RICK ROSS IS THE EPHEMERAL MOMENT

"I like listening to RICK ROSS on the way to my minimum wage job.  It provides me with the motivation necessary to chase that paper; to swallow my pride for another day and suffer the thinly veiled condescension of the leisure class sucklin pon da fat o' the land."

That's what some phag said to me the other day.  I nodded my head in assent, but really I was thinkin, "Dawg, you take shit way too seriously!"  I be listening to RICK ROSS in the same way I like watching a fucking STEVEN SEGAL movie or some shit.  It's the  kind of overwrought fantasy that momentarily allows us to escape the hideous boredom of the quotidian grind.  And fo sho we laughin at ROZAY just as much as we clownin on SEGAL fo his bufoonery!

But yo, errytime a new RICKY album comes out I be thinkin, "Damn he done come out with another classic!  ROSS got that MICHAEL BAY swag!  Lush cinematics!  Rap game SIDNEY LUMET!"  But the euphoria of a new installment in neon candy-dipped ROZAY land - a land of opulent freeway overpasses, strip clubs sticky with spilled champagne, and many many XXXL Hanes white tees - is as temporary and fleeting as the high from ROZAY'S favorite subject matter (cocaine [btw]).  Hits hard and quick.  And is there anything wrong with that?  I dunno.  I be snorting mad lines of yayo, so I says yes.

FACT CHECKING DEPT: NY TIMES JOURNO CALLS ANDREW WK A RAPPER

Damn doggie, it been a minute ain't it?  I'm not gonna lie.  To paraphrase Stephen A. Smith, "Quite frankly, I knocked a girl up."  But it's all good now - let's not talk about it anymore.  It's in the past.

Yo, I know this a rap blog and all, but I'm also a journalist, and I be holdin' da media to standards of practice and shit.  I always be seeing mistakes and shit in so-called reputable publications, and when I see dat, I be like, "That's the shit I don't like."

Some of you flowerpot heads might have seent in the news that ANDREW W.K. was tapped as a cultural ambassador to Bahrain (dunno where that is, but I bet it is a shitty place).  Then like the fuckboys they is, the US State Department rescinded da invitation!  Wack shit, son.  But even wacker was the NY TIMES referring to AWK as "Andrew W.K., a rapper and party-anthem rocker," whom the fuckboy State Dept rejected "after they reviewed his work."  Sounds like you ain't reviewed his work yoself, homebwoy!

Like da irate media watchdawg I is, I immediately Googled tha author of this misinformation, JAMES C. MCKINLEY JR.  A lil background: homie went to Cornell University, Mizzou Journo School and got some blemishes on his record (no homo).  I wanted to hate tha dude, but then I saw this nutso Anti-Islamic blog that took Mr. McKinley to task.  Y'all can read up on that bullshit on they website, but the crux of the matter is this: when a nutjob punk emailed McKinley a stangry response for "failing" to identify a mass-murderer as a jihadist, McKinley responded with a terse "Fuck you" - no period even!  Gangsta shit!  And fo that, he earnded my respect.  Carry on, Mr. McKinley!

JIGGA FELL OFF WHEN HE STOPPED ROCKIN DA BUCKET HAT

 

Sup to all the parasites, bloodsuckers and bloggers on that fake tip.  RAP MUSIC HYSTERIA! finna do this shit once again.

So yo, a jit like me grew up listenin to JAY-Z.  Mane, he might even have been the first rapper I was really feelin, ya know?  Watching the vids for "Hard Knock Life" and "Money Ain't A Thing" wit JERMAINE DUPRI on The Box Network at the turn of the decade and seein' him in the video for DMX's "What's My Name" and realizing all this rap shit was interconnected...foundational moments in my life, dawg.

But yo, we all know Jigga fell off at some point.  His flow went from a lean, svelte panther to a bloated old man joggin in a sweatsuit.  Mad folks compare his post-Black Album output to MJ with the Wizards and it's true...only glimmers of his old brilliance padded with wild middle-aged beer gut.

But yo, it goes deeper than that; to stop at that comparison is some facile ass analysis, and we ain't down with that life round these parts.  Yo, he rilly rilly fell off when he stopped reppin dat bucket hat!  That shit was ill, son!  You know a rapper is at the top of his game when he can pull off somethin as wack as a white Gilligan bucket hat!  Ol' Bob Denver ass Hov in the "Big Pimpin" video!  Top of his game, son, like LL with the Kangol, like 50 with the Vitamin Water, like Mike Jones with the desperate give-every-hoe-my-number PUA tactics.

ON THE DIVINITY OF DMX'S "WHAT'S MY NAME"

 

Ominous piano chords pierce the white noise of your complacent existence.  A gravel voiced DMX addresses "half-rappin ass motherfuckers" rhetorically: "You think it's a game? You think it's a fuckin' game?"  We know the answer.  These unnamed amateurs believe that "it" - whatever it is - is a game.

The DMX figure is hardened and amoral, calloused by the tumult and hypocrisy that burdens his lungs like water.  He has no friends.  He sheds blood, has no compunction about making others shed the very same substance.  He is a dog, forced to develop a predatory, survival-by-any-means mentality in the Darwinian world he inhabits; whether this is a matter of reality or distorted perception is unclear, yet the distinction is unimportant.  What reality is there outside of perception?  We can trust the DMX figure.  Though we may not like him or his actions, grizzled and world-weary, he maintains a code-of-ethics in the sneering face of moral anarchy.

