TAX ADVICE FOR WESLEY SNIPES

Why is everybody so scared of death? There is nothing to fear but fear itself. And taxes. But there is an inevitability to all things, so there is no need to worry, because you can't worry forever, like you can't avoid W-2s and 1099s your whole life. Sometimes, you have to just resign yourself to certain realities in this life that are constant and eternal: Death and taxes.





Yes, the cartoon above is telling the truth. Don't act surprised next winter when Georgia Bush will indeed pardon Scooter Libby and the Republican success story comes full circle. The way of the GOP has always been the same. Someone commits the most unthinkable white collar crime imaginable, knowing that they'll get away with it, because he or she has friends in high places in red neckties. And as long as they pay tribute, they'll always see the bright, shiny, primary side of the law.


But will Wesley Snipes be pardoned as such if/when Barack Obama becomes POTUS, if he's found guilty of tax fraud under Bush's watch? I mean, HE WAS INDICTED in Florida (I'm So Hoooood!) a couple of days ago for failing to pay something like $16M in taxes in the last few years. If I had to guess, I'd say that he'll avoid jail time as long as he can pay the piper (nolo). If he half-steps towards the federal cash register, expect him to get RON ISLEY'D.

Nino Brown DARKNESS thought that he had outsmarted Uncle Sam by claiming some obscure and highly disputed tax loophole. What he must not have noticed, outside of the loophole entry (nolo), was the "No Coloreds" sign. Whoops. It also works against him that he was/is affiliated with the Nuwabians and the great
MALACHI YORK, whose Egyptian theme park religious compound was shut down by the government years ago.





Maybe he should take the example of Piotr Kucy, a 38-year old native of Polkowice, Poland. This man was WRONGLY IDENTIFIED AS A DEAD MAN last August, and is currently unable to legally work or pay taxes. He is, quite literally, fighting to come back from the dead.

What Wesley should do is what Ken Lay did: fake his death. We all know that the Enron mastermind is alive and laying up on Deer Island, not giving an eff about anybody's 401k or pension plan, as long as HE HAS GEORGE BUSH ON HIS SIDE. He could have been pardoned, but the story was just too big to allow him to walk.

Wesley (hopefully) has his money right. He should be able to see a decent settlement of a couple mil and walk it out like George Jefferson. If his money is funny, he'd better find a pallbearer. Either that or he should crank that R. Kelly (nolo) and go on a massive professional bender. Give us a new New Jack City, Nino Brown. And make it a blockbuster, not a blackbuster.

Plus, look at it this way, Wes: You can save Ice-T from having to pimp his "wife" for mortgage payments while the Hollywood writers' strike is drying up his Law & Order cheese.





Am I my brother's keeper?



UPDATE: Photobucket got on some straight nut-huggery with my last image. Since I had to amend my image, I did a little editing.

THE MYSPACE FILES (nolo) - VOL. 1

This was the last blog I wrote for Rupert, Tom and Co. From this point, I'm probably going to go backwards from the final post to the first. We'll see if it makes sense, a'la Jay-Z's Reasonable Doubt concert in NY last year. If it is not clear, don't fret. It just means that your comprehensive reading skills are shot to shit. Which is ok with me, oh my brothers and sisters.

STEP YOUR MIND UP.

##########################################################

Last Call for Alcohol
Current mood: satisfied
Category: Life


I could talk about so many things right now. Politics, Hip-Hop, family, friends, enemies or just any type of sheer fuckery that I might come up with at the last minute. This is, after all, my last blog for the year.

I had several ideas. One was to create a short fictional story about a writer having to choose between his "tool" and his "weapon." After little personal contemplation, I decided to save that one for commerce. Not to belittle the people who read these blogs, but I really have to save something for the cash register, don't I?

Before I started writing blogs, I had no idea that they were really as powerful as they are. I just kept hearing that they were going to take over the media, in one way or another, and it didn't take too many bellweathers for me to get involved. I'm glad I did, because to this day I keep being surprised at how many people read what I write on this page. I have to assume that at least 25% of the readers don't even have Myspace pages, but they read it and pass it along to other people.

Another reason why blogs are important is because you would never have heard about the Jena 6 or any other outrageous injustices going on in the modern world without bloggers. People just like you and I, who decided to put their thoughts into the mainstream without having to be edited by censors, corporations or conglomerates. While you were sleeping, power came back to the people.





