• » Name: Meka Soul
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Slap-Boxing With Jesus

Fat Joe Lost

It shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone that one of the reasons hip-hop stinks to high hell right now is because there’s a lot of bullshit that goes on behind the scenes. Corporate politics, company mergers, shitty budgets and an overall lack of fresh, creative talent are forcing TIs and rappers alike to take drastic measures just to stay afloat.

One of the taboos in music (next to grown men BuFu’ing their “adopted” protégés behind the scenes. Pause.) has always been the “ghost” process. While many up-and-comers see ghost producing and ghostwriting as a means of establishing themselves in an already congested arena, most fear that their original concepts will be ganked by their higher-profile counterparts, and without the proper financial abilities, they’ll be helpless to stop it. Where it’s not held in such a low regard in R&B (that’s primarily how today’s current stars got their start), it’s considerably worse in hip-hop, where ghosting is essentially a cardinal sin (not unlike grown men BuFu’ing their “adopted” protégés behind the scenes. Pause.). But let’s be honest: Hip-hop is known for people snatching other people’s shit and claiming it as their own without giving the proper credit. If it weren’t for Gilbert O’Sullivan suing the hell out of Biz Markie back in the day, rappers would still be pilfering shitbag samples without getting approval.

You kind of have to feel sorry for Fat Joe. No matter how hard he tries, he can never seem to make it. Starting off by carrying Diamond D’s records and hash as a member of the Diggin’ In The Crates crew, Joe was eventually able to afford his own maracas holders, the Terror Squad, which just so happened to have one of the gulliest lyricists ever, Big Punisher. Unfortunately Pun OD’d on pork rinds and most of the members bounced, forcing Joe to move down to Miami and get in bed with his Muslim DJ The Great Khali (pause) to make ends meet.

Now word has hit that Joey Crack doesn’t even write his own raps. I originally thought that he had robbed Pun’s estate for his rhyme book, but apparently that isn’t the case as it now looks like he just bullied some random-ass rapper from Virginia named Face Dirty into writing “Lean Back” and didn’t pay him. The sad thing about this is that I remember an old episode of MTV Cribs where he lived in a mansion with about four cars, and he got his rocks off by licking the bottom of an Air Force One shoe he’d never worn (which is quite possibly the most impotence-inducing visual I've ever seen. Extra pause.), which suggests he easily could have afforded to pay Face and continue on with his façade. But the fact that he tried to steal some unknown rapper’s rhymes is not only wrong on all levels, but proof that the rap game isn’t what it used to be anymore.

If he had the space in his coffin to do so, Pun would be turning in his grave.

25 Comments             

Back To The Drawing Board (Kitchen?)

A while I back I stated how dark-skinned black women in black music are the new-millennia endangered species, not unlike the mountain gorilla and northern hairy-nosed wombat, due to the fact that their ancestors were not gang-raped by their slave owners, and thus denying them the opportunity to be doused with Ace Of Spades - or whatever ridiculously expensive firewater Grandpa Simpson drinks nowadays – by your favorite rapper’s favorite izm holder in music videos.

(If you want to take a trip down memory lane, you can do so here.)

Not to be discriminative to only my asphalt-colored queens, I also asserted that black women in general are having a great deal of difficulty keeping it together in music today, only to be constantly outdone by their paleface counterparts time and time again.

(For my special report, you can go here.)

As a side note, I’ve been told that rapper jaundice-toned rapper Jean Grae has been putting it down for quite some time now. Unfortunately, I read that she’s signed to Talib Kweli’s imaginary record label, so that pretty much means her album will come out Neverary 35th, which puts women back at square one. But I digress.

Anyways, all the rage on the Internets this week has been about lists of the greatest rap albums ever. Even my blogging brethren S.Y. Young got in on the action. But one trend I noticed is that not one list had any album by a female rap artist. I originally thought that this only confirmed my theory that black women couldn’t make it in black music, but now I’m beginning to see that it may just be rap.

Granted, there are female rappers who should be considered in the list of the greatest rappers of all time, but those come few and in between. And nowadays, female rappers seem more concerned with acting, singing or getting arrested by cops than making an actual rap album. The only “memorable” female rap albums that came out last year were Shawnna, Remy Ma and Missy Elliott, and only Missy’s earned a plaque. It’s gotten so bad that even the American Music Awards took out their Favorite Female Rap Artist category last year. Compare this to the 2000 incarnation, when The Miseducation Of Lauryn Hill won an award, and that shit had been out for two years prior.

