Yeah I said it, some Hip Hop fans are stupid.

Unfortunately, as spontaneous a person as I like to think I am, my Internet surfing habits are as monotonous as Bill Murray's existence in the film "Groundhog Day". I log on, check my email, check myspace messages, then the next few minutes I go through an internal battle akin to an unemployed recovering alcoholic being offered a high paying gig driving a beer truck. Despite the fact that I have a lot of writing to do, a chance to put my time to good use and be productive, I find myself wasting valuable minutes perusing Internet smut sites trying to find some lovely young lady who doesn't mind getting filled out like an application in every hole imaginable as I "rub one out" to one of her latest video classics. It's sad, I know, but when I'm not practicing celibacy accidentally, I'm putting a bunch of women that I consider "B-Teamers" on the business end of my chubby pre-ejaculatory habits. So, I justify the hair on my palms and my extremely strong grip to the fact that I haven't fucked an "All Star" since the final days of the Clinton Administration. Yesterday was different though, I mean, I still inappropriately touched myself to a particular woman's small intestines being treated like a fucking pinata, but afterwards I stumbled on something pretty intesting that inspired this very post.

After I read a post from Phonte of Little Brother, one where despite knowing that the crowd he was playing for eagerly awaited other artist's who's CD covers I personally wouldn't wipe my ass with if I was stuck in the wilderness fecally losing weight and they just happened to be there for my disposal, he still was kind of taken aback by the crowd's non response to his groups brand of music. The piece didn't particularly read like an angry diatribe, just a guy openly wondering why people wouldn't broaden their minds to something that he put his heart and soul into. Shit, even if I somehow found myself in front of a few Klan members giving a speech on Reparations, I'd still expect them to at least recognize my biting wit, exemplary word play, and the playful alliteration I used in paragraph two. Anyway, that post on Little Brother's myspace page prompted this gentleman at XXL to give his rebuttal, one where he took umbrage to Phonte, feeling that his words were a frontal assault on the intellectual capacity of certain Hip Hop fans. Regardless if this was Phonte's stance or not, I have to say while holding my nuts in my best B-Boy stance, that some Hip Hop fans are fucking idiots.


Sorry, but the ignorance in said art-form comes from all of us grading on a curve when it comes to every facet of our culture. Only in Hip Hop is the artist allowed to be ignorant, allowed to have the collective I.Q of a bag of rice, and if you attempt to speak out on it other fans and Hip Hop journalists alike will band together like some inbred version of the Justice League, join forces and say that you are "hating". If you fancied yourself a classical musician and you didn't know your Beethoven, Mozart, Haydn, or Shubert, I'm sure that someone with a funny looking white wig would come out of nowhere and beat you to death with a Stradivarius. If you fancied yourself a soul singer and was unaware of the sheer brilliance that was Sam Cook or Marvin Gaye, that particular display of ignorance would not only be frowned upon, it would possibly be capped off with an angry Aretha Franklin profanity laced email where she threatens to sit on you whenever she sees you. But in Hip Hop, when an artist abandons that toothy platinum smile for that deer in headlights look when you mention Kool G Rap or Slick Rick, people deem that "irrelevant", an accepted ignorance that trickles down to that particular artists' fan base.

Listen, some people might feel my view of modern day Hip Hop as just the ramblings of some old guy that's pissed off that Hip Hop culture left him behind, based on the fact that I feel the groups that were on the same bill as Little Brother that night(Three Six Mafia, Rick Ross, Young Dro, Young Joc, Dem Franchize Boyz) are the proverbial shit-stain on the culture. Some people might even try the condescending approach, put their arm on my shoulder, talk to me in subdued tones and say things like "Did your parents like your music? Did your grandparents like your parents music? It's a trend, just sit back and let it happen..." Let me say this delicately because I know I can be a bit abrasive, here we go: "That has to be, seriously, some of the STUPIDEST SHIT I'VE EVER HEARD IN MY LIFE!!"(Ok, a journalist said that the Clipse was "one of the best groups out". So that is up there like a motherfucker)

Hip Hop is not the pet rock, bell-bottom jeans, or some fucking Barbie Easy Bake oven that some of you ladies might have made vomit-inducing treats with as a kid. The reason that Hip Hop doesn't fall into the "changing times" argument is because Hip Hop is like basketball, because the foundation of both has always been "skill". No matter how long the players shorts get, the overall uniform changes, the varying offensive and defensive schemes, even how new dunks are invented with each passing year, one thing that hasn't changed from 1946-2006 is the skill that is needed to be a top tier NBA player. You can see Magic Johnson, Bill Russell, Earl Monroe, or Walt Frazier at a current NBA game because they respect the skill of the modern day player. Unfortunately I don't think you will ever see Rakim or KRS at a "Young Joc" show, even though our culture was based on the foundation of skill the same way Basketball was.

But you wouldn't know it by the way that artists have abandoned any resemblance of lyrical skill, just to make millions of hapless jackasses "Lean" and "Rock" to it like gepetto was your personal puppet master. You wouldn't know it based on half of these so-called "Hip Hop" journalists, incompetent scribes that might call MF DOOM "Nerd Rap", but turn around and collectively act like they are on their period and call you a "hater" when you criticize Lil John. The other half, souls I wouldn't trust like playing basketball with flip flops on(get it), do the Hip Hop equivalent to sero fiddling while Rome is burning, scoffing and disregarding what many feel is the deterioration of Hip Hop as us simply "overreacting".(Plus, many of these motherfuckers will never criticize anyone, not wanting to ruin their chance of one day interviewing Lil Flip)

We also have to abandon this "Condoleeza" way of thinking when it comes to Hip Hop, and I mean immediately. What I mean by that is, you know how you might go up to someone with a razor sharp case specifically breaking down Ms. Rice's blatant incompetence at her job, and the person ridiculously apologizes for her with that "But she is a black woman in a high position!!" nonsense like that erased what a fucking embarrassment she is. People do that with Hip Hop as well, say someone is wack and they say "But they are getting paid though!!"(So are crack dealers..), criticize another tune as being modern day black-face and people say "It's a club song so it's OK!", or the people who act like modern day Hippies, minus the birkenstocks and the tie-dye, and want to give hip hop a giant hug and accept all of it blindly like a mother would embrace all of her children despite how wack one of her kids was . Well Fuck that, if it's wack it's wack, if you don't like it I'm not hard to find.(The house on the corner with the blue trim)

Listen, if one of the groups that I named is one of your guilty pleasures, I'm definitely not trying to say that you have some sort of intellectual deficiency. Hell, I have Wham's "Careless Whisper" in my IPOD, so I have more guilty pleasures than necrophiliacs for Christs sake. But if your Hip Hop collection only has the Ying Yang Twins, Dem Franchize Boys, Young Joc, and groups of that ilk, you my friend might be a dumb-ass. Sorry, I'm only being honest because I love you, but like that single mother raising kids who finally decides to enroll herself at a local university, it is never too late to advance yourself mentally. That means turn off the radio, stop listening to these so called "journalists", recognize that an act is beneath you if you wouldn't feel comfortable asking them for directions if you ever saw them on the street based on their idiocy, and last but not least.....MEMORIZE EVERY LINE OF RAKIM'S "PAID IN FULL". Good luck!

Kevin Smith Unleashed: Dude, don't walk out on his flick..

You know what, I can't even lie any more, keeping my child-like exuberance in check has been as difficult as fighting back laughter when someone tells you that there is nothing wrong with the current state of Hip Hop. Over the past few weeks I have anxiously awaited the arrival of "Clerks 2", not only because I'm a big Kevin Smith fan, not only because I'm curious to see what fate he has for the characters of Dante and Randal, but because the original Clerks movie was one of things that inspired me to be a writer in the first place. Here was a guy, by his tale of two convenience store clerks, let people know that you can make any situation interesting if you put your personal touch on it.

