Thursday, October 25, 2007

Guess who's bizzack!

Soo... yea.

It's been nearly two months. Tragic I know.

But forreal, some serious shit happened. I was robbed. And it really had me out of the commission for a minute. Thankfully I was able to recover my property, but the perpetrator is still at large and you all should really be careful out there. The cops were actually able to catch him at work, see the picture below...

Squirrel thieves have become a huge problem in greater Manhattan, and I encourage everyone to take the necessary precautions to protect themselves. Believe me, they look cute, but you do not want to be a victim.

Now that that's done... Look at the new decor! Isn't it great? Don't you want to kiss it? I know I do (and have).

But forreal, I've been slacking, yadada, work is kicking my ass, yadada, free Tibet.

I'mma try to do better.


But until then, enjoy the decor! It took me a minute, but I am very proud.

Friday, August 31, 2007

Gus Johnson 'Pauses' Spike Lee During Interview

That pause was mad professional.

Thursday, August 30, 2007

Woman refuses rain on skin, prefers umbrellas


You know someone emailed this via, and at first when I saw their headline "The Apocalypse is Upon Us", I assumed it was another child singing poorly, as is vogue for youtube these days (that and bad dancing, but that never gets old apparently).
In true black blogger form many have evoked the name of the Holy Spirit over this boy and his singing talents, but I truly caught a case when I heard what song the boy was singing. That m*fucking "unwritten" by Natasha Beddingfield, other wise fondly known as "feel the rain on your skin."
I seriously had been meaning to do a post on that song, because I swear to god it seems like every friggin moment is an occasion to feel the rain on your skin. Period cramps? Feel the rain on your skin! Just washed your hair? You guessed it, feel the rain on your skin girl! Your watching The Hills? We'll they've been making it rain since 2006!
So the fact that this young boy sloppily runs through all 4 verses truly is a sign of the end. And guess what? In hell they play this song on repeat. I suggest you get your life right.

Wednesday, August 29, 2007

We are your friends

PR juggernaut Kanye West has been fervently promoting the forthcoming "Graduation", and in true graduate form he's been doing a lot of self-reflection on his many public missteps. One of the most noted was his blow up at the 2006 MTV Europe Music Awards, where he stated that “If I don’t win, your awards show loses credibility.”

As it turns out West realizes what an asshole move that was, describing it as a “complete momentum killer” So what was this video that defeated Kanye, not once, but twice (considering how he's since made nice with the video director As So Me, and is even working with him on the video for the next single, "Good Life")?

I had never seen this video before researching this post, but I recently became a big fan of Justice and this song in particular, so to see that the video is bad (as in good) is no real surprise to me. These are some creative cats, and if you like dance/electronica these dudes are at the forefront of talent, especially in Paris. Coincidentally, Kanye is up against Justice again this year in the best video category of the VMAs, with Ye's "Stronger" facing off with "D.A.N.C.E."

I love love love this video. Mad creative. I swear European's just do it better.

Either which way, Kanye says he won't be mad if he loses to Justice this year. “I would feel better to lose to this video right here, because this video is completely genius.” I'm glad he feels that way, because I personally think Justice's video dumps on "Stronger." They definitely bring some originality to the game. Unfortunately Ye's got home court advantage, so I think Justice is gonna have to hold off to the Europe VMAs to get their acclaim.

Sunday, August 26, 2007

Replacement Therapy

While everyone's bemoaning Amy Winehouse's eminent demise (hey,she wrote a hit song about refusing to go to rehab. Put that on her tombstone and tip it.), allow me to suggest a nice, healthy, drug free substitution.

Her name is Alice Smith, and she hails from Washington,D.C. She's got a nice raspy deep voice that's reminiscent of Mary J and a deep register and clarity much akin to Anita Baker. Her amazing song "Dream" was featuring in the end credits of Episode 49 (The Day F*ckers, where they bet to see who can get laid first, E or Turtle).

Entourage features some crazy good music, to the extent that you can go to the show website and buy some of the tracks that were featured on the show. However, if you're a cheapo like me, you probably will illegally download it. So like a good mom who would prefer her underaged kids get drunk at home, I rather have you download from me instead of pirating from strangers. Enjoy!

Alice Smith - Dream

A woman scorned

So this is an old-ass story, but damn, every time I read it I am sheerly amazed.

"Amanda Monti, 24, flew into a rage when Geoffrey Jones, 37, rejected her advances at the end of a house party, Liverpool Crown Court heard.

She pulled off his left testicle and tried to swallow it, before spitting it out. A friend handed it back to Mr Jones saying: 'That's yours.'"

Geoffrey Jones described in a court statement that she ripped at his crotch so hard "That [it]caused my underpants to come off and I found I was completely naked and in excruciating pain."

I mean wow. Seriously. The girl ripped his balls off. Then tried to eat them. In public.

Every time I go to laugh at this story, I can't because I think about how seriously crazy that woman was. Ah bittersweet.


"Priced at $52,500 and made from best parts of 14 other LV bags, it easily overshadows the competition in originality, style, and class."

