HumanityCritic tells his grankids a very scary story.

The year is 2048, and the man who was once known on the Internet as "The HumanityCritic" is currently a 75 year old man who lives in a secluded house up in the mountains. A frail man with a frosty beard, and long dreadlocks that are so grey it looks like he was caught in the worst snow storm imaginable, still walks around his house with a dingy old Public Enemy concert T-shirts and shell-toe Adidas even though that attire was out of style thirty years before that point. HumanityCritic wasn't always single, he was married 7 times but all of the women had the same 3 problems with him that led to divorce, his obsession with Hip Hop, writing in that god forsaken blog, and his minor problem he had fucking other women.(He keeps pictures of all of his ex's hanging in his hallway to remind him that he will die an asshole)

Besides his beautiful children and the daycare center full of grand-kids that he has, HumanityCritic has a few reasons to be happy. For one thing Hip Hop has changed drastically, for the better that is. "Paid In Full" is the new national anthem, MF Doom is the President of the United States, there are actually institutions of Higher learning dedicated to grooming and molding only the top MC's, and so the new generation of wax spinners and rhymesayers wouldn't be subjected to sub par examples of the beautiful art form that is Hip Hop, many years of inferior Hip Hop has been erased from people's minds and public record. Matter of fact, due to HumanityCritic seeing a day that he thought would never get here, when pure Hip Hop was finally the norm, the last words he utters at night before he closes his eyes is usually "Wow, I can die now!"(It's either that or, "I should have worm a condom with that prostitute!!")

But this particular day HC has another reason to be happy, today he is getting a visit from 2 of his grand kids, which is particularly delightful because their parents had forbade them from seeing their grandfather for the past 6 months because he taught them how to kill a man with a forceful blow to the throat, and also how to give an emergency tracheotomy with a pair of chop sticks.

(Suddenly the doorbell song comes on, 'James Brown's "Pig Payback". HumanityCritic walks gingerly to the door)

Grand kids:(screaming) Grandaddy!!(they both run into his arms)

HumanityCritic: Ok, Ok, you little shit-stains. I missed you too. Go in the back room, I got some snacks for you two little crumb-snatchers. Also, I'm going to tell you that scary story that I promised you last year.

Grand kids: Sweet!! (both kids run to the back room)

(HumanityCritic looks up at his daughter and gives her a huge smile)

Quinn: Yeah, Yeah, the missed their grandfather, what could I do?? How have you been father?

HumanityCritic: I've been great lately, if you have seen the quality of ass I've been getting lately... Black chicks, Chinese broads, women from Brazil, I've been getting so many flavors of ass I've nicknamed my cock "The U.N"!!

Quinn: Eww, gross!!! Ok, That's my cue, for god's sake don't show them the throat-chop!! Oh, and if they ask what that thing is on your mantle tell them it's a vase or something, don't tell them it's a bong!

HumanityCritic: It's not a bong either, it's the Jimbrowski 3000.

Quinn: What's a "Jimbrowski 3000"??

HumanityCritic: A penis pump!!

Quinn:(makes a vomiting sound) Ok, have fun!! (slams door)

(HumanityCritic makes his way to the back room where his grand-kids are)

HumanityCritic: Rakim, Lauryn, ready to be scared shit-less???

Lauryn: Silly old man, when will you ever learn?? You told us the story about people who wore "Cross colors", that wasn't "scary". You told us a supposedly scary tale about black folks who put something in their hair called "activator", that was a real yawner. You even tried to scare us by telling a story of a guy who was once black, turned himself white, and changed noses more times then that game you used to play? What was that again?

HumanityCritic: "Mr. Potato Head", nice reference. No, seriously, this time your old grandfather is going to make you little bastards shit yoursleves, that's a promise.

Rakim: Ok, let us have it.

HumanityCritic: There once a land, a long long time ago, when Hip Hop wasn't what you know it to be right now. There were people in it who didn't even love it, they were in it just to make a buck and could care less about their lyrical content.

Lauryn: There were any school's of MC'ing?

HumanityCritic: Nope, and because of this not only did the overall skill level of the art go down, but listeners lowed the bar when it came to their personal tastes. People who once liked real Hip Hop all of a sudden found themselves grooving to artists that they would once find inferior to the musical sensibilities, but they would excuse it by saying "But it's a club joint though!!"

Rakim: They didn't have the Kool Herc Commission to make sure the best possible Hip Hop reached the ears of the public.

HumanityCritic: That didn't exist then. In this land there were people who were dissatisfied with how things were going, but they felt powerless when Minstrel Show rappers received Oscar Awards, they were bombarded with the proverbial wackness of Rappers with "Young" and "Lil" in their names, and when the music channels played their music videos ad nauseum the purists of the art-form felt that they were fighting a losing battle against the forces of evil.

Lauryn: How about that "radio" thing?? Didn't they help Hip Hop??

HumanityCritic: Fuck no!(shakes head) Sorry for cursing kids, but in this land Radio was the biggest offender of the sensibilities of the real Hip Hop fan. Programmers were satisfied with playing the same 12 songs all day, and when they did play what THEY considered "Hip Hop", it was what I would consider the equivalent to a bowel movement accompanied with a kick drum.

Rakim: (grasping a pillow) Grandad, you're scaring me.

Lauryn: Wait a minute!! How about the journalists?? There had to be responsible media people to put the truth out!!

HumanityCritic: Sadly sweetie, in this fictional tale they were guilty as well. Because when you have an art-form that becomes money dominated, it filters down to other facets of said culture. Meaning, because Hip Hop journalists craved to be on shows like "I love the 90's" or to advance their careers in any way they could, they amazingly would give glowing album reviews to fucks like Lil Wayne with a straight face.

Lauryn: Who was Lil Wayne?

HumanityCritic: Think of a ghetto ass Mickey Mouse who has the ability to rhyme on beat.

Lauryn:(looking around) Ok, I'm getting scared as well.

HumanityCritic: (Standing up pointing) Well you should!! In this land where the Hip Hop landscape was a treacherous one, you had people flashing these grills encrusted with jewelry on their teeth and everyone was loving it! They were loving it!!

Rakim: Pop-pop, please stop!!

HumanityCritic: You had journalist who actually had the nerve to dis rap fans who take the artform seriously, when those incompetent fucks passed over the millions of wack rap fans and rappers that would have been better suited for their wrath!!!!!

Lauryn: (Crying)

HumanityCritic:(yelling)You had A&R's who knew what real Hip Hop was because of them once witnessing it first hand, but figured that money was more important and proceeded to sign bullshit. These same people, to "peddle" their product, would even applaud the current state of Hip Hop. Bastards!! BOOOO!! Ha, Ha.. I really scared y'all huh?

Lauryn: Yeah you did!! Grandad, what was the name of your scary story again?

HumanityCritic: "2006"