That being said I went to Kevin Smiths blog and learned that he was upset that movie critic Joel Siegal walked out of a screening of his movie. I didn't see the problem, Joel Siegel, or any critic for that matter, for them to walk out is a good thing based on how monumentally unreliable those motherfuckers tend to be. As I read further, Smith was upset at "how" Mr. Siegel decided to leave, apparently the old curmudgeon fuck decided to make a spectacle of himself as he left said flick. Here is an excerpt from Smith blog:

Cardinal rule of movie-going: shut your fucking mouth while the movie's playing. They even ask you to do so in the pre-show run-up to every flick ("Cell phones and pagers off, no talking during the show"). This guy went beyond talking, even; he was making a spectacle of himself as he left. I've now spoken to three folks in attendance last night, and all have said that Siegel WANTED everyone to know how disgusted he was, and that he was leaving. If you want to share your displeasure with everyone, that's fine, dude; just do it AFTER the movie, not during. Some folks were enjoying themselves. I don't come down to your job and slap the taste out of your mouth for coming up with a line like "'Shark Tale' Is a Halibut Good Time"; so don't fuck with my stuff WHILE IT'S STILL SCREENING.

Smith Continues:

Shit, Joel, I know you like being on camera and all, but was it so difficult to not be the center of attention for 40 minutes that you just had to sparkle, Neely, sparkle-it up for your peers instead of showing them a little goddamn courtesy by leaving the theater the way most people do, either during or after the picture: quietly? What are you, a twelve year old boy, cutting loose with your pals at a Friday night screening of "Scary Movie 4" while your parents are in a theater down the hall watching "The Devil Wears Prada"? Leave the diva-like behavior and drama-queen antics to the movie stars, not the movie reviewer, ya' rude-ass prick.

It gets even funnier when Kevin was on a radio show where he confronted the fleeing critic in question, check out the audio here. So, besides the fact that I have a banner of Smith's flick even though I'm not getting a dime, I have one of his sites linked on this site, and I have him as a friend on my myspace page even though he has no idea a chubby blogger with erectile issues even exists, I'm about to do him a solid. While I'm viewing the flick tomorrow, in honor of his recent squabble with Joel Siegel, I promise to clothesline any person who attempts to leave during "Clerks 2", that's the best way I feel I can honor the guy who inspired me to bore hundreds of people a day with my ramblings.(Lets just hope that people won't find the need to use the rest room)

Video of the Day: Slick Rick "Mistakes of a Woman"

Even though Slick Rick has more notable tracks in his resume, I always liked this particular song because it is just one of the many examples in which he wasn't scared to express his innermost feelings. Besides, around the time this song came out I was dating a particular woman who I'm pretty sure was cheating on me with my college's basketball team. I couldn't be sure, but the mere fact that she blew a whistle and screamed "Foul!!" whenever I pre-ejaculated, yelled "take it to the hole" during foreplay, and wore a headband during sex were dead fucking giveaways.

I like myspace, but wait a minute...

Because I promised my mother that I would try to stop using a certain term of endearment, especially after I used that particular word 10 times while I was talking to her one afternoon all the while trying to hide the effects of that sweet cheeba, let me just say right now that Myspace is my "negro". The Internet, where people have a multitude of mind numbing time wasters at the click of a mouse, myspace has become one of my favorite online destinations right up there with "fat chicks with loose morals" and "beautiful women who love chubby blogging pre-ejaculators".(Ok, the last one doesn't exist.. a boy can dream can't he??) On myspace you can listen to more crappy bands in one hour than a record company A&R does in a calender year, you can reconnect with people you lost touch with or you purposely burned bridges with, find old girlfriends who dumped you years ago and giggle like a school girl on ecstasy as you read one of her blog entries that consists of the phrase "..and hopefully they will move me to the register next week!", and you can even connect with a person who you have been a fan of for the longest.

For example, I became a "friend" of a porn-star that I am familiar with, ok, I have so much of her "work" that I could dedicate a wing of my house to it. So when she sent me a message saying that she loved my blog, with me responding "Love in in a 'give an average Joe a blow-job' sort of way??", she responded "You ain't that funny motherfucker!!!"(Ahh myspace, the perfect place where fans can be the ultimate assholes!) Myspace, especially for an anti-social porn loving wanna-be scribe like myself, who has over 700 friends but only knows like 5 of them personally, has become a part of the family extended family.(..and not because I masturbate to peoples pictures on said site while saying, "Eww mommy!!" either) But we all know, at least I hope we know, that families aren't perfect. So, like a drunk uncle that you have to confront because of his alcoholism, not that him pissing on cop cars and sticking his dick in billiards holes isn't a riot and all, it's time to show my new relative some tough love. Myspace, because I love you, let me as eloquently as possible express to you that your fecal matter is just like the rest of our waste, it has a foul aroma to it as well.(The last line was an inside joke for a friend that said I'm too wordy and never get to the point..)


Sorry musicians, but I'm a dick: Because I was once a fledgling artist who was hopelessly trying to peddle my musical wears any way I possibly could, I understand the plight of the many bands who call myspace home. Even though I have been known to tell MC's, singers, or bands that they suck in person, going around and leaving random "You sound like a fucking constipated turkey when you sing" messages in people's inbox wasn't something that I planned for. I enjoy being an insufferable prick to people who deserve it, but I had no intentions on shattering someones musical dream via email, even though my black ass couldn't hold a note if you held a loaded bazooka to my head. The problem that I have, like in life, is that when people ask for my honest opinion I tend to give it to them.

The past few months when some musical act emailed me and asked me what I thought of their band, I could have lied and said, "You guys are terrific!! I mean, the way you rhymed "cat" and "bat" like that, pure genius. Oh yeah, that skit that you have where you have your own mother sucking dicks for crack money, it's like you are the Scorsese of this rap shit!" So because I didn't totally want to piss in their cheerios with blatant honesty, but at the same time not compromise my personal integrity, I'd hit them with a "it's ok" or "it's interesting". I know, I know, to bitch-slap someone with that sort of indifference is just asking for a heated rebuttal, and that's usually what I would get when they wanted me to be honest and give them constructive criticism. But because I am a sex addicted germaphobe, using "Monk" like selective-ness concerning the women I stick my penile light-saber in, you could just imagine how percise I was when getting back with them. After receiving my 8 paragraphs critiques ranging from my problem with their rhyme style, the "Casio beats" they used, the bass player who they need to let go, how "no one will buy a M.I.T graduate as having "bodies buried in three states", usually the respond by calling me a "dickhead" or implying that I was birthed out of a baboons buttcheeks. Oh Well, if you don't want scary answers don't ask scary questions I say.

A few gripes about famous folks: Because I am a geek, one who once had a chick dress up like a black "Laura Croft" on my birthday for some celebratory coitus, suffice it to say that I was excited to be one of the friends of a dude that goes by the name of Kevin Smith. Shit man, I have many famous peeps in my myspace stable, Questlove, Greg Kinnear, Heather Hunter, Common... I even have unique cats like the actual daughter of George Jung, the character Johnny Depp played in "Blow", Shorty-No-Mas of De La Soul fame, I even have the most unheralded member of A Tribe Called Quest as one of my friends, Jarobi. Granted, these people probably wouldn't piss on my natural brown ass if I was set ablaze with a million dollars strapped to my chubby body, so it just exploits the fact that I need a wife as soon as possible.

My gripe is with the celebrities that either have a "private" profile or the one's that don't want to add you as a friend unless they "know you". The private profile is silly because if you are a fan of someone chances are you know their whole background, you have all their records, you are aware of that porn tape of them that was stolen from their house, you are aware of the bastard kid they had with that member of that one-hit wonder R&B group of the early 90's, you even know that their homophobia stems from an embarrassing incident they had in jail when they were on the business end of a "oops, you dropped the soap" incident. My question is, why the sudden fucking secrecy 007?? As for the artists that don't allow average Joe's to become their friends, what gives?? Excuse me, I have to sneeze.(Ahh, Ahh, chewwww-Bahamadia)

Ladies I love you, but give me a fucking break: I'm sure that women have some of the same complaints about dudes on myspace, so keep your Lane Bryant's on why don't you!! Listen, I know that this is only the Internet and to not take this shit that seriously, but some of the pages I come across just invoke such strong eye rolls that I wouldn't be surprised if my dread-locked head exploded. For one thing, I understand when women have that classic Mya Angelou poem on their page, bombard you with lengthy diatribes about them "deserving respect", them "not taking anything from a man", I'm down with all that. But doesn't the case for respect get thrown out of the window when your screen name is "sperm deposit", the song that plays on your page verbally re-enacts an orgy on a tropical beach, and you have pictures posted that would even make Larry Flynt say "Now that's some nasty shit!!"

