An artist after my own heart: Amy Winehouse

When I first heard the "More Fish" album by Ghostface and listened to the song "You know I'm no good", I just figured the woman singing was a 60's era sample that they snatched from one of those James Bond movies back in the day. Little did I know at the time but that song, minus Ghostface, was originally on an album entitled "Back to Black" by a young woman hailing from England named Amy Winehouse. Her coming from the land of the union jack didn't surprise me in the least because I feel that foreigners have a greater respect for R&B and Hip Hop than many people in the states to be completely honest, but I was just intrigued to learn more about her and how someone of her age could have such a depth to her voice. Before I heard the album, I read accounts of her performing drunk on television shows, punching fans and beating up her boyfriend, heckling Bono, the more I researched this young woman the more I got a chubby, feeling that I had found a kindred spirit. Then I heard the album, a throwback of sorts listening to musical arrangements that you might have heard years ago, a welcome sound to the eardrums when blistering non-talents like Ciara and Keisha Cole dominate the public airwaves. But the album, on a lyrical level seems like the soundtrack of my life(minus the tits, strong singing voice, race, and country of origin that is...) She talks about people wanting her to go to rehab, relationship issues, and people smoking up all her weed, truly a woman after my own heart. Plus, you can't help but love a woman who starts off a song with "What kind of fuckery is this??"

It's hard to talk about someone from a different continent with any sort of accuracy because of our lack of exposure to said artist, but from all accounts she has dropped a significant amount of weight due to eating disorders and has a severely destructive drinking problem.(There are some telling pictures) Here's to hoping she gets some help, if I can do it I know she can. Granted, I only feel that I'm cured because I've stopped taking marijuana shotguns out of prostitutes vaginas.. Anyway, here is her myspace page.


Amy Winehouse when talking about her tattoos: “I like pin-up girls. I’m more of a boy than a girl. I’m not a lesbian, though — not before a sambuca anyway."

Nas' "Hip Hop Is Dead" exposed skirts, panties, and other undergarments.

Sometimes you just know from the instance you are introduced to something that it will be a part of your life for years to come. Some people will tell you that they knew that they were going to marry their spouse the moment they set eyes on them, some drug addicts will tell you that their self destructive narcotic habit stemmed from that first time they injected themselves with heroin and felt that "in the womb" sense of home, from the first time Hip Hop passed through my eardrums and infiltrated my cerebellum I just knew that I would be in love with it until the day that I'm in the ground and my kids are recalling what an asshole I was. Maybe it was the way I was raised, my mother coming from a musical family and her uncle playing for Count Basie's Orchestra, or my old man's love for Muddy Waters, Howlin' Wolf, and other great blues-men of the time, I had no other choice but to transfer that attention to detail to Hip Hop and always hold it to the highest standards imaginable. Even though sometimes I feel like that overbearing parent that picks fight with referees who blow a call during my kids football game, I still feel the need to always expect the best because in this scenario I won't ruin anyones life.

Because of my love for Hip Hop and holding it to such a high standard, it was amazing to see all of the frauds, MC's and journalists alike, that Nas' "Hip Hop is Dead" exposed. Exposed on some James Frey shit, turning over our port security to the government of Dubai shit, he was a member of the press corp but Jeff Gannon was actually a white house plant and a prostitute for guys shit. Personally I thought it was a solid album, and if you objectively didn't like it I don't have any problems with any you, but here are a few interesting developments that arose based on Nas' latest release.

Hyperbole anyone? Hyperbole:(definition) "Largely synonymous with exaggeration and overstatement, hyperbole is a figure of speech in which statements are exaggerated or extravagant. It may be used due to strong feelings or is used to create a strong impression and is not meant to be taken literally." I just had to make that clear for every journalist, garden variety douche-bag, or products of inbreeding that acted like a petulant child who's security blanket was taken away from them when they said "Naw-ah, Hip Hop isn't dead!!" as the only response that they could muster. I mean, when I say that my ex-girlfriend gave absolutely the worst blow-jobs in the history of blow-jobs it's just hyperbole, as long as there are epileptics with gag reflex's and braces on their teeth I'm certain there are women worse at mouth-hugs than my ex is. When someone tells you that the nightlife in their city is nonexistent I'm sure that there is at least one watering hole around, its just not up to their specific standards that's all. During some pretty intimate pillow-talk, the girl that I'm "dating" lovingly leaned over and whispered in my ear that I had the "smallest penis that she has ever seen in her life", now we know that that can't be true based on all the baby penis' she has seen in her life(right?). The term "Hip Hop is Dead" has been the theme of this blog over the past couple of years it seems like, sure there is still being legitimate Hip Hop being made fuck-stick, but the landscape is a treacherous one, occupied by wack rappers the world over that couldn't hold Rakim's jockstrap. Even if you are one of those deplorable excuses for a human being that should have stayed dripping down your mother's leg and are currently drinking the fecal flavored Jim Jones Kool-Aid, people of your ilk have to admit that this isn't Hip Hop glory days. *snapping* Try to keep up.

People's response to Nas' "Who Killed it??": You can always tell what kind of sham of a person you are dealing with if they disregard Nas' song "Who killed it?" in a reactionary, knee-jerk fashion. Again nothing is wrong with you if you detest track #6 of Nas' latest release, let me make that clear, this isn't particularly my favorite song on the album either. Even though the James Cagney-esque accent that he uses is a curious choice to the listener at first, but hearing him drop jewels via a Hip Hop noir is at least a ballsy choice. Remember that, when MC's took chances?? When I think of a De La Soul album, Miles Davis playing with his back to the crowd, Marvin Gaye choosing to sing Frank Sinatra styled crooner tunes when the audience paid to see him perform his soul classics, the epitome of an artist is doing what you find interesting and if the audience likes it, then that's all the better. Besides, again admitting that this isn't my favorite track of Nas', but I'll take it over anything Jim Jones, Rick Ross, or any other shit-stain on Hip Hop culture has ever done.

Man, rappers sure did catch feelings: As soon as I heard that Nas was going to name his album "Hip Hop is Dead", I knew that he was going to catch more shit for it than a midget under a tall man's leaking colostomy bag. It was like watching an Oscar ceremony where the winning actor or actress takes the time usually allotted to thank people to publicly bash the president, sure you probably agree with them, but you know people won't talk about what they said in a civilized manner but just call them a "flaming Liberal" and a "Hollywood idiot" like those were two closing arguments that Johnnie Cochran would be proud of. I want you to try something, if you are a blogger go on a lengthy rant about how you are tired of a "certain" blogger stealing your ideas or some other charge. When you are work make a scene, go on and on how you are going to publicly beat the shit out of the person who has been bad mouthing you behind your back. Watch, like clockwork some miserable bastard with a guilty conscience that you weren't even thinking about will come up and say, "You weren't talking about me, were you??" Jesus fucking Christ man..

With the mere title of Nas' album it seemed that there were guilty consciences all over the map. First you had those jackasses in Atlanta who took offense to Nas' title, claimed he was dissing Atlanta, and went on to name a shitload of horrible groups as to clarify why Hip Hop Isn't dead. Even though I respect Ludacris and Outkast(despite what a cluster-fuck "Idlewild" was), they took offense to Hip Hop being "dead" as well but I saw that more as them having a guilty conscience about all the proverbial wackness that's going on in their backyard and not them personally being offended.(Lets hope, because I refuse to think they are that stupid.) We can't forget about the Young Jeezy meltdown where he took offense to Hip Hop being dead as well, and not only went on to basically say that a criminal background made you a dope MC, but also went on to question Nas' street credibility before storming out of the studio like a petulant child. (Damn dude, the chick who made "Monie in the Middle" made you her bitch?? That's not gangsta..)

