Open Letter to the Expert Whiteboy Panel and...

The rest of yous who post comments here pretty often.

...And listen to what the fuck I got to say for a minute.

So for those of you who don't know, I'm neither white nor a boy, I'm the token chick, and come to think of it, the token 100% minority, too. I know Mike read my personal blog to sort of check out my writing skills when I asked him to write for dumpin', although I'm not sure whether or not anyone else did, but hey, whatever. I had told him initially that I was a huge hip hop fan, and really considered myself a serious one - not just into the getting jiggy club bangers that most chicks that are hip hop fans like. In retrospect, I kind of wonder if he didn't just bring me on board to be the token chick because the combination of my choice of employment and hobbies amused him. I don't say this because I want any sort of recognition, but because of well, the actual reason I'm writing this post to begin with.

So let me get down to business then. The reason why I'm writing this post? Its because this blog has humbled me. A LOT. I used to pride myself on being up on all things hip hop- admittedly, I was much more so when I was younger, I used to know quite a bit more about underground/independent hip hop than I do these days. But still, even more recently, I figured I was so much better than most girls I've met in the last decade or so, only because they don't know shit about production, about DJs, about mixtapes. But *I* did, so every time I met a girl or even a guy for that matter who called themselves a "hip hop head" and I knew more shit than they did...well that sort of inflated my little ego about shit I figured I knew. Not to mention I enjoy "old school" - I listen to EPMD, Brand Nubian, I liked Wu Tang in '93 (predominantly because at the time I was on the East Coast music tip, and MOSTLY because I grew up in the martial arts world and watched most of the movies they used clips from), I've been a fan of Jay's since "Dead Presidents" was released, I liked LL way before he was "SO HAWT" and had the 12 pack, when he was a skinny-ish bald dude who always wore Kangols.

In any case, for the last few years, I was a little depressed about music, since to me it's always been a huge part of my life, and it seemed to me that hip hop and and r&b have been on the decline quality-wise. I stopped listening to the radio or to current music at all for that matter, and listened more and more to the old shit I had. And then a friend directed me towards dumpin' - I read several posts and realized that it seemed as if the contributors all felt and thought a lot like I do about a lot of things, which led me to want to contribute as well. But since I've started posting I've begun to see how much more there is to hip hop that I've missed. And what inspired this you might ask? Well, we just hired this one white boy who's a hip hop head from Detroit. Of course he loves J Dilla but he also loves Dabyrie, Lab Waste, and Anti-Pop Consortium. And honestly, I only know who Dilla and Dabyrie are. Talking to him about hip hop and reading the shit you expert white boyz write have made me understand that I don't really know shit about hip hop and that there's a lot more to hear and learn. So I've been totally humbled, and as corny as fuck as it sounds, there really is something new to learn every day.

I guess what I'm really saying is thanks. And before you ask, yes, I AM a little emotional because it's about to be that time of the month and the estrogen is running high. Don't think you guys would be hearing this shit otherwise because that ain't how I barrel roll.


Random crap Sunday

It's pretty wacky stuff. People strategically taking pics with album covers.

Blast Beat Bert and Ernie:

Three Hours of MTV from 1983. Commercials and all:

Style Wars (Go to Google Video if you want to download it instead of streaming it)

Guys & Dolls (Real Doll documentary for the pervos)

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New Blog Supergroup Site.

"We’re starting a new beat battle site at http://ihookabeatup.blogspot.com starting Sunday, February 3rd. Basically, a song is provided (from the likes of Mr Mass from Mass Corporation, Dr OK from And It Don’t Stop, DJ Nes from Dirty Waters, or Scholar from Souled On) then several producers will take the song and sample it and flip it the way they want over the next week. The beats are then posted and a panel (including Travis from WYDU, Eric from WTR, Max from Hip Hop Isn’t Dead, Mike Dikk from Dumpin.Net, Andrew from Strictly Beats and King E from the Justus League boards) will discuss what they liked and/or didn’t like and then it goes to a public vote. If you remember the Lawn Jawns, it’s very similar."


10 Random iPod joints from my nerdy hip hop iPod

#1. Constant Elevation (Unreleased)- Gravediggaz-I am not sure this was really unreleased, but that is what the Prince Paul Hip Hop Golddust labeled it. This is just a peek into my nerdery because I don't know if this album was even a real album or it was some shit that was released via leaking into the internet so dicks like me could DL it and say I own it.
#2. The Janitor- Apathy I am kinda embarrassed that I have so much shit with Celph-Titled verbally littering tracks, but Apathy is one of those dudes that puts out better shit on mixtapes and underground mixes than on an album. So me being some douche who claims to be on the cusp of hip hop coolness must listen to him anyway.
#3. Track 22 Atmosphere-Here is where my dollar stops. I fucking love Slug. It has become gay to admit you are a male and an Atmosphere fan, but any random shit I do, a track pops up. This track was from an Unreleased and B-Sides mix that I have four volumes of. Slug is doing his, "I hate my dad and chicks" deal, and I don't know the name of the track, but I have it, so let the gay bullets fly.
#4. Scientific Civilization- Monster Island Czars- I have shit-tons of music, and if that stupid STARTUP DISK IS FULL message starts to piss me off enough, the MIC album is going because truthfully with the amount of MF DOOM shit on my computer hearing a shitty verse over a DOOM beat would be about the 10.000th track of that kind.
#5. My Mind- Rapper Big Pooh- I always feel bad for Big Pooh from Little Brother. So many people, me included, drool over Phonte's rhymes that Pooh gets shitted on as some sort of hype man. His album isn't bad and is a part of a GIANT chunk of Justus League shit that litters up my computer.
#6. UP- Gift of Gab-I am not sure why that shit is still here. Any sort of Gift of Gab/Blacklicious music left on my computer serves as a reminder to not fall for the hyping of the internet because I really don't think any of this music is that good.
#7. Black Girl Lost- Nas-This is some crap too. My second car was my mom's old Oldsmobile 87 Calais that was a two door piece of shit that had a front drivers side tire that would come loose all the fucking time. But what I remember most about it was the NAS bumper sticker I had on it that I picked up at a record store with my old "best friend". I put best friend in quotations because it was a girl and honestly any dude who has a girl "best friend" is a lame fuck who just wants to bang the girl, but she won't give it up. So you walk around like a lame puppy dog being trotted out in front of her friends as the lame poodle who follows this bitch around as she shows off her nipple ring to your best friends and gives head to dirty stoner dudes in overalls as you sit in the next room with ten homos from Drexel who think it is cool to spend daddy's meal plan loot on coke. Furthermore, they think it is totally "Tony Montana" to snort it off some giant mirror when they look like tools sucking cheap blow through their giant Jew noses. What was this about again?
#8. Talking Time Travel-MC Paul Barman-This is some other shit that I wont try to front like I am blowing off like I don't really like it. I dig Paul Barman. There. Have a field day...
#8. A Tree Grows- Wordsworth-This is like the cool Topps Rated Rookie you would get in a pack of baseball cards. I am glad a Wordsworth track came up to show all of you I do have some taste. I think Words is a guy who is totally slept on in the grand scheme of hip hop. What he does can be looked at as grown person hip hop, and I don't think he has put out enough. I have problems knowing I am murdering my hard drive on the stuff I randomly DL on Blog XYZ.uk.org.net, but buying a new hard drive would be worth it if I can litter it with good shit like this.
#9. Roc-A-Fella Billionaires- Freeway-Holy God this is awful. If I do another random iPod mix in 5 minutes, this shit won't be here. God.
#10. Church for Thugs-The Game-Hey some sort of mainstreamish stuff. I guess I am not the underground nerd you dicks thought I was. This album may have been one of the best produced album of the past 5 years or so. With the lack of quality MC's taking an album with great production and decent MCing is much more than passable. But this production is fucking outstanding and I can respect Game for not doing enough dumb shit to ruin the album.

Hey this wasn't really as much fun as I thought it would be. I didn't have the quality writing of Mike or Raven, but I hope they will be a tad happy because I took the initiative to actually post something here.

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I have discovered the magic of "leaving notes", and leaving notes is now the most beautifulest thing to me, so please be my friend. I will make it worth your while. It's like a joke or ten a day in your inbox and you have to be a member of Netflix so ITS EXCLUSIVE!!!!


Dastardly Latchkey

Dastardly Latchkey is Jay Pud's (Dumpin's Shining White Revue) new blog. A lot of slice of life type shit. It's really great and comes hioghly recommended. Tell your other stupid friends about it.



Hip Hop Retardation...

Makes me LOL long time. Actually it makes me laugh and cry at the same time. Which causes hiccups. In any case, certain hip hop artists these days are more fucktarded than ever. They need to stop speaking in public.

