"We find the defendant [Robert Kelly] not guilty of all charges and counts therein.” – A jury of his peers
It’s 7 o’clock in the morning and the rays from the sun wake me.
Yesterday was Father’s Day, that special Sunday in June I usually completely forget. In the hood, most of us try to reflect on good-for-nothing, sack-of-shit skeet-and-run artists we’ve never known. R. Kelly got to reminisce on the good old days when he could drink a gallon of water, wait 20 minutes and have the booty-butt naked 8th grader in his den come upstairs and ask “Daddy” for help in the “shower.”
Sheeeeeit! These CNN talking heads crossed swords and busted two nuts apiece watching that sex tape. They say what they will about it being blurry... and all black people looking alike, but they loved every “disgusting” minute of it.
(Continue reading "XXLMag.com Negro Please: R. Kelly Walks?!")
As the sun sets on a Hall of Fame career capped off with the sweetest of cherries, true and loyal Giant fans reflect and appreciate a nigga who often appeared lager than life.
Thanks for everything and good luck, big homie. We finally got that championship together. We'll always love you.
We told you about messin wit' them white girls.
“I don’t drink alcohol. I never did like the taste of it… I’mma be the dude in the club drinking the most sweetest drink just ‘cause I care about what it tastes like. I feel you have to be a certain high or on a certain level to not even care what something tastes like and I don’t get to that point. Other than that, music’s my drug… I am the ultimate high… I could just look in the mirror or just cut on one of my songs or anything. I just feel myself. Look at me, you know? Yeah.” –Lil’ Wayne,BET’s Blueprint.
The above quotation is in response to Big Tigger asking Lil’ Weeziana about his “relationship with drugs and alcohol.” Strangely enough, Dr. Carter’s safe negro rhetoric comes long after his said “relationship” with the hot white girl has been put out there worse than Landon [Bobby, jr.] Brown’s.
Come on. We family, right XXL? Everybody here got a cousin or an auntie or a pops on that shit. Dwayne’s been crying out for help on record for years now. Nigga got the interview fodder to match. We gotta call bullshit when he goes on national TV trying to tell us we ain’t seen what we done saw and heard what we done heard.
It’s always the farthest-gone case that’ll try to slap that on that Vaseline, that one cheap-ass suit they got from the African spot, NOT shower, throw on that Mary J. Blige shit and tell you he won’t change his life. His life’s just fine.
Since Wayne’s got some change, he can try to cover it up with a bathing ape and some jewelry. Oh, and tattoos. Lots and lots of tattoos.
“You could fuck up a man’s happy home. It might be one of them dudes you talk about in the book that wears his boxers on backwards every damn day, getting hit in the ass, but he probably still got a wife and kids and you might fuck up his life.” -Yung Berg, SOHH.com
If you go to Big Green, you’ve more than likely seen this video plastered in the background of whatever you were actually there to ingest. Terrence “Superhead” Dean’s new tell-all “Hiding in Hip-Hop…” has obviously ruffled some feathers in our beloved, hallowed rap game.
In a rapper fried rice panel discussion Nelly, David Banner, Chingy and our winner, Yung Berg all give their thoughts on the book and its potential repercussion.
(Continue reading "XXLMag.com Negro Please: Yung Berg's Backward Boxers")
“When you get married, you’re forced to drink the milk long after it’s spoiled.” – Kimora Lee [Simmons?], GIANT Magazine
Hmmmm. I guess if you ask Russell to buy a gallon of rare and priceless African gorilla milk, you’d best be drinkin that shit before the expiration date.
So… Kimora’s calling Russell the spoiled milk? While he admittedly looks like some shit that just hatched a few minutes ago, there’s no excuse for that level of disrespect. Not only did this man put you on his meal plan like a mmmmmotherfucker, homie was already beginning to curdle when you started sippin.
“I watched one of Usher’s shows and he basically did my whole show. It was as if it was me on stage. The thing about it is, I love seeing that. It’s a compliment to me as a performer . . . I think you take parts of whoever is the hottest act of that era and you incorporate that into your own style. It’s just like taking buttermilk, eggs and corn meal, you whip it up bake it and you have cornbread.”
–Bobby Brown, Bobby Brown: The Truth and Nothing But The Truth…
You whip it up and you have cornbread? No Arm & Hammer? No slow simmer?
The Kang of R&B (rocks & blunts) gets the “Negro, Please” right off the bat for pretending he knows the recipe to anything other than that sweet base.
I bet he blamed the chicken, too.
I don't know. It's well-documented that Magic was pretty damn skanktastic back in them days. I wouldn't have been so eager to share in his chicken bounty before he sprayed his VD napalm all over the gym.
It's also no secret how I feel about Magic, though. If I had my way, the nigga would replace Colonel Sanders on the bucket.
...I'll even write a couple myself.
I'll be rocking at XXL on the daily. Here's the gracious on-site introduction from my new massa, Carl "Jackpot" Chery.
First of all I wanna thank my connect. The most important Haitian with all due respect.
Y'all don't think we puttin this little championship team together?
Negroes, please!
Thanks to all of you who've been keeping close this past year! All the downtime is finally about to be worth it.
...and the niggas actually chant "Kool-Aid" at the end!
This here ain't all hate. Good to see Escalade getting some work outside of the AND 1 tour. I know that nigga's in there. Only him and Oliver Miller are the only niggas alive who could through an alley-oop at that size.
I shouldn't be surprised that Kool-Aid would have the balls to take it here. I've watched their ad campaign descend slowly into the pit of blackberry molasses that is The Negro Channel's evening viewership. These niggas are unscrupulous.
For the past 20 years everyone's been pretty conscious about a certain white powder that ravaged the black community. Unfortunately crack took all of the heat when it should have shared some of that spotlight. The 5lb. bag of Domino sugar negroes mix into a quart of water hasn't gotten its due.
This Kool-Aid shit is almost single-handedly responsible for the BDP movement. No, I haven't finally lost my churros. Kool Aid didn't produce "The Bridge Is Over.""BDP" is our latest installment to the slanguistics glossary and stands for "Black Diabetes Pandemic."
If you don't believe me, I've spent countless hours in the lab and I've come up with the molecular formula for this sweet scourge of our people.
[(1 packet Kool-Aid + 1 5lb. bag sugar)/day] X [all your natural life] = BDP
Look at the commercial again. Pay particular attention to that poor little carjacker-to-be with the free-flowing 'fro.
Little niggas out here worship the Kool-Aid. I'm pleased with the fact that these youngsters universally ignore Al Sharpton, but we've gotta be a little more careful still who we designate as role models.
How these niggas gonna use Marlena Shaw's"California Soul" for a Dockers commercial featuring nothing but white people doing the least soulful shit imaginable?
I'm sure Marlena ain't complaining, but damn... Can we get a nigga pop-lockin' or something? The disparity in this ad is staggering.
What next? Paul Simon in a Popeye's commercial?
Nah, I ain't frontin on Uncle Paulie. But all my official, thorough-like hood niggas know Garfunkel kept him funky.
I think this and many articles like it are bullshit. They're usually based on bullshit studies by bullshit researchers. I found this one to be no different, and it made a world of sense when I discovered the name of the lead researcher. (Read the fourth paragraph, lazy negroes.)