But you can’t blame them entirely. With rap grossly underperforming these days, hip-hop producers are trying to get that pop guap to keep their ribs from touching. And with rap losing its fan base every day that can only spell trouble for the female rapper.

15 Comments             

“Stop Snitching” Vs. Reality

A few days ago CBS’ 60 Minutes ran a piece on the “stop snitching” phenomenon, and I should have known something was up when washed-up ass Tyson Beckford was shown in the first 30 seconds advising against the shit. I assume he’s still pickle-faced since Wendy Williams outed him and Derek Jeter on the radio a year or so back, but whatever.

If you missed it, you can watch the piece here.

Anyways, the central theme of the entire segment seemed to revolve around the so-called “code of ethics,” the unwritten creed that represents a rapper’s all-too-important street credibility, and it’s those same principles that caused hip-hop’s Lyle Alzado himself, Busta Rhymes, to not talk to police, even though he watched his bottom bitch Israel Ramirez get sent to the pearly gates. And who better to reinforce the ideals than the Pink Ranger, Cam’Ron, who stated it would be bad for business if he were to talk to police.

I understand that snitching could have a detrimental affect on the two rappers’ record sales. But both of their most recent releases went double rubber tree wood, so what do they have to lose?

The piece then wraps up with a couple teenagers talking about how snitching of all things is another crime in the community, comparable to rape and murder. In this blogger’s opinion, the real crime was CBS giving these window lickers camera time to idiotically explain how, even though they’ve witnessed a crime firsthand, they still wouldn’t talk to cops.

At the risk of having the remainder of my “street cred pass” revoked (but let’s face it, I’ve already been labeled by the Stan’Rons on this site as a racist homosexual, so it’s not like I actually give three-fifths of a shit), the entire “stop snitching” trend is a bunch of bullshit... to an extent.

I don't think anybody should run to the cops out of spite for a person. It’s one thing to tattle on someone out of jealousy for the guy. There’s been plenty of times I was afflicted the Green-Eyed Bandit disease (extra no homo Erick Sermon) when I saw or heard of people around my neighborhood were living a better (albeit sometimes illegal) lifestyle, but that wasn’t grounds for me to run to the Bacon Battalion, nor have I ever done such a thing. If anything, their “success” encouraged me to work harder at my own legal craft. However, to answer Anderson Cooper’s question, if a serial killer lived next door to my loved ones, I’m not afraid to go to the cops. My mother’s safety is more important than my own foolish pride.

By now most of the e-thugs on this site are probably furiously typing away at their keyboards, writing anything from a Negroid monkey to a (you guessed it!) snitch in the comments section, which I find hilariously asinine. I mean, not only have Busta and Cam talked to cops on more than one occasion, but after Curtis got sporked inside that studio by Murder Inc.'s Crack Child of all people, he filed an order of protection, which leads me to believe that the entire “Stop Snitchin’” campaign is full of shit. And if anyone out there believes that their hood reputation trumps his or her family’s well being, I suggest you question your own manhood.

22 Comments             

Quit Hating The South

A few months back I read a blog somewhere that declared T.I., Young Jeezy and Lil Wayne were the current hip-hop generation’s (read: over-developed teenagers who grow up to be future WIC recipients and happen to “have heat for bitch ass pussies” like myself) Jay-Z, Biggie and Nas respectively. Biased asshole that I am, I immediately commented (with exclamation points at that!) that the person who wrote that shit should kill himself for saying such nonsense.

But since that one fateful day, the more I thought about those comparisons, the more accurate I began to think the blogger was. Not to say that the three have any classic material that could hold a torch to Illmatic, Ready To Die or Reasonable Doubt, but in terms of their overall mass appeal and presence in today’s era.

Regardless of how many people feel, we all have to agree that Southern-based hip-hop has a Sharpshooter-style hold on the rap game. That region’s impact is so dense that other rappers are either moving down South to appeal to their demographic or making poor imitations of Southern songs to stay relevant. And at the forefront of the South are The Snowman, Weezy F. Baby and The King. It’s essentially the same setup back in the mid- to late-nineties when the East Coast reigned supreme, with Jay-Z, Nas and The Notorious B.I.G. running wild.

