Friday, November 30, 2007

DJ Premier is my Chuck Norris(

This is going to sound shallow, but it won't surprise the people out there who know that I feverishly keep my snob game tighter than convent vagina - but there are some things in life that I simply believe transcend opinion and become fact, and anyone in the slightest opposition of that is either acting like a wiseacre contrarian or happened to born with a mild case of retardation as a result of being the offspring of forbidden sibling "love". You don't necessarily have to believe that Michael Jordan was the best basketball player ever to touch a leather ball, but his "philandering, historical failure to ever take a stand on anything" ass better be in the discussion - same thing with Walter Payton when it comes to running backs, I actually elbowed a guy in the face once just because he gave me a very indifferent sounding "Ahh, he's alright" retort when talking about the great Stevie Wonder. That explains why "High Fidelity" is one my favorite flicks, primarily because I subscribe to the philosophy in the movie that "Its not what you're like, its what you like" - this is going to sound fucked up I know, but I can tell whether or not I'm going to get along with a person solely based on their tastes in music and movies.

But therein lies the rub, what's a chubby snob like myself to do when a woman I'm seeing, one who I feel is otherwise flawless - takes it upon herself to very cavalierly sully the good name of a man who I hold so near and dear to my heart? Let me explain. About a month ago, while ruining my liver amongst a slew of career alcoholics and women who look like they grew up next to nuclear reactors at my local watering hole - a very beautiful woman waked in, sat down, and sparked a conversation with me off of the strength of my primary ring-tone being Big Daddy Kane's "Raw". Immediately I knew she was a Hip Hop fan, "check", I asked what her nationality was and she said she was Portuguese - I thought for a minute and then remembered that broads of her ilk were the same women that Rakim constantly talked about in his songs, so "check" like a motherfucker. Granted, she was younger than I would have liked - but I quickly counted on my fingers like a retard doing long division and figured out that she's been legally drinking for 6 years, which was fine by me.(Besides, I haven't been lustfully touched since the first episode of "My Name is Earl" - time to relax the age requirements buddy)

We hung out a few times, nothing special, but she did seem like a very sweet girl who really knew her Hip Hop - which was a plus, besides, even before she saw my man boobs or counted my ceiling tiles for three minute intervals, we started having these inside jokes where we would admit to not really liking an artist that everyone loves. One day she called me and said, "I was never was a fan of the Beastie Boys, don't tell anybody!" - which I quickly retorted, "I won't, I wouldn't want anyone to think that I'm dating someone who smears shit on the wall!" I called her out of the blue and said, "I must really dig you, OK, I was never the biggest fan of Ultramagnetic. There, I said it!" - in which she responded, "..and you call yourself a Hip Hip writer, hang your head in shame fat man!!!" We were doing this back and forth for a while, it was pretty cathartic to admit which legendary groups we were indifferent about - until we were making out on my couch, me sticking my tongue down her throat while giving her an unlicensed breast exam - when she whispered some words in my ear that have haunted me ever since: "Honestly, I never understood the hype around DJ Premier!". That explains why I'm such a fan of "Curb Your Enthusiasm", when Larry was given permission by his wife to sleep with another woman for an Anniversary gift - he slithered off the miscellaneous dalliance with disgust when he learned that she was a republican. I slithered off the woman 7 years my junior the exact same way.

As I sat on the couch, I must have been shooting her the most horrified look imaginable because all she could say was "Oh shit" - in which I replied, "What are you, fucking nuts? DJ Premier is the best producer ever, that's not you giving an opinion, that's you being reckless!! Reckless I say!!" With still an erect, albeit unimpressive penis still making a tent in my pants, I nervously gathered every record, tape, CD, and Ipod song featuring a DJ Premier production - playing each track for her with painstaking patience, and after every cut saying "You have lost your fucking mind woman!!" Since insulting someones intelligence is the furthest thing from an afrodisiac, she grabbed her things and said "I'm going home, call me tomorrow!" - seeing her leave half naked, finally understanding that I've talked myself out of some panties once again I belted out an insincere "Um, I was just playing!!"

The next evening, as I got drunk with my best friend Danny and complained about having to possibly abandon another relationship - I made her innocent opinion seem as if she had told me that she once had a cock, or was a republican. That's when I unloaded the following diatribe on my childhood friend:

"Listen, if she was a Lil Wayne fan that would have been easier - she'd have to play that shit on her own time - and I would never address that pink elephant in the room like it was a brief stint of lesbianism she participated in while she was in college. But Premier, I mean, as far as producers go - when you go through the multitude of classic singles that the man has done for people, you still have to negotiate the Mt. St. Helens of legendary material that is the Gangstarr catalog! Besides, not only have I come to the conclusion that DJ Premier can save anyone's career - it has always struck me as odd that more MC's don't make the simple choice and only use Preemo production for their albums - instead they pick music makers of lesser skill and the product is sub-par at best. Imagine how better Nas albums would be if he simply got Premier to do the beats, shit man, there are a shitload of artists ranging from Lauryn Hill to Killer Mike who'd thrive under Premo. The man can do anything!!(Looking at my friend seriously) Anything!

Danny: So, DJ Premier is your Chuck Norris?

HumanityCritic: Yeah, I guess so..