Sometimes, just sometimes, age matters: Full disclosure here, I have unfortunately been age biased when it comes to someone's knowledge of Hip Hop, usually in the most disrespectful ways. Even though they were gag gifts, I have been known to give out pacifiers and diapers to younger people around Christmas time if at some point in the past they had the nerve and attempted to talk to me about Hip Hop. Admittedly I was a horrible, but based on my bad behavior and the fact I tug at my penis at least 3 times a day, being a jerk seems like the motif of my life. But over the past year and a half I have encountered young people 10 years, 15 tears younger than myself that had a solid foundation in Hip Hop, graffiti, and other facets of Hip Hop culture that basically gave the pimp hand to my silly biases. Even though I'm trying to change, those bias' reared its ugly head over the past month or so when I read reviews of Hip Hop is dead to be completely honest.

I noticed that many of the reviewers were young cats, not that they disclosed their age or anything, but you can always tell their age because they try to wow you with how many classic albums they own or some other example of their Hip Hop knowledge. Listen, there's nothing wrong with a younger person reviewing Hip Hip, I just had a problem when reviewing Nas' latest record they would talk about "Illmatic" and the impact that it had at the time it was released. Motherfucker you were in grade-school, shut the fuck up already! I started to openly wonder if Hip Hop relied more on context than any other form of music when speaking about it. I mean, I could spent 10 years of my life researching the Harlem Renaissance, wax poetic about the great literature, art, culture of the times, but no matter how hard I try I could never sound as authentic and genuine as Langston Hughes, a gentleman who lived it. I'm just saying..

Most Hip Hop journalists are incompetent: I noticed something very interesting when I read the negative reviews of this album, the angry and biting tone that some of the writers used when doing so. It was like they were getting back at Nas for throat-chopping their grandmother, or cumming on their little sister's prom dress or something, I didn't get it at first. Then it all came clear to me like an epiphany, the mere title of Nas' album forced many of these dime-store wordsmiths to re-evaluate the plethora of glowing reviews in the past that they gave to horrible artists just to keep their job at some Hip Hop rag that I wouldn't wipe my ass with, and this is them lashing out because they were called on how lame they are. Just think about the scathing review they gave Hip Hop is dead, then go back in their posting history or the old articles in which they reviewed other albums, if you see a positive review for Jim Jones, anyone in the Dip-set, Young Jeezy, Lil Wayne, chamillionaire, Rick Ross, or any artist of that ilk, consider that motherfucker persona non Grata when it comes to being a trustworthy source of Hip Hop. Only in the Special Olympics does a person get a medal for being placing last, the fact that this album invokes such anger from people who have the audacity to praise inferior artists takes some nerve, I'll give you that..

My daily attempt to resurrect Hip Hop: The D.O.C. - It's Funky Enough

The Decaying of a Strip-Club

I know that the title suggests that the strip club that I'm about to talk about was once a stellar establishment, a place where a man could walk into that miniature titty palace with 50 dollars and a dream, with girls so clean you actually wouldn't throw up inside your own mouth if they happened to put their gyrating crotch in your face. Actually the place in question, Magic City, was always a shit-hole to be completely honest with you, but I spent a good deal of money there about a decade ago merely because the girls were cute and thick enough, every girl there had self esteem and daddy issues so I knew I would at least leave there feeling better about myself, and there was a good chance that some dancer would show you first hand what her regular 9-5 was(Whoring). Around the mid-90's, damn near every day of the week you could see me walking out of Magic city hundreds of dollars lighter, sporting a otherwise lackluster chubby that I felt I could drive nails with that particular night, hoping that the young lady that I intended to work my frustrations on later that night wouldn't notice the glitter on my skin or the sour stripper perspiration embedded in my clothes. Muslims have Mecca to look forward to, aspiring actors one day dream of Oscar glory, an inner city kid with nice handles and a decent 3 point shot hopes to one day raise up an NBA championship trophy, based on the discreet hand-jobs and lies I was told about my gigantic phallus, Magic City felt like home to me. I would have tried to own that place by now, but I had to take a 10 year hiatus from that place because I beat the brakes off of the wrong dude.

Long story short I tried to politely intervene when I saw a gentlemen get extremely rough with one of the dancers, he punched me in the face for doing so, then I proceeded to embarrass the piss out of him by not only beating his ass and jumping off the bumper of a car and landing atomic elbows like I was a wrestler, but I snatched his chain and went through his pockets on some high school bully shit. Well, that wasn't exactly the smartest move in the world since that gentleman was one of the biggest drug dealers in the city known for his bad temper, itchy trigger finger, and penchant for making people disappear that he doesn't agree with. I won't go as far as to say there was a price on my head, but lets just say if I saw that dude again, in the words of Mobb Deep, that would have probably been my "last earth memory". Usually I'm too foolish to take these type of matters seriously, but this had "loss" written all over it, and the last thing I wanted to do was have my mother sobbing in a black dress with my two siblings wrapping their arms around her for support. I knew that by me not going there any more would save my life since it was three cities away from where I lived, but in the back of my mind I hated the fact that I would have to abandon the only safe haven for a sexual deviant like myself outside of Vegas.

Fast forward 100 fights, 10+ years, 5 failed relationships, the dude I beat up washing up on the shore with 4 bullets in him a few years back, and scores of times where I shrugged and told a naked woman "This is the first time that this has ever happened to me!" later, I decided to revisit the building where it's best to wear sweatpants to if you are a pervert of my caliber. The thing is the strip-club, like a faulty septic tank or Faison Love's performance in "Idlewild", really went to shit. Here are a few examples:

Saggy-Tit Sheila is still there: When I started walking to the front door, taking in my surroundings and reminiscing like a person visiting their old High School, who do I see outside smoking a cigarette but Saggy-tit Sheila. See, Sheila was a dancer more than a decade ago when I used to frequent the place, a girl who I used to feel sorry for her so I'd give her pity lap-dances because she was never picked by any of the deviants that went there. Night after night she would sit there sulking like a fat kid who didn't get picked for a team during gym class, so I would pull out a 20 and out of pity and I would receive the worst lap-dance of my life. Sheila is nice enough, but I would have hoped that she would have made a career change by now based on her lap-dances feeling like you had just been dry humped by a bag of brooms, with saggy tits that is. When I saw her she gave me a great big hug, commented on how my dreads had gotten longer, and before she could get it out I said as politely as possible "Fuck no I don't want a lap-dance!!"

The Bartender was the hottest thing there: When I walked into the runway part of the joint, the part where the bar that is, I noticed that the bartender was kind of cute. She had a curly Afro, a dashiki, and perky breasts that suddenly made me fall in love with dashiki's, I suddenly got the image of me ejaculating and screaming "Power to the People!!" at the top of my lungs. Granted, she had a pretty deep voice for a chick and she did give me a pretty mean handshake, but maybe that was just me being too observant.

They have a hearing impaired dancer: After I got a beer I sat down at the runway in front of what would be the best stripper in the whole joint, which is a bad thing since this young Latina woman was amazingly average. As I threw down dollars and screamed rude shit like, "Spread your legs and let me see your small intestines baby!", I noticed that she was slightly off beat. I know, I'm just a guy who wants to see titty's and not a judge of a fucking dance competition, I just noticed it that's all. When the music stopped and she kept dancing for a few beats I just thought that she was a free spirit, enjoying the moment, or maybe she was jacked up on Heroin to forget about the disappointment she has become to her parents, who knows? Anyway, she stopped dancing, grabbed the money, leaned over and mouthed the words "Thank You" while doing sign language. Later on I learned that she dances off of the vibrations of the beat, and she was a pretty nice chick to be completely honest. Come to think about it, nothing is wrong with a hearing impaired woman being a stripper, I just went into that nonsensical paragraph to say that I'd think that it would be a bitch dating a hearing impaired woman because of all the chap-stick you'd have to go through.(You don't want her to be reading cruddy lips all the time)

A few of the ladies could play the center position for a NFL squad: Ladies, don't get it twisted, I love me a woman who shops in the Lane Bryant catalog. For my love of thick thighs, juicy buttocks, and breasts that could be used as flotation devices, the last thing I'd do on a date is bitch about that 2nd trip to the buffet line that my date took. But some of the women who were stripping that night had no business stripping, to the point that a proud big girl like Mo'nique would take a private jet to Virginia just to tell these women in person, "Baby, you don't have any business stripping!!" You know what's not sexy, seeing women pant like fucking marathon runners after doing the most pedestrian of stripper maneuvers. I'm not saying that a chick has to live in the gym to shake their ass in front of me, but I don't want a woman who looks like she sweats when she eats dancing in front of me either. Not for nothing, but I kept expecting to see Crisco I.V's attached to their arms. The next time I come there, if there is a next time, I will be sure to leave my money at home and pay these lovely women with Hot-Pockets.