Souljah Boy Tell 'Em = Trippin'

Umm, what the fuck? I like how he considers himself an "MC" when he's put out like two songs and just capitalized off the first one to make the second one, and now he thinks he's the shit because he had a Grammy nomination. His parents need to slap him upside his head repeatedly. Also, it makes me cry to think that Nas or Busta might do a song with him. I knew the Souljah Boy/50 collabo was gonna happen after I watched that "interview" 50 did with him, but Nas and Busta?? WHY?! THE AGONY! THE IRONY! THE DUMBFUCKERY!

Crank Dat GZA?
And now he's got that BS with the GZA, and I have to say the one thing that stuck out to me as being a symbol of his fuckardedness is the fact that he speaks of himself in the THIRD PERSON. Say what?

Weezy: Guilty Until Proven Innocent

More hate on my part, I think I've said a few times how much I can't stand Weezy, for his lack of talent, his retarded ass interviews where he talks about how "hard" he is, and how he's gonna kill infants. But I hate him even more lately, especially walking around all the god damned time with that stupid styrofoam cup. That annoys me to no end. What the fuck is in that cup? Why does he carry it around all the time? Has anyone ever seen him drinking out of it? And lastly, is it the SAME god damned cup in every picture? I wish what was in his cup was the same substance in the cup of the "2 Girls, 1 Cup" cup. Who knows, maybe he'll actually go to jail and then lick some big scary dudes asshole and then it will be the same shit. (Ha, I made a funny.)

a poll about shit we forgot

It's to the right there somewhere, a poll I put up because I was looking at our labels list and half the shit is for things we never finished. So I wanted you, random internet fuckface looking at dumpin.net, to let us know how you felt about bullshit. Obviously I expect the EWA 100 thing to get the most love, because we should've finished that forever ago, although you dudes are gonna be pissed when you find out N2Deep's "Back to the Hotel" is in the top ten. I liked the jambox thing, but it was too hard to keep doing regularly. I think I'd rather people have songs to download and they battled than just steal shit all day off the internet. It makes me feel more like a dude who loves music and less like a douche who wants to hoard every piece of hip hop-related music ever made onto my collection of external hard drives I'll never get around to enjoying. The mixtape challenge was great, but we lost interest, although I think Mike and John are supposedly gonna finish it at some point, hopefully before next fall. Personally, I thought the myspace rapper battles by state was some brilliant next level internet time-wasting to be had, but the lack of enthusiasm for the polls leaned against that judgement by the public at-large. So fuck y'all. I was really looking forward to the Iowa/Wyoming/Colorado/Kansas battle. That shit would've been all sorts of funny. Really, the NBA bullshit was dead before it started because the only real hardcore NBA fan is John and he doesn't get a hard dick for making stupid posts like me and Mike do. And once Gilbert Arenas got injured and started seeming more like a fucking punk bitch like every kid in high school than some misunderstood genius like a sober O.D.B., I stopped caring about the NBA again... perhaps forever. The Three 6 Mafia Project probably predates just about anything most of you have seen, as Mike was doing that before any of the rest of us got here, but he never finished it. I wish he would. And then I wish he'd do an ICP project just like it. And I'm being completely serious too.
So post your stupid comments about what you think. If you want. And you can vote for as many as you want in the poll thing.


All We Do....

Here's some stuff.

Just like every other blogger dude, I get some press releases and other junk in my e-mails. I don't really get any bigtime shits like some of you other apparently better bloggers. It is like Dumpin is the jobber of the blog world and we have to take what we get. Sgtraight up Dusty Wolfe up in here getting his ass beat by Jimmy Snuka on an MSG TV taping. No respect at all

Anyway, here's some crap:

Here is a cd by DJ Jam X and Web. It is called Written In Blood. I haven't personally listened to this because I am not mature enough to not crack up when I say "DJ Jam X" out loud. Plus I haven't had a working personal internet in a couple weeks, and I spend around 6 hours fixing that shit yesterday, and excuse me if the first thing I didn't think was "OH SHIT I NEED TO DOWNLOAD THAT DJ JAM X JOINT". Sorry, I'm not trying to dis.

Here's the CD. there was a corresponding CD cover, but I couldn't get it to work:


Lastly, here is a video from the dude Gnotes. I briefly talked about his CD a couple two tree months ago and his head label dude is a cool guy who makes chit chat in the publicity e-mails, so I know he's not a total douche, so I don't feel bad aboput promoting his stuff.

Here's the videos for Gnotes' song "Missin You":