Seriously. Who decided that homeboy should be regarded as a credible authority on relationships?
"Blah, blah, blah... Ugly niggas with chunky bankrolls... Blah, blah, blah..."
My opinion on the matter... Shit, don't women outnumber men like 1.5:1 or something?
There's just not enough quality pipe out there. Beyonces have to marry Jiggas.
It bees like that sometimes.
Click here to watch Sofia stumble through this shit like the oral section of the ESL Final Exam.
Word, Sofi? Cupholders? That's maybe because they haven't yet polled a Latina whose boyfriend makes her help him in the garage/weed spot he works at.
"Mariana... Traeme un.. un-- socket wrench!"
Her cupholder would be her son, Chucho.
I don't give a damn. I'd be on it like Tyrese in "Four Brothers." She can chase papi wherever she damn well pleases.
All the flavors of her love give you diabetes.
This is definitely what Mo'nique was talking about in "Charm School." Go out there and be somebody!
"Want some lip chap... on your African soupbone?"
Damn, Kennedy. How far we've fallen from MTV Spring Break.
I thought that $50,000 was gonna change her life. Didn't she say she wasn't gonna have to do this kind of shit anymore?
I guess that money was just enough to buy her freedom back from Goldie Mack. The rest obviously went to a bag of cush, a tub of bees wax, some Kool-Aid packets, "good" socks and booty shorts.
Diggin' the socks, though.
*head exploding*
Ingredients: chicken grease, red kool-aid, beeswax, man mustard, hot sauce
The shit's all-natural, bro.
P.S.: Red Grant will appear in your baby shower video for a plate.
Seriously... Little ghetto children across the planet.
This shit right here... This is why we practice our free throws.
We don't want some CBS Sports intern talking about you like Hatian refugees.
Such pity in his voice.
I can't totally blame Brother Jesse for Memphis' historic inability to hit free throws. He did what he does. I'm just saying if they wanted to introduce that group of impressionable black mens to an example of anti-recidivism... You know... Mr. Maury Show here ain't the man.
They need to introduce them kids to Peewee Kirkland or some shit.
Niggaball generally refers to a lack of fundamentals. Yes, it's true. We're big, fast as fuck and can jump out of the gym. Unfortunately, for this reason we skate by on talent and rhythm for as long as the environment or medium will allow.
Famous Niggaballers include but are by no means limited to: Hot Sauce; God Shammgod; Jason "White Chocolate" Williams; World B. Free; Duane Martin (in "Above The Rim"); Eli Manning; Stephon Marbury; His Bum-Ass Cousin; Darius Miles and Khalid El-Amin.
Homegirl read that shit like she was narrating a damn GED video, right?
Seriously, John Calipari. Who's knocking down the corner jumpers on your AND 1 Memphis Open Run team? When I looked up and down that bench and saw nothing but chocolate rain, I had a feeling they would meet their end this way.
Keep a white boy on the end of the bench. Even if he can't shoot, you can always toss him out there as a decoy.
Carry on my wayward sons.
I may have finally grown disenchanted enough with the "Flavor of Love" franchise to abstain from watching it even for the sake of recapping it.
But lightning strike my black ass if I ain't interested than a motherfucker in this:
Always great when we get a reminder that MY9 still got some UPN in 'em. The network has long since lost me in the sea of supernatural privileged white bitches with problems.
Actually, they lost me at "Homeboys in Outer Space." But respect to the network staying loyal to Flex and finally breaking him off with "One on One."
I'll bet that kid likes "Snakes on a Plane." He looks like Kel's hopelessly gay little brother they never talk about.
On the subject of siblings ne'er spoken of and network loyalty to Flex, pay special attentionwhen homie says"the show went a different direction." Translation: Flex caught the Judy Winslow, son.
Sorry. "One on One's" the best segue I got to "Under One Roof" straight-man, Kelly Perrine.
Okay, I'm kidding. It's the only segue I got to Kelly Perrine.
Sadly enough, this time around Kelly sounds like he's warning unsuspecting white people of imminent danger instead of pitching an exciting new sitcom.
Whoever wrote/developed/pitched this shit has to feel what Damon Wayans was feeling halfway through "Bamboozled."Kadeem Hardison don't feel shit but happy as hell that he came up on some work.
"I can't believe we got Kadeem Hardison!"
Crackheads tend to overvalue shit (i.e.: the PS3 you bought from one for $20). I guess Flavor can't tell, but Kadeem lookin hurt. Never more than now has it been so painfully obvious how badly this nigga fucked up lettin Chante Moore go to that light-skinned nigga Kenny Lattimore.
I guess if they worked with light-skinned Ron from "A Different World,"Dwayne Wayne's number is in that Rolodex somewhere. So UPN/my9 somehow couldn't find a way to squeese Marques Houston into this? Shit. That preemptively murders my hope to find Chris Brown toe-wopping about in an episode somewhere along the line.
Pierre Lecroix be damned. Let me get this straight.
We've got Flavor Flav as an ex-con. Dig it.
Kelly Perinne is the tight-ass, smarty-art nigga. Dig it.
What the fuck is Dwaaaaaayne supposed to be? The past-his-prime intramural athlete? The loveable and witty strip mall pimp? Michael Bivins?
I know I ain't missin the first episode of this shit. I don't know about anything past that. However, I do know that success or not, the network's gonna suck the life out of Flavor Flav and leave him in the gutter like a spent condom the same way they did Flex.
Just shooting baskets for the whiteys... I mean "townies."
Damn, Chuck. Ain't this about some fake-ass Dave Chappelle shit?
Now all we need is for the black pixie to come bring him a tray of chicken wings.
I can see the ad exec at AT&T gettin shut down right now:
"Umm, Mr. Chappelle. We want you for a national commercial spot. *pause* Yeah. Real simple. You're gonna shoot some baskets and make those wacky Chappelle noises in a bar full of normal bar patrons. You know. Regular people... *long pause* Oh, no? Okay then. Zippety doo-dah. Bye-bye."
...and Oprah didn't understand a nigga's perspective.
Come on, Chuck. Wiggle it like Tyrone Biggums!
By Ronaldo Horacio Mexico, Dissociated Press Writer
TOKYO - After hoisting up the oversize check reluctantly handed to him by Ninja Warrior announcer, Keisuke Hatsuta, Manny Ramirez gave three different answers to the inquiry of what he planned to do with the 1 million yen.
Today he reveals he was only "playing cover-up."
What was thought to be another case of language barrier and sub-standard George Washington High School education has now proven to be Ramirez's attempt at something he'd never yet tried given his perpetually candid public persona.
Until today, Ramirez avoided disclosing both his true agenda and reason for so hastily accepting the monetary award for MVP of the 2008 MLB season opener against the Oakland Athletics Tuesday morning.
"I can finally buy the rest of the Dominican Republic now."
Worth roughly $10,000.00 USD, and clearly intended for Japanese hurler and Boston Red Sox starting pitcher Daisuke Matsuzaka, the check serves as the final plantain in the mangu bowl of cash Ramirez has been compiling over the past several years.
As of the giant check's inclearing this morning, Ramirez is ready to purchase the majority stake in his homeland from a group of investors that includes several current and former major leaguers as well as a few respected bachateros.