Fun DJ Premier facts:

1. DJ Premier doesn't produce tracks, he works miracles.

2. Cancer gets yearly mammograms for early DJ Premier detection.

3. Some say that music calms the savage beast, premier's production peacefully euthanizes ornery animals.

4. To say that Premo's beats are heaven sent is a bit of reckless hyperbole, even though God himself occasionally sends him break-beat records and sample ideas.

5. My mother has always said "If she can't use your comb, don't bring her home" in terms of me ever marrying a white girl - but her 30 year stance dramatically changed after I introduced her to a Caucasian Premier fan named Becky.

6. Our government's "War on Terror" is a joke, not because its unwinnable, but because attacks on our blessed soil would stop if we simply made "Full Clip" our National Anthem.

7. After meeting DJ Premiere, Quincy Jones could be heard saying "I'm never washing this hand again" amongst a string of prepubescent-sounding giggles.

8. Stevie Wonder claimed that DJ Premier was the sole inspiration for his 1963 hit "Fingertips" - even though Premo wouldn't be born for another 3 years.

9. When a paraplegic suddenly started to rhythmically nod his head back and forth during a rehabilitation session, doctors thought they were witnessing a minor miracle - until one of them heard "Mathematics" playing in the distance and said "Goddamn you Premier!!"

10. Sure, Chuck D was upset that his voice was sampled in the song "10 Crack Commandments", not only because the song talked about cooked cocaine - but because he was privately ashamed that the beat, momentarily, had him seeing the upside to dope dealing.

11. DJ Premier is so good at picking samples, sometimes he uses them before the original artist has even recorded it.

12. In an attempt to rehabilitate young delinquents and keep them out of Prison, simply playing Gangstarr's "All for the Cash" was an effective deterrent - but they went back to their less abrasive approach, having the kids being yelled at and physically intimidated by mass murderers.

13. DJ Premier doesn't have to manually scratch records anymore, all he does is stand over both turntables and the records miraculously scratch themselves - I mean, tremble with fear.

14. I recently emailed Premier the sheet music to Rachmaninoff's 3rd Piano Concerto, not only did he send it back with corrections - there was a posted note attached with "Yawn" being the only word on it.

15. Sure, Jesus turned water into wine - but could his black-hippie ass turn "Group Home" into a listenable group? I didn't think so..

16. The music of Premier is so powerful that I still yell things like "Put your fucking hands in the air" and "Run Your shit" while having sex - that's the price you pay when you lose your virginity to "Just to Get a Rep".

17. DJ Premier is so beloved in Japan, that 90% of the women there want to have his baby - not to milk him of his hard earned funds mind you, just to say that they have a Premo Remix.

18. DJ Premier scored a Tyler Perry movie and it was still unwatchable - the man is a producer, not GOD!

Another Edition of "HumanityCritic's Asshole moments"

For most of you, my asshole antics are probably nothing more than just some rotund degenerate perpetrating tactless acts just for the sake of humoring himself(wiping my genitals on a woman's curtains after sex, rolling a wheelchair-bound man into traffic) - and sure that's part of it, but mostly its just an average black fellow's journey, trying to figure out the meaning of life while pissing people the fuck off.(Imagine David Carradine's character in "Kung-Fu" if he was black and had a thyroid problem.) Ever since my grandmother fell down our family's steps and I desperately fought back laughter as I helped her to her feet, with my father curiously looking at his 10 year old son while saying "You really are a cocksucker, you know that?" - I knew exactly what path I'd take for the rest of my life, a hostile roadway where random passers-by welcomed me with affectionate "you motherfucking asshole!!" greetings. My mother learned that her baby boy was destined to live the life of a scumbag way before that, based on a few minor incidents in kindergarten where I tried to choke a kid to death with my nap blanket, and another time when I proceeded to urinate on another child after I hit him in the face with my lunch tray - a story that my mother has felt compelled to tell any woman that I happen to date for more than a four month period. Damn some things never change.

Hillary Clinton: Whenever I fix my lips to say anything negative about the musical group the "Clipse", I'm sure that the average reader chalks up my disdain for those brothers as nothing more than simple "hometown" envy - mistaking me for one of those "crab in the bucket" ass Negroes who verbally undermines the positive steps that anyone born with melanin takes. Believe it or not, nothing could be further from the truth, sure I'd love to be able to pelvically penetrate the vaginal reinforcements of women way above my respective pay-grade - but that's where the bitter envy ends, I sincerely wish those brothers all the best. That being said, like tongue kissing a woman after an orgy - ever since they laughably suggested that my city(Virginia beach) was the epitome of urban decay where the dope dealer reigns supreme, I always get a bad taste in my mouth whenever I hear one of their records. Respectfully, Virginia Beach is much worse but for different reasons - this is the land of Pat Robertson where people are so socially retarded that they almost elected a man with ties to the clan to the senate - sometimes I think that I'd prefer the Clipse's fictitious version of my hometown. I mean, I'm a small fish in a sea full of rabbid Bush supporters, I'm constantly bombarded with inbred Jed Clammpett's decorating their respective automobiles with confederate flag stickers and signs that say "No one is taking my gun away!" - so when I saw a couple with a sign in their jeep window saying "If Hillary's lips are moving, you know she's lying!" I absolutely lost it.