Ladies I'm sorry, but if I hear see one more person say "They are my world and no man comes before them" concerning their kids, I'll fucking go mental and start bashing random passers-by over the head with my keyboard. Shit, I hope your kids do come first dumb-ass, anything less and I would be dry-snitching on you to your local child services office. Speaking of kids, and maybe I'm a conceited jerk who is as lecherous as they come, but if you are fine as fuck don't have one picture of yourself and like 20 of your kids crumb-snatching kids and shit. True, it's your page, but think about sexual deviants like me for Christs sake!!

Watch out, myspace might get your ass whipped: Maybe it's just me, maybe I bring out the worst in people based on my abrasiveness when it comes to me expressing my point of view, but for some reason I feel that I get more physical threats via myspace than anyone. If it's not your random "Fuck you bastard!!", "I bet I can kick your ass!", people who want to get on their soapbox and nitpick based on a piece of satire I wrote, and the brilliant Tupac fans that bombard me with entertaining death threats comprised of misspelled words usually in all caps, where they are highly offended that I didn't have their favorite rapper in my personal Top Ten. Usually I would respond to them, say something about their mother blowing guys to keep the rent paid, but then I would usually keep it moving based on the fact that its only the Internet and I don't want to take any more time away from the love letters I write to Rosario Dawson, in calligraphy, in my own blood. Anyway, things started to change when not only did someone from my own area start threatening me, but I noticed that he went to all the local events posted on myspace. Suffice it to say I went to one of the local Hip Hop shows to ambush a guy who once called me a "douche-bag", said that my blog "sucked major cock", and said that he would pummel me if he ever saw me. To make a long story short I saw the gentleman in question, but my plans were thwarted when I noticed that he was like 100 pounds soaking wet and he was with his girlfriend at the time. So I saw the Hip Hop show and when it was over and started to leave, but then I turned around, stepped to the man in question, palmed his face and proceeded to mush him into a stack of chairs. Yes it is nerdly and I'm not proud of my actions, but the fact that I stood over him and said "HumanityCritic motherfucker, you better ask somebody!!" will always bring a smile to my face.

Sidenote: Because I'm a whore when it comes to gaining new friends, here is my myspace page.

Rakim interview

This is going to sound unnecessary, but fuck it, I don't care how many dead rapper's bodies you exhume in your spare time, Rakim is by far the greatest rapper of all time. Period. I like Scarface, but when people try to roll his ass out when discussing the greatest MC of all time in a special Olympics "lets fight the east coast bias" kind of way, I laugh because he's not touching Rakim Allah. Besides Ra being the nastiest behind the mic, I kind of always viewed him as Hip Hop's version of "Sade" in a certain sense. No, don't let your mind wander, I want to fold Ms. Adu up like origami and attempt to please her in ways that would definitely land my black ass in her album liner notes, so Rakim isn't a part of that comparison. But I always respected Rakim, because like Sade he has always dropped material on some "when I fucking feel like it" shit. As a kid, and I guess now as an adult as well, I always liked how cool of a motherfucker Rakim is. He'd always talk in subdued tones, always keeping his emotions in check, I never heard him upset and I think I was in college the first time I saw the man smile. So you can imagine my amazement when I saw(and heard since there is audio) his reaction to the following question:

Halftimeonline: I was reading a couple of interviews with Freddie Foxxx and he always says when you and Eric B got together Eric was actually looking for him and he found you instead. In one interview he said he was trying to battle you and your crew back in the days but he said you didn’t want to battle. Is there any truth that Foxxx ever challenged you to a battle?

Rakim: Foxxx lived a town over from where I lived, but I NEVER fucking turned down a battle with that motherfucker! Foxxx get the fuck out of my face. You can front on the whole world but you not fronting on me nigga you never wanted it and you’ll never get it. This is what I’ve been doing from day one. Fuck that bullshit man. Back in the day we were supposed to battle but as far as I remember the story correctly they didn’t want to fuck around. They didn’t like coming to our part of the town. They didn’t even like going to the parties where we were because we drew at motherfuckers at the party. So run that shit by him. Tell him you spoke to Ra, tell him everything he’s been talking is fabricated and I never turned down a fucking battle with Freddie Foxxx. Tell him to knock it off and stop fronting. It’s Rakim Allah man he know who the fuck I am man.

When I heard this it was somewhat surprising because of the image of him that is burned in my brain of him walking nonchalantly through a crowd of people, acting cool as a motherfucker like everyone else not named Rakim were mere peasants in that "Microphone Feind" video. But then again I understand defending yourself, and your legacy, I wouldn't have expected less from the best rapper to ever grip a microphone. You can find this interview in its entirety, along with audio, here.

My "Fuck Blockbuster!! Hello Netflix" selection of the day: "Grounded for Life"

For as long as I remember, even before my life long addiction to protruding breasts and thunder thighs, I have been a bona fide movie feign. Whether it was those fantastic Bruce Lee flicks playing my defacto baby sitter as a kid, studying those John Hughes flicks as a pre-teen and Molly Ringwald becoming one of my first caucasian masturbatory thoughts, me praying to the alter of Spike Lee and his innovative vision, and now as I devour mass amounts of independent flicks that people with actual lives have never heard of. Because there is only one independent movie theater which is about 15 miles away from my house, for the past few years I was forced to peruse that cluster fuck of commercialism in the movie rental game that is "Blockbuster". Yes, the same movie rental scam of an establishment that once claimed that I owed them money for an overdue rental that I never ordered. It's true, people make mistakes, but I was so outraged when I saw what they were charging me for I screamed, "Look at this!!(shoving the receipt in the cashier's face) I would never rent a movie with Mo'nique in it!!! NEVER!!" Phantom charges aside, their horrible selection, irritating customers with their lack of film knowledge, and a staff that wouldn't know a good movie if Ebert and Roeper both put them on the business end of a sexual 3-way. So, after friends urging me to do so, I finally decided to burn my Blockbuster membership card in effigy and join Netflix.

The first thing I ordered, primarily because I'm a big fan of the show, was Season 1 of the television sitcom "Grounded for Life". GFL was a comedy that started airing on FOX, got cancelled after 2 seasons, then was picked up on the WB network and aired for 3 more seasons. The show centers around Shawn and Claudia, a couple that became parents way too young and their struggles trying to raise three kids in Staten Island. I know that I use hyperbole as often as I use my right hand during those "intimate moments" alone, but Grounded for Life is by far one of the funniest shows I have ever seen. From the father, Shawn, who in order to sell his son on the idea of seeing a Ramones show instead of doing a science project that he had due the next day, said, "The Ramones are more important than school!!" Claudia, the mother, who once bought old potato salad for her son's class, thus creating a virtual vomit-a-thon the next day throughout his catholic school. Shawn's brother Eddie, the proverbial slacker known for his shady hook-ups, who has a penchant for getting his ass kicked and shocking women that he sleeps with by wearing their blouses post coitus. Their 12 year old son Jimmy, who once got his sister's friend intoxicated so he could make out with her, the youngest child Henry who embarrassed his family when he started dancing on the street for food, and the oldest child Lilly who is the epitome of teenage angst packed into a half hour show.

The writing on this show is brilliant, and I was able to see a few episodes that I had never seen before while viewing that 3 disc package sent by Netflix. Check out the show and tell me what you think, they play 2 episodes back to back on the "Family Channel" from 4pm-5pm..

