Maybe the Dali Lama is the only one who can criticize Hip Hop(Vibe throwback)

Maybe it's because I'm getting older, remembering a time when people thought that George Michael was straight and that Terrence Trent D'arby would have an illustrious singing career, but it seems to me that most of the people who criticize Hip Hop just regurgitate random talking points that they once heard on an episode of Geraldo circa 89'. Due to the whole hysteria surrounding a man that no one with a healthy pulse even listens to any more, my life over the past week has felt like a dreadlocked version of Groundhog Day - hearing everyone from right wing pundits to civil rights activists telling whoever would listen that Hip Hop music is bringing down western civilization as we all know it. Listen, I agree with many of the well-meaning brothers and sisters who have publicly voiced their concerns recently: I've been a fan of Hip Hop for the better part of three decades, but I can't defend the indefensible. Besides the fact that I'm a Hip Hop elitist who finds a slew of artists being played on the radio, MTV, and BET as fundamentally bad, I have no problem agreeing with the harshest of Hip Hop critics that violence, minstrelsy, and misogyny is a constant motif in much of what's played nowadays. But many of these well intentioned black folks embarrass themselves whenever they don't specifically point out that what they are vehemently ranting against is "Clear Channel" Hip Hop - anything predicated on flashing diamond encrusted smiles, throwing money in the air, and proudly exhibiting a lack of lyricism - exuding nothing but intellectual laziness, knowing that it's much easier to quote a questionable rap lyric than to tackle the faulty educational system or flat-out bad parenting.

My only fear is that this is Hip Hop's version of Janet Jackson's Superbowl nipple slip, a virtual door being opened for anyone who has ever tried to turn my favorite genre into the scapegoat for all of America's societal ills - inciting a musical witch hunt where drooling lunatics begin to lump together horrible groups like Crime Mob with Royce da 5'9. Sure, I expected this from right-wing pundits who wanted to turn the Imus issue into a referendum on Hip Hop - frigid women once again being able to moisten their collective panties and impotent men suddenly sporting more wood than Home run Derby's whenever they get the opportunity to cluelessly generalize Hip Hop - only momentarily replacing their hidden desire of one day being able to openly call black folks by their favorite racial epithet. But I figured that people who looked like me and usually thought like me would understand the nuanced nature of the argument - but last week I was proven wrong.

The funniest development that I discovered, flipping between cable porn and news stations as I often do, is that the loudest voices criticizing Hip Hop happened to be the same ones with the shadiest of pasts. Here are some of their offenses, people so belligerent about Hip Hop culture that they make a baboons ass like a casual Hip Hop critic look like Africa Bambataa. Here are some nominees for the "Sit your ass down" award.


Michelle Malkin: Like most uninformed twits who gladly wear their ignorance about Hip Hop like a badge of honor and happen to possess a lemming-like fan-base exclusively of Bush Loyalists who would have gladly drank Jim Jones' Kool-Aid if he was around today and prayed to the alter of Reagan - her "rabbit out of the hat" trick concerning Hip Hop is to quote the most indefensible rap lyrics that she can find. (Minus exclaiming "ta-dah!!" afterwards.) Sure it's lame - I mean, are there any other obviously shocking things that Mrs. Malkin cares to point us in the direction of? Homicides? Natural Disasters? Are there any childlike quips she'd like to add under the pictures of genocides past and present? Pointing out something horrible isn't exactly an argument, it's a lazy tactic that only people posing as journalists attempt to pull off - based on this Youtube clip, where she openly admitted that her latest book is rife with errors, I might be correct in questioning her journalistic street cred. But when I think about her criticizing Hip Hop I think about her being a woman of Asian decent actually writing a book in support of Japanese American Internment (which was mercilessly debunked, by the way). I also recall her smearing John Kerry with the unfounded claim that his Vietnam wounds were self inflicted. Lastly, on her blog she posted the name and contact information for students protesting the presence of military recruitment on the campus of the University of California, Santa Cruz - and wouldn't take it down after the students that she had outed started to receive death threats. No, Michelle, there's nothing hypocritical about waxing poetic about the danger of "bitches and hoes" in rap lyrics when you yourself have put peoples' actual lives in Danger. Please, Sit your ass down!


Al Sharpton & Jesse Jackson: I would say that anyone known for having a perm and a penchant for sweatsuits shouldn't be criticizing anything, but that's neither here nor there. It always amazes me that individuals who claim that they are men of god, who have spent more time speaking in front of crowds than I've been alive, can be so bumbling and nondescript while discussing Hip Hop. Like I've said before, I can whole-heartedly agree that much of what passes itself off as Hip Hop nowadays on the airwaves is deep rooted in negativity - but I'm not exactly sure how I feel about these particular men lecturing me about it. Whenever Al Sharpton talks about rappers degrading women for political gain, I immediately flash back to the ways in which he used Tawana Brawley for national exposure. When Jesse talks about racism I can't get him saying "Hymie-town" out of my head, when he talks about black men being responsible husbands and fathers I can't stop thinking about that kid he had outside his marriage. Not for nothing, Al and Jesse, but sit your ass down somewhere!!

Jason Whitlock: I was with Jason Whitlock here. I was sort of with him here (even though Sharpton owned him with that closing "It's always guys that are not in the ring that want to call the fights" salvo). But after I saw him on Oprah as well as a dozen cable news shows, I'm beginning to see that homeboy is nothing but a one-trick pony. See, being a contrarian only works if your "outside the box" suggestions are accompanied with some worthwhile solutions - saying that men who utter "bitches and hoes" to a well produced beat is the only culprit that black people need to address just ain't cutting it buddy. Matter of fact, if you listen to this guy long enough, you start to believe that he blames Snoop Dog for the incarceration rates of black men, fathers not taking responsibility for their children, and hypertension to boot. As white women on Oprah clapped ferverishly to his tired diatribes about Hip Hop that I've recently used to put me to sleep at night - women who wouldn't have Ms. Winfrey over their houses if she wasn't worth billions of dollars and didn't give away free shit ad naseum, just understand that a blatant finger pointer with no solutions makes you - well, Bill Cosby. Shit, Jason Whitlock, the same guy who incoherently rambles about black people being "coons" and such - was once on "Pardon the Interupption" eating ribs live on the air .(What the fuck?) Like Dead Prez said, "It's bigger than Hip Hop", so Jason - Go sit your ass down somewhere!

Bill O'Reilly: When I saw Bill O'Reilly last week discussing Nas and his outrage at the fact that he was going to be performing at Virginia Tech at a benefit concert for the students who lost their lives to that psycho 4 months ago - I suddenly got the urge to violently punch something, someone, or at least express myself in post form since I've become the biggest nerd this side of Urkel over the past few years. I mean, I'm sick-and-tired of that douche-bag misrepresenting Hip Hop and trying to mask his obvious racism with empty rhetoric trying to make us believe that he actually cared about America's youth. I was going to dedicate an entire post to it, but when I saw Jay Smooth's rebuttal I decided against it - he eloquently hit all the right points and any subsequent post can't compare.(Hat tip to you brother) But Bill criticizing anyone is a bit rich, I mean - Come on Bill.

Bill the Beloved Husband:
* In October of 2004, Andrea Mackris filed a sexual harassment lawsuit against O'Reilly, claiming that he had not only made inappropriate references to threesomes, vibrators, and masturbation, he also had a weird fantasy of sticking a loofah inside her.

Bill the Historian:
* He claimed that the U.S Troops committed the Malmedy Massacre. It was actually the German Waffen-SS troops that massacred eighty-four surrendering American soldiers. So supporting the troops only includes those presently in battle? I get it.

Bill the Hitman:
*In a recorded conversion with Andrea Mackris, O'Reilly made a telling reference to having Al Franken killed. Hey Bill, show Nas what that gangsta shit is all about!

Bill the Child Advocate:
* Here is Bill talking about Shawn Hornbeck's kidnapping: "The situation here for this kid looks to me to be a lot more fun than what he had under his old parents. He didn't have to go to school. He could run around and do whatever he wanted." Nas talks about a gun and you Bill endorses pedophilia, interesting...

Bill's Knowledge of Black folks:
* When discussing Barack Obama: "Instead of black and white Americans coming together, white Americans are terrified. They're terrified. Now we can't even say you're articulate?" Does anyone else get the feeling that Bill is a walking dictionary of Black history facts?

My daily attempt to resurrect Hip Hop: Black Moon-I Got U Opin

HumanityCritic, converting women to Lesbianism since 1993:

When I wrote a post entitled "Erykah Badu's Vagina Can Save Hip Hop."(more than a month and a half ago) for Vibe.com, I was quickly reminded that no matter how many caveats you add to ease someones uptight sensibilities - regardless what type of journalistic tap-dance routine you put on, at the end of the day there will always be somebody thoroughly offended with whatever you write. Here I am thinking that the masses would completely get my brand of humor, suggesting that Ms. Badu's genital region could save Hip Hop based on the men who changed their style up even after a smidgen of coitus with the Texas born songstress - but there were a few women out there who saw that singular post as a frontal assault on the feminist movement as a whole. Heartfelt and personal emails were sent to me from long time readers expressing their disappointment, negative comments were hurled at my directions, this one woman who I know in my day to day life actually shook her head in disapproval when I saw her - I mean, I'm the same guy who once got head in a confessional and sodomized a chick in the bathroom at my father's wake for Christs sake, you're really offended that I pointed out the power of Ms. Badu's vagina? Really?