Some of the dancers there had been around the block, fuck it, around the equator: I know that I've been around the block a bit myself and I'm no spring chicken, but if some of those women were automobiles I'm sure the odometer would have flipped a few times. I was so outraged that I sparked a conversation with stranger at the bar about the subject: "Sir, look at that one, I don't know whether to be aroused or be inspired to play baseball, because her crotch sure looks like a catcher's mit to me. (pointing) Look at that one, her skin is so tough it looks like you could sharpen steak knives on her back. (pointing again) Man, you have to have a strong constitution to fuck that one, its probably akin to fucking the skin rolls on a bulldog!!" After I laugh hysterically to myself I notice that the gentleman that I'm talking to didn't find it funny, there is a good chance that he was the owner of said establishment.

I noticed that they have roaches: After that gentlemen took off like bra's at Spring Break and shit, I decided to order another beer and watch some Sports-center that was playing on a flat-screen behind the bar. As I turned up my beer I noticed a couple of roaches scurry in front of me like frolicking lovers in a wheat field, but I didn't particularly make a big fuss about it since I had no plans on eating there. Then, on cue, one of the dancers that I mentioned earlier approaches me with a not-so-subtle sex offer which would result in me losing 60 bucks and catching a brand new sexual disease that scientists would probably be kind enough to name after me. That's when I asked her, "You know you have roaches right??", in which she quickly responded in an irritating manner "I know, and??" That's when I immediately retorted, "I can't fuck a chick who's comfortable dancing in a strip club with roaches. With standards that low, just imagine the state of affairs in which you keep your vagina!!"

What's up with all these lesbians?: Lesbians in strip-clubs is nothing new, and I embrace anyone who loves the blessed vagina as much as I do, its just that I've never seen so many female women lovers in a strip-club at the same time before. Not only that, but the lesbians who were at Magic City that night are the variety that I loathe. Let me explain: Outside of the fact that I told my doctor "A little to the right, doc" while getting my prostate examined and my love for show tunes, I've always felt that I have a very gay friendly blog. I'm not homophobic in the least, believe that everyone should have the same rights, and I would fight alongside anyone for them to achieve said rights. Its just that, well, certain gay people bug me that's all. For example, old gay guy's creep me out, there I said it. As for females, I'm cool with the lipstick lesbians, the butch chicks, I just have a problem with the ones that want to look like little black boys, it just creeps me out that's all. Matter of fact I got into an argument with one young lady that night because I talked to her girlfriend(The Bartender), and I think I told her "That's why your ass looks like Nas in his "It Ain't hard to tell" video!!"

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

A Few Reasons why I stopped getting invited to Weddings..

This is going to sound silly coming from a 33 year old boy with a penchant for violence, insensitivity based on my fear of post coital snuggling, and my habit of wiping my genitals on a woman's curtains after sexual relations, but I'm a guy who has thought about his wedding day for as long as I can remember. Sure the daydream has evolved as I've matured, what once was a gala affair in my head where me and my wife would be treated like royalty, with rose pedals being thrown at our feet and being ushered off in horse and carriage, somehow it turned into a marriage ceremony dedicated to Hip Hop. It wouldn't be like a Star Wars theme wedding type of thing where I would make my mother and Aunt's wear shell-toe Adidas and fedora's and shit, and me and my wife wouldn't be doing "The Wop" down the isle or anything, but you bet your sweet ass that I'd be brought out to M.O.P's "Downtown Swinga" and get married by Rev-Run himself. Not for nothing, but I always imagined that my bride and I would freestyle battle each other over who loves each other the most, I'm sure such a touching sentiment would provoke tears from family and friends alike, until I mentioned how I love her deep-throat abilities and how how she laughed like a school girl when I was sodomizing her, stopped, and said "What is that, corn??" I guess a fella can dream can't he, but it seems that dreaming is as close as I'm going to get to wedded bliss based on my insufferable prick status, my unimpressive penis, and my troublesome behavior that once forced a young priest to call me a "cock sucking motherfucker" during a pick-up game just because I told him that his breath smelled like the nuts of little boys.(Also, when a young man that he was talking to said "Keep in touch" while walking off, I turned to the priest in question and said "Don't get a chubby, he didn't mean "Keep in touch" literally, you sick fuck!!")

That being said, because I've embraced the fact that the winter of my life will be spent with a shitload of cats, assault charges stemmed from smacking dudes in the mouth because of their bad Hip Hop tastes, and shortchanging prostitutes by giving them 5 dollars in change after sex and saying shit like "Don't spend it all in the same place sugar-tits!!" before ushering her out of my house, I have to live vicariously through my friends when they get married. The problem is, last week I was told by the future wife of a good friend of mine that I've been uninvited to their wedding based on the stories she's heard of my past behavior. Being uninvited to a wedding is nothing new to me, I'd probably be the record holder if their was indeed a record for such things(along with masturbation, public urination, and punching people in the throat), but I thought that I have been on my best behavior as of late so I didn't really understand her concern. That was when, like James Lipton on "Inside the Actors Studio" when he hits an actor with a fact about his/her life that they thought only they knew, she proceeded to tell me some of the horrendous things I have done at weddings over the last 15 years.

Beef with the DJ: When it comes to music, or anything having to do with pop culture that is, I'm the biggest snob this side of the equator. Whether I respect you or think you are a watery stool sample depends on your tastes in music, especially Hip Hop. Unfortunately at wedding receptions I have had a few violent run-ins with DJ's that I'm none too proud of. Like the one time I threatened a young man's life if he played "The Electric Slide" one more time, the incident where I chopped a wanna-be turntablist in the throat and took over his DJ-ing duties simply because he attempted to play a "Color Me Badd" record, or the all out fistfight that I got into after one wedding when some horrible DJ refused my request to spin O.C's "Times Up".

Acting like I lost the ring: In the "I guess I'm the only one who that finds this funny" department, a few times that some poor bastard made the disastrous choice of making me his best man, I took it upon myself to act as if I had lost the ring. I'd search my pockets at a feverish pace, give the married couple to be the kind of deer in headlights look a person flashes before they get flattened like a pancake by an oncoming Semi, and right before the crowd is about to go completely ape-shit and ask for my head on a platter I perform the only magic trick that I know and act like the ring in question was behind the flower girl's ear the whole time. Let me say this again, it seems that I'm the only person on planet earth who thinks this is funny.


