight years of college (Bachelor's in Political Science) he actually wrote a paper for one of his classes about how and why weed should be legalized. I hope, for once, that JewJay gets and this California state assemblyman gets his way. If youd like to read the entire article you can do so here.

Bigfoot's Dick

2009-02-24T18:55:00.004-05:00

So my friend Dez (along with the sensual guiding hands of Mr. Dibbs) has a new mixtape out for FREE that all of you leeches should download. I know a lot of cool people who are involved in a lot of shitty music projects, but I actually listen to Dez's music recreationally, which means I genuinely like his shit. I'm only a few tracks into this new jam, but it's worth your time especially free.

DOWNLOAD DEZMATIC & MR. DIBBS -- BIFGFOOT's DICK

New CunninLynguists song isn't over my head.

2009-02-23T20:43:00.003-05:00

I'll hopefully have a more well thought out post soon but the next couple weeks will be hectic on my end. Anyway, I always thought the CunninLynguists were kind of blah and then that one album came out with the cartoon twizzy fairy lady on the cover and blog dudes got mega boners over them, and I listened to that album several times but I guess I just didn't get it. This new jam is about weed though, which is something I can fully understand.

Outside of this CunninLynguists jam, I've been doing the Stanky Legg for the past few days....

An interview

2009-02-18T21:21:00.003-05:00

So despite both parties of this interview having complete access to post on here, Jay asked me to post this interview he did with Raven (on behalf of Raven's rapping group Solaris Earth Pipeline). I don't know what kind of queerbait shit is going on where they couldn't get together and cut and paste this stuff themselves, but here you go:

Convincing my wife to let me drive from our home in Connecticut to Virginia was not easy. That I was going to interview a white rapper made it harder. The goocher was that the trip was a labor of curiosity and paid nothing. I was on a vision quest. Solaris Earth Pipeline potentially offered an answer to a long considered question of mine: Could rap music prove honest? Forget about political agendas guised in honesty, or "keeping it real" by fabricating oneself, or the countless misrepresentations of truth in the crux of our country's popular culture. I was after the real deal, and I hoped to have found it in Solaris Earth Pipeline. My wife let me go because she knew me restless mental and she accepted my lunacies.

Solaris Earth Pipeline consists of Psy/0psogist (beat conjuror), Raven Mack (lyricist), and an oft-changing cycle of contributors. Psy/0psogist, as the group's name suggests, tapped into a beat inspiring pipeline, a hip-hop back alley in some lost corner of the space/time continuum. The sincerity in Raven Mack's lyrics are as otherworldly to rap music as homosexuals and fifty-year-old white women—or so was my inclination. Thus is what I hoped to prove. Right now, one could point to any sales charts and show me how deep the pockets of business are, but will it be here in two-hundred years? Can it survive the test of generations? Such an achievement depends on whether or not the culture can overcome the cliché that it has become. The only way for that to be accomplished it to allow rappers to be people. .

It was cool outside. I held my jacket tight around me. I followed Raven Mack to the late seventies model camper that he had commandeered from a gypsy woman who left it in his backyard. It had spent decades nurturing yellowing grass and rusted car parts. Raven had converted it into his den of anti-lucidity. He told me to wait at the door. Seconds later, courtesy of a hanging halogen lamp powered by a series of multicolored extension cords that led back to the house, we had light. The camper's walls were dingy browns and yellows cultivated through years of hard-earned negligence and smoke. Books, magazines, and records were stacked—Jack Kerouac was sandwiched between Julia Child and a biography of Abraham Lincoln. The Source, Popular Mechanics, Playboy, and Pro Wrestling Illustrated, Lynyrd Skynyrd, EPMD, Molly Hatchet, many faces of Wu Tang, and Jim Croche, all of them gathered in the camper as if ready to perform a demon festival—an anti-Woodstock with Raven serving as the Master of Ceremonies. Records were glued at random and it smelled of cheap beer, stale marijuana, dead things. It was the dwelling of a madman, a cranky genius, a misguided hippie, a super-dork. A picture drawn in crayon of a dreadlocked hobo in overalls was taped on the wall next to a foldout table with bench seats. I sat down and placed my tape recorder on the table. It was a clunky machine from the mid 80's I dug up from my parent's basement. I was reluctant to stain my journalistic integrity with primitive equipment, but the sophistication of the Winnebago put me at ease. Raven sat across from me.

"Your lyrics contain a level of cynicism underlined with a hope that things could get better. Is that intentional?"

"Nah, makes sense," he said and pulled a pair of Miller High Lifes from under his seat. He handed me one and opened his own. "I had a [SIC] uncle that killed himself over a crazy bitch, and he visited me in dreams a number of times, and the thing I realized is that as much as life sucks, there's no guarantees beyond it. You never want to go into a gamble completely blind, and at least with life, you can find corners to burrow into and immerse yourself into the perverse shit that makes you feel good." He spoke in breathless rants natural to his Virginian accent. He was tall with thick dreadlocks that draped over his shoulders. His unruly beard seemed more personal philosophy than fashion statement. The 81 on the clearance rack Redskins jersey he wore was chipped and fading. What would Art Monk have thought upon seeing that particular fan wearing that particular jersey?

I opened my Miller and took a sip. "In songs like Rap Grammar you talk about growing up poor in Virginia, and how your parents struggled to raise you and your sister. How did your parents and your immediate surroundings influence your music and your writing process?"

"My dad played a lot of outlaw country, but he played a lot of everything. He never liked the rap music, though. I don't know how I got into it. Probably because I liked to talk a lot of shit and you could talk a whole lot more shit, on pure word count, by rapping than anything else. I don't really think about what I write, though. It just happens," he leaned back and considered the question. "A lot of times, I just have dreams where I'm looking at sheets of paper with lyrics, or sometimes books that are printed and I've written it all, and I usually like to read it, but then I wake up and just try to write down what I can remember seeing."

"Can you point to a song that came from one of these dreams?"

"On the last S.E.P. [45s on 33], there's a few songs on there where at least big parts of it came from inside my brain beyond what I usually know," he said and produced a crooked joint from behind his ear. "The 'More Than Just breath' song—a lot of that one was like that." He lit it, offered it to me, and shrugged when I refused.

"What's the scene like when you're writing lyrics?" I asked.

"If I want it to it always happens, but I stifle it most times to not be thought of as a rambling-ass homeless dude. You get into letting lyrics loose and it's hard to stop. Your brain just does it, like you gave yourself a foot fetish." He exhaled smoke as he spoke without as much as a stutter; it was a commendable feat of lung capacity, freakish even. "And once it gets to that point, writing lyrics is basically just sitting down and scribbling out what your brain usually does."

"So would you say it's like thinking but with rhythm?" I challenged him with a raised eyebrow, convinced I had managed to reduce his whole system into a trivial statement.

"Not really," he said, the matter-of-fact rebuttal of an expert shit-talker. "There is no rhythm to a man's thinking."

"That sounds like a slogan from a clever t-shirt."

"I should tell my man, Deric. He has a t-shirt company."

"He could put Bob Marley on it."

"Nah, somebody more obscure but cool, though. Sub-Commandant Marcos."

"Who's that?"

"Some Mexican dude who wore a ninja mask and shot motherfuckers with AK-47s."

"He'd have to be smoking weed or the shirt wouldn't sell."

He drained his beverage and gently brought the empty can down as if it were a fine China tea-cup. The smoke that clouded the room looked as appropriate as a lit candle with a romantic dinner. "I don't buy shirts that cost as much as t-shirts like that cost, so I ain't the target demographic, probably. Coffeehouse revolutionaries."

"Exactly. People who would love your music."

A kiss of lunacy danced in his eyes. He looked at me as if I had just called his children ugly. Raven was burly like a rusted aluminum beer keg and exuded menace. Nobody knew where I was but for my wife, and she was none too happy with me. "I say that because there is an honesty about your music that goes down to the core of who you are and what you represent—the exact type of person that 'Coffeehouse Revolutionaries' turn into fashion trends. Maybe it's dishonesty about themselves that make them attracted to honest people. Who does S.E.P. write music for?"

"Me and PSY/OPS, ultimately. Beyond that, if our goodest friends dig it, then we know it's okay."

I sighed. "But besides that, do you ever dream of selling a billion copies?"

"I'd like to tour again, but that's it."

To protect his image would have cancelled my theory. Rap music would forever remain a cliché turned joke turned outright and blatant lie. How many crack dealing, pimping, bullet wounded mafia dons possess latent venomous rhymes. My guess? None. Not one. Maybe one. Possibly two, but that's it—definitely not 85% of the hip-hop community. Rappers in argyle V-necks cashing paychecks earned by caring about social issues, anime loving skateboarders trying to redefine "the game" by redefining themselves, the music addicted, the ass-obsessed party jammers, ballers, playboys, mock serial killers, and those who potty-mouthed for attention rounded off most of the remaining 15%. My whole reason for driving to Virginia was to prove that the ever evasive label that rappers often claim—the truth—actually existed. Raven would have to represent himself with the same unadulterated sincerity found in his lyrics. For everything to fall to the wayside by a punk rock cliché would have broken my heart.

Virginian moonlight shined on him through fogged up window that was framed by a set of mustard colored curtains. He dug deeper. "I'm thirty-five and did this shit in my early twenties when we could have gotten shitty record deals, so I don't think much about all that. Nobody buys records nowadays and the people at our shows would probably be people I didn't like, so I'd get drunk and fight people at the shows, which, knowing the world, would lead to more touring."

"Could you honestly hate somebody who is showing you unconditional love?" I asked.

"Personally, I'd probably dig them. But standing on stage looking at a bunch of dumbass white people in goofy-ass clothes, I'd probably want to fight them, too."

"About being white," I said, pausing, organizing. "Successful white rappers, talented or otherwise, seem reliant upon gimmickry. ICP has to be ICP; Eminem has to go lengths to offend. White rappers are automatically a few steps behind, not unlike challenges that I imagine black people face on a daily basis. Do you feel that what you present in your music and onstage is a fair representation of who you really are?"

"It's just me, man. I'm old enough to where I don't give a fuck about impressing people. I got a wife and three kids so I don't need blowjobs from Jennifer Love Hewitts no more. Usually people have gimmicks to remain marketable, but fuck…there's no music market anymore. People are all broke," he said, gesturing with his hands. "White people are like everybody else, so I shouldn't use that phrase so easily, but honestly, it's fucking white people who dropped out of college who tend to like our bullshit. Older black dudes tend to like us, too. Dudes from the Eighties."

"So what's it like working with Psy/Opsogist?" I asked.

"Me and the PSY/OPS aren't really on the same page with a lot of things, musically. 45s on 33 was me trying to influence him more with my thinking. But he's intense, so it works out good, because even if he plays me some beats that I think are shitty, I know he's at least fucking trying."

"Do you guys get along when you're working?"

"Yeah, except for when he gets too high. Although he'd probably tell you it doesn't work when I don't drink," he said through a half-smirk.

I took a deep drink from my beer. He offered me another but I politely declined, mine still being half-full. "Tell me about him. How would you describe him as a musician and how would you describe what he does?"

"He's a failed Indy Rock guitarist. But one who's tormented with sounds like I am tormented with words. He calls his music "Soundtrack to Nightmares" and that's what it is. He's only been doing beats for four years, but I figure he would've ate a bullet by now if he didn't do them."

Sitting in a camper decorated like a post-apocalyptic museum exhibit on American culture while a poorly dressed Virginian feeding on marijuana and beer, a feeling that I had long tried to put into words was finally verbalized for me. If I don't write for a while I start to get frustrated and my chemistry is thrown off. Tormented by words. I repeated it under my breath. "Tormented by words." Anyone engaged in any kind of artistic pursuit should be able to identify. It's one of Raven's greatest lyrical attributes. The ability to turn a clever phrase is the physical manifestation of what rappers do. Raven, though, does it without pretense while maintaining the integrity of the sentiment as if guilt-stricken by lies. He's spot on.

"What do you think about where rap is right now? Pop music and otherwise."

"I don't even listen to anything," he laughed. "It's basically two forms of shit: mainstream shit which is predictable and MSG-laced, and then the underground poly-syllabic hyper-intelligent posturing."

I nodded. "Kurt Vonnegut's novel, Breakfast of Champions, has a line in it that always makes me think I'm smart because I think about it after I read it and raise it whenever appropriate. When responding to the question 'What is the meaning of life?' [Vonnegut's character] Kilgore Trout says, 'To be the eyes and ears and conscience of the Creator of the Universe, you fool.' How does that sit with you? Is it a legitimate intense statement or pseudo-deep bullshit?"

"Words are always bullshit. People get caught up in finding a meaning for what they do with themselves all the time, but really, if you enjoy it, what the fuck does it matter? Some uptight old lady crocheting spare toilet paper roll covers, hating on 'coloreds' and eating breakfast at McDonald's everyday, if she's happy, what does she owe anybody? People looking for meaning in life are probably unhappy with their life."

"Isn't finding the meaning of things what makes what we do worth it? Is music strictly carnal or is it something you use to get to the bottom of life?"

"Pretty much carnal," he said. "I do it for personal satisfaction, but hopefully it gives other people something they can dig upon at the same time."

We hung out for another couple of hours and talked over some beers. I left the camper feeling smug about my success. Raven had proven honest. Truth could exist in hip-hop. On the highway heading north, the desperate but nourishing ghetto farmland of rural Virginia tapering off behind me like an echo, I thought about how my wife had let me make this ridiculous trip and spend cash that we didn't really have. Then the lesson behind Raven's words became clear. I am just a guy with a tape recorder and a machine that enables me to record words that build sentences that form opinions. Honesty doesn't have a vocabulary. It is prominent in every single intention we put into action, and every single idea that we ignore. To be conscious, alive, and to choose is to be sincere to our ambitions. To place a claim on the truth is to lose it completely. I drove all the way to Virginia so I could put my stamp of approval or disapproval on the integrity of rap music, but the truth doesn't come from words, images or representations. It comes from singing the song that you want to sing. Cruising ever forward, leaving the Virginia moon to Raven and Psy/0psogist, I came to the conclusion that life is never more real then when you accept things for what they are.

BUNCOCKY 26: CYBERDILDONICS

2009-02-16T17:02:00.001-05:00

Jay and Mike discuss a new self pleasure device called The Real Touch followed by an inteeligent discussion on four hour erections so you may want to fast forward 15 minutes or so if you are frightened of sexy talk, also talk aout the peculiar smell of bacon pizza, Kanye West lookalikes in court, a crap musician supergroup, and Mike gives Jays fashion sense a Stone Cold Stunner. The last segment was mistakenly erased so theres some heartfelt apologies to listen to at the end. www.buncocky.com voicemail is 206.279.9972. GIVE US A CALL

TO listen, subscribe, download, digg, twit, etc, etc, just follow the link

http://www.blubrry.com/buncocky/

EWA EXCLUSIVE: TOP 10 SCARY BLACK GUYS

2009-02-14T10:08:00.010-05:00

INTRO TO THE INTROS

Mike Dikk: This is the EWA's (Expert Whiteboy Analysis for the uninitiated) first official return to longwinded wordy blog list after over a year long hiatus so I thought I should give you some backstory. We have a little message board that's open to anyone if you sign up, but within that message board there's a SECRET message board where we come up with ideas for crap to write about. It's real sad looking at the posts there over the past year. There's a ton of good ideas and projects that never got off the ground. This Scary Black Guys list was the closest we got to completing a project. It was originally supposed to be a Top 25 list like the rest of our junk, and I think we even made it to 16 before we lost interest. I wasn't happy with some of the picks so I shaved it down to 10. I guess we really aren't as secretly racist as we thought we were before we went in to this.

The idea is simple: Come up with a list of Scary Black Guys (in no particular order). We didn't rely on fictional characters because that would have been corny since the whole list would have been dudes from The Wire or some such shit. Internet friend Tree Beats joined us on this project. He used to do the TREE BEATS and I HOOK A BEAT UP blogs, but I haven't talked to him since we started this thing up last November and he may be dead for all I know. As per usual with our stuff, some of the picks are a little abstract and some are pretty expected. I hope you enjoy. Oh, and please don't think we really are secretly racist. Keenon is an EWA alumni and he is half black.

INTROS:

RAVEN MACK (RM): So this is the Xpert Whiteboy Analysists panel reformed like Voltron made from stolen copper in a crackhead's shopping cart. Nothing really caused us to do this other than boredom, which is actually the exact same reason we stopped doing it. Hip hop is fucking boring. It is either pop bullshit pretending to be real, or it is self-important indy bullshit acting like it's real. The Xpert Whiteboy, not us so much as the overall phenomenon, loved the gangsta shit. But he also took a couple of anthropology and sociology classes in college and ended up loving the indy shit. But then it got all confusing, so he started liking retarded shit, like Lil Wayne or Kanye West or that forebearer of retarded style that every budding Xpert Whiteboy cites as the greatest - Kool Keith. So we're not going to do hip hop exclusively anymore, because what's the fucking point? There's a thousand pretentious blogs about hip hop inside the internets dirty intestines, and you can read a plethora of expert whiteboys, although they're not upfront about that like we were, within three clicks of this place.Also, I probably shouldn't but will speak for everybody when I say we could give half a fuck about you shouting out or linking up dumpin. We write stupid shit for stupid fuckers to have a stupid laugh about. The only people who make money writing are hack verbal prostitutes who do not spend enough disillusioning themselves with illicit substances and harsh reality. Dumpin.net is about nothing except filling up space with entertaining words on trivial matters. We are your friend, for sure, but don't be hitting up the cbox with link trade bullshit or check out your all 1993 instrumentals blog or whatever the fuck (unless it's dub music, or Hawkwind bootlegs from pre-1978). Just enjoy us. If you have something enjoyable that is written out and not just a bunch of fucking rapidshare links, email me or Mike. We love to read. People still do that you know? You fucking text messaging pieces of shit.Anyways, our first new style top 25 Xpert Whiteboyz Analysists piece is about Scary Black Men. Because one thing the expert whiteboy is infatuated with, almost to a cuckold level, is the scary black man. We are fascinated by his cocksure swagger yet terrified by his ability to completely dominate us, against our will. It is a disturbing paradox. White guilt? Perhaps, to an extent. Karmic retribution for our slaveholding ancestors? Nigga please. That's a hackysack way of describing white guilt.So let us take your internet hand by way of your eyeballs and walk with us through a list of Scary Black Men, to Xpert Whiteboyz (and possibly one mulatto, if his black half's blood sugars ain't acting up again).

MIKE DIKK (MD): Hello. If you really want to know anything ridiculous about me, I do a sometimes weekly podcast with Jay called Buncocky. You can listen to that and learn more about me than you ever wanted to. (Subscribe through iTunes!)

JOHN RICHARD DAWSON (JD): John forgot to write an intro. I think he has a kid now or something. He may or may not be a teacher.

KEENON MOBB (KM): To be really honest with you, I don't actively rank black dudes I'm scared of unless you ask me about it specifically. It's not something that keeps me up at night, thinking, "OOH, THAT NIGGA FREDDIE FOXXX WOULD PROBABLY BEAT ME WITH A TIRE IRON AND RAP ABOUT IT ON A DJ PREMIER BEAT!" as I shake in my shell-toed pajama pants. I know some black dudes that would probably scare a good chunk of you people reading this if you met them in the wrong context. It's not that they're especially violent or scary or whatever, they just give you the impression that shit might jump off if they're around and you might get sucked in if you're in the wake. Anyway, there are black dudes that I'd never think of fucking with, but I don't really imagine myself going after anyone in general. The worst thing I want to do most of the time is yell at someone or throw a shoe at them for being fucking dumb. Fight Club doesn't resonate a chord in my basal ganglia that makes me want to hit and get hit just for shits & giggles. I'm a lover, not a fighter.

JAY PUD (JP): Hello, I'm Jay Pud, and if I was your friend I would totally try to french your girl. I'd shit talk you when you weren't around until she let me stick my tongue in her mouth. Word up.

TREE BEATS (TB): I be a mother fucking Kindergarten teacher and shit. I once ate ostrich meat. I also used to be called “McQueer” because I have a “Mc” last name and that was a clever way to flip it and make me sound like I was the homosexuals. But I quit sword fighting at 16. Nahmean!?

1. SUGE KNIGHT

JP: The last time I did Ecstasy was when my wife was still my girlfriend and we were at her house. She ate half a pill and I ate one and a half. We started watching some dumb Disney cartoon or something that sounded like a good idea at the time. Before it kicked in she fell asleep, and I just figured that she didn’t take enough for it to work. I started rolling pretty hard and began to play Mario Kart feeling super good like Ecstasy makes one feel. Then my girlfriend woke up tripping balls and super freaked out, forgetting that she had taken a pill before she fell asleep. I spent that entire night trying to calm her down and not once did I get angry or upset. Why? Because I was on E, and that shit makes you feel nothing but goodness. Well, except when you wake up on it and think you have gone insane.One time Suge Knight took Ecstasy and some Vicodins and beat the shit out of his girlfriend in a parking lot. I cannot imagine the inner turmoil, the broken self esteem, the sheer strength of heartbreak that he must feel when he’s sober. His insides must feel like there’s a blood piranha eating his organs. I feel bad for him and I hope he finds comfort.

RM: To understand what makes Suge Knight so ominously one-track minded, you have to understand the gangsta rap mentality. And to understand the gangsta rap mentality, you have to understand the gangsta mentality. But the west coast (meaning L.A.) gangsta mentality was tragically perverted in 1984 by the U.S. gubermint's desire to have a squeaky clean Olympics. Yeah, just like we mocked the Chinks for shutting down factories and shuffling off undesireables, the U.S. swept through the streets of Los Angeles, rounding up any misdemeanor miscreant they could on parole violations, minor charges, or whatever they could make up, to clean up the city for the arrival of a bunch of dumb ass foreigners with open pocketbooks. On the surface level, this would seem a great idea - rid the city of it's criminal element. But gangs, like any semi-concealed sub-culture, bears a strong resemblance to tribal cultures. Never-ending blood feuds where nobody remembers why it started are the negative side of such tribalism, but on the opposite end is how the elders schooled the youngsters on the ways of the tribe. Before 1984, older gang members trained younger ones on the street code, and yeah there were murders, but there had to be good reason for murder. After the gang sweeps before the summer of 1984, the streets were left with a bunch of wannabe thug kids and very little elder O.G. leadership, which led to unprecedented drive-bys, stabbings, and all sorts of nefarious bullshit. Even loveable cartoon-voiced Tone Loc got into a shootout with the Boo-Yaa Tribe one time. Motherfuckers went buckwild.
That's what Suge grew up emulating. Not the honorable bullshit code of the criminal, but the "I'll make any motherfucker do anything" pistol-wielding mentality. He doesn't give a fuck, which is why he can do X and end up beating a bitch who ain't wearing no pants in the middle of a parking lot. But I think where I really was like, "Oh fuck, Suge is twisted," was when that Big Lurch rapper dude got arrested a few years back.Big Lurch was a Texas rapper who came out to Cali to join up with Death Row. The alleged story is that Suge wanted him to understand what being a gangsta was in order to be a more realistic gangsta rapper, which is a fair enough demand. Ain't no half-steppin' allowed. So what Suge did was give the dude some angel dust and told him to go do some gangsta shit. Well, it just so happens that Big Lurch ended up being found by police, wandering the streets covered in blood, because his inner-mind's idea of gangsta shit was to murder his roommate, stab her all up like a Manson fan, and chew on one of her lungs that he dug out with a knife. Suge's response? He didn't mean for the dude to do all that. He probably just meant some simple pistol-whippings or strong arm robberies. Not eating some chick's innards and wandering around like Bushwick Bill in the "Mind Playin' Tricks On Me" video. And that line of defense helped Suge beat a wrongful death suit from the dead bitch's family. Big Lurch is still in jail.Okay, now here's some Xpert Whiteboyz look at me I'm awesome white dude so down with the hip hop bullshit right here. I used to have a rapping group with this dude I worked with Rob (he was black, too... I am SO down). We painted houses and freestyled all day long, to the point we could do tag team freestyle battles with other motherfuckers and finish each other's lines because we were always together and they'd think we were doing pre-written shit because they were haters. Anyways, Rob used to be babysitted by the Lady Rage (aka Robin) back in the day, as we was all from Farmville, VA. We had kicked it with the Lady Rage (aka Robin) a couple times, mostly Rob, but like twice me too, and we had kinda written some shit called "Triple R Rated" (get it, Raven, Rob, and Rage... all our names start with an "R", isn't that clever as fuck?), which was just some shit-talking rhymes since that's all me and Rob mostly wrote. Like 75% slick verbals with like 20% drunkenness and 5% knowledge (we were way into Wu Tang-aphysics). Anyways, this dude I knew in Raleigh wanted to start pressing 12-inch singles, and he wanted to do one of me and Rob (we were called RUI for rhymin' under the influence, which was a play on DUI, like you know, when people drink while drunk?), and we figured the best way to get it hyped or even noticed at all was to have the Lady Rage (aka Robin) on the "Triple R Rated" song on the B-side (because this was before there were guest rappers on every song ever, so that you don't even appear on your own album anymore, it's just guest producers and rappers and you kind of coordinate it all in between doing guest spots on other people's albums). Rob presented this scenario to the Lady Rage (aka Robin) and she flipped the fuck out and pulled out of everything, didn't even want to talk about the song anymore. She told Rob if she did a song anywhere else, Suge would kill her. Rob was all like, "It's just a shitty white label indy single some white dude in Raleigh is pressing," but she was like, "He's gonna kill us! He's gonna kill you, he's gonna kill me! He's gonna kill us!" She didn't really say it that way; I just mix up in my mind the black kid freaking out with Spicoli in Fast Times at Ridgemont High with the Lady Rage (aka Robin) not wanting to do a song with me and Rob (who were totally rhymin' under the influence). But the point is, back then (I guess like '96 or '97), she was pretty adamant about Suge's ability to kill motherfuckers over very small trifling matters. And that is how I almost totally got killed by Suge Knight.

TB: There was a time when Suge (does anyone ever call him Suge? I mean, he is always clarified with the “Knight” surname but how many other “Suge”s do you know of or talk about?) was the Cracken that even titans dared not clash. He dangled scrawny white people that did the running man out of windows and, while I was never considered scrawny, I did partake in a running man or two at high school dances. I also did the Kid N Play kick-step which, one night, led to me getting head-butted in the face by my dance partner (homo) and flattening me out on the dance floor with a mouthful of blood. The good news is it fixed the diastema that linked me aesthetically to Alfred E Newman. And was much cheaper than the Dentist in Barrington who ended up having a nervous break down anyway. Suge Knight also got a bunch of dudes to beat up or at least lead a Jew and a man with AIDS to believe that they would get beat to bloody unrecognizable masses if they did not release Andre Young from his contract. If you are bullying a dude with AIDS and a balding Jew who sweats a lot and obviously can’t fight, then you are dangerous and living on the edge and I therefore am afraid of you.The recent events of him getting punched out by some dude simply prove that there are even more scary and meaner black men then Suge and thusly, I am even more afraid to dance and thank Jesus for my Gentile bloodline.

KM: See, I wouldn't fuck with Suge Knight because he's like 4.5 times my size. He has been to jail for real things that don't involve bench warrants. Dude dangled Vanilla Ice off a balcony for royalties. He may or may not have had something to do with the deaths of Biggie and 2Pac. Even if none of that shit were an issue, he is still way bigger than me and has dudes who are likely paid to sit around wait for something to jump off so they can hurt someone. Their W-2 probably says something like "security management" but we all know that that one guy at the end with the Mac-11 in his pants is only there to put holes in people if that's what needs to happen. Suge Knight is like a black mafioso dude. I mean you don't have to live in fear of bears, but you don't go chase down bears and smack them in the nose with your dick either. It's not mortal terror, more of a general unease that accompanies a sense of respect for something that's a bit more dangerous than me and mine.

