President-Elect Obama, keep Guantanamo Bay open for wack ass rappers.(Vibe.com)

The last few days, watching the liberal blogosphere act like a bunch of whining malcontents as they clumsily hyperventilate over Obama picking Hillary Clinton for Secretary of State, and the President-Elect's decision to let Joe Lieberman keep his chairmanship despite the Connecticut Senator's nasty general election habit of questioning Obama's patriotism and calling him a Marxist - my dear cousin Rose suddenly comes to mind. See, Rose's current boyfriend is a world class guy in my honest opinion, an extremely hard working and unassuming fellow who loves my cousin with every fiber of his being - he would gladly sacrifice his rather interesting life just to extend the tenure of her less than stellar existence. But to hear her tell it, the fact that he occasionally chews with his mouth open, occasionally leaves his socks in sporadic places, and is obsessed with Fantasy Football has made life simply not worth living for my fifth favorite cousin. Listen, Rose's particular gripes aren't all that unreasonable, I'm currently single because I have a penchant for announcing my bowel movements and putting every girlfriend that I've ever had on the business end of a "Dutch Oven". But when you consider the fact that her last boyfriend beat her so routinely that you would have thought he was doing so to a metronome, extracted large sums of money out of her purse, and proceeded to consensually penetrate all of her closest girlfriends - thus providing her entire crew with a delightful case of gonorrhea at exactly the same time. It makes the gripes about her current boyfriend akin to someone bitching about the color of a Maybach that was given to them, or taking issue with the slight stutter your voluptuous porn star girlfriend with Daddy issues has. After 8 years of suffering under a man that can be accurately described as the Barney Fife of Presidents, the prematurely incessant groans about an Obama presidency possibly not living up to some liberal standard seems like a bunch of wasted fucking energy to me.

Besides, for anyone paying attention, Obama has always been more of a pragmatist and less of an ideologue. Despite the fact that Hillary ran a gutter campaign littered with xenophobia and dog whistles, she's extremely qualified to be Secretary of State, and Obama's impressive campaign has momentarily rendered me mute in terms of questioning his decisions for a while. Besides, keep your friends close and enemies closer I say, the last thing he wants is Hillary Clinton causing absolute havoc for him in the Senate. I despise Joe Lieberman as much as the next guy, I wanted Obama to put the smack-down on Lieberman so bad that my right hand shakes every time his pathetic name is mentioned. But Joe Lieberman votes with the Democrats 90% of the time and Obama needs that vote. Besides, when a person goes out of their way to betray your trust and you forgive them without batting an eye, that person usually spends the remainder of their existence kissing your ass. The recent "concerns" from some of the Anti-War left just proves that they weren't paying attention to his campaign over the past 2 years - sure he wants to get out of Iraq as soon as humanly possible, but what part of increasing troop levels in Afghanistan and bombing al qaeda in Pakistan whether their government likes it or not didn't people understand?

But there is one impending Obama action that has the collective hearts of the Netroots going all aflutter, and that is the closing of Guantanamo Bay - an Executive order the President Elect has signaled he will issue the moment he's sworn in. Obviously I agree with this, no logical American who cares about our moral standing in the world can be against the closing of Gitmo - that's whats great about having a President who was once a law professor, a place that represents the blatant disregard for habeas corpus and the Geneva conventions must thoroughly offend his sensibilities. But being that this election was an electoral rebuke of ignorance - Americans gave the proverbial finger to "Drill baby Drill", Joe the Plumber, Guilt-by-Associations, Tito the Builder, and Sarah Palin's Folksy "I feel like she's one of us" shtick - now is a better time than ever for all of us true Hip Hop aficionados to do away with sub-par lyricism that has unfortunately become an accepted part of the music we all love. Aren't you absolutely horrified every time you turn on your radio and find yourself subjected to knuckle-dragging minstrelsy posing as Hip Hop? Don't you cringe every Jim Jones, or some other entertainer of his ilk, tries to convince the populace that "swagger" is a sufficient replacement for actual mic skills? Despite people desperately trying to convince me that he is the second coming of the long haired dude who died for our sins, I've heard nothing but unimpressive 16's from Lil Wayne thus far. How many times have you witnessed some rapper with a gaudy diamond encrusted smile, heard the pedestrian wordplay that escaped his blissfully ignorant mandible and thought - "A monkey could do that!"?