Granted, I'm a supporter of Obama who feels that Hillary's political positions heavily depend on the polling that particular week - but as I very carefully followed the couple home like a fucking stalker, I kept trying to figure out how any one of those empty suits on the republican side of the isle were any more truthful. So, as they pulled up into their driveway, I unfortunately rolled down my window and said the following: "Excuse me, I read your sign and all, it was cute in a "wow, my retarded child's motor skills are really improving" sort of way - but I have to say, the empty suits on the republican side don't exactly have the market cornered when it comes to honesty. Rudy? Lets talk about him using 3,000 dead americans to get him into the White House, and him fucking around on his wife on the taxpayers dime. Romney? Mitt "Big Love" Romney himself, the man has changed his positions so many times that you can't tell if he's giving a speech or reading a god-damned kama sutra chart!" Before I could even tear into the other republican candidates the wife very calmly walked to my car, opened her jacked and said "We are supporters of Barack Obama, YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!" exposing her "Barack 08" pin.

Refusing to express my condolences by quoting Easy-E: Despite all my failings as a man, a malfunctioning moral barometer when it comes to physical altercations, and my penchant for being emotionally unavailable in relationships - the one uncanny characteristic that I have is being a proverbial shoulder to lean for my friends when they lose a loved one. I know how it was when my old man died, people bombarding you with tired "he's in a better place now" rhetoric that you don't want any parts of - I've learned the sophisticated art of being completely supportive while subtly playing the background. That being said, on the flip side, I simply can't muster up the energy to offer up phony condolences when a historically bad person loses their life - I don't wish death on anyone, and you'll never hear me say "I'm glad that motherfucker is dead!", but if that person happened to be a notorious bastard while they were on this earth, I privately couldn't give two shits about their untimely passing. I even make sure to quote Eazy-E concerning the person's passing, when I'm in the privacy of my own home that is. Case in point, this guy that I knew named Lee recently lost his life when he was gunned down at some house party across town - I'm sorry the guy is taking an eternal dirt-nap and all, but not only has this guy killed people(allegedly), but he was a known rapist who physically abused his children. Last week, when I was speaking with this chick named Gloria who was friendly with the recently deceased, she hit me with the standard spiel consisting of "Lee was a good man, he ain't never hurt anybody". That's when I blurted out with pinpoint accuracy, unfortunately, the words that Eazy-E made famous in the song "We're all in the Same Gang": "..But he STILL got smoked at Bey-Bey's Party!!!" She quickly moved to the other end of the bar.

Throwing someone a helpful beating: I don't know about any of you, but I'm the sort of guy who likes being corrected - sure, getting publicly shown the error of my ways can be somewhat humiliating, but at least I know to never let those factually inaccurate morsels of information escape my hairy mandible ever again. My problem is that I assume that everyone thinks like I do, so when I correct one of my friends about some historic fact that they've botched or some inconsequential Hip Hop fact - they take it as me being a insufferable prick, and not as a friend lending a helpful hand. For example, there is fellow named Richard who frequents my neighborhood bar ever so often, nice enough brother in his mid-40's - the problem occurs when he gets drunk, he gets so belligerent that he starts talking shit to people and picking fights with total strangers. He's committed hell-worthy watering-hole trespasses like talking to someones wife in front of them, shoving people, I even saw him growl at a couple of Navy guys a few months back - fortunately people have taken the high road when it comes to him and ignored him, but I have warned him that his irrational behavior is going to put him on the business end of a shiv or a bullet. You know you're fucking up when I give you advice. Two months later, after him nodding in agreement as he pretended to heed my warning, he was up to his old antics - that's when I decided to take action.

A few weeks back, as I was entering the bar and he was exiting it, he mean-mugged the shit out of me - that's when I grabbed him by his shoulders, said "I'm doing this for your own good!", and proceeded to bombard the brother with a firestorm of right and left hands as if his face was a pinata and I was trying to get sugary sweets out of it. As women rushed out of the bar and huddled around the beaten gentleman for comfort, looking at his bloody face and a visibly winded chubby writer standing over him - I looked at the ladies, shrugged and said, "Its alright, he'll thank me tomorrow!" Outside of the fact that the women yelled things at me like "You're an animal, get the fuck outta here!!", Richard stopped speaking to me and he makes sure be on the other end of the bar when I'm around(sound familiar?) - but he stopped picking fights though, I know that much.

Killer Mike - "Making it Rain"

My daily attempt to resurrect Hip Hop: Brand Nubian "Feels so Good"

Brand Nubian - Feels so Good

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Damn, I feel old right now..

Wednesday, November 28, 2007

Moments that I Absolutely Dread

Usually when some famous person finally decides to do away with their trademark dreadlocks that people have always closely identify them with, they always take it upon themselves to concoct an explanation right out of some Hippie-handbook - equating a simple haircut to a spiritual "rebirth" or "cleansing", making it seem that a simple swipe of the clippers is akin to a sacred tribal ceremony or some shit. I'm starting to think that these ham-fisted explanations started with Lenny Kravitz, was he the one that said that he symbolically had his dreadlocks detached from his scalp in the ocean or was he the one who said some nonsense about hyperventilating while his daughter and ex-wife cut them off?(I'm not sure) Not for nothing, but save the escalated melodrama for Spanish language soap operas motherfucker, after 13 years of growing a mane that prompts total strangers to boldly ask me "Where's the weed at?" - I'm at a place now where if I decide to say "fuck it" and shave my head with a fluidity only seen by sheep shearers, there won't be any incense burning in the background, and no New Orleans-styled Jazz processions strolling through my living room marking the untimely demise of my flowing mane.