I was biblical with the Maid of Honor, in a church: I'm the kind of guy that a girl has to get accustomed to embracing, the same way an amputee accepts the fact that they are missing a limb and shit, so when a chick immediately wants to see me naked I'm just as surprised as anyone. Anyways, the maid of honor was some black goth chick who was giving me the sexy eye all day, and even though I'm a good catholic boy I had visions of me and her fucking in a vat of blood with a Marilyn Manson record playing in the background, but since my self esteem is lower than midget blow-jobs I just figured I was misinterpreting her glares as her wanting to get a good look at the guy she heard cums faster than express mail. Apparently I wasn't, because during the reception she grabbed me and said, "I want to fuck the shit out of you, now!!" and I was down, primarily because I'm a perv and I'm the type of arrogant prick who has condoms on him at all times, but I was wondering where in fact we would do the deed. That's when she pulled me into the church adjacent to the reception and got on her knees, but you can bet your sweet ass it wasn't for communion baby. Anyway, as I blessed her body the best way a man could who had never set foot in a seminary school, the bride and her mother rushed to where we were at screaming, eagerly trying to get us to stop doing what we were doing. I was at a crossroads, because on one end all I heard was "Stop!!", "Get off of her", and "You are in a church motherfucker!!", and the black goth chick that I was clumsily gyrating my hips on top of begged me to keep going. Suffice it to say, I finished.

Relieving myself in the woods: At this one wedding reception there was an extremely long line to get into the bathroom and I had to go #2 something fierce. Trifling I know, but I took as many napkins as I could and went into the wooden area beside the reception hall to participate in the best weight loss plan this side of crack addiction. I just knew that I was alone, unloading my digestive storage unit as I screamed out the lords name like I was climaxing or something, that's when I looked over and saw the grandmother of the bride smoking a cigarette, then eventually turning her head watching me in complete horror. She was sickened, shaking her head while retreating back to the reception, and all I could think to say based on my extremely bushy beard was "Hey Grandma, I guess you know the answer when somebody asks you if a bear shits in the woods or not!!"

Very inappropriate toasts: Sure I've given some tasteless toasts, like the time I mentioned the Chlamydia my friend got on Spring Break one year, all the "fine pussy" that would be passed up because of one friends marriage, and my surprised that one friend was marrying the girl that he did since he once regarded her as "Practice Vagina", but nothing is worse than the one I gave last year. I was giving a toast at my boy David's wedding, I wasn't drunk so I just knew there was no way of screwing that up, and a rant that was for the most part very sweet turned into something horrific and borderline racist. See, I was going into detail how me and Dave were always there for each other and how he was a good friend when my old man died, I unfortunately recounted how I was there during a very nasty break-up of his and how it was funny when I told him the following: "Listen dude, there are more fish in the sea and you will find someone in no time. Plus, look on the bright side, as long as there are fat white girls in existence you will never go lonely!!" My toast didn't go over to good because his wife is, well, is a very "healthy" Caucasian woman.

Mr. T rapping and repping mothers everywhere...

Rosario Dawson Clerks 2 dance scene

There are worse things in the world than watching Rosario Dawson bounce up and down..

Another Edition of "HumanityCritic's Asshole moments"

I know that embracing your inner asshole might not endear you to friends, loved ones, or perfect strangers, but just imagine how many years you'd add to your life if you just blurted out whatever came to mind. I know that the right thing to do would be me keeping my thoughts to myself, but just imagine the huge weight that was lifted off of my shoulders when I told a couple that I'm cool with recently "Will you two do something about your brat already?? Jesus Christ man, the little motherfucker is running around like you keep his ass in a cardboard box all day. My dog died 2 years ago, I have a leash if you want one!" I know there is a certain etiquette when it comes to being on the Internet, and that I should act accordingly, but just imagine how much I enjoy going to ex-girlfriend's myspace pages, or the pages of women that I briefly dated and leaving a messages under the picture of her and her new boyfriend that reads, "You have got to be kidding!! You're fucking this guy! This motherfucker looks like he grew up next to a nuclear power plant, if I knew you had such low expectations I wouldn't had ordered that extra cheese on your burger." Even though I enjoy being nice to people and a bona fide decent human being, I also have to highlight some of my most recent asshole moments. Here are a few.

One of the "Golden Girls": The people who run the bar that I go to probably think that I go there because I enjoy the people that frequent there, that I go there because I have become the black equivalent to Norm from "Cheers" since they shout a brother's name in unison when I enter, they might even think that I go there because I love the shit out of karaoke and that unmistakable inbred ambiance that is felt as soon as you walk through the doors. Nope, that bar is my favorite watering hole because its close to my house and I don't want a D.U.I, and if worse comes to worse I can always walk my chubby ass home.(Lord knows I need the exercise, I'm about a sandwich away from never seeing my cock again) Anyway, there is a white lady who has to be around 50 years old who likes black men, I only know her preference in men because she has drunkenly told me so about 20 times already. Usually when I've been on the business end of this information I politely smile, say "that's nice", and go about my business of ruining my liver. Sure I've thought about trying to ignore the smell of Ben-Gay and drunkenly getting orally serviced by this broad, but when I think about the repercussions, people finding out, women not coming within a 20 mile radius of my penis because I fucked a chick who survived the Titanic voyage, I quickly dismissed that deviant thought. So a few days ago, for like the millionth time she said to me, "I just wanted to tell you that I really like black men!!" That is when I regrettable said: "You know, even if I had the ability to bend the space/time continuum in an 85' DeLorean and go back 20 years, I'm not certain that I'd even fuck a younger version of you. Not for nothing, but I have a rule about not fucking women who could legally drink when I was born."

Just call me Blade on Ice: Even though I'm a lifelong Hip Hop aficionado, love chocolate women with round hips and full lips, and am very secure in my blackness, I have to admit that I grew up doing things that unfortunately are considered "white" like skateboarding, playing air guitar in my room and pretending that I'm Robert Plant, and oppressing people.(Just kidding about the last part) So you would think that when my friend Frank approached me with the idea of playing Hockey with him that I'd be open to the idea, but I wasn't. For one thing wearing winter gloves and freezing your ass off isn't exactly my idea of fun, I had never worn Ice skates before, and when hockey highlights come on ESPN I either change the channel or use it as another opportunity to "rub one out"(masturbate). But for some reason or another, against my better judgment, I found myself on Frank's team in this extremely cold hockey rink. I don't know what it was, possibly my history of being quite skillful on roller-skates to the point that I could skate backwards and do the splits and shit back in my heyday, but ice-skating came naturally to me. Then we started playing, the only instruction I was given was to not hold my stick too high and to ram people, so for the next few minutes I was ramming more white men into walls than a years worth of NASCAR accidents. Dude, I wasn't even trying to score, putting punishing hits on motherfuckers and saying to them "Don't get up motherfucker!!" just made my year.

I was having the time of my life until I noticed that an extremely big guy and Frank had squared off in the middle of the rink and were getting ready to fight. Even though I saw people clear out and everything, how was I supposed to know the proper hockey etiquette, I didn't know that you were supposed to let them fight for a while. Shit man, Frank is my boy and he was getting his natural white ass handed to him like a hip replacement, so I did what any friend would do and went over to the guy he was fighting and hit him a shitload of times with my hockey stick. Sometimes I felt like "Blade" as I chopped him in the body like I was wielding a samurai sword, and other times I felt like a lumberjack based on how many times I was chopping this motherfucker. After a plethora of blows, people telling me to leave the guy alone, Frank trying to pull me off of the gentlemen, and my hockey stick breaking in 3 places, I finally realized that I was in the wrong. As I was ushered out of the hockey rink and noticed the guy that I had just beaten writhing on the ice in pain, I got the sinking suspicion that I wouldn't be asked to play hockey again.

