Hip-Hop in 2009...

Season 3 bitches! New music...new topics...new set up. I'm back and I'm feeling this red look, I must say. Plus, I'm going back to the good ole days when Bad Boy was on top. I'm now trying to make my readers involuntarily Harlem Shake whenever reading one of my posts. So what is in store for the new year? We've got a black First Lady, a Justice League movie is in the works, and we are still debating on whether or not college football needs to replace the BCS with a playoff bracket. I've spent the past winter collecting dvds and trying to become the undisputed king of all iTunes. I have purchased a new digital camera, so I shouldn't have to say it but I will: bitches beware. I've actually been plotting an elaborate scheme involving kidnapping Dakota Fanning with a potato sack. That doesn't sound too elaborate, but I am actually a wizard when it comes to...potato sacks. Ah, and sudoku is the devil. For now though, I'm trying to make out what is in store for Hip-Hop in this new year...

This last year was a tragedy for Hip-Hop. I don't even know if most of the music that was created this last year could even be considered actual Hip-Hop. My last twelve months were dedicated to building an unyielding hatred for Soulja Boi and his inability to spell, read, or speak proper English. Not to mention, his Superman song inspired thousands of unsupervised 14 year old children to dance for their little brother's camera phone as he "cranks" a new dance of his own. Consequently, Soulja Boi is the sole purpose of millions of people wasting countless hours of their lives watching YouTube. Oh how I HATE you Soulja Boi. <------ And does anyone see that shit?? How the fuck hard is it to spell SOLDIER BOY. If I hear another grown ass man scream "YAH, BITCH!! YAH!!" I'm digging out Christmas tree ornaments and stabbing him in his forehead with the hooks. Why do people love Soulja Boi Tell 'Em so much? Matter of fact, what is Soulja Boi telling me, exactly? I can hardly make out what he's saying, and if I could, it would probably just give me the urge to slap the platinum out of his mouth. I would join Ice-T's army any day. Actually, I wouldn't...Ice-T, you can get slapped, too. Soulja Boy, someone told me that in a magazine, you once said you had a 4.0 GPA in high school but didn't want to go to college because "I wanted to become successful like Kanye West." I immediately took the shoelace out of my left shoe and choked him until he fell asleep. I refuse to believe such lies. You sir, wouldn't get a 4.0 if you were tested on material from one of your own albums.

And even if that statement was true - of all people, you chose Kanye? No Biggie? No Hova? Not Snoop, or even Luda? You pick Kanye West? Am I the only person who heard this 808's & Heartbreak album? Oh, and I use the term "album" loosely, because 11 tracks is not an album; that's an extended demo tape. Do you understand that this greasy nigga just released an R&B album without even having the ability to actually sing? Yes, R&B. Look, singing in autotune for 2 minutes and letting the beat ride for another 4 minutes is not Hip-Hop, Mr. West. Moreover, thank you T-Pain for unleashing autotune on the world. It's gone too far. Thr33 Ringz sounded like three songs on repeat (thus the essence of the album's title). Even T-Pain's videos look the same: black crusty nigga popping and locking in front of colorful computer enhanced backgrounds. AND he had the audacity to try and rap with DJ Khaled co-signing in the background. I won't even get started on you DJ Khaled (whom I simply refer to as Aladdin Hussein). You, sir, have sickened me with all these songs you claim are yours, yet you only ad-lib in the background. I only wish I could play 3 notes on a flute, and oompa loompas appear and take you away while singing a clever song...in autotune...

I happened to come across a survey in my Facebook mini feed the other day that said "Who are the 5 greatest rappers of all time". Well, that's an easy answer for me as I always swiftly answer, "Dylan, Dylan, Dylan, Dylan, Dylan...and Dylan." Dylan is actually in a tie with himself for the fifth seed. But I was shocked when I saw names like The Clipse, Young Chris, and Fabolous mentioned (...no comment). I was infuriated to see Lil' Wayne's name appear on people's lists multiple times. This nigga Lil' Wayne is getting on my last nerve. All these tracks are just unnecessary I think. You don't get an award for most songs released in a year. His latest songs just have him mumbling random bull shit using autotune now. I could have sworn I heard this little nigga say he liked eating purple skittles and McGriddles while watching Snoop Doggy Televizzle on Tuesday afternoons. Lollipop Remix...second verse...look that shit up. This man makes so many songs that he could fill an entire iPod Nano to its capacity. I want to punch you in the spine Lil' Wayne. And I saw that shit with you kissing Bird Man. Nigga you gay. As gay as a bathing ape...

If Hip-Hop isn't dead, then it definitely looks like Christopher Reeve right about now. The only way for it to be revitalized is if more artists like Jeezy, Common, Luda, Talib Kweli, etc. make more contributions. I'll tell you what isn't helping (and never has helped) the game: Tupac albums featuring artists he has never met. No, it's not hot hearing a Tupac track featuring Bow Wow! Perhaps someone needs to rough up Eminem's daughter so he can get back to his violent lyrical rampages that made my middle school years so great. Perhaps, we need another relevant Hip Hop empire. Was it so long ago when Bad Boy dominated the mid 90s? Does anyone remember Rocafella owning the early 2000's? Jay-Z, Freeway, Young Gunz, and Kanye West: all Rocafella and all went platinum. I talk a lot of shit, but it's normal for the game to go through some slumps from time to time (i.e. the Reggaeton era) and I'm not too worried. So, please excuse me as I leave to go and do my part. I, apparently, need to contact Beanie Sigel to rectify this Soulja Boi situation...

Ring Tone Regulation...

Peak-a-boo you mark ass busters! For some reason as I begin to type this post, I can’t help but hear the opening line of Mase’s “Welcome Back” on loop in my mind. Welcome back…welcome back…welcome baaaaaaaaaacckk. Yes, guys and gals (I sound like Sarah Palin) it has been quite a long time since I last tapped the keys of my laptop to leave you with some words of wisdom. October has been an enlightening month for me, I must say. I’ve been earning a decent and honest pay check and then investing it in the drug game (mostly pills). I’ve been going to my classes; this way I have an alibi when my instructors find their tires slashed. I’ve been hunting women like quail almost nightly. Amazingly, I have yet to catch syphilis. Look, the month of October has been a fulfilling month. The month isn’t over though. For Halloween, I plan to dress up as Max Payne…and kill myself. What an awful movie…

Nation, I was on an elevator today. As I was coming down from the 21st floor, it stopped on the 15th where a relatively young (I would say he was about 27) white guy proceeded to squeeze into the elevator. As we are smoothly descending toward the lobby the same man’s phone starts to ring. By ring, I mean “Gold Digger” by Kanye West starts playing. (SHE GIVE ME MONEY) I was so startled. Whose phone needs to be that loud? I could have sworn it was coming out of the elevator speakers. (NOW I AINT SAYIN SHE A GOLD DIGGER) the white guy pulls out his phone and flips it open. I immediately get annoyed because this douche bag has some way gotten service on an elevator. So either he has Verizon…or he’s a gypsy of some sorts. (SHE GIVE ME MONEY) why is this man’s phone still singing? I look in his direction and I notice that he is looking down at his screen. I guess he was debating on whether he wanted to pick the call up or not while the song played. (GET DOWN GIRL GO ‘HEAD GET DOWN) Jesus Christ when did that song even come out? It’s 2008. I look over to see why the phone is still making noise only to observe that he has decided to let it play out as he ignored the call. He was actually bobbing his head to the bum ass sound quality of his phone’s speaker. (HE LEAVE YO ASS FOR A WHITE GIIIIIIIIIIRRRL) I’ve decided to slit his wrist with my pen cap. Just then the elevator reached the lobby and he exited the elevator. It was then that I realized this: America, we need ring tone regulation!