Um. No.

This is the handbag equivalent of saying "hey! I like pizza, chinese food, and ice cream, so why not bake them all together in a casserole?"

Not surprisingly, they both make me want to throw up.

Thursday, August 23, 2007

This one's for free, but the next one...

I personally didn't find this picture hilarious until I realized it was a school for the blind and the deaf. Then I imagined that they never really changed the signed, they just told the kids they did. Then I laughed until tears formed in the corners of my eyes. Enjoy.

Photo courtesy of Meri Haitkin.

Life in my Pocket

Survey's in... I liked the video!

Though I have to say it looked like a bootleg Hype Williams, mostly because it had the trademark letterbox and gray scale, yet at the same time dedicated a fair share of the video to a cheap-ass slideshow. I can appreciate the HP commercial shout though, I guess.

And someone astutely reminded me there was no credits to the video. It was "Da Beeper Song" by Fam-Lay featuring Pharrell. Feel free to download it, seeing as rumor has it homeboy isn't dropping an album anytime soon (which may also speak to why the video was a bit thrifty).

Friday, August 17, 2007

Drug Music = Fun Music?

I usually don't like to do two video posts in a row because, well, that's boring, but alas, a slow day + lack of creativity = video posts. I mean hell, I'm posting at work! Someone bust out the Andre's, this is a first.

Regardless, I love this song. I love this song so much, I'm posting this video without having even watched it (remember, I'm at work) just so it's here so I can watch it later. Yes, that's love.

Let's hope a post of regret doesn't soon follow.

Thursday, August 16, 2007

Ray Lavender - My Girl Got A Girlfriend

My inner feminist is raging right now. I could seriously write a whole dissertation on the litany of things that's wrong with this song and accompanying video, but due to half (read: 2, sometimes) of my readership being male, I'll stick to the obvious.

1. He took someone else's hot (relatively speaking) line and turned it into a song. Whack.

2. To play devil's advocate, the video does not live up to the song whatsoever. I'm just saying, if you're gonna go there, go all out. As they say, punks jump up to get beat down.

3. His last name is a flower. I know, cheap shot, but this dude looks like a linebacker, and his voice is obviously being manipulated in the studio. Please someone move the hands of time so his 15 minutes can be over.

Sunday, July 29, 2007

I don't usually do this, but uh...

Doesn't this look like something Ghostface Killah would wear??

I'm not going to hate though, cause trust I'm saving my pennies for the ladies joint.

Check out more at

Saturday, July 28, 2007

Email Diaries

As the saying goes "idle hands are the devil's workshop" and never are my hands as idle as when I'm at work, ironically enough. Consequently, many of my friends were subject to my lunacy in the workplace. Here are our stories.

From: the perp
Sent: Tuesday, May 15, 2007 6:44 PM
To: the victim
Subject: You leave work way too early...

Happy early wednesday.

Now for one, get your laugh on with this:

I had tears in my eyes.

#2, I want you to check out this rhyme I wrote. Yes, I am a low key (of
the lowest key) an MC. It's called "Golden Delicious". I'm thinking of
writing more raps for a mixtape tentatively titled "Fruit of the Loon".
Let me know what you think.

I saw you hangin round a tree the other day/ Looking so damn fly I had
to pause and make way/ Golden colored skin with the cutest little
dimples/ Who knew falling in love could be this simple?//

I take pause and check my wallet/
I wanted you so bad I knew I had to call it/ Strolled up real smooth and
looked the brother in the eye/ And asked how much for that golden
delicious apple on the side?//

I held you in my hand so smooth and so sweet/ I knew I was bout to enjoy
this tasty delicious treat/ I closed my eyes as my teeth sunk in/ I knew
right then I had a lover and a friend//

Golden Delicious/
So good nutritious/
My tasty little lover/
My tasty little friend//

Golden delicious/
So good nutritious/
My tasty little lover/
My tasty little friend//

Yes, I do have too much time on my hands.

Thursday, July 26, 2007


The New Yorker writes a 12 page (damn!) article about the endangered Bonobo monkey, which thus becomes the most emailed item on their website for the week. But why should you really care? Because these are some hoe-ass monkeys who are known for engaging "in various kinds of sexual activity in order to defuse conflict and maintain a tranquil society." And there's a new line for you. You're welcome.

"Look mom! I got my safe sex badge!" The U.K. updates their version of "Girl Scouts" requirements, and now that I think about it, it's about damn time the U.S. did too.

Monday, July 23, 2007

Aw hell... eff a revolt, these fools got a dance routine...

Wow. You know, a half-Filipino once told me that they are like the Black people of south east asia. I'd like them to recant that statement, cause this shit is a daggone shame. Seriously? They call it a practice. When is the big show?? The parole hearing?? Is that really what you want to represent your "rehabilitation" in prison? You became a back-up dancer?

In other news, homeboy who was playing Mike was getting it.

And please note the "chick" in the pink is a dude.