HumanityCritic, the car stereo thief: Growing up my father thought I was forever up to no good because of the actions of a dude who wasn't really my friend at all, a career douche-bag named Lamont. See, Lamont was a wannabe thug who scared everyone but me, and through a mutual friend we would hang out occasionally. I didn't really like him, especially since I would always hear second hand stories about how he was going to jump me at some point, but I knew that he was a vaginal secretion so I didn't pay him any mind. Anyway, I asked my father if he could take me and my friends(Lamont included) to this teen club one night, usually my father would have gave me the mighty middle finger but since he put a brand spanking new stereo in his car I guess he wanted to flaunt it to somebody. My old man takes us, we have a good time, and that's that. That's until we wake up the next morning and the stereo in my old man's car is gone, and as much as my father openly wondered if it was my friends or not, I KNEW it was Lamont. Until the day he died, based on the act of a dude so far removed from being a friend of mine that not only wouldn't I piss on him if he was on fire I wouldn't even attempt a watery shit stole my old mans stereo system, my father always felt that I wasn't any good based on the "criminal element" that I hung around.

Suffice it to say I have harbored some negative feelings for Lamont all of these years, but based on his drug use and his lengthy vacations that he's taken in our finest correctional facilities, I have only seen him about two times since 1989. Scratch that, three times. See, I was walking to my car one night when I saw the man in question, Lamont, getting out of his car and walking to the club that I just left. I quickly got out to say hello, greet him in some way, but that little devil popped on my shoulder and said "Don't speak to his ass, that's the guy who stole your father's radio, remember??" That's when I waited for him to get inside the club, grabbed a huge rock, smashed his window, and proceeded to steal his radio with the accuracy of a crackfein with a pawn shop on his itinerary. Granted, by me throwing the stereo out of my car a mile down the road proves that I didn't want it, it was a little payback for something that has haunted me for years. Yes, its sad that I'm getting revenge for something that happened 18 years ago. And Yes, its even sadder that this little episode happened last week.

Remembering Hip Hop through old VHS tapes...

In this day and age it is pretty unpopular for a man to express love or admiration for another man, simply because in some circles it is either seen as a gay gesture, or "dick-riding" if you will. Granted, the people who usually feel this way are closeted homosexuals themselves who would love nothing more than to be the human version of a pincushion for circumcised cocks, simply calling other people "gay" because they lack the vocabulary to express themselves coherently and they also want to throw you off the scent of their Vaseline trail. That being said, I have nothing but love for my boy Buddy, and even though he was murdered a little over two years ago his death is still extremely tough to deal with. Sure, the capture of his killer is a positive, and the thought of that son of a bitch spending most of his life in a maximum security prison where fellow inmates routinely treat his rectum like a slinky is comforting, but in the back of my mind I still wonder if I should have made my words a prophecy when I told a friend of mine, "If they capture that motherfucker, he won't leave the courtroom breathing!!"

It's cliche as hell, and when a preacher gave me this same advice after my father died I think my response to him was "Suck my nuts you child ass-raper!!", but thinking about the good times you had with a recently deceased loved one does ease the pain a bit. Like that time I wanted to beat up some dancer dude named "Jedi" because he inappropriately serenaded my then girlfriend for her birthday in the middle of a club, Buddy was the one that went beyond the call of duty and retrieved the youmg man's home address for me and the hours in which he worked. We laughed like school children as we planned the home invasion of that Denny Terrio wanna-be, with diagrams and shit, giggling as we talked about all the Star Wars references we would spout out while we beat the brakes off of that motherfucker.(*Pow* "The force isn't strong with this one!!" "Come on, a true Jedi wouldn't be crying like a bitch!!" *punch* "Yoda never prepared you for an ass-whipping like this!!") Buddy was also there for me when I wanted to see if a woman that I was dating was fucking around on me or not, he quickly brought me back to reality with his subtle humor by grabbing me by the shoulders and saying, "Man, Look at yourself, you have a fucking stepladder in your backseat!" That's what I call a friend, a dude who not only enabled my violent tendencies but also stopped me from being a psychopathic stalker.

Lately I've been doing the same thing with Hip Hop, watching old VHS tapes filled with old school video's to remind me of better days when wack journalists and subpar rappers didn't take a collective piss on the culture I love. Watching these tapes brings many memories, when skills reigned supreme, when tough guy rappers had dancers, and smoking gun evidence that I've always been a pervert.(See, mixed in with all of those Hip Hop gems, are Cinemax sex scenes that I recorded so I'd have something to yank to..) Anyway, here are a few observations that came to mind from watching a shitload of videotapes.

Why did it always seem that the Chinese guy in "2 Live Crew" always had a broken arm??

Trying to pull off a purple paisley shirt is bad enough, but the fact that Big Daddy Kane had an arm-cast to boot in Heavy D's "Don't Curse" video is hysterical.

Speaking of Kane, I don't know what's more amazing about his "Cause I can do it Right" video. That Heather Hunter is in it, that Kane is wearing a purple suit that makes you think that he skinned Grimace and shit, or the fact that Jim Brown says "Get your chair??" like the young lady had just asked for a vital organ.

I respect Kool Moe Dee, but weren't his video's longer than Ciara's forehead?

Remember that white chick that came out under the tutelage of Eazy-E, Tairrie B? Based on her being all gothed out presently, I wonder how she feels about her rhyming days?


I know Mariah shouldn't be trusted when it comes to her speaking about anything outside of her vocal octave range and smearing her own feces against the wall mid nervous breakdown, but her claiming that her and ODB were the first R&B and Hip Hop collaboration is just plain silly. In the words of P-Diddy, or me when I'm ejaculating, "Take That!", "Take That!", "Take That!"

My brother never understood why for the life of him I've been calling him Large Professor all these years. Well, since he now reads the blog, you can't front on the resemblance kid..

The Lost Boys video for "The Yearn" is a glaring example why Pete Rock should never grow a mustache, ever!!

Is it me or does Redman's verse in "Headbanger" make everyone else seem irrelevant. Speaking of Redman, you don't know how many times I have walked down the street and pushed complete strangers based on this video.

At one time wanting to fuck Salt was the obvious choice, then wanting to know Spinderella biblicly made it look like you thought outside of the box. But based on how Pepa spreads her legs while she is in that bathtub in the "Whattaman" video and her talent for deepthroating, I'd like to have a crack at Pepa's crack.

I know they were the same person, but why was I so in love with Isis and not all that thrilled about lin-que?

I'm a fan of both Kool G Rap and of Nas, but why was that "Fast Life" video the worst piece of crap imaginable??

Because of "Electric Relaxation", when I go to coffee shops I keep expecting to see lovely ladies smiling in my direction, bobbing their heads with glee to my verbal stylings. All I get now are coffee shop chicks who'd fuck me if I looked like Maxwell, white chicks with dreadlocks who want to lecture me on the history of natural hair, and if I want to see a chick bob her head nowadays I have to pay for it.

Remember when Pharcyde's weed-man, Quinton, had a record out?? The track was called "Quinton's here", and the only thing stupider than making drug deals on you're land-line is having a video telling the world you slang dope.

Maybe I'm easily impressed, but I always liked the fact that Boss openly admitted her middle class upbringing and catholic school background on her first LP.

Watching Biz Markie's "Vapors" video not only bugs me out because of the Food stamp that he has stapled to his cap, but I distinctly remember my mother's reaction when she heard Biz say "N*gga please, you work for UPS". I think her response was, "He's crazy, that's good work if you can get it!"

Speaking of Biz, couldn't they have made his love interest in that "Just a friend" video less homely looking??


Because of how dope "WC and the Mad Circle" were, that's the only thing that's stopping me from taking a watery shit on the careers of both Coolio and WC.

I was never the biggest fan of Cypress Hill, but I love this joint.

Someone asked me, "What's the first CD you ever purchased??" Answer: King Tee's "Act a fool".


It was interesting to see a dude admit that the reputation of his city was negatively affecting the rest of the United States. "Jus Lyke Compton" is my favorite DJ Quik joint. Matter of fact, whenever a fight would break out I'd shake my head and say, "Just like Compton"..

Maybe this might get child-like chuckles from some of my readers, but I dug some of Da Youngsta's stuff.

Doesn't it seem like the set of Run D.M.C's video "Down with the Kings" was complete and utter mayhem, in the best way of course.