"I figure I be smart with my money, you know?" Ramirez continued. "I could go back to 181[st Street in Manhattan] and get a big bag of [purple] haze, or I could do this."
Most directly affected by the move is current majority owner, Sammy Sosa, who owns slightly less than a third of the southern shore and a small island he re-named "Tato," which is local slang that loosely translates to "alright."
Sosa would not return telephone calls from media outlets seeking his reaction to Ramirez's imminent acquisition.
"Maybe his phone get cut off?" Ramirez replied smugly as he stuffed his bleached and dreadlocked mane into a red, white and blue knit-wool cap, "I hear he having money problems. That's too bad."
Fellow Dominican shareholder Pedro Martinez had nothing but well-wishes for the new majority owner. In a telephone interview from Port St. Lucie, Martinez offered congratulations and insight into plans for development on the island.
"Hopefully he can bring us some more cars, pave some more roads and maybe finally build the canal we've been trying to put in place for a long time."
Martinez is, of course, referring to the long-discussed canal that would finally divide the island of Hispanola lengthwise, separating the Dominican Republic and Haiti by a kilometer-wide channel of ocean water.
Los Angeles Angels outfielder Vladimir Guerrero, also Dominican and a staunch opponent to the hotly-debated "SIDA 'Pa 'Fuera" bill, offered the following regarding building of the canal.
"It's guys like Manny who smoke a pound of herb each week, don't share, have unprotected sex with everyone within penis-length and teach the kids to do the same that are to blame," Guerrero clamored through an interpreter. "A guy like him only need look a generation or two back to find a relative from the other side of the island he hates so much. It's not ancient history for him!"
Before I let go...
This ain't nothin new, but it bothers me more and more every time. I knew Reggaeton as genre-du-jour would fade pretty quckly, but damn... how Don Omar and Daddy Yankee have fallen.
It seems like only yesterday I was giving half of Washington Heights my "gasolina."
This bout some shameless shit. For those of you who don't speaka de spanny, let me translate:
"You can call the haze dealer/ on his Boost Mobile./ [indiscernible. puta?] Save money for plantains."
This one cuts to the chase in English. As if non-Latinos needed to be exposed to this.
Maybe I shouldn't hold Optimum Online to such a high standard. This is, after all, the same company (Cablevision) that has run the Knicks into the pegboy of professional sports. I'd rather watch Ninja Warrior on my couch than a Knick game courtside.
Oh, shit! They should put Nate Robinson in these commercials! Fuck a Sir Charge. Let Lil '50 holler at them bitchmade Verison niggas.
By Ronaldo Horacio Mexico, Dissociated Press Writer
ALBANY - Until earlier this morning, newly-deposed New York Governor Eliot Spitzer had no idea how his paper trail had been followed so meticulously without even the slightest of indication to himself or his staff.
State Detectives Lester Freamon and James McNulty provided a bit of clarity for the disgraced official in a media session today.
"Well, we've been on his money trail for some time now," Freamon told a slew of reporters on hand at the Albany State House. "It took a lot of effort and particular attention to detail to bring this one in. Fortunately for us and the people of New York, the State Police Department provided everything we needed in a timely fashion to keep our wire tap alive. I'm grateful to work in a department that is entirely devoted to police work."
Detective Freamon's comment has been perceived to be a thinly-veiled stab at the noted incompetence of he and McNulty's previous employer, the Baltimore Police Department.
"We're not here to talk about that. If anything I owe the city of Balitmore my career. Working there for nearly a decade gave me the tactical experience to do my job here with the New York State Police," McNulty deflected. "I'll gladly answer any question about the investigation at hand. Those who abuse their power and the trust of their constituency deserve reprecussion. They don't get to win. We get to win."
The arrest and emergence of details surrounding the case come as a surprise to most as it is common knowledge that the department's top priority has been counter-terrorism. The now seven-year-long initiative has absorbed nearly eighty percent of the departmental operations budget. Even the newly-deposed governor was taken aback.
"Sheeeeeeeeeeit!" Spitzer lamented while making his way out of the State House for the last time as head magistrate. "I don't even know where they got the funding or the manpower to listen to my calls and watch the women. I'm at a loss for words at this time."
Spitzer's clammed tongue isa recent development as sordid details of his exchanges with various sex workers have been made public. Through transcripts the one-time Attorney General is depicted as a vocal and aggressive sexual deviant whose requests included unprotected sex and fecal play.
"The great irony comes in that a man known almost exclusively for his pursuit of the abuse of funds designated for municipal use could be mired in a scandal of this nature," added political analyst and Obama campaign strategist A Pimp Named Slickback. "Still there's a matter of far greater importance at hand. We can't be havin niggas out on the streets forcing hoes into raw dog situations like that. That's bad for everyone."
As a disgraced Eliot Spitzer leaves the State House, history will be made this week as Lieutenant Governor David A. Paterson is expected to be sworn in as New York's governor for the remainder of the current term. Of course, the first question they ask a nigga is if he had any invovlement in the skeet-flavored fuckery staining the chair he is slated to assume.
"I didn't see shit," Paterson assured.
Apparently, Spider.
Kenard and Bug on Chris Partlow's favorite morning show!
I must say, this shit is freaking me out. This kid was last seen setting a cat on fire.
We'll get to that proper-like soon.
Do you all realize how much time we've spent on the Flavor Flav reality franchise? Not even including his season of "The Surreal Life" and "Strange Love," we've seen a 2 "Flavor of Love" installments, 2 seasons of "I Love New York" and a "Charm School" for the castaways.
I'm really all Flavored-out. That's a lifetime's worth of coonery crammed into a few short years.
I don't know why I didn't think stooch harvest could get any skankier than the Season 2 crop. Following recent market trends in reality ho television, I should have assumed the greasiest of project lobby boppers would find their way to the VH1 casting couch.
I'm sorry for keeping you guys waiting so long to dig into them. Let's get into it.
In honor of Black History Month (and Blent in my case) Flavor decides to "empower" the contestants by allowing them to choose their own nicknames this season. Much like the 40 acres and mule we've never seen, this chewed-up California Raisin far from keeps his promise.
Only the light-skinned ones that work in the house get to keep their names. Speaking of slaves, it's nice to see that John Thompson-lookin molestin-ass Big Rick back.
Ah, we laugh for a second, and then it hurts.
I refuse to learn and [im]properly spell most of these names (i.e.: "Myammeeee"), so this season you're gonna have to just ride with me. I might just describe them by physical attributes or what I think they should be referred to as.
Why is Flavor frontin like the big white woman ain’t the black man’s fantasy? I'm not saying it's mine, but every time I go to the mall I see Jamal walking down the strip holding hands with a girl just like Peechee but not even as cute. Jamal's smiling his ass off too like he just came up on a lifetime's supply of pork rinds.
Maybe he did.
I can tell the twins apart. One of them looks like she got hit in the mouth with a hot tire iron. Sadly, that's the one with the tighter body. Historically Flavor has shown that he doesn't discriminate on the othrodontically challenged. His doing so would be the pot calling the kettle "nigger" anyway. I don't know if I could rock with being referred to as a "Thing," but hey... you're already a Flavor of Love contestant. You might as well roll with whatever Nickelodeon slime they toss down on your head.