Hip Hop thought of the day: Security

You know, I have never been important enough for it to fucking matter, but my train of thought when it comes to having a bodyguard fell along the lines of that classic "Gangstarr" song. You know the one where Guru says "Fake MC's, they always act hard/ But won't walk the street without their bodyguard!!", my sentiments exactly. I mean, if I was the type of rapper that I think that I would be I wouldn't have any reason to worry about repercussions concerning my lyrics, except for maybe Mary J Blige fans and black republicans. Shit, even if I did spit lyrics rife with gun play, murder, decapitation, hand to hand street deals, and the occasional ode to my mother, I think the best way to show my lemming-like fans that I was a bona fide bad-ass would be me showing up at shows by my god damn self.(Possibly accompanied with a bullet proof vest, twin sidearms like I'm in the wild west, and snipers on the roof.)

But I realize that regardless what you talk about on records, poverty or punany, pistols or peace, there is a great chance that your popularity will be so great that you will be forced to put away the Gangstarr records and get you some fucking security. Now what I don't understand are these rappers who get an over-sized childhood friend, or some "big guy they know from their hood" to act as their personal protection. Listen, maybe I'm just too stupid to be scared or possibly I have fought enough big guys in my day to know better, but hiring some big scary looking dude just isn't enough. I couldn't tell you how many times I have seen some "Just add water thug" type of rapper at some show I was coerced to go to, looked at their security and thought to myself "I bet I could get like 20 punches in before his incompetent security guards know whats going on."

So, because there are individuals out there like myself that are officially nuttier than squirrel turds, I would have a totally different take on who I would hire to protect me. For one thing, fuck hiring "Big Ray" from up the street, I don't know about you but I wouldn't feel safe if I felt that I could beat the guy guarding me. So I would hire a "Jack Bauer" type of dude, a dude who not only used to be part of his hometown SWAT team, possibly an ex Navy Seal, possibly an ex member of the U.S Army's elite Delta Force, lets just say that he would be highly qualfied to protect your loveable chubby pre-ejaculator. I don't want being "fat", "Tall", "ugly", and "has the ability to eat a dozen hot dogs in one sitting" to be the criteria for my security guy. I'd want my security guy to not only be knowledgeable in 10 fight disciplines, be able to defuse a car bomb, kill a man with a loose-leaf binder, throw a knife accurately over 50 yards, but he'd also be able to take apart a gun with one hand like he was Jet Li in "Lethal Weapon 4" and shit. Forget about having some garden variety big guy who just becomes a 400 pound target if they are unskilled, my guy woiuld map out alternate escape routes when ducking the paparazzi, decoy cars, and his ninja training would serve him well as he secretly sneaks morally loose women into my hotel room each night.

Yes, he'd be overqualified based on the fact that he would probably find himself just shoving people out of the way because my fanbase would consist of like 20 people, but you can never be too safe I say. I can actually see that being my daily mantra, as my fans give me menacing looks as they are getting the full cavity search just to get a chance meeting with me, I'm sure I'd throw up my hands, smirk and say "Hey, You can never be too safe!!"

Video of the Day: Ras Kass "Soul on Ice" Remix

Some of my friends still scratch their head in "Why in the fuck would you buy a Clipse album?" amazement when I tell them that I am still a huge Mike Tyson fan. Despite his penchant for nibbling other men's ears, his jail time, the Jekyll and hide personally we have become accustomed to over the years, his lack luster performance in the ring the last decade, even the plethora of cringe-worthy things that have escaped his mandible, I will always root for Mike Tyson. It's not that I love supporting the bad guy or anything like that, but as anybody who saw Mike in his prime will tell you, getting prepared to see a Tyson fight filled you with such a high level of anxiety and excitement, similar to the erection I got when the woman I was about to make love to told me that she used to be a nun.(I guess she didn't appreciate me saying, "Here comes the holy water!!" during my climax) But seriously, even though I saw the pure force that was Tyson at his prime it doesn't matter that he is a shell of his former self, that people that couldn't hold his jockstrap in the late 80's now smack him around the ring like a crack whore, I still get that same level of excitement whenever that crazy Brownsville raised motherfucker is about to fight.

I went into that nonsensical diatribe because Ras Kass is also a dude that I will always root for as well. He's a dope lyricist, one of the best, but he never put out a complete album that I felt I could sink my teeth into. Maybe it was his lassie-fair attitude towards production, maybe it was his woes with whatever label he was with at the time, but each year I anticipate a great album from this guy because I know he has it in him. So yeah, even though he hasn't put out an entire album that was my specific cup of tea, I'm still optimistic in that "You used to be a nun?? Can I fuck you with your habit on?" sort of way.

Favorite lines from this song: "I Drink Listerine, Brush my teeth with amphetamines/ So I can sound fresh and say dope things in between"

A Very long post about a poem I don't want to recite..

Do you know what is more offensive than Lil Kim being on someones "Top 10 MC" list, a Tyler Perry play, or a girl who doesn't reciprocate after you visit that war zone she calls a vagina?? Nothing is more offensive then when a friend does something to tip you off that they don't really know you at all. For example, my friend Kenny had the nerve to pop a "Diplomats" mix-tape CD(Cam'rom, Jim Jones) into my car stereo and say with childlike exuberance, "HumanityCritic, you are going to love this!!" Even though every day I curse the very men, who impregnated the women, who gave birth to those sub par pedestrian wordsmiths that are the "Dipset", but I sat there regardless for a few moments and tried to be objective. But as soon as I heard Cam'ron say that his crew was the "06' Public Enemy", I stopped my car in the middle of traffic, yanked the CD out of my car stereo, hopped out of my car and threw it for distance like it was an Olympic fucking event. Granted, my friend was mad, and I didn't make matters any better when I said, "How much do I owe you?? Fuck it, here is 75 cents, keep the change and don't spend it all in the same place scooter!!"(Hey, he knew me better than that!!)

Then we have my friend Richard, a business executive who always has to bullshit stuffy rich fucks so he could get their particular account. Anyway, ever since I went with him to one of his dinners and made his dinner guest laugh so much that Richard eventually got that account, he has taken me along with him to "close the deal" so to speak. Since we are friends I really don't want anything in return, ok that's a lie, Richard has the undoubious task of paying for my drinks until I die and sliding me about 4 bills per acount. Anyway, a couple of months ago I went with him to this fancy-smancy restaurant in hopes of possibly charming the pants off of some geriactric fucks so they will line my boy's pockets, and in turn mine, with some good old fashioned greenbacks. For the first hour and change things were going well, the men that were hopefully going to be my friend's clients were laughing at all my potty mouth jokes, once again I had hit a proverbial home run once again. That as until the topic of "Janeane Garofalo" came up, and how she should "shut her filthy mouth and stop bad mouthing our president". Usually a sentence that I would have "open hand smacked" somebody in the mouth for, but after a few moments the conversation changed and we were on to sports. Then, in a move that shocked me like a clean pap smear from LIl Kim, my boy proved that he didn't know me at all and decided to revisit the smear-fest on Ms. Garofalo.

Some background on HumanityCritic's feeling on Janeane: I don't know what it is, but something about white ultra liberal acting chicks who piss republicans off that just gets me all warm inside. Listen, I've never dated a white chick, not because of the color of skin but because the opportunity never presented itself to me. But lets make one thing certain, my love for Ms. Garofalo is unparalleled, I don't care how many people get pissed off, if my black sisters get annoyed that I chose a woman with a lack of melanin, if I get more strange looks than Star Jones in a string bikini. I don't give a fuck. If sweet Janeane was mine I would chill with her at the B.E.T awards, take her to meet Minister Farrakhan while eating some greasy pork chops, urge black leaders that Ms. Garofalo would be an excellent choice to head up the N.A.A.C.P, even make her wear a headwrap and a dashiki at a "Roots" show. Yes, its' deep like that..