My people, unless you are between the ages of 9 and 17, you are NOT allowed to purchase ring tones (or ringbacks for that matter) for your mobile device. Mother, “Fergalicious” should not play when you get a phone call from my brother’s high school principal. What in Harry Potter’s wand happened to the phone going “ring ring?” Are you cool now because you’ve turned your Fav Five into a Blink 182 playlist? Although YOU may like the songs you put on your phone, you’re only playing these once popular tracks out and pissing off everyone around you. Ring tones are for children who have yet to experience the sheer beauty of an iPhone. Only if you’re a child, I expect you to invest in a couple jingles to go along with your trendy glittered phone clip. However (taking a deep breath), if you have “A Milli” by Lil Wayne as your standard ring tone…and you ride the FUCKING train, I’m releasing rabid dogs in your neighborhood on Halloween night. What sense does it make for you to have an Easy E track as a ring tone, but your voice message sounds like this: Good day! You’ve reached the mobile device of Anthony Bainbridge of the Bainbridge & Skyles Firm. Unfortunately I have missed your call and would truly appreciate it if you would leave a detailed message as to why. Thanks a ton and have a great day…BEEP. Nation, I propose that your voice mail message should parallel your ring tone should you decide that you need ring tones on your phone. So if “Miss Independent” is your ring tone, your voice mail should start like this: “Fuck niggas…only bitches making paper on they own can say shit after the beep”. If you prefer “Put On” by Young Jeezy, this is your voice mail’s message: “HA HA (Jeezy laugh) nigga I be missin calls like shit (LIKE SHIT) so you gotta leave a message (A FUCKIN MESSAGE) or I aint callin you back (DAAAAAMN)”. And for you older folks, if you want any Michael Jackson song, no matter what your voice mail says there needs to be the sound of swings and children’s laughter in the background. NO FURTHER QUESTIONS.

Look, if we don’t stop this ring tone obsession, who knows what can happen. What? Am I going to come home tomorrow night and BET is hosting the first annual Ring Tone Awards? What happens when the song is not enough? One day when our phones ring, if you have a ring tone not only will the song play, but so will the Dave Myers directed video. Do you know how screwed up my day will be if a Missy Elliot video pops up on my phone every time I get a call? So please, America, leave these ring tones alone. Let the kids play with them and you just stick with “ringer 3” that COMES WITH THE PHONE!!!

I Will "Take That" No More Diddy...

Let me open up this passage with a simple question directed solely to Mr. Sean "Diddy" Combs: Since when did you rule the world? For some odd reason, you have come to believe that you have become the king of the music/entertainment industry. How you have come to this conclusion about yourself baffles me and anyone else who might witness you all over television acting the complete fool. Now I can't watch the rest of the nonsense "reality" shows that come on MTV because you, sir, have decided to make not one, but TWO bullshit bands. Mind you, we don't even bring up the very first band you attempted to assemble (even though that band was BY FAR more entertaining than any of your more recent creations). Yes, I am obviously talking about the tribe of ignorant hoodrats you so eloquently named "Da Band". Do you know how much America loved Da Band? Every single week, my high school physics teacher wouldn't even give my class homework on nights when your very first Making the Band was scheduled to air. Do you know how much my friends and I laughed at the sheer sight of Ness, who struggled with weight issues and strongly resembled Goo from Nickelodeon's "My Brother & Me" or Wendel from "The Parenthood"? We thought you was just showing America your sense of humor by effectively recreating Dave Chappelle's idea of the Mad Real World by putting these miscreants in one home. Anyway, Da Band was the worst group of all time; however what made them cool was the very fact that every week you would shut the studio down and you refused to acknowledge Dylan as the greatest rapper of all time. Yet, today you've got these suburban bands who just make us angry. Aside from all the flashing lights and semi-humorous interruptions with Diddy wearing oversized shirts saying statements like "Long Live The King," there is nothing entertaining about this show. And, where do you get the names of these bands from? Danity Kane? STOP PUTTING "DK" IN LIGHTS. Unless you plan on having a giant gorilla come out on the stage to kidnap one of your blond performers, I don't want to see it. I hope a little Japanese man from Nintendo sees this and sues your ass, Diddy. And let us not forget about Day 26. You might as well chalk that project right now. I happened to catch their music video one day during the two hour time block that "Music Television" actually plays a couple music videos. After watching this nonsense I was 100% certain that their choreographer, without a shadow of a doubt, taught this routine while in a wheelchair. I've never seen so much arm motion in my life. And who thought that it was acceptable to put in special effects to make it look like they were in the matrix? You are all doofuses (doofusi?) and I hope your plane crashes...and then of course Diddy will make millions from a tribute track...

I must move on before I get thoroughly disgusted and punt my laptop. While watching this MTB4 (by the way, WE'RE ON SEASON 9 JACKASS), I actually thought that I could catch a break when the commercials finally came on. But NO...what else do I see? I see you Mr. Combs, fully dressed in a well tailored suit, seated in a chair telling me that you have another show airing on VH1 entitled "I Want to Work for Diddy". The idea of this show just gives me the willies. First off, who in his right mind would want to work for you? You are not Donald Trump. You sign artists that make one hit and are never heard from again. Oh you need examples? What ever happened to B5? They're probably dropping some background vocals on Sesame Street (and the 24 year old brother in the group is PISSED). 8Ball & MJG are terrible. I'm leaving 8Ball (who humorously resembles an 8 ball so his stage name does not impress) a Baconator in his mail box, and I will video tape his disappointment when he discovers it is made entirely of rubber and squeaks when squeezed. 112 was a legit R&B group as they whined out bedroom classics. But I hear they have broken up over money issues (because Diddy needs all that cash). Loon, Dream (Diddy's first set of white girls), Kane (Diddy's WHITE RAPPER PROJECT), and G Dep: WHO? All Mario Winans ever did was cry on every single track. True Story: there's an interlude on his album where he blows his nose for 7 seconds. Carl Thomas. How the shit are you on a label called BAD BOY and you have the softest voice of all time?! Black Rob most likely got shot on a corner due to his excessive need to keep it real and mumbled "WHOA" as he died while sprinkling crack on himself. Shyne is never getting out of prison and is definitely scraping money together to sponsor a hit on Diddy. I'm certain Faith Evans is irrelevant in 2008. And your former sidekick Mase became a preacher and then somehow joined G-Unit as "Murder Mase" (still having the slowest flow of all time). Let's face it Danity Kane and Day 26: as soon as your shows are no longer on the TV at night, Diddy will rob and rape you (figuratively and literally).  Then you too can claim to have had hits or classics but now work as head hostess in your hometown's Chilli's.

If your "stars" can't even keep employment at Bad Boy, how are these normal people going to survive? You got fat boys running around New York in their underwear claiming that he is the Applesauce Bandit and women ripping out their own eyelashes just for amusement on http://www.diddy.com/. How is this even considered training for becoming an assistant of some sort? Can you actually put "Diddy's Applesauce Bandit" on a resume? This show should just be called "Diddy's Bitch". While I do enjoy watching America's underclass complete ridiculous challenges, it also saddens me that they are doing it for a man who is ridiculed for his main claim to fame: ad-libbing on other artists' tracks as he whispers "...take that, take that...". TAKE WHAT DIDDY?!?! Congratulations. You made the exclamation used after winning a round in Battleship an actual quote the Valedictorian used in his speech at graduation last June. How is it that you achieved so much success? How is it that Biggie's sidekick stole all the spotlight once he died? You should have gone to jail because I think you killed that large man. That's right I said it. Diddy orchestrated the East Coast/West Coast war so he could inconspicuously rise into relevance. Well done sir...hit 'em while no one's looking.

