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..