10 Random iPod Joints

I have decided to also do the stupid 10 Random iPod Joints thing like Mike did, because I feel inclined to write something, but have no real direction right now, as I’ve not been drinking much and all my drunken mind misfires have been stifled by sobriety. Which means I’ve been reading too much. I just read a whole bunch of bullshit about the future of virtual reality and Second Life and all it did was make me crazy and want to shoot people. Actually it made me want to stay on my property, never leave, never pay bills, and then wait for people to come and try to make me leave or check on me or whatever, and then shoot those people. Unless I liked them, then I would talk frantically and hand them cryptic manifestos I wrote on an old Brother word processor.
Anyways, I don’t have an iPod, but my wife does because I bought her one a couple of Christmases ago. She was always the type of person who stuffed seven CDs into one jewel case, with none of those seven being the one that was supposed to go in there. Me being a music nerd who at one point had 10,000 records organized by self-created genres and then alphabetically within those genres, this would bother me worse than watching people rape fetuses to not get AIDS anymore. So I got her an iPod. But she doesn’t do computer nerd stuff (which saves me a lot of clear historying, you know), so I have to load all the bullshit into the little robot music machine for her. I try to sneak some stuff I like, but mostly the only things I sneak are things she’d like too, because frankly, fuck an iPod. I will not waver on that fact. My oldest kid wants a lavendar shuffle now too, and I’ll probably get it for her birthday next month, but I do not want one. Fuck them bitches. iPods are for girls, that’s why they make all those fruity iPod covers with fake diamonds and pink boxes with anime smiley faces and shit to carry around your accessories.
I will also skip any long mixes or non-music things, like Mike, although I might not as well if I feel it necessary. Also, I will force myself to listen to the whole shit, even if I hate it, which I imagine will happen about half the time out of ten. Her 60 gig iPod is about half full, and half of that is shit, in my opinion.
#1. Queens of the Stone Age - You Think I Ain’t Worth a Dollar but I Feel Like a Millionaire (off that Songs for the Deaf CD): Yes, this was my doing, but my kids and wife like good rock-n-roll that’s not too annoyingly stupid rock-n-roll, which has led me to sneaking in some various notables from the “stoner rock” genre, which is the stupidest made-up name for a genre of music ever, especially since most of these stoner rockers are faggot college kids who grew a beard after getting a 3.8 GPA in Philosophy with a minor in Religious Studies. I like the QOTSA Josh Homme dude a lot though, becauses he’s a nutjob, and he scared stupid Blag Whatever from the Dwarves so much that Blag got a restraining order out on Josh Homme, which is about as unDwarvesy as you could possibly get. But I also read a book that Blag dude wrote last year for a magazine I do book reviews for, and his book was like 13-year-old fat goth girl fiction, so I imagine he scares easily, stage image aside.
#2. The Cure - The Snakepit (off of some bullshit called Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me): See, I knew this was going to happen. My wife and I diverge wildly on our formative years. I listened to the hardcore rap and the thrash metal. She was into the shitty alternative bullshit like The Cure that I always stereotyped as part-and-parcel with the sheltered pussy ass private school white people, who were a different breed entirely than my poor ass white people lineage. Sure, those white people were good for getting blowjobs from girls that had money to buy all the things you’d need to waste another small town weekend night, and those dudes were the perfect recipients of me buying a quarter bag, cutting it into one normal eighth for myself and two skimpy ones for others and selling the skimpy ones to. I have never understood this type of music, and to be honest, all things Morrissey/The Cure/Depeche Mode/etc. are not even in different categories... that’s how little I understand it. It all sounds like gay anal sex foreplay trickery to me, and I am entirely uncomfortable with making the rule I said above that I’d listen to the whole song. This one has already gone on for three-and-a-half minutes, and it only seems to be halfway done according to the bar time graph at the bottom of the display screen. I think I’m gonna have to waste the next three minutes playing that game where you slide the stick along the bottom to bounce the ball up to blow up rectangles, thinking the ball is this song’s faggotry, the stick is my unwavering heterosexuality, and those rectangles are colorfully condomed up dicks that want to fuck me. I will take this faggot song and smash those hard penises to oblivion, and maintain my straight up bro sexuality. Oh shit, there’s two purple dicks left in the far corner and the ball’s bouncing too fast and too much sideways... I think I’m fucked. And there’s still 30 seconds left. I am being lulled into stupid.
#3. Ani DiFranco - Napoleon (from her Dilate CD): Man, my wife used to pump mad Ani DiFranco when we dated the first time, which was crazy because the first time we dated, I was a degenerate bastard that was cheating on her with two other women, living a life of debauchery in a house where there wasn’t a surface in the place free of knife holes or pornographic images or blood splatters or vomit or something. Seriously, there were three of us there and that place was fucked up. The dude who sings in Lamb of God moved in after us, and the place was like rehabilitated gentrified with him living there. I guess tons of coke, scat flicks, and early 20s mindframe sociological experimentation will do that. It was nothing to come home and have a chick handcuffed to the table. One time I fucked this chick and we were laying there in the middle of the night (my room was basically a closet with an egg crate and sleeping bag on the floor and some clothes in a milk crate) and my roommate starts yelling, “YOU FUCKED A CHICK AND YOU ATE THE LAST PORK CHOP! YOU FUCKING FAGGOT!” and busts open my closet door buck naked, holds a sword to my throat and says, “I’d fuck you up if she wasn’t here,” then walks off. The chick, who was supposedly punk as fuck, is visibly shook, and goes, “Should I leave?” I was like, “Nah, he’s always like that.” Anyways, now that I’ve grown and am not a total dick towards all humans without penises, I have come to enjoy Ani DiFranco’s early reverse misogynist work as memory-filled happiness. My wife, back then when we were dating, would play this shit to passive aggressively get at me when I was obviously fucking shit up in terribly assholish ways, so I guess it reminds me of when she was young and firm and so damned cute. I don’t go out of my way to hear any fucking Ani DiFranco by any means, but if she comes on the system when I’m drinking beers (probably PBRs but maybe Tecates) at some hipster douche bar, I’m not gonna be all, “Oh fuck! Not stupid Ani DiFranco!” or anything. My favorite jam by her is “Untouchable Face” though.
#4. The Grateful Dead - Big River (from One From the Vault disc two, which is probably actually like 7000 from the vault): My wife was on Dead tour back in the days when Jerry died man, so she’s into their shit. Or was I guess. There’s lots of it on her iPod, but not as much as you’d expect. I think we both got older, and once the drugs weren’t in our system as often, the Dead is one of those bands that really really really sucks in more than miniscule amounts. Most Deadheads refuse to admit this ever, but most Deadheads also never stop smoking really chronic weed that clouds your judgement. I guess if I had to have a Dead song, “Big River” is not the worst. I got a belly tattoo at this shop in town, and the guy who did it was a Deadhead working hard for three months before he flailed up his life again to go follow Disco Biscuits or Humphry McGees or whatever the fuck is the fake Dead group of today, and he had an iPod with NOTHING but Grateful Dead live shows. Man, it was rough to stomach. But he liked me because we both had bad southern accents, my Snuffy Smith passed out drunk tattoo was hilarious to him, so he cut me a big deal on my tat (haha, I know) and showed me pictures of his favorite weed he ever grew before, like it was his child. He was pretty heavy handed with the needle too, so part of my LOUNGIN’ has almost a camo effect to it, as he faded it from black to white bottom to top. I never understood why he did white. I’m already white; why the fuck would I want white tattooings?
#5. Ani DiFranco - Out of Range (from a s/t CD): Oh god, this is more into the really angry wife was my girlfriend days, riding around in her Maverick so she could bitch at me because when she came to that party last night I was already incoherent from taking too many painkillers and drinking tall cans. And then she’d talk about what an asshole I was when she took me to the bar, and I was internally thinking, “We went to a bar?” but even though I was a womanizing piece of shit to her at that point, I would somehow weasel my way back into her life once the hurt wore off, as I’d straighten up enough to be decent, and my rugged charisma is undeniable, not to mention my ability to give orgasms in various ways. I remember days like that, waking up in her bed, not knowing how the fuck I got from some point like eight memories ahead of reality, and thinking, “Wow, this chick really must like me to take care of me when I’m this fucked up. And she’s got nice tits. I wonder if she’ll buy me breakfast.” And she would. That’s why we’re married now. At least part of the reason.
#6. The Allman Brothers Band - Melissa (from some hokey greatest hits shit): Haha, I was loading all sorts of shit from my youngest stoner sister’s collection onto my wife’s iPod last month, but all I could find at her crib was her second-tier CDs. She kept all the good stuff in her busted up Escort. So that’s how this got on there. I do not mind admitting growing up a rural white piece of shit, I have a certain amount of classic rock tolerance that most people lack. Like the Steve Miller Band is not an automatically terrible thing in my opinion, believe it or not. I had this song on the original Brothers and Sisters LP and it’s one of my more favorite Allmans records, so I can’t diss on it, even though I feel almost compelled to pretend I don’t like it since this a gay-assed internerd blog and I should probably be too wacky and subservient to ever enjoy the R&B by way of the white man’s Georgia noodlings of Duane Allman. But I do, so fuck you. I also like watching freight trains rumble by, and seriously, if it was warm enough, I’d totally be catfishing right now, using raw chicken livers for bait and keeping my beers in a Carolina cooler, which is a supposedly derogatory term for just leaving the 12-pack in the brown bag they are required by law to stuff your shit into. Except they put it in stupid clear plastic bags nowadays because the world’s gone too shit. “Oh sweet Melissa...” I should mash-up this shit with King Diamond.
#7. Prolo - Welcome to the World (off of a comp called Subliminal Soul Sounds): Props to my wife because she has all sorts of music I’ve done over the years on her iPod, which always pops up on the randomizer and forces me to deal with my lack of self-worth and how I hate the sound of my voice. Lucky this is just an instrumental intro Boogie Brown hooked up for some old Prolo shit, with none of my stupid offbeat white man rhyming on top, and double luckily I’m wearing headphones. Brown was in his “let me smoke a ton of weed and do weird shit with the Ensoniq EPS 16-plus that only someone in a similar mindstate could hear with headphones on” stage of making beats. We’ve still used this track as an intro track for playing live, but you wouldn’t give a fuck about all that.
#8. Yellowman - If You Should Lose Me (You’ll Lose a Good Thing) (off his King Yellowman CD): My wife likes some reggae, and I am thankful that rather than one of the 9000 Bob Marley tracks the iPod randomizer could’ve spit out at me, it gave me some Yellowman. I have always respected the fact that Yellowman made songs about being a sexy motherfucker, when he’s probably the ugliest dude ever born. Although, with Shabba Ranks and that Mavado dude out now, it seems Jamaican music has a strong history of really ugly assed dudes getting plenty of boots from those women who do that rapid ass twitch thing in front of tin buildings in alleys, if BET Island Vibes (or whatever it’s called) videos have taught me anything. You know one thing I’ve always noticed in a faggot music nerd way but have never remembered to mention somewhere where other people might notice and realize I made an important realization is, when you listen to Yellowman you can hear a lot of what influenced DJ Quik. Quik, when on point (not that bullshit he did last year called The Fixxxers or whatever), is one of my favorite producers. But he’s got that tweaked out semi-dub style that Yellowman ran shit with, with his albino ass.
#9. The Stray Cats - Rev It Up & Go (off the Runaway Boys retrospective shit): I simply cannot fathom purposely listening to anything associated with rockabilly at this point in my life. When you go to the magazine racks in book stores nowadays, there’s a whole set of like 12 magazines dedicated entirely to that weird hot rod culture run by rockabilly dorks, where everybody has either a card suit or dice tattooed on them somewhere, and the chicks all look like malnourished aliens with magnetic metal dots sticking out of their face got an extreme makeover to look as much like Betty Page as they possibly could. I can’t stand that shit. They all get made to look cool, but seriously, I went to an artsy ass urban college and met a number of rockabilly type dudes - none of them ever was cool. In fact, I’d bet that one in three of them was secretly a wannabe child molester, and that’s a conservative number. Like the only way being a rockabilly fag would be cool is if you could somehow bleach your body and clothes of all color and you were just like a black-and-white holograph of yourself like those really old hot rod movies where Chuck Connors would be the pissed off dad and Jack Nicholson probably had a bit role in there somewhere as well. But even then, after seeing the B&W rockabilly fag once or twice, you’d think, “Oh shit, here comes that rockabilly fuckface. He thinks he’s so awesome because he’s in black-and-white in a colored world. Let’s go stomp his ass and steal his grey Cadillac to see if it’s pink or not.”
#10. Ani DiFranco - Talk to Me Now (off her self-titled CD): Seriously, I think there’s like four CDs worth of Ani DiFranco shit amidst 2500 songs, so I have no idea how three songs came up at once. Perhaps the psychic energy of my wife is reminiscing back to those days since she just popped out our third kid - all daughters - and although I’m a committed awesome husband/dad type dude, I’m still a little drunk around the edges and lack the motivation to live to my full capabilities. But fuck, I was born a piece of shit, not someone who listens to The Cure, so I don’t know any better. To me a good day is blowing off work to go down to the river and drink a shitload of beer while freestyling personalized lyrics to the Marshall Tucker Band’s “Can’t You See”. I’m just me, and if we fall behind a month or two on the mortgage and the lights just barely missed getting cut off, it’s alright, because I’ll hit a lick here in a few weeks and everything will be tight and we can have gingered tuna steaks for dinner on a Friday night and she can drink her Sammy Smith Nut Brown Ale and I can guzzle some Millers in blaze orange cans and we can sit outside on the five acres we motherfucking own - so long as I don’t fall another month behind on the mortgage - and live larger than fuck. Shit is good right now, so fuck all this Ani DiFranco angry bitch nonsense. Isn’t there some Michelle Shocked on here too?