And this new show that you are coming out with where you are trying to make "the next pop star" should be X'ed before you even begin. I can't take 3 Diddy influenced shows on the air at the same time. After seeing what is going on with Donnie your "budding" solo star on ice, I am convinced you will never succeed in this endeavor. This poor white man moves like Pinocchio as he jerks his body across the stage. He will never be a Justin Timberlake or Usher or anything that even resembles a qualified dancing R&B artist. Sigh...It's over for Bad Boy Entertainment Mr. Combs. The only entertainment I now receive from Bad Boy is the fact that you thought you could revive the careers of New Edition. You should be slapped with O.J.'s gloves dipped in dog shit. Just accept it...when you thought it was necessary to hold a press conference to urgently announce that you no longer wanted to go by "Puffy" but "P. Diddy" AND THEN hold another news conference a year later alerting America to simply "drop the P from P. Diddy", you solidified your picture in the Funk & Wagnall's Dictionary next to the term "Village Idiot." You once held the world in the palm of your hand. You had a hit factory pumping out classics I still bump today (I will forever throw my rolly-less wrist in the sky and wave it side to side whether the song is playing or not). 2 of my closest Asian friends and I still have a shiny suit hanging up our closets. I STILL try to drive backwards at 50mph on empty roads. You not only invented the remix, but you and J.Lo invented the "power couple." I loved you Puff Daddy (pause). But when you became Diddy, you became all that was wrong in the world...

The World's Greatest Evil...

America, we are living in tumultuous times. The presidential election of November 2008 is hastily approaching. The fate of the free world is up in the air like a basketball at tip off time. However, the two hands reaching for this ball are the brown hands of a man who will without a doubt catch the “itis” while delivering his State of the Union address because he ate too much poultry in the greenroom and the delicate and well manicured hands of an Alaskan woman (some would call her an Eskimo…dammit) because McCain died of shock when someone told him there was such a thing known as sexual harassment in the workplace. Al Gore has me believing that it’s pointless to even think about having children (or paying off college loans for that matter) because anything below the Mason Dixon line will inevitably become the new millennium’s Atlantis due to global warming. Hurricane Katrina came to America and achieved what she wanted and, like a European immigrant in 1913, sent home for her cousins and they are now here terrorizing our southern states yet again. Diddy has not one, but TWO (2) television shows airing simultaneously on two different channels. In the name of Zeus’ beard, can someone tell me what kind of world we live in now?!?! With all of these calamities pushing the walls in around us faster and faster, you would think that I have something to speak out on. Never fear, I have found the root of all this evil. The father of all iniquity resides in Florida, my children. Nothing on this planet represents immorality and sheer wickedness to the extent that I witnessed when I took a trip to Disneyworld in Orlando, Florida. This motha fucka Mickey Mouse is without a doubt Mr. Sinister himself in a god damned tuxedo jacket with tails. Go get a bottled cranberry juice and sit on the floor Indian style in front of this computer screen and pay close FUCKING attention, I have a story to tell…

First of all, everything you used to believe about Mickey Mouse is a bold faced lie. Anything regarding this icon as a giant, jolly, and cordial rodent in a well knotted bow tie is an absolute lie. Remember back to your childhood when you would go to Disney and take pictures next to Mickey Mouse and he towered over you as you wore your own Mickey ears and sipped a Capri Sun from a straw poked through the missing tooth gap in your mouth. Oh yes, as a child all you probably committed to memory was actually taking that picture. No one ever recollects standing in a line so ridiculously long you would think there was endless gold at its end. But is there gold at the end? No. It’s just a polyester mouse with no vocal cords who thinks it’s perfectly alright to play peek-a-boo with every child that comes up to him. Why in Apollo’s name do we stand in these outlandishly long lines just to shake hands with college students (or Cubans) dressed up as life sized cartoon characters? And, what about these people that actually get paid to pantomime from nine to five? They couldn’t hire me to play Mickey Mouse for a day. I would jump into pictures I wasn’t even supposed to be near. You think you’re taking a picture hugged up with Goofy and I’m in the background throwing up the Westside sign, bitch! All you want is picture with Winnie the Pooh (by the way, what the shit is a “Pooh” and why does he think it’s completely acceptable to wear a red child’s small t-shirt to cover his nipples but his belly, balls, and toes can hang all out…just wondering) and in the background you see me luring 3 children away with candy. What?!?! All I’m trying to say is that I can’t possibly understand what keeps these “actors” motivated to stay in character all day and not want to go have some mischievous fun of their own. It is 1000 degrees in those costumes and you’re telling me you want to wave and hug non-English speaking tourist all day. I refuse to believe it.

It doesn’t end there either. You would think Mickey is larger than life. I mean come on; he has theme parks, television channels, movie studios, cartoons, video games, toys, story books and magazines all created from his image. This man is a brand name (the original Blue Magic) that people have built their careers. I walked up to Mickey for the first time last week and thought I was standing next to Midget Mac in god damn Stewart Little costume. Don’t let the pictures fool you people; Mickey Mouse is 4’11” and that’s with his little gold boots. All my life I thought Mickey Mouse was 7’30” and come to find out he can’t even get on half the rides in his own theme park. I wish I was Mickey Mouse and you tell me I can’t get on Space Mountain. I would rip off one my ears and fling it at the bridge of your nose like a black Frisbee. To be honest though, I think Mickey is actually used to violent behavior like that. Here is an assignment: take a brief break from this passage and YouTube some old Steamboat Willie clips of Mickey back in the old days. He is a documented animal abuser and racist. I lie to you not; I caught a lot of the different characters of Disney engaging in sketchy behavior all weekend, too. First off, Mickey treats Goofy AND Pluto like shit. Mickey kicks Pluto whenever he sees him. I witnessed Mickey sitting in a chair and he noticed Pluto walking by holding a woman’s hand. Mickey abruptly stopped what he was doing, tip toed up to Pluto’s left (because those helmets don’t have good peripheral vision), and super kicked him in the head like Shawn Michaels. Mickey then Diddy danced all the way back to his seat and continued taking pictures and no one said or did anything! I saw Cinderella smoking weed behind a dumpster. Huey, Duey, and Luey were cuffed and walked through the park to the Disney Detention Center because they were caught shoplifting. The guy who wears the Eore costume from Winnie the Pooh is just as depressed as the character he plays. It started to rain and while all the other characters (or “cast members” as they are called down there) were running to find cover, he just sat there trying to slit his wrists with a pen cap. It’s tragic how they act when they think no one is looking.

Characters aside, the actual Disney campus is outrageous. It’s like its own country with its own money and law enforcement. I promise you this: if you heard terrible stories about the Los Angeles or New York Police Department, it probably pales in comparison to the Disneyworld Police Department. These guys are the most disgruntled and anal law enforcement brigade of all time. I blame it on those uniforms they have to wear. They look like pilots and their badges are the shape of Mickey’s head. What sick bastard thought it would be cool to mold a law enforcement badge into the shape of a harmless cartoon character’s head? So with that, they feel that they must be the most fearsome toddler task force of all time. They pepper spray areas of the park when they feel there’s too many children crying. If you lose track of your child and they find little wandering Timmy, they actually incarcerate the child, not the parent. True story: they shut the wading pool (the pool that is only 2 feet deep) down at my resort for an hour because there was too much splashing and noise. They then pushed the life guard on duty around their circle of Disney Police like bullies because they felt she was weak at her post. Oh, and don’t call these cops the Goof Troop. They hate that…and they chase you until they catch you. And no, you cannot outrun them. Their rage turns them all into Jamaican sprinters.

Finally, Mickey Mouse and the Monopoly Man must have been golf buddies because Disneyworld has the most thorough understanding of complete monopoly ever. You can’t eat, drink, or travel anywhere around Disney unless you pay Mickey Mouse. Furthermore, Mickey knows this and he sets the most offensive prices for everything. I spent $200 at a bar on 3 Long Islands and 4 draft beers. If I wasn’t so drunk when I cashed out, I would have caused a scene when the register did the Mickey laugh as my receipt printed. Food is unreasonably expensive and they only serve it 4 times a day, so you have to eat it. $11 for a turkey and cheese sandwich (not including a beverage) and it isn’t even filling. The restaurants all start their meals with $11-17 appetizers. The shuttles refuse to take you anywhere that isn’t a Disney theme park or Disney resort. I was walking to McDonalds for a late night snack and a shuttle pulled up in front of me. Chip and Dale jumped out threw a potato sack over my head and I woke up tucked in my bed in footed pajamas and Hannah Montana was on the TV. Mickey must rake in 20 million a day on food, liquor, and transportation alone.