Sunday, July 22, 2007

Happy Early Halloween

While I'm feeling all love/sex/gender/feminist, I thought it may serve as the perfect excuse to post this darling costume. I don't even know where I found this picture, I just know it was way too good to keep to myself.

I'd say something witty, but really, it's a penis and vagina. 'nough said.

How to Heal the Hurt by Hating

Brilliant post title, but unfortunately not a product of my own creativity. "How to Heal the Hurt by Hating" is actually the title of a book by comic Anita Liberty. She wrote the book after her boyfriend of 3 and a half years left her and she decided to devote her career to humiliating him in public.

Crazy, yes, but slightly brilliant as well. Many artists learn to turn the difficult and painful moments in their life into a greater work that not only benefits them, but also many around them. Take for example French artist Sophie Calle. When her boyfriend decided to break up with her via email, she decided to turn her pain into art, resulting in an exhibition called "Take Care of Yourself," (after her ex-bf's closing line) at the Venice Biennale. The exhibition features 107 different women reinterpreting and dissecting the ex-bf's email, including a forensic psychiatrist who deemed the ex to be "a true, twisted manipulator, psychologically dangerous and/or a great writer. To be avoided. Categorically," and translations in Latin, Braille, Morse code, bar code and shorthand.

There are likely a million and one stories like this, but given the theme of the post being healing hurt by hating, allow me to add my own hurt/hate art. This is actually one of my most favored episodes of "ex" drama. I actually wrote this piece a few days after it happened, in May 2005, mostly because it was so distinct in my mind I felt the best way to forget about it was to get it on paper.

I wish it would paint him as more as an asshole and me as less of a crazy, but alas, it is a true event. I hope it makes you laugh, because I always get a lil' chuckle when I re-read my own dramatic re-telling of events.

A preamble to the post: So this essay needs some context. I had been dating this guy for under a year, but it wasn't serious (for him at least) nor exclusive. And while I had some real and strong feelings for him, the long distance paired with his seeming indifference to progressing our "romance" made me think the book "He's just not that into you," was really starting to have some relevance in the situation. So I had resigned myself to letting it go and trying to be his friend, but it wasn't really working, especially after the event that unfolded in the story below. I fully acknowledge that the bulk of what I wrote is crazy, slightly delusional, and largely dramatic. Sa da tay.

This is probably one of the most not-serious dramatic moments of life, hence I fully encourage you to laugh out loud at my "Dear God, are you there? It's me, Margaret" musings.

I’m sinking again. It snuck up on me, in the dark of the night, shrouded as an innocent phone call, a pit stop on my road to recovery which has turned out to be a detour to despair.
had resisted calling for days. Too sleepy, I convinced myself. You don’t really want to talk, you just want to hear his voice, I reasoned. The second he answers, you’ll be disappointed, it won’t be how you imagine. There is no point in calling. But after three days of rationalizing, I gave in. I almost didn’t though. It was an evil game I was playing with my heart, I would tell my brain to pick up the phone, and just before the neurons fired, I would resend the order, sending an exhilarating shiver up my spine. I did this for three or four times until I resended the order too late, and the next thing I know, my phone is ringing at my ear.

“Hello,” a female voice inquired on the other end of my cellular signal. My brain buzzed and my temples flared. Suddenly the room got very hot, and I couldn’t breathe.

“Hello,” my voice weakly warbled, “Is Greg there?”


I pressed my diaphragm against my lungs as I tried again. “Can I speak to Greg?”

“There’s no Greg here.”

“Oh, my bad.” And I hung up the phone. Oh God. Oh God. I feel sick. What is going on? I glanced at my phone frantically as my brain replayed what had just transpired in the past 20 seconds. Did I dial the wrong number? Is this his idea of a joke? What’s going on? Did he change his number and not tell me? The permutations of possibilities had a dizzying effect on me. It felt as though someone had just tipped the axis of my life.

“Breathe, breathe,” I recited to myself out loud, my last ditch attempt not to bust out in tears.

Think, think! I commanded myself. Send him a text message. Good idea. But what difference will it make if he changed his number? Why did you get off the phone so quick, that was so dumb! I was shocked, I was scared, I didn’t want to lose my cool! Well you blew it! You should have asked if you had the right number, maybe they thought you said Craig, not Greg. Send him an email asking if he changed his number. No, that’ll take too long; you’ll never make it through the night. Call them back.

I checked my phone again. It was true, I had placed the call to his cell phone, and a seemingly white female voice answered.

Oh god. Call him again.

Four minutes had passed.
“Hello,” his voice struck through the receiver to my ear like a lightning bolt, depositing itself in the furrow between my eyebrows.

Play it cool.

“Hey,” My voice cracked like a pubescent boy sprouting hair below his naval. “What are you up to?”

“Loading the dishwasher, can I call you back in like, seven minutes?”




Oh God. What in the world is going on? Help me please, help me to have sanity, to accept the situation presented before me, guide me in what I say so that I can emerge from this situation unscathed. Please God. Please. Fix it.