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7-list: things I ain't ever done did before

I just had another baby about a week ago - my third daughter, and doing the math I will be the father of a teenage girl from February 2012 through January 2028. That's mad fucked-up. But the spiritual beauty of a solid homebirth, our family circle huddling up and keeping this shit personal and not all sterilized and anesthized and despiritualized, it really drove things into focus and made me realize all the idiotic bullshit I fill - or at least attemp to - my life with. The internet is a big part of that, writing crap here or there, as if anyone gave a shit. I mean, everybody feels that just because they shoot their opinion out onto the info superhighway, it actually carries more weight than if they were just talking their full of shit nonsense to the four guys sitting around them at the lunch table. It doesn't. Yet, the internet has created big fish in small sub-cultural ponds, where dudes get their heads swolled with the adulation of anonymous fucks with questionable IRLs to roll with, and they mistakenly think they actually know all that shit they pretend they know about. I am not that. I will be the first to tell you I am full of shit as much as anybody else (but no more), except I attempt to be full of shit in a way that is enjoyable for myself. For you, I could give a fuck less. You are 0s and 1s with robotic pen names containing that "@" symbol, whatever the fuck it's called. But anyways, in an attempt to keep myself in check, and to be honest with the robots out there, I want to throw out all this know-it-all expert whatever the fuckness, and just be straight up and tell you about some things I've never done in my life, instead of pretending I've done it all seen it all and know it all, fuck you if you disagree.

#1: I HAVE NEVER SLEPT WITH AN ORIENTAL CHICK. I'm not sure if "oriental" is a derogatory term nowadays, but the fact of the matter is I have never stabbed at the fabled sideways vagina of the celestial womens. It's not that I haven't wanted to, but that's not really saying too much, because I've never slept with all of the following, even though I've wanted to: Colombian chicks, small tittied women, Christy Canyon lookalikes, this girl named Crystal who was in my French II class in high school and works at the Wal-Mart back home, thirtysomething hefty black women with braided blonde weaves, Lucinda Williams, and Siamese twins. Really, the last one is the only one I'm still keeping actively a possibility, even though I'm happily married and shit, because I've always been heavily intrigued by the sensual possibilities of two vaginas sending pleasure up one spinal chord to two brains. Really, at this point in my life, it's the only menage-a-trois I'll accept. But as for the Orientals, I don’t know, body-wise, on average they just don’t do it for me. I mean, they’re kind of scrawny, and I know whenever you say that somebody pipes up with, “Man, I know all kinds of thick-butted big-breasted Asians,” but then you look at them and it’s like someone proving to you that somebody who played basketball at Georgetown in the ‘80s or ‘90s wasn’t half-retarded... you don’t make rules out of exceptions. It seems inside the internets, there’s tons of yellow fever running amok, which I can only assume is because most internetted second lifers are socially misfitted in real life, probably due to a lack of self confidence, which is probably due to a lack of physical endowment, which probably causes them to fetishize the tiny proportions of Oriental bitches because it makes their dick look bigger. Plus the internet losers can always do that hooker’s voice from Full Metal Jacket for Oriental chicks on a fantasy level, which makes the dream more real. But I don’t feel like I’ve missed out on much by not boning a nice Chincoteague pony, because tiny bitches are not my thing. To be honest, I’ve never really enjoyed ultra-tight pussies that much, as it’s far too much work to make it start to slide in and out, and I’m kind of lazy. Basically, although in execution it is done with far more flair and attention to detail, I’m a lick your cooch until either enough of my slobber or your vaginal secretions are present for me to stuff my penis in, whence I slide back and forth, playing with your breasts, until I’m about to orgasm, and then I start thinking about playing checkers with the old men outside the country store down the road, except they won’t let me play checkers so I just stand around drinking RC colas out the drink machine (only 35 cents!) and hoping I’ll get a chance. Eventually, this one old mulatto guy who looks kind of like Grady from Sanford & Son but in overalls will say in a loud bumbling voice full of a lack of education, “You wanna play a game boy?” And usually before I sit down to play, I’ll come back to focus on the physical, notice my penis sliding in and out of a vagina from behind, my thumb sticking in a round feminine anus, hear moaning sounds, and I’ll orgasm. Eventually, my goal is to get to the point in the mind thinking to actually play the game of checkers with mulatto Grady, and have my first checker get to his back row, so that I can say “King me” in the physical world as I orgasm, knowing that even in mental imaging land, playing checkers with old ignorant mulattos goes slow as fuck, so by the time I get a king, I’d probably have waxed the shit out of that ass. (Wow, that’s a poor choice of words at the end there.)

#2: I HAVE NEVER BEEN TO FLORIDA. Mostly, this is because it has been out of the way of all my random pointless travels, but also because it sticks out going to nowhere. If it was on the way to like Little Rock or Alexandria Bay or Louisville or something, I most likely would’ve passed through by now. One time, I came real close to driving down there with my boy Born King to visit his dad, who lived where I was promised we could throw rocks at alligators in his back yard while drinking beer and if they tried to attack back we could just run sideways back and forth until we got on top of our cars and this would confuse the alligators and send them back to the marshes to get more rocks drunkenly thrown at them. I can’t remember exactly why we didn’t end up going there, but for some reason we ended up in Asheville, North Carolina, where we got a shitty hotel, watched public access preachers, drank beer in lawn chairs, and I helped an old drunk guy count his change for two forties at the convenience store across the street, and he rewarded me by telling us about a cookout some folks of his were having a couple blocks over, and that we shouldn’t be afraid we should go, and if they ask why we showed up to just tell them, “That old crazy nigga sent y’all.” Not quite thinking that was the most acceptable ghetto pass, we stayed at the hotel, drinking beer, and ogling this one slut who kept coming out her room to act like she had to do things, when really she wanted to fuck. But about Florida, I think I’m even less likely to go now because I assume it’s full of about five different sectors of retard. Like, part of it is redneck riviera where the fork lift driver to woman ratio is around three to one. Then there’s the Disneyfied soulless miracle mile chain box store mecca that I assume the whole Tampa/Orlando chunk of the state is. I figure the whole southern tip is either stupid Cubans who hate Cuba (who always seem to suck for some reason, which is perhaps why they were forced out) or people who think Rick Ross is awesome. Then there’s the Yankee Jew section, which I think is gerrymandered around the edges along both sides of the dangling part. And you also have the sector full of all the stereotypical lazy Mexicans who were forced down to Florida since hard-working Mexican illegals took over all their jobs in other states. So I have no real desire to go to Florida, although I think my man Teabag Brian and his old lady Stacy and their kid live down there. But I also think they live right where Alabama borders it, and I’d much rather go to Alabama than stupid Florida. Seems too Honda Civic Hatchback with rims and dual exhausty for my tastes.

#3: I HAVE NEVER BEEN IN A STRIP CLUB. Again, there’s really been no reason for this outside of I’ve never been too geeked up on the idea of spending a lot of money to have a hard dick. In Virginia, they have no nipples, plus panties required laws, and you can’t touch the bitches, so the possibility of busting a nut involved much more money and V.I.P. room overpriced bottles of champagne to get even a handjob from a purty girl, when I could just shell out like $12 for a Penthouse Letters and a Club magazine, go home, bust out the baby lotion in the bathroom, and take care of business at a far cheaper price tag. Plus, if I keep my foreplay reading down to a minimum, I can keep a lot of the Penthouse letters unread, giving me “virgin” stories to read for later horny moments. Had I growed up and habitated somewhere where strip club laws were more lax (like West Virginia, with full nudity in trailer parks bring your own liquor bottle and shit like that), the situation might be different, but at this point in life, with three daughters plus two younger sisters, strip clubs conjure up too many creepy introspections. The last time I was tempted was when me and my boy Boogie Brown were staying near Weirton, West Virginia, which is like Bukowski played Sim City as one whole end was swallowed up by a shut-down steel mill (seriously, the town sort of dead ended into the mill), and the rest of it was block after block of lottery stores, “clubs” of various sorts, about five or six bars per block, and ragged hotels with lead paint from twenty years ago flaking off the siding. There was a strip club there we were gonna check out, because we were drunk as fuck when we left Pennsylvania and couldn’t find a hotel room, so figured the best change in plan was to get drunk in a strip club, but the place had hand painted lettering and old brown grocery bags covering up the glass, and judging by the rest of the town, we kind of feared what kind of scenes might be inside. And I am cursed with something called Retardar, where the most convoluted and ridiculous interpersonal situations - never tragic but always outrageous - present themselves to me, and I invariably become trapped because I know it will make for a funny story later in life if nothing else. We weren’t quite ready to swallow whatever the Retardar would deal us in a place like that, so we just swerved on into Ohio and found a hotel room finally, and drank a ton of Schaefers playing Spades with some fiber optic cable dudes out of Kentucky who were in the next room over.