This might sound kind of harsh but I truly feel that people who don't respect Hip Hop as an artform should be treated like enemy combatants and dealt with accordingly. Its this writers humble opinion that Barack Obama should keep Guantanamo Bay open and only house wack ass rappers there. As for recommended torture techniques: 1)Being forced to listen to "Paid in Full" for 48 hours straight. 2)Daily Vocabulary tests given at gunpoint 3)Learning the words to Kool G Rap's "Men at Work" verbatim 4)Forcing the detainees to build a DJ Premier shrine and make them worship at it 5)An Electric shock every time something incredibly stupid is uttered( ala Soulja Boy thanking Slave Masters and DMX now knowing who Barack Obama was) and 6)Random beatings that involve the detainees being hit with a pillowcase full of "WiId Style" VHS tapes.

4 Days/4 people I've assaulted in Barack Obama's name - #3

With only four days until the biggest election of my lifetime, I took it upon myself to take a page out of Lee Stranahan's book. Instead of giving 30 very well thought out reasons to vote for Barack Obama every day until November 4th like he did, I decided to accurately describe four of the most vicious beatings that I've administered while defending the now President-elect. I started off pretty strong, relaying to my readers a rather heartwarming tale where I mercilessly clotheslined some asshole who felt the need to make his assassination fantasies public - but I immediately got sidetracked by the enormity of the election. You know, canvassing for Team Obama, making phone calls, convincing my republican friends that Barack Obama was the better candidate and that Sarah Palin was an incoherent twit, election night excitement that cause me to tongue-kiss women with questionable moral standards(I literally throw up in my mouth every time I think about the walking petri dishes I swapped spit with that night) - the three week celebratory drinking binge that followed. But unlike the scores of scorned lovers that I've had in my lifetime, feverishly getting themselves off in the bed beside me as I quietly nap in pre-ejaculatory bliss - this time I intend to finish what I start.

Dispatched Asshole #3: I don't claim to be the smartest man in the world, every time I've encountered someone with an I.Q that obviously dwarfs mine I have no problem deferring to them with a quickness - even though I'm an insufferable prick, traces of humility can actually be found if you look hard enough. That said, being that the closest watering holes from my house happen to be of the "Dive Bar" variety, I've seriously considered finally putting the bottle down and living a fruitful life of sobriety. Not because I want to save my liver mind you, but because the people who usually frequent these establishments are so fucking beneath me. It sounds elitist, I know, but if you had been subjected to the same amount of nonsensical conversations over the years that I have - you too would occasionally ask people whether their parents were siblings or not. If its not some culturally insensitive question about my hair wrapped in a delightful child-like wonderment tone, or the ever pleasing compliments like "You're pretty smart for a black guy" that I absolutely love - more times than not I've found myself on the business end of the dumbest political arguments known to man. Unfortunately, I was once again subjected to the latter by this female bartender at a horseshit bar called "Parlays".

Anyway, the bartender in question was off of work the night that a friend and I decided to talk about Obama's campaign. As she getting drunk off of her ass a few chairs down, she decided to interject - "Who are y'all talking about? Obama? Let me tell you, he is a Muslim, a Muslim I tell you! If that son of a bitch is ever elected he'll have his al qaeda buddies moving into the White House, watch him give Bin Laden and his followers satellite Television in their caves! If he's elected, we're all doomed!" I usually would have laughed it off and kept drinking, but this particular night I was hardly amused. More times than not I would have argued with the simpleton to simply correct the record, but debating this pint-sized hate monger seemed as pointless as debating the civil rights struggle with Fairuza Balk's character in "American History X". Unfortunately I had to let her slide, if she was a man I could have easily just walked up and chop him in the throat, but that night I was forced to let that brand of ignorance go unchecked. That's until my neighbor Julie walked through the door.