“Breathe, breathe,” I repeated out loud, listening to my erratic breathing filling what now felt to be my hollow room. Okay, calm down. Breathe. Get under the covers. Turn out the lights. He’ll call you back, and it’ll all make sense. Breathe. Good. I sat unnaturally erect in my bed, covers tightly tucked under my armpits, my left hand gripping my cell phone, the right wrapped around my stuffed pig Wilbur. I nervously glanced at my cell phone.

1:13 am.

Only one minute has passed!? I’ll never make it! Oh God, this can’t be happening! Calm down, calm down. Breathe. Call Lisa.

“Hi, you’ve reached Lisa. Sorry I can’t come to the phone right now, but if you leave a message I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Thank you and have a blessed day!”

“Hi, Um, I’m having, um, a little crisis, nothing big, I, uh, I just need to talk. So, ahh, if you get this message in the next two hours, please call me. Bye.”

Shit. Okay, breathe. It’ll be okay. Focus. But my mind couldn’t focus. It just kept replaying the situation in various orders, slowing down events, fast forwarding, zooming in, pausing. My mind was editing its own nightmarish film for my enjoyment.

Why me God? Why? Why did I have to call him? Did that all really just happen? I checked my phone call history again. What the hell? Only one outgoing call to him? I called him twice, I know it! What the hell happened? Did I not call him? Did I make it all up?

1:15 am.

Okay, he should be calling soon. Maybe the phone automatically consolidates outgoing calls if you call the same number twice. Yea, yeah, that sounds about right. Test it. Call Lisa again.

“Hi, you’ve reached Lisa…”

Should I leave a message? No! She’ll think you’re on fire or something. Okay, see, it did replace the call with the new one.

“Breathe, breathe,” I continued to recite out loud, as a lump formed in my throat. The room was pulsating with tension. The hum of my laptop buzz magnified in my ears. Somewhere off in the real world the baby shifted in my parent’s bed, the sound refracting through parallel universes and mental planes until it reached my eardrums with a magnified bass resonance. I tried to focus on objects in the dark, tracing their shadowy outlines with my eyes. The room suddenly felt so big and I, so small.

There goes your theory of not being attached. Was that the point God? To prove that I do actually feel something strong for him? That I can’t outsmart my heart? Oh God, I can’t believe this is happening to me. It’s some dreadful plot twist, a night that’ll I’ll always look back on and think, and that’s where it ended. That’s where my somewhat straight and narrow path took a hairpin turn to the left, forcing me to forever abandon whatever future I thought I had with him. And to think I thought I was getting over him, that we could just be friends. I should have know when he picked me up at the mansion that it was going to be over, royalty and commoners could never date, and that evil broad who’s always hanging around here was prettier than me and gonna get him anyway… Oh God, I’m falling asleep! Wake up; you can’t even escape this situation in you dreams!

1:23 am.

Oh God, why hasn’t he called? Maybe he won’t call. Maybe he doesn’t know how to tell me that he’s got a girlfriend. Or no, maybe it’s just some broad he had over the house, and he doesn’t really like her, but he’s got all that extra time, so he was like, what the hell, and he doesn’t really like her all like that, but she likes him, so she thought it would be funny to answer his phone and when she saw it was me, she decided she would tell me she didn’t know who he was. But then when he saw that I had called, he got really mad at her, and he’s telling her off right now. Yea, I like that version. Like when I came down the stairs into the ballroom, and I looked all pretty, and he was singing on stage looking like a fool cause he couldn’t believe… Wake up you fool! This is no time for sleep! You need to be alert! Besides, there’s no solace in sleeping. Okay, if he doesn’t call by 1:30, you’re going to sleep.

I loosened my grip on my phone and turned it face up on my lap.

1:27 am.


“Hello, what you doing?” Greg asked into my left ear.

“Nothin, sitting in my bed. What you up to?” Good, be cool. Man up! Take that shake out your voice. Breathe.

“Just got finished cleaning the kitchen, what you do all day?”

Oh enough with this idle chatter! There is something amiss in this situation, and I can go no further until I get to the bottom of it!

Boop boop. Incoming call: Lisa.

Hold on for one minute,” I say to him.

“Hey,” I said as I clicked over to the other line.

“Hey, what’s wrong, I was in the bathtub, I didn’t even check my messages, is everything okay?”

“Yea… let me call you back in like, 30 minutes. Keep your phone on you!”

“Okay, bye.”


Breathe. God help me.

“Wanna hear a funny story? So I’m sitting around, bored, so I decide to call you to see whatsup. So I call your phone, and a girl answers the phone. So I’m all caught off guard like, can I speak to Greg, and she’s like, there’s no Greg here. So I’m like, my bad, bye. But then I’m thinking, whoa, that’s really strange, cause I know I called the right number. So then I call again, and you answer. Isn’t that weird?”

“Yea man. That is, but there’s no one but me and Jeff here.” He answers calmly.

What? That doesn’t make sense. Listen carefully, does it sound like he’s lying? Is there someone else there? But his room is as quiet as a tomb, save for his even breathing on the other side of the phone.