But as one of my favorite bloggers once said, their only problem is that the said impact has invaded their very consciences so much that they refuse to acknowledge that any of their music stinks to high hell, and are real quick to call any detractor a racist (huh?) hater, which makes no sense. Or in my case, they’d cut off the pilot light on the water heater in the one-room apartment I barely make rent for sometimes so I have to take a shower boiling water on my stove. But I digress.

I’ll admit that joints like Outkast’s “Hollywood Divorce” (particularly the verse of everyone’s favorite Muppet) and Rich Boy’s “Lost Ones” are incredible songs that truly showcase the abilities of Southern music. And Waitin’ To Inhale is probably the best rap album of 2007 so far. Yet once someone mentions that a song such as Lil Boosie’s Zoom” (who had the funniest Wikipedia entry of all time) is a shitty-ass song (and let’s be honest, it is), random-ass people from the most random-ass cities in the South will jump down your throat without hesitation.

Seriously though, I love the South’s unwavering dedication to and loyalty for their own kindred, and contrary to how my blogging brother from another mother SY Young feels, they are not responsible for hip-hop currently sucking balls. While the East (north?) and West continually bitch and fight like a wounded ex-girlfriend, it’s the South’s unique unity that keeps them relevant and subsequently running shit. Alas, it’s that same blind faith which has foolishly convinced them that they can’t get shot off their high horse. Perhaps when their inevitable fall from grace occurs southerners will finally fess up to their follies. But we should all respect them at the very least for keeping the flames of hip-hop lit. I may be a biased asshole, but I can at least give credit where credit is due.

P.S.: Maybe when I’m inspired I’ll do something about how Sunny Bridges is the greatest Southern rapper alive. But only if he finally quits that Vaudeville Villain shit.

35 Comments             

Fuck Russell Simmons

A while back I stated that Def Jam Records has become the new artist’s graveyard where their own former platinum-selling artists couldn’t hope to have their album released before the Iraq war ends, much less sell 100,000 copies. Thinking about how hard they fell off (pause), I wonder if the label would be going through the same shit had rap’s original tall Israeli Russell Simmons[1] hadn’t sold it off to support his Chinky giraffe[2] ex-wife’s weed habit.

Not that I wasn’t a fan of Russell’s earlier work. If it weren’t for him, my hip-hop knowledge probably would have started and stopped at Please, Hammer, Don’t Hurt ‘Em. Hell, he even convinced me to blindly purchase two DJ Clue? albums and The Art Of Storytellin’, and those shits stink to high Hell.

But you had to think that something was fishy when he tried pushing off a whole shitload of failed products to poison the hip-hop crowd. I mean, the early-90s horrorcore shit, fake energy soda and debit card were one thing, but when he tried to steal his own diamond mine by employing the students in Oprah’s fake school in South Africa, I knew something was fucked up about him.

I guess it also doesn’t help that a guy doing yoga in hip-hop = kinda quasi-homosexual. But I digress.

I don’t know about you, but I’ve never bought into any of his glorified bullshit. And now the OG TI is taking the very entity he made his millions off of (not to mention the First Amendment) to task, joining up with Mr. Hymietown and Sweet Daddy Grace and calling for record labels and radio stations to eliminate the words “bitch,” “hoe” and the dreaded n-word from songs. But much like Calvin’s paper-mâché excuse that rappers can call women nappy-headed hoes but grumpy old cracka-ass crackas can’t, the whole thing reeks of hypocritical bullshit. Unless you’re one of those rich chumps who can afford to fuck off $10 a month just to hear Tony Yayo on satellite radio boast about the next kid he’s gonna slap through a wall, most if not all radio stations are required to bleep those words out. And record labels also put out clean versions of albums as well.

The real reason Rush is pulling this shit is because he obviously isn’t making any money in his other failed ventures, what with Phat Farm clothing being sold in Burlington Coat Factory outlet stores across the nation, and needs a reason to get back in rap. But now that albums are selling as if they came with The Germ that could be his dumbest idea ever.

[1] I know he’s not really an Israeli, but follow me.

[2] They don't call it the world's most accurate website for nothing!

34 Comments             

P.A.W.G.s Are The New Maybachs

Did anybody else remember (or care) that last month was Women’s History Month? Neither did I, but you have to admit, women have taken large steps towards equality and rights, thus finally allowing men to yoke them for child support for a change. Word to K-Fed.

