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!!!

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...

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...