#4: I NEVER WAS REALLY AWESOME AT MORTAL KOMBAT. I mean, I could slam buttons with the best of them, but when it came to memorizing button combos to do shit like steal people’s souls, I wasn’t down. I’m not trying to play video games to memorize codes and symbols and decode shit. I get enough of that bullshit in life. I play video games to fritter away the unobligated moments of my life to make me feel better about how much of my obligated time is wasted on unsatisfying things. The last gaming system I owned was a Super Nintendo, and I’ve hung with my young ass cousins and their next gen gaming robots... I’m not fucking with that shit. If the extra two buttons on top of a Super Nintendo controller was more than I felt like fucking with, there’s no way I’m holding one of those new school keyboards and tapping Russian symbols to make crazy things happen. So mostly I get my ass kicked, losing at Madden ‘08 the day after Christmas like 35 to 6 before I quit, and went into old man talk, about back in my day Super Tecmo Bowl if you beanballed Okonkwo he’d charge the mound and you could always beat Philadelphia 3D Worldrunner on acid was good times blah blah blah. Probably the pinnacle of my gamesmanship was when I was like 13 and first discovered the joys of marijuana... well, my folks always smoked, but I discovered the joys of smoking weed with fellow delinquents outside the home, and we all hung out an arcade (how ‘80s of me) where we’d go around the corner to an alley, get high, drink stolen vodka, and come back and play foosball, unless we didn’t play foosball. Then we’d play video games, although the quarter spent to amount of time wasted publicly while wasted quotient was way lower on video games. But I’d always play Spyhunter or Excitebike, because I lived in a small town and the only gaming machines we had were like shit no real town would have, so it was serious first wave bullshit. I could fuck up some Spyhunter and Excitebike. Also I could fuck up some dirtweed and cheap vodka. I was a young super destructor and we all wore jean jackets and were amazed that something as perfectly awesome as Slayer hadn’t existed all our lives. And every girl who hung out was either named Cindy, Crystal, or Cissy. And I stained my forefinger with all of their pussy juices. Not really, but I wish. Man, if I had been 13, stoned, drunk, and fucking bitches, I never would’ve graduated high school. Then I never would’ve went to college. Which means I never would’ve learned how to internet things. Which means I wouldn’t be here right now, remembering this. Stupid fucking stuck-up bitches in the arcade of my youth. You ruined my life.

#5: I HAVE NEVER DONE MORE THAN TWO LINES OF COCAINE IN MY LIFE. I used to live in a crib where a lot of yayo passed through and passed around, but I never fucked with that shit. Did two lines total in my high school days, and didn’t like it either time. Allegedly, it was some puro shit both times. But I also did a lot of dirtbag speed type snortable substances, so I guess psychologically, I associate nose drugs with intense burn and about 9 hours of constant psychobabble. Which is all good, because I still have fond memories of crank, but I haven’t done that for years. Last time was the day we buried my father, believe it or not, and I shared a few mirrorfuls of bumps with an older chick who has hep-C, but when I was a teenager and she was a 20somethinger, man, she was Marilyn Chambers in the flesh, biker chick hot and heavy and causing my young boy’s body to feel all tingly. By the time I did crank with her though, she was one of my mom’s best friends, and plus, we were all dedicated to having a giant fire and being fucked up for as long as we could since we just buried my dad. That’s how us rural redneck hippie lifetime loser celebrate death - big parties where we snort, smoke, drink, and shoot off things until the last person passes out. When a real local legend heavyweight dies, sometimes you’ll get a pack that’ll make it till the next afternoon and some of those who had already passed out will wake up for a second round of action, and when you throw in bathtub crank, there’s always the possibility of multi-day abuse, although at funeral parties, usually we keep it tasteful and nobody pulls a long-term bender where you sit in the dark all day long and have the sofa pushed against the front door.

#6: I HAVE NEVER FLOWN IN AN AIRPLANE. Really, there’s no John Madden crippling fear involved here or anything, it’s just the situation never arose through me being like 25 years old, because most trips I had to take were in North America, and I’ve got no problem with launching wacky hijinks by taking a Greyhound 3000 miles one way (if that’s possible, I don’t be knowing my North American land width stats by heart). So I decided, since I’ve always wanted to skydive, that I would make another one of my trademark completely ridiculous arbitrary rules for life, and mandate that the first time I fly up in a plane, I come down without the plane. Not a real big deal, since you can take those all-day training sessions and do a controlled free fall where someone else pulls your chute, or even just a two-hour safety course and do a tandem jump where you’re latched onto some other fucker. I figure this is no problem and a good way to make sure I do that, and confront every molecule in your body being like, “Man, are you stupid? Fuck this shit.” and telling you not to jump, but you just jump anyways, giving your entire physical existence’s cellular memory a middle finger and hoping for the best so that right before you hit the ground to die you don’t have to hear your mind go, “You stupid fucker... I TOLD YOU.” Well, the problem now is I guess people die and shit from jumping out of planes in those tandem deals or the one-day training session, because those places are run by sketchy fuckers who make you sign away all rights to recoup any money if you end up a dead fucker. This means, me being the primary breadwinner for a family of five and counting, my wife gets all somber and responsible thinking about me jumping out of an airplane. Except she also wants to go on trips in the future, and I think my dad must’ve had part mountain goat semen in him or some shit, because when I make these completely ridiculous arbitrary parameters for my life, I refuse to let them go. So I ain’t flying to no fucking Costa Rica or Belize until I get to jump out a goddamn airplane. And I mean it.

#7: I HAVE NEVER HOPPED FREIGHT TRAINS. Being a hobo is basically the one thing I've romanticized more than anything in my life. I think of riding the rails through wide open spaces and sharing good laughs with other vagabonds as opposed to the more probable scenarios of getting stabbed by feral old racists and putting up with full-of-shit crusty punks, who would probably cause me to forsake all multi-culturalism and start claiming F.T.R.A. with prominent sewing needle tattoos. It's hard to say what makes me be all hobo fetish about the shit, but I think it's a combo of all things that have molded me. Country music has crazy amounts of hobo songs, and I was raised on my drunken dad playing outlaw country really fucking loud as he drank off his hangover. Freight trains are pocked with graffiti, which gives it that urban hip hop vibe. And shit, it's just a train rolling through back lots. Interstates tend to be near the action, because all the malls and four-lanes and shit go up by the interstate on purpose. But train tracks roll through abandoned land, virtually unseen a lot of the way, and I tend to be a shadow dweller. Fuck the limelight, but also fuck paying some obscene ass amount of money to ride an Amtrak. I rode the Amtrak one time when I woke up about two hours away from Richmond (where I was couch-crashing at the time) without having any idea how I got there. So I went to the train station, found out a ticket was twelve bucks, went out and bummed ten bucks, then rode back to Richmond. I think Jim Beam was oozing from my pores, and the rest of the passengers looked at me like I was slow death creeping up on they ass, so I felt like shit and was stoked to stumble off the fucking piece of shit train when we got to Richmond. Looking back, I probably should've just hopped a train then, as my ass was deep into degeneracy, and I could've just took that fork left and ran with it. Although I have no regrets being the retarded half-functional family man I am. I spent most of the morning talking my oldest kid (almost 9) into drawing pictures of hobos on trains. Then we talked about graffiti, and I hadn't practiced my graffiti handwriting in a long ass time, so we talked about that and she started practicing doing it herself. She really likes the shooting arrows coming off of lower case Es, but what kid doesn't? That's like the most fun letter to graff up on notebook paper, except maybe a bubble S. Or capital Es if you can do that cholo style.


10 Random iPod joints.

This is an idea I stole from an old thread on the http://www.deathvalleydriver.com/ board that I'm assuming was stolen from somewhere else beforehand. I'm sure the same shit has shown up on Myspace surveys too.

This is how it goes. You put your ipod on shuffle and list the first 10 songs that show up, then write a little something about them. As long as you're honest about it, it can make you look like a real dork for the dumb shit you have on your music machine, or it could also make you look like a cool dude with impeccable music taste.

If for some reason a non-song or two hour long mix pops up, I'll skip over it.

My 30GB iPod is just about filled up at 5479 mp3s, which is exceptionally lower than the advertised amount it's supposed to hold.

1. Underdog - Special Forces (from the "Demos" LP): Underdog was an old school hardcore band featuring old school hardcore legends. Personally, they are one of the only old hardcore bands that really hold up music wise, now that I'm well into adulthood. A lot of that stuff is still cool for nostalgia reasons, but I would never recommend it to another adult who has no background in such music. Underdog however, is still good, and the Demos LP is top to bottom awesome, so saying Special Forces is better than any other song on the album is pointless.

2. The Brothers Grime - Grown (Remix) (From the s/t LP): I downloaded this recently after hearing a couple songs on their Myspace that I thought sounded pretty great, and I never really got around to listening to the whole album, so I have no real attachment to this song. I do know these dudes are some stalwart underground nerd rappers who I would have previously made fun of for being so over my head.