Hotlanta is actually one of the cutest girls on the program. She's been through some shit, obviously, but she cleans up pretty nice. She's got 3 kids at home she's neglecting for this and she's one of my early horses. I'm gonna count Mylanta AKA "My Mama Was On Flavor of Love" as a top 5 player.
My homie Diablo straight up called this next one. When Tik hit the screen wearing all them damn Swatches my nigga said: "Bitch lookin like Roz from 'Night Court.'" That's why I fucks with this nigga. He's the only nigga I know besides CBW who could beat me to a Marsha Warfield reference.
I know Tik had to eat a lot of fucking Honey Nut Cheerios and send in a LOT of UPCs for all 30 of them watches she got hanging on for dear life by the last latch.
Speaking of early references, before we got to parlay it ourselves, the producers and editors made sure to give us the "Shy" and New York comparison. First of all, Shy is a horseyface. You might rub up on her in a dark nightclub when you're ripped off of Incredible Hulk, but not in broad daylight and shit.
I bet she really is "a fresh of breath air" like she says, though. She just looks like she got that chronic Newport breath.
On the alone time tip, Rayna really tried to bullshit Flavor. He may have had himself a few coketails, but damn... I'm sure he remembers why he wears that effin clock. Bitch pulled a Damon Wayans in prison on "In Living Color." I went to school with a girl just like that. I could imagine before English class, she'd be in the bathroom just chanting to herself in the mirror.
"Belieeeeeeeve the bullshit. Belieeeeeeve the bullshit."
Couch time got a little cozy with the Oompa Loompas. I'll tell you what, Peechee had her big girl game ON. I gotta give her respect for having the courage to spit it like Flavor was any other dude she was diggin.
What's up with Seesinz's voice? I bet you this girl is an R&B singer. If not, she just got herself a wicked portfolio piece for voiceover work.
Shy, whose voice works over my nerves, needs to quickly learn that snitchin is a successful strategy on I Love New York… not Flavor of Love.
Why did all of these hoes have a damn rap for Flavor?
Grayvee’s weave is terrible and she looks like a dude I know. I hear her rappin about the titties. Foofy need to listen out for verse two where she talk about the dick. She also might have some ulterior motive for being on the show. I think she's working or KFC or some kind of chicken sponsor.
Nigga fuck around and come back with that bird flu.
I didn't wanna be too hard on Ice for stumbling on words. He's not exactly working with MENSA members here. Vanilla Ice might just be a “I don’t know” type of person. You know. Like how niggas start off every sentence with “nome sane?” I don't expect much more from a Detroit radio personality.
Elimination Notes:
I guess the damn twins do count as one contestant. I was wondering about that. The funny thing is, he chose the one with the fucked up teeth first! Nigga is gonna have to start doing gum checks like back on the auction block. This is a crazy precedent, letting Skeezle Dee and Skeezle Dum share a chain. I wonder how this continues to play out.
Yes, Peechee. You're going home. Yes, Peechee. Your purpose is to go make BBW porn. Don't worry. There's a black guy out there for you somewhere.
To the internet winners: Just because you had your whole housing project voting for you at the library doesn’t mean you deserve to be there.
The funny shit is that Flavor really believed the internet fans "loved" him. I guess he's too high on that shit to know that NO ONE LOVES HIM!!!!
There's usually a surprise cast-off on the first episodes of these things. There damn sure was not this time. Internet bitches, big bitches and underbite bitches all must go. Crazy ass Tik fulfilled Flavor's big girl quota.
I'm picking Bee-Ex as my early favorite. She makes the most sense early on. Though i'd test drive the Bunz on the way. Prancer looks like a lame-ass Holly Robinson and could pull the Hoopz on homie. He ain't too bright.
Looks like I'll be able to take a week off at some point this season as the hoes are gonna roast each other! I can't wait.
We'll get caught up with the "Playin' Doctor" episode ASAP.
"Do the homie! Do the homie!" - Gangstalicious
When you do your homie, I'd hope you do it right.
I'm familiar with the premise of "bros before hoes." I only recognize it as something I'd hear from a frat boy at a house party when the bong is going around, but still, I'm familiar with the premise. I'm pretty sure the term "hoes" refers to women en masse as opposed to stripwalkers and stooch vendors, but then we're just engaging a debate of semantics.
Homies over hoes? Sounds like some gay shit to me either way.
I'd say we've certainly witnessed a Top 5 episode of the Boondocks in this one. Pushing the Gangstalicious envelope a bit further and tackling the rampant homophobia in the hip-hop community, McGruder makes some pertinent observations through fictional old-school rappers MC Slob-A-Knob & Homo D.
The ever-increasing influence the homoerotic worlds of prison and fashion have on hip-hop should bring us all closer to witnessing our first openly gay rapper.
You know your cousin Rodney who did that 5-stretch on the weapons charge? Yeah... you know his "partner" he stay talkin about? Alright. That's the dude he ummm... turned to when times got tough in the bing.
As Edgar the Mexican pointed out, strangely enough, The G-Unit wifebeaters that look like third grade girls' undershirts won't be sold anymore. That's quite the coincidence in the wake of this second installment of "The Story of Gangstalicious."
Unfortunately, the gays can design our wifebeaters but can't partake in our artform and culture as first-class citizens of hip-hop. No matter how many clothing lines rappers put their money into, our society hasn't evolved to the point where a male hip-hop star could come out of the closet and maintain his stature. The bigotry is just too strong.
The episode was hilarious on many levels, but hurt to watch. I was particularly stricken by the image of Robert and Riley (dressed like a prison bitch) in that teary embrace trying to come to terms with the potential reality of a young black man discovering that he is indeed "gay."
"Fortunately" for Robert, Riley isn't full-blown, "suck a cock" gay. He's only gay by association.
Question: Is McGruder accusing D4L of maybe rocking the DSL? Maybe just take away the "4?" Mos Def defintiely spit "Homies Over Hoes" to the "Laffy Taffy" instrumental.
"Don't trust them new niggers is not a Negro spiritual!" - Huey Freeman
The same incredible grandma-nana I refer to in the "S"-word column also happens to be pretty damn fair-skinned. I'm blacker than black (and I'm black, y'all). The Freemans appear to be that caramel complexion, as Tom DuBois would say.
We're all black enough to count as three-fifths of a vote. We're also all black enough to be ignored by a taxi. However, it's undeniable that some of us have a little cream in the genetic coffee. I acknowledge this and hope with all of my heart that none of you discriminate against me on account of my ailment.
When I asked Nana Mexico why I was so dark and she was so light, she blamed the sun instead of telling me the horrible truth. Though Massa denied in public, he totally brought himself to bone her grandmother. Of course, Nana Mexico's grandfather beheaded ole Massa and liberated the entire Virginia plantation 'cuz we ain't no bitch niggas.
In addition, if Ronnie were born he would have told Massa to suck his dick and bale his own motherfuckin cotton.
Wouldn't have let that slavery shit happen to me, though.
While never as eloquently worded as say, "Pudd'nhead Wilson", the oral tradition remains the most effective means of communicating family history in the black community. Of course, this is primarily because there isn't much documentation of whatever family we've had since Plymouth Rock landed on us. If we want to read about who mammied and pappied who, we'd have to check the sales receipts.