You know where the ultimate evil comes into play though? Yes, Disney captures children’s imaginations and keeps them wanting to come back for more. They want their parents to buy Mickey ears, get their face painted, dine in the magic castle, experience the Pirates of the Caribbean and ride the Buzz Lightyear rides in Tomorrowland. That stuff is colorful and loud and leaves children hypnotized. Meanwhile parents are stuck enduring all the childish stuff just so that their kids don’t grow up feeling cheated out of a childhood milestone. However, wait until the end of the night. It's then the grown man’s turn to get mesmerized by bright lights and loud sounds. Every night at 8pm the Disney parade rolls through the Magic Kingdom. Not only were the kids wide mouthed and captivated by these elaborate floats made to resemble a scene from every single Disney movie, but I too, was awestruck by what was actually happening on these floats. When the villain float came passed, I swear the witch from Snow White and I caught eyes and she gave me the finger before she disappeared into smoke. Captain Hook jumped off the float and ran at some children who were booing him. Like ran at them full speed. Cinderella and the Prince were riding in the pumpkin coach and he was definitely feeling her breast as they waved to onlookers. Mickey walked out with the Nation of Islam surrounding him. It was ridiculous. Who does this Mickey Mouse think he is? All I could do was shake my head as the children and parents followed the parade all around the park like zombies in the night. Anyway, I won’t be attending any other Disney events. I returned home broke but I did buy a pair of those four fingered Mickey gloves. I only did that so that when I am in a bar and start raising the roof, I can attract under-aged men and women to slap before I report them to the bouncers. Bouncers who also have pending applications with the DWPD...

Mail for a Mr. Michael Phelps...

Dear Mr. Michael Phelps,

May I call you Mikey? That was a rhetorical question, Fival; you do not answer. You sir, have successfully and utterly baffled me. Just where did you come from? How is it that in the span of two weeks you were able to grasp the hearts and minds of every single female in the United States of America? Some could argue that I am a hater but I think it needs to be said: you play in water. You swim. First and foremost, why is swimming even considered an Olympic sport? Actually, we might as well take a look at today's Summer Games overall: Archery. Come on Olympics Committee. Why are you still legitimizing this as a sport? There's nothing athletic about a man murdering a bull's-eye with an arrow from 100 paces. You think I care that this man has heat seeking arrows or that his bow has a scope and infrared lasers attached to it? Yes, Olympic archers purchase their equipment from the same stores highly trained assassins frequent. Fantastic. The archer has successfully proven that he can spend his money to transform his arm into a Swiss army knife rather than starting a college fund for his children. Bravo. Your kids can't go to college but they can say pop was William Tell. Christ. Fencing? Understand this: I will shoot any idiot that approaches me with a sword. Period. I win ALL the gold medals for the independent country of Dashtoria (don't try to pronounce it; it's impossible). And badminton? This would be the "sport" where you are required to hit a "birdie" over a net and no matter how hard you swing, the birdie will just gently float downward. I think the ONLY way one who plays badminton should ever qualify for an Olympic medal is if they play with a live grenade. Even still, tin should be the highest medal awarded. Synchronized diving? My disdain for this event is only equaled by that I have for those smug son a bitch announcers doing the event's commentary. First, it's clearly evident that these two grown men spend 16 hours a day jumping off of a diving board together. I don't approve of this message. Second, as they attempt to perform the exact same dive simultaneously, these announcers suck their teeth and groan as they point out on national television when one diver points his toe as opposed to the other curling his. If it's synchronization you seek, I'll make sure to have my fist perfectly clenched so you announcers and divers can all have synchronized blackened eyes and matching missing teeth.

Finally, I am led to your event, Mr. Phelps. This would be the event referred to as "swimming back and forth"...a lot.

Seriously, I really do not care how fast you can swim across a pool. I do not care how many times you can swim the length of the thing either. You want to impress Team Dashy? Swim the god dammed Atlantic. Better yet, just swim from Atlantic City to Bejing. I'll be waiting on a dock in Bejing and gladly toss your gold medal into your mouth like it's feeding time at Sea World. You want to be Aquaman, then prove it. Forget the pool baby. Race a dolphin. What kind of pussy tries to validate his craft by challenging those who are simply mediocre? When I'm feeling rowdy, I don't stand out front of the local gym and pick fights with guys who just bench and squat. Oh no Mr. Phelps; unlike you, I am a man. When I'm feeling the need for a good fight, I fly to Africa and kick a lion while he's having sex. Yes, mid stroke...I don't give a fuck. I do this because a lion is a seasoned fighter and why prove myself to man when it is obvious that animal is vastly superior in this craft of whooping ass? You know why else I refuse to justify your success in the pool? Swimming will not help you in a real life dire situation. Despite how well you perform in a chlorine saturated pool, I honestly doubt you can escape an angry shark (we can test this theory later if you like...it's always Shark Week somewhere). A real Olympic sport like track helps you in real life situations. Answer me this Phelps: do you see any Kenyans in jail? NO. Do you know why? Because the police can't catch these bare foot niggas. They will run for days, head bobbing back and forth, until they reach safety. You go ahead and try to swim away from the cops, Michael Phelps. They won't even chase you. They'll just send Shaq the Sheriff to the opposite end of the pool...and wait. Despite what everyone thinks, you will have to come up for air eventually, Michael.  Can't out-swim science, jackass.

But back to how you have somehow brainwashed all the females of America. This shit is crazy. Oh, I'm hating.  Really. I recently heard a female openly admit, "I don't care how his ears look, I just want him to dangle his 11 gold medals over my bed and fuck me." WHAT? Alright Tila Tequila, if it's the noise you desire, I have wind chimes and such; I could even hang some red and blue pots and pans over the bed if it's the sound you seek. I hope you fully understand how much I hate you, Mikey. My hatred for you has surpassed that of which I have for T-pain and Ronald McDonald combined. Normally, this would be the point where I decide to enlighten you on how I would take your life or in some way sabotage any of your further efforts to make history in accomplishing the most Olympic Gold medals ever. No. Not today. I am simply bewildered at the fact that people are deeming you the world's greatest athlete because you have a couple Gold medals. You, Michael Phelps, are not the world's best athlete ever. If some hysterical little girl runs up to you screaming, "Michael Phelps, world's greatest athlete of all time, have sex with my under-aged body!" you must (either before or after you sex her down) swiftly jab her in the kidney and make her understand you are not the world's greatest athlete of all time. I will say that attaining an Olympic Gold Medal is very difficult for the common man. To achieve 9, is damn near impossible. Moreover, to swim (to swim well) is also not an easy task. However, for you to be deemed as the world's greatest athlete of all time, don't you think you should be able to do a little more than simply...swim? I mean shit. What happens if some Russian comes to the Olympics in 2012 and gets 13 medals in fencing? Do you think he's just taken your title? Michael Phelps, along with continuing to successfully swim better than anyone else in the world, this is what you must do to maintain this "greatest athlete ever" moniker:

1. get a medal (gold, silver, magenta...I don't fucking care) in the poll volt while wearing a peg leg
2. simply make the roster of the Angolan national basketball team
3. win a 100m dash but run next to runners who are actually competing; and when you're interviewed afterward just calmly state, "I thought we were running from something."

You know what? Despite even completing this list, you still will never be the world's best athlete ever. I reserve that title for anyone who has ever donned a New York Yankees uniform. These guys are a fraternity of athletes who not only excelled in success among their peers; still many of them were fat, womanizing alcoholics. You have trained every day for an entire lifetime. Babe Ruth looked like a bowling ball. Mickey Mantle came to the plate wreaking of pussy and perfume.  Why should you deserve the title of best athlete ever when a professional baseball player can crank out homer after homer while hung over? Furthermore, have you ever tried to steal 2nd with a bad case of the crabs? I think not Michael Phelps. I think not...