“But isn’t that strange? Like, I was totally wierded out, what could have possibly happened?”

“I dunno, blame T-mobile or Sprint, cause I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“But don’t you think that’s strange? Like, I know you can miss-dial a phone, but that was straight from my phonebook. And then it was strange cause I was calling your phone, so I was expecting to hear your voice, and when I didn’t, it caught me off guard…” I launched into a long explanation of why it was so weird, trying to come at him and the situation at different angles, hoping I’d catch him off guard and happen upon a more plausible explanation for why a white girl answered his phone at one o’clock in the morning.

“I don’t know man, I’d like to take credit for that, cause it’s right up my alley, but nope. Blame modern technology.” He seemed unmoved and disinterested in the topic at best. There was nothing in his responses that convinced me of his guilt or innocence, so it appeared that the conversation was going to end in a hung jury. He attempted to transition the conversation to other topics.

“Well I’m gonna go to sleep,” I began.

“What? I’m all riled up for conversation, and you’re just gonna leave me hanging?”

“I don’t know, I’m all weirded out, that situation really wore me out, I don’t feel much like talking…”

“Listen, don’t blame me for this. It was just a weird cellular malfunction,” his voice sounded earnest and stern.

I dunno, I kinda believe him. But still, that’s just too strange to be an accident. But still, you are always jumping to conclusions, and you know how that drives him nuts. Plus, I do miss the sound of his voice… We chatted on for about another thirty minutes before he said he was sleepy. Is he really sleepy, or is he just trying to get off the phone because he can’t maintain this charade any longer? Is she in the bed next to him complaining?

“Okay, well, I’ll talk to you later, bye.”

I was exhausted. My body was physically tired from all the worrying I had done for the past hour. It truly felt as though I had had a miniature panic attack. Okay, breathe. Call Lisa.

“Hey,” She answered the phone.


“Whatsup?” I gave my best to calmly relay the story. I also included the gory details of miniature panic attack.

“You love him.” I could hear her smiling at the other end of the phone. I opened my mouth to protest, but I was too tired to form my lips around an idea for a rebuttal. And I’ve been crazy ever since.

I can’t love him. I can’t fathom myself in an unrequited love situation, and I don’t think he loves me. And if he does, he’s even more reluctant to admit to it than I am. I can’t love him. It’s an inconvenience to my life. It drives me nuts; I feel so out of control. I feel like my sane logical portion of my brain is sitting back helpless as my crazy half runs rabid all over my conscious, a Tasmanian devil reeking havoc through all my thoughts. I’m a mess. He’s everywhere, in everything, I sit around thinking about him raising our kids; being on a honeymoon, making love and being happy. And I just wait for my phone to ring, but of course it’s fallen so silent I wonder if it even works anymore. I’m a mess, and I just want a conclusion. Is there someone else? Should I take that L train into the sunset, with Gilbert O’Sullivan serenading my single status? My stomach’s in knots, I want to cry, and going to sleep doesn’t even feel right unless I have a miserable playlist to match my equally miserable mood.

I haven’t heard his voice in four days. You’d think he’d at least call. He shouldn’t even want me, because I’m crazy. And who wants to put up with that? I’m paranoid, dramatic, I jump to conclusions all the time, insecure, and worst of all, have a nasty jealous little habit. Take for instance this little beauty I found on his facebook page:

********************************************************* Gregie, Congratulations on all of your many achievements. I am very proud of you and I look forward to sharing in your success and happiness in the future. Stay blessed and I look forward to our "time" this coming week. Hugs & Kisses, Danielle**********************************************************

Do I even have to explain why this passage gives me gas? Some key phrases: "Gregie.” “Sharing in your success and happiness in the future”. “I look forward to our ‘time’”. “Hugs and Kisses.” I feel sick. I feel so sick, I think I might die. No really, I want to swear off men for the rest of my life. This is inhumane, how I feel. I rather feel lonely than unrequited affection (I’m still not ready to own up to the love thing, let alone it being unrequited). At least lonely is familiar. At least with lonely I can hope. But there’s no hope in unrequited love, and what little hope I have is overpowered by a looming sense of stupidity. Like, am I stupid enough to sit and hope he comes around? I don’t want to be one of those women where everyone knows the truth but them; sitting around bartering with a man I don’t love for a wedding ring (I won’t say any names, but true story…).

And then I try to convince my self that I am infatuated with a mirage of a man that doesn’t exist. And that I like him because it’s safe to like him; he’s far away so there’s no interaction, no responsibility, and no possibility for a real relationship. Because I mean, he’s not really that cute. And, God, can he work my nerves some days. And he’s really not funny either.

But at the same time, that line of reasoning has the same effect of putting a Band-Aid on a broken leg…

So I continue to pray that God resolve the situation, allowing myself to emerge from the situation as sane as possible. That he may expedite any lesson he is trying to teach me, or situation he is trying to create. That he may make me leal and strong, ever bold to battle wrong, and all the other shit I need to help me sleep through the night, and the day…

Because despite of all this, I remain admittedly foolishly optimistic…

Tuesday, July 10, 2007

It's all Love

I swear fo' God, I got some good stuff comin' to my blog (now that I have two new readers and all). But in the meantime, enjoy this video, memorize this handshake, and get ready for the get down when I see you on the street.