You have to love how KRS goes acapella at the beginning of the "My Philosophy" video, with the record coming in sporadically like a virtual hype-man. Classic.

I know I wasn't the only one who noticed Lauryn in MC Lyte's "Poor Georgie" video.

This might enrage the feminists out there, but when Ice Cube wakes up one of his conquests by mushing her head in the pillow in that "It was a Good day" video, I laugh every time.

There are things that go unexplained like crop-circles and Stonehenge, but I want to know how long it too that old white man to learn Boots' part in that The Coup's video "Fat cats and Bigga fish"?

Old record review: Gangstarr "Daily Operation"

Because classic albums nowadays come as frequently as haley's commet, or a funny joke from Carlos Mencia, my friend Selfra and I decided that we'd get into the habit of reviewing some of the dopest records in Hip Hop history. "Who's selfra?" you ask?? Well, he is a dude that I met through my ex-girlfriend, a man that has given me some stellar advice when I was in that relationship, on me turning the other cheek, and catering to the needs of women. Since my ex-girlfriend is currently married, I average 5 fights a year, and the fact that I told a woman "Why don't you get a fucking Teddy Bear then!" when I was disgusted at her post-coidal hug requests, lets just say that I have rejected his wisdom thus far. But he's a good friend who knows his Hip Hop to the point that I consider him my "Hip Hop Yoda", so I listened when he wanted to review this dope piece of music first. By all means check out his blog, in an age where people who write about Hip Hop don't know what in the fuck they are talking about and come across like retarded stroke victims, selfra's blog is not only a breath of fresh air but it's that dose of medicine that you need. Now, on to the review.

Selfra: Despite the fact that Gangstarr gave us No More Mr. Nice Guy and Step in the Arena, it was not until Premier and Guru blessed the audience with Daily Operation that they were considered heavyweights in hip hop. On this album, Dj Premier solidified his position as the producer that has no equal. It was in front of the board where Guru earned his stripes. Way back in '92, I must have purchased this tape at least 3 times since I kept popping them. I was stationed on board the USS John F. Kennedy and all the hip hop heads kept it on heavy rotation.

HumanityCritic: At least you were serving your country honorably back in 92', actually making a bona fide contribution to the world. When "Daily Operation" came out I was 18 and I was only interested in penetrating as many women with loose morals and even looser orifices as frequently as possible. Between me giving women gooey mustaches and my frequent free clinic visits due to my hypochondria when it came to my cock, the mere fact that this classic is burned in my memory is a testament to its greatness. Come to think of it I've been doing the same shit for 14 years now, if I was a business my tag line would be "Pissing women off with an unimpressive penis since 1989" and shit.

Track 1: Daily Operation

Selfra: Premier is known for teasing the listener. This intro was simple. No long boring soliloquies by any MC. Just a dope beat with a few scratches. Enough to open us up for the next track. It seemed like after Premier did this, everyone started doing it.

HumanityCritic: I agree, Premo is one of the only producers out there that understands that less can be more.(That theory doesn't go over well with the ladies by the way) This is going to sound weird, me injecting the name of a pop singer in a Gangstarr review, but the intro pieces that Premo did on that Christina Aguilera album are complete genius.

Track 2: The Place Where we Dwell

Selfra: Guru, a Brooklyn resident, was actually from Boston. Premier is from Texas, but you could not tell from their music. On this track, Guru really came off. He described Brooklyn to a “T.” To be honest, it is a center of cultural movements. Heck, even Roy Ayers knew that.

HumanityCritic: As a kid raised in Virginia Beach, Virginia, I always was jealous that I never had a "..and then I plugged the DJ set into the light-pole" stories at my disposal. I agree with you, for two guys not originally from Brooklyn they sure invoke strong imagery from the listener. If I ever came out with a record I would invoke intense images of me taking a watery crap on Pat Robertson's lawn, black suburban life, and my fear of having my computer serviced based on the mass amounts of deviant porn thats on my hard drive. Real live Va Beach street shit son!!!(see Clipse)

Track 3: Flip the Script

Selfra: The Dynamic Duo just kill it here. Guru comes right in, ripping into his enemies. Premier follows up with the scratches and loops for the hook. This song is straight and to the point. I can still hear it now “like this ya'll, this ya'll...”

HumanityCritic: This is song is like a jab in the face to any of his contemporaries who were even thinking about dissing him. When I've been in fights I've always made a concerted effort to tap the other guys chin with ease with a couple of jabs, not really to hurt them, but to make a "if I can jab you like this, just imagine the punishment that's coming your way" statement. Guru's lyricism on this song, showing the masses that his monotone flow was dangerous, seemed like a statement from the man they call "Bald-head slick".

Track 4: Ex to the Next Girl

Selfra: First up, Premier did a love joint with scratches on it. WTF! Just imagine that. No one does scratches on a love joint but Premier could do it and get away with it. Guru, like Black Thought, always wrote the dope love joints. Whatever happened to those joints? In this track, Guru discusses betrayal especially when he goes all out for the sister. But the “girls look so good...” loop just sticks in your head. The horns just really brought out the chemistry.

HumanityCritic: I'm aware that Gangstarr has a catalog full of legendary material, but as a guy who has had a few women in my life not only rip my heart out of my chest with reckless abandoned but also laugh like schoolgirls as they looked at it still beating in their hands, this is admittedly one of my favorite Gangstarr joints. Love songs done bad in Hip Hop are simply clusterfucks of botched abortion proportions, but when it is done well like here, it is pure magic. I remember being in love with this girl named Chalanda and her leaving me for some fuck-nuts that went by the moniker of "DJ David". I was hurt, so much in fact that my corny ass used this song as the song that played when you called my pager.(I couldn't date light-skinned women for a decade because of her) Yes, I was and am still a cornball.

Track 5: Soliloquy of Chaos

Selfra: My favorite track. The piano riffs were simple, yet hardcore. I can picture Guru's lyrics as he and his crew jump in several cars to head out. I could feel the wind coming through the windows while they played the latest mix tape. It was ill how he described how he and Premier headed to a show and witnessed “the stupid nigga playoffs...” Without coming off preachy, Guru discusses the importance of non violence.

HumanityCritic: I've thought about this track for the past 14 years whenever I've seen, heard, or been in the middle of some random form of violence that came virtually out of nowhere. This one time that I went to this bar to have an innocent bottle of beer and somehow found myself in the middle of a bar brawl just because I told someones wife that she looked like a "cum catcher", I later said to myself "The soliloquy of chaos". Or when a local man got killed at a Jim Jones concert, again I shook my head and said to myself "The soliloquy of chaos", but that's only after I said "Bless the dead and all, but that's his punishment for going to a wack ass Jim Jones show!"

Track 6: I'm the Man

Selfra: Here is the proverbial posse cut. Here, Guru introduces Lil' Dap of the Group Home and Jeru da Damaja. Premier provides a track for each verse. The chemistry is just so dope. Guru does his laid back thing. Lil' Dap comes simple but hard. “My father always said/don't watch the one cross the street/watch the one right next/cause he easy to flex...” Ironically, Jeru did not come off but later he becomes a heavyweight on his own.

HumanityCritic: Maybe this is just an example of my simple mind, but the mere fact that Premo used three different tracks and didn't feel the need to blend them is completely masterful in my honest opinion. This is by far one of my favorite examples of three men taking turns ripping it to shreds, that's outside of my love for triple penetration porn that is. You know, Group Home never completely won me over but Lil Dap is dope on this track.

Track 7: 92' Interlude

Selfra: When I pulled this joint back out, I forgot that this album came out in 1992. Again Premier gives us one of those gems as a filler track. He was teasing us here again. It is so short. This one stayed on the pause tape joint for the freestyle sessions.