Sleep well,

The Dash

(P.S. You look like Sloth from the Goonies...)

Old People: You Don't get off the Hook That Easy...

Ah, but the old people. Yes, you get the spotlight also. Where shall I begin?

How about I start with LL Cool J? Yes, we'll start with this shiny bald headed jacked up midget that has been lingering around the Hip-Hop world for over two decades now. Jesus, has anyone took the time to realize that his first name is comprised of the same letter twice? (sigh) Sincerely, from me to you LL (and I actually pronounce that as "La-La"): how about you go do the running man around the mouth of a volcano, promptly. Who do you think you are? Please, ENLIGHTEN me. LL Cool J means "Ladies Love Cool James"? Maybe back in the 80's buddy. Today perhaps it should mean "Little Laxatives Calm James". You are an old fart. And stop lifting weights! Didn't you get the memo: niggas use guns in the new millennium. I hope you know that I'm plotting on hunting you like deer, James. When I find you, I first plan to tie you up and repeatedly peg sandwich bags full of marbles at you. Then I'm going to steal thousands of Barbie dolls from little girls all across the nation; I will strip them naked and cut off their hair and then leave these hairless plastic dolls on the ground all around your tied up body. I will then reveal your location to thousands of angry little 8 year old girls. We will see how much these Ladies Love you then, Cool James. I wonder how cool you actually will be when you are found shirtless in a warehouse getting ATL stomped by tall toddlers in Payless heals. Another thing: how did you build up the audacity to make a song where the chorus is "I'm Your Baby" when you are clearly old enough to be a grandfather? Supposedly you were born in 1968 meaning that you are currently 40 years old. This would explain your recently excessive need to shave your face and head entirely. Going for that wet seal look, eh? Nonetheless, you are still too damn old to be attempting to make music (unless you decide to take up jazz flute) that requires you to be overtly sexual or gully. Remind me but don't you have a mortgage? You know what, I would rather listen to DJ Khaled hum over this track rather than listen to your horrible "flow" tarnish this record as well as The Dream's rising career. Do you understand that you said that your wife (and it has to be your wife you're talking about or your wife is as dumb as you) "makes her booty clap on the floor of the kitchen?" Talking about how she "plays Bingo" and "rides Mandingo." I assure you that no one wants to picture this. You know who really doesn't want to picture this: your god damn kids, James. Have you forgotten that you have 4 children? You think THEY want to hear about mommy's bootyclappin' superpowers (sidenote: yes everyone, booyclappin' is indeed a superpower worthy of the Key to the City)? Let's not mention that they go to school with children that sadly listen to your music ONLY to ridicule your kids during lunch hour. Fantastic, James. Your children are scarred for life because you just can't let go of the game. Give it up. You are no longer the object of females' affection. Women don't care about your slow and sensual rap ballads anymore...or you licking your lips for that matter. Reality check: Lil Wayne has a track out called Pussy Monster, and these bitches like it...

Another old one that needs to just give up: Kid Rock. You were born in '71. Guess what? You are no longer a KID and emu is the new ROCK in this millennium. GROW UP PETER PAN. Now don't get me wrong; I do like alternative music. It's a very close second to my appreciation for Hip-Hop. However, I never liked you Kid Rock. Jesus, I hate saying your name. I shall call you by your birth name Robert Ritchie. I hate you. Let's sit back and take a look at some of your music starting with that horrible song in which you yell out random syllables like you have turrets syndrome. "Bawitdaba da-bang-ga-dang diggy-diggy" WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU ATTEMPTING TO TELL ME? I should slap you with a dictionary AND thesaurus (and no, Robert Ritchie, a thesaurus is not a dinosaur). Learn some real words. You're a grown ass man; you have no excuse. If Mush Mouth from Fat Albert can do it so can you. And then there is "Cowboy" which I feel is the real reason that Brokeback Mountain was indeed produced. How this song did not make the soundtrack is beyond me. This song came out in '99. There are no cowboys anymore. I am certain of this. Do yourself a favor Robert Richie, go get LL Cool J so you can hang out with someone your own age. I'm sure Ice Cube has a family barbecue coming up soon. If you're lucky, maybe he'll give you two cameos in the next Barbershop movie.

If You Were Born In or After 1992, You're a Pussy...

You know, I don’t normally like to generalize. Personally, I prefer to single people out on their faults rather than create a tragic norm out of a couple rotten apples. Yet, there are always outliers. For example, I don’t hate Asians. In fact, I thoroughly enjoy General Tso’s chicken and Dragonball-Z reruns. However, that Asian chick that rolls her books around campus in LUGGAGE makes me sick and has successfully captured my hatred. Why does she feel the need to scurry around campus like a squirrel while wheeling every book she needs for the semester? STOP ROLLING THAT BAG OVER MY FEET! I swear if I didn’t know that she was rolling around books (because that‘s what Asians do other than win America's Best Dance Crew), I would think that the bag was full of Pokemon balls. I hate her. You hate her. I vote, for the betterment of campus life everywhere, she be destroyed. I don’t particularly care for clowns, either. I am actually the chief manufacturer of Ronald McDonald Kidnapping Kits. However, in light of the Dark Knight…I may want to grow up to be the Joker now. Yes children, I would like to make a living in the future by wearing face paint and purple pinstriped pants. Don’t judge me. Does anyone realize that this grown man was able to make other grown men wear masks of HIS face while they robbed a bank? If you can’t understand my amazement, I have a task for you. Go to your group project meeting and say, “alright everyone, so for tomorrow I think we should all wear (insert your name here) masks while we give our presentation.” I guarantee the Asian chick in the group transforms into a Pokemon and either zaps you with lightning or stuffs you into her luggage. Either situation ends with you never being seen again.

Anyway, as you can see, sometimes I do formulate my opinions of people based on the demographic they belong. This leads me to my point of the day: I hate today’s youth. If you were born in 1992, today you are 16; thus you are a pussy. So America, when you see Emu boy riding a skateboard down the sidewalk, politely stop him and ask him what year was he born. If he says anything after or including 1992, you have my permission to feed him a knuckle sandwich and throw his skateboard into oncoming traffic. I came to this conclusion the other day after watching a lot of television and realizing the sorry state that our country is now submerged. These kids today are groomed to be vaginas with arms and feet. Can someone explain to me why the Nintendo Wii has become the equivalent to…OUTDOORS? I own a Wii. Do you know why? Because as a child, when mother wasn’t home I wasn’t allowed to go outside. So during the 3 hours between getting home from school and when my mother came home from work, I sat in the house and played Mario. NO…not Mario Paint or Mario Sunshine or Mario Tennis. I played real Super Mario Bros for Nintendo. Now as an adult, the Wii allows me to appreciate how Mario has evolved from a 2D plumber jumping over barrels on Donkey Kong into Mario Galaxy on Nintendo Wii. So yes I own a Wii, but I don’t substitute going outside and playing pick up basketball for Dancing With the Stars with Wii nunchucks. When I was younger, I rode my bike, climbed trees, etc. Today, video game companies are scrambling to invent interactive pedals so you can go play Wii Tour de France. Fuck you Wii. If I ever see a Wii Tag or Wii Manhunt (or ultimately worse: Wii Catch the Girl Freak the Girl) I will dress up like Luigi and pour gallons of water on the Nintendo building in an attempt to short out its every single circuit. Yes, I will dress up like Luigi, and all you young 92ers will read about this on your Wii News and say to yourselves, “that looks like a green Mario costume.” Son of a bitch…

Can someone please explain to me when it became cool to pretend you are in a Rock Band instead of actually learning how to play the guitar? There is no reason why kids in the school marching band are STILL considered geeks while the “cool kids” can now sit in the basement and battle each other on Guitar Hero. I can solve this enigma. I’m going to infiltrate one of these basements where children surround themselves with Doritos and root beer and spend hours trying to “play” Walk This Way by hitting red, blue, green, and yellow buttons on a controller (or better yet, a controller that looks like and is the actual size of real guitar). I plan to pepper spray the entire room and then bludgeon these preteens to death with these stupid guitars. Then I’ll pour some root beer out for our dead homies. And since when did beating this game indeed constitute you a guitar "hero"? I don’t care if you can play Welcome to the Jungle on level 8…you will never sleep with a girl.