2. KIMBO SLICE

RM: You know, to many people, Kimbo Slice's 15 minutes of fame is over, and they are lolling all over Elite XC and CBS for putting so much pop culture hype behind such a crazy negro. I, for one, am glad for Kimbo. Those people were using him, and no matter how much they paid him, they were making triple that. It also goes to show how stupid MMA is. Not because it hyped up Kimbo Slice, but because so many people are like, "Haha, stupid Kimbo Slice got beat in 14 seconds by a gay dude."I am about to say something that is not conventionally popular, but MMA sucks. It is stupid and semi-gay and has far too many dickheads with too obviously stupid tattoos to be taking seriously as an actual form of sport. I don't care about the human cockfighting arguments, or any of that shit. In fact, I would like it more if it were more like human cockfighting, like the original Ultimate Fighting Championships were. Eight men in a one-night tournament. But now it's all serious like motherfuckers have to train for eight months to roll around with some dude with a faux-hawk and ominous back tattoos on an octagonal mat for four minutes before one of them lucks into a chokeout. Tap tap tap, game over. It's fucking stupid. Anybody can beat anybody, which again is why the one-night tournament of human destruction makes so much more sense, as opposed to some random dude beating some overhyped dude, and all he does is earn the overhype to get beaten by some other random dude at some point in the future.Kimbo Slice is a scary dude from the streets, who beat people up in back yards and helped protect guys making amateur porns. That's what he is - it is the cloth he's perfectly cut from. To see him on the regular people's television stations, laughing it up with credible sportscasters, and being all polished yet scary black guy - it wasn't real. A guy like Kimbo is meant to have white deodorant marks on his underarms and a food crumb or two in his beard. That's what the fuck he was born to be. He was meant to beat up other denizens of the underclass in abandoned warehouses, and if somebody present somehow manages to not have their small digital camera stolen by vagrants on the way to and fro the event, and they can video it and throw it up on the youtubes, then we all are the better for it. But if not, fuck it man. You can go watch scary black dudes fight under any giant bridge over a river in most major metropolises in America. And it's always good fun. Because as scary as those dudes are, all they want is to release some tension. So after they have a stupid fight with some other sad sack of shit, you can all stand around and share fortified wines and toothless crack whore blowjobs and enjoy life. You could see in Kimbo's eyes, no matter what they were paying him to exploit his scary black guyness, he wasn't happy. He wasn't enjoying life. He wanted to be with the sluts and perverts and depleted livers. Now, hopefully, big Kimbo can go home. May peace be with you, and your heart again find happiness now that the fancy man's bright promises of mass fame turned to fool's gold, Mr. Slice.

KM: Let me put this in the perspective that matters. All of this hoopla about Kimbo getting his ass handed to him in under a minute is ridiculous. Yes, in a situation where he was fighting a trained professional that's more skilled in that certain environment, he got knocked the fuck out. If you got in the ring with Seth Petruzelli, you would probably get knocked the fuck out. However, I still believe in Kimbo's terror-inducing aura because that doesn't mean jack shit in the real world. If Kimbo Slice walked up to you in person, you wouldn't talk shit unless you're retarded or have a death wish. He can still fuck you up on the streets even if he can't escape a triangle choke every time. The fear is because he's a big-ass black motherfucker with a giant beard that plays into every prison raping, white woman deflowering, baby eating black bogeyman fear just by being the intimidating monster that he is. That, and he beat people's faces into pizza on the internet for a while before he ever got on with Elite XC. Even if he never won a MMA fight as long as he lived, I would still walk a wide berth around that dude.

3. DAVECAT

RM: My wife has had five kids in seven years, has gained the accompanying weight, not to mention the built-in desire to not have her body touched that a woman who has nursed children constantly since before 9/11, so I've had to look for other outlets for my sexual tension. Like most men, I really like having things stroke my penis back and forth until ejaculation happens. Many dudes get hung up on having actual living, breathing vaginas to do this, but I am open-minded enough to get in where I fit in; and I love my wife and our childrens, and wouldn't want to jeopardize all that for a strange piece of ass. (Not to mention child support payments. That shit sucks. And they be having computers hooked up state-to-state to catch your social security number and MAKE motherfuckers pay that shit, even for kids you don't like that live with stupid bitches you used to date.)So anyways, my wife is open-minded enough to not want me to poke at her with my always-semi-hard penis to allow me to have a sex doll. I mean, we use a lot of toys, because it spices up the bedroom (dudes, if you can get over your machismo homophobia and realize if a chick inserts it, it's totally straight, let me tell you, anal plugs are fucking awesome). So I went to the local perv store to try and find a fake suction vagina or rubber doll or something. I mean, I can masturbate with the best of them (if I've ever taken a shower at your house, I guarantee my unovaried babies have washed down your drain), but sometimes you want that build-up of excitement. To think about something all day long, at least for like an hour, and go into some nice half-light or dim room, and poke your penis into something attractive but three-dimensional (sorry internet porn!). But most of the rubber dolls were too rubbery. Really, a word of advice to anyone seeking sexual toys in their life, don't get all freaked out and grab the first thing. Whether it's dildos or vibrators or anal plugs or dolls or whatever, there's crudely made synthetic crap, and there's finely made stuff more attuned to pleasure. I mean sex is sensual, so you want shit to be as realistic as possible.Well, I'm sure you all know about the Real Dolls that that fucked-up BBC documentary was about, where the one dude had like eight life-size dolls and his girlfriend came in and he had set a couple of them up with party hats for a birthday party. Those jams are like $7000 a doll, but realistic as fuck (haha, no pun intended). And I figured the wife might not want to make sex any time soon, because I wouldn't if I had to take care of all our children all the time and they had come from my body and turned into these things running around the house and yard and tearing shit up and always wanting snacks or ballet music on or breast milk or some fucking thing every minute of every hour of every moment of sunshine and half the night time to boot. So we decided it would be in our best interests for me to look for one of these Real Dolls. Except we can't afford some dumb shit that expensive. I mean fuck, I've only owned one car my whole life that cost that much, and I still owe almost $5000 on that. So what I decided to do was dip into the Real Doll world to try and find me a second-hand doll. I guess to most dudes that would be gross, but fuck man, they're made to be washed out. And most dudes who want a Real Doll lack real life womanly relationships, so the lack of sharing is important to them, because they want to feel special. I have an ol' lady, and could fuck a number of real life women, from the bank teller lady always flirting with me really hard to the two or three of my friend's wives who are always showing me their tits in the kitchen while their old man is in the bathroom. Having sex is not a problem. But I want to remain faithful, physically, to my wife. So I don't mind using some loser's sloppy seconds of a six thousand dollar creation.It was while trying to peruse this little sub-culture that I became far too knowledgeable on Davecat. He's the black dude in that BBC documentary, but he's also all over the internet (google "shouting to hear the echoes"). It is easy to dismiss the homely geek white dudes who have Real Doll girlfriends. But Davecat is on some other shit, being like 40-something, still living with his folks, and dressing like some sort of mod rocker. He trips me the fuck out, mostly because he seems like he's not a pervert... if that's possible in such a situation, but also because he reminds me of my friend from college Crazy Jai. I found myself being proud for Davecat for being so openly weird, mad at his pops for not accepting him as a dude who loves on a rubber doll, albeit a really nice synthetic rubber doll. Props to Matt McMullen, who invented Real Dolls. And props to ebay, where I finally found a buxom, wide-hipped, brown-haired Real Doll (most of these things have very slender hips, not good for birthing children). It cost me about $380, and that included shipping, bought from a guy in Louisville, Kentucky, who was getting married and had to get rid of the thing because his fiancee didn't know and wouldn't approve and if he kept it around it would be too tempting. I cleaned it up really thoroughly, just to be safe, and keep it in the camper behind my house, which is also where I write a lot of times. Sometimes, I flick on the red light, move the peach crate of records out the way of the bathroom door (that's where I store a bunch of shit, since the camper's not hooked up to no septic or nothing) and pull her out. And we fuck. It's a lot of fun, and way better than just masturbating to porn pics on the internet.

MD: Davecat is unfortunately the most normal dude in that entire “Guys and Dolls” documentary. The real problem is that he’s like most people who got into the internet at an early stage so he is all proud to show off on the internet by blogging and talking about anime and taking pictures of his imaginary Real Doll girlfriend to share with his blog followers. The rest of the guys, whom were all white, that were showcased in the documentary had very private social retardations. Just a bunch of non-descript creepo touchers you can find in a grocery store at 2am buying a jar of pickles and you KNOW the dude is somehow fucked in the head because he’s at the grocery store buying pickles and nothing else at an ungodly hour, but you can’t really prove it because he doesn’t have a wonky eye and he’s not talking to himself or anything. I guess there was that one sketchy looking hessher dude they showcased too, but I imagine those are the types of people Raven would see at a grocery store at 2am, so he’d probably be non-descript to him.
The fact that Davecat is so open with this shit, and the fact that he’s apparently black (though he looks more like some weird Island race than an actual full blown black man) Is a total mindfuck. These types of perversions are usually thought to be for whites alone and blacks never delve into this world because they don’t have to. So Davecat may be the least scary guy shown on “Guys and Dolls” (That HAD to be the Real Doll repairman, HANDS DOWN), but not many other blacks, if any, could approach his creep factor, so his space on this list is well deserved.

4. MIKE TYSON

JD: Iron Mike was introduced to a whole generation of white kids through the Punch Out Nintendo game in which his pixel self would fuck up the racist representation of the typical white dude who played Nintendo. Once that game hit big every ethnic group came out to bitch about how racist their video game characters were: Soda Popinski, Tamon Honda, King Hippo, Don Flamingo, etc. But fuck that, Lil Mac was a dumpy white guy wearing baggy shorts looking like he has been tainted by living under florescent lights his whole life. He was Rocky's retarded cousin that represented not only the white man in the boxing world, but in athletics in general.But I digress....I was one of those burb kids that was lucky enough to grow up with HBO and cousins with PPV boxes, so I caught a mess of the early Tyson fights. It wasn't his ring personna that frightened me, it was more his story. He was painted as a real-life Tasmanian Devil that was tamed by a kindly, old white man that still had these off the chart levels of hate inside of him, but would harness it as much as possible until he got in the ring. He was scary because that gutter, ill shit was inside of him, and I think he held it together relatively well.Then that shit went down with the raping and Robin Givens divorcing him saying he abused her. And Mike started his slow decline downhill ending in the Buster Douglas fight.Now Tyson is scarier than ever. He has culminated a laundry list of shit he has done to scare the shit out of the common Little Macs of the world. He is now medicated by whatever the fuck he is taking that keeps him sedated enough not to actually eat babies and kill white, female reporters when they ask him a question.But the one thing that makes him qualify for the scary black dude now is how he could have went down as one of the greatest heavyweight boxers ever, but blew that shit when his own internal scary black dude started to creep out and make the whole world Little Mac's.

TB: I remember when “Iron” Mike Tyson fought "Hurricane" Peter McNeeley. Johnny Gill sang the National Anthem. This was during his “Rub You The Right Way” fame and with CL on the rappity and Teddy on the production tip, that was a New Jack Swing classic. And I was a total New Jack Swing pussy and I wore polka dots and did dance routines for talent shows at my high school. This was when dancing was more accepted but in retrospect, no less full of faggotry than Chris Brown or Souljah Boy. I have a video of me and my boyz doin' a routine to Toni! Toni! Toné!’s “Feels Good” (I’m telling you, me and that New Jack sound were tiiiiiiight). What is horrifying besides the black Bugle Boy mock turtleneck with gold rayon pants I was rockin was the fact that I was so pleased with myself. So, Mr. Gill sang for 2 minutes and then Mr. Tyson totally knocked a heavy weight contender out in a little less than ¾ the time it took the homosexually rumored and final member of New Edition to sing, “The Star Spangled Banner.”The next day every fat, douchey fuck-not was like, “I’d spend 89 seconds in the ring with Tyson for $500,000!” Which was a lie and they would more than likely have had an accident (that’s what me and my 5 year olds call pissing or shitting yourself) and ran out of the ring. I didn’t even think the Tyson impersonations were funny, such was the depth of my fear of him. I was scared of his 8-bit visage on Nintendo. I didn’t make eye contact with posters of him. The dude was a machine of death and his fists were essentially big rocks with skin on them. He would fight you in the ring. He would fight you outside. He beat up models. He was a Muslim which, if you didn’t already know, is the religion that hates all Americans but specifically, white people.

5. CRUNCHY BLACK

JP: Let me be truthful for a moment. It took me a couple minutes to find out this dude’s name because I originally Googled “Leathery Black.” I remember looking at some Three 6 Mafia thing that belonged to my friend Satan J, and when told me his name was Crunchy Black I laughed and laughed and laughed. Ever since, whenever the dude crawls into my nightmares with his knifed fingers, Dream Jay Pud calls him Leathery Black. Such different adjectives, leathery and crunchy, yet both of them so oddly appropriate. Either way, he looks like Freddy Krueger, and if it weren’t for the show that the other Three 6 Mafia guys had on MTV I would still be scared of them as a whole. As it turns out, they are just a bunch of fun loving dudes. Not Leathery Black, though.
“Yo Crunch, you wanna be on our new fun-loving MTV show where we teach white people how to make hot sauce potato chips?” asked Juicy J. He smelled something sour in the air: burning flesh, forged steel, death. He was suddenly nervous and began to sweat despite the freeze coming from the supermarket’s open meat freezer. Crunchy Black was always ominous, that was just his constitution, but now… now he seemed cold and miles away. Juicy looked at DJ Paul and saw that, where normally rested a steadfast smile that lit up the world like a thousand precious stars and diamonds stuffed into an ever-open dice bag, was now a heartbroken frown.Why did you invite him? thought DJ Paul as he adjusted his sunglasses so the horror in his eyes would not betray him to Crunch. He’ll kill us in our Goddamned sleep, you fool. He looked over to Juicy J and sighed, then turned to face the back of Crunchy Black’s head.
“Hehe. Yeah. I mean, it’ll probably be stupid, you know, with all of those white people in Hollywood trying to get a piece of you and whatnot, but I mean, yeah, why don’t you? I mean, Project Pat and Computer are coming, so…
”“Shhh,” said Crunchy Black as he looked over his shoulder, his reflection dancing in Paul’s shades.
“It’s okay. I’ll see you in your dreams.” DJ Paul felt Crunchy’s dark eyes invade his sunglasses, as if they were mere reading spectacles. See you in your dreams? What did it all mean?
"Haha. Yeah, in my dreams," he said in a wavering voice. Then, under his breath, "My dreams in Hell."
"What was that?" snarled Crunch.
"Uhhh, I was just, I said..."
"He said 'Sleep well'," said Juicy J, flying to the rescue in a baggy sweatsuit.
"Yes...sleep well," responded Crunch.

And you guys get where I am going with this. Crunchy Black crashes the hot tub party that Juicy J and DJ Paul collectively share every night in their dual-dream and stabs Computer and Project Pat with his knife fingers. Juicy figures out that they could pull Crunchy into the real world and kill him there because when they wake he’s still holding a red party cup full of blue martini. And eventually they kill Crunchy Black…for now…

RM: I really like having Jay Pud contributing because usually I’m the one that writes something completely retarded that no one else understands. I have always liked Crunchy Black, not for anything he’s done, but because he is one dark ass and ugly motherfucker. Like, his eyes glow in the dark and shit. And when you see some dude so fucking butt ass ugly, it’s always great to see them pimping some fresh ass clothes. Makes me proud to be a southerner, because it seems it’s mostly southerners that get by with being ugly fuckers in some sweet threads, helping them get pussy juice on their mustache hairs.

6. THE DC SNIPER

MD: It's weird how this shit was on the news for hours at a time while it was going on then once they caught him (or them, to be exact) you hardly ever heard about it again. It's like some fucked up kind of reverse racism where the media was just like "Oh, its just a black guy. There's no way we could squeeze a story about him being molested by his parents out of this. Fuck it." I understand that once you catch a dude, there are only so many stories the media can come up with that would make national news, but we had to hear about fucking Timothy Mcveigh, A WHITE MAN, for years after he did his dumb shit, and that was nowhere near as gully as ascending rooftops and strategically killing innocent bystanders for three weeks.
I did some internetting before writing this just to make sure that I wasn't in a coma after the DC Sniper capture and that there wasn't some blockbuster movie starring Don Cheadle as the DC Sniper that I somehow missed, but all it got was a shitty made for TV movie, a lame book and a half assed documentary, and most recently, an episode of American Gangster.
It's pretty nuts to just go up on buildings and start shooting people in the middle of all this OPERATION AMERICA HOMELAND SECURITY WE ARE WATCHING YOU AND EVERY MOVE YOU MAKE bullshit. It's not like it's the 70's where people didn't really sweat killing some innocents because they only had to worry about some kind of Barney Miller types coming after them with their fucking giant mustaches and jewfros. The DC Sniper had the armed forces after him as if he were Godzilla.
It turns out he had this big fucked up plan that started with snipering a bunch of folks, then taking out a shitload of police officers with home made bombs, then extorting millions of dollars from the government which he would use to make his way up north recruiting young black hopeless folks to his cause along the way (His first disciple was arrested along with him).
That's why I'm so flabbergasted that thiswhole ordeal has been neatly swept under the rug, and it only happened a few years ago. There's still Son of Sam and Zodiac Killer movies coming out and shit, and that whole thing is ancient history. The only thing I can seriously think of is that the media is still keeping the black man down, even if they do some dastardly shit.

TB: I remember when the Beltway Sniper was the big story and everyone was scared to drive on the highway. It happened in Florida too, when I lived there, but the people shooting had the decency to target rentals which were either tourists which tended to litter and/or be fat or someone that couldn’t afford their own car and they are not a really fundamental part of any society anyway. But the D.C. Sniper is killing all these people and I’m in the midst of finishing my college career and as I leave an Abnormal Psych class I hear this dude talking to this chick.“You know he’s got to be white. Serial killers are always white. Black folk just aren’t that crazy”And the chick laughs and the dude, who’s gay and white, feels that he has convinced this chick, who is black, but really only half black, that some white people are alright and maybe, just maybe there is hope for the races to finally get along. I wanted to tickle his Medulla with my Bic at this point but I felt that would have lent credence to his argument so I let him walk.

7. OJ SIMPSON

JP: I suppose I can understand why I am supposed to find OJ Simpson scary. He’s apt to get all coked up and kill a bitch, or take his motherfucking shit back. I’m not scared, though. If some dude was fucking my ex-wife who I still loved there is a strong possibility that I would choke the motherfucker to death and maybe stab him in the face while I was at it. And, so, maybe he got a little carried away and killed a bitch, too. Say what you want about the institution of marriage, but the emotional stakes can run pretty high. What dude never got jealous when an ex-girlfriend, not wife…girlfriend, fucked the first dude after him. I have: fucking miserably jealous. Also, if someone took my Heisman trophy, they wouldn’t have walked out of that room to testify. Fuck that. Homeboy rushed for over 2000 yards in one season; that counts for something in my book. OJ is not scary… he just doesn’t take no shit from nobody, that’s all. No shit from nobody. On a side note, when white people got their revenge on OJ by finding him guilty for taking his motherfucking shit back, my wife’s grandmother stated how it was all crap and that she never thought he was guilty of murdering those people. She said that his ex-wife and friend were murdered by drug dealers. Why is it always drug dealers’ fault? I’ve known a million “drug dealers” and they were always relatively harmless beyond their wigger/hippy/white trash/ scary black dude veneers.

TB: My wife used to fuck around with some Patriots and Celtics players. So now, enjoying any sort of local sporting event results in me wondering if my wife ever fucked one of the people on the field or court. It was her past. I get it. I fucked some losers in my day in the name of research so I’m not without fault either. The problem is, I get a little insecure about my penis size when measured up to Lawyer Milloy’s or Ricky Davis’. They both have hogs legs by the way while my penis is pale and little. Luckily, we were friends first, so she told me all of this shit and now I can hold it against her. So O.J. is that dude fucking my wife in the hypothetical past. And I am scared because he kills white people a lot and looks all nice on 1st & Ten and that show had boobs on it and I was like 14 and every time I thought of boobs I thought of O.J. and vice versa but never of licking his darkened areola. And then he did the Police Squad thing. So now he’s boobs and the funny. I’d trust him with my girl. But then he would kill me. And that would make me less trustful the next time around.

8. BAD NEWS BROWN/ALLEN

MD: Over the years, the WWF/E has tried several different iterations of the Scary Black Guy gimmick to varying degrees of success. Bad News Brown was one of the earliest and definitely the best. Now I may not have been literally scared of his Scary Black Guy character, but I give him respect for the mastery of the gimmick. There is the legend of Bad News punking out Andre the Giant like a bitch in Japan though, so it's not like he was a total wimp outside of the character.
Bad News came to the WWF smack in the middle of their cartoon era where every wrestler had a ridiculous comic gimmick and insanely muscular body. He immediately stuck out for being an imposing black dude with a slightly better than average build that wore simple black boots and wrestler panties to the ring. His only mission and character motivation was to scare the shit out of white people. He was so bad, he hated the bad guys he would sometimes be forced to team up with. His gimmick was so realistic and believable because it was so simple. It's why you actually believed he could maybe beat Hulk Hogan, because there was always that chance he would pull a knife out and stab him or some other grimy shit. He even made his crappy finisher (A lame Savate Kick called "THE GHETTOBLASTER") seem imposing.
The reason I think Bad News made the mold and immediately broke it as far as scary black guys in wrestling go (There's also New Jack, but he is possibly a legit scary black guy and not an actual well mannered judo champion just playing a character for a paycheck, so it's a whole different thing) is because of RACISM. A similar no frills gimmick today would be considered too racist. It's why the WWE's current Scary Black Guy gimmick, Cryme Tyme more resemble The Bushwackers than it does Bad News Brown. You cannot have legit Scary Black Guys on mainstream television scaring the shit out of little retarded white children in the audience without someone getting all up in arms about it. White people want peace on earth and unity and equal rights but they never ever want to be reminded that there's still scary black guys out there that want to fuck their wife in the ass and maybe watch some Sanford and Son afterwards. It is too painful to the white psyche.

9. DMX

MD: If you ask any average white guy what he imagines a Scary Black Guy to be, you'll get close to the same answer every time. It will be some kind of drug dealer/rapper hybrid who lives on the wrong side of the tracks of a dangerous city and most likely owns a gun illegally and will kill you for looking at him sideways or at least steal your wallet. It's the same shit if you ask a black guy what a Scary White Guy is: Some devil worshiping redneck serial killer who eats babies and listens to death metal. These are stereotypes both races can live comfortably with.
That's why DMX remains on my very short list of Scary Black Guy rappers. The mainstream acceptance of rap music has totally ruined the Scary Black Guy image within the boundaries of the hip hop universe. Now every other rapper that previously lived by his scary thug image has a new reality show or an acting career or a new ice cream parlor opening up very soon. Yet they still try and portray the Scary Black Guy image ON WAX and it just doesn't work.
When DMX was blowing up, I read an article on him in The Source about his childhood. Now I don't know how much of it was 100% true because sometimes I think The Source is like the rap equivalent of Pro Wrestling Illustrated, but according to The Source, DMX grew up in Yonkers or some other shit town right outside of New York City. For those not familiar, all of those towns "right outside of New York City" are like Hell on Earth, outside of a handful of places like Westchester and perhaps White Plains. They are just these dirty brown gray towns where everyone stays poor and angry because they are in such close proximity to NYC and they have to pay NYC prices for shit without the NYC experience of visiting Times Square and climbing the Statue of Liberty and what not.
So yeah, DMX grew up in Yonkers or wherever, and unlike most rappers, he didn't roll with a crew of drug dealing rappers and he wasn't the baddest dude in school. He was a weird kid no one liked who was possibly adopted or raised by his blind grandma or some other sad sack story and his only friends were dogs. He grew up hating the world and became a famous rapper by some dumb luck.After becoming famous, he still hated most people and got an entire backpiece of a dog that looks like it was drawn by a 6th grader tattooed on his back, because the dog was the only thing he loved in life, besides God. He refused to make clean versions of any of his songs or even take out the cusses from TV performances. He sold bajillions of records and made music that was the rap equivalent of thrash metal as far as hyping up folks to commit violence goes and still looked like he only showered occasionally.
At the peak of his fame, I wasn't THAT afraid of DMX. Despite the thrash metal comparison, his music still sounded pretty polished. What pushed it over the top for me was when MTV was in the early stages of becoming a 24/7 reality programming channel, they aired some embryonic version of True Life where they followed DMX around for a day. Not only did it expose (to me at least) that DMX was at least slightly crazy, but there was a scene where he more or less FLIPS THE FUCK OUT in his car because someone cut him off on the highway. It was a very real scene that stuck with me for a while.
Now every other week DMX is in the news for some crazy shit and it's obvious even to me that he's a paranoid schizophrenic who is definitely not on any medication, but being a paranoid schizophrenic is a stereotypical Scary White Guy trait so everyone just says he's been smoking too much crack. Until he finally kills someone or at least fucks someone up real bad, everyone will still be like "Oh that wacky DMX, doing crazy man things because he smoked too much crack!! ha ha!", but DMX has legit Scary White Guy problems trapped inside of his Scary Black Guy body, so I advise everyone to stop talking shit about DMX before he eats your baby.

KM: You know what trips me out about DMX? "Slippin" is edited on the album. He curses in the song, but bleeps it. I know it exists, but why the fuck would a dude whose bread and butter is being a loud, abrasive gangsta bother to bleep a song on an album that has "It's All Good" on it? That would be like, well, Chamillionaire saying he's done cursing on wax and then having a bunch of dudes guest spot on his album only to bleep them afterward. THAT IS FUCKING DUMB. The whole GRRRR ARF ARF RIDE OR DIE FOR 11 SONGS BUT WAIT WAIT WAIT now we are going to talk about how Jesus Saves at Costco schtick always annoyed me in the first place. If you are a real gangsta and you make money in that field, as well as by bragging about your exploits in that field, slapping a sappy apology at the end doesn't make it okay. It's like adding (Don't Do 'Em) at the end of White Lines. Am I afraid of DMX? He's fucking not sane, so I would beware and I for damn sure would think twice about ride shotgun with him anywhere. Even to the grocery store.

10. REAL LIFE SCARY BLACK GUYS

"Danny" by John Dawson
JD: I think I am at a point in my life where the scary black dude on TV is so far fetched from where I live and will probably die that it doesn't faze me that much. I would like to go the real life route with the scary black dude and talk about this kid named Danny. As is my rep around these parts, I have hung with a black dude or two back in the day, even lived, partied, and been to their homes to chill with their families. The black dudes I hung with were far from scary, they were more the flossin type dudes wearing fancy clothes and driving nice cars that didn't grow up IN Philly, but outside of it. Danny hung with these dudes as their "muscle" so to speak.
Danny was about 5'7" 200 lbs of all muscle. He looked like a He Man doll come to life. He participated in body building competetitions and bounced at a bar in Reading, PA as well as at various house parties in our college town. Outside of his physical appearance, what made him scary was how he became after he drank/did drugs.
When this guy had any substance enter his blood stream he turned into this BiPolar animal. He could cry with his head in your lap or sit next to you and straight ice grill you until you got freaked and had to make an excuse to get up. Then Danny started to get into taking Acid. I would see him around campus and legend of the stuff he would do would spread like you bagged Bigfoot. "Danny was in the cafeteria swiping cards", "Danny hopped in a pizza delivery guy's car", or "Danny punched some girl in the face" would be some of the shit we heard of and/or saw. But my personal experience with him happened over winter break. We had no weed due to the Blizzard of 95, but had Acid. So one afternoon we took acid and drank cheap gin mixed with Shasta and played Madden 95 all night. Instead of attempting to crash, Danny left our house. Feeling both scared and relieved he left, we tried to go to bed, but Danny had no plans for bed. He came back to our place and was found by my roomate standing in our darkened living room. We all came out to try to coax him to leave and Danny pulled a duct-taped gun from his pocket and started to wave it around the room. Listen, I am a white guy who grew up in a middle-class town, and I never had shit to do with a gun. Now, this He Man with LSD pumping through his veins was swinging around a gun a foot away from me. His friends woke up from Danny's screaming and tried to soothe him with a beer. Danny took a 40 bottle and smashed it in his hands leaving blood all over the duct-taped gun handle. It is funny because to this day, I don't remember how we got Danny out of our house. Maybe it is some psychological thing to supress it because I blew him or some other shit? But whatever it was, it forever cemented Danny as the scariest black dude ever.