Tuesday, June 19, 2007

Another awkward comic strip, for laughs.

Soooo... yea.

It's been about 2 months since I've written anything, and I'm sorry. Mostly to myself, because I know I only have 4 readers, and I kind of have to remind them to check it every now and again.

So, my bad, self, it was shady to just leave the blog hanging like that.

Some of my hypotheses over what happened:

1. I got a life and decided to stop hanging out on the internet so much.
2. Someone made me feel dumb for having a blog.
3. I couldn't think of anything interesting to say.
4. I developed a skepticism over having a blog in the first place, especially since I resisted telling anyone it actually existed.
5. I developed a paranoia about my internet habits.

That last one's pretty real, because lately I've been thinking no matter how cool the internet may be, it's not real life. And to try to construct anything like life on the 'nets is selling yourself short.

However, I'm going to do better, because lately I've been on a real writing blitz, and also I don't want to be a blog statistic. So it might get a little personal around here, but if a tree falls and no one's around to hear it, does it make a noise? Right. No one's reading, so it doesn't matter.

Thursday, April 5, 2007

Michael Moore gives out dayglo orange wallet, saves a black man

You got to love this guy, he keeps it so real.

Wednesday, March 28, 2007

Another Basketball Player Falls Victim to Fame

I never even saw this coming. All this time I'm thinking that Tony Parker was this nice little French boy, and here he is trying to drop a very cliche hip-hop album.


I'd hate, but the video is so underwhelming I get sleepy at the notion of trying to think up something witty to say.

The sad thing is it will probably do well in overseas. You know those Europeans be on some other...


The Brits get in on this gentrification game. Oh joy.

Distract yourself at work with a trip down memory lane.

Would you like tits with that? Joe Francis thinks you might...

Disney considers reminiscing on the happier times of African American history... Singing slaves!

Tuesday, March 27, 2007

White is the new Black, which was basically Black anyway, before it turned White

This guys are from the A, and they want you to "Party Like a Rockstar". I love how all these young black kids are sweating "rock" culture now, as if black people weren't there in the beginning.
Their myspace page shows them posing with electric guitars. I pray to God they know how to play them. Something about the stances looks extremely fradulent though...
I'd hate on the song, but the hook is dumb funny and catchy (ttt-totally dude!).

Sunday, March 25, 2007

Lebron James: Ballin!

Lebron James is a savvy young man. Whereas most NBA newbies may try to stack friendships with hip-hop stars and pantie-less fans, James invited an old white man from Nebraska to be his personal guest at his last Cavaliers game.

Big fucking whoop right? Wrong. That old white guy is Warren Buffet, the 2nd richest man in America , worth a whopping $52 billion. He's one of, if not the most, finacially savvy men in America. Bill Gates goes to him for money advice.

And now LeBron James can call him friend.

"He's terrific," Buffett said. "I just want to be partners with him. He can probably buy the whole place."

Take that Jim Jones.

Monday, March 12, 2007

Tracy Morgan's Mating Call

Usually I dislike Tracy, but now I find that when intoxicated, he's hilarious.

Thursday, March 1, 2007


When she's not starving herself Mary Kate Olsen (or MKO as I like to call her), donates her empty thoughts to the New York Times...

Skinheads rejoice! Obama Bin Laden is still up for grabs...

Vannessa Minnillo wants to record an album... Hold my hair while I throw up, m'kay?

Get Ya Daddy...

Dear Uncle Sammy,

I like to support black businesses. And I can appreciate your attempts to promote your "furniture flea market". But next time you decide to get in your sunday best and shoot a commercial advertising your business, singing about how your business is "just like a mini mall", do me a favor. Don't.


Wink and Gun

Saturday, February 24, 2007

Polow Da Don... You're in Time Out.

Chances are you've been rocking out to Polow's beats for a minute. The rapper/producer has cooked up such recent bangers as Ciara's "Promise", Fergie's "London Bridges" and "Glamorous", and Ludacris' "Runaway Love". But he most famously (to me at least) produced performed and appeared in my shyt, Rich Boy's "Throw Some D's". Yes, he's the dumb fool that drops the 2nd verse in the back of the caddy full of random ass "Sweet Valley High" broads (I'm saying, just cause you had to have white chicks doesn't mean you had to go snatch Becky out of chem lab. The trick couldn't even bob in time!).

Now if you're like me, you must be thinking "Damn! That fool's beats go hard!". Of course they do. That's the sweet b*tch slap of life otherwise know as the "If-loving-you-is-wrong-i-don't-want-to-be-right" conundrum. But trust me kids, you want to be right on this one. This dude Polow claims that in high school he was "the good looking pretty-boy that played sports and would whoop your ass."