Ah, and my request for the day: STOP DANCING. Soulja Boi, I have so many words for you but I won’t waste any in this post. I got something for you later. Just understand when I do the Marco Polo, a gun is involved. However, all you little shits who thought it would be cool to crank that batman, spiderman, iron man, aqua man, blank man, sandman, and whatever else ends in “man” are indeed true examples of wasted semen. Instead of going to a party and actually dancing with a girl, apparently you and your core group of friends found it genius to create and record “Crank Dat Finding Nemo” in an empty  Target parking lot and post it on youtube last Friday evening. I have a new dance too and it’s call “Crank Dat Get Kicked In the Chest and Into a Bottomless Pit” and it’s really easy. I’ll be more than happy to travel to middle schools around the nation and conduct afternoon assemblies showing how it’s done. Ladies (and I use that term loosely), you aren’t off the hook either. Listen, it’s little bitches like Patti Mayo (youtube her NOW before continuing reading any further...NOW ASSHOLE) that make it possible to have shows like To Catch a Predator on the air. The female 92er doesn’t baby-sit the neighbors’ kids on a Friday or Saturday night. No, no, no, she’s in her dad’s home office dancing to Rihanna in booty shorts and a bra for her web cam for all of the nation’s perverts to view (for free). You know bitches born in 84 actually get paid for this same shit (thus making it OK). So not only do you get comments from males posted under your video saying, “slut”, “whore”, “shake it baby“, and “that bitch got rabies”, but from females too saying, “that aint how you wind it up…broke bitch.”

I just don’t get it anymore. You know Sesame Street doesn’t even come on anymore. If it does, my Comcast Cable tells me that number doesn't exist. How do you grow up without Sesame Street though? I just don’t understand. Learning numbers by counting bats with The Count in the morning has been sadly replaced with adding up all the bitches from all the seasons of Flavor of Love in the evenings. Isn’t that a bitch? You bastards born in 92 ACTUALLY think Transformers was just a creative movie. Keenan and Kel have been replaced with...Drake and Josh? You know what was the shit? E.T. A child told me yesterday that Wall-E is the new E.T. I poisoned his lunchable. Those of you born in 92 or after, you are indeed pussies. Your Razor scooters and colorful trendy helmets that make wearing helmets cool sicken me. I hate you as much as I hate the sandwiches your mother cut into triangles for your lunch. You are all fat and sick because you lock yourselves in your bedrooms sipping Capri Suns and eating Cheez-Its as you deprive yourselves of fresh air and sunlight because you found a new friend to talk to on X-Box360 as you play Halo. You all truly think Lil Wayne is the best rapper of all time because 2pac and Biggie have become just as mythical as Hercules and Leprechauns to you. And finally, what the hell is Go-Gurt? Children…does anyone realize that someone invented and promoted yogurt in a motha fucking tube and these sorry bastards of the 90s now love this shit like crack in the 80s? I’m moving to Canada…

I Hate New Jersey...

There are few states in which I hate in their entirety. (1) Montana, which I refer to as the Shawn Bradley of all states due to the fact that it is big for no real reason and has nothing to contribute to the others, (2) Rhode Island, the dangling turd of the United States, (3 & 4) The Dakotas, which are the Siamese twins of the nation joined in ass to forehead manner, and of course (5) New Jersey, the typical bitch ass middle child influenced and consumed by all types of peer pressure...

BITCH ASS NEW JERSEY...
The fact that it is called the "Garden State" when there are clearly no real gardens around is asinine. In actuality, this ho ass state has more landfills than gardens, thus I vote we change the name to the "Smells like Giraffe Ass State." Every time that I am forced to enter this wretched state there is always some kind of construction going on where trees are being demolished and mini malls are being put up. I see no flowers. Just weeds. Daffodils. What type of struggle-garden is this? You know we could just call Jersey the Turnpike State. Because that's all people really need to use it for. New Jersey is just a state that needs to be passed through while on a road trip to your REAL destination. And what's worse is that you always have to pay a toll to get OUT of New Jersey...never to get in. It's like they're trying to trap you. Fury ensues every time I pay three cash plus the cost of gas just to get across the bridge to get to Philadelphia. I wonder if anyone has ended up stranded in New Jersey because they didn't have the three singles to cross the bridge. I've decided that I need to build an arc. Yes, I said it...AN ARC: to rescue all that are stuck in bitch ass New Jersey and are sick and tired of paying the toll for the bridge. Another thing: people from Jersey are not tough. I'm sick of people from Jersey bragging that they harbor the most dangerous city in America. Yes, Camden may have been ranked the most dangerous city in America in both 2004 and 2005. However in 2005, Money magazine ranked Moorestown (a city located only 10 miles away from Camden) as the number one place to live in America. HOW THE FUCK DOES THAT WORK? The best place to live in America is a 19 minute drive from the worst place to live in America. Unbelievable. It's like Mr. Rogers living next door to Oscar the Grouch and he doesn't give two steaming shits that Oscar lives in a trashcan. He just continues to sing as he laces up his Chucks so he can take the trash out and pour last nights leftovers upon Oscar's face.  "Eh...you live in a trash can.  You tryna tell me you're not hungry?"  Damn you Rogers...keep pouring.
Some say that Jersey should be divided into North and South Jersey. For what? Because they can't make up their mind on which sports team to like? No, we will not divide New Jersey in half because it's bitch ass cannot make up it's mind. They have the New Jersey Nets, why are they not satisfied? Why must they become fans of other state's teams? OWN YOUR BITCH ASS STATE. If it's that serious we could simply cut it in half and add South Jersey to Pennsylvania and North Jersey to New York. Then the residents of North Jersey will actually have a legitimate reason to be happy the Giants won the Super Bowl and the residents of South Jersey can fully experience the agitation caused by the 76ers' lack of talent and horrendous management...



STORY TIME:
I have a friend who lives in this state of bitch-ass-ness. Chaulky. On one random night while on summer vacation, I receive a phone call from Chalky who asks me why I never come home to visit. There are numerous reasons: (1) Dash does not drive a hybrid vehicle and having a man tell me that I owe $43 to fill up my tank may force me to wrap my arm around his neck and quickly peel off at 62 mph. (2) There is absolutely nothing to do in New Jersey besides go to Atlantic City or "go down the shore" (PS...grammatically, it should be "go down to the shore"), and (3) There are absolutely no competitive pick-up basketball games due to the fact that old sweaty men storm the local gyms immediately after work just to yank off their button down sweatpants revealing every support brace one can possibly have on his body, and rub their old wrinkly, slimy bodies against you as they attempt to play effective defense (no homo).

Well, on this night I happen to have nothing to do with my life and Chaulky suggested that I come down to this party that his friend is throwing. So I figure I might as well go down there, chill for a little bit, throw back some beers, knock down a female, and pass out for a little bit before I return to Philadelphia. So I make this trip down to Chaulky's humble suburban abode.

I get there around 10 o'clock and Chaulky answers the door fully dressed with keys in hand, and states, "Let's go, we're late". Red flag numeral uno... It's 10 o'clock; this would be the time where I'm usually just rolling out of bed to get ready for a party (unless of course I have already arrived at the party early to consume all of the alcohol in the building). But apparently this party started at 8 o' clock (...smh...) and it should be "popping" by now. I say whatever and we drive to the party. Upon arrival there is a group of about 15 dudes standing outside. Red flag number 2... It's 10:30 and there is a group of 15 males standing outside of a supposedly "popping" party. This would only mean that there must be a very small amount of females in attendance. Despite this red flag, I enter the house and instantly hear a Baltimore Club track flowing out of speakers in the basement. This deems one of two things: (1) There are females actually getting it in and working out downstairs, or (2) there's a circle with niggas Wu-Tang battling in the center. I go to investigate...