But whereas most women are stepping their games up, black women just can’t seem to get it together in music [1]. Never mind the staggering decrease in women in the rap game that aren’t shining some random-ass weed carrier’s knob for a few seconds of camera time and a chain; there just haven’t been any (good) female rappers since, say, the days of “Buddy.” Whether it’s Lil’ Kim too busy gorging on White Castle burgers since her prison break a while back to make an album or Foxy Brown going all Usagi Yojimbo on manicurists, shoe salesmen and belt pushers, black women in rap aren’t destined to make it any time soon. Hell, even Young Jeezy isn’t looking towards black women anymore, instead scooping up the finest in black man’s kryptonite in order to support his crack carriers’ new album.

This type of apathy is slowly starting to stretch into R&B music as well. Outside of maybe Ciara (who’s clearly a rip-off of Aaliyah), there haven’t been any groundbreaking women singers in the past five years [2].

And while black women can’t seem to catch a break in black music, most recently white women are the ones breathing a new life into the dying genre. Last year, Christina Aguilera went and grabbed DJ Premier out of whatever YMCA he spins at for her new album, while fellow former Kids Incorporated cast member and meth-head Fergie went platinum with her “white chick in a black (multicultural?) band” shtick. Even paleface UK imports Lily Allen, Joss Stone and Amy Winehouse are doing more for black music than Keyshia Cole, Rihanna and the leftover broad from Destiny’s Child (you know who I’m talking about) ever did [3].

Where does that leave black women? Well, unless they’re pulling an Oscar out of their ass, I’m not expecting them to convince me to illegally download their album anytime soon [4].

[1] What was the last female rap album to come out? Somebody enlighten me.

[2] I swear I thought about this for a good five minutes, and I couldn’t think of anything outside of Cherish and Brooke Valentine. And “neo-soul” artists don’t count.

[3] Extra props go out to Joss for banging Raphael Saadiq for a few beats. Pause.

[4] More props goes to my twin sister who finally landed a job that’ll actually require the usage of her law degree. Nappy-headed hoes, take note.

16 Comments             

G-Unit Lost

While the humps who frequent this site were busy threatening to kick my ass because I refused to acknowledge that their beloved Mr. Snuffleupagus could rap his way out of the lost city of Atlantis and into my heart, news hit that not only one but two of G-Unit’s finest piff pocketers, Tony Yayo and Spider Loc, were involved in separate random-ass shootings on the same day. While I found it to be the funniest thing I’ve seen since that YouTube clip of The Game’s brother getting ethered for bringing a Crip into Compton (which has got to be the dumbest idea evar), it was pretty low for Jimmy Henchman to pull that off.

You did have to question though how long it would take before there was some kind of comeuppance for G-Unit. I mean, Fiddy himself has been responsible for having a lot a careers stall out (read: taking food out of the mouths of Ja Rule’s 18 kids) to pacify his BALCO-induced desires. Fat Joe had to escape to Miami and get in bed with his Muslim DJ The Great Khali in hopes that he can sell a few more records after Curtis put hands on him. And not only did Tony Yayo Dragon Punch Jimmy’s kid for wearing the wrong t-shirt, but he also shot up fellow Aftermath ganja holder Busta Rhymes’ bling handler because he wouldn’t let him wear one of Spliff Star’s chains for that “Touch It” video.

Note: shooting a weed carrier’s weed carrier = wrong on so many levels. Not to mention a complete waste of bullets.

Shit, when I worked the Vibe Awards a few years back, I think Yayo himself was holding the guy that polished his knuckle game on Dr. Dre’s face while Young Buck damn near sporked him to death. I’m just saying.

Most importantly, it shows that the G-Unit dynasty will never be as strong as it once was. With their records selling as if they came pre-packaged with AIDS, everyone from Dip Set third-tier goons to Black Wall Street door openers are throwing rocks at their throne.

My only pang, however, is going after somebody’s mother. I may be a crass, nihilistic asshole, but even I think that shooting up your rival’s mother’s house is fucked the fuck up. But at the same time, what is she doing still living in one of the roughest ‘hoods in New York? Did Fiddy take all the royalties from “So Seductive” or something?

It was never a good idea for G-Unit to go up against Jimmy Henchman in the first place. Not only are Haitians some of the most hardbody people evar, but Jimmy himself ran with Haitian Jack back in the day, and he was the jig that got 2Pac shot the fuck up in 1994.