3. Converge - Hell To Pay (from the Jane Doe LP): Converge was crazy popular before Jane Doe came out, but they never really clicked with me until this album dropped. They did a T Shirt design that is more or less the album cover that I loved so much, I bought two of them. Not at the same time, that would be weird. One got all faded and crackly, so I had to replace it. For you rap dudes who don't follow hardcore or metal, it's the same design on the hoodie Marco Polo is wearing in the "Nostalgia" video. I was pumped to see that dude rocking it in the video because I now know he has good taste in music and shirt designs.

4. Joy Division - Leaders of Men (From the Substance LP): Joy Division is one of those groups you're either familiar with by now, or it doesn't really matter anymore. They're one of those early 80's bands like The Smiths, The Cure, Depeche Mode, etc who have totally rabid fans but usually when a person that didn't grow up in the 80's hears them for the first time, they think it sounds like old garbage. One of my bands put out a all Joy Division covers CD. This song was not featured on it. The packaging was real dope though. We bought a bunch of old floppy discs and hollowed out the inside, then screened a pretty sweet logo on them in silver ink. I don't even know if I have a copy of one anymore.

5. Quicksand - Unfulfilled (From the Slip LP): This is getting kind of weird since my iPod is literally 80% rap music, but the few non rap related records are all popping up. Slip is in my all time top 10 records of any genre of music ever. I think it's a must listen to record if you're a fan of music, but it never gets any love in any type of "all time" music list because those lists are more or less made just to repeat some other moron's opinion. I know OK Computer is a good record and all but does everyone on earth seriously think it's the greatest record of the 90's or whatever? Slip came out in the 90's and I've probably listened to this record close to a thousand times.

6. Notorious B.I.G. - Playa Hata (from Life After Death disc II): I rarely listen to Life After Death and I'm kind of surprised to find it on my iPod. I really never even gave the whole record a good listen until last year. Like every other rap double album, it would have made a much better single album. Listening to it long after the "jiggy" era of rap music was dead and buried, it's not AS annoying as it was when I was more of a "HEY MAN IM A FUCKING ANGRY YOUNGSTER AND FUCK THE MAINSTREAM BLAH BLAH" type of dude, but some tracks are still cringe worthy. This song is kind of middling. I would never choose to listen to it, but it's not the worst thing on the album.

7. MF Doom - Deep Fried Frenz (From the MM Food LP): I really miss the days of MF Doom putting out a new thing every month. I know the internet turned on him for doing it, but fuck you internet assholes. You can't be content with anything. If an awesome dude puts out too much shit you whine, and if he doesn't put out enough shit, you whine. They re-released MM Food in 07 and it was the only new CD I paid real money for all year.

8. I.Roy & Lee "Scratch Perry" - Space Flight (From Madlib's 'Blunted in the bomb shelter' LP): Madlib really made me a believer in old dub reggae with this mix. Not that I was ever opposed to it, but I never really listened to it. I used to listen to dancehall in the early 90's when it was the cool thing to do, what with Shabba Ranks and all. I'm still looking for that one Cutty Rank record "The Stopper" or whatever. It's kind of hard finding a lot of reggae through illegal means on the internet still. I'm guessing because its prominent fanbase is way too high to bother with ripping a cd into a computer.

9. Weezer - Falling For You (From the Pinkerton LP): I am unfortunately one of those fags that thinks Pinkerton is a genius album and blah blah. I am a typical internet douche. I guess I can't help it. I put up this big facade like I am somehow above your average internet douchery, but it's all buncocky. Weezer fell off pretty hard after this record to the point where I'm not sure how they still have fans at all. I guess I don't fully understand nerd music, but I am happy my own personal floo-flooness doesn't delve much deeper than Weezer's Pinkerton album.

10. Oh No - My Luck (From the Dr. No's Oxperiment LP): A modern popular internet opinion is that Oh No has somehow surpassed Madlib in the production department. Yet another thing that's total buncocky. I listen to every Oh No record waiting for this apparent shared epiphany where I will come out in the end loving Oh No more than Madlib (Which is physically impossible, since I have gay love for Madlib, no homo), but I never ever make it past the first listen of any Oh No record. This one was no different. I will say, I watched this interview with Oh No once and he was wearing this sweet hoodie that had a fur lined hood on it and I've been looking for it ever since, but the only ones I ever find are either made for women or way too metrosexual for me to ever wear.

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Sit tight losers.

So I guess Raven's attempt to hold this blog hostage included sending a rabid porno virus to my computer that has rendered it useless. Luckily, I've acquired the uranium required to power it back up and I plan to do the surgery tomorrow, so hopefully I'll be back online with full power 24/7 sometime soon, but then again, I may get lazy and not do it for another week or so. Until ten, Jay Pud pointed me to these amusing videos on funnyordie. com that you may have seen already 200 times:

Everyday Normal Guy:

Everyday Normal Guy 2:

NFL WK 20: Conference Championships teams

So you probably asked yourself, "What the fuck will stupid ass Raven do now that there's only four teams, since his bullshit system he never explained is all fucked up anyways? I guess he'll write bullshit about the four teams and get half the games wrong again, haha." Well, you'd be a wrong motherfucker if you thunk it that way. Because, sure my team ranking system went hoo-ha at the end, which shows you math ain't worth a fuck when it comes to heart. But still, I feel compelled to keep this shit rolling in sets of eight, because that's how I've rolled all year long. So I split the teams up into offense and defense and that made eight. But how to rank them? Just off the dome, or hodgepodge other shit I read elsewhere and pretend I'm the originator of some common sports ass memes? Fuck all that noise. I broke it down to organic compounds, took myself four newspapers, five magazines, and eleven websites, ingested all the numerical knowledge, combined that with a scientific calculator, abacus, some I Ching sticks, plus a book on Rorshach test blob analysis using semen stains I left in between sheets of lavendar and pastel green tissue paper the past week. I put the motherfucking science to the metaphysics and came with it, crunching numbers and intuitive deduction, doing reiki on rosters, and I got a number. You see, all these faggot washed-up jocks with blow-dried hair who roll with the picks and are like "70% WINNERS GUARANTEED! Here's why..." and they claim they have crazy science and insider information. I'm not claiming science. Fuck science. Take your science and shove it up your fucking white asses. I trust my gut, calculate up some math, and feel what's right while looking at stars in the sky, not on the flat screen. Know what I'm saying? So I took all this crazy data, took some codeine pills, sat in the back yard in the frozen tall ass grass that breaks now since it's frozed up which is why I didn't cut it since July anyways, and figured this shit up. So here's my rankings of the two sides of the ball of the four teams still dancing, with the motherfucking rankings of ultimate reality on the back end inside the hugging arms punctuation. Know what I mean? (Also, check out the retarded football blog I started up, but not just with my stupid shit but a bunch of stupid fuckers stupid shit - ARMCHAIR LINEBACKER! Okay...
#1: NEW ENGLAND PATRIOTS OFFENSE (hypernerd power variable 10.752625) - The Patriots offense, even if it has sort of seemed slower than 5th gear overdrive lately, is still by far the most dominating bullshit left in the playoffs. But what up now? Randy Moss, it turns out, was beating some stupid bitch like he beat cornerbacks on the deep slants all year round. It's extortion or six-figure offers were made or what the fuck who cares? You knew Moss was gonna fuck up eventually. Knew it. Dude had been quiet for a few years when it came to the showing his ass activity, but he'd been quiet on the field too. A man start catching touchdowns like mad, he's gonna start feeling that swagger again, talk with that West Virginia drawl, go down to Orlando and smack up some slut. Will that affect the Pats high-powered attack? Fuck no. It's the NFL. All these dudes smack up bitches, being football holds that old school mentality dear. What could screw up the unstoppable Patriots mechanism of six-pointing is shitty windy weather, oddly enough. You'd think a cold city team would be built for smashmouth football, but the Pats are not. Tom Brady's pretty future President on the hundred dollar Visa promissory note does not have hair made to be mussed by cold winter winds. And Maroney and company have not yet proven they are the backfield destroyers when completely necessary. But still, that shit works both ways, and the Patriots merchandising Illuminati positioning within the NFL, combined with the 25-year plan to make Brady 33rd degree freemason grand wizard theodore unit head of America’s underground government based in the mountains of West Virginia will probably “lead” them to victory. It’s been a great run for them this year, and I was pissed to be gypped out of that Colts/Pats match-up, which I guess they’re saving for next year so as to not take away from the last hurrah Brett Favre’s Super Bowl memory parade booking that’s been set in stone since the middle of October.

#2: SAN DIEGO CHARGERS DEFENSE (hypernerd power variable 6.900375) - Yeah, when I figured this all up, the Chargers defense came up second, which makes sense I guess thinking about it hard. Merriman, when properly supplemented, is a monster, and Antonio Cromartie has stepped up to be the defensive back field bastard Quentin Jammer was sposed to be. I think the Chargers defense will be trickier for the Pats than the Jaguars were, or whoever the fuck else. It’s a solid ass defense with some ballhawking ability that can throw six up on the board themselves, and if the d-line can sneak behind the front lines and slap Brady’s pretty face into the cold ground a couple of times, they might have a snowball’s chance in Foxboro to make some shit happen.