But still, this blogging stuff can become consuming. Every time I experience something new, my instinct has been to share it with the world. I don't think there is a problem with that, but I do have an issue with somebody, somewhere, making a brutal shitload of money from people like me who are willing to contribute intellectual property to a middleman. Please believe that Myspace's founders, Tom and whoever else, made a killing - not only from the sale of the website to Rupert Murdoch's NewsCorp (which just recently bought The Wall Street Journal - pay attention), but also by simple advertising. Who wouldn't want their product or service in front of a hundred million confused young people who post pictures, personal information and blogs for the world to see, just for their own amusement?



(YOUNG RUPERT MURDOCH - CAPO DI TUTTI CAPI of the American Media)


Are you following?

Forgive me if I sound cocky. I admit that I come off that way a lot, even though I'm neither arrogant nor conceited. I don't have time to act like I'm better than anyone else. If I really want to be recognized for being different or special, it comes from hard work and dedication. Nothing else, except of course living a life that would make God and my mother proud. But if I do sound cocky sometimes, it's only the natural reflex of me having to dig within myself for my original confidence. I didn't come from being anything but hard-headed, but that's what got me where I am today. I don't always listen, but when I do, I make sure I hear everything. So when I say something, I tend to believe it.

I'm too good for Myspace.





I've been allowing this great internet site to distract me from devoting my time to my own possibilities. And contrary to what we've always heard, it's harder to break a good habit than a bad one. I never felt like any of my time or ideas or honesty had been wasted in these blogs. I've felt more like this has helped me to grow a lot more than I can probably see right now. But the time has come to close up shop.

I'm going to go into withdrawals similar to an alcoholic as soon as I wake up tomorrow. It doesn't seem like I'm saying enough, and already I can tell that I'm going on, and on, and on... But what more can I say for free, for now? God knows I'm not financially comfortable enough to give away free samples forever. Is that what Microsoft did? Starbucks? Sony Music? (taking a deep breath...)

Sidney Poitier told me something one day, a few years back, while we were walking on the beach in California (REAL TYPE).





He told me that I needed to understand the words "providence" and "serendipity." He explained both words individually, then made a point about how they fit together in a perfect order. Using them wisely, once understood, would give me the best direction for my life that was available. He didn't invoke God, he didn't try to make himself seem like an authority and he didn't try to over-explain. Simple and plain, he told me that anything worth having is worth working and waiting for. Some things are worth eternity. And some aren't worth tomorrow.





I (still) get a natural buzz, just rememering that whole scene. I hadn't been drinking or smoking, but I remember feeling high and drunk off of life. I remember being ready to come back home to Alabama, ready to face the adversity. All along, I had asked God and myself, "Why me? Why haven't I gotten what I deserve for doing so many good things?" Suddenly, I was struck with a new question for myself. "Why not me? What makes me so special that I get to break tradition and avoid the hard work that predates recognition? Isn't it a prerequisite to maturity to go though the trials of being a young, confused adult?"

That decision to face life has proven to be both the worst and best thing that I ever experienced. It made me focus on my own pain, my own stuggles and my own fear. It made me confront reality. It made me start waking up earlier and working later. It made me stop seeing people as victims and start seeing them as sleeping giants. And it made me respect time, truth and the concept of dedication to a life's work, even through the adversity.

Now that I've turned 30, I feel like I have a license to be exactly what I want, without having to accept anyone's opinion or feedback if I don't feel that it is constructive. I'm on a positive kick for the rest of the year, and if that means I have to retain my thoughts just to concentrate my energy, that's just what the eff I'll do.

Remember this until the next time I write something publicly: I am no different from you. I write because it is the best way to release my cluttered and long-winded thoughts without being interrupted or misinterpreted. We all have natural talents. Once identified, it's up to us to draw the line and say, "This is my career, or at least the best chance I have to change my life for the better in the short term." And before you know it, the short term becomes the long haul, and you've retired with a lovely house, a beautiful wife and a family of adorable kids. And there's money in the bank, food in the refridgerator and new ideas to discover, even as you go into your eighties. Life can be good, but only if you make it do what you demand.