I enter the hottest basement in the nation and observe the party scene. Red flag number 3. Females are standing around and there is a circle of niggas (males, boys, etc) in the center of the basement. Needless to say, I have become the Incredible Hulk. I came all the way to New Jersey to witness these retards jump around like orangutans as the DJ puts on a sped up Spongebob track? I'm sick of it. I COULDN'T CARE LESS HOW FAST A SINGLE NIGGA'S FEET CAN MOVE. A thousand other children crowd him with their cell phones out giving him a sense that he's in the spotlight. FAGS... boys chanting "Get your light feet goin'..." Tragic. I'm coming out with a track called "Get your slave feet going" and making a video of Harriet Tubman and Sojourner Truth doing the toe-wop and the chicken noodle soup dance then putting it on YouTube. 6 million views in the first 12 hours. And if I get Samuel L. Jackson to two step and then pop and lock in a full Adidas sweatsuit with a fur hat and push a broom like Turbo in the background, it will be featured as the "new joint" on BET's 106 & Park and then instantly move to the number one spot; consequently, Soulja Boy will later announce this to be named "Best Video" at the BET Awards.

FUCK YOU NEW JERSEY!! (Except for you Joe Budden... You, my friend, have my stamp of approval.) I really am ashamed of my home state some times...

"Aight, Just Gimme a Whopper..."

College (also see University)
col·lege
Pronounced: \ˈkä-lij\(noun)

1. A wonderous place made for attaining large quantities of sexual encounters
2. An institution designed for higher learning that is commonly used as an excuse for adolescents to move as far away from their parents as financially possible
3. The number one cause of debt in America (because of Sallie Mae mainly)
4. An environment where there is a common agreement that it is mandatory to go out every Thursday through Saturday night (length may increase according to which campus one attends) and drink as many alcoholic beverages as possible while trying to accomplish sexual achievements with the opposite sex. Those that do not follow this common agreement are dubbed "gay, pussies, nerds, geeks, losers, lovers of bitch-ass-ness, etc."
5. A setting where fast food chains can commonly be confused with one another due to late night menus and the effects of previously consumed tasty beverages...
Cited from Dashy's Dictionary 2008. Page 563.

Yes, each of these definitions correctly illustrates a different aspect of what college is all about. Originally, there were only 4 corresponding definitions to this word. However, after one recent night's turn of events, I felt like it was absolutely necessary to include the last definition mentioned...

Storytime:
It was a Friday night. This means that it was mandatory Dash to go out, find a house, drink all of the alcohol in the building, and stumble off into the night. On this particular night, I was accompanied by one of my close friends, Twister and another friend of his, Squid. We ventured out 9 blocks to a house party that we heard about via the social deathtrap known as "The Facebook." Upon arrival we were overwhelmed by the appalling scene of this "party." Male to female ratio is 4:1...but it's alright. Why? Because there are 3 coolers located in the kitchen filled to the brim with tasty beverage. I look at Twister and he does the nonverbal head nod and corresponding facial expression letting me know that it's another one of those nights where we ride it out and deplete any amount of alcohol that enters those coolers. Well played Twister. Well played indeed.

About an hour or so later, after going through a couple of cooler refills and attempted drunken dances with random fat bitches, Twister, Squid, and I decided it was time to depart this hot, dimly lit venue and return to the dorm for some intense rounds of Mario Kart on the N64. On the way out we run into one of our female friends who is obviously concerned about our safety and decides to walk with us on our way back home (also I think she just wanted to be the 4th Mario Kart competitor). Drunk to sober ratio is now 3:1 and these are not very good odds. So along the way, 3 of the 4 get lost. I honestly cannot tell you where they went or how they got lost together but now it's just me. But I can always find my way home. I simply use fast food restaurants as landmarks. Why? Because it's quite impossible to remember what street leads where, let alone attempt to read street signs in the dark while you are intoxicated. Look, in North Philadelphia, squinting your eyes while looking up to read street signs on street corners is a clear indicator that you're looking to get robbed.  So after wandering aimlessly for a good 5 to 10 minutes, I see those beautiful Golden Arches and I am instantly relieved because I am home free. It's a cakewalk from here because I know exactly where I am. However, I was extremely famished, so I decided to go inside...

Prepare yourself; this next section is vulgar and unedited. It is the conversation I had with this bitch behind the register, along with the thoughts that went through my head. The things you are about to read may be disturbing.---

I get to the counter...

Cashier bitch - Welcome to McDonald's what would you like?
Dash's Thought Bubble - (I'm a fucking college student. I'm broke bitch... what do you think I want?)
Dash - Lemme get 3 double cheeseburgers in my life.
-I'm sorry it's after 12 o'clock. We're only doing our late night menu - numbers 2 though 10.
-(AHH!! This the bullshit! I'm certain this bitch can assemble a double cheeseburger after 12 o'clock. This makes no sense! Fuck this bitch...Now I gotta get one sandwich for the same price I could have gotten 3. Might as well just get the biggest sandwich they have to compensate.)
-Aight, just gimme a whopper.
-Sir, you are at McDonald's...
-(BITCH DO I LOOK LIKE I'M BLIND? UNLIKE THAT NIGGA OVER THERE, I AM NOT WEARING SUNGLASSES AT NIGHT...)
-Yea... Ok... I know where I am. Just let me get my whopper.
-I'm sorry but we can't make you a whopper.
-(STOP... Did this bitch just REFUSE my service?--------------SPAZZ ON THIS BITCH RIGHT NOW)
-FUCK YOU MEAN YOU CAN'T MAKE ME A WHOPPER?!?! PUT THE SHIT ON THE GRILL RIGHT NOW... COOK IT AND THEN PLACE IT RIGHT HERE IN MY HAND!! I DON'T NEED WRAPPING PAPER EITHER. IT'S NOT GONNA BE A SURPRISE!
-But sir, this is McDonald's. We don't make...
-(This bitch's visor has to go. Fuck is she wearing that shit for? Does she plan to audit my meal as well? It's gotta go into the fry cooker...)
-GET ME A FUCKING WHOPPER! I DON'T WANNA HEAR NONE OF THAT 'THIS IS MCDONALD'S BULLSHIT'. THE RECIPE FOR A WHOPPER IS NOT A FUCKING SECRET! THERE IS NO SPECIAL SAUCE. NO SECRET INGREDIENTS... JUST A BURGER WITH LETTUCE, TOMATOES, ONIONS AND KETCHUP. AND FUCK ALL THAT SESAME SEED BUN SHIT!

The employees are dumbfounded. Terrified, the girl looks at her chunky ass 56-year-old manager whose back-of-the-neck area eerily resembles a pack of hot dogs (making my appetite grow larger) and he slowly hands her a sandwich.

-Here you go, sir.
-(Jesus... This bitch just handed me a little cardboard box that CLEARLY states "Quarter Pounder w/ Cheese"...)

Just as I am about to hop over the counter, slap that ridiculous visor off of her head, and slam her face upon the mechanism that imprints the little "M" on McGriddle sandwiches, Twister bursts through McDonald's doors.  Twister comes in screaming and yelling things that I cannot possibly understand. Partially because I'm drunk and incoherent and partially because he's speaking Spanish! When the fuck did he learn Spanish?  Why the fuck is he speaking Spanish? I quit. I pick up my little cardboard box as stumble to a table where I sit down and eat the worst Quarter Pounder of my life. Absolutely terrible. They simply could have placed a sandwich in my hand that consisted of only ketchup and sugar inserted into a single bun folded over and told me it was a whopper. And it would have been the best whopper I ever tasted. Ignorance is bliss. However, awareness gets you pissed. I don't even remember paying for it. And I'm glad I didn't because I was thoroughly dissatisfied. McDonald's is a fraud. McDonald's, home of the happy meal, did not put a smile upon my miserable face. And I absolutely DESPISE their commercials. NEVER have I felt the urge to get up and pop and lock like Sisqo in the middle of the restaurant after biting into a sandwich, nor have I ever seen any little white children eating their McNuggets to the beat of the Cha-Cha slide.  If you never saw that commercial, consider yourself lucky.