So, you can only imagine the venom I spewed while defending my favorite Indie actress, so much venom in fact that my boy never got that account and we haven't spoken much since.(Hey, he knew me better than that!!) I went through that lengthy entry because a woman that I went to college with, based on the fact that she sometimes reads my blog, wants me to do a piece at her spoken word poetry club in the upcoming weeks. The problem with that is that I have told her my feelings on spoken word poetry, I respect the real poets, but I hate the fake atmosphere consisting of a million posers and fakers.(Kind of like I believe in God, but hate church.) Not only that but I have repeated my feelings toward poetry about a million fucking times on this blog, a blog that she claims that she reads "regularly", so it is just another case of a good friend who really doesn't know me. That being said, the following is a poem that I plan to perform at my friends poetry shin-dig. Of course it's foul, rude, HumanityCritic-esque, but she should have known better than to ask me to perform a damn poem. Granted, if she reads this entry (which she should if she REALLY reads my blog) I won't perform this particular piece if she doesn't want me to. Here goes.


(I imagine me walking up to the microphone cautiously, looking nervous as hell. I'll grab the mic with my hand shaking slightly and begin my poem..)

HumanityCritic: "My name is HumanityCritic, and I fucking hate poets..."

It's always the same thing, incense, dreadlocks, and the possible dashiki/
The girl that gave that "female empowerment" poem used to get freaky with me weekly/
They used to call her "Little Oral Annie" for the tricks she used to do/
She's a "phenomenal woman" alright, but not exactly Maya Angelou/
The other guys here will lie, say things that they want you to believe/
I'm humanitycritic baby, I'll tell you up front that I want you to fuck and then to leave/
While dudes have poems about cuddling, snuggling, and positive child rearing/
I have poems about fighting and ejaculating while beating my chest like Bobby Mcferrin/
While the other dudes promote positivity, hope, and your garden variety fables/
Don't you want a guy to not satisfy you sexually, afterwards saying "Sugar-tits, your money's on the table!!"/
I'll hit on your best friend, possibly beat up your little brother/
I want you to really mean it when you call me a "motherfucker"/
I might even beat the shit out of your dad for giving me bad stock tips/
I'll even go through his elderly pockets to make sure he ain't got shit/
At least you know what you're getting, a drunk bastard who really likes boobies/
Not your stereotypical male poet, looking like an extra from that "Love Jones" movie/

If she doesn't read this poem in time, I will indeed recite it a week from tonight..

It's like finding out there isn't a Santa Claus: A Terrorism experts debunks the show "24"

The other day, bored to fucking tears as I sat in the waiting room of some dickhead who wants me to write a screenplay based a book that he had written, I rummaged through his magazines the same way a kidnapper might do who wants to find specific letters to make the ultimate untraceable ransom note. I skimmed over Oprah's "O" Magazine but I wasn't interested in anything written in said magazine, the only source of entertainment that I got reading that rag was looking at the delicious derrieres of the Lane Bryant models on page 45. Sports Illustrated, some Gardening book, I couldn't find anything remotely interesting enough to take my mind off the fact that I was actually thinking about writing a screenplay about a couple of dudes and their crosscountry adventure.(When I told him it read like a ripoff of "Roadtrip", that silly fuck took that as a compliment) That's when I picked up an old issue of Rolling Stone with Kiefer Sutherland on it, and read something that is akin to a child sneaking down early Christmas morning only to see that the fat bald fuck that he/she calls dad is actually Kris Kringle himself. What I found, in an article that accompanies the main one featuring Kiefer, breaks down each season of "24" and the response of a bona fide terrorism expert.

I mean, I figured that a lot of the scenario's in "24" were improbable, and when I would ask my friends who work in "secretive" government jobs they wouldn't tell me anything(similar to how people act when you ask them about their personal fraternity initiations), but they would give off these cryptic sinister laughs. Oh well, this is from the April issue of Rolling Stone.

Even hard-core 24 fans realize that what Jack Bauer would actually be doing between 8.A.M. and 9 A.M. is sitting in L.A Gridlock. To assess the danger, we recruited former CIA analyst and U.S State Department Office of Counter-terrorism deputy director Larry Johnson.

SEASON ONE: Balcon baddies, with the aid of a CTU mole, plot to assassinate presidential candidate David Palmer and frame Bauer, payback for a secret Congress-sanctioned assassination mission in Kosovo.

THREAT ASSESSMENT: "The motive for the terrorism is credible," Johnson says, "What is really far-fetched is that shadowy mole in CTU"

SEASON TWO: A Middle Eastern terrorist cell attempts to detonate a nuke in L.A backed by U.S greed-heads who want to spark a war and benefit from skyrocketing oil prices.

THREAT ASSESSMENT: "Detonation a nuclear bomb is very difficult. Many so-called suitcase nukes only pack enough to blow a bridge. And it's a cheap Hollywood trick that evil businessmen are always pulling the strings behind the scenes."


SEASON THREE: Terrorists threaten to release a deadly virus unless an imprisoned drug kingpin is freed.

THREAT ASSESSMENT: "The myth of the deadly virus attack ignores the reality of biology. If the virus is highly contagious, it burns out, because it kills its hosts before it spreads too far. Plus, the notion that the government could respond quickly to contain the situation is comical in light of Katrina."

SEASON FOUR: Turkish terrorists kidnap the U.S secretary of defense and bomb a commuter train to swipe a device that can melt out nuclear reactors. To cover up its complicity, a defense contractor blacks out L.A...aiding the theft of a stealth fighter....that shoots down Air Force One...to obtain the nuclear football and launch a separately stolen warhead.

THREAT ASSESSMENT: "The only thing they left out is the alien abduction. It would be hard enough to pull off any one of those schemes, much less all of them in a twenty-four-hour period."

SEASON FIVE: Chechen rebels are trying to use nerve gas canisters to snuff hundreds of thousands of Americans.

THREAT ASSESSMENT: "For nerve gas to work, the area has to be saturated through aerial bombardment and artillery strikes, as in the Iran-Iraq war. Even if released in a mall environment, most would escape safely."

Steven Russell

Album covers that will rock your face off: A Tribe Called Quest: "Midnight Marauders"

Every week, if I'm not hung over or inundated with a smorgasbord of early twenties ass(probably just the former) I will be breaking down some of my favorite album covers. I thought about doing this recently because with the age of illegal downloading music between the deviant amounts of porn one downloads, the CD artwork doesn't get the same attention that it once got. With "Midnight Marauders" not only did we get a little more edgier tribe lyrically and beat wise, Phife stepped up to the plate showing fans that he had the abilty, at least for one album, to stand toe to tie with Q-Tip, but we also got one of the most creative album covers I had seen in a while. Besides that psychedelic lady on the front, I used to spend hour upon hour trying to figure out who all the people were that A Tribe Called Quest crammed on their album cover. Classic material.

Sidenote: Here is all the people that wikipedia claims is on that legendary album cover. Not sure that this list is entirely accurate, but here it is.(De La Soul, Souls of Mischief, The Jungle Brothers, Busta Rhymes, Del tha Funkee Homosapien, Queen Latifah, Chi-Ali, Andrew Gecaj. Monie Love, Black Sheep, The Beatnuts, The Pharcyde, Heavy D, Pete Rock and CL Smooth, MC Lyte, Chubb Rock, Daddy-O, Big Daddy Kane, Organized Konfusion, Da Youngstas, Large Professor, Das Efx, Lords of the Underground, Black Moon, Kool G Rap, Ice-T, AMG, 3rd Bass, Beatie Boys)

Adam Carolla bitchslaps Ann Coulter: Yes, he is my new homeboy..

Full disclosure here, I have said some unkind things about Mr. Carolla in the past. I have stated that I found his brand of comedy "as entertaining as an anal rape", I said that I'd rather "get an unskilled "mouth hug" from a girl with parkinson's who happened to have braces on" rather than watch the show he had on Comedy Central, and I always said that I would openly thank Kevin Smith if I ever met him to say that "the smartest thing he ever did was cutting Adam out of Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back." But, based on something he did a few days ago, I see the error in my ways and I'm willing to let bygones be bygones. Recently when that plagiarizing blond javelin of hate that is Ann Coulter was more than an hour late to Adam Carolla's radio show, he did what any self respecting person would do, he hung the fuck up on her "auditioning for the role of skeletor" ass. Check out this audio from crooksandliars.com.

Here is a rough transcript: from The Great Society:

ADAM CAROLLA: Ann Coulter, who was suppose to be on the show about an hour and a half ago, is now on the phone, as well. Ann?