#3: NEW ENGLAND PATRIOTS DEFENSE (hypernerd power variable 5.580375) - Aging collection of Patriots standard bearers, mixed in with some even older free agents, and a couple of young ass studs, combining to be a force. but they’ve benefitted from playing ahead most of the year. The thing about this defense is, even with the old ass fucks they have, they cycle players in and out more than almost anybody. I mean it’s ridiculous how much they substitute in various packages, which is why I think the Peyton Manning super-animated audible machine of no-huddle housing it was the best match against the Pats defense. I don’t think P. Rivers has that same capacity, but we’ll see what happens. I’d expect the N.E. defense to do just like they did against the Jags and that’s bend bend bend and look not nearly perfect, but then hold it together enough at the end to let the offensive juggernaut move ahead for good.

#4: GREEN BAY PACKERS OFFENSE (hypernerd power variable 5.456625) - Good fucking lord, as much as I want to root for the Packers, I don’t know if I can handle two weeks of BRETT FAVRE SUPER BOWL newspaper stories. Green Bay has their shit coming together though, with dudes none of us heard of before this year making shit happen. Mike McCarthy got a contract extension out of this run, and really, to be honest, outside of that super-kid still sitting on the bench as the second string shitty QB, whoever the GM of the Packers deserves some serious ass credit for finding these jewels in the shitpiles of the NFL draft. Fitting a system is more important than whatever pre-draft hype, and they seem adept at getting guys that’ll work within the system. It kind of makes me sick to type that shit because it reminds me of Ray Kroc and McDonalds and subbing anybody at five an hour into the shit and it’ll work. Fuck that robotic android shit where you can plug anybody in with no concern for the individual. Except they don’t do that necessarily with Brett Favre at the helm. Remember, he’s one of us. He’s a regular guy in Wrangler jeans who plays with passion like a 12-year-old. And if you forgot, don’t sweat it, they gonna beat that shit into your brain the next two weeks if they win this weekend.

#5: GREEN BAY PACKERS DEFENSE (hypernerd power variable 4.099375) - Young stud linebackers? Check. Big goofy whiteboy defensive lineman? Check. Dreadlocked Boot Camp Clique looking ass cornerbacks? Check. Ginormous fat ass Chinese buffet five-times-a-week looking heart attack waiting to happen 350 lb. black fucker to stuff the line? Yep. They got it all, every Frank Caliendo doing a ten-minute All-Madden team skit stereotype you could think of on defense. (By the way, I don’t know for sure that Kampman dude is a white guy, but I think his name is Aaron, and I’d be hellafied shocked if a dude named Aaron Kampman who played in Green Bay wasn’t white. Now Cletidus Hunt, that’s obviously a black dude, although I’ve always wanted a son named Cletidus. A kid named that shit is gonna be a monster, regardless of genetics. But don’t let him go by Cleon for short, because then he’ll just be an unemployed drunkard always complaining about how someone else is causing him his self-inflicted problems.)

#6: SAN DIEGO CHARGERS OFFENSE (hypernerd power variable 2.599625) - Philip Rivers is a wild card, because he’s apt to fuck shit up. Did you see him last weekend doing like Hulk Hogan poses at the crowd in Indy? What a fucking fool. He’s a multi-millionaire quarterback in the NFL and he’s letting some drunk fuck in the crowd’s sound get inside his ears. Dude, young Rivers, you’re richer than fuck and could pay his mom to fuck his wife with a strap-on in the ass while she licked your balls. Who gives a fuck what some dude in the crowd says? Well, it’s obvious young Rivers does, which doesn’t bode well if they start riding him. Except he might get gimped up again and this week’s Todd Collins - Billy Volek - will stroll out and attempt to do the impossible. Seriously though, all the way back to his days behind Air McNair in Tennessee, Volek’s been one of those high end second string quarterbacks who’s really fucking good but not quite good enough to be your starter. Like, those years where you lose your franchise quarterback and have a couple of retreads like Kerry Collins and Patrick Ramsey in camp, Volek’s the guy who is the other part of the quarterback competition in training camp who might be the future, even though everybody knows he ain’t. He’s fucking Billy Volek. I think most of all, I’m amazed at how Norv Turner has not fucked up this team yet. Seriously, I’m amazed. It’s a testament to how well Schottenheimer had this team in order for Turner to be able to coast on fumes this deep into the playoffs. Still, with L.T. gimpy as well (even if the Chargers might have the best #2/#3 on the depth chart halfbacks in the league), if he can’t go buckwild on the ground, this could be an ugly game for the Chargers. And I’m torn. As much as I hate the Patriots now, it doesn’t overrule my hatred for Norv Turner, who I wish would get cancer and then raped in the ass while getting chemo treatment and catch the AIDS. Yet, I still have to pull for the Chargers over the Patriots. Maybe they can win but Turner will get crumbled on the sidelines during a play and have his femur shattered. That’d be my perfect scenario for the early game Sunday.

#7: NEW YORK GIANTS DEFENSE (hypernerd power variable 2.364375) - The Giants secondary is hodgepodge and the Packers will pick that shit apart. They’ve been getting by with their punishing defensive line and competent linebackers to keep things from progressing too deeply into the defense, but the Packers offensive line is not shoddy nor pussified. They’ll be able to hold off the Giants enough to give Favre time to do his choreographed bullshit theatrics. And this ain’t a regular season meaningless exhibition where he’s gonna lay down for his pal Strahan. They gonna get fucked this weekend.

#8: NEW YORK GIANTS OFFENSE (hypernerd power variable 0.135625) - Now Eli Manning is safe again and somehow the angle is it’s not that he’s a fucking hick retard with overrated status due to his last name but that Tiki Barber and Jeremy Shockey were holding him back. Do what now? Fuck a Eli Manning. I think the best thing that happened for the Giants is this Ahmad Bradshaw kid stepping up. He played at UVA at first, and was their next Tiki Barber, who is UVA’s ultimate alum for football. Except Bradshaw was a shady ass negro and got dumped from the team since UVA is an ultra-whitey school (allowing exceptions for Hindus and Orientals and the higher-minded mulatto-based minorities) and wasn’t fucking with his gully shit. So he ended up playing his career out at Marshall, and came into the NFL as a late round pick, deep on the bench. But he’s the closest thing to Tiki they’ve had at running back, and let’s face it, that’s how this team was built. Jacobs is a big punisher, but dude couldn’t catch a pass to save his overweight life. Plaxico’s been aching all year long and Amani Toomer used to be teammates with Harry Carson, and that Barney Rubble with tattoos tight end is out with a broken pride, so they’re gonna lean heavily on young Eli to make it happen. That shit ain’t gonna happen because he’s still Eli Manning, regardless of how the past few weeks shook out.


T.I. - Owned (I can only hope)

So for some reason I have been under the silly impression since I started writing for dumpin that I needed to always do long posts or something, and posts for the most part that were relevant to hip hop in some way, shape, or form. However, I need to seriously disabuse myself of this notion and just post the shit I always want to post but am scared to for some reason or another. Fuck it.

In any case, as I have mentioned here before, I can't stand T.I. in any way. Of everything he's ever done, I think I liked maybe two songs. I think the reason why I hate him so much is that every bitch I know that likes hip hop, ALWAYS says this about T.I. or some variation of it: "OMG, he's so amazing, I LOOOOOVE him as a rapper!!" And when I ask them, "Oh? You love his flows? You think he's talented? You think he's a great MC?" And they respond, "Oh. My. God. Yes! He's like, the best MC, I love him so much...I love his style, and damn he's SOOOOO fine." I always respond with a "..." and then say, "You realize him supposedly being so fine has nothing to do with his skills as an MC, right?" They just go back to random panty-wetting thoughts of how hot he is and lose interest in the conversation.

Since I think it must be obvious how much I hate conforming to the norm and being a "typical" chick, every time I've had the above conversation it's made me hate him just a bit more. I pick apart his lyrics and just rip into him every chance I get. Between him and Luda, I'd pick him every time. And recently I've figured out that one of the reasons I respect Luda so much is that even though he's made "songs for the bitches" and club bangers, he's never tried to cater to the bitches by dressing the way the bitches like and acting like a ladies man, but he does address sex and relationships quite a bit in his music.

Anyway. The whole point of this post is I was bitching to a co-worker who's from Atlanta, and he was telling me about this story he read about T.I. supposedly selling all his shit off on ebay.

T.I. = One Broke Motherfucker

I don't even know if it's true, because I did spend about 30 mins on ebay searching for his shit and came up with nothing. I hope it IS true. I hope he is seriously broke, goes to jail, and that his pretty boy ass becomes some big scary dude's bitch, and that they all call him a prag.