Much like the telephone game, we always manage to fuck something up in translation. Whether it's the size of your grandfather's dick or the ever-increasing number of Klansmen he choked out with his bare hands, details get embellished worse than Oprah's weight loss figures. That's not to say that anything your folks tell you came from ignorantmonkeyshit.com, though.
Much love to Donald Faison for his role as "the house negro." Glad to see he could keep his face out of Zach Braff's taint long enough to lay down some vocals on the McGruder set.
By Ronaldo Horacio Mexico, Dissociated Press Staff Writer
NEW YORK - After over three entire calendar years, the star whose namesake is the series title has finally returned to the program.
After being written out of the plot, The Wire returns with a slight twist.
"I'm kinda dirty now," Wire told Ron Mexico City this morning. "I like the direction my character has taken. I didn't want to come back if it was going to be the same old bullshit, you know?"
It's not the way we're used to seeing it. There's no Freamon and Prezbo screening the "pertinents" and "non-pertinents." There's no Sydnor on the roof with a camera or buying 20 rocks. This time the shit's for keeps.
"When Wood [Harris] came back to the show before I did, I was a little hurt. But I realize now it's for the best."
Wire also revealed to RMC that his favorite character is Omar, but kept hush about the scar-faced jizzguzzler's fate.
-----------------
I'm not sure if the opening sequence was drenched with Marlo Stanfield's bad acting or Jaime Hector's. It is strange to see Marlo convey any emotion, let alone happiness. I'm just not sure if it was intentional for Marlo to look insincere, or if Mr. Hector just didn't nail it down.
I don't think we'll ever know.
Jimmy's still working the paperboys like end-of-the-bar hoes at 3:15. In the process he caught Templeton trying to shit a shitter. Temp's fake call gave McNulty just enough to bring back the crowd-favorite, Wire.
After having putting Levy in his Fave 5 knowing for damn well that Herc lost his job over the infamous camera, how could Marlo not have the foresight to think that Herc would try to fuck with him somehow?
"That's the cell phone number of the motherfucker that put 22 bodies on us!" - Freamon
The shit is so tasty, Cool Lester Smooth had a Sam Jackson moment. Mmm-mmmmmm, bitch!
I apologize about my calling the State's Attorney "Bell" when his name is "Bond," and that nigga's looking pretty damn mayoral.
Clay Davis is not going down without a play. Luckily for him, Jimmy is knocking him off the front page. Norrice had to put Mr. Sheeeeeit in his place with all of that kicking and screaming nonsense he was talking. Gangsters don't roll. They work on a new play. Usually at the Beacon Theater with Stephanie Mills.
"The fuck is this I hear about you might not stand tall on this?" - Clarence Royce
They had to box him in, but it looks like he's on board to stand tall. That's not to say, of course, he's still not going to go down swinging.
Glad to see Bubbles back and still on the path. Too bad he still hasn't gotten over his AIDS guilt. As his mentor tells him, "Shame ain't worth as much as you think."
Speaking of shame, I'm a little ashamed at the behavior of a fan-favorite. Omar walked right into Marlo's rat trap to take the cheese. He lost his Jim Brown-ass homeboy and everything. Was he blinded by revenge? How did he not assume that setup was a trap? If he didn't... How the fuck did he think just 2 dudes was gonna get the job done? How does Omar survive a 5-story fall? Does he survive a 5-story fall? Did he even fall?
So many fucking questions.
Tune in next time on "The Adventures of Lil' Omar!"
...not by much, though.
I just can't believe they had this commercial ready to go for last night.
Hakuna Matata, bitches. We got a lot to discuss this week.
Whattup, spearchuckers?
The great humor of all comes in the paradox that older people who, like Robert Freeman prostrate before news cameras, describe the "n"-word in any variation as hurtful. Yet, no one uses the term more than an old black person. My grandma nana'nem from Virginia. She could easily trace her roots a couple of generations back to the plantation. She grew up in the 1930s as a sharecropper before the hooch train dropped her off in Harlem.
She also leads our family in NPS (Niggas Per Sentence) average. She does so by a wide margin. I'm creeping towards it, but I'm like Jason Kidd to her Oscar Robertson in terms of the triple doubles.
In other words, I didn't learn that shit from hoodrats in the street or children at school. I learned it from grandma nana. Remembering the way she used to call pop-pop (or anyone else) a "nigga" in her saucy, hostile southern drawl still lights up my life. No one could do it quite like she did.
She was my nigga, mane.
As far as hilarious particulars go, how funny was the teacher running down the hip-hop "nigga" discography? As he ran them off I felt like I was in a scavenger hunt. I was one "nigga" short of Bingo!
I had "Real Nigga Quotes" in the "G" column.
As Ruckus explained, the racial slurs are in dire need of a fresh rotation. Regardless of what you may think of the "n"-word, it doesn't incur the same ire it once did. "Porch monkey" will always be my all-time favorite. The shit is hilarious. If a white person ever called me that, I'd laugh my ass of before I broke his nose.
A special shoutout to Cee-Lo Green as the classic charlatan. Fuck Al Sharpton. Fuck Jesse. Fuck Farrakhan. Fuck The Negro Channel.
Fuck Ann Coulter, Queen of the Desert... even if she fucks with these crab cakes. Who the fuck did her fucking voice?
And oh, yeah... fuck.
That's the "f"-word, spearchuckers.
Does anyone remember this scenario the episode derives from? The teacher had the signs and everything. It was hilarious. Any thoughts?
By Ronaldo Horacio Mexico, Dissociated Press Writer
NEW YORK - A star-crossed meeting with the St. John's Red Tampons took a strange turn for Georgetown star center, Roy Hibbert.
On a Wednesday night at Madison Square Garden where the biggest story around the assured ass-whipping was to be the matchup of New York Knicks offspring, it was Roy Hibbert who yet again managed to take center stage.
After Anthony Mason, jr. saw his Red Storm take one in the face from Georgetown, he witnessed a Hoya family reunion.
"I was just about to meet my pops by the Port Authority when I overheard Pat[trick Ewing, sr.] telling Hibbert he was his daddy." recalled a visibly disturbed Mason, jr. "And it wasn't in like that 'Who's your daddy?' way. You could tell."
When asked if he was surprised by what he heard, Mason, jr. sounded more surprised that he'd heard anything at all.
"I can't believe he had him on speakerphone."
As soon as Mason, jr. managed to break his father's hooker trance, the original Mase seized an opportunity to captialize off of his old friend and frontcourt mate. Immediately following a threatening voicemail from Mason, sr., the "Hoya Destroya" took the time to come clean following his own team's game.
"Tried to get a nut and I got a nut and what." the senior Ewing told reporters after a 107-91 Orlando victory over the division rival Miami Heat.
Now that the paternity situation is out in the open, Hibbert and newly-discovered brother Ewing, jr. have much to talk about.
"At least one of my dad's kids is going to play in the NBA. That's a big relief to him and my mom, Rita." Ewing' jr. paused. "Okay, maybe not so much for my mom, Rita."
Hibbert's deft touch around the basket and hard-fought defense more resemble Georgetown's most beloved alum than his own namesake. The 7-foot-2 center's candor with the press is what may someday set him apart.