Now Jamal (yes, that's the government), I'm no Dr. Phil, but you might recall a popular epithet of the masses - don't talk about it, be about it. Or as a good friend often proclaims "whatever you think you are, you're not." In short sir, if you have to tell me you grew up as the "pretty-boy" in high school, here's what you're really saying "I wasn't cute. I got no play. The only reason white girls would bone is cause the dumb ones fed into the big d*ck theorem."
I won't even touch on how he was born into a middle class home but still wants to communicate images of thuggery.
Jamal "Polow Da Don" Jones, go to the corner.
"You embarrass me, you embarrass yourself."

Friday, February 16, 2007

Kidz Bop is Crazy

This video confused both me and my 20 month old brother. perhaps we're not the target demographic.

Tuesday, February 13, 2007

Beyonce y Sasha!!

Ok, so Beyonce decided to do a song with her split personality, Sasha. Apparently Sasha is hispanic, and nearly went toe to toe with B over some scheming dude.

Luckily sisterhood prevails (*yawn*).

I basically think this song's whack, but I crack up that Beyonce shouts herself out twice in one song, once as herself and once as her split personality.

Additionally, she has/is(?) remaking this song with a real latina, Shakira.

Beyonce - Beautiful Liar

Dame Dash is a D*ckhead...

"If an 11 year old were to immitate Cam'ron, they'd be on their way to becoming a CEO of a company." - Dame Dash

Yea. Right.

Watch Cam and Dame embarass themselves, hip hop, and the African American community on Bill O'Reilly...

Wednesday, February 7, 2007


It's always been my motto that in the winter, I can't be cute and warm, it's one or the other. Naturally, I eschew vanity for the sake of my health. However when everyone in the subway system wants to walk around looking like they wandered off the set of "Davey Crockett: An American Hero", and still raise their head high like they're reinventing fashion, one has to stop and wonder: what the fuck?

Luckily, I'm not alone. Gawker pondered the same thing, and put the girlies at Fashionista to the task.

Here's what they found:

"Suzanne Karotkin, Harper's Bazaar fashion editor: It's fun to be colorful and sporty, especially with so much black and gray at the shows. My hat makes me feel a bit like I'm in Aspen, on some fabulous vacation... not freezing and in New York!"

I love how fashion people can take something normally hideous and make it high end. However if they'd like to tout function over form, I suggest they bring back full body snow suits. Them joints was hella warm, and I'd love to see the stillettoed fashionistas tottle down the street pretending they didn't look idiotic.

Tuesday, February 6, 2007


Me talk prettie one day...

Wiii!! We're working out!

The most important part of the superbowl? The commercials.

You think Marcy Projects is gangsta? Try Russia...

Monday, February 5, 2007

My condolences...

Hey bears fans, you fought the good fight. Chin up Charlie, there's always next year...

I'm at a loss for this one...

Hate it or love it (*giggle giggle, pun pun*), you have to give 50 Cent credit. He's innovative in his efforts to cross-promote himself into oblivion. I mean, the guy has a flavor of Vitamin Water and was bold enough to pose with a little dog to promote the shit. Then he's coming out with his own line of condoms, because even ganstas gots ta strap up.

And if 50 Cent's memoir "From Pieces to Weight" left you wanting more, fear not my psuedo-intelligent street thugs, 50's got a line of street fiction books to wet your palate for pedestrian plots and dull dialogue. Combining with legendary street authors such as Nikki Turner and Noire, his first two titles feature such cliche subtitles as:



And to add insult to injury, there's more on the horizon. From
"50 Cent is teaming with Pocket Books for a new volume called "The 50th Law." The book will be a collaborative project by 50 and strategy guru Robert Greene, whose "The 48 Laws of Power" is a popular pick in the hip-hop world. "

Pump your breaks kiddies, this "knock-out collabo" won't be available until 2008. But in the meatime you can purchase any of "Fiddies" (Throwing Up In Mouth) other G-Unit books at any fine bookstore near you.

Sunday, February 4, 2007

Puff, puff, pass... J*Davey

Anyone who knows me, like knows me knows me, knows I am crazy about J*Davey.

I found these two on a random internet jaunt, and have been blasting their shit ever since.

They've got the kind of nasty electro-soul that makes me want to slid down a pole (and apparently rhyme too). They describe themselves as the musical love child of Prince and Grace Jones. I dig it.

Peep their myspace page for some more of their musical genius, but in the meantime here's one of my favorite tracks to have and to hold, to enjoy forever and ever, amen.

J*Davey - Private Parts


Hey Ladies, stop making out with girls, you're making the real lesbians mad...

And fellas, if you see me coming at you with a plate of fish, trust our love will last forever...

Congratulations, you just got out of rehab! Want to pose nude? No, not you, you!

They deserve to win

I don't usually give a damn for the Super Bowl (unless the Bills are playing), but with a gem like this, how could you not root for the Bears? And if we're lucky, maybe if they win they can do a Super Bowl Shuffle 2007...

Your dog wants you to stop smoking

This commercial makes me oddly sad. I think it's the creepy music. If I smoked and I had a dog who asked me to stop, I would, but not because he asked, only because if my dog was talking to me, it was probably time to stop smoking anyway.

