• » Name: Meka Soul
• » Location: Los Angeles, CA
• » Member Since: 04/09/07
• » Bio: Providing clarity in hip-hop since 1981.
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Slap-Boxing With Jesus

Legends Of The Fall-Offs

It’s a known fact I talk all kinds of wild reckless here, and for the most part it’s with all good reason: being a journalist, one is subject to the many rules, whether grammatical or ethical, and thus is always limited from fully speaking their minds most times. I’ve done a fair share of interviews, album reviews and random-ass shit where I’ve had to leave on the safety, and – barring some random-ass-but-not-unforeseen circumstances – for the most part I’m free to say what I want and how I want to say it here.

Unless I talk about Jews in a not-so-positive manner. Those people just can’t seem to take a joke sometimes, I swear.

At the very least, readers here should be happy I write all kinds of nonsense – like most religious writings – and I’m not getting paid for it like any number of slores who’s came out with a book over the past few years. Not to say that if women spent more time in the kitchen and less time doing dumbass YouTubes of anal beads and such the world would be a better place, I’m just saying.

I’m kidding, of course. I’m not that misogynistic anymore (Right, Shay?).

Besides, I talk shit because I’m nothing more than a freelancing quasi-hermit who isn’t even sure if I’ll have a crib to call my own in the next three days thanks to Washington Mutual going belly up, and getting money the Ski Mask Way is something that isn’t my style… or at least anymore it isn’t. And thanks to the combination of both a rapidly increasing gentrification rate and decreasing dollar value I probably wouldn’t be able to squat over at Sedgwick and Cedar, especially now that the legendary home of hip-hop is being sold off, presumably to the same Yiddish folk I can’t talk about without incurring the wrath of Tetragrammaton over here.

Capitalism is a helluva drug.

Is it any wonder why the women of hip-hop have to resort to tawdry tactics to make a buck sometimes? Hell, I may have get up on my rap chick secks game as well, so I can go ask my sister’s roommate if she can hook me up with a deal with Harper-Collins. Although I’m aware of the vicious sexual double-standard between men and women, I honestly think that with my above-average prose I can put together even the finest of tales that could land me the same opportunities other slorefathers before me have gotten. But knowing my luck – as well as the fact that I’m Black so it’s automatic – half my checks would be garnished to fund the candle budget for the junta of Jew mongers’ annual Hanukkah celebration.

The moral of this story? Some tall Israeli is running this rap shit.

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