"Man, I'd love to continue in my dad's legacy now that I know what it is. I don't know if I want to rot on the Knicks and never win a championship, but I wouldn't mind being one of the 50 best when it's all said and done, you know?"
Hibbert managed to bring the forced reunion full circle by outlining his love for popular NBA extracurriculars.
"I like strip clubs as much as any other athlete, but again I'm glad I have a father whose mistakes I can learn from. I wouldn't mind learning that little drop step either. But no, if I hook up with a team dancer or something, I'd want someone to look to that can help me keep that kind of thing on the low."
It doesn't sound like he's too concerned with the "Stay In School" initiative.
Between Martin Luther King, jr. Day and the end of "Here's Your Little Ass Month, Niggers" Month lies this strangely somber period of about 40 days in which I lament excessively over the fate and status of black people.
Johnte's "Red Monkey Jeans," an afterschool center session gone terribly wrong, rests firmly atop the list of shit that's particularly bothering me this Blent (Black Lent, if you will).
I'm more amazed than anything at how readily we embrace various forms of Monkey Gear. We got teenage coons babbling on about their Bathing Apes. This little baboon here is in love with his Red Monkey Jeans. I don't know. I could have sworn we were trying to get away from the association with monkeys, gorillas, baboons, orangutans, marmosets and the like.
While some of us may happen to look like the non-hominidae primates in question, we are not. Though we do little to prove otherwise.
Am I missing something? This video looks like a surefire UnCut Classic in the making, but I saw it in broad the fuck daylight. It couldn't have been any later than noon. Somebody's uncle knew where to bring the duffel bag.
You would think if he were related to a big time drug dealer (the only explanation for this shit on television before 3AM), then he wouldn't have to borrow Uncle Gutta's Spongebob jacket. That shit is at least 3 sizes too big for him.
Even Spongebob knows he shouldn't be in this video. He's not sure why. He just knows something is terribly wrong.
It's the reason Mr. Krabs is always pissed. This racism is killing him inside.
The fuck does this kid mean when he says his teeth "color-coordinated, complimenting the jeans?" Does Johnte have a green shirt to match the green braces? Maybe a little something to compliment the rubberbands?
That's it, nigga. I got it! You the Rubberband Man! Shit. Will your braces still be in when T.I. gets locked up for good this time? If so, you're fucking in there. King of Atlanta for certain.
I want to take back everything I said to Yung Berg about being a JV point guard. This little shit stain is definitely on somebody's B-team bench.
Speaking of ball, I see this video was obviously shot before the KG trade to Boston. Nice. Either that or homie ain't have enough allowance saved up to drop $200 on the new one.
I hear the Swingman jersey is not acceptable for dancing in your buddy's music video.
My ideal ending for this video would be to have the ghostriders fuck up horribly, running Johnte over, then crashing into one another causing a fatal 5-rental pileup in the high school parking lot.
Then I bring a monkey to the memorial to piss and shit on their graves.
"Ron, Why you gotta be so cold. He only like 15."
...Because I don't give a fuck. That's why. Plus, better he go out in a rim-related accident than have a second single that warrants President Bush finally following through on his much-milled plan to repeal the Emancipation Proclamation.
That's a Proposition Joe moment.
Alright, fuck it. Another one. He deserves it.
That shit's from the super bootleg Season 4 DVD. My shit was clean than a fuck, son.
Anyway... To the episode.
While "Thangs Done Changed" as the late, great, notorious, glorious Big Poppa once said, shit remains the same. I'm more inclined to go with the wisdom of Solomon in that there ain't a thang new under The [Balitomore] Sun.
Detective Carlicchio, or however the fuck you spell his name, invoked the spirit of Herc and Carver during Season 1. By going straight Reginald Deny on a school teacher because he was humiliated by Kenard, he reminded Carver of why every minute aspect of professional conduct matters.
Besides, Carlicchio shouldn't have been talking shit to his superior officer if nothing else.
The best part was that Herc even agreed with Carver at Reformed Fuck-ups Support Group [held weekly at McDougal's Pub or the Precinct parking lot (pimpin'.)]
Speaking of Herc, I would have collapsed to the ground with laughter if I were Marlo after finding out what the camera cost Sgt. Hauk.
The top brass counts costs as the volleyball team in command rotates once more. I would have wondered what Burrell was doing behind me with a golf club during such volatile times. I've been in a room with a drawn golf club before. The shit is not cool. While I continued to roll my blunt and play it cool, part of me wanted to rush the situation and wrap the 7-iron around that bitch-ass nigga.
But I digress.
City Council President Norrice promises to convince Burrell to go down quietly at a price. In exchange for culmination of her sweetheart deal with the dope lord, she'll handle that bidness for Massa Tommy.
In passing, Rawls takes in some friendly advice from his esteemed predecessor, Ervin Burrell while Deputy Ops Daniels enjoys the begining of his 6-month waiting period.
...and to think Pearlman could have been fucking Jimmy McNulty. No, sir. The mandingo suits her just fine. Homegirl's name is Rhonda anyway. She probably eats neckbones and all that.
"That wasn't me, Rhonda." -Tyrone Biggums
Note: The mailman is Clay Davis.
What's Clay Davis up to, you ask? His elbows in shit.
Dealing a blow to the altruistic credibility of the pursuit of R. Clayton "Sheeeeit" Davis Strong mayoral candidate Bell doesn't want Lester to dig up the whole radish. Just enough to bury Clay Davis alone. We've already seen Norrice's ties to those bitch ass niggas on the East Side. I wonder whose package is keeping Bell's campaign contribution account full.
All roads lead to Clay Davis' balls not being the only ones dangled above the rotisserie.
McNutty and Freamon are keeping their respective fire alive. They went all the way down to the Southern to harass Uncle Phil for bums. If only they were allowed to put this kind of energy to real cases.
While trying to solidify their weak sauce, was that one of the Season 2 stevedores Freamon and McNutty came across at the fire in the bum community?
Jimmy's gonna be just as lonely soon enough. Beadie shouldn't have even given this nigga a talking to. It should have been straight G-H-E-T-T-O-U-T.
Yo, son... Keema Greggs got a fatty. If she weren't no lesbian, I'd have some energy to focus on that. I wouldn't mind the three way with her and her ex, neither. They both look good.
On a far more serious note, the boy she discovered in the closet is the scariest shit in the world. I couldn't imagine what his worldview is like.
"I'mma work them. Sweet Jesus, I'mma work them." -Omar
The first stop on Omar's "Welcome Home" tour was East Side to see the one crew he knew to have a means of reaching Butchie. Knowing that Prop Joe wouldn't be anywhere near his operation, he decided to take the drama to Lt. Slim Charles at his project apartment. Luckily, Charles saved his own balls with a good confession.
Somewhere across town The Rat who took the Cheese took a stroll with Chris Partlow. Usually this is not a good thing. Cheese walking with Chris was hilarious. "I ain't done nothing to piss you off lately, right?" No, in fact he was just being awarded the honor of making Marlo's job easier by taking yet another East Side boss out of the equation.
Immediately after deading Shitty Man... I mean, Hungry Man, Cheese then finished off his own uncle. Before Joe was to take off into hiding from Omar, Method Rat brings Marlo and Chris to Joe's pre-hideout.