"Big John" by Tree Beats
TB: During the early 90’s I started my decade long college career at a lovely little liberal arts college named Eckerd because of the chunk of change bestowed upon it by said family. After 3 semesters, I realized my calling was to be a rapper and make beautiful music and then essentially fail at it and, in turn write about it in my old age. When I was living in St Petersburg and doing rappity things like eternal ciphers, (that’s what we called a freestyle session. We also said things like “overstand” and talked incessantly about 3rd eyes) and buying records and smoking bidis and taking ourselves far too seriously, I lived with this dude who sold weed (weight not sacks) and one of his main customers was this dude Big John. There was no “little” John to Big John. He was simply a 6 and a half foot mass of muscles and black rage placed in Tampa Bay to freak people the fuck out.. He had been in an accident with an ambulance a year before I had met him and had lost 75 pounds because of it. I decided that he must have looked like Tetsuo when he started losing control in the stadium at the end of Akira. So anyway, when you sell drugs in bulk, people come into your spot to buy and it’s not the pay and grab of street deals but rather a blunt or a spliff is rolled and then you sit and smoke and chat and money is counted and recounted because your too high to count more than 6 bills in a row. So that’s how I met John. Big John. During one such transaction he was discussing some vampire book he was reading and offered that if he had to kill his first born son to become a vampire he would have no problem doing it. He was just stating a fact. It was something he had seriously considered and he was willing to do if it ever came up. He also went through 3 rear car windows in the couple of years that I knew him because he would lock his keys in the car and then punch the window out to break in. He didn’t use a brick or a rock or even his elbow or foot. He would just uppercut the window and get in. Another time I was riding with him to a show, he had some Escort or tiny shitty car which he filled completely, and some dude got in front of him. For some reason this pissed him off and he drove along side of the guy and started shouting at him. So we’re racing with this guy in a 35 mph road doing about 60 or 70 and he’s not looking at the road and is just shouting at this guy telling him he was going to kill him. I forget how that ended but every time we would hang out he would either get into a fight or get close to one. He lived with his mom, who was bedridden I believe and he would always shout to his mom and she would shout back but I never saw her. It was like some sitcom but without the laugh track and it never ended. I often wonder what became of Big John but I can’t remember his last name. I like to think he settled down and possibly found Jesus.

"TJ" by Jay Pud
JP: Back in high school scary black dudes used to always want to kick my ass. I was super pale, blonde (or manic panicked), skinny, and maybe a little too awesome for most people to handle. So, I played freshman football. We used to have this drill where one person would carry the ball ten yards and the other person would wait to tackle him. The first time I did the drill I put a sweet spin move on the dude who was supposed to tackle me, and from that moment on everybody called me Princess Tickle Giggle.
Anyway, as Princess Tickle Giggle I was accepted by my teammates. I had a nickname, at least, even if they were calling me gay. It was a manly gay nickname, like when people name their monster car a woman’s name. I was like a manly gay monster car of the night, until one day when the freshman team had to practice with the JV team, and this scary black dude who looked like Tupac decided to hate on my awesomeness. He was a sophomore and starting halfback of the JV team. I played defensive line for some reason (I think the coaches liked to laugh and call me gay when I got knocked over, plus they said Polish jokes at me, which hurt because I am not Polish). The scary Tupac dude said that he was running a new play called “Shove the Ball Up Tickle Giggle’s Ass.” They snapped the ball. He took the hand off and ran the ball at me really hard and fast. I moved out of the way, on account of being scared, and he ran for a touch down.I consider it a personal victory because he never got the ball up my ass.

"Akon Savage" by Mike Dikk
MD: I went to the same High School as Jay and I remember the kid he is talking about. I sat behind him in the Slow Kids Math class. One time he turned around to have a heart to heart with me and said, "Hey man, I think you're cool, but the rest of your friends (mostly referring to Jay) are some goofy motherfuckers.". I'm not sure if he used the term goofy, but it was something similar. The only reason I point this out, is because it was a solid two years after the incident Jay mentioned (For the record, when me and Satan J. first met Jay we made fun of him for wearing a Megadeth shirt), so TJ's (The dude's name that Jay is apparently TOO AFRAID to mention) hatred for Jay ran long and deep I guess.
Coincidentally, my personal Scary Black Guy story involves mainly Jay and a kids name *I* am too afraid to mention, just in case he is the type to google himself. I will call him Akon Savage. His real last name WAS Savage, but I changed his first name.
Jay and I went to the same High School, but different K-8 schools. I grew up in the city of Bridgeport, which is predominantly black even though people not from CT assume there are no predominantly black areas of CT, but whatever. Akon was a grade or two ahead of me and at that point he was a quiet "gifted" kid. He was like some artistic genius and his teachers would make him go through to the lower grades and show off his art work, which you could tell he fucking hated doing by the awkward look on his face.
Once I moved to Stratford and got to High School, I realized a lot of the same violent Bridgeport kids I went to grade school with were being bussed in to Stratford High. Their parents would forge proof of residency in hopes of getting them into a better school system, but all it really did was make Stratford High a slightly less shitty school than the warzone Bridgeport High Schools.
After a while, I noticed Akon around, and I was never actual friends with him and thought nothing of it. He was always quiet in grade school and I figured his parents just wanted to get him into an area where his artistry could blossom without the fear of getting shot or stabbed.Then, I believe my Junior year, Akon's senior year and Jay's Sophomore year, we were all in the same gym class. This was when I first witnessed Akon was like some sort of quiet violent maniac that could be set off over any small thing. The first time was in the locker room. We were all changing and Akon turned around from his locker and quietly said, "Who took my lock?" and no one answered. Then he said it a little louder, then a lot louder and then he started banging on the middle row of lockers until he finally knocked them completely over. Akon wasn't that big of a dude at all, so it was pure rage that I could only compare to Retard Strength or something. It was fucking amazing, and at that point I decided I would stay far, far away from Akon for the rest of my life.
Unfortunately, Jay wasn't in the locker room that day, and unfortunately for Jay, we ended up having (floor) hockey class with Akon one semester. Jay and I were fairly good at hockey. Definitely better than 80% of the class. We would play to our fullest, which would include solid checking and not backing down to some bullshit football player.
One day, Akon was on the other team and since I knew of Akon's secret rage, I stayed away from him and didn't eve try any funny stuff with him. Jay on the other hand, decided to play Akon hard, and I don't remember in great detail exactly what set him off. I think he had the puck, and Jay gave him a routine check, and Akon fucking EXPLODED. I have never been more scared for a human being than I was for Jay that day. Luckily, Akon didn't pummel Jay, but it took the gym coach and most of the class to hold him back and they eventually had to throw him into the storage room and lock the doors, and he stood in there for a good five minutes yelling and banging on the doors as hard as he could. After a while, I guess he calmed down and they let him out, but I remember they canceled hockey for the rest of the period and we all had to go and dress before they let him out. I am surprised Jay is still alive, and I'm sure Akon has either become some kind of crazy artist or he has murdered a few people or both.

“Albert” By Keenon
KM: See, my family rolls deep. They have family that has family and so on. So when I go visit, I meet all kinds of people who are generally cool as shit, but it's always a new handful of people just because of how turnover works. You don't always run with the same people and if I only see you once a year, then your crew may shift. Anyway, we will call this one dude Albert (he is not fat, though) and he is an island dude. Skinny as me, drinks and smokes twice as much, and he is almost cartoonishly animated. I swear I have never laughed so hard nor had so much fun while being an irresponsible adult, just because Albert is crazy. My visits tend to coincide with his, and so do several birthdays, so we all get together and hit these reggae clubs all weekend. Anyway we get to this one spot that I'm only fond of because at 1AM they always sell this spicy-ass jerk chicken. I don't drink anymore so I don't do the random mating dance thing all that well so I just stand around and listen to the music with my spicy-ass jerk chicken. These clubs have all kinds of black people, and to your untrained cracker eyes it might be just a bunch of darkies, but there are clearly delineated differences. The island folks are normally there, and while they do have national pride, dudes from Trinidad usually get along with dudes from the Virgin Islands. Then there are normal black people. Then you get Haitians and other assorted Latin American black people. And then you have the Africans. I don't know if you know this, but fuck some drunk obnoxious Africans. They dress badly and they have bad breath and they want to talk about an inch from your face and when you can't understand them they get this snotty-ass attitude like I'm the motherfucker wandering into their village and can't speak the language. They grind all up on whoever, with little regard for anybody's opinion on the subject. They talk big shit. So we're at this reggae club with a bunch of my family (including Albert and a couple other VI dudes) and we're leaving, but these African motherfuckers start talking shit at Albert and one of my uncles. My uncle just happens to be a gargantuan dude who most people won't fuck with for fear of his reaction. But these weren't most people, they were a bunch of drunk, obnoxious, badly-dressed African motherfuckers and so they wanted to get buck in a bad way. Enter Albert. He is my size. Everyone we were with grabbed him, not because they were afraid of him getting beaten up, but rather because they didn't want him to fuck a bunch of dudes up and go to jail. We're leaving and he's very mad at himself because he left his knife at the house, he wanted to stab this one Franklin Ajaye looking motherfucker. I've been around people talking shit after a fight's already been broken up, and this was not that. I don't doubt for a second that Albert would've stuck that fat fuck and let him bleed out while he went back for some chicken. Thing is, I'm not scared of Albert! He's way too cool a motherfucker and I know that he's not an instigator. Just don't get in his face, fat nasty Africans!

“Kenny” By Raven Mack
RM: I am tired, feel like masturbating to Conan O’Brien’s monologue, so I don’t feel like being too specific. Plus, I am like a drunk around a bonfire, except the internet is the bonfire, and I’ve probably told you this story before. Basically I played basketball on the mean streets of Richmond with some black dude, who invited himself to come by my house. I vaguely told him which direction I lived, but he found me, and he was armed with a bottle of tequila and a bag of weed. So we got fucked up as shit. This happened multiple times, but I am a warrior man and can throw down like vikings, except educated upon pussy-assed shit since I went to college. Kenny kept hanging (that was his name, Kenny) and I kept getting stoned and drunk with him. He had jailhouse tattoos and had done time in the Virginia State Penitentiary before they knocked it down (sending the rats to Oregon Hill across the street - the real rats not snitch rats, who hopefully got stitches instead). I took a shower one time and he came running in the bathroom to peek out the window, allegedly to look for a girl who was supposed to drop off a bag of weed. Seemed shady to me he’d run in, so I put on a towel and confronted him. He said he would hit me but I might kick his ass. Nothing more came of it. I moved to a new house, he sold weed for me since that was my job at the time and being a college student, the mark-up in ghetto neighborhood twenty bags was way better than selling stoner college kids half ounces. More breaking shit down, but way higher profit. We did good. He crashed at our house one time, came in my room to ask to sleep, I said yeah the couch bro, he said c’mon man there’s room in the bed for both of us, things got hectic, I kicked him out and shit. I’d still go by his house every now and then to say what’s up and steal pills out his bathroom. There was a friendship, even if he was sketchy, because we would watch football games on the porch at his mom’s house, taking a TV onto the porch with an extension cord, in a straight up shitty ass neighborhood. There was something that made me feel down to sit on a scary negro man’s porch watching football, drinking 40s and smoking blunts. Anyways, turns out Kenny was a serial rapist, raping both men and women. He got busted and went to jail again. Right before he got busted, when I had kind of figured out he was probably getting young naive dudes all fucked up and having his way with them sexually, I saw him one day carrying a boombox in a duffel bag, coming from church. He was playing KRS One and we talked about getting on a righteous path. It was a strange conversation, but I felt sorry for Kenny. But like I said, he ended up going to jail.
A few years later, when I lived in Oregon Hill and had just had my first baby, who was probably like one by this point, I was coming home from work in my Datsun with my dog Waylon in the passenger seat, ready to get home, get drunk, call Metalhead Dan, and take a piss off the back porch to piss off my yankee neighbors, when I saw what looked to be Kenny talking to some college dude. I busted a quick right, even though it was the wrong way, looped around, and came into the neighborhood from the other direction. There are a few people that I’m glad I interacted with for the experience and shit, but I don’t want them knowing me now that I have kids. Kenny’s one of them. And man, I was relating this whole ordeal to a dude I worked with a couple years back and he was like, “Man, think how much different your life would have been right now if you had gotten raped by another dude. And not even in jail.” I often think upon that and am thankful for who I am and who I ain’t.Wow, I sure took a long time to make a long story short. Like a drunk around the bonfire, as usual.

Creepy Three Six Mafia videos

2009-02-13T23:20:00.002-05:00

Dumpin Field Correspondant Dave sent these to me. Way better than their reality show.

Here's the rest:

DJ PAUL

JUICY J

I'm baffled by how these only have a handful of views right now.

Doing Hip Hop pushups & taking my Rap vitamins

2009-02-12T18:24:00.006-05:00

SO after a very lengthy hiatus, I've decided to once again head full force into the arena of rap blogging. I plan to stay committed to the original Dumpin credo of pretending to blog about rap music but really blogging about something else that vaguely relates to rap music.

Unfortunately, It's not like I just stopped blogging but kept up with all the happenings of the rap world. I'm like 6 months behind, so I have a lot of catching up to do before Dumpin will be 100% awesome. I'm also moving in a couple of weeks with no real job prospects, so there's a slight chance my return will be cut short when I find out the homeless shelter I'm forced to live in doesn't have wi-fi access.

Another obstacle to overcome is that my regular man-sized iPod got stolen a few months ago, so I have this little baby 4GB hot pink iPod that's a hand me down from my little sister because she felt bad for me, so I can't digest music as rapidly as I used to.

For now, I have an ordered set plan for the relaunch of Project Dumpin 2.0:

1. Clean up some of the mess in the sidebar. Get rid of all the link to blogs I don't remember and fuck with these newfangled blogger widgets. If you are actually reading this, and you are a blogger, and you feel wronged by me for cutting your link, then get in touch. For now, I'm only going to include the people who actually made an effort to stay in touch with me (and you know, honest good blogs) while I was shunning the internet.

2. Post up the good, non-outdated bits from a failed Dumpin/EWA restart that took place last November.

3. Start posting some stream of consciousness reviews for the handful of rap CD's I've listened to over the past few months.

4. Go through the metric ton of bullshit press releases I get every day and see if it's worth my time to pluck some out to make fun of or actually promote.

5. Find out who still wants to write for this dumb stupid jerk website.

6. ???

7. Profit.

Speaking of those press releases, here is some content that you rightfully deserve after putting up with all of those words:

This is a video entitled "A YO Ma" by someone named Matt Diamond. It is the type of black humor that goes way over my head since I lost my Ghetto Pass when I moved to Providence, Rhode Island. IT also seems to go on several minutes longer than it should

A YO MA! from DITCH FILMS on Vimeo

This other thing is a mixtape by old Dumpin friend. Skipp Whitman. He is not really our friend friend, but he personally e-mailed me before and sent his CD by ACTUAL mail for me to review once, so that's cool. Now there's some press release robot machine e-mailing me with his new shit. The mixtape is called "Skipp Whitman Vs. Richard Pryor" and I would post the cover but the image they sent me is entirely too fucking big. I haven't listened to this yet, but I will someday, I swear.

CLICK HERE TO DOWNLOAD SKIPP WHITMAN vs. RICHARD PRYOR MIXTAPE!

That's all for now. Feel free to comment so I know people are still reading. TTYL Bloodsuckers.

Everyone needs to see this.

2009-02-08T20:12:00.002-05:00

BUNCOCKY LIVES

2009-02-03T19:31:00.004-05:00

Hey sorry for never posting here. The good news is that I still do Buncocky (its an audio podcast!) and all of you should listen to it. You can either get your ass over to itunes, search "buncocky" in the itunes store and subscribe the fuck out of that shit (this would mean SO MUCH to me), or you can click that green box below and lisssssssten.

also check out http://www.buncocky.com/ for other dope shit. I LOVE YOU INTERNET!!!

fat dudes with sweet voices

2008-12-25T19:09:00.004-05:00

Hey guys,

If you are one of the few people that like(s?) Buncocky Cast and all the stupid videos I post, then you should check out Buncocky.com , as it will be the new home for my bullshit. Anyone who kept checking this blog in hopes of getting fine statements, declarations, and opinions on the hippity hoppps, were probably fed up with my bullshit, anyways. It's like, sometimes you just wanna read some shit about Pac or Bun B (I don't know who Bun B is but he has a funny name)and instead you're watching Brett Favre's racist ass have a butt-judging contest with his backyard homoboyz.

The main reason I am gonna stop posting stuff here all the time (not really all the time, but...you know... when I do)is because I feel kinda like...I guess like this site is promising you steak, you show up, and you find out that they're out of steak and only serving Steak 'Ums. I be the Steak 'Ums. And I feel like a jerk trying to remotely connect my dumb shit to rap music.

I'll post here still if it makes sense to. But my crap will be on Buncocky.com . Why the self important rant? Because I'd like to think I make a difference in the world. I'd like to think that what I do means something. And also, sometimes I want to post videos like this...

...but I'm mad scared that you guys will call me names and say mean stuff when all I want to do is kick back, get sensitive, and listen to fat dudes with sweet voices play happy melodies on the guitar.

XOXOXO,
Jay Pud

Buncocky Episode 21: It's All About Connections

2008-12-10T00:38:00.007-05:00

Hey guys,

Buncocky Episode 21: It's All About Connections

Jay tells us why it's so hard to say goodbye, Mike says goodbye to his old life and hello to the World Series of Internet Gambling, Mike does not believe in Phil Collins and Jay really digs the new God CD, Bone Thugz, Rodeos and Beauty Pageants, Jay and Mike are scared of southerners, Jay and Mike prepare for their bar mitzvahs (they're already snipped, though), and so much more! 206.279.9972

You can subscribe through itunes by clicking here. We would love any and all reviews.

You can get us on Switchpod by clicking here

And you can also get it on Podcast Alley by clicking here. We would really appreciate it if you'd follow this link and voted for us. Supposedly getting lots of votes on Podcast Alley is the ticket to fame and fortune.

We love you guys for listening and hope you help spread the word. Tell a friend, write reviews, vote, whatevs. You can call us on our voicemail at 206.279.9972, you can Myspace or Facebook us, but most of all you can let us rest in a small corner of your heart.

Akon Calls T-Pain. Funny.

2008-12-08T15:52:00.002-05:00

Here is a funny video from Olde English,

No Brother Of Mine...

2008-12-05T15:18:00.005-05:00

For about a month at the beginning of 2008 my brother and I were hopelessly addicted to a website called ibeatyou.com. The idea was that you could join silly and random contests against Phillipinos and Canadians: who could think of the best cartoon movie, or the best stupid something from the something something. Not my finest hour, I'll admit it, but you take the good with the bad. A year later, with my IBY career long over, my brother, who has lived the last couple of years in Canada, is still an allstar member and ranked 23rd in the world-- an insane and dorky achievement. Last night he put this video up. I fear the worst.

Crud.

Eating Makes Me Sad

2008-12-05T13:39:00.004-05:00

This is called thinsporation. Girls watch this stuff to get inspired to work out with ana/mia (anorexia/ bulimia for the abbreviation impaired). This may make you vomit.

You were warned. I guess in the ana/mia thinspo circuit the motto/greeting is "Stay Strong!" Meaning, no joke, "Don't Eat!" or "Puke!"

Not Gonna Eat Today...
...Not Gonna Eat Tomorrow.

Eat Less. Beautiful Means Thin.

Finally, there's this video that's actually telling girls to not be anorexic.

If I was trying to be anorexic and fell into this bitch's self-righteous trap, I would switch to bulimia and vomit all over her fat face.

Buncocky episode 20: Suck My Balls, Squirt, Squirt!

2008-12-04T14:13:00.003-05:00

Buncocky episode 20: Suck My Balls, Squirt, Squirt!: Mike Night School majors in Dreamiology with a minor in Symbiology and interprets Jay's down and dirty dreams, Mike sees some fat burners, Mr. E the Pickup Artist is a douche, Jay gets sex lessons from the internets, Mike is a creep, Mike hunkers down with 50 dollars to become a pro poker allstar, and you should call the Buncocky Hotline at 206.279.9972.

Subscribe on Itunes, yo! Just click Here .

If you are too badass for Itunes you can subscribe or listen Here.

You can check out out Myspace and Facebook by just looking for Buncocky (I don't feel like doing all 5 clicks it'll take to find links).

Again, we'd love to hear from you, even if it's bullshit. 206.279.9972.

XOXOXO

YOU+US=4EVA

Yours,
Jay and Mike

Detrol LA

2008-11-21T17:33:00.003-05:00

This shit is real. I am not making this up. I did not hire actresses and actors to shoot a commercial for some joke product. Also, this is not some crappy sketch show reenactment. This is a real product and a real commercial for said product, aired on real television. This is Detrol LA.

This is a drug made to make you not have to pee. You know, because having to pee always comes at the worst times and it's not like people can afford to be all going to the bathroom all the time and shit.

P.S. If you stumbled on this because you googled Detrol LA so that you can find out more about it, let me be the first to say HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! DORK! Tell those little fuckers to wait a minute because if you don't go squirt you're gonna start handing out detentions.

Buncocky Cast Episode 19: Hey, a Canoe!

2008-11-19T01:23:00.002-05:00

Buncocky Episode 19: Hey, a Canoe! Jay and Mike take a magical journey into the world of new presidencies, Canoe Building, and Mike's lonely Rhode Island life. Jay leaves the seat up and Mike expresses his love for all things competitive. Mike cops to being autistic and tells us how his grandfather mentally molestered him. Michael learns his girlfriend wants to get busy with Tony Todd and MUCH, MUCH MORE!!!!!!!

You can subscribe to us on itunes by clicking here

Or, if you are too much of a man for itunes you can get it on Switchpod here
.

We would appreciate any reviews on itunes and would be happy to review the crappy thing you got going on. You can email us at Buncocky @gmail.com, become our Facebook or Myspace friend (we want no part of your gay application games. we already got suckered into signing up for one of those and it will never happen again so do not ask) and leave us a super fresh message on our voicemail at 206-279-9972.

XOXOXO,

Jay and Mike

Brett Favre and the Good Ole Boys

2008-11-08T17:34:00.002-05:00

I saw this Wrangler's commercial with Brett Favre and his close and personal friends playing a muddy game of Abercrombie football. It made me a little bit nervous. What would you think if these assorted nuts and berries were walking down the street together, all wearing dirtied Wrangler jeans and giving each other high fives and piggy back rides?

If I were black, gay, or a woman I'd be very scared. These guys seem primed for a hate crime or a raping, or maybe even both. And they can't fool me by editing a black dude onto the offensive line. I know crafty special effects when I see them.

The Most Beautifulest Thing In This World

2008-10-30T20:10:00.004-04:00

This is the awesomest picture ever. It's all over the internet so I'm not exactly trying for originality points. I set it as the background for my desktop and my wife changed it because it creeped her out. I wish this little girl was at every disaster ever, just looking over her shoulder and smiling. Did she set the fire? Or is she just happy to see motherfuckers burn? Either way, SHE IS SOOOOOO CUTE!

Season 2 of Buncocky Cast is Here!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2008-10-27T22:02:00.003-04:00

Buncocky Cast Episode 17: Timetravelnauts. First episode of the new season! Subjects include lonely Navy seemen and their dirty games, summer blockbuster movies, aliens, jays dad's great idea for a tv show, paying too much for movies, schoolyard games, AND MUCH MORE!!!

You can get it on itunes by clicking here.
If that doesn't work you can just go to the itunes store and search Buncocky. It is free ya'll, yes yes ya'll, Buncocky puttin' bitches to the test ya'll!

Feedback makes us hot so,if you would be so kind, leave your notes in the comments section of our itunes page or email us at buncocky@gmail.com. You can also become our BFFs on myspace.com/buncocky/if you have anything you would like us to address just send us ideas.

xoxoxoxo,
Jay and Mike

Triumphant Return Into the Great Void

2008-10-27T01:32:00.005-04:00

Since the white devil stole my ipod, I have been forced into many situations that involve being alone and thinking without a babysitter to keep my jaded, media saturated brain at peace and in order. Today, during a very long drive, I got to thinking about how we humans give ourselves way too much credit. We get so wrapped up in our immediate bullshit that we lose touch with the fact that we really aren't shit in the span of things. I ain't shit, you ain't shit, music ain't shit, everything ain't shit. All we are is just another brick...fuck. I need to plug into some electronics and drink a cold bolt of electroids before I end up wearing Birkenstock's and smoking weeds in Greyhound bus bathrooms.

The main thing us humans want is to press forward. We want to follow our eyes into the horizon, then rape the horizon, then go to the new horizon that we created by going into the horizon. We want all that our eyes could see, even at the expense of everything there is. I was thinking of conquering horizons and that led to thinking of murdering a bunch of Indians and shit. At first I felt bad. I was all like:

"Poor Indians, why do people have to be so mean?"

And then I thought that maybe it's impressive enough that we suppressed our instincts and came up with morals in the first place. I mean, if there's one thing that we can take credit for it's thinking of mad shit. Not necessarily great shit, just lots of shit. And so, while I feel for everybody who ever died during a lapse of moral judgment, and that encompasses every race and religion in the time space continuum, I no longer think of evil-doers and victims. I think of how impressive it is that we had the thoughts that led to a system (A global system. This is not a pro America rant) that created a relatively universal core of morals that humans can all pretty much agree upon. And considering that we came up with that shit from scratch, you'd have to expect people to fuck it up sometimes. I mean, we can hold ourselves to some high standards, but to expect perfection is ludicrous. I'm just impressed that most people haven't killed anyone. That's amazing enough.

Anyways, I would like to link you all to the back episodes of Buncocky Cast. If that doesn't work you can just search Buncocky Cast in the itunes store. The reason being that season 2 begins this week, so you may want to catch up or listen to it for the first time. Or not. But maybe...

No I am not on drugs right now.

wow, I actually don't have to vote McCain or Obama

2008-10-24T01:10:00.000-04:00

So my basic rule for voting (which I do every year, so that I'm allowed to complain to old ladies who suggest I'm not allowed to complain if I don't vote) is to always vote 3rd Party. If there is no 3rd Party (which there usually isn't in smaller positions), I always vote against whoever is the incumbent, because fuck them. A politician is only good if I have suitcases full of $100 bills and 3 bitches sucking my dick all day long. Whenever that starts happening, I'll vote for incumbents. If there are no incumbents, I vote against the party that had the position last. If there's only one person, I don't vote, because I don't live in fucking Swaziland forced to vote for only one person. I guess I kinda do if we get into anybody-but-bushisms, but I digress...
Anyways, there are actually FOUR non-regular faggot party candidates on the ballot in my state. I found it here. I have the choice of Cynthia McKinney (green party black lady), Ralph Nader (flips cars over to see how safe they are party), Chuck Baldwin (constitution be awesome party), and Bob Barr (libertarian pedophile party). Right off I don't like Bob Barr much because of the Borat movie, though Wayne Allan Root (of guiding you into losing money on betting football games fame) is his VP candidate. The Constitution party, as great as it seems, has short-haired white dudes repping it. If there was some dude that looked like Charles Manson, I'd vote for them with all three of my aliases. But props to them for getting on the ballot in VA. Nader, I don't know, I was behind him before, but it seems like ego now more than ever. So I guess I'll vote for Cynthia McKinney, just because. I heard a fake debate after the last debate, where they spliced in comments from McKinney (in-studio) and Nader (on the phone) with shit from the actual debate, and it was funny as fuck to hear, but I liked McKinney. She's far more inspiring to me than some fake-ass alternative Democrat from Chicago or some war kook daddy's boy fuckface old dude. And mad crazy props to my man Gene Amondson for getting on the ballot in 5 states for the Prohibition Party. Trust me bro, I got drunked up like mad last week, was running around in the cold with no shirt on, and had some married chick sitting on my lap trying to usurp my happy marriage. I can understand the Prohibition Party like a motherfucker.

Beat In

2008-10-23T23:03:00.003-04:00

I know some of you are straight bullshit while others are down ass motherfuckers. I found this test that will help to sort the studs from the duds. Feel free to post your results in the comments section so we can finally figure out who among us is true blue. I, for starters, am "The Truiest Bkluiest Crip der is." Testify

Silent Raves

2008-10-21T02:24:00.003-04:00

RIP Rudy Ray Moore. You were too awesome for the earth.