It's not like my hair won't be missed if I ever do decide to cut it all off, I mean, its kind of hard not to miss something that you have to routinely adjust every time you defecate - besides, its my only mark of distinction outside of my violent outbursts and my slight stutter. Its also a great conversation starter for low self-esteem having women who happen to be interested in a chubby writer with so many intimacy issues that he's openly considering building a "glory-hole" in his bedroom - I usually find myself clumsily thrusting on top of these women, translating their brain-busting eye-rolls to mean "..only if the size of your cock was a fraction of the length of your hair - by the way, why is this scumbag fucking me to "Fight The Power" anyways?" That being said, here are few reasons why I've considered cutting off all my air, hoping to one day audition for the lead role in the movie adaptation of the popular television series "A Man Called Hawk".

I am Joe Pesci in "Goodfellas": When I was a teenager, years before the thought of locking my hair ever ran through my feeble little mind, I went to a local teen club with my homeboys and saw a kid around my age get mercilessly stomped the fuck out by a group of local ruffians - the one thing that sticks out about that particular mauling is how they savagely ripped out his dreadlocks from the root as if they were desperately trying to start an old lawnmower. So when I finally decided to grow dreadlocks I'd occasionally think about that December night, thinking of it more often than not the longer my hair grew, and when the tips of my hair gently stroked my shoulders I had to confront a sobering reality - that I would have to end fights rather quickly based on most men's penchant for being bitches and pulling hair during an altercation. The days of me standing toe to toe with some asshole in a bar parking lot was over, attempting to publicly exhibit my punishing body blows and my effective 52 hand block technique was replaced with throat-chops, smashing bottles of beer over someones head - not to mention my habit of hitting grown men in the back with bar-chairs as if my job had me wearing constricting tights 89.9% of the year.

Back-handed compliments: I'm beginning to think that receiving back-handed compliments is a black person's "rite of passage" in this country - especially if you are an African American who grew up amongst a slew of socially retarded white folks, if I had a dime for every time I heard "You are pretty cool for a black guy" and "Wow, you are so articulate - were you adopted by white parents?" I'd probably have enough money to buy most third world country's with change left over by now. Being a grizzled veteran when it comes to pointing out the subtlest forms of racism, you can just imagine how upset I was with myself when I realized that I have been letting things effortlessly get past me as if I was an armless soccer goalie for the better part of a decade - people who have time and time again shamelessly approached me and gushed over how "clean" and "neat" my hair was. It took me a while to realize that this wasn't exactly a compliment, the same way someone praising my clear diction with a fascinated look on their face wasn't exactly complimentary either - it soon dawned on me that a remark of that variety was also a condemnation of dreadlocks as a whole.

Groundhog Day: Although I'm fully aware that there's no way a total stranger would know my intricate back-story like I was a well known John Grisham novel, even though my extensive reputation of unprovoked violence and sodomizing women on bathroom floors proceeds me - I still get tired answering the same fucking questions about my dreadlocks? "How man years have you been growing them?" "Don't they get hot in the summer time?" "Aren't they heavy?" A couple of years ago I had these business-size cards made up with "Frequently asked questions" about my hair, whenever someone would inquire about my locks at some watering-hole I'd just shove that card in their face - but my friends got together and it was a consensus, doing so made me look like an even bigger dick than I already am.(If that was even possible)

Overly aggressive women:Sometimes, just sometimes, a degenerate bastard like myself who has a habit of granting women signatures of ejaculate on their naked backs post-coitus - longs for a meaningful relationship. Sure, the companionship seems nice, her completing my "I'll kick your fucking ass buddy" sentence while we are at a bar is the epitome of romantic - and the thought of having receipt-less ass on a steady basis is not only good for my self-esteem but it would also do wonders for my wallet. But the main reason a girlfriend would be great, outside of all the other reasons I've already listed - is to publicly thwart other females who are in the habit of randomly tugging my hair like we were in fucking kindergarten. I mean, women who ask to touch my hair first, no problem - but I couldn't tell you how many times my head has been suddenly yanked backwards by some manner-less harlot. If a dude did it I could just punch him, kick him in the sternum, even "sweep the leg" on some "Karate Kid" shit - but whenever a female does it the best that I can conjure up is a "Have you lost your fucking mind?" look on my face. I figure having a girlfriend around would nip that shit in the bud.

My daily attempt to resurrect Hip Hop: 3rd Bass "The Gas Face"

The Classic "Hey Love" Commerical

I just committed my own mother's birthday to memory five years ago, sometimes the name of the chick I lost my virginity to escapes me - but I've always been able to recite this commercial verbatim with court-stenographer-like accuracy.

Wednesday, November 21, 2007

"The Virginian Pilot" : HumanityCritic, the Quote Machine

Over the weekend, your friendly neighborhood HumanityCritic got a healthy helping of home-cooking when my local paper, "The Virginian Pilot", included me in a story that they ran entitled "Blogs are Growing Past Race Divide" - addressing the role that black bloggers play in terms of the blogisphere as a whole. Shit man, the last time that my government name graced the pages of the local paper it was concerning me long-jumping 24 feet 2 inches back when Ed O.G dropped his first album, I had a six-pack that morally bankrupt women could successfully wash their undergarments on - an era that I cherish like a teenage love-affair solely because it was the last time I remember ever seeing my cock in its entirety. So when the writer(Elizabeth Thiel) interviewed me via email I wanted to give her a "quotable" that she would use in her piece - believe it or not it wasn't an attempt to raise my blog profile on a local level, but an appeal to all the women in my particular zipcode, I've yet to get laid off the strength of my blog and my dream is to one day have some broad aggressively riding my "negro gearshift" while saying "I loved your November 3rd blog entry baby!!"(I guess a boy can dream huh?)