I shouldn't be surprised though, the battlefield that is my relationship history is littered with the charred remains of women who were utterly repulsed by my behavior - everything from baby boomer-style hand-jobs from a girlfriend's mother, to getting to know her closest and dearest childhood friends biblically while she was away on business. Yes I was a bastard, a career philanderer who feels that Karma buys new boots on a weekly basis just to treat my prostate like a fucking soccer ball - but this post isn't about me lobbying to be the king off all assholes, my douche-bag exploits are so well documented that my dreadlocks have naturally started to form a crown. What I'm wondering is, why have more than 6 women came out the closet after they have dated me? I know, conventional wisdom would suggest that those women were probably on the fast track to strap-ons and K.D Lang concerts way before they ever met me - but six women is six women, how many times does something have to happen before is ceases being a coincidence? Here are three examples, and their actual take on the situation.

Name: Crystal:
Dated: 9/92-6/93
HumanityCritic's Account: "I was 17 years old man, you think I'm a sex addicted miscreant now - that HumanityCritic was a "coked up, Steroids" version.(minus the illegal substances that is) But to be completely honest, I don't remember doing anything particularly bad to Crystal - outside of me standing her up a few times, ejaculating on her mother's sheets - and abruptly changing the topic whenever she talked about our future past the next two months or so."
Crystal's take: "I knew that I was attracted to women before I dated HumanityCritic, I just suppressed it - I should be thanking him, because his child-like indifference towards me actually made the transition to women a rather smooth one to be completely honest. I somewhat converted during our relationship, I just kept him around for appearance sake - around my folks and family who I wasn't ready to come out to yet. As long as I gave him a few "mercy pumps" he was just fine, besides, I always found it a good opportunity to catch up on some well deserved rest.(haha)"
HumanityCritic's rebuttal: "That's just fucked up, I mean, its cool for me to do the "self deprecating shtick" but when you do it I feel rather exposed.(folding arms like a cold breeze just blew over me)"

Name: Teresa
Dated: 7/94 - 8/95
HumanityCritic's Account: "Probably the first chick I ever thought I could be completely faithful to, I loved her and she actually loved me back - this is going to sound corny, but if I ever happen to experience a feeling like that again I will burn all my porno's in a celebratory barn fire.(Except the Bobbi Bliss one where it looks like she's digesting a.. Sorry) From what I remember I was good to Teresa, but looking back I probably bored her into being a Lesbian - I was so into fucking her like an upstanding citizen she probably needed to be man-handled by an insuferable prick!"
Teresa's take: "Why do you guys think that a lesbian is a lesbian because she hasn't had the right penis go up inside her? I always knew, at least at a subconscious level - yes you did bore the piss out of me but you were sweet. Actually, I read your blog more times than not - and I get the sneaking suspicion that I was the one who converted you into being the asshole that your readers know so well. You're off the hook here kiddo, it wasn't you - even though I've experienced longer tongues than.. I'm playing! I'm playing!"

Name: Shay
Dated: 10/02-2/03
HumanityCritic's Account: "This was only a few years back, many moons after I've already fully embraced my inner asshole - by the turbulent nature of the relationship, I'm shocked that we lasted four months. Sure I was insufferable, criticizing her choices in music like she was mentally handicapped, punching her brother in the face for accusing me of cheating at cards(I was), and a proverbial laundry list of offenses that would even sicken my female fan-base accustomed to my horse-shit. But she was the one that ruined it, as soon as we started dating the first thing she told me was "If it doesn't work out with you, I'm switching to chicks?" What kind of shit is to tell a new boyfriend anyways? That's like telling someone, "You have to find the nuclear weapon or we all die, you have 24 hours?" - what am I, Jack Bauer? That's too much pressure to put on someones shoulders, so I did what any other red blooded male would do - I just fucked like crazy and acted like an asshole until she fully converted to lesbianism.(I mean, the world comes to an end)
Shay's take: "First off, you're a smoldering piece of shit! Second, you are an asshole! I've dated chicks before I even met you, that's how bad your memory is - don't you remember you telling me during sex "Damn girl, you have a sand-papery cat tongue - I feel bad for all your ex girlfriends, because your coarse tongue probably buffed away all their good vagina's!" - does that ring any bells. So no, you didn't push me into being a lesbian - but the way you always ended up fucking my friends with reckless abandon, that helped me remain on one side of the sexual preference lane. Oh yeah, my girlfriend says she's going to kick your ass when she sees you!"
HumanityCritic rebuttal: "She didn't do anything the last time I saw her, me picking her up while she screamed "I'm a girl goddammit!! I'm a girl!!" after she threatened to kil me. Yeah, its funny how she plays the feminine angle right before she's about to get thrown into some very sticky bushes.(For the record, I would never hit a woman - but if you threaten to stab me, your ass might get thrown into some bushed as well)

My daily attempt to resurrect Hip Hop: Brand Nubian - Punks Jump Up To Get Beat Down

Brand Nubian - Punks Jump Up To Get Beat Down

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As a man about to turn 34 in exactly 2 weeks, I'm well aware of the fact that I should abandon all forms of machismo that results in me introducing the rough side of my hand to someones Adam's Apple. I'm sorry, its just my firm belief that no one is exempt from an ass-whipping - let me explain. I can have disagreements with people and have them all be civil in nature, all in all I'm a pretty even tempered guy - but if a person attempts to cross a line, trespass on some sacred land that is a man's limits, there's no better expression of dissatisfaction than throwing that person a very passionate ass-whipping. Matter of fact, every time I find myself in the middle of some bar-room argument, traffic altercation, etc - this is the song that I hear in the background, Diamond D's horn infested track just provoking me to crack someone in the cranium.

You know, I was invited to be a part of a "Blogger Roundtable" that NPR's "News and Notes" has - its a show hosted by Farai Chideya, a great program that I've been a fan of for some time now. I would love to be a part of that fine program for its "Blogger Round table" - but what if the round table that I'm a part of has another blogger who happened to talk shit about me before on his blog? I can envision the lovely Farai Chideya getting her notes ready before the segment, while I mumble under my breath to said blogger who once dissed me "I'm going to kick you in the chest for that March 3rd, 2005 entry where you vaguely referenced me motherfucker!(pounding my fists) You are actually about to catch a beating on NPR, what do you think about that?" I just don't want to sully that fine show with any random acts of violence against any other bloggers while screaming "Punks Jump Up to get Beat down!" - think they will tell me who will be there before hand?

Chances are, I'm a bigger snob than you..

One of my favorite movies over the last decade or so is "High Fidelity", not so much for the main character's penchant for listing things obsessively like I do - but because his motto "Its not what you're like, its what you like" is one that I religiously subscribe to, like priests and their predilection for male prepubescent butt-cheeks. I hate to seem so shallow, but women have automatically been reduced from "wifey material" to "casual fuck toy" status during a date just by them mentioning some minstrel show rapper that they adore, while one of my friends is getting his ass kicked in a club I'll let him take a few punches before saving him based on that one time he waxed poetic about the brilliance of Tyler Perry - its my way of kicking karma in her fat ass, there's a price to be paid for criminally wack tastes of that magnitude. My snobbery knows no bounds, sometimes I feel that there's no way in hell a person could be so fucking useless and that their bad choices in music has to be part of some grand conspiracy - feeling that white people who sing the praises of Three-6 Mafia secretly despise black people, and black folks who listen to the same sort of drivel are self loathing Negros who probably pray for the destruction of melanin owners everywhere and masturbate to pictures of Clarence Thomas in their free time. Bad decisions concerning a persons CD purchases happens to be a character flaw in my book, I bet you money that I'm a bigger snob than you - my snobbery once caused me to walk out on a naked woman who wanted to fuck to Jagged Edge's "Lets Get Married"(she rejected my choice, Public Enemy's "Welcome to the Terrordome), my snobbery caused me to punch a DJ who played "The Electric Slide" even though it was requested by the new bride. I miss my father, his death has severely affected me because we never got a chance to reconcile - but even though he requested that I go out and buy him "Who Let the Dog's out" while he was on his death bed, I don't regret for one minute looking over his frail body and saying "Sorry pop(shaking head, folding arms), I can't do that! I love you, would literally give you my right arm if it would save your life - but what you're asking me is too much!!"