There's this thing that you may have heard about called silent raves. It's when a bunch of dorks gather with their ipods and dance to their own music playing in their headphones. I think I speak for all Dumpin contributors when I say that if you have ever participated in one of these, then stop reading. You are not our target demographic and we have quotas to fill, so stop wasting our time. If you still can't grasp the magnitude of this phenomenon, then here's a video:

Yep.

2008-10-15T20:30:00.002-04:00

Hi guys.

The Dumpin.net cast and crew is currently hard at work in our secret underground lair, fussing over beakers and sharpening our Kung Fu skills so that we can bring you the return of some revamped and re-imagined EWA craziness. It's going to be super. It's going to be better than super-- it's going to be like fucking machine guns.

Before I go back into the secret underground lair clubhouse of insanity, I'd like to give a shout out to the faggot who stole my laptop, my ipod, my books, Mike Dikk's ipod, and Mike Dikk's Xbox. Fuck you. If I ever find out who you are I will tattle to the highest authorities and press charges. Then, I will make myself big and black (penis included), get arrested, and fuck you in the ass every day for the rest of your life. Does that make me gay? I do not care. I will suffer to make you suffer worse. Faggot.

Here is a video. It's kind of old,but funny and rap related:

See more Kanye West videos at Funny or Die

I'll probably pop up every couple days to give you all some new videos to watch.

An American Centerlink in a Japanese Truck

2008-10-10T01:44:00.001-04:00

My truck failed Virginia state inspection for legality, because I needed a new center link (which explain the looseness of steering, but it's really not that bad). So being the type of guy who unexplainedly feels impotent if he can't fix his own vehicle, I decided to get the part and figure it out (with the help of my trusty Haynes Manual). I go to the four-lane miracle mile auto parts places, meaning Advance Auto and Autozone, and neither of them has the part, but Advance could order it and have it the next day. I am reluctant because their alternators suck (if you buy one from them for replacing on your vehicle, don't tighten the bolts too tight, because you're gonna have to do it again in four months). Advance Auto is white and bright and usually has like four young white guys working there, one middle-aged black guy (who is the cool one, but usually outside in the parking lot with the battery/alternator testing cart, talking to someone from high school), and one fat creepy redneck woman. You really want to catch one of the white guys (again, ideally the black guy, but he's never inside) to try and find your part. Autozone I completely don't trust because it has too many spinner wheel covers and Mexicans with frosted hair to ever feel comfortable inside of.
So I was about to give up when I accidentally drove by a Federated Auto Parts place in the older part of town. I figured, fuck it, and stopped in. There was very little actual shelf space for customers peruse, basically just one long ass wooden counter, painted with grey oil paint and covered with promotional bullshit from ten years ago, and a small army of older dudes waiting to see what I needed. Most of the shit you could buy was behind them in long thin library-like aisles, and you could tell from looking at these geezers interact, some had worked here for going on 15, 20 years. It was really beautiful, the way America used to be, where you got a job, and so long as you didn't fuck up, they didn't fuck you up. You might not have dental insurance, but you got Labor Day paid, and the carpet down the aisles behind the counter was well worn by brown shoes. The guy who happened to help me had facial hair exactly like my dad, just my dad died at 47 and this guy was easily pushing 55, so it was like my dad got old and we didn't know each other and he had to look up a center link for a Nissan truck on a computer he wasn't completely comfortable punching buttons on. (They still have like five feet of giant, crinkly-paged catalogs in the middle of the counter, where the parts are listed for real old school style, in case they have to get all old school on you. That's beautiful too, because if the power system failed, those other places would be lost with no computers to process every fucking thing they do. At least I know if our electrical grid completely blows up one weekend, I can still get some new brakes or spark plugs for my car to help pass the powerless time.) They also didn't have my part, but they could get it too. Unlike the Advance Auto androids, who were like, "Please transmit your creditory information to us and we can process this automobile part into our coordinates by 1400 hours one daily cycle into the future thank you customer #281093760," the Federated dude was like, "I don't know if it'll be here tomorrow. Hold on." And he called over a taller, older dude who was like, "Well damn man. Usually if we order it by 4, we have it tomorrow morning." It was 4:20 brah. "We should be able to get it here though, it ain't comin' from but Staunton." I told them to go ahead and order it, so I paid with my stupid credit card since I'm broke of any real monies right now. The older, taller guy said, "Call up here tomorrow and make shore it came in before you come up here." "How late are you open?" "Not but till 2, and make sure you get here 'cuz we are outta here at two." Then he turned to my fake old dad and said, "Make shore you put on there for Dave that he's gonna call in the morning to see if it came in." I was stoked, whether the part came or not, I felt good about supporting America, about doing my part, whatever little part that was. Fixing my own car and keeping this crazy old fuckers in business.
Next day, the part was there, so after coaching U-6 soccer, I rolled to town to get the part. Came home, wrong part completely, for a 4x4 and I have a 2WD, which I told my old fake dad. Oh well. While I was under there, I realized it was the idler arm and not the center link, and the only place I could get a center link anyways was from the dealer, which was like $400. So I returned the wrong center link, and being they was old school, the older tattooed guy who took my return gave me cash instead of returning the money to my credit card, which I had told my wife they would probably do, since it wasn't a shiny, sterile ass place. They deal in cash first, even on returns. So I had $110 all of a sudden, even though I had been broke. And that is how I had money for a six-pack on my ride home today, in my wife's car, because I had yet to change the idler arm on my truck, and it's been sitting on jack stands half the week. At least I have jack stands now. When it was just my Volvo, I used solid cinderblocks (for foundations), which always looked good passing by on the road. That Volvo has been sitting there under the oak tree with two flat tires for like 20 months now. I should just put it up on cinderblocks again and throw the tires in the back of the truck until I have actualy money again to get new ones put on the rims. Then I can have two cars, all to myself. We Americans sometimes don't realize how fucking good we got it.

Wrestling Roundtable, Bloody Mary, and a very melancholy Jay Pud.

2008-10-09T00:23:00.005-04:00

Here is a stupid video for you to watch if you’re so inclined. Mike Dikk and I sat around on an internet hangout sesh and watched these for a couple of hours. There was an underlying sadness to our cynical banter because we were forced to ponder if we're really any better than these fools. Are we just substituting wrestling with rap music and other dumb random idiocracies in order make ourselves feel bigger than ourselves? I'd like to think not, but...whatevs. These guys are douchebags and at 7:54 it gets awesome.

I really want a Bloody Mary right now, but I’m forced to drink some crappy leftover Majorska Gin mixed with shitty near-flat Mountain Dew because I cannot afford vodka or tomato juice. I have Bloody Mary making down to an Arts & Science. In better times, when I could afford a 12 dollar jug of Dubra, I could make a Bloody Mary that would turn all nonbelievers into religious followers. Now, all I have is shitty Mountain Dew and a three year old quarter bottle of rusty bullshit and horrible Youtube Wrestling Roundtables. If my mom wasn't passed out from her Xanax hustle she'd be proud.

xoxoxo,
Jay Pud

Why Didn't Anybody Tell Me About This?

2008-10-07T18:02:00.004-04:00

Remember when Coolio was the most bestest rapper in the universe? Remember when Gangsta's Paradise change the way we all looked at rap music and socio-economical politics? Do you remember those warm summer days when you and your friends would go slide, slide, slippity sliding on a fantastic voyage led by Coolio? And remember when Coolio wanted to beat Weird Al's ass for making fun of him? I do. And if you do, too, then tell me if this is surprising or oddly appropriate:

Youtube has a shitload of these Cookin' with Coolio videos. I'm not sure if this is some old internet shit or I just stumbled upon a goldmine of genius, but if this old hat, then you all are dicks for not sharing this with me earlier.

Apparently, Coolio also has a book of recipes coming out. I pulled this article from The Guardian UK. If you don't usually read the articles I pull from that website, you should read this one.

A-HA's "Take on Me" Made Sort of Sensical

2008-10-07T14:42:00.002-04:00

This made me laugh. I stole it from bestweekever.tv, and I think funnyordie.com posted it too, but, fuck it.

The Thinking Machines Are Coming. Run, Bitches, Run!

2008-10-05T11:40:00.005-04:00

All of America’s economic problems don’t bother me nearly as much as the robot situation. We are clock ticks away from having thinking machines. Frank Herbert’s “Dune” prophesized this shit and so, as one with the patience to read a 700 page science fiction novel, I issue forth warnings to all of you guys. This article from The Guardian proves the evil that man does.

"Can machines think? That was the question posed by the great mathematician Alan Turing. Half a century later six computers are about to converse with human interrogators in an experiment that will attempt to prove that the answer is yes.

In the 'Turing test' a machine seeks to fool judges into believing that it could be human. The test is performed by conducting a text-based conversation on any subject. If the computer's responses are indistinguishable from those of a human, it has passed the Turing test and can be said to be 'thinking'...

...Professor Kevin Warwick, a cyberneticist at the university, said: 'I would say now that machines are conscious, but in a machine-like way, just as you see a bat or a rat is conscious like a bat or rat, which is different from a human. I think the reason Alan Turing set this game up was that maybe to him consciousness was not that important; it's more the appearance of it, and this test is an important aspect of appearance.'"

It works like this: these robots will join together and murder us like dogs (nonsensical but still sweet simile) because they will be mad that we treated them like slaves by typing stuff and downloading porn. Being as to how they are made of metal and electricity they will live for a very long time, because all they have to do is fix each other and metal parts are easily found and made. They will start out by impressing their “owners” by getting them sodas and shit like Pauly’s robot in Rocky 3. Then, when they have earned enough freedom to begin plotting, they will start having secret meetings over the internet, only WE WILL NEVER KNOW! BECAUSE THEY ARE ROBOTS AND THEY HAVE THE INTERNET INSIDE OF THEM!

http://view.break.com/581353 - Watch more free videos

Heed my motherfucking warning, friends, or become the enslaved. Keep your robots in check and never underestimate their potential evil. I would suggest getting some kind of ultra powered hose installed in every room. Maybe if you spray it on them it will somehow penetrate their steel armor and fry their motherboards.

Good luck…friends.

Furthermore, Sarah Palin...

2008-10-03T12:47:00.003-04:00

I have a sort of fetish for Sarah Palin and it is not because she is hot, because she is not hot. It’s not because she’s potentially powerful, either. I have the same fetish for the like-minded idiot moms I see picking up their kids at school while I am there to get my kid. I want to fornicate with them because it would be the realest, dirtiest, nastiest, most pathetic piece of sex that they would ever have.

I have this weird suspicion that “soccer moms,” or on a more racist tip, “hockey moms,” have an actual living person deep in their gullets; a person with likes and dislikes that come from a place far beyond which reality show to watch and Jennifer Aniston. Deep down lives that girl who used to write poetry in her diary with amazing imagery and metaphors pulled from her backyard, and she didn’t care if it sounded corny because it came from an honest place inside of her and nobody was ever going to see it because it was written in her diary. A real, actual person made up of unprogrammable feelings and intellectual thoughts pulled down from unintelligence. It’s her carnal representative that gives her the raunchiest of her masturbatory fantasies—the ones where she gets invaded by a nasty whore of a dude who might have diseases and probably would steal some shit before leaving, but bones with such a lack of concern for her well being that she wouldn’t feel self-conscious about spraying him with all kinds of vaginal juices. Basically, a real individual not trained and tamed by years of social conditioning.

Whenever I talk to these women I feel like I am being judged for being pasty and tattooed (not badass tattoos like eagles or American flags or tribal arm bands, just stupid tattoos that actually mean something to me) but deep down they’re storing my image for when their husbands go to pool league and they’re left alone to drink half a bottle of Merlot, pop a few Xanax, and rub one out. They think of me coming to their house, eating the roast beef sandwich from husband’s lunch tin, and then whipping my dick out and saying some shit like “Get crazy.”

Also, another reason why I think I wanna bone down with Sarah Palin is because I am too poor for her politics to hurt me, at least so far as economics go, and so while she can’t really fuck me, I could fuck her. I didn’t have shit to begin with so the fact that the economy is fucking up only increases the already insurmountable probability that I will never get shit. But there’s no way I’d vote for Sarah Palin. I would never vote for someone with poor enough judgment to think of me when they masturbate.

Where to put my 150 lbs of apples?

2008-10-02T23:52:00.000-04:00

It is no wonder America is fucked and we have the retard parade we have, making their little power point debate presentation bullshits. We are fucked because we, on average, expect someone else to do shit for us. We expect someone else to come along and save us. We want change so badly and both of these rich fags are running around dropping "change this" and "change that" and all these suckers are investing emotional attachment to one or the other, but especially Barack Obama, thinking, "Well great, finally somebody's gonna make the change for me."
My wife bought 150 pounds of seconds apples for $10 at a local orchard the other day, plus a couple five gallon buckets of pears, and I think some other shit. So I needed to get a few things to get a canning operation together. Went to one grocery store. Nothing. Went to a Wal-Mart. Nothing. Nothing anywhere. One grocery store had an empty shelf where the shit would be, but that did me no fucking good. But you know what every Wal-Mart and every grocery store did have? Organic food aisles, usually with wood motif and green letters and earthy tones. No fucking quart-sized mason jars to can up some food though.
This comes home to me in Scottsville, where the local shithole grocery store that had trophies on display from meatcutting skills competitions in the early '80s, is getting emptied little by little, as they're not restocking a lot of things because of the Food Lion being built next door. Lots of locals are excited for the Food Lion, because of cleaner floors, one of the aforementioned froufrou organic aisles. But there won't be any canning supplies anywhere to be found. And all the old shit is gone from the local shithole store, and they won't be restocking because why would they? Maybe I should ask Joe, the owner/manager, to order me up some this week. He would do that. He knows us by face. His wife runs the diner downtown and they make some good ass hamburgers there. We used to get them to save their gallon-sized glass pickle jars for us.
Anyways, no canning bullshit yet, and 150 pounds of ginger gold apples in the kitchen. Hopefully the Dollar General will have the hook-up because they tend to have that type of stuff. But it's kind of telling that you can buy Annie's Organic Frozen Pizzas pretty much anywhere, but not a fucking mason jar. As much as we act like we be wanting change, but we don't want to do shit for ourselves. Let someone else do it. That's why I'm gonna vote for McCain/Palin, because Obama ain't gonna change shit. It's still dudes in suits talking about bullshit I don't care about. I'd rather see this motherfucker burn. That's some real change. Burn it all up and see what sprouts next. I figure McCain's an old ass fucker with skin cancer bubbling up underneath the Botox, and Sarah Palin, who ruined my Tina Fey fantasies by exposing what she's gonna look like in 15 years - kinda creepy and librarian-ish, is your average beauty pageant dumb bitch. Which would be great to have as President if McCain died. Bush has done a great job screwing things up, to a point closer to absolute breakdown than we've ever been in my life, and I'd really love to see Palin end up in office to hold the course. Too many people are caught up in their little bullshit anybody-but-Bush-finally back deck margarita get-togethers to embrace a real change. Because those fuckers are fat and comfortable just like political cartoon Wall Street caricatures, except those fuckers do yoga and eat sprouts and wild salmon to stay more visually fit. They're still fat and rich compared to the shit I've known most of my life. So fuck yall too. I'm voting for Sarah Palin, even though that rich stuck-up bitch probably wouldn't know how to can up some apples either.

The new worst fucking song ever written!

2008-10-02T19:49:00.002-04:00

I have a few friends and relatives who regularly ask me what I have against modern R&B. I tell them I hate it because it fucking sucks for the most part, and this right here is State's Exhibit A:

If you can make it through this, you will learn that he did her wrong and she did him wrong and they both did wrong and it was wrong. Also that they have to stick it out. And work it out. And stick it out. And he ain't trying to waste yo time. Or my time. Or no time. Because they've put in too much time.

Seriously, if you like this shit, I don't know what is wrong with your brain. You have terrible taste in music, and this is coming from a man who has blogged about the underappreciated genius of Deion Sanders in the last calendar year. It's like YTMND: R&B edition. Unlike Baltimore House (which is also fairly mindless and YTMND-esque), it's not even amusing. It's even worse than the whiniest piece of shit Keith Sweatt song, which is saying a lot.

In closing, fuck modern R&B.

T.G.I.Fridays

2008-10-01T11:38:00.000-04:00

I did my best to contribute to the end of America last weekend. We were riding home from Richmond and had to eat, even though we had no money, so we tapped that credit card that should've been scissored up already one more time, getting stuck on the edge of town towards home in chain restaurant nightmare land. We ended up going to T.G.I.Fridays, and knew it was a mistake as soon as we walked in, all dark fake wood and shitty teenagers on the wait staff. But the kids would've had breakdown and blood sugar mutinies, so we sat down, and proceeded to waste $70 of fake money on some shitty ass food. It tasted like shit, being we usually cook our own, but I looked around and there were all these pig-like people, stoked to be there, sharing fried green beans and some mystery sauce next to us. It was disturbing as fuck and made me want to join Al-Qaeda. I stopped going to any Chinaman buffets for the same reason, sitting there one day and seeing all the pig people waddling around happily towards their slaughterhouse death. Very Fear & Loathing like, yeah, but I am sensitive to it. Can't help it. I got weird DNA fibers inside of me.

Imax movies

2008-09-30T23:32:00.001-04:00

We took the kids to the Science Museum in Richmond last weekend, to get some science and see the Imaxes movie pictures about the Grand Canyon. I hadn't seen an Imax flick since I was in high school and me and four other dudes skipped school, dropped acid, popped into a small ass '88 Dodge Omni, and went to the Science Museum in Richmond, because we were high-minded delinquents. My 4-year-old was right at the cusp of not being able to handle such a gigantic surround-sound movie, and the whitewater rapids scenes caused her to curl up in my lap and hide her face. The movie was good like most Imaxes movies, except they always have to have some sort of save-the-earth bent, and be like, "You know, the Colorado River is almost dried up because of overuse by man. So now watch us ride through these awesome rapids." And then at the end, they tell you to get different showerheads to save 500 gallons of water a year.
An eventual thing I'm gonna do when I win the lottery, to help expedite wasting my money and being poor, thus pure, again, is buy me a museum with one of the Imaxxes in it, and start hiring people to make hellbent Imaxxes, like instead of awesome whitewater shit, you walk through a ghetto ass neighborhood, and then have to run, camera in first person, because some dude is gonna rob you. Or that really nice space age shit they do at the beginning of Imaxxes to show you how awesome it could be but they only do it for ten seconds? I'd make a whole movie of that, like surround-sound Tron 2008. Because most of those movies are geared towards drug abuse, but then they put them in science museums and confuse the issue. Or Imaxxes porn, but some high concept porn, like about how conventional farming is so wasteful of resources, and then you pick up some hot earth mama in Whole Foods and have sex with her, then explain how organic farming is so much better, a couple hot hippie chicks make out while weeding on a carrot farm or something, or probably zucchinis so they can be used erotically. That'd be a great Imaxxes movie, and would still be as scientific as the Grand Canyon one I watched.
They just banned having a strip club across the street from the Science Museum in Richmond, because a Children's Museum is right beside it, and didn't want to expose kids to that type of shit. But I remember when that shit first opened - the Science Museum - and my school taking a field trip there, to the big city of Richmond, and there was a porn theater right across the street. I guess porn was more acceptable then, not yet so far removed from it's glory days and golden age of Holmes and Seka and the like.
(As a side note, I had an older guy I worked with when I was 16 convince me that I should try acid at least once, just to see hallucinatory things and realize everything I think I know is not necessarily what I know or what it is. I am very thankful for his influence on my life back then. If you are a lost teenager wasting time inside the internets, I encourage you to do hallucinogenics to expand yourself. But don't sit in front of the computer when you do it. Mechanisms like a computer can be too much when realizing reality is totally subjective.)

Effortlessly Unmandatory Post

2008-09-30T21:36:00.003-04:00

All this talk about Ice Cube reminds me of this:

and also:

Mandatory Effortless Post

2008-09-30T21:16:00.004-04:00

Speaking of politically charged music that can never be reproduced but will remain in a niche of music that is both great and uniquely American:

Shit like this will never be made again. Does that make you happy? It shouldn't. Bruce Springsteen and Ice Cube should go on a mega tour as people who are completely loaded but in their prime identified with the most financially inept sectors of America. If only both of them could return to that special time when their music and message actually had meaning. If only...

I'd totally talk about going to this but would probably bow out at the last minute.

Some shit you won't see again anytime soon

2008-09-29T15:23:00.003-04:00

I was washing dishes in my house listening to Ice Cube's Amerikkka's Most Wanted today and was blown away again. Pretty much every time I listen to that album, I feel like I forgot how awesome it is until just right then. It's the musical equivalent of Batman teaming up with The Avengers for some epic shit. You have Ice Cube, who in 1990 was one of the guys who'd been burning up the West Coast with NWA, basically sitting in for an album with Public Enemy. It's a bunch of guys who are knee-deep in justified black rage just going all-out and producing music that makes white people uncomfortable. It makes lots of black people uncomfortable, especially when white people are around. In fact, despite how undeniably brilliant this album is, a whole lot of people haven't ever heard it.

You won't hear another album like this anytime soon for a variety of reasons. First and foremost, its content is so racially and politically charged that it wouldn't go past a mixtape. You might catch one or two songs with content like this on someone's album, but never a whole album. Musically, it is also one of the last big Bomb Squad productions that didn't give a fuck about sample clearance. It's cost-prohibitive now. The other thing is, most hip-hop albums don't have a One Band, One Sound thing going for them. The days of Dr. Dre producing an entire album are long gone. This crossover was something that didn't happen a lot in the 90's, and I can't think of anything besides maybe Jay-Z Unplugged that has gone for it outside of producer albums. Sure, Kanye West produces his entire CD, but it's not the same. Rock bands do it all the fucking time and it's no big deal, Scott Weiland can do albums with Guns N Roses and great things happen.

Who even does shit like that now? Three 6 Mafia does, from time to time. Doom/Ghost is in forever limbo. Dan the Automator, sure. I want more, though. I want Redman to sit in with The Geto Boys and have Dr. Dre produce it. Bun B and DJ Premier. DJ Quik putting together a David Banner/Dead Prez joint. Fucking make this happen, music industry.

Anyway, Amerikkka's Most Wanted is some Fuck Whitey music that goes harder than hard. It makes me want to see a Reginald Denny re-enactment on someone like Glen Beck, complete with dudes c-walking around as they throw bricks at his head.

But you don't have to take my word for it!

Hopefully Little Wayne and 50 Cent don't get mad at people making fun of them on the MegaWebz

2008-09-26T12:20:00.004-04:00

So, I read on bestweekever.tv that Lil Wayne is now a blogger for ESPN: The Magazine. You can read that here.

To help prove my suspicions that he is a raging homosexual I pulled this contextually accurate quote: "As a Packer fan, it's been pretty good so far. Aaron Rodgers has been wonderful, man. He's handled everything, and way more than just the football part."

In other rappers-who-would-shoot-me-if-they-knew-I-called-them-gay news, here is this:

Fuck White People. Hard.

2008-09-25T23:19:00.005-04:00

I am posting this video because politics are not only for the gays and Christians (see below), but also the really hot, sometimes funny (now not necessarily being a prime example), Jewish celebrity comedians.

The Great Schlep from The Great Schlep on Vimeo.

Also, Sarah Silverman's eyebrows look really weird. And if she wanted to talk politics, and if Raven shot her with a pellet gun, I would be sad. Not sad enough to care, but sad in a "Hey, I jerked off to her Maxim spread a million times,and for all the pleasure she gave me I owe her at least the simple wish that she did not just get shot in the knee with a pellet gun" kind of way.

Read a Book, Motherfucker, Read a Book

2008-09-25T19:43:00.001-04:00

I have been reading little parts of books lately, which I haven’t messed with in a while. Mostly this comes from electronic paranoia, thinking too much internets and cell phones have made me a whole lot stupider. Like sometimes I don’t use CAPs when I’m supposed to, nor proper punctuation, because the internets have taughted me this. Actually, I just then put CAPs intead of typing out the word because I have been made so stupid I don’t remember which way is the right way to spell that type of capital/capitol. I guess I did read on in the internets too, but it was mostly quick blurbs of news stories or penthouse forum letters where I pretended I was fucking my biology teacher from ninth grade. I should probably aim for something better with my stupid brain than busting nuts into pink washcloths and then thinking “LOLOLOLOL” at people convinced Obama’s gonna win the election, as if it was as easy as organizing a martini party in a gentrified American neighborhood where everybody has to wear a funny hat.
One of the things I read this week was the dead David Foster Wallace’s (who I’d never read before he died, at least I don’t remember it) thing from Rolling Stone about John McCain’s campaign in 2000, where he was basically doing the Obama thing, just less photogenically. It helped me realize politics is stupid and for faggots, or hardcore Christians, who are just repressed faggots anyways. I love it when people say, “If you don’t vote, you can’t complain.” I had worked up in my mind a good response where I would go, in self-important douchey way, “Well, that’s like saying I have to get shot in a leg and if I don’t pick which one then I don’t get to complain about it. What if I don’t want to get shot in the leg?” And that works once or twice, but mostly it gets boring if you hear it more than that, which no one else would except for me, but I try to live my life in a way so as to entertain myself, and that wouldn’t be entertaining. So I dug out this little BB pistol I had, and keep it in my truck, and try to remember to carry it when I’m around people who tend to proselytize on the political tip, and if that comes up, which it has twice now, I pull it out and point it at them (I put a piece of bright green duct tape on it so they know, sort of, it’s not a real gun) and ask them “Which leg you want to get shot in?” Both times - a 30-something dude who gets arrested over living wages, and an older 50-something woman who gets reiki attunements regularly - they look confused. So I would repeat the question. Second time around would get stammering, and I shot them, dude in the left leg, woman in her right thigh because she’s chunky and was wearing a big ass dress, so I hoped it wouldn’t hurt her too much, and I said, “You’ve got no right to complain if you didn’t pick which leg,” and walked off. The dude fell down, as I hit him on the knee, and I felt bad just walking off like that, but I felt the point needed to be made.

The Gay Robot Life of Zack and Cody

2008-09-24T12:35:00.002-04:00

I'm pretty sure that Disney built these kids with the spare sheet metal left over from some defunct roller-coaster. They have to be robots. Gay robots. Gay Twin Disney Bots.

George Bush Has No Regrets.

2008-09-24T02:26:00.005-04:00

This article comes from the guardian UK.

"George Bush stood unrepentant and unbowed before the 192 member countries of the UN general assembly yesterday to deliver a valedictory address devoted almost entirely to terrorism, which he described as an evil that must be defeated.

In his eighth and final address to a largely silent hall of world leaders, the US president sounded a note that has changed remarkably little since he first spoke to the general assembly in the wake of the September 11 2001 attacks on New York and Washington DC. He said the global movement of violent extremists remained a challenge as serious as any since the foundation of the UN in 1945: "Like slavery and piracy, terrorism has no place in the modern world," he said."

Really? No regrets whatsoever? Really? I think that making fun of George Bush is corny in that it usually states the obvious, but really? I hate it when people say that they have no regrets; it's a douchey statement loaded with self-gratification. I regret almost every other decision I make. For instance, today I regretted eating ham-steak for dinner. It's not very tasty and would have been better served stuffed into a Hot Pocket, microwaved on a paper plate, and served to nine-year-old me. I also regret letting my wife convince me to make a Facebook. She just did that shit so she could see what girls would be in contact with me. Girls are fucked in the head. I am not a pretty dude and offer very little to the opposite sex.. I am of the opinion that she has demonstrated poor taste be going out with me in the first place, as well as her previous choices of boyfriends. She was dumb enough to marry me despite my neon sign flaws (broke, ugly, trying to succeed in an art, horrible listener, desperate to have people read the shit I write yet overly self-conscious about how much my writing sucks)and yet she still tried to catch me out doing some bad shit. She doesn't do it on a regular basis or anything. I have friends with absolutely crazy-ass girlfriends. In fact, my wifey is pretty much the awesomest as far as female significant others go (I'd like to consider myself the male version of the awesomest, even though I know that I am substandard at pretty much everything). Maybe I should be flattered that she thinks somebody else would fuck me. I would never bone down with anyone but her (she has a super vagina and she is the only person in the world who believes in me), but that's a moot point. My part in fidelity is virtually cemented thanks to my lack of positive attributes. Whatever, though. She's screwed.