My only bone of the contention with the piece doesn't have to do with me being misquoted or anything, because I wasn't, its really my own doing based on my blatant honesty concerning my anger issues - when the writer stated "His writing is at times unapologetically profane, with flashes of anger and physical violence" she in no way misrepresented my blog, but actually seeing that in print sort of made me feel like a scumbag who was singlehandedly taking my people backwards. Anyway, below are some quotes that she used and one that I wished she would have used - not for nothing, I'm fully aware that I've dissed Vh1 based on their "Hip Hop Honors" debacles - but I'd let bygones be bygones if I could get a coveted spot on "The Best Week Ever", those people could benefit from a fucking quote machine like me.

Quotes they used in "The Daily Break" section of "The Virginian Pilot"

On Jesse Jackson, Al Sharpton, and the title of Nas' upcoming album:
(Pulled from this blog post)

"I seriously doubt that this is the reason Nas is doing this, but personally I see it as one of the biggest chess moves an artist can make when it comes to confronting "black leadership" in this country. When all the charlatans and used car salesmen with an agenda come out of the proverbial woodwork and raise complete hell, pace in front of the record label with unimaginative picket signs, steamroll Cd's, and get more face-time on cable news than Laci Peterson - that would be the perfect time to confront them, rattle off about 45 different life and death causes that are drastically affecting the black community, and openly and sarcastically wonder why they are wasting their time obsessing over a word."

On black blogs:

"It gives voice to those who thought they were voiceless.. but I believe that outside of a blues band, no other force brings black and white people together like the words of a black blogger. Racism, on all fronts, usually stems from one person being filled with falsehoods, stereotypes, and preconceived notions about another person based on their race." - "With my blog, and the millions of others written by people born with melanin - you can actually see what we think in detail. No, its not cool to ask me the time honored 'Why can't I use the N-Word?' question. No, its not cool to ask me if I think O.Jwas guilty or not with a crap-eating grin on your face - and its not cool to assume that I am a horticulture salesman just because I have dreadlocks.(Wait, black folks make that assumption as well,)"

One I wished they used on the state of Hip Hop:

" of the main problems with Hip Hop in my eyes is that people continually apologizing for sub-par artistry. You will hear some respected artist or journalist, when being asked about Hip Hop they will say something like "Hip Hop is going through a transition, I'm not mad at the state of it because its always changing" Huh? Puberty is a transition. Dealing with the loss of a spouse is a transition. Finally getting into the American Version of "The Office" after being a devoted fan of the British version is a transition. You'd never look at your cocaine addicted cousin and say, "Well, Larry is going through a 'transition' right now" - now he's not, he's an addict who needs a "tough love" intervention. I think that fans of real Hip Hop shouldn't be scared to give it some 'tough love" - and if that intervention comes in the form of a throat-chop, so be it."

A Song from the "Ransom Crates" (see: disgruntled ex-girlfriend)

Find the original Back story here:

MC Ren: "Final Frontier"

When it comes to 90% of the ardent opponents of Hip Hop out there, a bottom feeding lot that routinely villainize an art-form that they virtually know nothing about - its probably the only time you'll ever be able to successfully lump people together like Bill O'Reilly, Winton Marsalis, Sean Hannity, and Stanley Crouch when discussing the rogues gallery of uninformed douchebags. Sure there are Hip Hop songs that are purely indefensible, but their broad generalizations on a music that I cherish just exhibits an intellectual recklessness only seen before in bi-polar products of inbreeding and black republicans - when I debate people of their ilk, I represent the culture to the best of my ability and never give them any ammunition. Granted, I know I'm speaking to a slew of like-minded individuals here - but I just hope that those same Hip Hop detractors don't read this blog and find out that I secretly feel that some songs influence violence.

As much as I love and respect N.W.A's "Straight Outta Compton" for its brutal honesty and social commentary, its one of my favorite albums of all time - their next release(minus Ice Cube) "100 Miles and Runnin'" was devoid of the same hood consciousness and just seemed like one big killing and fucking festival set to Dr. Dre's dope beats. Sure I loved it. But if "Straight Outta Compton" inspired me to speak out against police brutality in my own city, "100 Miles and Runnin'" inspired me to sucker punch a police officer, steal his cop car, and proceed to get a spirited "mouth hug" in the backseat by a local woman of ill repute. This particular MC Ren song, "Final Frontier" off of his first solo effort entitled "Kizz My Black Azz" - has no redeeming value whatsoever, outside of inspiring a young HumanityCritic to cause nothing but havoc in 1992. All the violent acts that I perpetrated with this song acting as the prime motivator, well, I won't get into the particulars - but I feel like Dennis Hopper in that Bruce Smith commercial back in the day, "Bad Things Man, Bad Things.."

My daily attempt to resurrect Hip Hop: Stetsasonic - "Talkin' All That Jazz"

The Blog Readability of this blog

Earlier this week I was directed here, a site that measures the education that one would need to fully comprehend a particular blog. Curious, I typed in my blog address and immediately saw the following:

cash advance

Get a Cash Advance

Really? Post Grad? Not for nothing, but there definitely has to be a glitch in the matrix.