I hadn't thought about that refused deathbed request for a few years now, that was until my mother recently introduced me as her "dickhead son" - so after her friends shook their heads in disapproval at me as if I had just taken a rather busy shit right in front of them, if forced me to really examine the many ways in which I'm an insufferable snob.

Throwing CD's for distance: I can't tell you how many bridges I've obliterated and friendships that I've assassinated, but whenever someone decides to brave the treacherous terrain that is my passenger side seat and put a disc into my CD player - if I don't like what I hear in approximately 30 seconds I throw it for distance out of my window like it was an Olympic fucking event. I wish I could tell you that I did it to intentionally be a dickhead, but its just the way my body naturally reacts to bullshit - like muscle memory enabling a boxer to block specific punches, or how how I try to spell my name with my own ejaculate on a woman's back while climaxing. Of course I pay the person for their discarded merchandise, but the look on their faces is absolutely priceless - so much in fact that I've captured at least 6 images of said reaction on my camera phone, one day I plan on blow them all up and featuring them in an art exhibit.

I literally turn my back on artists: A girl that I used to "date" works for the popular "Hip Hop" station in my city - I put quotes around the word "date" because what we were actually doing was emotionless fucking, and I put quotes around the word "Hip Hop" because what they actually play is Jim Jones and that horrible "Ay Bay Bay" minstrelsy. Anyway, since she is one of the only women who let me rent seconds of space inside of her private area without burning self-made chubby dreadlocked representations of me in effigy - she always offers me free tickets to a plethora of shows and miscellaneous events. At first I'd always decline, I mean, most of the tickets she offered me where to shows where the performer flashed diamond encrusted smiles while setting my race back 100 years. But after a while I accepted, not because I wanted to be more open minded about music that I otherwise loathed - but because I wanted to seize on an opportunity to express my displeasure of someones music in their face. That being said, I have been to at least 5 shows where I've been introduced to the artist performing - and when he extends his hand I smirk, turn my back, and passionately cross my arms while in my best B-Boy stance. Sure they are dumbfounded and insulted, that's sort of the point.

Handicapped, Schmandi-capped!!: I was chatting with a friend of mine about Hip Hop at a bar recently, and while I was talking I noticed that the man at the table beside ours was bothered with our conversation - so I very politely asked the young gentleman, "Whats your fucking problem douchebag?!" He then proceeded to basically tell us that we didn't know shit about Hip Hop, named a few vomit-worthy artists that were his personal favorites - and even topped off his verbal bowel movement by telling me the inexcusable, that Rakim was overrated. The air left my body, I barely pushed out the words "What did you say??", he replied "You heard me!!! Fuck Rakim, Tupac is hands down the best rapper of all time!!" My friend looked at me and said, "HumanityCritic, chill out!", then I looked at the Tupac fan and said, "Take that back, now!!!" When he rolled to our table showing us that he was wheelchair bound, he smiled and said "I'm not taking anything back, pussy - I'm in a wheel-chair, what can you do anyways??" That's when I grabbed his chair and started aggressively wheeling his ass outside, even when he engaged some sort of brake I continued to drag it anyways - reaching the edge of traffic about to push him and his dead legs into harms way. As he let out high shrieks that apparently only asshole snobs and canines hear - I said, "Say Rakim is the best, say it motherfucker! - don't and I'll push your ass into traffic Stephen Hawking!!!" Not for nothing, but I think I've enlightened another person to Rakim's greatness.

My daily attempt to resurrect Hip Hop: Nas - Halftime

Bruce Lee is definitely Hip Hop..

I'm aware that I'd be pretty hard-pressed to find anyone who wasn't at least a casual fan of the man who invented Jeet Kune Do, Bruce Lee is in the same category as Jimi Hendrix and Wilt Chamberlain in terms of iconic figures hard to argue against - but as long as I can remember I've used some of Bruce Lee's philosophies as if they were "Cliffs Notes", effortlessly guiding me through this clusterfuck that I call a life. Forget about the sobering irony of Jeet Kune Do meaning "Way of the Intercepting Fist" and my penchant for getting rather aggressive hand-jobs from disgruntled strippers for one moment - even though Bruce lee died 42 days before I was delivered in a Honolulu Hospital, he has served as a template in which I lived my life and how I approached Hip Hop. Bruce Lee believed that a person could fight more effectively if they were completely relaxed, being that excess tension could cause you to not only quickly tire but also make mistakes that could prompt you getting your ass handed to you in the most public of fashions. He was right, every fight in which I was completely relaxed I was able to see the opponents punches a mile away - thus being economical with my counter-attacks, even though I'm sure that Bruce would thoroughly disapprove of me continuously kicking the defeated man while he's down and proceeding to go through his pockets on some "High School Bully" shit. I employed the same technique to freestyle battling as well, no matter how viscous someones rhyme was about yours truly - a clearer head on my part would usually cause the metaphors, similes, alliteration, and rhymes about a person's transvestite father to come spewing out like a broken water mane.

When a woman once asked Bruce Lee what technique she should use if she was ever attacked, he quickly informed the woman to kick the man squarely in his hairy bean bag - explaining to her to use anything at her disposal that worked. I've subscribed to the same tactic during the tenure of my life, choking out people with telephone chords, throwing hammers at people, beating a motherfucker with the wood in a paper towel dispenser, frying pans, steak knives - shit, you'd be surprised the havoc you can cause with your simplest household items. From using a big piece of cardboard as my portable dance-floor when my mother refused to pay for tap lessons, someone beating on a lunchroom table in High School so I could bust some rhymes for all 4 of the black girls who attended my predominately white high school - even now at the grizzled age of 33, angrily free-styling in bumper to bumper traffic as if a bearded black guy with flowing dreadlocks wasn't scary enough to your garden variety soccer mom.

Lastly, after Bruce Lee was already an internationally known martial arts sensation loved the world over - it didn't matter where he happened to be at the time, he would find himself on the business end of a public challenge to fight. Usually the challenger would make his intentions to fight known by tapping his foot three times then crossing his arms, legend had it that Bruce never refused a challenge - he didn't give a fuck whether it was on a movie set or at a bar mitzvah, proving that he was the best while handing someone their ass was always a top priority to Lee. That's Hip Hop, what Hip Hop means to me that is - not this alternate universe we live in now where swagger and someones fashion sense has trumped actual lyrical ability. That's what always set the genre I love apart from any other, no matter how well Mariah Carey can sing - I highly doubt that one day she will get ambushed at an "in store" somewhere in middle America, some eager unsigned artist exhibiting her 8 octave range to embarrass Carey's 5 octave range. You never see rival Heavy Metal Singers going at each other, battling to see who's scream reigns supreme - even in a sport like boxing, where the two participants are supposed to savagely brutalize each other, for the most part they keep it to their scheduled event.

With Hip Hop, I'm talking about real MC's here - its the only art form where you constantly have to keep your game face on, movie set or Bar Mitzvah - because you never know some bastardly opportunist is going to tap three times, cross his arms, and hit you with a rather deadly 16 lines. Not for nothing, but Bruce Lee is definitely Hip Hop.





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My 11th Date: "The Craigslist Jumpoff"

Under the "General Interests" section of my myspace page, after I tell you that I'm a chronic masturbator and before I express my undying love for Janeane Garofalo - you can clearly see where I express my penchant for "practicing accidental celibacy". At the time I personally thought that it was funny, besides - even though I do have a toddler sized cock and invoke rather expressive eye-rolls from women mid coitus, the self-deprecating shtick tends to go over pretty well. I never knew, a couple of years later - that one fucking throw-away line on a myspace page would turn into a self fulfilling prophecy. Even though my area being bombarded with simpletons and Lil Wayne fans has kept me without a girlfriend since the Clinton Impeachment hearings - I always had women on the side that possessed the ability to relieve "tension" whenever called upon. But as of late, it seems that every woman that I ever drunk dialed while saying "Hey baby, how would you like to swing by, give me head, and then leave immediately??!!" with the same vocal inflection of a business proposal all got together and had a meeting at some undisclosed location - because like a FOX News employee, all of them have proceeded to totally stay on message.(That message being "no") From them wanting a 5 date investment before revealing even a peek at a titty, rejecting my back-seat sex requests, the way in which they ignore my passive aggressive 4 A.M text messages saying "What are you doing right now?" - I have to find out who got to these women, because my testicles are starting to form what resembles ship barnacle.

Even though I knew that nothing would ever come of it, especially since I'm so germaphobic that I once wore two condoms after I made a chick get an AIDS test once - I started to religiously stroll craigslist as if purchasing ass online was actually an option. I don't know how it is in your city, and I'll by no means never be eligible to become a male underwear model - but the booty saleswomen in my area look as if they grew up next to a nuclear reactor. I mean, I thought that the allure of an ass transaction was getting a girl that you normally couldn't come within a square mile of on your own - paying for chicks that you could normally fuck for free is akin to making car payments on a Pinto when you at least make "New Honda" money.