The fucked up part is that it was probably like, Cheese's grandfather's house or some shit. Ugh, I can't stand this new breed. Joe was right. Marlo and Cheese come from a generation removed from the struggle.
Ain't no love in the heart of the city.
Rest In Peace "Proposition" Joe Stewart. For his Season 5 fall in its entirety, [click here].
As one observant viewer pointed out, Prop Joe fucked up when he let Marlo meet Vondas back in Season 4. To expand on the notion, Joe made a suspect move like that to save Cheese's disloyal, bitch-made ass.
Bonus:
For those of you that don't remember, this (among other times Omar has drawn down on Senor Queso) is the reason Mef is so bent on burying Omar.
That and the dickbreath.
I am an avid SSX-series loer. I only got Playstation 2, but the game is still pretty incredible. Presuming we weren't out boning your girlfriend or mother, that's probably what you'd find my friends and I doing on a slow evening.
That said, it's not SSX that's my biggest reason for loving Winter X Games hosted by that cooncicle, Sal Masekela.
...but that there's an event called "Women Superpipe."
It sounds like the name of a Barnard College cover band. I love it.
Might gotta throw a "y" in there, though. You know.
We tried to school him back in the day. Ain't easy civilizing this motherfucker.
As we already know, Marlo represents the worst kind of gangster. The scourge of the black community is not the drug dealer in and of himself, but the dope man that lacks code.
I'm starting to believe the second greatest danger to be the dope man that doesn't know what to do with his money.
Who in their right mind would trust a monster like Marlo Stanfield with valuable information such as what to do with millions of not-yet-manicured street bills? Marlo is a foreign account away from being Idi Amin. Why empower him when he has long since made clear at co-op meetings that he has no intention on cooperating.
A nigga almost said "co-opping."
On the one hand, I understand Prop Joe wants to put lipstick and a wig on his chocolate monkey, but some of them curious little motherfuckers best be left in the banana tree.
Leave a nigga like that in the Congo.
Working a line to Vondas has served as real-life application/education regarding the importance of clean bills.
It looks like Michael is about to be on serious time out for his little Six Flags excursion. It's a shame though. I know what I'd want to do if I were 14 years old with a grip of cash in my pocket... in Baltimore. I'd be at Six Flags baggin up some white girls too.
Nice dolphin, nigga. They'll leave you in an abandoned building with that shit too.
Much like Marlo's bodies, Jimmy'sBumfight victims are in the wrong zip code. No one's going to care until some clever ass police makes the media connection.
Jimmy must not realize what they do to police in prison. Cool Lester Smooth doesn't seem to care. They both raise a valid point. McNulty and Freamon are smarter than the rest of homicide, narcotics and Major Crimes put together. Which of those humps would catch them besides Bunk?
LMAO @ Stan Valchek trying to weasel his way into the acting commander.
After upping the Omar bounty to 50 large, they didn't need to find "his sister, his mee-ma. Some fag he be wit'." Cheese's old ignorant ass was blinded by the cheese.
Just because Norman Wilson-Querns is who he is, he gets quote of the episode honors.
"Even on an acting basis, can you imagine Norrice and the ministers dealing with Commissioner Valchek?"
No. No, I cannot.
Luckily for him, leaking the actual plan to the top of the Baltmore Sun's editorial brass is as easy as buying your old newspaper buddy a taste at your favorite public house.
These ins and outs are really starting to show themselves.
P.S.: Ashy Larry & Clay Davis are going to prison unless Glynn Turman can come up with something.
Ripping and running with the best of them, indeed.
Beadie can't make this ho into a housewife. I hope she kicks his punk ass to the curb too.
Episode 2 of Season 5 finally delivers the long-awaited meeting of Avon Barksdale and Marlo Stanfield. Sure, the West Baltimore torch had long since been passed as of their wink-and-nod encounter at Avon's sentencing toward the end of Season 3, but here we have the two's first exchange.
It is a doozy indeed.
After flexing his muscle as king of the correctional facility, Avon proceeds to pimp Marlo and Sergei to the tune of $100,000 up front and the prospect of a renewed source of substantial income that could possibly bring the Barksdale organization back to prominence even from behind the walls of Jessop.
With the 2008 "I Have A Dream Speech," Avon tucks himself squarely under the covers with his one-time rival to the tune of "Fuck them East Side bitches!"
It's funny that Avon and Marlo can be civil past this:
Money is a motherfucker.
After assessing that nothing neither could nor would be done fiscally from above to mend his broken ship, Jimmy McNulty makes the craziest and riskiest play of his career in drunken assholery. Being the cold case murder capital that Baltimore is, Jimmy Boozetron decides to play around with the canvas a bit. He strangles a John Doe that he an Bunk catch with the idea that he could falsify the emergence of a serial killer.
Ironically enough, the media would pay much more attention to a deranged strangler than a Marlo Stanfield. The Baltimore Sun and television news coverage would force the hand of the mayor's office to fund the police department. While most of us agree with the desired end result, we fail to realize that McNutty is just as big a sociopath as the Marlo Stanfields and Avon Barksdales he is devoted to chasing. Much like the gangsters he has been trying to lock up for 4 seasons, Jimmy's imposes his philosophy on life upon everyone within the reach of his Jameson-clutching arms.
Enjoy Episode 3 tonight. I seen it. It's incredible. You won't be disappointed.
This is some seriously insane shit. I never thought I'd be watching an entire cast of "The Surreal Life" going through withdrawal all at once.
We already have a bona fide SL alum in Brigitte "Gita" Nielsen, and I sure hope we see Flavor Flav on season 2. I get this strange image of Sylvester Stallone watching this program and, in the Rocky Balboa voice, lamenting "this lady's a damn mess."
Fortunately, according to reports, Daniel Baldwin has already gotten his life back on track. Following in brother Alec's footsteps, he is slated to star in the highly-anticipated late-night sitcom "30 Rocks."
I don't see this series keeping you past episode 3 or 4, but I recommend catching a rerun of episodes 1 or 2 before the junk is all said and done.
The black girl whose name I don't care to knwo needs to stick with the weed. I think among its medicinal purposes is relief of enlarged forehead and they shouldn't be trying to deprive her of that.
I take no pleasure in making fun of people who are earnestly and wholeheartedly trying to get their lives together. It is a wonderful thing to know that these people are in rehab. While I'm not naive enough to believe that the d-listers sitting here dramatizing (and in some cases exploiting) their situations are going to magically and instantaneously find closure for their addictions, it's good to see this step in the right direction. In an era where we are more often watching these people indulge in the demons that are drugs and alcohol, it's refreshing to observe these otherwise spoiled, lost souls undo some of the damage and take steps toward healing.
The only funny shit I noticed watching this show is that Brigette Nielsen is actually bigger than Chyna.
I'm pretty damn sure if some aliens came to earth and something made them want to stick around, it damn sure wasn't one of the C-Section All-Stars on the lunch shift at Gallagher's 2000.
I'm sure there are a few breast implant scars Jim Jones would lick on the evening shift, but nothing to keep an alien or Prince or a nigga like that.
Them bitches couldn't keep Zach Randolph around for 20 minutes.