ANN COULTER: Hello.

CAROLLA: Hi Ann. You’re late, babydoll.

COULTER: Uh, somebody gave me the wrong number.

CAROLLA: Mmm… how did you get the right number? Just dialed randomly — eventually got to our show? (Laughter in background)

COULTER: Um, no. My publicist e-mailed it to me, I guess, after checking with you.

CAROLLA: Ahh, I see.

COULTER: But I am really tight on time right now because I already had a —

CAROLLA: Alright, well, get lost.

[Crosstalk in the studio]

CAROLLA: I’m tight on time, too, and I don’t have time for bitches, so let’s move on.

[…]

[inaudible] Tight on time… Go f- yourself, you’re tight on time.

Female co-host (Teresa Strasser or Sarah Silverman?): I say this to Ann Coulter. Why the long face? (Laughter)

CAROLLA: Listen, you bitch, don’t call in an hour and a half late and tell me you’re “tight on time.” Of course you’re tight on time, you’re an hour and a half God-damn late calling into a radio show. Just take your stupid book and go pitch it to your stupid cable outlets.

Ok, so I might have a "little" porn addiction...

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Video of the Day: MF Doom: "Favorite Ladies"

I'm a huge MF Doom fan, but this is hardly my favorite video or song by the man. But this video reminds me of a time when I used to have a vast amount of girlfriends at one time. Yes I was a pig, but at the time I justified my dalliances with many women as me "needing a variety" so I wouldn't get bored out of my fucking skull. It wasn't even a sex thing, OK it was, but the fact that I could hang out with women that ranged from a rich socialite, a female prison guard, a spoken word artist, and a straight hood chick just made the life of serial cheater even that much more of an interesting existence. I would act holier than thou and say that I have discontinued said lifestyle because of how morally inept it is, I wish I could, but the only reason that I'm not with more women than pepper spray currently is because of my extreme fear of my penis falling off. Anyhow, this video reminds me of that particular time in my life.

Oh yeah, on a side note, have you noticed how detailed wikipedia can be?? I like to be informed like any other red blooded American, but they go so in depth with some of their profiles I'm scared to see what they will write about me if I ever become famous. I can see it now, my blog would be mentioned along with personal facts like "He used to wet the bed until he was 20" and that I "currently sleep with a Strawberry Shortcake doll."


*P.S: Minutes after I posted this entry a real good friend of mine made me aware that MF DOOM is referncing drugs in this song. Man, who would have thought that HumanityCritic missed an old fashioned drug reference, I'm slipping.


MF Doom interview

Ann Coulter: A Full time nut-job who moonlights as a plagiarist..

I'm pretty sure, for all of you out there like me who like to throw back more shots than Kurt Cobain, you have heard the age old bar rule that has been around for decades. You know, the one that says that you should never discuss "religion" or "politics" in a drinking establishment, yes that one. Being that I have seen all out bar brawls based on disagreements concerning "Fahrenheit 911", Bush(the president dummy), and a spirited debate about Jesus being "black"(that was me..), I agree that attempting to tackle those topics in a watering hole isn't the wisest of choices. That being said, this past weekend I found myself doing just that, arguing with some ass-hat in a bar about politics. First let me explain: There is this dude named Derek that I simply can't stand, and even though I'm 32 and should know better, I just want this waste of sperm to give me a legitimate reason to pummel him in front of a crowd of drunken onlookers. But because Derek is a old friend of my best friend's wife, I have been told at least 20 times, to "leave him alone".

So you can imagine the dilemma I found myself in as I was flirting with a bartender with luscious floatation devices on her chest, when this jackass Derek decided to sit right beside me. Maybe it's me, or maybe I have just been way too subtle, but I thought me telling him "One day, I promise, you will be on the business end of a beating" would tip him off that he isn't my favorite person in the world to talk to. Anyway, because he knew that I was told not to touch him, he acted like a bratty kid in an adult game of tag with his proverbial hand on "base" saying whatever he liked. Somehow, after a few minutes of me ignoring him the same way I do Tyler Perry plays, he got on the topic of Ann Coulter and the plagiarism charges levied against her. He said, "It's the fucking left wing media!! This is just their way of trying to bring down a woman speaking the truth, speaking her mind!!" That's when I turned to him, and as politely as I could stated my point in a calm and articulate manner. Ok, who I'm I kidding, I angrily turned to him, grabbed him out of his chair by the neck and said, "Left wing media?? Did "Moveon.org force her to lift entire passages from other people's articles?? Did the DailyKos put a gun to her head and tell her not to site the sources that she stole from?? Jesus, it's one thing to be a right-wing nut who is two sandwiches away from a skeleton, but to not even be original about is plain sad and obvious, like Ann's adams apple"

Anyway I let go of his his throat, and because I felt terrible about what I had just done I apologized profusely and offered to pay for his drinks for the rest of the night. Ok, that's me bullshitting again. I palmed his face, mushed him into a corner and tossed a couple of bar stools on top of him. If he tells he tells, fuck it, at least that miserable bastard gave me a great segue for the above Ann Coulter video.

Yesterday we finally put my father to rest

Sunday afternoon, even though he left this earth more than 5 years ago, me, my mother, and my brother finally put my father to rest. No, don’t get it twisted, it’s not like we had the big guy mummified in a house somewhere because we have serious “letting go” issues. I mean, I was at Arlington National Cemetery on that unseasonably warm February day in 2001, sitting beside my mother as a highly decorated military man placed a neatly folded American flag in her lap, me realizing what a great soldier he was as the 21 gun salute made an extremely bad hangover even worse. So yes, I was there when they lowered the man that I call “pops” in the ground. But even though my family was forced to let go of the man in his physical form, I think that we all, in are own way, didn’t realize until yesterday that we hadn’t completely let go.

Let me explain.. Besides a 30 year veteran of the Navy, my father was also a lifelong mechanic. Listen, I had and will always have issues with my father, but if it had a motor he could fix it, I couldn't tell you how many childhood toys the man repaired. Anyway, he had a car garage that he ran since the early 80’s, a car garage that we all couldn’t let go of until yesterday. Yes it was just sitting there, yes rent was paid on that spot even though there wasn’t a business there, yes my old man’s car garage became a glorified storage unit that held his vast array of auto repair tools that he had accumulated over his lifetime. But it wasn’t until recently when the rent was being raised that my family realized not only how silly it was paying rent there since 01’, but yesterday as we cleaned up the place and took the last of the tools out of there, we knew that we were finally saying goodbye.

To be completely honest, I pitched a fucking fit when my mother and brother asked me for my assistance in cleaning the place up. Yes, I can be lazy, and yes I had a serious hangover with stripper glitter all over me, but I knew why I really dreaded going there. Even though I despised going there when my father was alive, maybe it's me but changing people’s oil in 95 degree heat and being yelled at continuously wasn’t exactly my cup of tea, but I knew that the end of what we affectionately call “the shop” would be tearing down a sort of shrine to my father.(A rather expensive one at that.)

So yesterday, as we threw trash in dumpsters, poured cat litter on oil spills, and hauled everything from transmissions to jack-stands to a real storage unit, there was definitely a somber feeling that fell upon us. Me, regretting the horrible relationship that me and my father had, even now at 32, having pleasant daydreams where me and my father are bonding during some random activity because of regret, I knew that the closing of “the shop” was a big step concerning me emotionally moving on. My brother probably took it the hardest, never actually shedding a tear or blubbering like a school girl, but the ultra serious demeanor he had even though we were doing the most menial of tasks let me know that it affected him too. Hell, he had a relationship with my father that I would have given a left testicle for, ok, maybe a finger,(fuck, do I really have to lose an appendage for you to understand what I’m trying to say??”) My mother, the rock of the family, even though she is the epitome of “poker face” I knew that our last day at the shop affected her intensely by her simply saying, “Goddamn, this is some really sad shit!!”

Anyway, as painful as it was, I think finally putting my father, I mean “the shop”, to rest is the best thing for all of us..