So a couple of weeks ago, sorting through all the ass advertisements, trying to figure out which woman I could penetrate without contracting some new disease that baffled doctors would end up naming after me - who do I see peddling her "wares" but one of my ex-girlfriends. Even though I stared at her picture for at least 5 minutes straight, it was obviously her - same height, same juicy lips, and the fact that this silly chick used her real first and last name might have been a dead fucking giveaway. That's when I decided to call her for an "appointment", not to rekindle anything we might have had - but because I distinctly remember our last conversation ending with her saying "You're worthless, You're never going to amount to shit!!" more than a decade ago. I'm usually not one that subscribes to Schadenfreude(taking pleasure from someone else's misfortune), and I'm not exactly rolling in the dough here - but based on how mean her ass was, I'm a little thrilled that her current career as a "cocksucker for hire" wasn't exactly the path that her High School guidance counsellor mapped out.

So I called her, disguised my voice, told her that my name was "Stevland Judkins"(Stevie Wonder's government name) - gave her my address, then I very confidently stated "I'm going to fill all three of your holes like bowling" before hanging up the phone and giggling at the fact that I had just quoted a Kool G Rap lyric. The next 20 minutes were absolute torture, because I'm paranoid in nature you see - so I kept expecting a very innocent "ass order" to result in about 10 cop cars parked in front of my house to take me to a place where I'd be holding some inmates pocket in ownership if he happened to beat me in a fist-fight. That being said, before the thoughts of maximum correctional facilities flooded my subconscious - that's when I saw a pretty old Accord pull up my driveway.

I have to admit, she looked good as she shimmied up to the door - the years have been kind to her, and with all that "wagon" that she was "draggin'" it was pretty evident that she had let her PETA membership lapse. So after she rang the bell, I abruptly opened the door and said "Yeah, who ain't shit now!!! Selling ass on Craigslist for Christ sake!! What do you have to say for yourself!!!" - doing a rather impromptu "you won the scumbag lottery" dance. That's when my ex-girlfriend dropped her head, sat down on the bench on my porch - and proceeded to weep the same way I did when I couldn't get an erection when a couple of local porn stars wanted to blow me. I felt horrible, this didn't quite go as I had planned it - so I ushered her into my house and we proceeded to talk about the proverbial down-spiral her life has been as of late.

Death's in her family, arrests, bankruptcy, abusive boyfriends - the way she injected her humor amidst all of the turmoil, I felt like I was watching an episode of "Good Times" and shit. Call me feeling guilty for my original reason for calling her there, but I must say that I happened to be pretty comforting for a guy his own mother labeled "an insufferable prick" - so much so that I found my consoling arm around her leading to her passionately undressing me like my clothes were on fire. Let me tell you, sex is a lot less pleasurable when you check the condom every third stroke - not to mention how offensive it is to the woman when you scrub your genitalia in the sink before the woman leaves. Since I didn't know that our "spur of the moment" love-making was "on the house" so to speak, I doubt that I'll see her again - I think me handing her cash and her kicking me in the nuts guaranteed that.

(You can read about my other 10 "interesting" dates here)





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My daily attempt to resurrect Hip Hop: Main Source - "Just Hanging Out"

Main Source - Just Hanging Out

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A HumanityCritic Hat Tip to Barry Bonds

To say that I'm a huge Barry Bonds fan or even an intense aficionado of the sport of baseball would be completely dishonest - even though there have been two things over the past three years that has connected me with the newly crowned Home Run King. Right before sex, the exact point when a woman has lowered her standards and decided to let a chubby pre-ejaculator clumsily enter her in any given orifice - while she's disrobing and my eyes are fixed on her chocolate breasts and backside that I plan on eating mac and cheese off of at some later date, I find myself mumbling "Barry Bonds, Barry Bonds like a motherfucker!!" When the woman inquires about me invoking the name of another man before exchanging bodily fluids I say, "Because I'm about to hit that shit outta the park baby!!" - even though that shit backfired when I had sex with a legitimate baseball fan once, me pumping away as she very cavalierly whispered in my ear "Actually what you're doing is laying down a bunt, stumpy!!!" I also connect with Mr. Bonds because with every home run I hit I arrogantly pose for at least 3 seconds after swinging for the fences - granted it's a slow pitch softball league, and I'm on a team where my own teammates hate me because I scream "You've just served up a souvenir for some kid, motherfucker!!" to the opposing pitcher as the ball goes sailing through the air - while checking my text messages as I slowly round the bases. But I never felt compelled to write about the brother until the last couple of days , based on the 24-hour anti-Bonds propaganda machine that ESPN has turned itself into since Barry hit number 756.

Listen, if you are a legitimate baseball purist who sincerely feels that Bonds cheated the game, fine, I have no quarrel with you - the cloud of steroid speculation that follows Barry Bonds around makes him look like the character "Pigpen" in those Charlie Brown cartoons. But as much as Bob Costas attempts to sound authoritative while he waxes poetic about this being a "Tainted Record", Keith Olbermann dedicates entire segments of his show tearing down the future Hall of Famer, or the shitload of ex-players who never had a tenth of Bond's talent that ESPN drags out to trash the man - it is my honest opinion that you're average fan really doesn't give a watery shit about steroids, no matter how much sports writers want us to. Not for nothing, but if you put an asterisk next to Bonds' record then you have to put one next to any pitcher of note who ever threw a spitball, alongside any record of a player who happened to play before the league was integrated, beside Bud Selig's name for the "Steroid Era" happening under his watch. Matter of fact, put an asterisk next to Baseball in general for not even having a rule against steroids when Bonds was supposedly taking them - also, put an asterisk next to the ever so hypocritical fans out there, who in New York mercilessly hit Bonds with steroid taunts the night before they warmly welcomed back pitcher Guillermo Mota from a 50 game suspension of said substance.

Besides, I'm a black man with a persecution complex for Christs sake - the multitude of ways that the government has tried to get Barry Bonds, I'm thinking about having his number tattooed on my body beside my Huey Newton and Bobby Seale ink. Everything from getting his closest friends to turn on him, asking other players to wear wires around him, even hoping to get him convicted of Tax Evasion on some "we have to get the black bastard on something, Al Capone" shit. I'm personally all for a person taking illegal substances to enhance your performance, think of all the dope music(pun intended) we'd be without if Bob Marley or Jimi Hendrix didn't feel the same way.

Ladies and Gentlemen, The Formula Radio Show..

(After breaking down the drooling incompetents over at MTV the other day, specifically the round-table of proverbial clown-shoes who shat out that god awful "10 Hottest MC's List" - I suddenly want to post something that will wash that toxic whore-stink off of me. Hence this post.)

One of the things that I wholeheartedly cherish about Hip Hop is that its an art-form that I feel, deep down, I chose on my own volition - my older siblings had nothing to do with it since most of their time was spent playing The Bee-Gees and those early Prince records. Of Course my parents weren't the ones who introduced me to Hip Hop, even though Earth, Wind, & Fire and Donny Hathaway had to be the best wake up call a kid could have on a early Saturday morning. Hip Hop was something that I felt I discovered solely on my own, a team of media savvy marketers didn't place it in in front of me to lap up like a fucking German Shepherd - its as if my musical sensibilities one day set sail to negotiate some rather turbulent waters to discover a land where the natives only communicated if a microphone or vinyl were involved. For the first 10 years or so I was totally accepted by the inhabitants of this new land that I had stumbled upon - they treated me as one of their own as I eagerly learned their customs when it came to their native dances and their rhythmic language that originally drew me in. Then in 1988, even though I embraced the people as much as they embraced me - I did what any garden variety explorer has done over the last 600 years or so, I planted a flag on a land people already inhabited and then proceeded to claim it as my own.

To be more precise, dropping the metaphors for a moment - I was transformed from just an average fan of the genre to having a level of devotion to Hip Hop that would rival most branch davidian members. When my cousins from Queens brought down three tapes for my birthday - EPMD's "Strictly Business", Big Daddy Kane's "Long Live the Kane", and Public Enemy's "It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back" - I immediately knew that this was music that would monumentally change my life forever. Some heroin addicts talk about the first time they got high as "feeling like home", as if they were back in the womb - Hip Hop was already the addicting force that travelled through my blood stream, without one day telling confidiong in a group of strangers on my road to recovery. Hanging with my cousins those few days in August of 88, listening to those tapes so frequently that my own mother began to know the words of "Wrath of Kane" - free-styling, watching the Hip Hop video's I had taped off of TV, even talking about which member of Salt & Pepa each of us would love to "get to know biblicly"(my choice has always been Spinderella).

Want to know why I'm such a insufferable snob when it comes to Hip Hop? Want to know why I feel that a person liking some bastard ass rapper isn't just an unfortunate musical choice but a serious character flaw? As fucked up as this might sound, if a person happened to die at a Lil Wayne show - after I pray for the person's soul and his family that is, want to know why I can probably be heard later uttering "That's the punishment for being a Lil Wayne fan motherfucker!"? It has everything to do with those three tapes, and the time spent with my New York cousins serving as my unshakable Hip Hop foundation.