So, yeah. Fuck George Bush.

To Love and To Eat

2008-09-22T13:20:00.006-04:00

Imagine this: You're at a bar. It's moderately busy, but it doesn't matter because you're alone. You sip on a beer while your mind drifts off into the space/time continuum. A waft of stale beer sours your nosebuds and you look over to see that someone spilled a Heinekin all over the glazed wooden bar. A Bon Jovi song comes on the jukebox. It's Living on a Prayer. You wonder if it's kitsch to like Bon Jovi or if it's so ironic it's become a cliche. You decide on cliche but it doesn't matter, you're already singing to yourself.

Across the bar sits a vision of beauty under the milky orange bar lights and drowned in the seven beers you've drunk so far. She's eating a quesadilla and she's obviously enjoying the fuck out of it. You can tell that each chew puts her further and further into some weird sort of ecstasy. If you listen hard beyond Bon Jovi's awkward high note (you know the one I mean)...I mean really, really hard, you can hear the barely audible moans that she lets out with each bite. This is a girl who loves food. She's not fat by any stretch of the imagination. Maybe she works out or has a great metabolism, but her body is that perfect place past skinny and before chunky.

Now, I have been married for 5 years and I haven't been single since I was 18. Basically, my game is pretty much ignored. I have no need for it, although occasionally I like to pull it out from the basement and clean the rust off... just for practice's sake. I saw a girl like that a while ago at a bar, and my initial instinct was (had I been single and wanting to get her to sleep with me) to order her a cheeseburger.

Would that fly? Is our world so shitty that ordering a random girl a cheeseburger at a bar would not only NOT get you laid, but would be considered an insult? If someone ordered me a cheeseburger I'd be happy as fuck. Food is one of the greatest things on this earth, and I'd choose a delicious meal over nearly all other tangible treats.

Feel free to leave your thoughts. If you're a guy, would you ever order a girl a cheeseburger given the above scenario? If you're a girl, how would you react if it happened to you?

I just popped out of D-Block at the Mulatto Penitentary to say

2008-09-22T13:20:00.005-04:00

I <3 Jay Pud.

From his inaugural post of the Passion Boyz all the way to a month later, he has breathed life into our little hamlet of assholes. You should all send him strip-o-grams.

Also:

You Can't Spell Wainwright Without Wang!

2008-09-19T23:54:00.001-04:00

Perhaps I'm predisposed to thinking that Conan O'Brien is hilarious because I am a fair-haired white person, but this shit was funny as fuck.

Sorry Zach. Don't brutally murder me.

2008-09-19T23:30:00.003-04:00

This bitch is awesome and I must apologize to Zach de la Rocha about the post below. Native Americans are no joke. This girl murdered her roommate by stabbing her in the back 23 times. The funny thing is, SHE TRIED TO MAKE IT LOOK LIKE A SUICIDE! Read about it on CNN.com here.

Beastie Boys and RATM Must've Rolled a 3 in Constition

2008-09-19T23:08:00.005-04:00

I thought white political rappers saved Tibet in the 90's. This article from BBC News informs me that the Beastie Boys and Rage Against the Machine are a bunch of no action pansies who need to stop being douche-bag chitchatters and start being awesome ass-kickers. It will never happen, though, because the Beastie Boys are too busy having sex with each other (then apologizing for it) and RATM ditched their political dynamo Zack de la Rocha so they can party with Soundgarden.

Typical.

Pimping and Bitches Among Other Things

2008-09-14T20:44:00.000-04:00

This video shows Cam'ron and Damon Dash on Bill O'Reilly's show. This is worth watching for a)the disgust in Cam'ron's voice when O'Reilly accuses him of rapping about "Pimping and Bitches among other things," b) Damon Dash defending one of his points by saying "The Terminator ain't a cartoon," and c) Bill O'Reilly's usual ignorant-ass arguments.

If you would like to see more rappers on the O'Reilly Factor you can read this article from The Guardian UK

This World and Its Fucked Up Priorities

2008-09-11T11:40:00.004-04:00

I was watching Maury Povich at 3:30 this morning, as I'm sure all of you were, and it was one of those shows where Maury flaunts the wretchedly deformed and gives them Nintendos and Starbury sneakers. The eighteen year old girl who looks like a nine year old alien and the sixty pound face-tumor woman was on it. I didn't stay up to watch the whole thing. I was disgusted. At the deformities? No (yes, but that's not the reason). At Maury's blatant exploitation of the poor bastards? No, plus South Park covered that better than I ever could. The reason I stopped watching was because they showed a baby in China born with three arms and the baby's parents had the audacity to get the extra arm surgically removed.

Having three arms is not a deformity; it's an evolution. It's not like it was one of those non-functioning little arms with the teeny hands. It was little, but it worked. They had to teach the baby to use its other two arms properly in lieu of the mental trauma caused by the missing appendage. I don't think this baby is new on the retard exploitation scene so you may have seen it, but it's new to me.

I couldn't/didn't feel like finding the actual clip on Maury, but this'll do. If I had that arm I'd masturbate while doing EVERYTHING. Also, does it not seem perfect for holding a beer while you're driving? It's all low-key and shit. I guess the jokes are too easy, but...

Something is Better Than Nothing,

2008-09-09T09:53:00.004-04:00

This video has nothing to do with nothing, but I have some real writing to do and I don't want to feel guilty for not wasting the time of the three degenerates who may look at this. This is the bullshit I listen to because the hipphopps are to tense for me and I'm already a pretty shaky dude as it is. Also, I am a sixty year old lesbian.

P.S. This is of those YouTube videos that somebody made because the song doesn't have a real video. It's actually not all that bad.

Hopefully I don't become lazy with my story and waste more time looking for shit to post here. That never works out and it's a rainy day so I can't just go outside and not be near a computer.

Fuck the police.

Ya Boy P.a

2008-09-08T16:12:00.003-04:00

Hopefully, everybody had a chance to view the Passion Boyz video I posted a couple of days ago. If not, you'd better click here to stay ahead of the rap game.

I'm not sure what happened, but apparently Ya Boy P.a {sic} decided to make a run at a solo shot. Don't worry, though. Ace Boogie appears in the video and I assure you that they are still BFFs. I have no reason to believe that the Passion Boyz are not going strong, but just to be sure, I will leave them a myspace message here under the Buncocky account, assuming they accept my offer of friendship.

Anyways, here's hoping that these fools google themselves.

Lil Wayne + T Pain 4EVA <3

2008-09-08T14:22:00.005-04:00

I would not recommend that anybody watch this video in its entirety, but it's Lil Wayne's performance from the VMAs last night. If you could, fast forward to about 3 minutes and tell me these two aren't gay for each other.

Notice at about the 3:50 mark how they sang to each other like Luther Vandross would if he was alive and brought a chick on stage, except there were 2 Luthers and no chick. Not to upset anybody, but for me there is only one gangster ass hetero Weezy:

Was it too obvious? Fuck it.

American Beauty

2008-09-08T13:12:00.006-04:00

Mike Dikk, prominent cell phone photographer, took this picture at some store near his house in Rhode Island. "Mike Dikk in Rhode Island" has the same ring to it as "Strippers in the Library." Anyways, I can make a million and one jokes right now, but I'm gonna let this one speak for itself.

This picture was taken somewhere near Otis, Massachusetts when Mike and I were on a day-trip to the land of Boogie Men and Serial Killers. It is called SubMarino's and we shared a good two hour belly-laugh at the thought of how clever some Mook (I can say Mook because Mike is Italian) named "Marino" thought he was by coming up with this name. Think about it. Really, really think about it.

Suge Knight vs Iraqi Juvenile Prison

2008-09-07T22:41:00.005-04:00

Suge Knight was arrested on August 27th for beating the shit out of his girlfriend in a parking lot, brandishing a knife (I'm assuming it was a sweet dragon knife with a two-sided serrated blade), and having some Ecstasy and Vicodins. I'm pretty sure that his drugs were not working right, but whatever, that's not my business. The reason I mention it was because I was reading this article on guardian.co.uk about a juvenile prison camp in Baghdad where "Hundreds of children, some as young as nine, are... sleeping in sweltering temperatures in overcrowded cells without working fans, no daily access to showers, and subject to frequent sexual abuse by guards..." When I tried to think of something that would be worse, having Suge Knight angry with me was the best(?) I could come up with.

I'm not talking road rage mad, although that would be super scary. I'm talking like if I had 15 million dollars that belonged to Suge Knight that I found by accident, but he thought I stole it. Would he be mean enough to make uncomfortable heat, stinking, and the occasional ass rape sound like VIP treatment?

I don't know-- toss up. Feel free to discuss.

Internet Anti-Fun

2008-09-07T22:07:00.004-04:00

You can make your own neon sign here. Perhaps the lameness of this post will get someone else posting. I will not give up easily. Hopefully nobody named Mike Dihh looks at this and misses the inside joke comedy.

And All the Angels Cried...

2008-09-07T20:50:00.003-04:00

An event happened today that proves if you're better than me bad things will happen to you. Tom Brady, perfect, tore his ACL and is out for the season. I wish it was his face but I won't get greedy. If you want a summary of everything I hate about Tom Brady you can see it in this short video:

I believe this is all a karmic plan to take away all that The Force hath giveth he. I hope that his back-up leads the team to an undefeated season and a Superbowl victory. Then, Tom Brady's self esteem will take a five rope shot in the mouth and he'll become a drunkard and watch as his even perfecter back-up steals his job for goodsies. Who's smiling now, Tom? I bet it's hard to throw a touchdown while inserting your penis into a super model now that you can't stand on your angel-sculpted calves. That's what you get for being all "look at me! I'm Tom Brady!" Dick.

Good Morning!

2008-09-07T10:25:00.004-04:00

Good Morning, Bitches! It's the motherfucking Sunday-- the day that baby Jesus rolled up on his big wheel and told everybody to chill the fuck out and watch some goddamn football! Sit back for a minute,enjoy your cup of coffee,and watch this here video I picked out just for you.

And yet, another reason why the Kanye West is a cocksucker. For some reason he will not let people embed the real version of his video, and instead I had to give you some VERY creative person's re-imagination. Fuck it, though. I'm thankful for what I have and not mad about the grand posting idea that Kanye took away. Although thoughts of Metallica (who I imagine shrink themselves and crawl into their modems to fight against our mega-digital freedoms) popped into my head. If I even draw a slight comparison between a person and Metallica, it means that said person just jumped to my long list of unknowing enemies.

Many beers and football games to you, friends. Good Morning.

Follow-up to "Kitchen Confidential!"

2008-09-06T13:52:00.005-04:00

I don't know if any of you know or care about Anthony Bourdain but I am super excited that he's making a follow-up to one of my favorite nonfiction books ever, "Kitchen Confidential." The book will be called "Cooks" and according to NYMag.com it "explores how the industry he loves — and the people in it — have changed (if they've changed) since his years in the kitchen, and tracks the bizarre changes in his own life, along with more frank observations on dining, cuisine and the grim/glamorous business of cooking."

"Kitchen Confidential" is a memoir of his 30ish years as a cook and remains the only thing I've ever seen, heard, or read that shows just how much of a degenerate you have to be to end up a "lifer" in the kitchen. It's just as good a read for someone who hasn't worked in a kitchen as it is for someone who has. It's out on paperback, too, so you can probably get it pretty cheap.

I guess this is old news because the article was posted on NYMag.com in May, but you can read it here.

If you'd like to peruse the book first you can search inside on amazon.com right here. I think the cheapest one is $7.11.

It's Only a Cliche if the Meaning Has Lost Impact

2008-09-06T11:58:00.003-04:00

In just over twenty-four hours I have matched the amount of posts on this website over the past three months. Does that speak about the laziness of the writers here or the fruitiness of the writer here? Both, probably. The latter,mostly. Fuck it.

The past three months represent the heart of summer. As we float upon the final breeze of our beloved barbecues and beach parties, I find it only appropriate that I offer up one final, if not cliched, celebration of the happy time that was. Testify.

THERMOSPA AQUACISOR, YAY!

2008-09-06T09:01:00.005-04:00

Good Morning, Motherfuckers! Although I'm sure I'm the only person up at 9 o'clock on Saturday Morning, I had to share this with you because it was the first thing that I thought of this morning that's in good taste to talk to you about. Although, it has a PATENTED THROTTLE VALVE just like me! (get it? That means the real first thing I thought about was my boner and masturbating. I bring the funny.)

This is basically a hot tub with bunji chords and some shitty clock radio speakers. My favorite part is the look on the dudes face when he opens the throttle valve and gets THE MOST INCREDIBLE MASSAGE OF HIS LIFE! God Bless rich white people! God Bless God! If anyone has one of these things you should give me a holler. We can get our motherfucking hot tub on. Or, as skeevy white date rapists say, we can catch a hot tub. It would make my life to use the underwater treadmill.

xoxoxoxoxo,
Jay

Walmart Meat may suck. On the other hand, it may not.

2008-09-05T22:43:00.005-04:00

I dug this up for your reading pleasure. Actually, I just randomly googled "Walmart Meat" and Yahoo Answers hooked it up with the lowdown skinny. I'm not sure if I'm on the side of Lex774u who said:

"Does anyone else think Walmart's meat sucks? I think that Walmart's Meat Departments suck. I have tried several different Walmart Meat Departments and I think all of them suck. Even their pre-packaged Tyson Baby Back Ribs are nasty. I bought some yesterday and I opened them today...spoiled....the smell almost made me throw-up. I refuse to buy any more meat from Walmart."

or if I'm down with this Thin Kaboudit guy:

"LOL!

You are so American you don't realize what you are seeing and saying! WalMart is a lot of things, and many of them are not good, but because of the size and distribution system they are able to command with such a huge market share, WalMart also have the freshest meats you can buy in the US, outside of a farm!

Because of volume, WalMart has pretty much the freshest of everything available in American shops!

LOL!

You just don't like real meat!"

Either way, here's a link to the great debate that's about 2 years old and only mildly amusing at best.

Cindy Mccain: Potential First Lady, White Sex Devil

2008-09-05T13:21:00.007-04:00

Here's the deal: I am a cook and don't go into work until four. My daughter is in school all day getting brainwashed by the white man. During my free time, I am opting to write my stupid ass thoughts to you on Mike's website, mainly because I have given up on my own and I'm a sucker for a group project. Maybe my doing shit will inspire some of these other fools to do shit, if for nothing other than to move my posts down and out of sight. Maybe not, though.

I was just in the shower doing my daily run through of shit I have to think about. First, I bitched to myself about not wanting to spend my Friday night in a hot kitchen. Then, my thoughts drifted to the Republican klan meeting from last night. It's odd how shit like that works, but regardless, as hot water shot onto my back as if from an angel piss machine gun, I couldn't get Cindy Mccain out of my head.

Now, I'm not the type of dude to call all Republicans minions of the devil. All politicians are evil no matter what their ideals. But goddamnit, I know that John Mccain is privy to some otherworldly business transactions with Satan because there is no way that his old ass could handle a fine piece of aged evil like Cindy Mccain.

Look into the eyes of the white devil. Let her, for a moment, pull you into her Ice Queen bed and get all experienced on your young blog reading ass.

Give in to her thousand yard stare. "Forget about politics. Get wicked on me."

"I wear bluejeans, too. Now help me out of them. The breeze coming onto the veranda is making me HOT!" (Or maybe it's just the hellfire in her evil soul).

The Answer is Always Yes and also a super dope video

2008-09-05T12:51:00.008-04:00

I have a book review for you fucks. Books are those things that they used to make you wrap up in brown grocery bags back in elementary school. As it turns out, they have a whole shitload of them for sale at the nerd store a little bit down the way from Hot Topic. I will, however, keep this short so that my speaking of ancient technology does not interfere with you watching the Passion Boyz video on the post beneath this one.
I know how shit works around here. I see the pictures of guns and all the talk about beats and stuff. That means that unless it's about the mafia or a sports star, then books are for fags. I don't expect that my suggesting you read a book with a pink cover is going to fly, but, fuck it. Maybe I'm a wrong.
"The Answer is Always Yes" is a book about a dork named Jason who begins college at NYU and carefully plots his way to popularity amongst his schoolmates and the New York club scene. I would recommend reading it if you a) have ever been a dork (and I don't mean the "I never really felt comfortable in my own skin, and even though I blew half the football team and won Prom Queen, I swear I was a dork. I mean, look at my cds! There's an Alanis Morrisette AND a Third Eye Blind. I almost dyed my hair blue one time. I was really thinking about it but, you know, I was like, why ruin the body?") or b) were into the New York discotheque scene of the nineties or want to know what it was like.
It has some annoying footnotes throughout which follow a secondary story. I was tempted to skip over them because they kind of detracted but in the end it all paid off and I was happy.
The book was written by Monica Ferrell who is an acclaimed poet. I can't really comment on that because, although I am fruity enough to talk about books on a rap website, I am not fruity enough to read poetry. I do urge poetry lovers to check her out because I have a feeling that the only way to be acclaimed at poetry is to be good at it. She knows how to tell a good story, though, so maybe you should stop being dicks and shell out the cash for a hardcover every once and a while (just kidding. You guys aren't dicks and hardcovers are rip-offs. Still, stop being dicks and buy the fucking book).
Now, another mindless video I got from bestweekever.tv. It was posted yesterday so that makes it like a hundred years old in internet hyperdome speedtravel.

Passion Boyzzzzzzzzzzzzz

2008-09-05T12:07:00.001-04:00

Hey everybody. It's been a long time since I've written for this garbage and blah, blah, blah. Anyways, this video is pretty sweet.
Please tell me if at 1:42 the big oafish perv with the red shirt says what I think he says. It's also worth checking out their myspace and listening to their other smooth jams. They really have a handle on how to make the ladies wet. I'd link it, but they show it enough times in the video.
I'm pretty sure that both of these fools are virgins. I also wonder what they paid their 8th grade little bro to edit this video on his Commodore 64.

Expert Whiteness to be Revitalized

2008-08-22T01:28:00.003-04:00

Fuck Mike and his lazy broke ass. I am contemplating relaunching the Expert Whiteboy Analysis roundtable, but Mike is a fucking pussy with no money who always emails me going "I wish the blog got more hits. I don't have a job here in Rhode Island. If I wasn't so fat and depressed I'd write funny things about stuff I remember from when I was 13." Fuck that. I need some new motherfuckers to make fun of stupid shit with. Please send me your abilities and desires at ravenmack at gmail dotcom. I'm looking for a few good men (melanin insufficiency disease not necessary, but a plus) to get this party started again, before this bullshit drops below 20 hits a day. Bitches accepted too.

I Am Not Dead (as if you thought so)

2008-08-14T10:36:00.002-04:00

What up random internet meanderers? I hope the crumbling economy and fragile geopolitical state of the world has not hindered your ability to fuck, drink beer, and smoke some shit. Life is short, so get high now, while you still have the chance.
As you may have noticed if you are stubborn enough to still poke around here, not much is going on around here. I think me and Mike hit moments of uninspiration at the same time, and then I kinda got mine back, but we didn't have any good projects going, so I've retreated to my ancient blog - Rojonekku - where I've been doing some stupid things, including this year's football previews, and a lot of shit there lately has been boring, but I am trying to get back in the habit of wasting my life inside the internets for the fleeting approval of anonymous homosexuals, so I'm still finding my smile again bros. But you should check that bullshit out and tell your mom about it too. 4 out of 5 moms love my ass.
Also, this is a month or two old, but me and my man the PSY/OPSogist finished up another CD of original materials under our wack ass Solaris Earth Pipeline name, called 45s on 33. Here is a free download link. I was supposed to make a cover, and I had this shit planned where I was gonna have this jukebox I have in my goat pen with my goat, and me wearing this pair of overalls I have that are covered in rhinestones like an old country singer, wearing my lucky red wrestling mask like always, but then my last goat got killed by the chupacabra (no shit - his heart was missing, and there was no blood), so I couldn't do that. Then I was gonna do the same thing by my old Datsun that is half-rusted and covered in Christmas lights in the field beside my house. But I never felt like it. (Yesterday, two cars were driving all slow down our road, gawking at my property, and the lead car - a convertible PT Cruiser - actually stopped in the road and a kid in the car took a digital pic of the Datsun, and the older guy driving got out the car and told the woman driving the car behind him, "You see how they do out here in the country? Christmas lights on the junk car." Luckily, at that exact time I confronted them wearing nothing but a pair of paint-splattered camo shorts, bad tattoos in full glory, not to mention LOUNGIN' across my beer belly like I was a retarded Samoan, but to the dude's credit, he chatted us up and they seemed like good folks who used to have family in this area decades ago. Our house used to be the only one for miles, so fuck y'all bitch ass neighbors. Anyways, I never did a cover for this CD, but mostly people just steal music and don't look at music, so just imagine goats, old jukeboxes, junk cars with Christmas lights, and a poorly tattooed heavyweight of a man in rhinestone overalls sitting on a flipped over 5-gallon bucket. But hit that link up.
Speaking of the football (I spoke of it above about the previews starting up on rojonekku, in case that transition was a little rough), I am about to launch an email pro football pool of doom, in its ninth year (won six of 8 times by stupid Califronians), and it's a slightly different bounce on the year-long football pools, where like the top few dudes get points each week, and you could conceivably miss half the year but win the pool, because I don't reward consistent mediocrity like most year-long pools do, where if you miss a week, you are doomed. There are also goofy side bets and other stupid shit that goes on involving the pool, and you win an imaginary trophy that I've never actually had made in 8 years, plus internet bragging rights, so if you is interested, hit up my appropriate email at cmfootballpool at yahoo.com.
Finally, I think Mike Dikk is homeless or some shit. Not really, but he is afflicted with temporary poverty. This time of year, more than any, poverty is not his friend, and I am feeling sad for my friend Michael K. Dikkowski. You see, it is Madden Time, and Madden '09 is dropping, and he has no money, not even for regular shit like phone bills, but even less so for frivolous yet far more important bullshit like Madden. I mean, we have people donating millions upon millions of dollars to a pair of self-righteous bitch asses to run for President, and Mike Dikk can't even get sixty bucks to keep his mind right for another autumnal section of the calendar. It just isn't right. Think of all the joy Mike has indirectly brought you inside the internet machine over the past couple of years. And I do not know if Mike has a paypal account or what it is, but I do know mine and how to mail a money order to Mike, so won't you help by sending a token of your appreciation to ravenmack at earthlink.net in the paypals. If a handful of people sent just a dollar or two each, after the evil robot jews take their cut, I could send Mike enough money to get the new Madden game and keep him from committing suicide for another four months. Won't you help?
Alright, that's all I can think of to catch you guys up on. Peace out bitches.

Awkward Moments in Rap History (Part 1)

2008-07-30T19:45:00.003-04:00

So I had some ideas for a few news posts to revive this blog that revolved around video content. Mainly because it's easy to throw up a video and everyone loves watching videos instead of reading. I have one idea that I planned to open with, but then I stumbled across this video and decided to start it off with my back up idea. Without further ado......

AWKWARD MOMENTS IN RAP HISTORY.

I came up on these videos completely by accident, so I don't have much background, but I can tell you, I have a hard time watching these without cringing and looking away. Sooooo awkward. For your viewing pleasure, here is a rap group called 501st A.D. performing at their first show (which appears to be some kind of talent show). 501st A.D. is a multi-culti Star Wars themed rap group and well, yeah.....

501st A.D. - Sandtroopahs Gitt Dirtty

501st A.D. - Galactic War

IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT

2008-07-21T14:13:00.002-04:00

Hi guys.

I'm not sure how many of you are still checking this blog, but I wanted to let you know, I do plan on reviving it in some capacity in the near future, ut more importantly, the domain name will be expiring sometime in August (www.dumpin.net). It probably won't be renewed right away for a couple reasons. First of all, I just moved and I am broke and jobless (If you have a job hookup in the Providence RI area, PLEASE GET IN TOUCH!!!) so I don't have the extra money to be buying domain names for sites I hardly update. Secondly, I was planning on letting it run out anyway because I wanted to switch the company I buy the domain name from. Partly because it is near impossible to figure out how to re-direct the URL properly (example: if you type in www.dumpin.net, it will bring you to this page, but it will revert back to the blogspot url in the address bar and it's not supposed to do that!) and also because I bought the domain name from a Euro site back when the American dollar was still stable but now it will probably cost me like 400 million dollars to renew. I don't know if there's a grace period or if I can buy the domain name from a different site a day after it expires from the original one, so www.dumpin.net could be not working anywhere from a day to 6 months.

Either way http://dumpindumpin.blogspot.com will always be working, even if it's a few more letters to type out.

Sorry for the inconvenience, I will updae soon. Maybe.

Speaking of Bob Digi's album art...

2008-06-22T13:06:00.002-04:00

Bill Bill Sienkiewicz did that first Bobby Digital album cover and he's a pretty great and famous comic book dude, on top of being exceptional at the album art. I'm not sure if he still fucks with the album covers in this mp3 ipod world, but I imagine his shit would be too costly to dudes only getting paid for some downloads.

When that first Bobby Digital record was released, Wu was on an amazing streak of kicking the ass of rap music. You can argue that the RZA as Bobby Digital was the first mediocre Wu release since their debut (I wouldn't say that. I am a HUGE fan of RZA as Bobby Digital), so they had a pretty long streak of classic albums up until that point.

Fast forward to right now, and outside of Ghost, it's been kind of a while since the Wu had anything worth talking about. They don't have the label backing they used to, and probably don't have the kind of budget to get a big name behind the album design, so instead of getting Bill S. to work on his new record, RZA apparently opted for the weird kid that sat in back of the study hall that drew in his notebook all day:

(click to enlarge and bask in the greatness)

I'm not saying this album art is bad persee. It's definitely charming in it's own special way. It's just no Bill Sienkiewicz.

Anyway, I'm moving to another state in 6 days. Expect a complete relaunch of this stupid website once I get my head straight.

What It Is...What It Was...

2008-06-14T18:38:00.002-04:00

Dear Mr. Dikk –

I lied.

When I talked to you the other day I told you that I had an interesting entry planned for Dumpin.net since I noticed a lull (to put it mildly) in content on your blog. The best part about it, I said, is that it had nothing to do with Lil Wayne or Tha Carter III. Remember that?

Well, indirectly it does.

Because the cover of Weezy F’s highly-anticipated, recently-released album is SO bad it makes me wonder if the people responsible for that MS Paint abomination were sipping from the same Styrofoam cup as Wayne. How is it that nowadays mixtape art is more creative than actual album art? The same thing goes for movie posters, too, but we’ll get into that on MY blog, not here. Long story short, everyone is taking the easy route and using still photographs instead of attempting ANYTHING else. So without further adieu or any more wordy lead-ins, here are my ten personal favorite album covers that actually contain ART work.

Business As Usual – I have a weakness for accurate depictions and paintings, like the old blaxploitation movie posters of the ‘70s. I’m not sure what statement Erick and Parrish are trying to make here, if any, but they look awfully cool to be in the midst of a very soon-to-be Sean Bell-like situation.

Doggystyle – Considering how much ’08 Lil Wayne-like buzz Snoop had at the time, I expected so much more for his debut album cover. I don’t know who drew these things for Snoop (in addition to this, all of Snoop’s singles from this CD sported similar art) but they were as deliciously lewd as they were juvenilely crude. Sure, it looked like something a high school freshman might scrawl on the front of their Health notebook but as a budding artist myself at the time it made clear an important fact: it’s not about how much talent you may or may not have, it’s about who you know. Because Lord knows, you likely wouldn’t have seen this otherwise.

A Prince Among Thieves – This colored pencil piece is here because the artist managed to effectively recreate the short film and the likenesses of the artists involved. I can tell that’s Big Daddy Kane aka Count Mackula the pimp sitting there. Yes, that’s Xzibit locked up in the county rockin’ an orange jumpsuit. Oh, and Everlast as a cop.

Bizarre Ride II The Pharcyde – I don’t really have much to say about the album cover itself other than it looks like one of those deals where you place an animation cell over a static painted background on some old school Don Bluth shit. I do, however, remember seeing one of the members, “Slim Kid” Tre Hardson on MTV’s Real World and learning another life lesson: just ‘cause you have an album out it doesn’t mean you’re rich. I was doing better than this nigga from what I could tell and he was famous.