The obvious next step is the imminent response that’s gonna come from G-Unit. Perhaps they can actually get good mileage out of Ballerina P and get him to cut a rug with Game, Yu-Gi-Oh!-style. Things have gotten so bad over there that Havoc and Lil’ Fame are forced to produce tracks for Styles P. and Cam’Ron just to keep their lights on.

86 Comments             

Lil Wayne = G.O.A.T.

A while back when I wrote a piece on this site proclaiming that the Notorious B.I.G. was the greatest rapper of all time, I had no idea that the army of stans on this small section of the Internets would be up in arms over it. In between the subsequent name-calling and long-winded diatribes, two of the most names most frequently brought up were former Humpty-Hump cheeba stasher Tupac Shakur and current Katrina refugee Lil Wayne.

Now while I have no qualms admitting that Makaveli was one of the most influential lyricists of our generation, I more or less have a love-hate relationship with Weezy F. Baby, not unlike my sometimes-unhealthy fascination with the Cam’Ron and the Dip Set (um, pause?), because I’m a masochist like that. But I haven’t been convinced that Wayne is even the best rapper with a seventh grade education.

At times, he can be a pretty exciting guy (pause?). With the influx of rappers who obviously were taken off their mother’s breast milk too early, it’s nice to see a rapper - albeit a southern one nonetheless - attempt to bring back a lyrical sense in a vapid arena. And he does hold a decent grasp of the English dictionary, which is particularly impressive from someone who comes from one of the more ass-backward states in the nation. And that “I’ll leave you missing like the fucking O’Bannons” line was pretty clean.

However, I’m not convinced that anybody who comes from the land of broken levees and Confederate flags could bring anything innovative outside of world-class strip clubs (what up Strokers!) and glamorized braces made from the tendons of South African orphans, much less someone who used to run with a smack fiend and has a quasi-homosexual relationship with his surrogate father. Wayne and Baby look like the type that rock those Muppet pajamas with the footies while fighting over who gets to sleep on the top bunk. That “Leather So Soft” shit was just wrong for all the wrong reasons. Plus, throwing a shitload of halfway-legible quotables on a barrage of mixtapes doesn’t strike me as “impressive.” Word to Jadakiss.

Granted, the South may currently be responsible for the greatest rap song evar, but it’ll take more than a random-ass mixtape or guest appearance on a chubby Arab DJ's new single to compel me to believe that Lil Wayne is the best rapper breathing [1]. The primary detractor is that he’s been unable to make a complete album. But the fruity, skin-tight v-neck muscle shirts don’t do it for me either.

[1] Especially with songs like this.

509 Comments             

Def Jam Is The New Koch

It doesn’t take a genius to directly correlate the lagging sales of hip-hop music to the simple fact that the music sucks balls. But now it's gotten to the point where it's so shitty that I won't even listen to my old joints anymore. I never imagined that Amy Winehouse’s Back In Black would get more spins nowadays in my iPod than Illmatic, which is my favorite rap album evar.

It’s easy to throw the blame on the artists’ willingness to make a whole shitload of crap tracks so they can break even. But in their defense, some of them don’t even want to make the shit they end up releasing. Whether it’s shitty rappers signing deals on a regular basis or the pressure of making a club jam the TIs force on them, rappers signing to a major label may not be that pot at the end of the rainbow everyone once perceived it to be.

Back before I realized that stealing tapes from the local Circuit City was a lot cheaper than buying them, I used to look forward to record releases. Off the top of my head I can think of at least six separate instances where I had to buy Only Built For Cuban Linx... when that shit was borrowed and never returned back by random-ass friends. Nowadays I can’t tell you the last time I actually bought an album because I don’t remember. I think it was Hell Hath No Fury, but I haven’t played that shit in months.

There was once a time where every rapper wanted to sign to Def Jam Records because every album they dropped went platinum off the gate (DJ Clue? did it twice. WTF?). Now with Grandpa Simpson running things into the ground over there, your favorite artist can’t even hope to have their album released within six years, much less sell over 100,000 copies. When a rapper’s ringtone sells more than his own album, you know something is seriously fucked the fuck up over there. Is it any wonder that more and more artists choose to go to Koch, where 50,000 will get them the key to the executive washroom?