That being said, almost 20 years later a lot has changed - I still love my cousin's dearly, and even though they sometimes they look at me with that "Dude, you're 34 years old and still collect comic books" look whenever I give off a passionate diatribe about the current state of Hip Hop.(For the record, I still collect comics) That's why when I stumbled on "The Formula Radio Show" it felt like a show that me and my cousins would have made back in the day - that in no way is a commentary about the hosts sounding like 14 year old boys or the quality of the program, but the show bottles that same sort of raw enthusiasm for the culture that we all need a healthy does of nowadays. The Formula Radio Show airing every Sunday from 1-3PM Eastern on radiovolta.org, hosted by DJ Primetime, Hollywood Cole, and Vanderslice - this show has not only hipped to me to a plethora of dope Hip Hip artists that I never knew existed but they have that "inside baseball"-like dialog about the genre that keep the heads interested. Broadcasting out of Philadelphia, they've had people on their program like DJ Mark The 45 King, Pharoahe Monch, Masta Ace, El Da Sensei, Mr. Lif, and Jedi Mind Tricks to name a few - so they don't need little old me to promote their ever widening agenda. The show is doper than a George W. Bush urine sample circa 75', so check it out - oh yeah, the only times you hear about Jim Jones or artists of that ilk on their show is when those bastards are the object of ridicule. Check these dude out..

Listen or Download Episodes
The Formula Radio Show myspace page

Help Free "The Jena Six"

My daily attempt to resurrect Hip Hop: Big Daddy Kane - Smooth Operator

An Open Letter to Barack Obama..

Dear Barack Obama,

Since you are about to grace the cover of Vibe magazine - I figured there was no better time than the present to reach out to you. Besides, you are a Public Enemy fan for Christs sake - I'm pretty sure you'll find it funny that I got a campaign letter of yours the other day, I opened it, and read it, and then proceeded to call you a sucker.(Only real P.E fans like you and I will get that reference) Listen, I have to be honest with you brother, when you first announced that you were running for the highest office in the land I felt both fearful and skeptical. Fearful because, well - I don't want to say anything that your opponents might use against you at a later date so let me just blurt out three examples of what I'm talking about and you can do whatever you want with it: Malcolm X, Martin Luther King, and The Black Panthers - not for nothing Senator, but the mere fact that the mafia and street gangs use pictures of our government officials as masturbatory material based on their penchant for taking out threats - you can understand why I didn't want you within a square mile of any podium of importance. Despite the fact that the black army fatigues might scare some white folks, and them sporadically screaming out "Go get a late pass" might throw off your concentration as you give the garden variety state of the union address - I once suggested that you get Public Enemy's "S1W's"(Security of the First world) as your presidential protection.(Sure Griff is a live-wire, but I still contend that he's one of the baddest men on the planet) Also, I was skeptical - primarily because our black leadership has been pretty much nonexistent for many years now - nothing but ambulance chasing Jesus-pimps who care more about banning the "N-word" and lining their wallets than caring about the real problems that face our great nation. Not only that, but I've spent the past 6 years dissing the holy fuck out of any black person who urged me to give Condi a chance because she was a "sister in a high position" despite her blistering incompetence - I couldn't come off as a complete hypocrite and support you in that same blind fashion now could I?

But as time has gone by I've dropped the whole "He's got to prove to me that he's worthy" rhetoric that most black folks have employed nowadays, not only because I sincerely feel that you could be a good president - but also I've realized that its just an intellectually dishonest stance to have based on the rest of the presidential field available to us. A man of your stature probably won't be proud of this, but every time I've heard some black person outline the reason you can't be trusted because of the campaign donations you've taken or the fact that you've been trying to garner more of the white vote - I always scream out "HE'S RUNNING FOR PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES, NOT PRESIDENT OF THE "BLACK CULTURE CLUB" AT YOUR LOCAL HIGH SCHOOL YOU IGNORANT MOTHERFUCKER!!!"(Sorry about that..) Besides, forget about me agreeing with you politically - looking at the field you flat-out seem like the obvious choice to me.

I mean, Giuliani? Fuck no, the 911 hero tag is complete horsehit and theres proof backing that up - besides, if I wanted to vote for a guy who once married his cousin I'd eagerly attempt to have Jerry Lee Lewis elected our next president. Mitt "Big Love" Besides, his own children think he's a smoldering piece of shit, can you really broker peace agreements if you can stop your kids from publicly showing you their ass - it looks like his own daughter is supporting your candidacy, its good to see that Rudy spawned something of some significance besides a 9/11 hero myth and plunger raping police officers. Mitt "Big Love" Romney, no thanks - but it has nothing to do with him being a Mormon, but more about him being slicker than women in Hype Williams video's based on his ever changing positions that suit him politically. McCain, criminally wrong on the war, Fred Thompson, you see what happened the last time we let a fucking actor run the country? Elizabeth Edwards' courage is amazing, and I feel alright about John Edwards - but I also feel "alright" about some of the craps that I take as well, there's no room for indifference when voting for a president.(Yeah, there was John Kerry - my bad)

Now, the main reason that I'd like to see you over Hillary, besides the fact that she was wrong in voting for the war in Iraq - is that she has been using the same slimy tactics on you that Bush used on John Kerry in the 2004 election. Taking things that you say completely out of context, butchering your quotes to make you seem ignorant - sending out her henchmen to claim that you would be willing to "sit down and talk to a holocaust deniers" - does any of this shit sound vaguely familiar brother? Straight from the Karl Rove play-book. The lady came out against violent video games for Christs sake, so you know that if she becomes the nominee she will pick some fucking rapper to throw under the bus for votes - shit, her hubby did it with Sistah Souljah, its not beneath her. On that note, if you don't mind I have some pretty sound advice for you to follow - that's if you are really serious about being our first black president that is. Don't worry, I'm not going to tell you to "not get caught with a white girl" or to "make a Mexican your vice president for safety precautions" - because you knew that already.

1.Get a new political strategist: David Axelrod is a skilled strategist but please, please, fire him immediately. I happened to catch him on "The Chris Matthews Show" last week against Hillary Clinton's strategist Howard Wolfson where he completely got his lunch eaten. For all I know Howard Wolfson's experience pales in comparison to Mr. Axelrod's - but it was difficult to tell as Wolfson continuously cut him off while staying on message. Not only do you need someone knowledgeable to go out there and represent you, but that person needs to be a god damned pit-bull at the same time. My advice, possibly have Mr. Axelrod play the background and hire a woman who is just as skilled but more aggressive(see Donna Brazile)- this way Mr. Wolfson can get his ass handed to him while looking like an ass for constantly interrupting a lady at the same time.

2.Repetition is good: In a speech recently I heard where you characterized Hillary Clinton as "Bush-lite", you haven't used it in a while but for Christs sake keep it up. Remember how well the "flip-flop" tag followed John Kerry around, yes it was dishonest based on how much more of a "flip flopper" Bush was - but back in 04', the amount of people who regurgitated that back to me without knowing what in the fuck they were talking about was pure genius. The beauty of you constantly saying "Bush-lite" is that you can prove that its more than just a campaign tactic - based on her vote on the war. You have to show people there is a clear difference between you and her, and buddy this is it.

3.Chin-Check the media: Believe it or not, despite how horrible it is - I'm not even talking about those few deplorable political pundits who want to purposely confuse you with a terrorist who murdered more than 3,000 of our fellow Americans based on your name. I'm talking about the media in general, add Keith Olbermann to that list(A guy who I respect and have played his "Special Comments" on my blog ad nauseum) - for hinting that you are being hypocritical when you criticize someone, because of you saying that you were going to change the tone in American politics. You have to make it crystal clear to whoever will listen that even though you won't go to "Swift Boat" depths to smear someone, you will immediately defend yourself forcefully whenever attacked - and said action is in stark contrast to a political smear.


Yours Truly,

Humanity F Critic aka "The Black Larry David" aka "Gordon Gartrell"

My daily attempt to resurrect Hip Hop: Biz Markie - Vapors

Who Killed Hip Hop? On some "JFK" shit..

(nominate this piece for "Blog Post of the year" using the following URL: http://nappydiatribe.blogspot.com/2006/11/who-killed-hip-hop-on-
some-jfk-shit.html)


**HumanityCritic, investigating the assassination of Hip Hop, is told to meet an unknown man with some inside information on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial.**(Yes, I'm playing the Kevin Costner character talking to Donald Sutherland, this might not make anysense to you if you've never seen the movie "JFK"**


(Scene opens with a shot of the Lincoln Memorial, panning back to see a nervous looking HumanityCritic holding an umbrella, wearing a raincoat and his vintage EPMD fisherman hat)

(An unknown man comes out of nowhere and approaches HumanityCritic)

Unknown man: Mr.Critic?

HumanityCritic: Yes.

