Reprisentative Blackie has the floor.

Love Big Mike.

Fuck Steve Harvey

Anyone notice there's no musical satanic arch nemesis to conservative America anymore? Is there nothing the unclean haven't tainted? Oh the children! The children! Lets barricade ourselves in our churches and self immolate as a protest for common decency.

15 years ago mainstream musicians stopped trying to schlockily piss off parents and decided to see who could be the queen of tacky. The only shock now is how low they stoop. The amorphous incest party that is mainstream music repository will finally sink down the drain as it has been doing for the last 60 years.

The good thing is that unlike the 90's music as weak sauce as today's pop rock landfill will never be blamed for a mass murder. As we all know the really good shit is on the Internet.

A band so awesome it'll never end up on TV.

 The bad thing is nothing truly shocking would ever make it to music television channels even if music was still played on television. So in the interest of spicing up inter-generational relations here's some music to play in your moms minivan in front of the middle school. Keep up the good fight!

- A stack full of amplifiers and a heart full of hate
- Turtle power!
- Putting the "ass" in "assassin"

Love Big Mike.

Jeff...part 1/10

I can never really decide if the world if the world is a big place or not. Under some circumstances, it is easy to make the revelation that all human beings, and the cultures in which we create, how somehow similar after breaking down the aspects on them. Under all remaining circumstances, however, things are so alien on the same level in which they are similar, that it seems obvious that everyone is cut from different cloths. Everyone is very, very far apart. 

Now, don't get me wrong. Don't mistake me for some pseudo intellectual or some shit just because a mother fucker has a vocabulary past your average chump. I've seen my fair share of shit. I've done some things. Not that I'm trying to impress you. Mother fucker. I just really want to get my incredibly unnoticed and significant story across to you cunts so that you can worship me like the god that I'm not. Or whatever.

...

Chicago. Late 1940's early 1950's or whenever. An asshole is born. Said asshole is one who would, in his apex, either;

A. Rule the world

B. Invent the cellphone

C. Take a crap on a sidewalk a couple of times.

This choice C. fella would end up growing up in a neighborhood full of brothers, and end up having a full time job by the fucking time he was six GOD DAMN years old, emphasis intended. I am bored already.

"Nigga you dumb." My man Terrence shouted aloud, taking another hit off the joint. His eyes squinting, rolling around a bit, then coming back to what I guess would be this brother's version of normal would be. He exhales

"Nigga you so dumb, all dem dumb niggas be niggin about how dumb," takes another hit, holds it in, points at me with full lungs and a distored voice "dis nigga be." He exhales. I looked at him with less disdain and more confusion.

"What are you talking about?" I took the joint from him. Creaks being heard in the ceiling of his shitty studio apartment.

"That gay shit you sayin. Sayin you in love and shit." I told the joint away from him, or at least tried, only to realize I already had it.

"Man, shut the fuck up. Also, why are we standing in your god damn, smelly ass, cockroach infested shit hole kitchen, when we could be sitting in your god damn, smelly ass, cockroach infested shit hole kitchen, on your smelly whatever couch?" I stopped and thought about nothing for a second.

"H..ha...h..you said kitchen. Ha, nigga, there aint two kitchens. H..ha. Haha! We both started laughing hysterically, falling over. He into his stove, and I stumbling through said kitchen, onto his couch, which resided in his god damn, smelly ass, cockroach infested shit hole kitchen. Couch. Damn it. After another solid minute or twelve of laughter that could drive a monk to slit his wrists, he joined me on his couch. He looked for joint, only to realized he had lost it, and let it burn itself out.

"My man, all fucking around aside. That is some serious shit you talking about. Then what? Marriage. Shithead kids? Black lacquer counter tops? Boring ass, 9-5 job in an office callin some chump ass nigga 'boss' and 'sir'? Nah. Fuck, that. Fuck that SHIT. Nigga you dumb." I rolled my eyes.

"Man, the fuck I ever say about marrying the bitch? I love her, don't want to marry her. Yeah, I get it man. That whole shit would be as dumb as your black ass."

"Nigga shut your cracka ass right the fuck up. She got her self that fine, FINE, ass, hit it. Buy a bitch some flowers, take her to that new movie about white people doing whatever boring ass shit you devils do. But love? That, real love, denotes real fucking shit right there." He magically had a new, lit joint in his hand. I took it from him. I hit it. Remained in deep though. Hit it again. And continued to remain in deep though. 

"Damn, man."

"Yeah my man. Damn."

That night me and Shelby went and saw a movie that would turn into quite the classic. She was upset when my interest in a more serious situation waned. I tried to explain, and she wouldnt listen. What we've got here is a failure to communicate.

The Cold Hearted Efficiency Of Non-Lubed Masturbation

The evening is chilly, and alas! I am filled with spaghetti.

I could not use the picture generator I normally use. I do not know why it wouldn't work. God Damn it.

Anyways, I am working on a new story. It will be good. I have spoken.

That is all.




Also, ever notice how the black characters in very dramatic shows tend to die in the length of just one season? Yeah...