I think it’s wrong to solely accuse all the artists of creating these botched abortions that plague the radio and television everyday. With more and more albums going plastic wood grain, the pressure is not only on them to at the very least go gold, but also on the TIs to miraculously squeeze blood out of a turnip to recoup their losses. Sure, we can blame all the file-sharing fucks that flood the message boards with new joints weeks before they arrive in stores, but bootlegging has been around since Amistád. Plus, nobody on those things is telling these rappers that “Lip Gloss” is some hot shit.

21 Comments             

One Day It’ll All Make Sense

I guess that in between all the hoopla from the Korean student that ethered the Virginia Tech campus because they took the Dance Dance Revolution out of the school arcade and Jay-Z planning to ditch his BFF LA Reid at Def Jam for Beyoncé and Joe Jackson Jr., nobody seemed to notice that police claim to have found the murderer of Run DMC's Jam Master Jay.While the jig implicated is probably receiving dry butt service from his inmate as you probably read this shit (pause), you have to assume if charging a guy already in prison is nothing more than giving up on a murder you and I know will never be solved while the real killer still runs free.

Like most people, I was a bit sad when I heard the news that Jay died (it also didn’t help that I had lost a close friend and a cousin the week before). But like most people, I started to not give a shit when I saw Reverend Run’s bitch-ass son crying over a game of bowling on MTV a few years later. I’m pretty sure if Jay were around, he’d have probably slapped the shit out of him. But I digress.

I had hoped that finding his killer (albeit someone who’s already in prison) would perhaps shed some light on an altogether tragic trend in hip-hop where both rappers and piff pocketers alike are getting their proverbial kufis popped off, or even show some proof that the police don’t spend their entire day killing random-ass immigrants. But as it turns out, the feds are also planning on indicting a bunch of rappers in the coming months for their roles in violent acts. While this may sound like good news to parents who fear that their children will get slapped up or shot by Tony Yayo on their way to school, you have to wonder if this is just another mark on the long list of vendettas cops have against rappers.

Not that I wouldn’t mind, of course. With rappers getting nothing more than slaps on the wrists for doing shit you and I would get years for in the pen (read: lots and lots of dry butt sex. Pause.), you have to wonder how far they would push it before finally facing the possibility of being used as currency in Rikers. I’m pretty sure I couldn’t get away with peeing on a teenager going on five years now. And now that emperor of black people Al Sharpton plans on holding his own witch-hunt on rappers who use the term “nappy-headed hoes” in their lyrics, it’s only a matter of time before police don’t even need a legitimate reason to start molly whopping the average Joe. Wait a minute...

9 Comments             

It Ain’t Right, But It’s OK

Looking back at Snoop Dogg’s gelastic explanation last week that rappers can call women nappy-headed hoes as long as it’s relevant to the minds and souls of said rapper, it got me thinking about the all-too-blatant double standard that plagues society today. I mean, on any given Sunday in or around my city you can drive around and see Tyrone or Shaquita walking hand in hand with some random-ass Thaddeus or Susie, while LaToya and Craig look on in disgust.

Now, I’m all for interracial relationships. Not to get on a soapbox or anything, but it’s living proof that after thousands of centuries of gang rapes from white slave owners, we are finally beginning to live the dream of African-American scholar Rodney King’s where blacks and whites are getting along without crashing a cinder block over one another’s heads. Besides, if black people are having trouble remaining faithful to one another (don’t front), who’s to say they won’t find love in the freckled arms of some red-headed, blue-eyed cracka-ass cracka?

The obvious downside, of course, is the backlash black people (and by people I mean men) get when they get the balls to bring their white mates into the public eye. All too many times have I seen black women roll their eyes when they see their beloved black kings holding hands with some random-ass P.A.W.G., as if they’ve committed the most heinous crime this side of lynching, which is just wrong. However, when a movie like Something New comes out, it’s perfectly fine for a black woman to get banged by the first Crocodile Dundee-looking cracka that happens to look past their weave. Huh?!

I too have been an unfortunate victim of the double standard. Every once in a while at my job I’ll get to see, and at times chitchat with, a hot white chick. But alas, I simply don’t have the balls to ask any of them out on a date for the plain fact that I’m scared of being “ostracized” by the black female community as a cracka-loving sell-out. However, when I was in New York last summer hanging out with some of my twin sister’s fine-ass female friends, they all agreed it was perfectly fine for a “sista” to get up on some corn-fed, lumberjack-looking cracka-ass cracka. What’s up with that?

I think we all should agree that is possible for men and women to find love in anyone, whether it’s someone that resembles Mr. April in the latest Alayé calendar (Pause!) or if they look like the principles in that Mighty Casey video. But women, stop looking at black men with white chicks as if it they just committed one of the seven deadly sins. I mean it’s not like they’re your boyfriends.

17 Comments             

Snoop Dogg, Voice Of The Black People

Not to beat a dead horse or anything (as I had planned on posting an insightful piece on white women and black music instead), but the uproar over recently fired cracka-ass geezer Don Imus over his "racially charged" comments about the Rutgers women's basketball team has sent the black community into a tizzy. Me personally, I found the shits to be hilarious, but apparently I'm the only one, as Al "Sweet Daddy Grace" Sharpton and Jesse "Hymietown" Jackson have already marched and bitched about it, and now hip-hop role model Snoop Dogg has jumped into the fray.

To wit:

"Kick him off the air forever," he added. "Ban him like they did [Adam] 'Pacman" Jones. They kicked him out the [National Football] League for the whole season [for numerous violations of the NFL's personal-conduct policy, including multiple arrests], but this punk gets to get on the air and call black women 'nappy-headed hoes.'"

First off, it should be noted that calling black women hoes > slapping a stripper and shooting a bouncer. I'm just saying.

Anyways, not to say I'm a shining beacon of moral wholesomeness (partly because I've already told a couple of wetback jokes to my Latino co-workers a good five minutes ago), but wouldn't this be the proverbial pot calling the kettle black or something? My first introduction to Calvin was way the fuck back in 1992 when I saw him in that video that had some random jig pull down that one girl's bikini top during a volleyball game and another chick sprayed with Old English while he rapped about tea-bagging Uncle Luke [1]. Pause. Is it any wonder I eventually turned to a life of crime five years later? MC Hammer wasn't teaching me this shit!

But I digress. So what does Calvin have to say about the critics that compared Imus' comments to his own from, say, the past 15 years?

"[Rappers] are not talking about no collegiate basketball girls who have made it to the next level in education and sports. We're talking about hoes that's in the 'hood that ain't doing shit, that's trying to get a nigga for his money. These are two separate things. First of all, we ain't no old-ass white men that sit up on MSNBC going hard on black girls. We are rappers that have these songs coming from our minds and souls that are relevant to what we feel. I will not let them muthafuckas say we in the same league as him."

Oh really?

I thought this smelled of bullshit, as perhaps another way of appealing to the community and court system, as yet another way to avoid a prison sentence (read: butt sex. Pause.), what with Snoop catching cases almost every other week. Then I read that Snoop has a new album coming out soon, so this is obviously a ploy to reel in the bitches to buy his latest shit sammich, which is just wrong on so many levels.

[1] I think I’m getting the three mixed up, but follow me.

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Why Dark-Skinned Women Won’t Make It

Now while I don't necessarily agree with what he said (though that shit was funny), in light of the recent turn of events due to the ruckus one Don Imus caused when he referred to one Rutgers women's basketball team as "nappy-headed hoes [1]", I do believe that in his own hilariously fucked up way he implied out loud what most men (myself included) have been unconsciously trained to think since the dawn of bleaching cream: darker-skinned women aren't as desirable as their lighter counterparts.

But that pretty much goes without saying. For years black women have essentially been tricked by their cracka-ass oppressors that, for the most part, if you're not the color of a yellow highlighter, the opportunities to shine your favorite rapper's weed carrier's balls come few and in between. Pause. Why else do you see many of them straightening their hair, and in some freakish cases, upgrading their skin tone from an asphalt complexion to one that is more jaundice-like?

Part of the reason could pertain to the tall Israelis brainwashing the black community into believing that if you don't look resemble a ghoul you won't be able to make it in this society. Obviously aware of the inherited whiteness that comes from centuries of gang rapes from their white slave owners, the TIs have made it a point to establish the lighter black woman as the dominant female throughout almost all forms of media. I mean, you really don't see too many women my complexion (which can be desribed as somewhere between 12:38 a.m. and 3:47 a.m.) winning Oscars or at least getting doused with expensive champagne in music videos now, do you?