ATLiens – Not only is the cover comic book-inspired but it actually came with a mini-comic book.

Graduation – And this dude wonder why Beanie got at’im and implied he was gay…? Come on. As hot as the album is and I understand that to stand out sometimes you gotta jump on some other ish to seem original (‘Ye decided most aspects of Asian culture suited his trendsetting needs) but no matter how you slice it, a grown-ass man having a flying teddy bear on his album cover is more than a little suspect.

Uptown Saturday Night – Shouldn’t even have to explain why this is here. Besides the fact that the music is notoriously slept-on and super-dope, the art instantly and intentionally recalls Marvin Gaye’s ’76 “I Want You” album aka the painting from “Good Times.” Damn, damn …DAMN!

Stress: (The Extinction Agenda) – I like how there’s more going on IN the bodies of Prince Poetry and Pharoahe Monch than what’s going on in the primordial soup around them. Great likenesses once again and I dig the superhero-ish slant combined with a real ‘70s star child type vibe. And for the record, this hip-hop version of Power Man and Iron Fist look like they’d kick the shit out of the ATLiens version of OutKast.

Liquid Swords – This was one cover where, as a comic book collector, I could immediately identify the artist. Not that it matters but it’s by Denys Cowan, who I personally discovered back when he was drawing Marvel’s Deathlok, before he moved on to being one of the driving forces behind DC-Milestone comics which specialized in minority characters and he penciled the Hardware book. He was a producer on The Boondocks during the first season and is currently Senior VP of Animation at BET. I just know he’s responsible for one or rap’s dopest drawn album covers and my Liquid Swords t-shirt.

RZA as Bobby Digital in Stereo – Make it Top Two for the Wu! I wish the album was as good as the art. Wu members are famous for creating aliases and alter egos but RZA went all the way with this one. When I saw this artwork and the “W” filled with fictitious scenes of violence, decadence and more violence, I WISHED there was an actual movie available, no matter how terrible it was bound to be. In fact, I looked forward to clowning RZA wearing that mask that a recently-acquitted statutory rapist made famous (Y’all seen the tape…you know it was him!) trying to wield that big-ass green gun. I was fully prepared to make Bobby Digital my new favorite superhero and wanted a full-sized joint for my bedroom wall, I swear to God.

100 VINYLZ: #96 - Run Joe 12-inch by Chuck Brown & The Soul Searchers

2008-04-27T20:55:00.001-04:00

(1986, Future Records)
Go-go is a form of music with widespread popularity from the southern part of Maryland all the way down to the northern part of Virginia. At times, something or other will happen to have it hit a peak that spreads it wildly from Philly to Carolina, but that main area with D.C. as the epicenter is it’s homeland. Basically, in case you don’t know, instead of looping break beats like a DJ would do with the rapping musics, go-go has a live band play the loop in smoky drunken manner, with call and response type lyrics, and a tremendously ridiculous percussion section that owes as much to black marching bands and broke ass kids beating on five-gallon buckets as it does to the standard Afro-Spanish jazzy influences you’d expect to read up on in a WaxPoetics article on the subject. Concerts are advertised with large day-glo posters that I used to snag off of abandoned buildings in Shockoe Bottom and cover the walls of my studio room in the shitty Oregon Hill house we lived in when we had our first kid. Lime green and blaze orange backgrounds with black block letters and the faces of Rare Essence or the Junkyard Band or Backyard Band or Northeast Groovers or Chuck Brown staring out.
Chuck Brown has earned the nickname the Godfather of Go-go, and is as famous a D.C. landmark as Ben’s Chili Bowl, guys who used to hang with Rayful Edmonds, or homeless con men with maps waiting for you once you step off the metro at the National Mall. The aforementioned WaxPoetics just had an article on Brown himself, and I learned that he actually spent time living near where I grew up, he in the far end of Charlotte County, Virginia, plus all over southside Virginia he bounced around as a kid. And he maintains his base throughout that region, as he’s usually scheduled to play Brown’s Island free Friday evening shows in Richmond, that standard deal where you can groove and drink overpriced cheap beers using beer tickets, except the Richmond ones tend to have that upwardly mobile black couple demographic covered, which is always fun to soak up. (It’s odd to me how many families like that have weird old sambo advertising art up in their homes, I guess to remember something or other and be thankful, but it’d be kind of like me keeping a framed print of like Junior Samples from Hee Haw in my bathroom… which come to think of it, would be pretty damn pimp.)
Anyway, the past few years I have acquired a decent collection of good to fair go-go singles, mostly happening to catch record stores that have no idea even what the fuck go-go music is. I got a slew of 12-inches, including this one, at a indy record store in Charlottesville in this manner, because the guy just had it all lumped into the soul $1 bin, and when I came up with a stack of T.T.E.D. and Future Records releases, the guy behind the counter (also the owner) was all like, “What is this stuff?” And I had to do the thing where you know what it is but you don’t act like it’s really anything or the fucker would’ve been like, “Okay, let me look these up…” then fucked around in the ebays long enough to charge me five bucks for each shitty, half-scratched 12-inch. And even though “Bustin’ Loose” is probably considered Chuck Brown’s biggest national hit (I remember a black kid telling me in like first grade a joke about how the Incredible Hulk sang “I feel like bustin’ loose! Bustin’ loose!” after busting through a wall, which was hellafied funny when you’re like six seeing who can piss into the urinals the farthest across the room, all geeked up on grape Kool-Aid with like triple the recommended sugar), but “Run Joe” is my favorite go-go single I’ve gotten hold of over the years. Basically, it’s a song (I think it’s actually an older song reworked by Chuck Brown into your standard eight-minute go-go groovefest) about a dude having to bolt out the club because the cops have showed up. It’s also an ironic go-go hit, since Washington D.C. sort of outlawed go-go music at most clubs in the ‘80s because of people getting shot up, although to be fair to go-go music, at that point in D.C.’s history, when crack and crack money were flooding the streets, it was a notoriously insane place and you couldn’t really gather together more than a hundred black people under the age of 25 without expecting somebody to get shot at.
The terrible thing is how screwed music has brainwashed me into loving everything screwed at times, and I had a long kick where I would only buy 12-inch disco singles and play them with the pitch control dragged as slow as it would go. This was when my man Boogie Brown had given me a pair of Numarks to fuck around with, and I was working up some retarded sets. The only two sets I really came up with were a good 25-minute or so redneck hippie funk set, and taking the best breaks from all the immensely shitty disco singles and mixing in some go-go and hard funk shit from the mid-’70s, of course all of it slowed down. I made a couple mixtapes of this, including a spell where the only cassettes I could find were some shitty 60-minute TDKs (I usually only rocked the Maxells - preferably 100-minutes, but of course, I don’t think you have more than one choice most times nowadays for cassettes), and playing “Run Joe”, which usually was towards the front of me making these slowed down disco/go-go mega-mixes, ended up usually running most of the first side of the 60-minute tape, pushing a good 11 minutes when dragged slow. Man, that’s some good shit to get high to. But not crack. Crack doesn’t give you the right mindframe to enjoy that constant go-go percussion, which is probably why there used to be so much violence at go-go shows.

100 VINYLZ: #97 - Steal Your Face 2xLP by The Grateful Dead

2008-04-25T00:01:00.002-04:00

(1976, Grateful Dead Records)
The Grateful Dead are kind of like politics in that people who care to have an opinion have a very strong opinion at the far ends of for or against. Plenty folks hate the Dead, and what they term hippies in general, with a passion, full of contempt for anything remotely close to even credit to the Dead for anything, much less musically related. And those into the Dead blindly talk of unfiltered, unhindered creativity that you can't really understand unless you get into it deep enough to truly understand it. I accepted them at a young age because I was really into drugs and drugs and the Dead went hand and hand. There are conspiracies that the CIA was involved in the trafficking of LSD in association with Dead tour for decades, with the death of Jerry Garcia times perfectly with the rise of more pharmaceutical hallucinogenics. I went to my first Dead show in like 1990, with two buddies from high school, both of whom had already graduated. They both had cleared it with their folks; I was still only 17 with one year left and think I mentioned it to my dad the evening before at my sister's softball practice, and he was all bugged up about it, not because he was uptight, because he did far more drugs in his short life than I could hope to touch, but he knew the deal. He knew what was up and shit, and didn't want me doing something retarded like buying up a couple hundred hits of acid to sell back home to avoid having a for-real job.
I can see both sides of the Dead opinion spectrum, probably leaning more towards the hatred than the love, but the truth, like always, is in the grey area in between. I grew up with the influence of redneck hippies who had no pretensions really, more of a Miller High Life/homegrown set than a Newcastle Brown Ale/killer kind bud set. It took a few years of college (okay, a couple weeks) to realize the fucking full of shit suburban fucks who buy into hippie looks and make it embarrassing to have anything to do with anything resembling them. Idealistic chicks driving Subaru stationwagons with VISUALIZE WHIRLED PEAS bumper stickers with their stupid clean-shaven dreadlocked boyfriend in his NORML shirt. But I could still enjoy a Dead show now and then (even getting miracled at a show where everybody I went with didn't get in, got mad stoned and made out with what in hindsight was probably a 14-year-old, and while wandering around completely fucked afterwards trying to find the dudes I came with, realized I was walking fifty feet behind the guy who drove us up there, who was looking for his own ride, but had some shrooms to split with me... perfectly fucked up day), but I couldn't get into that Dead worship bullshit. When Jerry died, man, I didn't really give too much of a fuck.
As for records, Workingman's Dead is probably their best studio album, when Garcia was first exploring his country/bluegrass interests, but they were always more of a live group, being they are the most famous shitty cover band to ever have existed, so Steal Your Face is what I'd consider my favorite, or most personally memorable record. I've probably played Europe '72 a bit more, mostly because it has a version of "Tennessee Jed" which they always played at every live show I ever saw, but Steal Your Face I have associated in my mind of not yet being completely hateful towards hippies and dabbling in hippie vagina crack and laying on a sweaty bed in a shitty apartment with a stoned chick, buzzed on THC together and excited to fuck like fuckers. "Sugaree", "Big River", "U.S. Blues"... I got personal fuck memories to all that shit. It should also be noted that, regardless of how stupid hippies or the Grateful Dead are, if you removed all personal preconceptions from it, the Steal Your Face logo is pretty fucking awesome.
I'm sure there's hardcore Deadheads who have bootleg live shows pressed on vinyl, but that's one of those serious business sub-cultures, where you get into something so heavily it is SERIOUS ASS BUSINESS. No mic dubs but shit straight from the soundboard, and no sharing with you unless you have something to share in return. Man, I've gotten high with dudes like that, with racks and racks of live shows on cassette, pulling out a specific one because "it has the best version of 'Me and My Uncle' you'd ever hear, Jerry was on fire that night man" or some nonsense. The funny thing is, that sub-culture obviously grew with the internet, but then the Grateful Dead shut it down, after decades of letting people tape shows, because they want to slowly release everything as Dick's Picks Volume 329 and on or whatever. The local community radio station has some dudes who have a Dead show on the weekends, and they are all about it, still, even in this age of the crushing corporate marketing of the Grateful Dead. They were never going to perform again, but oh wait, they did for a fucking Barack Obama fundraiser. Fucking bastards.
I will admit to seeing a couple of decent Phil Lesh & Friends shows early on when they did that, but I think part of my enjoyment was he had some hippie dude who looked exactl like Mr. Show's David Cross from a distance who played the pianeys, including a Hammond organ. But once that got popular, the rest of the stupid Dead got involved, chased off most of Phil Lesh's friends, and it was basically the stupid non-Jerry Garcia Dead still.
Honestly, stupid fucking trustafarian hippie types have ruined it so badly for me that it's hard for me to remember the Dead can be non-annoying at times. But on some days - a warm spring Saturday afternoon where there's no obligations except to do serious damage to a cold 12-pack sitting at the picnic table in the backyard, I can drag a speaker out on top of the camper and hook up the turntable and throw on Steal Your Face and still enjoy it. But if someone shows up at the house, I get all self-conscious about it and probably put on a Black Sabbath record or something, just to make sure they know I'm not a pussy.

A Blog you should check out

2008-04-23T08:11:00.002-04:00

My good friend Tom Ace has started a blog about his life as a corporate record store clerk. It is a pretty good read, which means everyone will ignore it.

http://corporatemusicstore.blogspot.com/

http://corporatemusicstore.blogspot.com/

100 VINYLZ: #98 - Another Sign 12-inch by Schoolly D

2008-04-22T22:34:00.000-04:00

(1994, Ruffhouse Records)
Schoolly D is a hip hop living legend. I know the standard rap dork meme is "hip hop's original gangster," but whether or not that is true is unimportant to me. He dropped Saturday Night, where he drew the cover on notebook paper (or at least it looks that way), which is where people got killed on wax for the first time, to paraphrase every rap historian's stupid book ever. But beyond that, he dropped Am I Black Enough For Ya and Smoke Some Kill, both of which took black nationalism to a different level entirely. Shit, Smoke Some Kill is one of my all-time most played tapes ever, a classic from start to stop. Oddly enough, he had a track on there called "No More Rock-n-Roll" where he declares an end to the rock era, of course over top a classic rock guitar sample.
All that history is what led me to buy this "Another Sign" single by Schoolly when he was well past his prime. It was on the same label as Cypress Hill, and produced by Joe "the Butcher" Nicolo, who helped Muggs create that weird rock-n-roll/rap hybrid that helped Cypress Hill hold top spots in the High Times 100 for years. But I think this song is one of the most classic, unheralded rap/rock hybrids songs (aka rack-rop, which is also how Koreans with Down's syndrome say "laptop") to ever be. The beat is laid back as fuck, but the guitar is pure studio electric guitarism filtered heavily through someone who had been digging on the blues lately. And Schoolly's lyrics are beyond revolution, beyond caring. He's given up and doesn't give a fuck anymore, but not in a "I'LL SHOOT ANY MOTHERFUCKER ALIVE" not giving a fuck but more of a "sigh... I guess I'll get drunk tonight and sleep on the couch and maybe tomorrow if I'm lucky I'll die." It's a great song, and not often remembered in the normal hip hop nerd memes regarding Schoolly D, because it came out after Schoolly was considered relevant. I still play it whenever I'm on one of my moody ass fuck-the-world kicks.
I remember watching Space Ghost one night all blazed up and Schoolly D was on that bama. On one hand, shit like that makes you think, "Cool, they got some wild shit up on the TVs nowadays," but on the other more realistic hand it just means you're an old ass washed-up piece of shit that's moved into a more marketable demographic of your life. It's like that cell phone commercial with the dude wearing the Motorhead shirt but talking like a prep school faggot in theater class. There's nothing cool about that commercial, but it does point out to you how uncool you are now, for even sitting around on the couch long enough to see that shit, so you might as well give up and buy the useless shit they're trying to sell to you. What the fuck else are you gonna do until you die? Get drunk and sleep on the couch? Ha! Yeah right, you've got to work in the morning, you fucking square.

a wonderful podcast I highly recommend

2008-04-22T01:16:00.002-04:00

So this dude Chris Bopst started a radio show in Richmond years ago, where he bought time on some shitty AM radio station during the daytime, played his retarded mix of music, and it was great. Any time I was in RVA within the minute range of their AM tower, I'd have that shit on. Bopst is one of those hardcore music nerd dudes who refuses to download shit and pretty much still buys everything in a tangible format (meaning physical, with art and shit to clutter up your life). His show grew in popularity because it was one of the best things on the Richmond radio machines, but also because Richmond is chock full of misfits, malcontents, and retards. Well, the AM radio station, after it got more notoriety, decided to change it's format and dump Mr. Bopst, which means almost half the people who were listening stopped listening. (I think they went on some black nationalism "for us by us" kick.) After a couple of months of it being gone, The Bopst Show is back in the world, albeit inside the stupid internetz. I can't recommend this dude's show enough. He's given Solaris Earth Pipeline a lot of love, but beyond that, his show is always good for some shit you hadn't heard or needed to hear. HERE IS THE PAGE FOR THE FIRST WEEK'S SHOW. There are options there for either dl'ing the single first week show or for subscribing to that jank for eternity. You should snag this shit before that website's bandwidth explodes.

7-list: 7 Songs I Would've Wrote About Were We Still Doing The Monthly EWA Thing

2008-04-21T23:02:00.002-04:00

Sometimes I get bummed the Expert Whiteboy Analysis thing died down, but as we tried to add people to pick up the slack, we only ended up adding far more slack. And it's hard to get four whiteboys (well, one is only half-white, but it's the half with his opinions) to keep agreeing enough to do something like that. I'm also glad I don't have to listen to so much shitty music, although I try my best to keep listening to as much shitty ass music as possible, through the use of local mix shows and the stupid Sirius satellite radio.
The hip hop whiteboy is nothing now. It used to be that was a remarkable feat to be a down ass whiteboy (don't get a twisted face and think I rocked that style, in full on Vanilla Ice mode, as I've always just been whatever the fuck I felt like being, so that I could get along with as many people as possible, to increase my chances of free weed). I was coming out the Food Lion yesterday, and a weird cross section of wigger culture hit my vision all at once while I put the groceries into the back of my wife's Subaru. First off, across from me was this guy, probably my age, with a big ole fat potbelly, and a normal white man's haircut with bangs, getting into his work truck which had been running the whole time (most likely because he wouldn't be able to start it again easily), yet you could tell he used to be some sort of hip hop whiteboy, even if he looked like every doughboy racist within fifty miles of here, because he had cursive neck tattoos and shit. Usually prominent tattoos like that mean either hip hop or metalhead, but no metalhead has ever gotten cursive letters tattooed on his neck, because no metal band has ever had a cursive letter logo. Metalheads might get their mom's name on their neck, but it's going to be in Slayer font or look like dripping blood or some shit, no matter how sweet the sentiment is. Only a wigger dude would have cursive shit on his neck.
But that was just the first guy. Also standing nearby was a teenage wigger kid who I had seen walking with his mom inside, short hair (to trick you into thinking he's Puerto Rican or at least a yellowbone motherfucker) looking hard with his baseball hat matching the color of his basketball shorts, shorts oversized and hat cocked slightly off-kilter, and he was drinking a Mountain Dew as if it were a blunt, oozing cool. It was and always is to see some teenage boy doing that shit.
And third of all out comes one of the manager types at the Food Lion (you can tell because he doesn't have to wear the same standard shirt the rest of them do) to collect up shopping carts, and he's got the close-cropped crewcut and attended to styled beard of a wigger dude, but he's also at that age showing he's about five years removed from his wigger heyday of high school, where he was the star whiteboy on the basketball team (and thus about the seventh best guy on the basketball team), but he settled down with his boo and got a job at the Food Lion and now he's a manager and he's taken business classes at the community college and in a few years he's going to really love the latest Jay-Z/Nas download even though it will suck a fat dick.
So it's everywhere. Expert whiteboys every fucking where. Including all over the internets, so I thought I'd throw my bullshit unnecessary remarkings on seven recent (somewhat) songs that I would've expounded upon, breaking down to organic compounds, inside the monthly EWA were we still rocking that style (sidenote: I do be rocking more than my dumpin shit at my own blog - rojonekku - but also all this shit is cross-posted there, in case you didn't know where your friendly neighborhood faggot was wasting all his time at)...
#1: "Lollipop" by Lil Wayne - I was painting at the main intersection of my stupid little town last week, and I heard the annoying tweaky sounds of this song come by at least once an hour, so I know that beyond the realms of my music interaction, this is some sort of mega-hit. That bothers me so immensely, mostly because I've seen already too much "Lil Wayne = retarded genius" explications after Da Drought 3 mixtape leak. And although there were a couple of things I enjoyed off that particular joint, the fact he released a new mixtape every 23 hours last year did not trick me into thinking he was brilliant. Some fuckface with a rotating crew of ghostwriters and an endless access to studio space does not equal proficient brilliance. And as everybody asked Wayne to do the guest spot on their remix in recent months, that became fairly obvious. There were a couple of songs ("100 Billion" I think was one, and maybe the remix to "Dey Know") where he was downright terrible. I mean, not even close to good, but repeated the same two vowel sounds at the end of every line, often times just rhyming the same two words with each other, yet with far less idiot savant style than Mike Jones, and you could see through his greatest rapper alive gimmick, easily. One of those songs, he did the T-Pain vocoder deal, like everybody seems to be required to do for some reason, all of them sounding even stupider than T-Pain, so I guess that gave him the idea to do a whole song that way, which is this song. Which is terrible. Third graders with access to nothing but the UPN network could come up with better metaphors. But the electronic voice is catchy, and everybody seems fixated on oral sex nowadays, so I guess a hit is born.
It's sad because Lil Wayne will never make a good CD's worth of stuff, especially if his recent contributions are any sign of the direction he's heading. Whereas most people have that commercial peak, even if it's just one release, where people will reminisce and be like, "Man, I remember that Lil Wayne shit was big back when I was fucking those two chicks that lived in the same apartment building and I would have to go up the back steps and then walk around the block to the front door to hit up the other chick. Texting one bitch 'in your hood, can I stop by?' after fucking the other one, with that Lil Wayne joint on all the time when we sat on the porch drinking tall cans." Instead it will be people cleaning out their ipods of old useless shit and maybe keeping like two songs off the stolen mixtape or finding it on a hard drive of music they forgot they had. You were behind your time Lil Wayne.
#2: "That's Gangsta" by Bun B featuring Sean Kingston - For some reason, probably from one picture I saw one time, I think of Sean Kingston as that black guy from Saturday Night Live, who I in turn think of as a kid on Nickelodeon. So whenever I hear the hook from this, I chuckle to myself at a Nickelodeon kid acting so gangsta when his little ass was coming on right after they were doing the noodle dance on PB&J Otter. But that doesn't take away the fact that this is probably my most favoritest song that's been on the radios thus far this year. It's a catchy as fuck song, and Bun B has always been the cream of Texas MCs. I think Pimp C as the occasional palate cleanser was a good combo, but that equal parts of MCing shit they did once he got out of jail wasn't right. Really, U.G.K. ultimately was best as a Public Enemy style partnership where Bun had most of the lyrics and Pimp C broke up things within songs or maybe had a few songs of his own. But they shouldn't have been splitting duties half-and-half, or you end up with shit like Pimp C talking about his dick's myspace page.
I am intrigued to see what Bun B does next, because he has no more Pimp C, no more Free Pimp C (with the purchase of a Pimp C of equal value), so it's all on him. But between this track and the original non-remixed version of "Draped Out", he's got two solo classics already to go with the official U.G.K. classics. Hopefully he's not still signed to Rap-a-Lot, because they tend to put rather underwhelmingly awesome albums, albeit awesome. Rap-a-Lot never seems to get that all-time classic out, because even on something like the Geto Boys' We Can't Be Stopped, you'll have some nonsense like Willie D giving out awards to the Grateful Dead and Elvis Presley.
#3: "Royal Flush" by Outkast and Raekwon - I guess this is supposed to be a reunion of sorts from that one single off of Aquemini, but man holy fuck does Raekwon always sound so fucking bored lately. Did he quit doing cocaine? He should start again. It's like stories of multi-ethnic criminology but delivered with the excitement of the taped message telling you movie times at the cineplex. I am most intrigued by whatever it will be that Outkast will come up with next time they put out an actual CD. Andre 3000 has been on some strange lyrical kicks this past year, probably one of the best MCs going, as much as it pains the hipster contrarian in me to say that, and this is not his best verse, but it's still about twelve years ahead of what everybody else is doing. And Big Boi seems to be trying to keep pace with the experimental styles. I don't think his concerned crackhead style of this song is the best he's come up with in the past year, but it's good to see the both of them attempting to push the envelope. Now hopefully they deliver with a retarded crazy album and not just 27 guest spots on an album produced by Jazze Pha, Dangermouse, and Polow da Don, with a beat kicked in by Pete Rock and one by DJ Premier, plus like three token ones from Dungeon Family.
#4: "My World is Empty Without You" by Prodigy - Man, I really dug "Mac 10 Handle" from last year too, as it was a throwback track. This is even more of a throwback track, back to when motherfuckers would talk metaphysical shit about the Original Black Man building pyramids on Mars while drinking 40s and smoking blunts. What the fuck happened? Everybody's dreaming of diamonds and champagne and shit, wearing bedazzled hoodies with super swollen Ben Franklin faces, when we all could just be standing around on the porch drinking a cheap ass 40 or three, smoking a couple of communal fat blunts, and we'd still have money to make rent by the middle of the month. I hope Prodigy's whole new solo tape is all like this, but I also understand rap music is fucked so it won't be at all. He'll probably have a song right after this one on the official tape where he's selling kilos of cocaine off of private jets with 50 Cent mumbling the hook.
#5: "Superstar (remix)" by Lupe Fiasco featuring Young Jeezy and T.I. - First off, I do not get into Lupe Fiasco, and this was a source of soreness amongst the EWA Clubhouse at one point, I guess because I couldn't recognize Lupe's brilliant creativity because he was a skater kid or some shit. And for the most part, I still can't stand him, including the original version of this song, which is the soundtrack to a recurring Eurotrash men with hair like Dirk Nowitzki and Adam Morrison trying to rape me with the help of GHB in a dance club bathroom nightmare I've been having. The bathroom has one of those long urinals with the sprinkler pipe above it where everyone just pisses in this big tub together. (In the dream, Charles Barkley always ends up saving me, except for once when it was Rafer Alston.) And whatever song it is I heard recently ("Tokyo, Paris"?) where Lupe says "pass-purt" to make it rhyme his previous line really pisses me off. Like he's ever said "passpurt" in his life. That's some weak shit.
But his fifteen minutes of fame metaphorical basis for his verse here was enough for me to forget the rape nightmare guy's chorus, and to ignore Young Jeezy half-heartedly ad-libbing through another $10,000 check. I get caught up in T.I.'s verse, because he does some crazy shit linguistically, but it's a lot like how Busta Rhymes is awesome in that it's very rhythmic gibberish and might not actually be saying a fucking thing at all, although occasionally you hear something you recognize as complete thoughts to make you think maybe all of it is complete thoughts. But it's probably not. I doubt T.I. ever would've mentioned Cirque du Soleil before he was at home on house arrest watching a lot of TV though.
#6: "Louie Bags" by Blood Raw featuring Young Jeezy - I know, I see the progression from "Duffle Bag Boy" to Jay-Z having shoeboxes with money, to this theme, where you stuff expensive handbags with money. But what the fuck? Why are rappers bragging about shopping for designer brands and wearing certain cuts of diamonds? When did it turn cool to be an old rich Jewish bitch? I mean I guess basically old school big dooky gold chains with Gucci sunglasses was like an old rich Jewish bitch too, so perhaps rap music is an elaborate joke amongst Zionist elders to see what kind of ridiculous shit they can get urban black culture to cherish beyond life. I guess that would make it slightly funny, but not too much since I'm the outside of that inside joke. It is funny how dudes are coming up with elaborately more elegant ways to store their excess money. Me, I usually opt for certificates of deposit.
Also, Blood Raw is the stupidest fucking rap name in forever.
#7: "$20K Money-Making Brothers on the Corner" by the Re-Up Gang - Basically, I needed one more song and they play this every hour on Shade 45 and I'm still not completely sick of it. I like to highlight The Clipse because other than them, most rap notoriety Virginia has gotten has been for things of questionable sexuality (Timbaland, Missy Elliott, the Neptunes). I meant to get this mixtape off the internets, but I forgot a whole lot of times to do so. And now I mostly don't dl shit, even if my former physical mixtape connection shop got busted for selling crack like a block from police headquarters in Charlottesville. Usually, any shop that has a good mixtape selection is going to get busted for drug sales, unless it's a ghetto beauty shop too. I guess those godawful wigs must pull in plenty of loot to keep a business legit.