TL;DR Dumpin.net Hostage Crisis

The dumpin.net blog has been a little lacking lately in motivated motherfuckers, so I figured I'd use this as an excuse to hold you all hostage with long meanderings about probably nothing at all - going for 2000 words per shot, just to annoy anybody who might stumble along to this. I understand in the year 2008, most people fuck around on the net looking for lulz-inducing youtube clips or shit that's hilarious because it's not hilarious, and if you go fluffing around inside the internets, it's for downloadable links, not shit to actually read. In fact, with that last sentence, this post is already "tl;dr" for most folks. And even though I have a long list of things I should probably otherwise be doing, including whatever "editing" it is I feel compelled to do to wrap up the January Expert Whiteboy Analysis sort of year-end thing, I'm gonna do this.
You see, I unnecessarily feel compelled to do so because I consider this my blog too. I dropped all my own blogs (of course, I just started a football one, which is a stupid idea, but luckily so was I when my dad gave my mom the internal cobra clutch cat-penis style), and Mike made me admin here to feel at home. Now I don't feel all uppitty like I'd change the background color or something, because Mike would get all pissy and probably just blow the whole thing up. But I feel like this blog is mine enough to feel sad that no one does shit on it anymore. Which is also stupid. Who the fuck cares? Nobody gets anything out of this, other than we waste our own precious time in the hopes that anonymous people we'll never know in real life might enjoy wasting their precious time here. So probably none of our time is all that precious, like if we had breast cancer or goat AIDS or some shit that had us on the short-timer's watch. But we do these stupid fucking blogs and like to pretend it's worth our time because someone enjoys it. Or it means something to someone. But all of this shit is pretty transitory and easily replaced.
For me though, crap like this, and earlier through zines, it's to keep in the habit of writing. And originally when I got out of the stupid college over a decade ago, it was to stay in the habit so I could go back to it eventually and be Mr. Brilliant Motherfucking Short Story Dude or the King of Creative Non-fiction (I'm not sure that term "creative non-fiction" existed ten years ago though), except I've never actually applied myself at trying to get shit published or pick up freelance work. Making it a job is like this great idea that I'm smart enough to know sucks in reality. Writing crap that I don't like about things I hate for dollars I barely get to look at before it's gone like last breath's weed smoke, just not as worth it as the reefers. I know some people who do the freelance hustle, and it never seems like they enjoy themselves enough for it to seem worth it. Or maybe they're just sensitive fags and like to be all emo about it all, no matter what "it all" might be at any time.

And the thing is, most people suck at writing. (This is by no means me claiming to be better than everyone else, because I easily suck it up just as nicely, except I am comfortable with that and make no ego-based claims of verbal dominance over society.) Even within whatever blogs I've been exposed to, most all of them are fucking stupid, and the ones people are like, "OMG! This is the funniest shit you'll ever see!" it's not really that funny so much as not as obviously shitty as what everyone else does. I think we have been conditioned to expect the worst out of other motherfucker's creative endeavors that when someone actually goes through the motions of almost pulling it off, we become over-excited because our jaded outlook is challenged briefly into thinking that maybe somebody could actually keep our attention for more than a few chance pieces. I would say in my whole history of internetting it the fuck up, there's been like 12 dudes who were worth a shit to read, and most of them eventually sucked at some point, or started repeating themselves over and over (which is where I think I'm probably at). Or they try too hard to be what they were in the face of some wiseass new kids basically saying, "Shut up old man, your time is done," because the internet moves at breakneck speed, where the greatest email link ever today is something your mom is talking about by Sunday dinner, about two girls and a cup and Kermit the Frog and shit, so it's easy to seem old within the internets.
I'm almost 35, which to a lot of internetters, might as well be 83, and that makes shit like me and Mike doing the Hot 100 Jamz of All-Time list (which never got finished yet, but will, probably, perhaps) seem crazy because we didn't include Dose One or The Grouch or whatever the hell some young ass kid is all hepped on, thinking us talking about Pete Rock & CL Smooth is like ragtime piano 78s on that thick ass vinyl you can make shanks out of, all cranking up the Victrola to play our old ass 12-inches. But I liked this blog as it came together, as Mike DIKK is one of those 12 people I've enjoyed reading. His Ipecac for the Soul zine he did is like one of only four or so zines that I keep along with my own zine creations, because most zines sucked too. (Zines are basically just really slow blogs, or really physically tangible blogs, depending on your personal prejudice.) I think he was 14 when I first met him online in a Super Delfin semi-homosexual fanfic chatroom, where we all compared Delfin's conquest of foes in Jap wrestling rings to our own secret sexual submissiveness. And I come to dumpin.net at least twice a week, hoping that Mike's put some big long-ass nonsense up, just spilling forth his hatred for everything, including you and me, but in a smirky ass way where he's watched too much TV in his lifetime, but he at least filters it into something that'll make you laugh with him at all those other retarded fuckers. And if it hits too close to home, well fuck it, Mike's a little fat ass latchkey wop with no real father figure to give him a sense of manliness, so it's not like his opinion will ever make-or-break you.

Anyways, I had asked Mike a while ago about putting some of my stupid car Polaroids on here, and this seems like a good excuse to do it with these long meandering nothing posts, just to fill space. I'm not sure why I started taking Polaroids of old cars, other than the fact one day I found a Polaroid camera in a box with half a pack of film still in it, so I took pics of my own and the neighbor's junk cars. Me being an obsessive compulsive type with no real sense but all these goofy projects that have these self-inflicted parameters with mathematical bases, I decided that taking five Polaroids meant I should most definitely take one thousand Polaroids of old cars, not more, not less, and I started numbering them accordingly. I mandated to myself I couldn't take more than one picture of any car, so if the picture sucked, it counted, and that car was never to be Polaroided again. I think that goes with my love of the Polaroid, because it's instant and it is what it is, there is no changing it, no photoshop or cropping or "Oh shit, let me adjust the settings," because those settings on a Polaroid camera are there just to give your fingers something to do to make you feel better about blowing about $1.40 per shitty picture. I had no grand intentions; I just wanted to walk around junkyards with a Polaroid camera as an excuse to do so.
Later, I found out that there's all sorts of artfag fucks who are "into" Polaroids and their primitive perfection, which is basically what I like too, but they're fags about it. I don't expect to ever have people be like, "These primitive photographs this misunderstood genius captured are a glimpse into a time inappropriate for when he did them. He has unearthed our past, right upon our own surface," or some corduroy jacketed bullshit like that. I just want a shoebox full of fucked-up old car Polaroids to share with my few friends who would actually understand and enjoy that shit too. You are not one of those friends, in fact far from it, so I more include them to bother you with them. You are inside the computer, thus I lack any respect for you.

One time, I was at this dude's house who was the DJ in my shitty group for a minute, and he saw we were taking some Polaroids of the shitty junk cars he had on the property, so he busted out his super hi-fi digital cam with like 20.9 megapixels and snapped some snaps then hooked up some USBs to a little doohickey printer and out came pictures of the same junk cars, all crisp and fresh and shit, and he handed them to me, as if I was gonna be excited about that shit, because really all I wanted was pictures of old cars. But the shitty limits of the Polaroid contraption are part of it. Fuck, I've got a digital camera. I could ride around and take 1000 pictures of junk cars tomorrow morning if that was all it was, and then clean up my favorites in photoshop and be like, "Yep, there's some sweet ass crispy pictures of old cars right here on this burned CD. I'm proud as peaches, bro." Of course, that ain't the point at all. But this DJ dude, he's one of those guys that has dreadlocks but shaves his face, and those types are usually just assholes waiting to blossom. The fact you are so ruffian as to let your hair clump into knots, yet you care enough to methodically scrape the hair off your cheeks, that's a dead give-away for internal conflict. Dudes with internal conflict tend to end up being cocksuckers at some point. (Not literal cocksuckers, that's more a term for people who are shitty human beings, which insinuates that gay people are shitty human beings. My apologies to all gays, and I promise to stop using the derogatory "cocksucker" and start using the more self-empowering "cocksucka" that gays have used in their own community for decades.)
I'm not all Ludditic or anything though. I mean, I am pecking this out on a computer laptop, although to be honest, this is basically my Madden/masturbation machine. I can play games on it that distract me from my own real life, and late at night after my wife and daughters are sound asleep in their beds, I have become adept at pushing this button or that and making sordid images appear that cause the blood to rush to my penis. It's fun, and after I am wiping myself up with a dish towel with garden herbs printed on it with their latin name, I hit a couple more buttons and it's all gone. My father had this giant stack of pornographic magazines that took up like one whole half of the under-the-bed storage closets they had, and I'm sure my mom wasn't too keen on that shit. They were hard to hide, and quite the "I don't feel good, can I stay home?" on Monday morning-inducer for a teenage me back in the day. His porn was never easy to stash, from whoever he might feel the need to stash it from. Then again, that's that whole zine/blog argument again, so who's to say which is better. I probably wouldn't complain against a big stack of musty-smelling Penthouses from 1982 right about now.