I guess to understand exactly how ridiculous this commercial is, you must have already gotten used to a couple years of this:
Yeah... Giant ugly bitches stomping through the city like Power Rangers. You know this has to be Gallagher's A-game bitch too. You'd think the tightest they had to offer would be in their television commercial. A pimp usually has his best bottom bitch riding shotgun, right? I saw "Hustle & Flow." I'm pretty sure that's how it works.
Anyways, these commercials tell a whole lot about the place it's pumping. If you guessed "seedy Long Island City fish box," I congratulate your superior intellect and intuition.
Ha ha ha haaaaaaa. We luuuuuv deeeeez hoooez!
We're all familiar with the mantra of "doing more with less." We've bought Malt-O-Meal bagged cereals. We've worn Keds. We've made trips to the $10 Store and put tap water into our detergent bottles.
What have we learned? The diluted detergent doesn't get the clothes as bright. Pro-Keds don't hold up in gym class like the Jordans. The $10 boutique wears shred into dishrags after a few shifts at Citibank. (Doubling up and wearing them to the club on Thursdays and Fridays doesn't help either.)
Malt-O-Meal $1.99 bagged cereal is incredible, but that's entirely beside the point.
The season 5 premiere of "The Wire" only outlines how this principle holds true in the dope game, the precinct and our newest medium of interest, the newsroom.
With Mayor Carcetti funneling every last penny he can muster into the much-maligned education system we observed last season, it is the police department that suffers the most. With cutbacks across the board, The Wiretap All-Stars (AKA Major Crimes unit) must be disbanded with the exception of team captain Cool Lester Smooth and his file lackey, Det. Leander Sydnor.
Left with only the resources to track down Clay "Sheeeeeit" Davis, Major Crimes watches its 4-season stalwarts McNulty and Greggs return to homicide. As we all know, an ounce of prevention in the form of a fully-operational MCU following niggas around and listening to burner conversations is worth far more than 12 humps staring at John Does and, at best, BNBG witnesses.
As effective and intuitive as certain members of Major Crimes have been, it's a little surprising how aloof they were of the notion that the "Streets Is Watching." What makes you think you get a free pass to climb up buildings, sit in unmarked vans and conveniently pretend to buy newspapers without some hopper getting the eyeball on you? Despite being an excellent, dedicated unit, they exhibit the tragic flaw of a natural police haughtiness that allows those on the other side of the law to stay on the offensive and a full step ahead.
It was still pretty hilarious how Bunk and Landsman tricked that poor kid with the photocopier and Mickey D's.
It was almost as bad as watching a rock-dumb motherfucker like Herc buy valuable information for Levy (Avon Barksdale's Jew lawyer) for a round of Budweisers and well whiskey. When he finally learns the intricacies of the expense account, all of the Baltimore Police Department's tactical secrets will belong to the Barksdale organization.
I'm sure it all fits on one sheet of paper. One-sided.
Sgt. Ellis "You Gon' Take Care Of Me" Carver had his hands full dealing with the backlash from disgruntled, underpaid Western District officers. It was nice to watch him yell some of those bastards down. It's even better watching his continued maturity, exemplified by his being entirely cognizant of the bullshit he fed his men.
"Professionals get paid. That's why we call them pros."
Watching the only police department I've ever rooted for suffer this way only take me to the immortal words of Reg E. Cathey as Querns... I mean Norman Wilson.
"When the governor threw that $50 million on the table, you should have picked that shit up... [Without it Carcetti] is just a broke-ass mayor of a broke-ass city."
Many readers have asked me questions like "Ronnie, did you ever work for a newspaper?" or "Would you ever want to write for The Times?" Aside from the fact that a publication like that would never allow me to speak as candidly to the public as I'd like, this episode outlines exactly why Ron Mexico could never write for your local newsie.
As Bunk and Omar have implored, "man gotta have a code." As exemplified by a great many news sources and bridges burned therefrom, sources are reluctant to trust these vinegar and baking soda doucebags with j-school degrees that will roll on them for some front page love.
I also have no desire to work with editors, directors and otherwise executives that have "mastered" a ghost of the medium we navigate today. I don't need some 60-year-old in my ear about how he got Deep Throat to spill over crab cakes and pinot grigio 35 years ago. The field is nothing like what it was in their day, and for the most part these smoke-blowing relics would be better qualified to irrigate an African village than to oversee an effective publication.
God does indeed still reside in the details, though. The Baltimore Sun's editor on the program is flat-out awesome.
"Yeah... Stay hungry like that."
Back on the skreet, Michael ended up having to put Dukie on nanny patrol. That's cool. Duke don't belong on that damn corner no way. It's like "Everybody Hates Chris" out there for him.
Marlo may have been better served NOT popping shit in the co-op meetings. Being that he plans to get a line out to Sergei Malatov (Season Two), he might want to keep a low profile. But eh, that's too simple. Lisa Stansfield's illegitimate son is not one for tactful discourse. He's no diplomat.
Marlo's just a gangster, I suppose.
To assure he'd meet the right man, he had his African warlord lieutenant Chris Partlow go up in the municipal building and jack the mugshot photo from his file. Life got a little sweeter as Chris was further able to watch everyone watching him. If he didn't retain everything that was being said about his operation within earshot, he was 5 seconds away from overhearing Daniels and Pearlman discussing his case.
He peeped McNutty on the way out of fucking with Sergei's file. Season 1 or 2 McNulty would have been all over that. I don't think the connection was made. Maybe because Jimmy's spending less time being good police and more time fucking around on Beadie Russell.
That's a good woman, and Jimmy doesn't even have the decency to step outside the bar to call her.
Anyways, what did you take from episode one of the final season of the greatest television program ever to happen to ever?
We'll discuss episode 2 (and Bubbles) tomorrow.
I pledge unto thee the hate, the whole hate, and nothing but the hate.
Bite thy tongue for no one.
Thou shalt spit mad game with style.
Ron Mexico Slanguistics
BDP (n.) - Black Diabetes Pandemic. Kool-Aid induced-suffering. The reason Big Mama lost her leg. The new Black Plague.
Blent (n.) - Black Lent. Ron Mexico's unofficial 40-day period of reflection and lament spanning from Martin Luther King, jr. Day through the end of short-ass Black History Month.
Blented (adj.) - Blunted + Bent.
Cank Stoochie (n.) - Nether-regions in dire need of hygenic attention. Nappy minor-league dugout. (see: Flavor of Love)
CB4 (n.) - Cock Block [Level] 4. A nickname for Tiffany "New York" Pollard.
ManBearPig (n.) - A dangerous mythical beast spawned from the imagination of Al Gore. A nickname for Tiffany "New York" Pollard's mother, Sister Patterson.
Niggaball (n) - Like basketball, but covered in Lawry's Seasoned Salt. AND 1 Mixtape Tour. Basketball-esque performance severely lacking in fundamental skills. see: Philip "Hot Sauce" Champion.
NPS (n.) - Niggas Per Sentence average. Amount of times the "n"-word is used in a single sentence.
Snapper (n.) - One who performs snap music. A Franchize Boy.
The Negro Channel (n.) - Black Entertainment Television (see: BET). Abbreviated as TNC.
Touchdown (n.) - A nigga that ain't all the way retarded, but just got a touch of Down's [Syndrome]. (i.e. Chris Brown)