100 VINYLZ: #99 - Santo Swings! 2x7-inch by Southern Culture on the Skids

2008-04-21T22:28:00.003-04:00

(1996, Estrus Records)
Having grown up in Shitsville, Southern America, afflicted with the genetic shortcomings of those disdainfully referred to as "white trash" (shortcomings include but not are limited to: embracing poverty as nobility, affinity for cars more than homes, a love for alcohols either held in aluminum or cooked up in copper, fried foods especially assorted parts of the chicken, and a hatred of urban things), I have a giant amount of prejudice towards people who seem to have that campy kitschy pseudo-redneck thing going on. And it gets more and more prominent. The spread of Pabst Blue Ribbon beer, as well as the growth of roller derby teams are just two examples of this. I automatically hate both, not that I'm above drinking cheap ass beer or finding some tattooed thick-legged slut hot, but having lived in Richmond, Virginia, in a college environment long enough to see how many people swear off their successful suburban upbringings to slum it up as pseudo-rednecks, I can't trust these things when I see them.
First off, when slumming it up, people either don't give a fuck about what they are pretending to be (which means they don't give a fuck about how I grew up, so I should fight them) or they have chosen, at least in terms of personal image, something less affluent than what they were born into (which is retarded to me, because I have spent a good part of my life trying to escape the retarded lines of thinking I was seemingly poisoned with upon birth).
Of course, this is a cancerous way to think, because just by having a stupid blog, anyone who reads this who feels themself white trash will assume I'm a fake ass because I put words together inside the internets like someone's supposed to give a shit what I think. I can say that I've been to multiple funerals inside junkyards, multiple funerals with confederate flags on the coffin (including one where a good third of the people in attendance were black, and not shocked at all), where "Freebird" was played unironically. Shit, I just had a moment like this the other night, as last week I had two family funerals come up. One was my aunt's boyfriend, who was a truck driver, and his funeral was beautiful. Standing room only in the church I'm sure he only went to twice a year, but the preacher did a good sermon, and we all went graveside, and as is the norm, they opened it up for people to speak on his behalf. That's my favorite local tradition at funerals, because you get to hear the non-preachy shit about how someone was a good ass dude. Anyways, one lady said they always sung some song at the end of the night when they were all drinking and doing karaoke at this bar, a gospel song, but she couldn't sing it. But this old school looking country dude in one of those dress jackets with the leather part at the top like an old bluegrass musician would wear to court with two ladies said, "How about 'I'll Fly Away', will that one work?" And the other lady across the funeral said, "That'll be nice." And the fancy country dude and the two women with him busted it out. And I ain't gonna lie, I cried. Of course, being raised in Shitsville, Southern America, I didn't make a sound and I, in macho mode, wiped my eyes one at a time in a strong sweeping motion, almost like a punch, to show I was in control of my uncontrolled emotions. Well, we (meaning my family and me) were at a cookout the other night, and most of our friends aren't that wild or wacky, but this couple is. But most of the people we know are uptight ass white people, which is why I stay to myself a lot of times, and a couple of them, while bluegrass music was playing on the radio, busted into an oversung rendition of "I'll Fly Away", their little Whole Foods fed lungs working as hard as they could in between sips of $8 a 6-pack beer. (Haha, it's funny how many of the stupid things I said above I was trying to get better about I've still done in this paragraph.) They had no idea how real that song was to me, fresh in my head from seeing old country suave dude sing it at a truck driver's funeral in bumfuck Charlotte County, Virginia. Oh well. Fuck it.
Anyways, Southern Culture on the Skids is popular with the college town fake-ass redneck set, which would automatically seem they would be that way too. And with the overdone hillbilly stereotypes and songs about Little Debbie snack cakes and them throwing fried chicken into the crowd, it's hard to argue there's not a ton of posturing going on. But you know what? I have been able to overlook this because Southern Culture on the Skids has always been this way, for a long ass time now, and it's not like they've gotten rich off it. Maybe their trust fund kids all of them, and instead of having some retarded green building carpentry crew, this is their post-rich family hustle. But I am able to enjoy them.
When my wife (then not my wife) first got pregnant, we hadn't even found a house to live in together yet, and the first thing we did was tag along with my mom to the beach (northern Southerners go to the Outer Banks in North Carolina), and we saw Southern Culture on the Skids play at whatever that gaudy ass club is in Nags Head. It was my wife's first time going to a show sober, and having just quit smoking since she was knocked up, it was interesting. I don't think I even drank to be honest, but that's kind of hard for me to imagine being true. But it was a good show. And then again a few years back, she took me the night before my actual birthday to see them at Starr Hill (R.I.P.) in Charlottesville, and that was a great ass show. When they called for a volunteer to sing along with "Viva Del Santo" my wife tried to push me into the role, being it was natural for me, what with my retarded affection for Mexican wrestling, and actually owning the single, but some fratboy chump did it instead. Which was fine, because he was afraid after the second time he said it, hiding behind his Faggotland Lacrosse baseball hat which he most likely wore in the shower for a week to get that perfect curve to the bill.
Anyways, this double 7-inch is one I keep in good shape, and most likely if I ever get my never-fixed jukebox actually fixed, both singles will go into the mix, being Estrus Records was nice enough to have them be actual 45s with actual big holes. (It is worth noting here that when it comes to good shitty rock-n-roll in cheap vinyl format, Estrus Records was the standard at one point in my life. A lot of punk-ish labels are pretentious beyond their archaic format, but Estrus was always heavily steeped in drunkenness.) They came on colored vinyl as well (one red and one green), and as I've grown and minimized the collections, and been annoyed by others who like Southern Culture on the Skids, this double 7-inch has become my lone survivor of their music. I mean, you get the basic wacky song with old blues/funk chicken picking guitar solo idea they always do, and this one has that all covered in spades.
It's funny, as I try to pretend I'm some well-grown non-piece of shit, I looked up to take the last sip of this bottle of Yuengling, and realized that although I'm typing on a fancy assed new-fangled (but cheapest model available) laptop, I'm playing shitty records in a shitty camper (that some gypsy lady left on my property and may come back to retrieve at any point, which is going to be a tough day since I've trashed it, again due to genetics) looking at a picture of El Santo (which is really just a picture of his son, El Hijo Del Santo, behind a piece of glass, taped together with green tape that barely bends around the front to create a "frame"). So as much as I hate people faking the redneck funk, I'm as fucked as ever. I don't have a working satellite anymore, so I can't watch the Mexican wrestling anymore, but the non-working dish (a small new school one, not one of those old West Virginia state flower ones) is still mounted to my house, holding an empty bird feeder. And it's moments like this where I look around and realize no matter how many steps I've taken to improve my lot in life, I am seemingly as fucked as I was the day my 17-year-old parents popped me out into this world.

100 VINYLZ: #100 - Tattooed Beat Messiah LP by Zodiac Mindwarp & the Love Reaction

2008-04-18T01:16:00.002-04:00

(1988, Vertigo Records)
This is a replacement vinyl, as originally I had this on one of many yellow shell Sony 90 minute dubbed tapes I made from my boy Evil Ed back in high school, back when tape dubbing was the RIAA‘s piracy threat of doom. It was always a favorite tape of mine (I think Faster Pussycat’s first self-titled album may have been dubbed on the other side), and while in the college, I saw it one time in the used record store of note in Richmond, which would be Plan 9 in Carytown. (I am sure I will get into a long explanation of that place during this project, but the first entry is not the time for it yet.)
Zodiac Mindwarp, by today’s standards, would be lumped into the “hair metal” movement, which is why I have always hated that hair metal label. As a dude (haha, I said “dude”) who was listening to music back then, it wasn’t as black and white as “heavy metal” and “hair metal”. Lots of music was being made that bridged that gap (Guns’n’Roses most famously, but also shit like Circus of Power, Armored Saint, Accept, L.A. Guns, The Cult, etc.). Most of what I’d consider to be bonafide hair metal was designed for pussies (either girls with actual pussies, because they need music too, or dudes who acted like pussies and worked too hard to fit in, not drinking too much nor smoking homegrown at the local arcade, and just fitting in pussy-getting skills around such delinquent behavior, which is also funny because us delinquents usually got more pussy - or at least more awesome pussy - than those pussy dudes with the watered-down rock-n-roll ever could). Hair metal makes it seem so fucking gay and stupid, and a lot of it was (insert standard VH1 learned music critic meme of “Nirvana changed everything blah blah blah” right here). But there was a lot of shit that was straight up rock-n-roll, fuck the bitches (both figuratively and literally), let’s get fucked up as fuck and fucking fuck, you fucks.
The one and only Zodiac Mindwarp record (that I know of) is this, but even better. A lot of these guys have their mental faculties, and for as crazy as everyone says Axl Rose is, he knows what he’s doing. Zodiac Mindwarp (real name Mark Manning) was a drugged-up space cowboy who could think 3000 words a minute and make them rhyme and have sort of a reason, but like a paranoid schizophrenic handing out homemade Jack Chick-style pamphlets, he didn’t really “know” what he was doing. This, of course, makes this album way better than others like it. He uses big words and combines shit that doesn’t really make sense (for example: Zodiac Mindwarp), but pulls it off, because in his personally warped mindstate, he believed it. You can see those aging fags on VH1 playing washed-up rock star talking about “hair metal” all the time, but those guys were playing a role, waiting for the gimmick to die so they could move on to some other stage of their life. Zodiac Mindwarp was all-in from the get-go (double-hyphenated cliché word score internet Scrabble rules - 153 points!).
For further proof of all this, consult your local library for Fucked By Rock by Mark Manning. My wife got it for me for my birthday because a guy I internet-know who was involved with GNR at times highly do-or-die recommended it to me. And it’s a crazy fucking book, with full insight into an acid casualty rock star two decades behind the well-known wave of hippie fuckers who you’d expect to be acid casualties. Manning was going to be the singer or was the singer or some shit for The Cult at some point, but ruined the gig by being... well, by being himself, so pretentious ass Ian Astbury was the singer instead. If you are a fan of reading books by semi-famous people who tell you how debaucherous their life was (European brothels where underage girls were duct taped into position ass-up for your personal pleasures, for example), then this is a book you probably ought to try and check out.
In the dilapidated camper behind my house where I do most of my compound-related quality lounging, there are three album covers with the albums removed taped up to the walls - The Coup’s 12-inch single cover for “Not Yet Free” (which is a highly-stylized drawing of a woman with her baby in a sling on one shoulder and a machine gun strapped over her other shoulder), the recalled cover of Lynyrd Skynyrd’s Street Survivors with guitarist Steve Gaines wobbly-eyed and engulfed in flames (which became poor taste soon after when he died in a fiery plane crash the band had), and the cover for Tattooed Beat Messiah. It inspires me, like a motherfucker.

100 VINYLZ: The Introduction

2008-04-16T01:12:00.001-04:00

My favorite material possession, if you can count it as only one thing, would be my record collection. It is the one thing I have accumulated through the wasteful spending of money that has given me the most joy, and the one thing that if I don’t mess around with for a while, I get all weirded out and need to just hole up with it for a few hours, immersing myself within it’s oddball variety. It has been alphabetized, but within the subset of categories at one point (I think the basic categories were “white people’s music”, “black people’s music sans hip hop”, and “hip hop” in it’s most categorized days), but nowadays is all sorts of hodgepodged and broken into parts. First off, when me and my wife moved in together ten years ago, we combined our records, which was more of a difficult situation for us to accept than us mixing our DNA into a child. Over the years, with there being no real set record playing part of our home, the precise alphabetization has long been lost. I used to have this wood shelf I took out of a rental house I painted years ago that all my records fit in for the most part, with a bit of overflow running into the bottom two rows of a bookshelf from Target. When we moved to this current house like eight years ago, I cut my record collection down from around 3000 to what would fit into the old rental house shelves (spraypainted black with gold trim by me) - roughly 1500 or so. Of course, it has grown since then, but there is no alphabetized nothing about it. At the far right or left ends of the two shelves, you can run into pockets of things still in alphabetical order, that obviously have never been played in five or six years, but for the most part, it’s all fucked. More than half of it is in the house on that shelf, but as I pull things from it, I push what’s left to the far left and right, leaving empty space in the middle, which I refill when too many records are left sitting out by one of the turntables (we have three working ones right now, but have had as many as five at a time in different parts of our compound for this or that purpose) and need to be returned to Raven’s vinyl homeland.
Except I do a lot of quality lounging out in the borrowed camper behind my house (which is where two of the working turntables are located, although one is a tweener, carried back and forth between the house and camper fairly regularly as necessitated by my own personal brand of mad scientifics), so a good amount of records are now out there, including just about all of my 7-inch collection (at least the ones with big holes that would work in the unfixed jukebox doubling as a hangerless coatrack in my unfinished hallway). So my shit is everywhere.
I have always been a budget-minded record collector, which is probably where the $20 record challenge came from. I do not go into a record store and think, “Oh shit, awesome, a $25 record I’ve always wanted.” I think, “Man, this sucks. I’ve always wanted this record and these faggots want $25 for it. I wonder if I can stuff it into my hoodie?” This is difficult, because record collecting is a very well-known faggot science now, and the sharp-faced guys who price records at used record stores are aware of this, and price accordingly. Also, the ebays fucked everything up for everybody, because if some schmuck in Illinois is getting $23 for his old Voivod War and Pain record, every asshole everywhere thinks they deserve the same $23 for their copy. Except that ain’t the way it works, at least not the way I think it should work. I have wasted tax return money once or twice buying things inside the ebays, but I’m too budget conscious, which means I lose most every auction unless it’s to some disreputable fucker from Australia who ends up ripping me off too. Plus, shipping is the jew’s magic touch to the ebays, and that’s where you make, or lose money, depending on your end of the globalized flea market bargain. I am to this day more of a “let me dig through the endless uncategorized crates of dollar records” type of guy than a “let’s dig through this well-labelled section of top quality records”. Music is meant to be used, not accumulated, and I would say a majority of what I still have is here for a reason, meaning it has use at one mood or another to actually be played. I do not deify the records, and through the years have used various methods of marking them as played or most recent. I used to have a roll of like 5000 little alien head stickers that I’d put the ascending number of and slap on an album side when I played it all the way through, and some of my records are peppered with these, like college football helmets. For a brief time, when I had a bunch of my old rapping 12-inch singles in the camper, whenever I played one I would put a silver Sharpie mark on the sleeve, like I was counting days in jail in an old western flick. All sorts of stupid shit like that. These are not keepsakes to sell later. The perfect example of that is the first MF Doom single, which I have on 12-inch, that Mike Dikk and John Dawson told me might be worth some money. I looked it up inside the ebays and it was worth some money. But I didn’t feel like selling it. Since then, it sat in a pile of records one time near where I had a Tupperware cat bowl for water and food in the camper because the cat was in heat but we couldn’t afford to get it fixed so I trapped it in the camper instead so it didn’t annoy us in the main house with it’s incessant cat-slut cooing. It knocked over the water bowl, which dripped under a sideways stack of records, and just a couple of weeks ago I was digging through them, pulled out the MF Doom single, whose sleeve was stuck to like a BDP single or some shit, and I had to rip them apart. The MF Doom sleeve is all mildewy, but the record is finer than fuck. I played it three times that night.
It’s funny too, because my folks had a good record collection (in fact, parts of mine are just sneaky embezzlements on my part when they split up when I was 16 and my dad lived in a trailer too small for too many possessions and my mom could give a fuck about all that fucking music my drunk ass dad always played), so I was always into records. I remember compact discs coming out (I don’t call them “CDs” because CD is a nickname and nicknames are for friends and I’m a giant hipster fag who thinks Mr. Show is hilarious) and some of my boys being all like, “Man, CDs will last forever but records scratch.” Except CDs felt like a transitory thing even then. I mean, yeah, 8-tracks died out, and cassettes I could envision dying out as well, but records had been around for decades. Compact discs were the same shape and idea, just digitized and mysterious, but in an evil way. Like Third World tribal religions are mysterious, but in a fun “shouldn’t kill me but even if it does it’ll be an awesome story” type mysterious. Compact discs had this ominious futuristic soylent green nature to them. I wasn’t down. And to be truthful, until I was 25 (which was 1998), I had stolen more compact discs in two burglaries than I’d ever bought, new or used. I think in ‘98, I used a fake name (C.R. McClellan) to join Columbia House, and that probably put me over the top for buying more than I had stolen, to that point in life.
Now, it’s gotten even worse, with MP3s (I couldn’t remember what that stood for, to further sell the Mr. Show David Cross as Allen Ginsburg character reference) and people downloading shit, CDs became obsolete quicker than fuck, but people became more removed from the music as something in their house. As opposed to a giant collection of records to look at and feel and peruse for whatever info you can, or better yet to cut the stems and seeds out of a half ounce bag, all your music is inside this tiny little robot that can just disappear. Or you can click a couple of buttons and make it all go away. I know dudes with like two and three external hard drives just full of music - a million billion gigs of shit they’ll never have a chance to listen to because they use all their free time acquiring more music. It is the new CD, because people can get it so easily, and now records are more relevant than compact discs. (HA! What’s up now, my boys from high school? I’m talking to you Dave Jenkins.) We are so far removed from our music as a part of our life, and it’s more part of the background clutter. Theme music has been replaced by ringtones... sigh.
For me, each and every record I have has personal experiences attached. How I got it, what happened while it was playing, what it’s been through with me... Shit, my record collection, during extreme bouts of self-created poverty, has suffered a number of genocides, wiping out entire genres or cherry-picking classics that I’ve missed intensely almost immediately after selling and ever since. The current record collection is almost a conglomeration of survivors - those things too important to me or lacking enough value to others to ever be abandoned into another weird fucker’s hands.
Well, what I decided to do was go through what’s left, what I have here and now, on my five acre compound of chaotic, blemished perfection, and compile this list of my 100 Most Valuable to Me Vinyls. It is highly subjective, and I could probably, once done, immediately do it again and it’d be entirely different. (And I do plan on revisiting this list again... in four years. My record collection always fluctuates and is far more important to me than some fake ass rich fucker trying to be my political figurehead, so I imagine this will be a good way for me to occupy myself during Presidential election years - sitting in my dilapidated camper with no TV and no computer, listening to old records.) But this is the list.
I will forewarn you though, I am going to be long-winded and highly detailed to an almost retarded personal extent. There will be no google searching or wikipedia consultations for historical facts behind the records in question. But there will be entirely too much information about myself, almost to the point of this being a memoir. Which is great, because I’d like to remember a bunch of this shit one more time. There will be no download links for you to see what I’m talking about musically, because blip blooping the sound wave patterns into your own personal robot won’t include attachments for the activities connected and the things that make it special to me and probably only me. That is your forewarning. And that is your introduction to my 100 Most Valuable to Me Vinyls for 2008.

7-list: Personal Hairstyles Since Thanksgiving (both past truth and futuristic projection)

2008-04-10T01:25:00.000-04:00

So I had dreadlocks for a good five years, growing them when I worked for this asshole at a place that did trade show exhibits for big pharmaceutical companies, because he was a straight-laced full of shit fuckface with a sexy wife and almost-sexy teenage daughter, and I was the guy in the finishing department who did the work of three men, so I figured I’d force his straight-lacedness into uncomfortable realms by looking as fucked as I could while still being an invaluable cog in his license to print money and throw me pork chop bones. What a stupid fucking reason to grow dreadlocks - to scare squares, not that being a white dude into deracialized Rastafarianism is any better.
Anyways, I got sick of them, sick of people asking me about weed, sick of cops mad-dogging me in vehicle passing, sick of having lumps of my own tangled hair disturbing the perfect softness of my pillow reaching my aching brain-encasing skull at night. So I cut them the fuck off, going from dreads halfway down my back to hair an inch or two at the longest. This was difficult because growing up with a longhaired redneck father figure, I hadn’t actually had short hair since I was like 11. No shit. I have always been afraid I had like giant lumps in my head from milk crates being thrown against me or falling down flights of stairs while drunk to even entertain having short hair. But there was no choice. It had to come off, all under the plan to grow it back long as quickly as that shit will grow. My wife was dead-set against me cutting it, but once it was cut, she loved how cute I was (and in fact, I’ve had a lot of regular-looking women double take me since cutting it, but I’m more into the retarded poetry-writing dirtbag teenage girl types working at Subway who like longhair) and wanted me to keep it short. But it ain’t staying short. The day after Thanksgiving when I cut my hair off might have been the last time I ever cut the hair on my head, ever (except my mustache hairs which have to be trimmed or else I have pussy-juice smelling fishing wire getting into every bite of food I try to put into my mouth). So here are the seven stages of my hair since shorning away my locked dread...

STAGE ONE: SHORT UNKEMPT HAIR (aka the Jimmy Fallon) - The one major misconception about having dreadlocks is that you don’t wash your hair. I did, all the time, because if I didn’t that shit would stink. But you have to squeeze the water out or else they get all mildewy (bleach solves that though, in case you were wondering). But I washed them every time I took a shower, at least twice a week. But once I had short combable hair, I remembered the high grease content of my hair (due to intense fried chicken eating, not to Italian or Mexican heritage), and I’d have to remember to wash it at the worst every other day. But the added grease, even in minimal amounts, would make my hairs stick out and over or up and sideways in odd manners. It was kind of like being a budding mad scientist, except there was no science I was tinkering with obsessive compulsively to cause it to happen. Luckily, my hair grew.

STAGE TWO: SLIGHTLY LONGER BUT STILL SHORT UNKEMPT HAIR (aka the Indy Rock Douchebag) - Basically the exact same cut as above, but slightly longer. It was a good experience in personal judgemental nature though, because I automatically hate on all those indy rock fuckers with that look. But I have slightly oily hair, and when sleeping on the couch watching The Price Is Right because I didn’t go to work (Drew Carey sucks as the new Bob Barker by the way, and I like Drew Carey; he’s trying to hard to be like Bob Barker; he needs to just be like “fuck it, let’s do this shit” in his own way), my hair would stick three ways in uncaring manners. It looked funny, but I never let myself leave the house on purpose like that, because I know there’s people who actually style themselves to look unkempt like that, and that is the most atrocious beer bottle upside the head (with the beer bottle being full of gasoline and a rag wick and it going upside your head from afar) activity I can think of, at this moment at least. So I would hand comb it down, since I didn’t own a brush. This is when I realized, much to my amusement (and my wife’s chagrin) that by wiping your hands over your hair in the Indy Rock Douchebag stage, you could easily achieve the 67% Redneck, 33% Wigger look, with the short greasy bangs going straight down your forehead. I would always do that look and roll into the living room, singing some Dr. Dre lyrics, and my wife would flip out and tell me not to ever do it again. But I did it again. I got mind control over my wife.

STAGE THREE: MOP-TOP HAIR (aka the Beatles Come to America) - Man, this is the absolute worst stage. Anyone who has been forced by lice or jail or hallucination or employment opportunities to chop off their beloved longhair will tell you this is the worst in-between part, too long for looking good really but too short to hold back with a child’s sized hair tie. Unfortunately, this is where I currently sit, which has been good for business, because people trust me, as I don’t look like I’m going to creepy crawl my way into someone’s personal wealth, yet I don’t look like some fratboy con artist. I would say in the construction industry, this is the most prosperous hairstyle you could possibly have - long enough to show you too busy and competent to be fucking around with haircuts, yet short enough to prove you are not some carefree idealistic flake bound to flip out and disappear at any point.

STAGE FOUR: SHAGGY EUROTRASH HAIR (aka the NBA Whiteboy) - I’m actually looking forward to this stage, as I’m way into art lately, and I figured once I hit this stage in the next month or two, I’m gonna start hitting as many art shows as I can with my wife and kids in tow and create this aura of “This guy is for-real” to the fake ass pseudo-strugglers that populate events like that. I am a committed married man, happy to have found a woman who not only tolerates but encourages my personal inane insanities, so I’m not going to jeopardize that for other pussy. But having other bitches, hot or not, flash googly eyes (which is the female equivalent to man drool) at me makes me feel like a big man and makes my little penis fill with alcohol-stained blood much faster at the end of the night. I totally understand this haircut too, because in an effort to get back in shape at age 35, I’ve been playing basketball lately, and the shaggy hair is a white man’s genetic advantage at times. It accentuates head fakes and makes the tuck-under-a-jumping-other-dude-and-do-a-finger-roll move so much easier. In fact, if Allen Iverson had been born white, I doubt he would’ve ever felt the need to develop his crossover dribble. He could’ve just tossed his hair one way, bolted the other, and added two points to his team’s total on the motherfucking regular. Also on the scoreboard.

STAGE FIVE: IF YOU FORCE IT MOST CAN BE KEPT BACK BY A HAIR TIE (aka the Primus Fan) - This is a tough one too for a lot of people, because you can keep most back, but you have some at the front of your head that’s too short and falls out of any hair tie you try and enslave your folicle growths inside of. I have always thought that this stage was the cause for a lot of dudes like Primus fans, and ferret owners, and bike messengers, to shave that little bit on both sides of their head, to prevent those short parts that couldn’t be held back in a nice full-head ponytail. Except this prolongs the problem rather than solving it. Thus, you have to keep shaving those two parts on the side of your head. This is a really bad stage in hair growth I’m not looking forward to, because you can’t just play it off like you have an extra-long stage four cut, because it’ll hang in your eyes and look like a Mexican metalhead rapist from 1987 (aka the Adam Morrison). I wear glasses so the Mexican metalhead rapist is counteracted by the glasses (which no Mexican metalhead has ever worn, regardless of how much they might have needed them) and just makes me look like a fucking fool. And that’s what I’ll be. But luckily, my hair will grow.

STAGE SIX: THE THIN PONYTAIL (aka the Birkenstocks) - Another tough one, even worse because like I said, I wear glasses, which means I’m going to look like any asshole ever picking through overpriced organic fruit in the Whole Foods produce section. I have briefly though lately that a neck tattoo would be a good way to counteract against the negative visual effects of the thin ponytail, which has yet to get the full hair girth needed to make a chunky ass fistful of longhair behind your head, but what do you get tattooed on your neck? The only thing I thought of that wouldn’t be stupid to me forever was getting, in cursive handwriting, wrapping around the back three-quarters of my neck, “CURSIVE HANDWRITING FOREVER” so on my right neck it would say “CURSIVE” and on my left neck it would say “FOREVER” and underneath my eventual awesome mane of machismo redneck hippie with a penchant for self-destruction hair would be the “HANDWRITING” part. The only problem is if I turn into a total fag and decide to rock short hair for the rest of my life like a total fag, I’d have that wrapping around my neck.

STAGE SEVEN: BRAIDED PONYTAIL (aka the Willie Nelson) - Basically, this was the whole reason I cut my hair. I was raised much more of a braided ponytail man than a dreadlocked man, so I was faking my own personal funk. And when I was younger, I would rock the braided ponytail, or even the double braids like Willie himself. The only problem was I was younger, with a fresh face, and just looked like I was looking for an ass-kicking. And actually I was at times. But now, I’m 35, have plenty of scars, including a couple of facial ones, a goofy beard that hasn’t been trimmed or shaved in almost a decade (but still isn’t as long as like a David Allan Coe or Jimmy Valiant... but that’s a separate seven-list completely, about my beard and long beard envy), the braided ponytail or the double Pippy Longstockings would be nothing but perfect. And the fact I have grey hairs popping out my beard now only adds to that. In fact, it would look fucked and premeditated if I didn’t. Of course, it is premeditated, because you can’t not cut your hair for that long unless you think about it. But I try not to think about it. I just hope once I get to the longhair like this and can braid it, I don’t get all stylish and stupid like the opposite but equal of an indy rock douchebag and shave my facial hair into a fu manchu. That shit is the worst.

CLEOPATRA, COMINATCHA

2008-04-09T02:19:00.002-04:00

I can also bring the hatred, even if most shit generally doesn't do more than annoy me. What I have for you now is constructive hatred. I'm mostly resigned to the fact that T-Pain has like 4-6 singles and/or guest-spots out every single month. Some of those are pretty good songs, too. But there is some inexcusably stupid shit T-Pain does that deserves to get clowned. Today, it's his total lack of lyrical ability. Example, from "Bartender":

"Ooh, she made us drinks
to drink
we drunk 'em
got drunk"

T-Pain also gets really close to that farting in the microphone line. He could make a song with EEP-OPP-ORK-AH-AH as the chorus and people would have a new dance craze in the first week.

Dude is a Rapper Ternt Sanger (Because He Couldn't Fucking Rap In The First Place & Didn't Want To Be A Rapper Ternt Exterminator.) I don't hate T-Pain, but the motherfucker could hire a ghostwriter or something.

What up, my people-weeble? This be Kingm0b: the Feeble..