This just proves that you shouldn't give a chubby pre-ejaculator the remote

The following sentence might endanger my hetero-street cred, but being that I have admitted to openly weeping when Cochise died in "Coolie High" and being one of the only straight males who watch "One life to Live" on a regular basis, maybe said "hetero street cred" went out the window years ago. OK, here goes.. Whenever I am dating someone, even early in the relationship, I envision the minute possibility that one day the both of us will be married somewhere, black picket fence, 2.5 kids, her making a bonfire out of my porn stash, the whole nine. But when I think deeper in terms of someone sharing my living space, I think of all the bad habits that I have, habits that I think would make even the most liberal pacifist want to cut my nuts off with a dull knife. For one thing I have full blown arguments in my sleep, with god knows who, from topics ranging from Hip Hop to capitol punishment, where I always end up challenging the nocturnal opponent to a "duel".(who knows?) I snore, I'm not the neatest person in the world, I don't answer the door when people "pop up", I like to hum the smurf tune whenever I ejaculate, I sing the Willy Wonka inspired "I got the golden ticket" song every time I clutch a condom that I'm about to put on before sex, and I just know that whenever I have a new girlfriend I will scream a Busta Rhyme-esque "get Low Critic!!!" right before I give my mate reciprocity in the name of oral.

But, I'm pretty sure that there is a person out there willing to deal with my specific brand of bullshit. Maybe there is even a small segment of nut-bag ladies out there, possibly, who find my immature antics "cute", "adorable" even.(ahem.. hey, just kidding about the "nut-bag" line ladies. Um, my email address is on my blog..) But there is one idiosyncrasy that I have that I'm certain even the most tolerant female can't get beyond, one that even annoys me when other people do it. That idiosyncrasy is my utterly irritating, manic way I handle the remote control while I'm watching the boob tube. I've been told that my handling of the remote is similar to a Hip Hop DJ trying to blend records with a lethal mix of caffeine, crack, speed, and crystal meth flowing through his blood stream, frantically going back and forth between both records. I don't know, maybe it's my ADD, but I feel like an acrobatic cable-man as I flip channels, seemingly unsatisfied regardless of what channel I eventually land on. So buckle up your seat-belts you fucking grommets, and see what it feels like to sit beside Humanity F Critic as I channel surf.

HumanityCritic turn off the DVD player with the movie starring Chest C. Mann as he pleases a plethora of gluteal enhanced temptresses. A heartwarming tale really, where the fate of the world relies on his sperm to stay alive. I don't need to be an Ebert here, but I'm sure that the men in that fictitious scenario would probably chose that death thing over another guy's "goo". HumanityCritic grabs the remote to see what's on T.V.

Click..click..Click

Making the Band 3: Jesus Christ man, I hate Puffy the same way Lou Diamond Phillips must hate Melissa Etheridge. For one thing, what good has that miserable son of bitch actually done besides discover Biggie? Loon, Black Rob, Mase, the dude has produced more horrific artists than that brief period that "horror-core" was popular. As for the show, I can't speak on it for a great amount of time because I have only seen bits and pieces of it. But it's evident that those girls are never going to come out, and if they do they will receive the same amount of attention that Puffy usually gives one of his artists, hardly none. For the life of me, when he tries to bully one of the girls for underachieving, I keep wanting her to say "What?? Weren't you the same asshole who wore those god awful shining suits?? Aren't you the same guy who piggybacked the death of your so called "friend" to further your own sub par musical career?? Watch who you talk to, Sean.." Fuck it, let's see what else is on..

Click..Click..Click..

"Hogan Knows Best": Should I really care about a show starring a wrestler that I stopped caring about when I was 12?? After a few minutes of viewing it became painfully obvious that this show isn't on Vh1 because of it's quality, but simply because it conveniently fills a 30 minute time gap. They all have the personality of string cheese, and I'm wondering if I'm the only one that wants something bad to happen to them, like Johnny Knoxville coming out of nowhere and smacking one of them in the face with a 2x4. Lastly, I have heard of overprotective fathers, but the "Hulkster" takes it to a new level, to the point that I think.. OK, I won't go there, but the end result of what I was about to type are 3 headed children. Lets see what else is on..

Click..Click..Click..

"Batman Begins": I love this movie, taking that cave dwelling superhero from those campy ass movies of the 90's, and making him a much darker figure was such a great move in my honest opinion. I don't have much to say about this, lets see what else is on.(grabbing remote, then putting it down to address the blog readership) Wait, there is one thing that pisses me off like a bad bladder about this movie. It isn't the plot, cinematography, the actors, none of those are my particular gripes. My problem is with Katie Holmes' character, Rachel Dawes, the childhood friend of Bruce Wayne who keeps giving him shit about his lifestyle. Granted, she has no idea that Bruce moonlights in a strange suit fighting crime in Gotham, but her constant condescending "what are you doing with your life" shit gets tired quick. I keep wanting Bruce Wayne to say, "Bitch, I'm Batman goddammit!! While you were going over documents last night I took on 3 bank robbers, an evil madman with a laser with the capacity to take out 4 city blocks, and local cops who think that I'm the bad guy. Get the fuck outta here before I beat you with my utility belt!" OK, lets see what else is on..

Click...click...Click..

"E! Entertainment News": It says here that Corey Haim and Corey Feldman are pitching a reality show surprisingly called, "The Corey's". Man, talk about a cluster-fuck of unadulterated "Who gives a shit!!", let's hope that this trainwreck never sees the light of day. These two wastes of flesh haven't been relevant since LL Cool J's "Radio" album, what makes them think that people want to tune in weekly to see a fucking half hour cautionary tale. But to be clear, I have never had a beef with Corey Haim, he wasn't the first and won't be the last teen idol who became road kill on that pop culture highway. But Corey Feldman, that douche-bag, I have more beef with him than Peta does with the dietary habits of Reuben Studdard. OK, he was good in "Stand By Me", but remember that Michael Jackson phase he went through in the late 80's, what in the fuck was that about?? Also, I love "The Lost Boys", but the only thing that ruins it is Corey Feldman's acting choice to have his character talk with a groggy, "let me sound like this to get the ladies" voice. *mental note*[If I ever see feldman, punch him dead in the face] OK, what else is on..

Click..click..click..

ESPN:"Interview with Shaq": As a Lakers fan and a Kobe Bryant apologist I know that hating Shaq is a natural as Mary J. Blige depressing people, or her scaring her make-up lady in the morning, I know that. But even if I wasn't a fan of the Lakers I'm certain that the 7 foot milk-dud named Shaquille O'Neal would still bother me. For one thing he won a ring, congrats, but he still keeps Kobe Bryant in his mouth like he is trying to get the record for the World's longest "mouth hug". Besides that the media, because they either hate Kobe that much or collectively think that most black men can't string together 2 coherent sentences, act like the words that come out of his mouth are the most profound syllables ever. I mean, people quote this jackass and act like he is Mark Twain or Winston Churchill or some shit, but when you read the actual text you shake your head the same way you would if your domesticated animal shat all over your couch. People, the guy is a douche, wake up!! Go somewhere and make another "Kazaam" movie you shit-stain, lets see what else is on.

Click..click..Click.

"The 2006 B.E.T Awards": After seeing a few fleeting moments of Damon Wayans hosting it suddenly occurred to me that the Wayans family haven't made sane people laugh since "I'm Gonna Get your Sucka".(Sad really) Ok, I didn't sit through the entire thing, I couldn't based on the mass amounts of wackness that were in attendance that particular night. When Debra Lee, the Chairman and C.E.O of B.E.T got up to address the crowd, I felt a warm feeling rush my body like I was coming in contact with someone who once assaulted my mother. Ms. Lee is probably a nice woman, but when I think of the torrential downpour on black culture B.E.T is, let's just say that I won't be heading Ms. Lee's fan-club anytime soon. I kept wanting to call her the "Eva Braun of black culture", you know Hitler's girlfriend, sitting there clueless as millions of people are sent to the gas chamber of ignorance, a move set in motion by Hitler himself.(Bob Johnson) But comparing anyone, even figuratively, to one of the worst animals in history is a bit much. They aren't sending people to any gas chamber or perpetrating any other garden variety of atrocity you can name, but B.E.T is still dangerous.