He's not a nice person; he admits it, he is honest, and that's far more than can be said for the fraudulence that is unaccountably given a pass in these confused times.  Is he crazy?  Has he lost his mind?  Perhaps he has.  But can we blame him when he occupies a world of dubious value, a world whose standards and moorings are not observed?  What does it really mean to be insane in such a world?

A$AP FERG STAY STEALIN THE SHOW

 

Sup to all the muckrackers and fly sensationalists.  RAP MUSIC HYSTERIA finna do the damn thing.  Ya boy been popping bottle after bottle of Ace of Spades at The Million Dollar Cowboy Bar, but bloggin is in my blood, son.  I used to stand on the corner late at night, leaning against the lamppost at zero-below, vapors comin out with each breath, boys in blue patrollin my block, just bloggin so I could put some food on the table to feed my lil daughter.

So yo, earlier I wrote about A$AP ROCKY's merely aight new song, "Purple Kisses," and I stand by that judgment.  But yo, the A$AP MOB compilation, Lord$ Never Worry, got some joints on it!  And once again, the dude A$AP FERG steal the show.  Y'all remember this fool on "Kissin Pink," where he imbued that shit with some BIG MOE style sizzurp sangin, and really brought the whole Houston/SCREWED UP CLICK meets NY aesthetic together.

On dis new track he just tantalizes dis blogger even more (no homo).  FERG drops dem ill rhymes in a slightly more conventional style on top of a somber understated piano RZA type beat.  Shit, boy.  Stealin da show once again!  And his daddy designed da BAD BOY logo?  Blood run deep, no joke.  Me n my daddy finna ski through powdery provences together once I meet him at da crossroads.  I guess I should call him and tell him I'm finna be 10-15 mins late.  Chuuuuuuuuuuuch!

FUTURE IS WALKING THROUGH THE DARK WITH AN ERECTION

 

What's rilly real with your life?  I'm talking to you - the bulbous bitches and corn-shucking hatemongers, the understated diddy-boppers sitting on deuce deuces of cardboard and tin foil, the delicate aesthetes sticking suppositories of coke up they bootyhole for that instant, fast-acting high.  Woop woop!

So yo, this kid FUTURE recently come out wit some "whoa shit, I high as fuck on that molly, not sure if I wanna sang or rap" shit and the internet and, you know, "real" "life" and shit been goin' nuts!  I can see why, dawg!  Da kid got a fresh style, fresh beats courtesy of dudes like MIKE WILL and ZAYTOVEN...what da game been missin, namean?

He got lots of songs bout how the girl you in love wit ain't shit, that she just some dumb slut he might fuck when he done hippie flipping.  Or a concept song in which he compares his sexual prolificacy - "I got a bitch in every city" - to that of Michael Jordan.

But on dis track, he just lookin' for some sweet honeydip to be his wife n shit.  It's real sweet.  Makes you think of wandering around your room drunk with the lights off, bumpin' in to shit with your erection, tears streaming down yo face not merely from the pain of stubbing your dingdong, but also the loneliness crushing you as you feel blindly for the phantom dream girl who ain't materializing in yo reality.  But not like a DTF erection, more like a "I just wanna lay in her hair and watch Netflix" kinda erection.  Chuuuuuch!

KANYE'S "BITTER SWEET POETRY" = SIMP MAGNET

 

Sup to all the punk bitches and da hip sluts out there.  Damn, yo.  This post was originally gonna be about how gay KANYE WEST'S "Bittersweet Poetry" is; I was gonna find some overly sentimental comment on da YouTubes, something from a teenage girl like, "OMG dis kanye song is deep shit son, chuuuch," but then something even more awful happened.  I discovered dis overbearing turd by da name of alwaysright10000.

 

Dis simp be writing like 8-section, numbered essays where he be droppin all sorts of words he learned in his Kaplan SAT prep course.  Calm down, son!  I learned dem words too (thanks Xi Li, you saved my ass on da math section especially!).   You just arguing with YouTube teenagers, dawg, callin em fags would be much more effective trolling.

But damn yo, as a student of da English language myself (shout outs to Shakespeare, Milton, all dem dudes), I gotta say: dis is some shitty-azz writing!  Just full of flab, dawg.  You gotta cut that shit, pare yo prose of dem superfluous adverbs and wack-ass adjectives.  Like, you wanna sound smart and I can appreciate dat, but really you're just makin yoself look like a try-hard bitch.  I believe this is what GHOSTFACE KILLAH meant when he referred to "smart dumb [black persons]" ("Biscuits," The Pretty Toney Album).

 

Damn, this is some cringe-inducing-ass writing!  So overloaded with lard words.  And he 33?  Bad enough dat he a grown-ass man arguing wit YouTube retards, but even worse dat he suck so much dick at writing.  But yo, real talk alwaysright10000, I wanna help you out: cop yoself one of deez books on concise writing and da new 2 CHAINZ album.  You'll be pimpin shit like me in no time!

BREAKING UPDATE: Homeboy also has a wicked foot fetish.