HumanityCritic: This loop is dope to me, and based on the fact that it's only 29 seconds I couldn't tell you how many chicks have gotten to know me biblicly, with me finishing the sex act before it ended, to this sample. Every time I hear it I just imagine how many beats that Premo has, how many he feels aren't worthy into making into songs, and if a chubby pre-ejaculator with a love for Hip Hop like myself could get my grubby hands on them.

Track 8: Take It Personal

Selfra: This was the lead single and video for the album. Just like the song, simple yet hard. Fourteen Years later and heads still go nuts when this comes on. Premier's cuts were just perfect. Guru was so hard on this joint but his flow was so smooth. Another tale of betrayal and retribution. The Piano riffs were just horror core. Eerie like a mug. “I flip lines and rhymes that never sound like yours/there oughta be laws against flapping your jaws...and if i sound doper, then take it personal.”
'nuff said.

HumanityCritic: "Take It Personal" is such a hard hitting track and Guru's lyrics have such a calm and angry sense to them, it seems like something a Mobster would play to his victim before he puts them on the business end of a Colombian necktie. I have to be honest here, when my friends start to exhibit bad tastes in Hip Hop(Jim Jones, Rick Ross, or some other garden variety shit stain on Hip Hop) I do an intervention on them where I drive them around for a couple of hours, forcing them to listen to quality Hip Hop with the doors locked. This is one of the songs that I play.

Track 9: 2 Deep

HumanityCritic: This track is so dope, the blaring horns smack you in the face in the best ways possible, like a hookers tits smacking you on the chin when she does all the work. Another track that Guru comes off lyrically, and I always laugh at the sound of water during the hook because it always makes me think that they wanted that to symbolize taking a piss on the competition.

Track 10: 24/7, 365

Selfra: Oh, the horns. Another Premier teaser. He did it again.

HumanityCritic: Again, Premo, throw me some of those tracks that you don't use. I mean, this blog hasn't gotten me any ass yet, but if I tell chicks that I personally received a Premo track from the man himself I'm sure that women would at least glance at my penis.

Track 11: No Shame in My Game

Selfra: What did Jeru mean when he said “the mystic, majestic left/right, left/kid?” Same formula as the other joint. Here Guru pulls no punches as he deals with the rumors about his habits. Another favorite of mine. Strictly for the hardrocks and Ogs.

HumanityCritic: I always wondered about that "left/right, left/right kid" shit as well. Did that mean that during a fight that he was lethal with both hands, or that he was ambidextrous when it came to the ancient art of masturbation? Who knows? That being said, the track just flows effortlessly and is one of my favorites as well. I mean, you got to love the fact that he refers to his penis as his "Dilsnick".

Track 12: Conspiracy

Selfra: I like how this joint comes on. On this album, Guru usually comes in with the track after a brief intro. Here, Premier lets the beat ride then Guru comes in. The title speaks for itself. He attacks white supremacy. He does a few for each album to let heads know that he is still a conscious brother. And he does it well. “you must be aware to combat the conspiracy...”

HumanityCritic: The piano loop is sick, and the way that he attacks racism is not only dope because he addresses a serious topic but he actually gets it right. How we are portrayed in the news media, how people try to mask their racism as "objectivity" when it comes to their critique on Hip Hop, the brainwashing of many of our people. Granted, I don't really mind the black "well endowed" myth, without that white girls the world over wouldn't give me a snowballs chance in Lil Kim's crotch of having sex with them.

Track 13: The Illest Brother

Selfra: After we started doing this review, I sort of rediscovered this song. This is one of the most slept on songs on the album. Guru just kills it. If hip hop is black CNN, then this is an ill commentary by one of hip hop's finest.

HumanityCritic: Besides sonically, this song is dope to me for many reasons. For one thing it breaks down what many of us have gone through, seeing the horrible acts of others at an early age and deciding that being a heartless killer wouldn't be my final career choice. Guru also talks about all those "Just add water thugs" as I call them, dudes who talk a good game but cry like babies with their ass-cheeks puckered ever so tightly when they are locked up. By the way, the piano and scratch-laden hook makes me want to smack someones mother, or kick someones grandmother in the chest for christs sake.

Track 14: Hardcore Composer

Selfra: Another reason I love this album is that it's 18 tracks deep but there is no fast forward material. Nowadays, if you have an 18 track album, about 5 tracks are dope and 4 are so so. The rest are wick wick wack. I just love how Guru describes handing out beatdowns. The track is mad laid back too. “but not me, I'm just a hardcore composer.”

HumanityCritic: Another example of less being more, just a bassline driven track where Guru flexes his verbal dexterity once again. I like this song, but I get the sneaking suspicion that that "Jungle Brothers" sample won me over.

Track 15: B.Y.S

Selfra: This is straight bananas. “I get much fan mail/and I always respond/so tell your hun to write me too/make sure she puts attention: Mr. Guru...” Man, I love that. Back then, I really try to kick lines like Guru to the ladies. It worked several times. Premo just kills it with the cutting. But we really need to take it back to this instead of talking about guns all the time.

HumanityCritic: I've made a concerted effort to not only curb my violent outbursts in my life and also on this blog, but I would be doing the readers a huge disservice if I wasn't completely honest about how I have used this song over the years. Let me explain. Whenever I knew I had to smack someone in their mouth and didn't exactly feel passionate about it, like if they owed me money or talked behind my back or some shit, on the way to that person's house I would play this track and it would get me in the biggest ass-whipping mood. This song would even spill into my pre-punch dialogue, you could easily hear me "Hey, if you don't give me my 100 dollars I'm going to Bust your shit!!"

Track 16: Much Too Much

Selfra: What I love about this track is that it felt like it was recorded either before or after the album was mastered. It is dope yet so different from all the other tracks. The horns again are just killer. The chemistry is here again.

HumanityCritic: Not one of my favorite songs, but it does just enough to cement this album as being a bona fide classic. Guru's bravado laced with the classic use of horns by Premo, makes this another track you bob your head to..

Track 17: Take Two and Pass

Selfra: Confession: even while I was in, this was a ritual. It's a dope track without glorifying it or making it seem like its a form of activism. Just a bunch of heads getting lit. The sample of MC Shan is classic though.

HumanityCritic: As a person who has smoked his fair share of marijuana in his day, this is by far the best weed anthem ever. Sure there are some classics out there, but the laid back track makes you think about extremely long bong hits, giggling uncontrollably, and having the munchies that force you to make an utterly delectable Peanut Butter and Meatloaf sandwich.

Track 18: Stay Tuned

Selfra: The outro. Honestly, I felt like Guru should have just talked on it or just let it ride. The track is dope though but Guru did not really come off. But it did set us up to wait for more.

HumanityCritic: This is basically the closing credits so to speak, informing the listeners that they will be hit with more classics in the years to come. Of course they turned out to be prophets.



To hear the album you can download it here, but buy this album and make it a part of your collection.

What HumanityCritic learned in 2006

Each year, for as long as I can remember, I've written down a slew of New Years resolutions that I had every intention of following. The first few weeks of the year I would stick to my list, eating healthier, respecting people, and not engaging in any sort of sexual activity that one would find deviant. But after a while I'd be back to my old ways, eating greasy cheeseburgers while getting a sloppy mouth-hug from a prostitute named Lupita, who's only grasp of the English language are the words "twenty" and "Dollars", while singing "La Bamba" to her since that's the only Spanish that I know. I'm serious, I say to myself that I'm going to stop being violent and next thing I know I'm throat-chopping some asshole, I tell myself that I'm going to stop being insensitive and look for a wife, and the next thing I know I'm having sex in my doorway so the woman in question fully understands the "getting the fuck out" agenda I have for her. Let me just run down some of the things that I've learned over the past 12 months.

Things I've learned in 2006..