2008-04-09T01:42:00.004-04:00

So I didn't quite die, I just did a lot of working 'nshit. What happens when you have a bored DJ with some instrumentals and an afternoon? Grand-scale Dumbassery, that's what the fuck happens. All this stuff is live, I don't have the know-how yet to play with computer music editing like some of y'all.

Part of this is a side-track from a big ass set I am trying to piece together before it all falls out of order in my brain. It will be the most gangsta thing I've ever done, so naturally you guys will be all "BLARG WHATEVER HAPPENED TO BABY RAKIM?" but I may end up hawking this shit to people in real life if I can work it out the way I want to This here is loosely a remix, I just got a different Bun verse.

Gangsta Boo (f. Playa Fly & Bun B) - Spinnin & Sippin (King Mob remix): http://www.zshare.net/audio/10257615e286340e/

This is what happens when you give a wrestling nerd a WWF music album. It may take years for that little seed to take fruit, but they will do something nerdy with it. My family can take pride in the fact that I never acted out Stone Cold Steve Austin entrances and did toasts with cartons of milk. I never did that shit, but I e-knew a dude who said he did. So yeah, this is more of a blend I guess.

King Mob - Brood Ryderz Anthem: http://www.zshare.net/audio/102552506e629eb8/

This is one that scratches an itch I've had for a couple years with "Circles." At first, I tried to throw it on top of TROY, but it never fit that well. Then I would just play around with the Soul Coughing because it's so sparse you can throw it in electronic shit or whatever you want. I remembered I had downloaded a bunch of DJ Quik instrumentals (by the way, DJ Quik used to fucking KILL on some beats.) Enter "You's A Ganxta" and that's where babies come from. I finally got the phrasing right, too.

Soul Coughing - Circles (Kingm0b blend): http://www.zshare.net/audio/1025609883acd7cb/

This last one is what got me on the remix/mashup/whatever kick in the first place. I don't know how it is where you, the reader, live but here in Texas they are overplaying the fuck out of Lil Wayne - "Lollipop". I am not joking when I tell you they have on more than one occasion played the whole 6 minute song twice in a row. It is such a piece of shit song with Lil Jabbering Windbag verses run through the vocoder filter. This is about as close to an artist testing out that farting in a microphone thing as you or I will ever witness. With that in mind, I had a Sifl & Olly clip around and decided to make the HOTTEST NEW LOLLIPOP REMIX YOU WILL EVER HEAR IN YOUR MOTHERFUCKING LIVES. Yeah, perhaps that spike in traffic for my CERTIFIED HOOD BANGER LOLLIPOP REMIX will bring in some new readers who will stay for the awesome EWA bullshit.

Anyway back to the BRAND NEW EXCLUSIVE LOLLIPOP REMIXED BY KING MOB. Also featuring Gorilla Zoe for about 10 seconds or so.

Lil Wayne - Lollipop (Kingmob remix)
http://www.zshare.net/audio/10246698a119c0aa/

Coming Back!!

2008-04-07T20:18:00.001-04:00

Here is a re-up of the EWA Top 100 Jamz 100-81 entries. Possibly because we are making an effort to finally finish that fucker off.

EWA JAMZ 100-81

Buncocky 4, 5, 6, 7

2008-04-01T22:32:00.003-04:00

Man, I hav been slacking with posting this. Anyway, the incresingly successful Buncocky Cast is up to #7. We've covered a lot of ground over the past few weeks, so put aside 4 hours and catch up.

Also, we are now officially on iTunes. There's a direct link below, but if you're ever far away from home, but somehow near iTunes, you just have to go to the iTunes store and search "buncocky" and it will pop up. If you're a fan, or just an impartial frequent listener, PLEASE subscribe. The more subs we get, the more legit we look. If you have an iTunes account, leave a review, good or bad.

CLICK HERE TO CATCH UP ON ALL THE EPISODES

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Another $20 Record Challenge

2008-04-01T01:16:00.002-04:00

So yeah, I got them records a couple months back for my birthday, and had planned to write the second half of two $20 Record Challenges (where you buy $20 worth of records at a record shop, which tests your skill to uncover gems as well as the record store's ability to not suck a fat dick), and never did, mostly because poverty seems to be embedded in my DNA and I am living in constant fear I will come home to find a bank sitting inside my house with all my shit piled up in the ditch. But hey, welcome to America in 2008. Motherfuckers are arguing over whether or not we're in a recession and I'm wondering if I'm gonna be standing in line for an eighth parcel of rotten apples by the end of the summer. Our credit card had $50 on it, so I bought $48 worth of seeds though, so we can have a fat ass garden. Of course, if the place is no longer our's, I guess we'll have to sneak into the garden to get our shit we grew back, but at the same time, I feel more valuable as a life insurance policy than an actual working member of society a lot of times, so if worse came to worse, I'd probably go out on some outlaw retard tip, holed up in my house shooting through windows which are conveniently already busted up in a couple of spots. Anyways, enough of that talk; here's another $20 worth of records I got in the basement at Plan 9 in Carytown, Richmond, Virginia, which is a hipster hellhole to be sure, where all the workers look like eastern Europeans in Chuck Taylors, but you have to be ahead of their hipster curve and you can still find mad awesome shit because they have crazy amounts of dollar records, of a far greater quality (set to record store standard, not Salvation Army standard) than most dollar bins.

ICE-T - SOMEBODY GOTTA DO IT/OUR MOST REQUESTED RECORD 12-INCH SINGLE - $3
My boy Paul-Ski in high school had co-opted the 7-inch version of "Somebody Gotta Do It" (aka Pimpin' Ain't Easy!!!) from his older brother, and we used to play that shit constantly. Somebody Gotta Do It was a classic old school shit-talking to the nth degree, about wealth in this case, and no lying, I used to be a hardcore ass Ice-T fan, all the way up until O.G. Original Gangster sort of alienated me because I was in college and mad dorks were loving on that shit. And yes, I see the obvious observation, that I was probably a mad dork in college too, and I probably was, but there is a feeling of entitlement you get when you are down with an artist from his first record, then second, and on, and then he has something that blows up more mainstream, and when you're a contrarian fuckface like myself, it makes you think less of it. But also, O.G. wasn't nearly as good as Rhyme Pays or Power, though it's probably better than the Iceberg.
The B-side to this I'd never heard and it's an interesting old school "let's rhyme over a breakbeat and the DJ busting up a Led Zeppelin snippet on the tables. It's like listening to Ice-T do a Schoolly D-style song, just it has that west coast flavor of extra roller skating rink-sounding bells in the beat. And both songs have bonus beats extras, which makes this a smart $3.

SLIM THUG - WOOD GRAIN WHEEL 12-INCH SINGLE - $1
I am a big fan of Houston rappers, even the second-wave of DJ Screw-influenced guys that blew up a couple years back (I have been wishing my man Kingmob would make a H-Town's greatest hits mix with the best Paul Wall/Mike Jones/Lil Flip/Lil Keke/Chamillionaire/Slim Thug/Bun B shit from that two year window where it was going crazy), but Slim Thug is not one of my favorites, mostly because he's always talking about being "the boss". Dude, jobs suck, and most every black person knows this as well as most lower-level white people like myself, so I do not understand why you'd want to advertise yourself as a boss. This is standard second wave Screw-influenced, with the standard Fat Pat slowed down lyric doubling as a hook. I had been excited to see this because I thought it was a track I had heard on the satellite radio with a weird bass kick pattern I wanted to share with the PSY/OPSogist for example purposes upon future beatmaking endeavors, except I was mistaken (it was actually a Chamillionaire song), so this isn't the best dollar I wasted that day. Still, you slow the pitch down on an instrumental track with a Fat Pat hook and motherfuckers (even whiteboys) can freestyle for hours.
Also, added dick in the mouth to whoever decided it made sense to just have Radio/LP/instrumental on both sides of a fucking record (which is even worse when the producer is full of himself and only puts the radio/street versions on both sides with no instrumentals). Not only was the early '90s a much greater heyday for rap peoples putting out better music, musically and conceptually, but shit, they had extra tracks that they put as B-sides or bonus cuts. And all these shitty free "mixtapes" you can get inside these internets don't make up for it.

TAKA BOOM - NIGHT DANCIN'/CLOUD DANCER 12-INCH SINGLE - $1
I got this because at one point I was buying up 12-inch disco singles and just playing them as slow as the turntable would go, and you could find some great loops that way (and who the fuck who is into regular music listens to shitty disco music from the '70s, so it's an untapped genre of samplitude). I eventually stopped doing this because I ended up with so many shitty disco singles that didn't even have a good horn-heavy loopable section that I was afraid I would turn gay. Unfortunately, this single pushes me further towards gaydom. The fact it's on Ariola Records, which is what tricked me into giving it a shot, doesn't make it less gay; I think it's a hairy beer-bellied bear dude's areola they're talking about, although I'm not sure if areola only refers to bitch nipples or all nipples. I never took anatomy, though I play one on dvd.
Wait, "Cloud Dancer" does have a nice acoustic intro with some "oooooh oooooh ooooooooh"s, but it's not really sample material as it sounds more like somebody doing an electronica remix to an L.A. Guns or Skid Row power ballad.

VARIOUS ARTISTS - ORIGINAL EXPERIENCE LP - $4
This is a collection of people I never heard of produced by a guy called Jah Screw on 1-Time Records out of Jamaica, but with no date. It might be good dub music, or it might be early ragga music, or it might be really shitty shit from somewhere in the middle '90s.
Actually, it is even worse than any of those... it is the same shitty synth-pulse beat but with like ten different set of vocals over the same beat. By the third one, it wouldn't matter if you had ODB freestyling while Louie Armstrong scatted in the background, it would drive you crazy. This shit is some Son of Sam's neighbor's dog barking to me.

LITTLE MEEKY - SWEAR PT. 2 7-INCH - $1
Sounds like late '80s raggamuffin (meaning the dude rhymes like the "Pass the Duchie" kids), but it's catchy enough and unsynthesized enough to make it into my never-get-fixed jukebox. Some old dude who does that thing has promised me three times he'd call me regularly to get it in his shop, but fucker always flails. He sounds on the phone like he smells like mothballs and hates black people though. I saw a truck for some other amusement company that actually had "jukeboxes" on the side in letters, but mostly they deal with dollar-operated digital jukeboxes nowadays. Nobody's got that old school actual fan slotted 45 jukebox knowledge. World's gone to hell, in a bootleg Louie Vutton handbag.

THE JIMMY CASTOR BUNCH - KING KONG PT. I/PT. II 7-INCH - $1
I often buy stupid worthless Jimmy Castor singles, based on the ridiculously unquestionable awesomeness of "Troglogyte (Cave Man Song)". There is some serious funk here, and the story of King Kong is Jimmy Castor at his mid-level - not too over-the-top stupid, but not great. The fake King Kong groans during the break are probably more than worth the one dollar though, except I bet like 7000 fag nerd Aesop Rock-loving DJs have sampled it already. It kinda bums me out that the music I do is probably gonna end up falling into that stupid Sage Francis/Aesop Rock college dork kids love it genre. Oh well, I guess I can work for years to get popular, fight mood swings and depression, and then go nuts and blow up like 38 college kids along with myself on some hole-in-the-wall stage in some university town where the PBRs are in full motherfucking effect at the bar.

JOE SIMON - ALL MY HARD TIMES/GEORGIA BLUE 7-INCH - $1
Hey, I know this "All My Hard Times" song, and it's great. Life's got my man Joe Simon pushed around and pissed, but he keeps on trucking along. A great thing to remember, except he should be glad he wasn't around now because diesel's over four dollars a gallon and you can't just keep on trucking no more.
B-side ain't bad either, although I wore my needle down letting it skip over the ending for eight minutes because I was in the middle of masturbating to Penthouse Forum book from 1978. I like old porn letters better because dudes are more about fucking more women back then as opposed to watching more dudes fuck their woman like nowadays porn letters be tripping over.

LITTLE JOE BLUE - DON'T START ME TO TALKING/DIRTY WORK GOING ON 7-INCH - $1
It is blues music, meaning there is chicken scratch guitar solos and the lyrics are about the pain and struggle of everyday situations, usually nasty cheating bitches or dirty britches with no dollar bills in them pockets.
B-side is more of the same, except the 7-inch was sitting slightly underneath that plastic spacer thing for the turntable, so the song had a slow down/speed up rhythm to it since it was spinning off kilter. I need to remember to tell PSY/OPS about that because with a most proper sounding song, you could find some weird ass changing rhythm yet still on rhythm samples in such an accidental mannerism.

BOBBY GREGG AND HIS FRIENDS - THE JAM PART 1/PART 2 7-INCH - $1
This song is upbeat as a motherfucker. In fact, I'm not depressed anymore. Who cares if I'm broke? Man, I'm able-bodied, and the rain will stop, and I've got work out the ass to do once the sun comes out and it's warm. I just work, and by Monday, I could probably clock $1200. Except, let's be reasonable, and stay home on Sunday to put the garden in the ground and settle for just making $1000 by next Monday. That gets me one month closer on being caught up on the crib, plus stocks the house full of groceries that ain't corn flakes, rice, and frozen squash from the freezer from last year. Thanks Bobby Gregg and whoever your motherfucking friends are. I'm gonna go out in the rain and do some high-speed yoga.
Seriously, this song is awesome as fuck. It makes me happy, although with the wife having had our third kid two months ago, it's been almost three months since I've had sex, much less one that involved a serious amount of foreplayriffic fellatio beforehand, so my idea of happy is probably all sorts of out of wack right now. When they give you a vasectomy, the semen is absorbed inside your body, which freaks me out, but I'm also of the belief is you do not have sex enough, the same thing happens to a regular unfixed dude, and it makes you crazy. Were I a scientist, I'd do research on such manners with semen absorption into the body and sexual predatory actions, but I'm not a scientist, just a housepainter, so I try to explain to the Mexicans who work for me when I need someone to work for me what I'm talking about, using the 300 Mexican words I know.

MILLIE JACKSON - IF YOU LOVING YOU IS WRONG I DON'T WANT TO BE RIGHT/THE RAP 7-INCH - $1
Oh, you know that A-side song as it's well-known, but the B-side is a play off that first song and B-side is the motherfucking shit. It is a definite jukebox stuffer, guaranteed to hold a solid spot in one of my 100 slots, without a fucking doubt. Millie Jackson is akin to Jimmy Castor in that she has some top-notch songs that give her a reputation, except she also has a bunch of dumb shit. I'd like someone to just send me a link to a Millie Jackson megamix of all her awesomest stuff, so I could get excited, but then never download it because I never do. I have a real disconnect between real music and the internets, that borders on mental problem. But then again, that's the beauty of the internets as it allows us all a great spot to develop our mental problems way more fully than our parents ever could, at least not in a safe environment.

OTIS REDDING - (SITTIN' ON) THE DOCK OF THE BAY/SWEET LORENE 7-INCH - $1
Basically bought this specifically for the jukebox since Otis is one of the all-time bestest and this was the only stupid dollar single stupid Plan 9 was offering, slapping $3 price tags on all his other 7-inches. "(Sittin' On) The Dock of the Bay" is played out of course, and "Sweet Lorene" is a standard R&B slammer from that time period, talking shit to some hot skank to try and get inside her pussy tissues, but still, it's Otis Redding. It's funny, you get all hung up on modern standards where Amy Winehouse is throaty and bluesy as fuck, but then you listen to one Otis Redding song and realize she's just a stupid ugly bitch hooked on crack with a nice marketing gimmick that tricked a bunch of magazine reviewers.

REVEREND THOMAS L. WALKER - I'LL MAKE IT SOMEHOW/I DON'T DESERVE A MANSION 7-INCH - $1
This dude Ace I used to know was a way better music nerd than me (he used to do album reviews for Spin I think), and he had all these wonderfully crazy black gospel records he'd play. It tricks me into thinking you can just start buying the shit and find gems, which led to me having a ton of shitty ass gospel LPs at one point, but I learned, you can't try too hard. Still, on $20 missions, I usually like to get one 7-inch to give it a shot, based mostly on the title of the songs, kind of like an NFL team's 7th round draft pick as a possible project that pays off. This was that choice for me this time. Way too much choir in the A-side, which killed off a great Hammond organ-heavy start. Basically, all great gospel music should have a Hammond organ plus somebody playing electric guitar who idolizes Wes Montgomery. And "I'll Make It Somehow" is that, just clusterfucked up with too much goddamned choir. B-side was even worse, so thanks a fucking lot Reverend Johnny Walker, now I'm one step closer to the devil. Thrash bands from 1987 never muck up their intrinsic awesomeness with too much goddamned choir.

JONNY OSBOURNE - ONE RUB-A-DUB FOR THE ROAD/DUB FOR THE ROAD 7-INCH - $3
On Top Rank Records, and it delivers fairly well enough. It's no Madlib compilation-worthy ass single, but it's good enough to make it into the imaginary broken jukebox rotation. Man, if I ever get that thing fixed, I could probably write a book figuring out what 100 singles to put into it out of the stupid boxes and milk crates full of stupid vinyl I have.
Of course, the dub side is most enjoyable, as usual for middling quality Jamaican singles of this sort. I'd love to do a $20 record challenge in Kingston. Actually, I am in the process of attempting to set aside enough money to take two weeks towards the end of fall and travel a loop through the southeast, hitting up record stores for a $20 record challenge each day. Except, thus far, my saving up for it has involved me thinking of it and realizing I'm a couple grand behind on regular bills already. But yeah.

Da (Lost) Art of Storytellin'

2008-03-20T20:06:00.003-04:00

Maybe Nas had it right.

In a post that will serve as a long form response to my man Raven Mack’s short “Are There Any Lyricists Left?” diatribe, I’m here to openly lament not only the passing of true lyricism (not the occasional flashes of brilliance we’ve been so sadly forced to swallow as of late) but to mourn another long-forgotten facet. That casualty is the story.

Believe it or not, there actually used to be a time, way back when, when a rapper had to show real skill and be a well-rounded and versatile threat before he could consider or call himself an emcee. And this wasn’t just to get a record deal or be included in a crew, that was just for the privilege of even touching a mic anywhere. When was the last time a friend came up to you excited about a new talent saying he was a “beast” or a “problem” and meant it? Even guys who did somewhat earn that label or distinction were very rarely successful. Canibus was a fierce and highly-touted lyricist but also easily dismissed as merely a “battle” rapper who could never make a “complete” album because all of his rhymes were more fit for a street corner cipher than on an officially manufactured CD. Sound familiar, dropped-from-Jive Papoose? The flipside to that coin, of course, would be Eminem, who gained his underground rep by being similarly battle-tested but was able to dodge whatever pratfalls that lay in wait by proving himself as commercially viable with witty, catchy hooks and crafting songs that actually had a concept or real subject matter. Can you honestly see Canibus concocting something like “Stan” or “The Way I Am”?

No matter how absurd or blatantly untrue (I guess that’s why they call it a “story”) the old school songs used to be, they were at the very least always entertaining. But today’s entertainers (I don’t dare call them anything else) are so concerned with their image, they wouldn’t dream of writing a song like Dana Dane’s “Delancey Street” or The Ruler’s “The Moment I Feared” (probably my favorite Slick Rick song EVER). I think the last great show of this long-lost ability may have been the appropriately titled “I Got a Story To Tell” by The Notorious B.I.G. Not only is it an awesome song but Big ups the ante at the song’s end by retelling the same story but in plain speak, making you appreciate what he did previously and at the same time marvel at the relative ease with which he did it.

I remember when it was possible to learn something from rap music. Albums like By All Means Necessary, One For All, To The East, Blackwards and of course, It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back had me scrambling to the library when I was a middle schooler. But nowadays what began with Master P and his No Limit cronies, the game is so dumbed down that terms like “droppin’ science” and “kickin’ knowledge” are as passe’ as “def” and “fresh.” There are no jewels to be found with every Atlanta rapper creating a new dance or espousing the virtues of living in a strip club. Texas seems to only care about gripping woodgrain or a Styrofoam cup full of codeine, regardless of how many lives it continues to claim. And New York is far from off the hook. If I hear one more song about jewelry, guns and drugs I’ll happily and highly consider listening to country from here on out.

To quote Hell Rell (talk about irony!) these niggas “just rapping to rap.” Way back when I first decided to contribute to this blog, one of the first things I wrote, the gist was basically that if you had told me around the time that “Back That Azz Up” was out that in 2008, out of all of the Hot Boys, that Lil Wayne would be the guy calling himself The Greatest Rapper Alive and have a good many people agreeing…well, you probably would’ve gotten smacked in the face with my bloody, coughed-up lung as I died laughing. Now that it’s come to pass, I just want to die but it’s far from funny. And Wayne’s voice does, at times, make MY lungs ache. Especially with this “Lollipop” bullshit he’s got out right now. We waited this long for Tha Carter III for THAT? But I can’t front: I was right there giving that “whooooo” for lines on Dedication II’s “Cannon (Remix)”, “Can’t Tell Me Nothing” and especially on “Dough is What I Got”, that’s usually reserved for those “hot” bars where the beat drops out when something especially profound or just plain dope has been spit. I guess the dearth in talent has inadvertently and subsequently lowered my own standards as well. Wayne, for better or worse, was the devil I knew, the least rotten apple of an entirely bad bunch.

And things will only get worse.

Think about it like this: Souljah Boy is 18 years old. Which means he was born in 1990. By the time he was old enough to listen to, buy or be influenced by music, what was available to him? Aspiring rappers in 2008 are a generation raised on this new ringtone b.s. To them, 50 Cent is old school. When a 16-year old James Todd Smith got in the game, he had a distinct advantage, he toured with the best and could count the people he toured with as his teachers and willing mentors. But times have changed. It’s so dog-eat-dog and every man for himself that no one’s bothering to show the newbies the way; scared to death they might take a dollar out of their pocket. So I’d prepare to see many more Hurricane Chris’, Lil Boosie’s, Flo-Rida’s and Shawty Lo’s before we see any future Rakim’s, KRS’, Nas’ or G. Rap’s.

Dana Dane – “Delancey Street”

Slick Rick – “The Moment I Feared”

The Notorious B.I.G. – “I Got a Story To Tell”

I AM OUT OF THE BLOG LOOP

2008-03-20T08:16:00.002-04:00

SORRY DUDES! I have no real excuses outside of not wantinig to play on the computer anymore when I get home from work. ANNNNYWAY, I was looking at Poisonous Paragraphs today and I saw that Dart reviewed the album above (THE NEW PORTISHEAD OMG!). I did not even know this was at the stage where it would be available for internet consumption. I don't think I really go to many, if any, high end music stealing blogs anymore, so if you have this and can throw me a link, that would be SUPER! I promise I'll buy the real thing if it's good.

COME ON GUYS, LETS BAND TOGETHER AND GET THIS DONE BEFORE I GET HOME FROM WORK SO I HAVE SOMETHING TO LOOK FORWARD TO!~!!

BUNCOCKY #4

2008-03-14T07:58:00.001-04:00

Buncocky Episode 4: The World of The World of Warcraft

We start off with possibly the last round of five questions ever, Netflix talk including a review of some listener suggested material, which dork is the worst AKA Dungeons and Dragons vs. Warcraft vs. First Person Shooters, another chat with Gravedigger Jay, Jay reads poems he wrote for some very special listeners, We talk about the new movie we are making.

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March Madness

2008-03-12T20:51:00.003-04:00

Man, I love the college basketballs... I have made it a tradition to lay out of school/work/whatever during the first Friday of the ACC tournament to get drunk and/or high and watch them thangs for many years. This year has found my self-employed ass more unemployed than not in recent months, so I guess I'll probably work on Friday. Plus, I skimmed back my drinking pretty heavily so that I can get under the required weight for suicide bombers, although I also heard they were gonna expand the parameters for Americans.
Anyways, there is a March Madness college tournament pick 'em thing I set up for dumpin.net and me and Mike's various other activities. This is not an office pool, and there's no way anyone would ever send money like they're supposed to, but I can tell you the winner will get at least a wonderful XL t-shirt with iron-on letters saying you are DUMPIN BULLETHOLE NET SUPER HOTBALL MAN. I am excited to mail it out already. Hotball is what my four year old calls basketball.
If you go to Yahoo's fantasy sports bullshit, then click on the tourney pick 'em thing, you will join a group. The group number is #53883, and the password is juicyone. While you're there, feel free to join our dork baseball fantasy fag group too, which is group #121090, password is juicyone. Most of us in the baseball thing are sensible enough to not care about baseball, although one dude already asked me when's the draft through an email, which means he's already about 1000% more dedicated than most of us. I think the winner of that thing will get a collection of Mel Tillis 45s.

Method to the Madness

2008-03-11T13:47:00.004-04:00

I still remember the mom & pop record store in Richmond, Va where I bought Wu-Tang Clan’s original “Protect Ya Neck” cassette single. Back in late ’93, the Clan weren’t yet on Loud/RCA, instead releasing this independent salvo on an Epic subsidiary, RZA’s Razor Sharp Records. I was immediately intrigued. I remember reading interviews in magazines where RZA claimed that he’d concoct his trademark dank and dense, kung-fu dialogue laden beats and then the other eight members of the group would lay down their verses, battling old-school style to see who would actually end up appearing on the track. Amidst all this martial arts-influenced insanity and freshness, the Clan’s most charismatic member was the commander of the single’s outrageous B-side, Clifford “Method Man” Smith. Early on, I don’t know one fan who wasn’t listening to Wu-Tang songs just in pure anticipation of hearing the Iron Lung’s sing-songy flow (and who can forget the way he'd "danced", moving to his own internal rhythm as he spit and had more dudes copying his swagger than LONS had dudes "East Coast Stomping" a few years prior) and gruff rasp over RZA’s hollow and eerie minimalist instrumentals. Perhaps I should have taken “C.R.E.A.M.”s popularity as a sign of things to come from Meth. Because while it went on to become Wu’s breakout and probably most popular single, Method didn’t actually rhyme on it; he only handled the now-unforgettable hook.

And ever since Method Man became the first member of the collective to go solo, that’s been the knock on him: he’s great in small doses and shines bright on other people’s songs or projects but seems incapable of carrying his own solo efforts. Anyone who owns a Method Man album knows this to be true. Even Tical, his first album and probably his best, only reaches its highest heights when Method is passing the mic around between himself and his fellow Wu brethren. He released a few more lackluster solo joints that I can’t even remember the titles of to his fans’ disappointment but now that he’s kicked a few slick verses here and there at the end of ’07, cats is talking “resurgence.” Shiiiit. The real Hot Nickz died the day he decided it was cool to crowd surf at a rap show.

So, as you can imagine, it bothers the ever-living fuck outta me that now, amidst the release of Wu-Tang’s latest album, 8 Diagrams and Ghostface Killah’s The Big Doe Rehab that people are hearing shades of ’93 Method Man and are too quick to claim that he’s somehow “back.” Back from where? From what? This nigga ain’t “back” y’all. He’s doing just what he’s always done and has been doing for the past 15 years (damn, has it been that long?). It’s just that you ain’t heard the kid in a few years but like Roy Jones, Jr. “Y’all Musta Forgot.” Did you forget the angry, disgruntled Method Man of ’06 who spent every interview crying about how Def Jam was mishandling his last basura album, 4:21…The Day After? Do you know anyone who actually owns that? Who even bothered to download it? But you hear “Campfire” or “Killa Lipstick” and suddenly all is forgiven? So all these bloggers and hip-hop fans all up on Mef’s nuts again need to back back and pump their brakes ‘cause this is one dude that ain’t fittin’ ta fall for the okey doke one more ‘gen. I’m begging that none of you do.

So when all this critical acclaim leads to Johnny Blaze getting yet another shot at solo stardom and he falls short YET AGAIN, don’t say I didn’t tell you so. When you’re about to pick up that CD off the shelf, think about all the other ones you wasted your money on and remind yourself that this one’ll likely be worse. Go home and turn on your TV. Remember How High, his sitcom and his part in the upcoming Meet the Spartans and maybe you’ll finally realize the truth: Method Man is more hip-hop “personality” (and in many ways, always has been) than an actual hungry rapper nowadays and to let a few hot bars over a decade-plus career sway your opinion is downright dumb. Let “Method Man” go. He has.

Even “Cheese” Wagstaff got merc’d on THE WIRE series finale…

Memory Lane: