• » Name: Meka Soul
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Slap-Boxing With Jesus

Another Day, Another Rock The Bells

I’ve never been to Denver. I don’t even know what the fluck a Denver is. I’ve not heard of any form of rap from there, and I tend to get Denver mixed up with Utah for some reason. Seriously, the only way I decipher Utah from Denver is that in Utah you can have a harem of dust bunnies, while Denver you can’t breathe because of the elevation. And I think that’s the same place where Kobe dry-reamed that YT a few years ago also.

Whatever the case is, I won’t spend too much time rambling about wild nothing, because by the time you goobacks read this shit I’ll likely be some 30,000 feet (legally, that is) on my way to the Mile-High City to partake in another round of this hip-hop shit called Rock The Bells. Since I’ve never been to Colorado, I’ll admit I’m more excited about being in a relatively new world. Plans to try to partake in some of that viva la white girl McLovin’ is out of the question thanks to Mr. Bryant ruining that for Black men the same way Robert Sylvester ruined our inherent fantasies of mating with a nubile high school senior.

Don’t front.

In any matter I saw a good chunk of the show during my last excursion, so chances are that I’ll likely be scoping the scenery and perhaps trying to find a bedmate for the weekend instead. At the very least it’ll provide me with an escape from the random acts of fuckery going on in hip-hop. Rappers squabbling over a game of Madden is what’s popping in the streets now? That’s about as gully as Lamar from Revenge Of The Nerds.

You may not know it, but it’s festivals like these that keep the balance of hip-hop in check. Granted, you won’t see Rakim hit the 106 & Park stage any time soon, but fans still are able to see one of rap’s finest still rip shit like he’s bringing ’88 back. Or check out the antics of Tyga over on the second stage, if you’re bitchmade like that.

As usual I invite any and everybody to stop by the booth, or just be on the lookout for the self-proclaimed bad guys hawking cheaply-produced garbs and passing out free CDs at some nondescript booth full of meatheads, myself included. As always, the opportunity to be berated is always available, and I’m more than willing to oblige. And yes ladies, I am still single for those who are crazy enough to try out a Nigerian on a blogger’s salary.

L’chaim bitches.

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