I learned that women don't like it when you tell them, while they are giving you oral pleasure no less, to "Milk that shit like a ambidextrous farm hand!!" and to "Take it all Bessie Mae!!" They also don't like it when you take the dairy references even further and you yell out "Yeah baby, milk that shit like Louis Pasteur and shit!!!".

I learned that I'm the only one that finds going to an Afro-centric poetry reading with two blond white chicks on both arms funny. I also noticed that people didn't find it cute when I made them call me "Mandingo" the entire evening.

I learned that the best way to talk yourself out of sex on your first date is telling the woman, "Touch it!! Go ahead, touch it!! Girl, I'm meatier than a midget handshake down there!!"

I learned that when it comes to my brother, I've been the asshole all of these years. He's a great guy, and I think I was just jealous that my father preferred him over me. I can see why, he's a pretty good guy.

I finally learned that Internet beef is stupid and that its beneath me. For one thing cats don't really want it, and people who diss you only do so because you can write virtual circles around their lifeless carcass at will. Besides, chicks won't fuck me off the strength of my blog now, just imagine how slim my chances will get once they learn of me publicly beating a blogger's ass and screaming "What was that shit you were talking on your June 25th entry??"

I learned that saying the following to a police officer isn't the smartest thing in the world: "Officer, as long as you told me what I did wrong and gave me a ticket, I would have shown you the utmost respect. But what's up with all the extra commentary? The questions and other bile that came out of your mouth was beyond the call of duty in my opinion. Get the fuck out of here, I'm not trying to hear that shit! Go exercise the fact that you used to get you ass beat in High School on someone else!"

I learned not to talk bad about someones ex-girlfriend immediately after a break-up, because if they get back together you might here shit like this: "So humanityCritic, I look like a walking sperm receptacle huh?" "My hairstyle resembles a Baboons ass?" "I have the figure of a 40oz?""

I learned to understand the support of George W. Bush by my friends serving in Iraq. I mean, if I was serving over there I might believe in him as well if it helped me survive.

I learned that going to one-hit wonders who have myspace pages and leaving comments like "I have more friends than you, oh how the mighty have fallen!!" is only funny to me as well.

I learned that I have possibly the coolest and wisest fan-base out of any blogger breathing.(No thanks to me..) Thanks!

My daily attempt to resurrect Hip Hop: Def Jef feat Etta James - Dropping Rhymes On Drums

What Black Men Think

"Burn Hollywood Burn!!": A few examples of how black folks are used in Hollywood:

One would think that my critique of how black folks have been portrayed in Hollywood comes from some sort of militant background of mine, visions of a baby HumanityCritic wearing an over-sized beret as my parents, with their matching Afro's and black Panther attire scream "Power to the People!!" as loud as humanly possible in unison. Some people think that my strong opinions come from the time I dated that black Muslim chick and had to be knowledgeable about all things black in order to feel her up under her dashiki and handle my business after I lifted up her sarong, while whispering impromptu spoken word poetry in her ear mid-coitus.

Actually you'd be surprised to learn that my militant attitudes about the portrayal of African Americans in Hollywood comes from me attending predominately white Catholic and private schools growing up, I'm not shitting you. Even though I was a kid and didn't notice how I was being used at the time, I can recall more times than not being asked by some ass-hat teacher to break-dance for them, or perform some other dance-step of the time like I was some trained seal and shit. I won't play the race card and blame my race for being the deciding factor as to why I never got the juicy roles in the school plays that I was in, but the fact that my acting resume consisted of "Robber #1", "Ned the homeless guy", "the black cloud", and a slew of other dark colored inanimate objects, you can see why I'm so critical of the roles black folks play on television and on the big screen. Granted, I was delighted when I learned that I got a lengthy role in the play "The Adventures of Tom Sawyer", but when I learned that I was playing a runaway slave, one who's broken language in the script would be funny if it wasn't so sad, you can imagine that I was none too pleased. I'm probably the only 9 year old who'd say, while holding a script, "You want me to recite gibberish?? This is so beneath me!!" moments before throwing a 40 page play in the air as high as possible.

Listen, I know that there are fine lines that black actors, directors, and writers have to maneuver based on our deplorable history in film. There is a fine line between comedy and "cooning", a fine line between gritty realness and the glorification of violence, a fine line between uplifting and being preachy, the black artist I feel has more things to consider when putting out a work than anyone else. As for the actors, I know that many of them have families and have food to put on the table, being a single guy with no children that I know of, I don't have any experience with that to be completely honest. But I still maintain that your integrity and self respect should always come before any check, something that I wish would be remembered whenever a movie like "Soul Plane" comes around again. Anyway, here are some commonly used themes that Hollywood has used for black folks that I just wish would come to an end. What do you think??

Captain "Save a Negro": There have been many white people that were instrumental in my life growing up, two in particular were my track coach who lit an eternal flame under my ass to out-work any miserable bastard in my path, and my High School History teacher that forced me to be a critical thinker and see all sides of an argument. Lord knows that I cherish those individuals, I truly do, but if Hollywood were to make a film about my life I'm sure that they would merge both influences into one person, and have that character come into my life and save me from the impending life of doom and gloom that I'm sure I would be destined for. Movies like "Dangerous Minds" and "Hardball" are just a tip of the iceberg when it comes to the shitload of Hollywood flicks that expressed the opinion that black folks need one white person to come into town and save the day.

The Magical Negro: The term "magical negro" is by no means is my creation, but it highlights a very telling motion picture device used over the years. It seems that Hollywood, when uncomfortable having a person of color seem knowledgeable and smarter than his/her white counter-parts, they suddenly give the character some sort of "powers" to explain their superiority in the I.Q department. Examples include Whoopi Goldberg in "Ghost", Will Smith in "The Legend of Bagger Vance", Don Chedle in "Family Man", and as much as I love and am a fan of Kevin Smith, Chris Rock's character in "Dogma".

The Jive, hysterical soldier: Growing up I thought that my father hated Vietnam era movies because it gave him uncomfortable memories of his time in that war, the friendships he had that were cut short because of a Vietcong grenade, or the way his own country treated him like dirt and called him a "baby killer" when he returned home. But as I really watched these movies I really understood why my father hated them so much, they did a disservice to every black man that ever fought for this country. In most of these movies, if a black soldier isn't acting like some sort of sniveling coward with his tail between his legs, he is a jive talking embarrassment who only seems good for talking shit and inventing some ultra-Hip cadence that he coerces the others to learn. Jesus fucking Christ man..

The Sassy Black friend: Not every time, but I hate the fact that they have to make a female character's black friend as sassy as they come. I mean, its as if the writer and director locked that black actress in a room for an entire weekend, and forced them to study Jackee Harry's performance on "227" and take notes the whole time. Its usually hard to take anything that these characters say seriously between the constant "OH child!!", "Oh, no he didn't", "Nah-uh, a sister don't play that!", and other incoherent drivel you would have thought were transcripts of a conversation that Lil Kim was a part of..

Show me how to be cool, black man: I think that I've been asked advice on how to pick up women and fashion advice based on this very dangerous character in Hollywood history. It never fails, from as far back as I can remember up until now, you'll see a geeky white guy ask the "coolest" black guy in school tips on women, fashion, and(holding my head) 'how to walk". What is even more painful is when the black kid specifically teaches the white kid that using broken English and calling a woman "baby" is a sure fire way to win her heart. Right wing pundits want to believe that Hollywood is a bunch of tree-hugging liberals, but based on the fact that they regurgitate this same tired stereotype, I take issue with their stance to be completely honest. Last month I was chilling with a friend and he asked me, "HumanityCritic, I don't have any game, why don't you go over to those ladies and work your magic!" I agreed, so I went over there, and like any cool black man I said, "Hey ladies, I have a crisp 20 dollar bill.. Who's trying to fuck??" I guess that showed him, huh??