Wednesday, November 14, 2007

A Song from the "Ransom Crates" (see: disgruntled ex-girlfriend)

Find the original Back story here:

Kool G Rap: "Truly Yours"

I'm fully aware that my goals for Hip Hop are pretty fucking lofty, but for the longest time I've passionately viewed my favorite genre of music like a martial art - only imagining the true practitioners of said art-form spending inordinate amounts of time honing their craft, hoping to one day acquire a golden glow around their collective bodies that resembles Bruce Leroy(or maybe Jesus if his black hippie ass ever returns) the very moment that they've mastered one of the elements of Hip Hop that I hold near and dear to my heart. As a dedicated fan, much like some random towns-person who happens to inhabit the same fictitious village that a Kung-Fu Master does in one of those old school karate flicks - I sincerely respect the skill and dedication it takes for an MC or DJ to get where they're at, the only difference is that I'm not really into bowing with clinched fists every time I'm in the presence of their ass. Since I'm a true believer of the time honored tradition that has everything to do with two turntables and a microphone - I took a solemn oath, probably around the same time that my father bought me a certain Sugarhill Gang record circa 79', that I would tirelessly defend great artists whose good names were being sullied.

That being said, I think I owe Kool G Rap a sincere apology. See, Two months ago, when I was having some drinks with a couple of good friends at a Mexican restaurant that's probably owned by a gentleman who knows less Spanish than I do - we started talking about some of the Greatest MC's of all time. The light was being shone on the usual suspects like a jailhouse interrogation, Rakim, Tupac(not by me), Biggie(again, not by me) - but when I mentioned Kool G Rap you would have thought that I had squatted and unloaded a very busy shit right in front of everybody. Especially from my friend's home-girl that was in attendance, she seemed flustered that I even attempted to fix my lips and utter the respected member of "The Juice Crew" - then she went on a very misguided diatribe explaining the error in my ways. I could have easily torn her to shreds, recited his verse in "The Symphony" that would have melted large portions of her brain, casually mentioned the words "Men at work", severely affecting the simple womans motor skills - but unfortunately I said nothing, disarmed by large chocolate mammaries and a backside that probably inspired Sir Mixalot's greatest chart-topper. For that, Kool G Rap, I sincerely apologize.

A Guitar is a wack MC's arch nemesis(

When a solitary person expresses their disgust concerning one your unique idiosyncrasies, you can simply chalk it up to them being the one who has the "problem" - but when scores of people make it their business to tell you the exact same thing, it automatically gets upgraded from "fluke" to "inconvenient truth".(minus the melting polar icecaps and it being 80 degrees in motherfucking October!) For the past few weeks I've stopped scrolling craigslist for "delivery ass" and decided to navigate the turbulent waters of dating like most normal human beings - courting a slew of beautiful women by taking them to the movies, museums, and having in-depth conversations at fancy restaurants while openly wondering if my future disgruntled ex-girlfriend is going to order from the "in-car mouth-hug" side of the menu.(Read more here)

Allen Iverson, its safe to drop that Hip Hop album now(

Like most people who openly despise Tyler Perry and clearly pronounce the "er" at the end of the word "motherfucker" - I publicly had my blackness challenged the other night, a ritual that happens so often that I feel like a grizzled veteran who has done four tours of duty in that particular war of ignorance. I happened to be out with some friends, having a few drinks, talking about everything from Hip Hop to politics - when a friend of one of the people at the table said "Man, you sure do talk white, what's up with that?" Usually, despite my reputation for historically being a sociopathic hothead, I'd calmly tell the misguided brother that he desperately needed to reevaluate what blackness is - respectfully dropping jewels to the young man like so many elder statesmen of years past had graciously done with me, letting him in on the fact that a person's colloquialisms and lack of stereotypical idiosyncrasies have nothing to do with embracing the melanin they were born with. But I must have been having a bad day because all civility and decorum were abandoned as I punched that son of a bitch squarely in the throat, dragging his ass outside by his BAPE sweatshirt as he desperately gasped for air - me screaming at the top of my lungs "You really want to see how black I am motherfucker!!" Sure, that could have been handled differently, but I've been dealing with that sort of idiocy ever since my main focus in life became landing 360 Airwalk Ollie's and pulling off backside smith grinds - when I was in junior high, the mere fact that I rode a skateboard made my black peers feel as if I was a race traitor who would snitch on my fellow brothers and sisters if the revolution ever went down.(Read more here)