Julie is my Mexican Neighbor from California who I usually get baked with, the mere fact that she lets me get away with speaking in an insulting Mexican accent while dropping Kid Frost "La Raza" references forever puts her in my good graces. She is fine as hell, and I would have made my move a long time ago, but an extremely rough 32 years of life has made her exude the toughest of exteriors. Not for nothing, but I always felt that if we ever got together I'd probably find myself overcompensating because how tough Julie is - sporadically punching strangers in the face and snatching Police Officers' guns for the fuck of it. No thanks. Anyway, I slid Julie a few bucks and she proceeded to beat seven shades of shit out of that mouthy bartender who believed Sean Hannity's lies and clumsy smears. (It was sort of like watching a cartoon fight, where all you see is a big dust cloud with random fists emerging from it) Ok, so I didn't fight anyone this particular time - but I set the ball in motion so that has to count for something)

Johnson&Jonson "Up All Night"

You know that a song is pretty good when you completely forget what you were doing before the tune started. Moments after witnessing my old man snatched from the mortal coil, to this day I can still hear that flat-lining sound in my quietest moments, tears still racing down my face from uncontrollable sobbing - A Tribe Called Quest's "Scenario" came on my car radio and I proceeded to enthusiastically rap every MC's part. For a brief moment I forgot why I was balling like an adolescent. One of my first girlfriends had the audacity to break up with me the same day Public Enemy's "It takes a Nation of Millions.." came out - after two days of completely dissecting and devouring that work of art, I vaguely remember having a conversation with my girlfriend about how much of an asshole I was and some other guy she had met.

The other day my Aunt wanted me to talk to my 20 year old cousin about his excessive marijuana use, which I sort of found odd, because that's sort of like asking Gary Busey to counsel someone about their peculiar behavior. It was obvious that my mothers sister had exhausted all other options. Anyway, I went over to his apartment with my best 80's era, Nancy Reagan-esque anti-drug rhetoric - despite the fact that I had to smoke a fatty before even engaging in such a hypocritical endeavor. When I got there, Johnson&Jonson's "Up All Night" played the background - moments later we were sharing a tightly rolled joint while waxing poetic about Hip Hop. It took an entire day for me to remember what my original agenda for that day was.

My thoughts on the election, and what took me so long.(Vibe.com)

For once in my life I wish I was like everyone else, journalistically able to sum up my innermost feelings in such a succinct fashion - immediately after a country with a history of contempt for African descendants elected the son of a Kenyan to the highest office in the land. Some truly beautiful things have been written online and in print about November 4th 2008, I sincerely tip my hat to the plethora of wordsmiths out there who have the god given ability to corral so many emotions at light speed. Even though I'm the human embodiment of speed, an impatient pre-ejaculator with an ornery hair trigger - the bitter irony of my snails pace approach when waxing poetic about our first black president isn't lost on me. To be completely honest, between the absolute shock that our country electorally did the right thing, the joy of the McCain Campaign being on the business end of an embarrassing defeat, and all of the life altering encounters concerning this election that I've been privy to - that mind-numbing clusterfuck of emotions rendered me virtually useless blogging wise.

I couldn't find the words to express the extreme pride I felt when my best friend in the world, lifelong republican who voted for Bush twice and listens to that proverbial ass-hat Michael Savage - decided to cast his vote for Barack Obama after Sarah Palin pushed him over the edge. I didn't particularly think that a simple blog post could contain the overwhelming joy I felt when the American people let out a gigantic "Fuck you" concerning Sean Hannity's persistent dedication to slime and that dirty secessionist from Alaska and her tired guilt-by-association shtick. I just couldn't find a way to blog about my mother, a woman so strong that she very cavalierly blew smoke rings at my grandmothers funeral and cursed my old man for not taking proper care of himself mere moments after he flat-lined - the way she sobbed uncontrollably when it became apparent that Barack Obama would be our next president is something that will be with me until my dying day. There were no creative segues available for the elderly black man I met at an election watching party at a nearby bar. After I shook one of his weathered hands that I'm sure has seen a half century of hard work, he pulled me in close for an embrace and choked up as whispered "I can die now." into my right ear.

Articulating the various ways that I've been an insufferable prick to the knuckle-dragging hillbillies in my hometown is damn near impossible, causing grown men to soil themselves after being caught trying to steal my Obama yard sign - even grabbing the faces of local Mein Kampf readers so they can mouth the words "President Obama" along with me has made my life worth living again. There's no way a silly online rant could accurately describe the pain in my heart I will always feel, wishing that my father was here to see who became our 44th President. Despite the fact that cancer ravaged his body at the very end, the only times that I ever witnessed my old man cry were the two times that he retold the story of his shipmates celebrating when Martin Luther King was assassinated - I always say that that killed him years before the cancer did. I'm sure that if he had lived long enough to see Barack Obama become President, that would have made the most painful memories of his life an afterthought. There's no way I could have sat down and blogged about that. Shit, I guess I just did.