I'm sick of it. If I ever see Ronald McDonald with his fake ass Zorro companion and that bitch ass purple Pokemon on the street, I'm calling the troops. My boy BK, the Taco Bell Chihuahua, Lil' Wendy (she's tougher than she looks on the cup), Colonel Sanders, Popeye, and the Geico Lizard, and I are all putting on Jack-in-the-Box masks (just so we all look like Joker) and Arby's cowboy hats and then initiating a group stomp upon anyone MCD affiliated. Word to motha.  And then afterwards when they are unable to move because of the pain we've inflicted, I will look down at a crippled Ronald McDonald and ask, "WHY SO SERIOUS?" I will then proceed in shoving thousands of "America's Favorite Fries" into his mouth until he forms somewhat of a grin. Once this is achieved I'll simply state, "We love to see you smile...bitch."

Bullshit Movies...

Where do I start? First let me explain that I absolutely despise the season we call summer. SHIT IS TOO HOT. And apparently it's illegal to run the streets butt ass naked so I suppose the next best thing (besides rolling around in the tub) is to spend $13 to go see a movie in a dark, freezing cold movie theater.

First of all...FUCK MOVIE THEATERS! I went to the movies the other day and tried to get a combo which consisted of a medium popcorn, M&M's, with a medium beverage, when the 78 year-old raisin that stood behind the counter informed me that it would amount to 17 cash. Word? I just paid $13 to get a ticket, and you mean to tell me I have to pay $17 more for some tasty snacks and beverages? So, I kindly told her, "no thank you" and immediately slapped her with the ham sandwich I smuggled in under my sweatshirt.

Anyway, on to these movies. What are directors thinking these days when they make up movies? ENOUGH WITH THE SEQUELS. I don't want to see another Mummy movie. HOW MANY TIMES DOES ONE DEAD NIGGA HAVE TO COME BACK TO LIFE? I know what you're thinking. "Jet Li is in this one, so there's got to be more action." FUCK JET LI. Put him and Jackie Chan in the same room and who do you think will win??? Think long and hard. Of course, anyone would assume that Jet Li would wear Jackie Chan's ass out; holding his arm in the air as he repeatedly paddled those buttcheeks. In an empty room that may happen; however give Jackie a stool, a stapler, a pull up bar, or a Martha Stewart magazine and this little Chinaman will turn into a weapon of mass destruction. Saw 5??? I'm quite tired of watching people die in outrageously gruesome ways. I mean it was amusing in the first Saw...it was different; come on, 4 more movies of the same shit? Saw IV doesn't even deserve to be called a movie...shit's an extra long webisode. I feel like I could just skip that one and get all the details at the beginning of the next one from a mysterious guy with a deep voice like it's a Dragonball Z episode.  Word to Mr. PoPo.


Let's start off with "Wanted". Here's another Matrix style movie with characters jumping from building to building in slow motion while wearing sunglasses that surprisingly never leave their face nor fog up in hot situations. Ah, and apparently bullets curve now, making any form of strategic cover obsolete. I'm sick of it. What really gets me is: how do you get to become a phenomenal assassin by listening to Mr. Morgan Freeman? None of those children from Lean on Me became that gifted at shit. Shit, the fat boy wouldn't even kill himself! I mean they couldn't find anyone better to play that role? No one? Matter of fact, Morgan Freeman ain't do a damn thing in that movie. He just idly sat by as the white boy got his ass beat everyday. I wasn't aware that getting your ass whooped on a daily basis led to becoming some crazy super assassin. Before this movie hit the screen I read a movie review that read: "Morgan Freeman ups the ante in this action thrilled adventure..." I refuse to continue. MORGAN FREEMAN IS NOT TOUGH. This nigga just played GOD last year in Evan Almighty. Now this man is trying to turn over a new leaf by yelling "SHOOT THIS MOTHA FUCKA!"?? Sir, need I remind you, your name is MORGAN, first of all. You are not Samuel L. Jackson. A movie does not become popular just because you yell "motha fucka". Only Sammy Jack can do that. I, personally saw Snakes on a Plane just to be amused by that one line. After that, yes, I was fully satisfied. I've come to the conclusion that Samuel L. Jackson should be in every movie released in 2009. He doesn't even need a big role. Just say "FUCK" at some random scene during the movie. Like when Spiderman is chasing Green Goblin, just have that bald nigga sitting on bench reading a newspaper talking to himself like, "MY FUCKIN SOCKS ARE DAMP!!" He doesn't even need to be a character most of the time. Just as Jet Li decides he's going to take a swing at some half dead crusty looking mummy, there needs to be an interruption with Samuel L. Jackson sitting at a desk doing breathing exercises, and then yelling the word "FUCK".

This string of comic book movies is really pissing me off. Some of these guys aren't even real heroes with super powers. Incredible Hulk? Nah. WHO THE FUCK CAME UP THE IDEA TO PUT THE JOLLY GREEN GIANT ON STEROIDS? That's not entertaining. Ironman. Shit makes no sense. This man was supposed to be making a missile and somehow was able to pull off making an iron suit in the middle of a desert all while under total surveillance. How does that work? And then there's the worst of the worst: Batman. First off, Batman is not a real super hero. He has no powers. He's just a rich boy with gadgets and fly vehicles. Birdman (the Denver Nuggets basketball player) could be Batman if he really wanted to challenge himself. Someone please tell me how this man is not dead yet. If I EVER saw a grown ass man running around in a bat suit and cape, I would feel obligated to kill him. Why is it that every criminal feels the need to shoot him in the chest? STAB THAT MOTHA FUCKA IN HIS MOUTH. I'm certain he doesn't wear bulletproof lips God dammit. And I'm tight they named the movie The Dark Knight. When I hear dark night, I immediately think, "Wesley Snipes just walked in?" Forrest Whittaker is a very close second...that lazy eyed bastard. Anyway, Snipes IS TOO BLACK. Give that man some red lipstick and a turban and he is Mr. Popo (if you don't know who that is, google his picture immediately). What they should have named the movie was The Pale Pimp. This dude Joker has on a purple suit. This movie wasn't even about Batman; it was all about Joker. Matter of fact, I don't want to see another Batman movie simply because of the fact that the man who played Joker is dead and Morgan Freeman was in it for no reason. What was his role: make Batsuits? Sam Jackson could have done that and said "PUT ON THIS MOTHA FUCKIN SUIT" and this picture would have been so much better (especially in IMAX). And I swear to God if they come out with a Robin/Nightwing movie starring Shia LeBeouf, I'm purchasing a pair of Hulk Hands, soaking them in cement, and going to work on the director's face. After the proper facial abuse is inflicted I'll go check out the new Justice League movie that's coming out where Common is supposed to play the Green Lantern. I guess that's a different choice of casting. I guarantee, though, that if the Green Lantern was played by Sammy Jack, box office sales would be through the roof. All we need is one swift backhand with the hand holding the ring unleashed upon Wonderwoman along with a corresponding, "FUCK YOU WONDERBITCH! I RUN SHIT IN HERE" and the oscar for best film gets delivered ASAP. I'm telling you, Samuel L. Jackson is the golden ticket. He makes everything better. Replace Jigsaw with Sammy Jack and you could make another 17 Saw movies. Just rename it "WHY THE FUCK IS THIS CALLED SAW?" and it's an instant classic series. Matter of fact, I bet if you were to take the time to reread this and simply apply Samuel L. Jackson's voice to anything that's capitalized in this post, the entertainment (if any) from this post would skyrocket...