Respectfully, Blender Magazine has lost its fucking mind!!(

When I was first approached to write for more than 9 months ago I was sincerely flattered, the fact that there was a company actually in existence willing to pay me legitimate united states currency to talk my specific brand of shit under their imprint would have brought a solitary tear to my eye - if a testosterone fueled stud like myself was capable of such an emotion that is. But like Dave Chappelle once rhetorically asked, "What's a black man without his paranoia intact?" - so when I was told that I had car blanc content wise, I kept second guessing the sweet woman, asking again and again, "Are you really sure you want to do that?"(I now know what it felt like to be one of Nas' homeboys while he recorded that "You Owe Me" song with Ginuine) Even though she had informed me that they had read my blog, knew what they were getting into, and virtually gave me the green light to say that Three-6 Mafia was Undoing the Civil Rights Movement and that the people over at MTV who compile those Hip Hop "Best of" lists should be publicly beaten with old videotaped episodes of "Yo MTV Raps" - my utter disbelief led me to very cowardly dedicate my first two posts to Paris Hilton and Ray J.(*hangs head in shame*) But as time passed, me very nervously looking around like a kid about to steal a cookie every time I said something rather inflammatory or provocative - to their credit the good people at Vibe kept their word, no censorship, no notes from up above. They allowed me to be their journalistic gun for hire, verbally assassinating wack rappers who were in desperate need of dispatching - only I wasn't as smooth and stealthy as most Hit-men, hiding in adjacent buildings and calmly picking off their target then leaving the premises in a janitors uniform - my approach was more up close and personal, confronting the target while wearing a gaudy gold medallion with my government name on it, taking them out in broad daylight only to look around at everyone else and to say "See what happens to you when you spit a horrific 16?"(Read more here)

Killer Mike on "Snitching"

This video is a few months old, but I completely co-sign his sentiments on child abusers.

"..kill the guy and bury his body behind the Stop-n-Go"

Wednesday, November 07, 2007

A Side order of beef at PF Changs

In this glorious age of self promoting snake-oil salesmen blaming all societal ills on two turntables and a microphone, and people acting like banning a racial epithet would be a feat tantamount to Brown vs. The Board of Education - as a black man I know how important it is for me to spread nothing but positive messages to my young readers, countering all of the negative imagery that they are bombarded with on a daily basis. That being said, I've been barred from at least 60% of the local drinking establishments over the course of a decade - an otherwise troubling statistic that I happen to wear like a motherfucking badge of honor. I know, I'm a 34 year old man who has no business fighting, I should be starting a family and acting like most responsible adults equipped with a penchant for diaper changing and hanging out with Sunday afternoon golf buddies - but the sole fact that I subscribe to the rationale that anyone is eligible for an ass-whipping, embracing said philosophy has turned my government name into a curse word for a handful of local bar owners. Believe it or not, bar owners frown upon one of their patrons choking someone the fuck out with a pool stick, them putting a cue ball in their sock and mercilessly hitting his would-be dispatchers with it - they really don't care if it was provoked or not, see how fast you will get banned from a bar if you happen to have a monthly habit of smashing bottles over the heads of miscellaneous douche-bag's while weirdly proclaiming "Don't ever say anything against my mother!!"("Malcolm X" reference)

Its not like I actively go out and try to decrease my drinking opportunities, I'd rather have people thinking that I practiced civil disobedience on some Gandhi shit when I wasn't preoccupied with ruining my liver - but because of my criminally low levels of tolerance when it comes to people talking slick, I either find myself on the business end of a bouncer attack or a scathing diatribe where the words "Get The fuck out and never come back!" are strategically placed somewhere at the end of said rant. But being that most of the drinking establishments I'm banned from happen to be of the dive bar variety, watering holes where only career alcoholics and women whose methadone treatments have left them virtually toothless dwell - that very special moment where I do find myself banned, I usually clap very slowly while letting out a very sarcastic "You know you're doing me a favor, banishing me from a shitty bar and all.. Bravo!" closing salvo.

That being said, I never thought that I'd ever get banned from a place like PF Changs - a fine establishment that doesn't violate any health regulations, a respected eatery where I can pick up a woman and not worry about her possibly selling one of my kidneys on Ebay, leaving me laying unconscious in the fetal position in a bathtub full of ice. But I am banned, and here are a few reasons why.

Bruce Leroy: One of the things that I thank god for each night before I meet deaths cousin, outside of him giving me a faulty moral compass and my mother beating cancer like it had stolen something - is the fact that I was never cursed with the burden of having any younger sisters. I'm saying, I've heard so many horror stories from women concerning their ex-boyfriends, everything from having dagger-shaped words being hurled in their direction to being victims of the most heinous acts of violence imaginable - I always find myself asking these women, "Where in the fuck is your daddy/brother at?" Not for nothing, but that's why I'm glad that I don't have any younger sisters - my backyard would be filled with the skeletal remains of every detestable waste of semen who took it upon himself to physically harm or even talk sideways to my sister - I hate to reference another Denzel Washington movie, but I can see myself burying some douche-bag in my wife-beater, looking around at all the unmarked graves and screaming "Saddam ain't got shit on me!!". I brought all that up because the woman I recently went on a date with has a disgruntled ex-boyfriend whose mind-state is as flimsy as a soup sandwich, most of the phone conversations we had in the run up to the date had to deal with his physical abuse, his stalking, and him unexpectedly showing up at her job throughout the day - the "nuttier than squirrel shit" trifecta. So after a few weeks of convincing she finally agreed to go on a date with your friendly neighborhood pre-ejaculator at PF Changs, and everything was going well - that was until I returned from the bathroom to see some disheveled looking gentleman attempting to take my date away against her will. It had to be the ex-boyfriend. So, because I've been watching a shitload of videos like this lately - I took it upon myself to run to the table full speed and leap with all the might that a fat man could muster - catching the mentally disturbed gentleman flushly in the face with the phat lace part of my shell-toe Adidas. As the disoriented gentleman crashed into a lovely couples meal for that night, I noticed an elderly black woman shaking her head in disapproval, which led me to ask her "I know, I just set our people back 20 years didn't I?" In which she responded, "Sure, but I was just wondering how your "latenight snack having" ass managed to get off of the ground like that?"