By the way, I'm not complaining, but didn't Indie Arie get thick as a motherfucker?(On some "red beans and rice didn't miss her" shit) Of course she shaved her head, I'm not mad at that, but she is so damn solid I'm certain that she could hold Shaq to single digits, during a Heat home-game no less!!. Let me stop drooling over the woman, I don't have a chance in hell with her, even if I did I'm certain that my penchant for coming home drunk and triple penetration porn wouldn't sit well with a coffee shop chick like herself.


Click..click..Click.. Fuck it..

HumanityCritic switches the T.V off.

Artist that a Old Head told me to check out: Joe Newman

Well, I finally broke down and decided to see what happened to Saxophone Willy. I just knew that I would receive some horrible news as soon as I entered the jazz club he performed at, like maybe no one had seen him in weeks, or possibly I would hear a haunting tale having to do with some city workers, scuba-divers, and Willy wearing cement shoes. Shit, I didn't know what to think as I entered that smoke filled club, so obviously I had to do a double take as I saw Saxophone Willy having his favorite alcoholic beverage at the bar. Have you ever sat besides somebody and just felt that you were unwelcomed like a motherfucker?? Well, that's how I felt when I started to shoot the shit with Willy, it took him a few minutes to even acknowledge my existence with his eyes, an offense by the way that would get most sons-of-bitches intimately acquainted with a beating. He spoke, but he was so brief with his words it seemed like every one of his sentences had a 7 word limit. As he walked away I could tell that he was walking with a serious limp, an injury that possible was the result in him owing someone 5 figures, then he turned around briefly and said "Hey kid, you want a name for that segment on your blog??" Before I answered I thought about the relief I felt that he was still alive, mixed with me feeling that his anger towards me was misdirected based on how unreasonable the nature of the loan he asked for was. So, as he stood there clutching his leg waiting for a response I said, "You know Willy, fuck you.. Invest in a kickstand, you wobbly old bastard!!"

Even though I knew I shouldn't had cursed the old fellow, especially since without him I felt that my "old head" segment would be coming to an end, but at the end of the day I felt it was justified since I let that geriatric fuck get away with far too much shit in the first place. I mean, I'm not saying that I would have knocked an old man out or anything, I'm not even condoning it, but since I once sucker punched a 65 year old man who didn't want to pay me a gambling debt he owed me and wanted to capitalize his unwillingness to do so while holding a switch blade, I don't particularly come off like Mother Theresa on that particular subject.

So, I decided to follow my dear mothers advice and make this profile on my great Uncle, Joe Newman. I don't remember ever meeting the man, and if I did I was probably in the middle of drooling and shitting myself, but what I do know by the music that he left behind is that he was a fine jazz musician. He was one of a selective few to spend a great deal of time playing with Count Basie's orchestras throughout the 40's and the 50's. Coming from a musical family in New Orleans(My moms mom and her immediate "peeps") he was influenced by Louis Armstrong, he was known as one of the most versatile trumpeters ever. He played with Lionel Hampton's big band(1941-43), worked with J.C Heard, shared solo space with Thad Jones, besides his many stints in Basie's orchestra. *In later years, Joe Newman fared well at the 1972 Newport in New York jam sessions, guested with the New York Jazz Repertory Company, toured with Benny Carter, and led sessions for Black & Blue and Concord. He also founded Jazz Interactions, a New York-based organization that educated children about jazz and promoted concerts.*

But because I'm probably a small minded dude who has all of his priorities in the wrong place, those laundry list of accomplishments isn't what particularly sticks out in my mind about my great uncle. What I remember, and what you can see for yourself by picking up "The autobiography of Malcolm X", is that my Uncle was one of the musicians Malcolm said he sold "reefer" to when he was a hustler in Harlem. I'm saying, how fucking cool is that?? Anyway, check out my myspace page for a sample of his works, or simply get your narrow ass to the myspace page I created in his honor.

*Scott Yanow, All Music Guide

Hey HumanityCritic, what in the fuck are you doing with this in your ipod? Madness: "Our House"

This video is probably the only good thing that ever came out of racism, let me explain: No, this group isn't racist and in no way is this song promoting racism, keep your fucking shorts on why don't you. See, for any of you reading this who are around my age range you can remember when MTV didn't play video's by black artists, and when they did it was a strict diet of only Michael Jackson with a side order of Prince. Because of this, it opened me up to a world of music that I probably would have never been exposed to if it wasn't for Mtv's refusal to play prominent black musicians of the time. So instead of my IPOD looking like an eclectic blend of various sounds and genres, it actually looks like I raided a record store, grabbed whatever I could find, and then in a mad panic decided to put said stolen Cd's into my Ipod so I could destroy the evidence. Anyway, based on my constant blabbering Hip Hop, this is one song that would probably make you say: "Hey HumanityCritic, what in the fuck is this doing in your IPOD?" I guess my answer would be, in a De La Soul inspired skit minus the beat-down, "Hey, I kinda like it. I blame Mtv and their racism!!!"

Ok, I'm starting to like this Jim Webb guy..

Jim Webb's press secretary's response to George Allen's "unpatriotic" claims:

"While Jim Webb and others of George Felix Allen Jr.'s generation were fighting for our freedoms and for our symbols of freedom in Vietnam, George Felix Allen Jr. was playing cowboy at a dude ranch in Nevada. People who live in glass dude ranches should not question the patriotism of real soldiers who fought and bled for this country on a real battlefield"

Notice how he said everything except that George Allen lacked a functioning pair of testicles? Notice how he throws that subtle amount of ridicule in there, using his middle name "Felix" when talking about Allen??(Man, I'm glad I fucking voted for this guy.) Do we actually have a democratic candidate that's willing to get dirty, not expose their collective "skirts", and do what it takes to win?? Well, Webb was a longtime Republican who served under Reagan, but I'm totally behind anyone who can call republicans on their "unpatriotic" bullshit. Plus, anyone who has a Confederate flag and a noose in their office, and voted against a Martin Luther King Jr. holiday for Christs sake, needs to be on the business end of a public beating. Give him hell Jim!!

Congrats Brother

First of all let me apologize to all my readers that I kept waiting, but I have been finishing up my book so that has taken up a great deal of my time.(Along with chronic hangovers and unsatisfying women across the globe) So now that I'm back to trying, if not already, being your "favorite blogger's favorite blogger", I want to get a few things off my chest concerning my friend "Iselfra". When I met him more than 6 years ago through my ex, at first I took didn't truly appreciate the words of wisdom that he dropped on me from time to time. Me being the paranoid, distrustful guy that I am, thought that his words of positivity were something that would fade like a prom queen's beauty 30 years after graduation only to see the ugly truth come out eventually. Well, I was wrong about him, and he has proven to be a great friend to a person known for not only burning bridges when it comes to friendships, but calling in air strikes to obliterate any thing in a 5 mile radius of said bridge.

Since I figured that I would feature a blogger that I read at least once a week, who better to start with than the guy who gave me words of encouragement that would stick in my mind every time I feel like I don't want to blog any more. Those words were, simply, "Don't fall off, and don't be wack!!" Along with those verbal gems have come refreshing bouts of blatant honesty from Iselfra like him telling me that a certain post was "Wack", his disagreement with me and my bleak outlook on Hip Hop, and his prophetic "I wouldn't want to be you right now, with the hate you are about to get" last year when I won those blog awards. Not only that, he is the only person besides my mother that can call me an asshole and get away with it, not because of our friendship but because he knows capoeira and I wouldn't want to write any "My boy beat my black ass" posts any time soon.

Not only do I want to say that his blog is mixed with intelligence, all the facets of Hip Hop culture, family, heart, consciousness, an all around great read, but I also want to congratulate Iselfra on the newest 8 pound 9 inch addition to his family.(A bouncing baby boy) Congratulations man! Now, if only I can find some woman to accept my demon seed, so my kid can battle your kid in a break-dance battle, "Electric Boogaloo" style!!