And it's not like this didn't affect black men as well. There was once a time where if our skin didn't resemble Al. B. Sure's or Prince's, we had about as much a chance bagging a woman we had landing a non-janitorial job at a top-5 law firm. That was until, of course, women realized that dark-skinned men have larger johnsons. Pause.

And now desirable darker-themed women are becoming even more of an endangered species, what with more cracka-ass females taking a liking to - and eventually adapting - the black woman's voluptuous shape (read: P.A.W.Gs). As if being the black man's kryptonite wasn't dangerous enough already.

[1] Though in his defense, I saw the Rutgers team's press conference on SportsCenter the other night. Yikes!

21 Comments             

Is Rap Music Bad For Kids?

Way the fuck back when I graduated from high school with a staggering G.P.A. of 2.01, I got arrested for stealing about $300 worth of tapes and movies from the local Sam Goody at the mall that same summer [1]. While leading the store clerk, mall security and police on a forty-minute foot chase throughout Long Beach, I realized two things:

1) You really can't outrun the cops, no matter what rappers tell you.

2) The whole time I was running, I had Only Built For Cuban Linx... on repeat in my Walkman.

Even back then I had to wonder if the music I was procuring was worth the hiding in department store fitting rooms, and if said music was inherently convincing me that I was the Teflon Don reincarnated (and apparently I wasn't, as my parents reminded me throughout the rest of the summer that you're never too old to catch an ass-whooping). And it seems to be getting worse as time (and shitloads of awful rap music) progresses.

Last week, four fifth grade students were arrested in Louisiana last week for having an orgy in their classroom after their teacher had left the room while one acted as a lookout. Biased asshole that I am, you have to assume that all of the lucky participants in the session come from households whose parents watch episodes of The Wire with their kids. And yesterday Tennessee Titans cornerback Adam "Pacman" Jones was suspended for the entire NFL 2007 season for violating its presonal conduct policy ten different times since 2005, most recently slapping a stripper to the floor and getting a bouncer shot afer making it rain $81,000 in a Las Vegas titty bar during this year's NBA All-Star Weekend.

It's easy to throw the blame on poor parental upbringing and "hard times" on all the scenarios. But in my defense, both my parents are pretty well-off and my grades and attitude didn't go down the shitter until around the time my oldest sister put me on to Ready To Die. With more rap songs centered on misogyny, violence and drug runs being played on the radio more than ever, you have to wonder if the shit will have long-term effects on the so-called "future of America."

To paraphrase Ol' Dirty Bastard, maybe rap music isn't for the children.

[1] I should have been caught too, what with me snatching, among others, such classics as the Fu-Schnickens, that Kris Kross album where the darker jig had lost all his hair to cancer and Shaquille O'Neal's You Can't Stop The Reign.

19 Comments             

Barack vs. Hilary: An inside look at 2008’s Democratic nominees.

Now before I get into this thing, I'd like to say that I don't personally follow politics, nor do i really give two shits about it. I find it much more fulfilling pulling ingown hairs out of my chest than catching up on American affairs. In 2000 (my first year of eligibility), I voted for Bill Clinton's weed carrier, only to see him lose due to a variety of bullshit, and in 2004 I voted for the Heinz ketchup (catsup?) pimp, only to see him fall via the same bullshit. Needless to say, I could give a shit about who runs this country since we're all screwed no matter who does [1].

However, the upcoming 2008 presidential race has the potential to be the most interesting - and quite possibly important - one to happen [2], what with two potential candidates vying to be the first non-white male to capture the title. So I thought I'd throw my two cents into the mix.

I didn't know much of Barack (or Barry, if you will) Obama outside the fact that he's, well, a Halfrican in the U.S. Senate who used to do blow and weed back in the day. Granted, his keynote address at the 2004 Democratic National Convention warmed over a lot of palefaces (as well as convinced them that he's about as harmless as a Life Saver) and threw his name out there more prevalently, but honestly I was too busy pushing off pots & pans at Macy's to really care at the time. So a quick Wikipedia search tells me that he was born to a Kenyan father & white mother [3], raised some ruckus in his "home country" & did some business with an extortionist in Illinois.

Sounds like my kinda guy (no T-Pain)!

Meanwhile, Hilary has always been known as the prototype for ride-or-die chicks (what with Bill too busy tea-bagging fat, ugly whores all day long while reducing the national debt), and she rode that wave ino being elected Senator of New York, a position she's held since 2000. She's curr