Zsa Zsa Gabor-ing the wait staff: I'm not exactly sure how the local PF Changs treats their black staff members, it has to be akin to slave labor or indentured servitude based on how miserable they seem all of the fucking time - but they tend to comfortably wear looks of anguish and despair on their faces like it was a trusty pair of house slippers. Not only that, when said staffers aren't making you think that they're a bad day away from swallowing a bullet, they mean mug you to death making you feel as if you're trapped in one of those cliched Kung Fu flicks - a Karate gui-less fellow planning to exact his revenge on me for cutting his twin brother's life short, or consensually sodomizing his sister to the point that she was unable to sit down for a week. Even before the episode where I tried to knock out some douche-bags bicuspids with my shell toes, I found myself on the business end of many cantankerous stare downs - I never acted on it mind you, just slowly turned to whoever I was having dinner with at the time and openly wondered "What in the fuck is that guy staring at?"

Fast forward to last week. I was taking my mother there for a bite to eat, I love her dearly, I'd die for the woman without weighing my options - sure she is one of the only people to unconditionally have my back from day one, but I'd take a bullet for her based on the fact that she can identify everyone in "The Symphony" and she happened to use the phrase "Nappy Dugout" in a conversation recently. Anyways, as we are strolling down the sidewalk en route to some early evening eats - I notice a staff member of said eatery sitting at a table on the patio portion, staring me the fuck down like I was the grim reaper about to snatch up a loved one. His eyes never broke from me once, my mother even noticed it and asked "Do you know this young man?" - by the time we had reached him I'd had enough and decided to ask the guy what his problem was. Apparently my right palm has issues with authority, simply ignoring my brains request for a verbal altercation - and I proceeded to open hand slap the shit out of the gentleman, me exhibiting a violent arm motion that only fast ball pitchers would recognize. My poor mother, all 120 pounds of her trying to restrain me like a bouncer - me feeling like Nino Brown shooting someone in the head in broad daylight, I kept screaming "Don't ever fuck with a dude silly enough to start fights in front of his mother!!!" The dude ran inside and within a few moments a manager came outside and told me that I was banned from the restaurant - my mother just shook her head, smiled, and said "I was warned about drinking all that wine when I was pregnant with you.."

Black Thought of the day: "Al Sharpton & Jesse Jackson"

One of the things that I absolutely loathe in this world, outside of world hunger and any waste of semen that feels that Jim Jones is in the least bit talented - is fake humility, an obviously cocky person who says all the right things just so people won't see him for the insufferable prick that he really is. Well, most of you already know that I'm an insufferable prick - but I just hope that I'm not exhibiting the same sort of fake humility when I say that I'm always sincerely stunned whenever a person reaches out and tells me how much they dig my writing. I'm fully aware of my criminally low self-esteem that comes with this gut that blocks my view of an already unimpressive phallus - but I'm just pleasantly surprised that anyone would forgo triple penetration smut-sites and gossip blogs for a few fleeting moments to read one sentence of my drivel. That being said, one of the handful of people that read my random ramblings reached out and asked me how I felt about Nas titling his album "Nigger" - I proceeded to type the following: "Personally, I have no problem with it, especially if Nas takes it upon himself to create a socially aware piece of art that makes the title of his 8th studio album more than just a cheap political stunt." Then I hit "send".

After a few minutes passed, answering emails, watching sports highlights, and earnestly patrolling work-unfriendly websites where women lacked gag reflexes and smeared delicious looking chocolate all over themselves - I hit her back with the following response:

"I know that you asked me a simple question that only required a quick and rather pedestrian response, which I initially gave you - but I have another take on Nas and him naming his album "Nigger". I seriously doubt that this is the reason Nas is doing this, but personally I see it as one of the biggest chess moves an artist can make when it comes to confronting "black leadership" in this country. When all the charlatans and used car salesmen with an agenda come out of the proverbial woodwork and raise complete hell, pace in front of the record label with unimaginative picket signs, steamroll Cd's, and get more face-time on cable news than Laci Peterson - that would be the perfect time to confront them, rattle off about 45 different life and death causes that are drastically affecting the black community, and openly and sarcastically wonder why they are wasting their time obsessing over a word. Put those ambulance chasing scumbags on front-street! OK Crystal, I'm done - I promise" Then I hit "SEND".

After I had bombarded Crystal's inbox with my nonsensical ramblings, and started to think more about the proverbial clusterfuck that is Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton - the wheels in my head started to turn, lubricated with only conspiritorial thoughts that make 2nd shooter theories and the government inventing AIDS to eliminate black folks seem like something easily found in an Encyclopedia Britannica. I was wondering, since most black folks with the good sense that god gave them see those two men for what they really are - does anyone ever get the feeling that they are double agents disguised as civil rights leaders, actually doing the black race more harm than good? Just think about it, whenever you have those two "Barney Fife's with a soapbox" immediately out in front of a legitimate black issue or tragedy - their mere presence automatically makes a legitimate issue that should get the nations attention seem kind of suspect. Its almost like fighting Superman while he has a big brick of kryptonite in his pocket, sure he's a formidable opponent, but you don't have to take him as serious as usual.

My daily attempt to resurrect Hip Hop: Just Ice ft KRS One-Going Way Back