Unknown Man:(extending hand) I'm glad you were able to meet me, sorry for all the precautions..

HumanityCritic: Yeah, I figured that the information that you have for me must be of the juicy variety, why else would you have me drop my pants in front of your female staffers while they pointed, giggled, and said shit like "Wow, he's hung like a toddler!"?

Unknown man: Since you have what you yourself describe as a "black myth ruiner", we had to make sure it was you.

HumanityCritic: OK, how about those two guys who gave me that very aggressive prostate exam, was all that necessary??

Unknown Man: Those weren't my people..(looking bewildered) Dude, you let a couple of guys play with your butt-hole??

HumanityCritic:(cinching his rectum, holding his butt-cheeks) Shit!!

Unknown man: A very fitting expletive if I ever heard one..

HumanityCritic: Lets get past my prostate being used as a pinata, what do I call you, Mr..?

Unknown man: I could give you a false name but I won't, just call me "Mr. Snuffleupagus".

HumanityCritic: Huh? Why not Mr. X?

Mr. Snuffleupagus: Simply because I have a thing for girls named Buffy and McRibb sandwiches, if you know what I mean..

HumanityCritic: OK, so you don't sling bean-pies in your spare time, but "Mr. Snuffleupagus"? Why not Big Bird? Why any children's characters at all? (Rapping to no one in particular) "I'm the unknown man so you don't really know me/In my rap book, I bend pages over like Mark Foley!!"

Mr. Snuffleupagus: Fuck you, I'm no pedophile!!! That's the name I'm using because I'm big, brown, and I have chest hair so thick that you could put it in dreadlocks. Plus, you know how Snuffleupagus would only show up when Big Bird was by himself, making Big Bird's friends think that Snuffleupagus was a figment of his imagination? Well, I have that stealthy-secretive thing going on as well.

HumanityCritic:(taking a few steps back) You know entirely too much about children's programming..

(The two men start walking down the steps of the Lincoln Memorial)

HumanityCritic: Listen, I've already received some limp wristed threats and angry misspelled emails in all caps from Jim Jones, so if you are here to threaten me..

Mr. Snuffleupagus: I'm not with the Dipset sir!(making vomit sounds) I assume that if you have come this far, you know, having your cock laughed at and being fondled by two dudes, that what I have to say must interest you. I'm not going to tell you who I work for or what I do, but you're close! You're closer than you think!


HumanityCritic: So tell me, who killed Hip Hop??

Mr. Snuffleupagus: I'll get to that later, first let me give you my background. You see Mr. Critic, I once belonged to a secret organization..

HumanityCritic: What were they called?

Mr. Snuffleupagus: We were known as WHHAAC(Wrecking Hip Hop At All Cost).

HumanityCritic: It was a secret organization until now you blabber-mouth motherfucker, I thought you weren't going to tell me who you worked for? You aren't very good at this are you?

Mr. Snuffleupagus: Give me a break will you, this is my first time being the "out of the shadows, mysterious man with inside info" guy..

HumanityCritic: OK, proceed..

Mr. Snuffleupagus: The organization that I worked for was formed as soon as Hip Hop seeped into the public consciousness. In 1978, I was part of a team that spread propaganda about Hip Hop. When you were younger, did your parents ever say "Those Negroes aren't doing nothing but talking!!" when criticizing about Hip Hop?

HumanityCritic: Wait, that was you?

Mr. Snuffleupagus: Yes, that was me. I was also behind people saying "Rap is Crap", but that's neither here nor there. Lets see, we're behind the song "Rico Suave", I personally wrote the treatment to MC Hammer's "Pumps in a Bump" video, one of our best agents was the one who talked Shaquille O'Neal into thinking he was a legitimate rapper, I don't think you know what you are getting into Mr. Critic!

HumanityCritic:(taking notes) I guess not, I didn't know wackness could be so organized.

Mr. Snuffleupagus:(snapping fingers in Critic's face) Wake up!! This shit is deeper and nastier than anything you could have ever imagined, that is unless you have ever been inside of Lil Kim. Lets see, in the 80's the organization that I once dedicated my life to was instrumental in the emergence of Me Phi Me, the girl group L'Trimm, that god awful "Rappin'" movie starring Mario Van Peebles, who do you think talked Neneh Cherry into picking up a microphone??

HumanityCritic:(looking up from writing on his notepad) Please tell me you didn't write "Buffalo Girls"!

Mr. Snuffleupagus:(Silence)

HumanityCritic:(throwing up his arms violently) OH SHIT!!(keels over in laughter)

Mr. Snuffleupagus: Listen asshole, what I'm trying to tell you is that no matter what we cooked up to destroy Hip Hop, the music was resilient, it always seemed immune to whatever toxins we pumped through it. I mean, Chris Webber rapping, all those fucking kid rap groups of the early 90's, The Young Black Teenagers, House Party 2..

HumanityCritic: .and 3!

Mr. Snuffleupagus: Right, and 3! DMX's 2nd album, Horrorcore, the many faces of "Mace", "Bout it Bout it", "Whoomp there it is!", Freedom Williams, that ugly ass "Snap"-I will attack, and you don't want that! motherfucker, a slew of shit that would take me literally years to break down. As the years wore on, I started to feel conflicted about what I was doing because, believe it or not, I started liking Hip Hop to be totally honest. Which, as you can imagine, made my job that more difficult.

HumanityCritic: So, what was the last straw? What made you quit WHHAAC?

Mr. Snuffleupagus: I was sleepwalking through my job for years, but when the "Black Eyed Peas" added that white chick, I finally felt that those motherfuckers had just gone too goddamned far!!

(The two men sit on a park bench with the Washington Monument visible in the distance)

Mr. Snuffleupagus: I came to you today HumanityCritic because I feel that the assassination of Hip Hop, the way it was carried out, had to be by the people that I once worked for, WHHAAC.

HumanityCritic: You know the name of your old organization sounds like a covert group of chronic masturbators?

Mr. Snuffleupagus: If that was the case then your chubby black ass would be the president of said organization, what self respecting man masturbates to episodes of "The Golden Girls" anyway??

HumanityCritic:(looking around, whispering) How did you know about that??

Mr. Snuffleupagus: There isn't much I don't know about you, now stop interrupting.

(Mr. Snuffleupagus turns to HumanityCritic)

Mr. Snuffleupagus: Listen, as for the incidents surrounding the assassination, how do you explain accepted forms of Minstrelsy like that Chicken Noodle Soup Dance, or that god forsaken "Walk it out" song? How do you explain a group like 3-Six Mafia, a group that would otherwise be considered a shit-stain on the culture itself, getting an Oscar? "Snap Dancing" makes me long for the days of Jim Crow and fucking blackface.. How do you explain these gentlemen getting upset at Nas naming his album "Hip Hop is Dead" and not publicly getting their ass handed to them after when one of them says, unbelievably, "Why does everything always have to be about something!!" when talking about Hip Hop??

HumanityCritic: Hip Hop was primed to be taken out because we let our guard down..

Mr. Snuffleupagus: Exactly! Tell me how people who usually know better could sing the praises of Lil Wayne? Tell me how otherwise respected bloggers and Hip Hop scribes would even fix their mouths to say that Jim Jones is a relevant artist? Tell me how people are saying that Jim Jones won the battle against Jay-Z when at the end of the day, that guy is still Jim 'fucking' Jones! I mean, I don't care if he produced a lifetime supply of microphones out of his rectum he will always lose a battle against a guy who could rap circles around him. The Hyphy movement, DMX's and Keisha Cole's reality show, Young Jeezy, lil Scrappy, people treating lil Kim like Nelson Mandela when her dumb ass was released from prison. I won't even go into the Vh1 Hip Hop honors debacle..

HumanityCritic: I never realized that real Hip Hop was such a danger to the establishment. Is that why Hip Hop was killed?

Mr. Snuffleupagus: That's the real question isn't it, "Why?" The "How" and the "Who" are just scenery for the public like two lesbians who forget to close their blinds while putting one another on the business end of a strap-on that's the length of a baby's arm.. ClearChannel, B.E.T, the record executives, 3-Six Mafia.. Keeps em' guessing like some sort of shell game you would play with a dyslexic retard or something, it prevents them from asking the most important question. "Why?" (sticking out his ring finger) Why was Hip Hop killed? (sticking out his middle finger) Who benefited? (sticking out his index finger) Who has the power of covering it up??

(Mr. Snuffleupagus promptly gets up and walks away)

HumanityCritic: (yelling)Where in the fuck are you going?? What do I look like, Agatha Christie? I'm not Angela Lansberry out this motherfucker!!! Who killed Hip Hop!!?? To set the record straight, I only beat off to Rue McClanahan when watching "The Golden Girls" for your information!

Mr. Snuffleupagus:(now jogging, yelling back) I know, you stroke it while singing that "Thank you for being a friend.." theme-song!!


To Be Continued...