Thursday, February 1, 2007


I'm a lil' late, but I'd like to extend a very happy seventh anniversary to Prince Maximilian and Princess Angela of Lichtenstein. Now I usually don't get into the whole royalty thing, but when a sista becomes the first black ACKNOWLEDGED member (Prince Albert of Monaco ain't shit) of an European royal family, especially one in which they're heirs to a $4.6 billion fortune, well, I got to tip my beret to her. Get it gurl!

And how cute is their kid???

Sunday, January 28, 2007

Heatseaker: Missbehave Magazine

We all know and love those cool kids over at Mass Appeal Magazine, and apparently the guy went ahead and got a lady friend.

Missbehave Magazine is literally founded by the wife of Mass Appeal founder Adrian Moeller, Samantha, and the mag is poised to be "for the fashion rebel" or as Mrs. Moeller put it herself in this interview at

"The ultimate Missbehave girl is a sassy, fun-loving, downtown girl with oodles of style. One day she’s a tomboy, and the next, a total glamour puss. She has as many pairs of sneakers as she does high heels. The Missbehave girl is creative, beautiful, and full of energy. She loves the nightlife and she loves to boogie!"

Clearly this girl aspires. Clearly, this girl is me.

However, as someone wisely stated "all have tried and fallen short of true magazine greatness," especially when they try to be that irreverent chick mag for street culture. And before the girls of Missbehave magazine come knocking with their brass knuckles, or whatever the fuck it is "fashion rebels" do, let me be clear: they tried to kick some real shit on the concept. I'm all for femme mags that don't make me feel like I'm in the deep throws of the 1st day of my period (sorry guys, but the ladies know what I'm talking about). But Missbehave should get her act together if she wants to make it last on the newstands.

Hot: First off, the magazine design is fly as hell! It immediately grabbed my eye amoungst the bland glamour covers that is women's magazine publishing. And Lilly Allen on the cover? Great choice, this girl epitomizes what I imagine a "Missbehave" girl to be ("smile" has to be the dopest 'fuck-off-you-dirty-bastard' song made in a while). The accompanying article was just a good, as well as the interview they did with french "rapper" (yes, I'm using that term very loosely) Uffie. They also included an article on exacting revenge that not only had me rolling, it definitely will serve as a reference next time it's time to get even ("Karma's a pothead, so sometimes you gotta coax that bad boy along" - so true). Some highlights: seam ripping the nike swoops off your ex's kicks and returning your ex-bestfriend's clothes in neatly superglued piles. Next motherfucker that crosses me better watch out...

Warm: Another highlight was the 6 page beauty spread that provided some artistic takes make-up. And I have to admit, they put me on to a lot of random things (I'm trying to figure out how I can make it downtown to catch a metronap on my lunch break). And though I enjoyed the concept of a section to highlight people's tattoos (tatts crew), I was disappointed that they didn't show half the tattoos that pornstar Belladonna talked about (...yea, I guess you got to read the mag...).

Cold: My biggest beef with this magazine was the language in which they wrote. Maybe they were trying to be hip and cool (which is something that one shouldn't try for, you end up looking like an asshole), but it often came off like an aim chat session between two Laguna Beach rejects. To their defense, I didn't catch any "dunzos" in the mag, but there were enough whatevs, gawds, sos, likes, and gags amongst the type I was ready to slap a bitch. Another what the fuck moment was the mag's need to accompany "stories" with one the page fashion spreads. Trying to get me interested in nail art (yea, I didn't get it either) with a made up story about some inmate named "CoCo DeVille" (seriously?) was whack and worthless. Another worthless item was their article an Icelandic installation artist known as Shoplifter. When they can explain to me how "a photo collection of headshots and legs arranged in a matrix... represents the body-part dilemma", I will explain how I don't give a fuck. It was a bit to heady for this mag, better off using the space to talk about Detroit hairshows (which, for the record, produce the same "art" shoppy does, but in a much more interesting way).

In short, I fucks with the mag, but it's obvious that Missbehave mag is still searching for their voice in the publishing world. However please pick up the mag and support, cause the last thing I need is a list of "26 ways to keep my man happy". Fuck that, what has he done for me lately?

Here's looking at you kid...

Opinions are like assholes, and these days it seems like everyone had an extra one ripped so they can have shit to post on their blog.

So I'mma join the fray. Why? Cause when pop culture tries to hit you with the wink and a gun, somebody's got to tell them to cut the corny shit...
Things to check for:

Heatseaker: A review section keeping tabs on what's hot/cold.

Puff, Puff, Pass 'come hit this' : Spreading the love in the internet cipher, I'm tryna put you on baby!

AW HELL NAW!: When shit gets outta hand, imma let you know...
and of course,

Snatchies!: Cause I can't possibly cover it all, I let you know what else is cracking in the global village.

More stuff to come soon I'm sure, but in the meantime, enjoy suckas!

PS - I love the Chesire Cat, that cheeky bastard.


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