My daily attempt to resurrect Hip Hop: Public Enemy - Night Of The Living Baseheads

Public Enemy - Night of the Living Baseheads

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The exact same way that Peter Parker obtained his super-human strength and ability to shoot white gooey stuff out of places other than his cock only after he was bitten by a radioactive spider, and how Johnny Smith(Dead Zone) only started having visions of the past and the future while touching people after he was in a coma for six years - I've recently realized that I have a pretty important power that came from me being a part-time douche-bag and full time philanderer. After giving women more excuses than defeated boxers in post fight interviews, and apologizing more than Larry David on "Curb Your enthusiasm" because of the fact that I'm an insufferable prick who once got a rather elderly hand-job from a girlfriend's mom once - I have the uncanny ability to immediately know when someone is lying to me. From every girlfriend I've had over the last five years who swore to me that they were indeed being faithful despite how their vagina suddenly felt "roomier" during sex, or an employer who once swore that the money that I was owed was coming "any day now" - before they even crafted their bastardly case I immediately knew that they were full of shit.

Which brings me to an old friend of mine that swore to me that he wasn't addicted to crack - even though I gave him the benefit of the doubt for a month or so, from his appearance and the downward spiral that his life has taken it's crystal clear that he has a penchant for wrapping his lips around a glass dick. So, because I like to preface my lectures with some meaningful theme music - this is the song that I played before I read him the riot act in my car. He didn't know that I was driving him to a rehabilitation clinic, but before we arrived there I hit him with the following diatribe: "Crack? Really? Why couldn't you be an alcoholic like any other self respecting person? I understand weed, side effects being the munchies, rampant giggling, and fits of paranoia that serve as great conversation pieces at some later date. But crack, side affects being heart attacks, weight loss, looking like a zombie, and smelling like Biz Markie's fucking sweat-socks. Crack is so 1989 anyways, next you'll be wearing a fucking bomber jacket and phat laces in your sneakers!!" That's when we arrived at the clinic where I ushered, I mean, physically assaulted him inside..

"If you vote for me, all your wildest dreams will come true."

When it comes to The Black Weblog Awards, me and presidential hopeful Barack Obama have a lot in common. Based on his mixed race heritage some people have gone out of their way to question the "blackness" of the Illinois Senator, and even though my parents are both black - my penchant for skateboarding, writing love letters to Janeane Garofalo in blood, and my toddler sized penis have made many people question my afro-street cred as well. Like Obama, people have called me "articulate" as if that was supposed to be some sort of compliment - but unlike Obama I'm a scumbag, and all of the backhanded compliment givers can take solace in that fact as I fully pronunciation the word "motherfucker" while I consensually sodomize their lady against my muscle car. Obama claims that when he is president that he would talk to our enemies, and I'm all for opening up a dialog with some of the local bastards that I have beef with as well - that's until they come out of their mouth sideways, forcing me to throat-chop their ass then proceed to mercilessly go through their pockets on some "High School Bully" shit. He's admitted to doing cocaine in his past, I once unknowingly smoked a laced blunt that caused me to sweat like a runaway slave as I laid in a warm puddle of my own urine. Barack Obama made his presence felt when he announced his candidacy for the 2008 U.S. presidential election standing before the Old State Capitol building in Springfield, Illinois where Lincoln once spoke at - I once made my "presence felt" so to speak during a 6th grade field trip to Colonial Williamsburg as I pissed on all the historical reenactors while standing in an old plantation out of pure protest. The only glaring difference is that I'm going for my third term in office and Obama is going for his first - if he gets the nomination that is.

That's why, all you good folks who peruse this blog - I need for everyone to get organized and let your collective voices be heard. Who influenced you to viciously throat-chop people who get out of hand? Me, I did that!! By my rampant tales of douchebaggery, who made it alright for all of you to embrace your inner asshole? Me, that's who!!! If you vote for me at the "The Blackweblog Awards" site, who knows what you might learn from me next year!! Here's what you do:

Be sure to Go to the Nomination page(The nomination period is from 8/1-8/15) and include your name an a valid email address. Then fill out my blog address(www.nappydiatribe.blogspot.com) in the following categories: Best Humor Blog, Best Personal Blog, Best Writing in a Blog and Blog of the Year.

Lastly, for Blog post of the year put in the following URL:
nappydiatribe.blogspot.com/2006/11/who-killed-hip-hop-on-some-jfk-
shit.html

If my blog gets nominated in any of the following categories, there will be a voting process from August 16th to August 31st. Granted, I will be shamelessly pandering for your votes once again if that shit happens - but the blogisphere needs you, America needs you, a black dude who needs online accolades to make up for his small penis needs you!! What do you say, do I have your votes??

BOONDOCKS SEASON 2 PROMO

Another Edition of "HumanityCritic's Asshole moments"

My mother loved my father with all her heart, but when it comes to her attitude concerning some of the illnesses that people on his side of the family have fallen victim to - I'm surprised that she doesn't temporarily live in a hyperbolic chamber whenever we go and visit them. Hypertension, High Blood Pressure, strokes, seizures - thank god they survived, but I had two cousins have massive heart attacks in their early 40's for Christs sake - so every time I eat anything in front of my mother its as if she is the human embodiment of a DVD commentary track of my life. God forbid I up-size my fast food combo around her because she'll let out a rather exhaustive sigh and then sarcastically say, "Really? Biggie Sized? Really" - sometimes I find her hypocrisy adorable and remain silent as she puffs on a cigarette and tells me how bad red meat is. Granted, it was wrong of me to bring a girl that I was dating around my moms house, chill for a little more than a half hour - then point to the woman, smile, then ask my mother "It's been almost an hour and you haven't criticized my eating habits yet!!"(Both of the ladies were thoroughly disgusted by the way)

But it's this writers humble opinion, that sure, eating right and exercising regularly will definitely add years to your life - but my penchant for embracing my inner asshole is whats really going to see me into my golden years. Here are a few recent examples.

Holy Cremation Batman: Ever since my old man died 6 years ago I feel amazingly awkward whenever a loved one of a friend meets their maker - not because I enjoy being a delinquent friend, but because anything of comfort that you have to offer always comes out sounding rather meaningless. "They are in a better place now", "At least they aren't suffering any more" - all sentiments I heard firsthand that damn near provoked me to give each of them a rather casual tracheotomy. So when my friend Blake's old man passed last month, I had a game plan of only saying "I'm sorry for your loss", with an occasional arm around his shoulder for comfort - then keep it fucking moving. The funeral went off without a hitch for me, I mean, I didn't say anything awkward to anyone, I didn't punch people - shit, I came out of the whole thing looking like a friend who's loyalty could only be matched by that of possibly Scooter Libby. That was until I was asked, a couple of days later that is - to join the family near a hill by their house where they planned on spreading the cigarette ashes that used to be a Blake's pop. Usually I'd decline, say that I had better things to do like cleaning my sneakers or aggressively beating off to some Belladonna video's like my nut-sack had an expiration date on them - but for some reason I agreed. So there we are, Blake, his mom, sister, and myself - on top of this 12 foot hill about to grant the old man his last dying wish to spread his ashes. After a small prayer Blake's mom opened up the little box that contained her husbands ashes and began to spread them in the wind - the only problem was that there was a gigantic headwind so the ashes blew back in our collective faces. Everyone took it pretty well, except me of course, who acted as if the man's ashes were hot molten volcano lava. The next 20 minutes I spent coughing profusely, throwing up, stripping off all of my clothes - then submerging myself in a nearby lake where I screamed as I blew water out of my nose.

Smoking Gun Proof: I was walking out of a grocery store when I saw a young lady who should have taken a longer look in the mirror before stepping foot outside of her residence. Listen, women who have to get all dolled up just to buy milk irritate me more than DJ's who constantly talk over my favorite song - but at least don't look as if your favorite pastime is smoking cooked cocaine. Anyway, as I walked to my car I saw a young woman with a shower cap on, some shorts that could have been a pair of underwear's last minute replacement - a raggedy shirt with some slippers so dirty you would have thought that she had a strange habit of stomping on every piece of dog feces that she saw. I didn't say anything, but I guess my expression spoke volumes since her man jumped out of his car and said "Hey N*gga, what in the fuck are you looking at??!!" That's when I informed his girlfriend to stop in her tracks, pulled out my trusty camera phone and asked the young lady to pose for a picture. Then I put my arm around the young brother as if I'd known him all his life, showed him the image of his girlfriend that I had just captured and said "That! That's what I'm looking at!! Take pride in your girl for heavens sake, she looks like something a giant would use to wash his car!!!"

Your Moms in my business: Growing up, my friend Jared had a mom who was a bona fide milf - she must have had him when she was like 10 and shit, because she would always greet us kids with skimpy ass T-Shirts and jean shorts so small that her gynecologist had to be the only one who had a better view than I did. Anyway, even though my friends always made rude comments about her to Jared I refrained, I always refrained - even though over the years she has made it perfectly clear that she would like nothing better than to fuck the love handles off of me chubby frame. Of course I've declined and also refused to tell my friend her intentions - even though she still looks great and recently informed me in the supermarket that chubby premature prejaculators with father issues turn her on. Nope, I couldn't do that to my friend - that was until he got arrested recently for some drug shit he was involved in and happened to throw my name into the mix. Truly the definition of "snitching", he dropped my name to the cops even though I wasn't involved in whatever drug scheme he had going - the boys in blue even came to my crib to question me.

Granted, he has apologized profusely and I'm deciding whether pr not I should forgive him - but in the meantime I'm paying his mother friendly visits that are definitely getting back to him and he's none to happy. Every time he calls and asks why I stopped by his moms house I always to say, "To fuck..I mean, to see how she's doing!!" Sometimes, when he asks a bit to much - I tell him that I plan on penetrating his mother in his childhood bed. The sad thing is, I'm in a slump - so I wouldn't be surprised if I hit you guys with a "I once was fucking this 49 year old broad while listening to Donna Summer records" story.

My daily attempt to resurrect Hip Hop: BDP "My Philosophy"

MTV's Hip Hop lists are more damaging than "Hot Ghetto Mess"

A little less than 6 years ago, September 2001 to be precise - I found myself sitting inside my car that I had just parked in the middle of a deserted field near my house, so dark that without my headlights on I could barely see a couple of feet in front of my vehicle. The Jose Cuervo was in my bloodstream so strong that if a chick happened to lift up my gut and blow me she'd probably fail a breathalyzer test, and thoughts of a recent break up, my father's death a few months before, and my mother's newly diagnosed cancer infiltrated my every thought as I nervously clutched a loaded 9 mm handgun in my right palm. As Nina Simone played ever so beautifully in the background, serving as the soundtrack to my suicide, I cocked the same handgun that cops use and openly wondered how my newly splattered brain particles would look against my driver side window that I had cleaned only a day before. Tears flowing down my face as the gun that I was holding felt as if it weighed a million pounds while I positioned it towards my temple, I started to fully except the fact that what I was about to do was indeed a hell-worthy trespass - and quickly prayed to god to forgive me for my sins, adding a thoughtful post-script to the big guy upstairs asking that a young child wouldn't be the one to find my lifeless body in the morning. In my absurd search to say something fitting before taking a rather extended dirt-nap, "Goodbye Cruel, Cruel world!!" was actually my personal favorite - I for some reason remembered, despite the train-wreck that was my life, that I had just been on the business end of a pretty decent day. I mean, a fine woman that I didn't know stuffed her number in my pants pocket at the liquor store hours before, my mother grabbed me like we were in a football huddle and guaranteed me that she's beat her cancer like she was Joe Montana talking to his team in the 4th Quarter - not to mention that they had just played my favorite episode of "What's Happening?" right before I left the house.(You know, the one where Re-Run takes a tape recorder to The Doobie Brothers Concert) That's when I slowly realized that I was taking the cowards way out, I'd have to nut up and own the fact that my father died in the midst of our strained relationship, my mother's prognosis was good - and now six years later I'm glad to confirm that the chick who had ripped my beating heart out of my chest really wasn't worth taking my life.(no one is really)

Even though the plethora of women in the Virginia Beach area who I've prematurely ejaculated on will absolutely loathe this great 70's era television show after I say this - but if it wasn't for the show "What's Happening?" I probably wouldn't be here today. Shit, I would have missed Bush's disastrous presidency, Nas and Jay-Z's reconciliation, my Bears reaching the SuperBowl - not to mention Kevin Smith making a sequel to one of my favorite movies of all time.("Clerks") I guess this extremely lengthy segue was brought on by the fact that if MTV's "10 Hottest MC's in the Game" special had been the show that aired before I found myself parked in that deserted field - I would have not only pulled that trigger, but I would have slit my wrists while driving into a nearby lake before catching the final bullet to the brain. I know it sounds kind of harsh, especially since I'm already fully aware of the kind of oceanic bottom feeders the "brain trust" over at MTV are based on that last bowel movement of a list that they compiled - but the utter stupidity is so rampant that you keep wondering if you are the butt of some elaborate practical joke.

Forget the fact that them calling themselves a "Brain Trust" is as giggle-worthy as Fox News claiming that they are "Fair and Balanced" - but the criteria in which an artist was to be considered is completely contradictory to what they finally decided to title this chronological botched abortion. The title of their vomit inducing list is the "10 Hottest MC's in the Game", "MC's", last time I checked google hits, how many mixtapes you've been on, the cover of "Teen People" that you've graced, or what particular fashion trends you've happened to start doesn't have a god-damned thing to do with being an MC. Now if they decided to replace the "MC" and insert "Rapper" then I'd have no issue with that list - primarily because then the bar is set lower than midget limbo contests, any garden variety asshole who can string two somewhat coherent sentences together and make them rhyme can "rap". Besides, who gives a fuck about a momentary fashion trend - 15 years later people are still talking about A Tribe Called Quests "Low End Theory" and not giving a watery sack of crap about Kriss Kross wearing their jeans backwards. The list is completely irrelevant because over the last 30 years the Hip Hop landscape is littered with men who might have owned a moment in time in the publics consciousness, but ended up being nothing more than a footnote in Hip Hop History. Yes, this list, even if titled correctly - is as fraudulent as the people who compiled it and the network that they all work for.

Even though I want to say that most of these panelists got their jobs in a raffle, or the bottom of a cereal box, or due to some very indiscreet post interview hand-job - but I've come to the conclusion that their public display for bad taste is actually a pretty smart business move on their part. Talking bad about Lil Wayne or Young Jeezy isn't going to exactly help their careers, especially if you find yourself constantly interviewing them backstage at their respective "Shuck and Jive" tours - so they can find solace in singing a sub-par rapper's praises as they think about how its paying for their health insurance. Saying that Jim Jones has the verbal capacity of a retarded stroke victim might ruin your career over at MTV, so they proceed to talk about his swagger(as if that's even important when you don't have the lyrics to back it up) and just ease their minds with the thought of all the free shows of legitimate rappers they are able to attend. Maybe I'm the wrong one to be saying this, a Vibe.com blogger who will most likely never get the opportunity to grace the pages of the actual magazine, but I quote a great MC who said "I'd rather be broke and have a whole lot of respect!"(O.C)

Here are some of the low-lights that you'll see in the video:

Tuma Basa: Manager MTV Programming: Barney Fife Hip Hop moment: Passionately made a case for Jim Jones to be on the list because of an "energy" that he brings. Bowel movements take energy as well.. Why are accents only irritating when they come from Hip Hop know-nothings and black conservatives?(see Roy Innis)

Joseph Patel: Producer, MTV News: Barney Fife Hip Hop moment: He says "Jeezy destroys all the conventions of what traditional lyricism is", no shit sherlock - he's wack...

Rahman Dukes: Senior Producer MTVnews.com: Barney Fife Hip Hop moment: Overall he seems like a voice of reason here, but him saying "The Real Hip Hop dudes is not bloggers!" is just so 2001. If there's one place that Hip Hop heads aren't at, its the MTV studios..

Sean Lee: Supervising producer, MTV News: Barney Fife Hip Hop moment: Claimed that Tupac was the best rapper of all time. *Exhaustive Sigh*

Shaheem Reid: Hip Hop editor, MTV News: Barney Fife Hip Hop moment: Actually quoted Young Jeezy with child-like enthusiasm. Enough said.

Andrea Duncan-Mao: Senior Producer, MTV.com: Barney Fife Hip Hop moments: 1. Commended Young Jeezy on his perfectly constructed songs, that's something a soccer mom would say.. 2. Argued for Kanye West based on the fact that she could tell that he really loved Hip Hop, despite the fact that she previously co-signed three ass-hats who don't.

Bridget Bland: MTV Radio Network: Barney Fife Hip Hop moments: When Common's consistency was addressed, she said "That's not every time though, thats "Be" and this new upcoming album!" - proving that her Hip Hop knowledge doesn't go back any further than 2005. Way to pick em' MTV!!

Sway: Barney Fife Hip Hop moment: Allowing himself to be talked into being a part of such a clusterfuck of nonsensical dialog.

Anita Baker: "You Bring me Joy" (lipsynched by Zach Galifianakis)

You Bring Me Joy

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If you don't know who Zach Galifianakis is, his comedic stylings, or that fact that he once described his bearded visage as looking like a "young Santa Claus" - he is the dude who lip-syncs Kanye West's "Stronger" in the middle of a farm in North Carolina. West basically commissioned the comic to do so after checking out his comedy act and viewing him in a music video where he lipsync-ed Fiona Apple's "Not about Love" for her. But my personal favorite, what probably started this musical ball rolling for Galifianakis - was his lipsynching rendition of Anita Baker's "You Bring me Joy". Not for nothing, but its awkwardly captivating..