So that's it. Thank you from my gut for reading so much insanity. Look for a book next year. And to wrap it all up, here are some of my favorite quotes:



"Without a struggle, there can be no progress." - Frederick Douglass

"The future belongs to those who prepare for it today." - Malcolm X

"One cannot hold a man down in a ditch without remaining down in the ditch with him." - Booker T. Washington

"A little less complaint and whining, and a little more dogged work and manly striving, would do us more credit than a thousand civil rights bills." - W.E.B. Dubois

"Every man and woman is born into the world to do something unique and something distinctive and if he or she does not do it, it will never be done." - Benjamin E. Mays

"There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you." - Maya Angelou

"I am not going to die, I'm going home like a shooting star." - Sojourner Truth

""Tremendous amounts of talent are lost to our society just because that talent wears a skirt" - Shirley Chisholm (an ill quote on many levels...)

"What God intended for you goes far beyond anything you can imagine." - Oprah Winfrey

"No matter how far a person can go the horizon is still way beyond you." - Zora Neale Hurston

"Those that don't got it, can't show it. Those that got it, can't hide it." Zora Neale Hurston


Signing off...
(static.......................................................)

I’M SO HOOD (The Florida Anthem for Hip-Hop Mayors)

Ok, this one is long (nolo). Bear with me on a tale of sex, money and scandalous city government officials.

The “Hip-Hop Mayor” Kwame Kilpatrick of Detroit, Mi., IS IN DEEP SHIT(nolo). It seems that hiring a mistress/childhood crush as your chief of staff when you rule over a large city government is – surprise – stupid. Running up a $210K credit card bill during your first 33 months in office – when your city is in the hole like Lexington Steele – is also not a good look.

But if you’re put in the position of power and not willing to ball ‘till you fall, what’s the point in being on top in the first place? Isn’t that how you’re supposed to rep for the cause as an historic figure in black politics? Oh, and does anybody from Atlanta, circa the 1992-2000 era, see any similarities to another black mayor?

In case you’re low on virtual memory, there was a certain black man who became a Democratic superstar in the early nineties. There was talk of him possibly being chosen as a running mate for retired U.S. emperor Hill/Billy Clinton. He was young, charismatic, energetic and willing to stand up for his constituency. That means voters, in case the syllables threw you off, and the man’s name is BILL CAMPBELL.





Like the linked story says, I remember how everybody was pissed after Freaknik 1996, one of the last decent years of the festival, because the police were acting a complete donkey AS IF WE WEREN’T. Folks were arrested. Constituents complained. Campbell went on the radio the next year and promised listeners that the weekend would go on uninterrupted by his police force this time around, and that no major road blocks would stop motorists from joining the city-wide fun. Of course, this was either a blatant lie or an attempt to pre-empt the situation with media savvy, since he probably had little control of it anyway. My guess is that he’d probably already received word from then-Governor Roy Barnes that whether he liked it or not, the Georgia State Patrol would be hoo-riding all weekend, all around I-285, and they were having none of the madness that had famously occurred in Atlanta for almost a decade. Party over; oops, out of time.





The rich white people of Buckhead had already decided that Bill had to go, and they weren’t trying to wait for his term to end. He pissed them off back when he let us take over Piedmont, during the lost days of Atlanta Live (RIP) and Bad Boy Weekend (which, I can’t lie, used to be diesel). When they complained about noise, traffic and generally-unpleasant public buffoonery, he’d go to Frank Ski and pull the race card on the morning show. His critics would grudgingly back off, and Campbell would crowd surf to victory on the shoulders of his biggest voting bloc…





What Campbell didn’t expect was how betrayed the poor black people of Bankhead felt by their anointed H.N.I.C. after Freaknik. Maybe he thought that it didn’t matter much anyway, since he couldn’t run for a third term. But their former voices of support could have helped him when he became a federal corruption target. Instead of having a booming city to support him when gravity began to settle, everyone, including current mayor Shirley Franklin, looked the other way like MLK when he stage-dived outside the courtroom.

Campbell was convicted. Right now, he’s locked up and they won’t let him out. I wonder if he’s listening to Public Enemy or Akon in his minimum-security cell. And will Kilpatrick start guest hosting Eminem mixtapes before the Feds haul his ass in as well? Here are some the frightening similarities between the two.





I’d keep my eyes on this one, oh my brothers and sisters. I’ve always heard that there’s some weird extradition law in Florida. Maybe that’s why gangsters move there and get chubby instead of just dying like they’re supposed to.

Word to the politically-minded children of Hip-Hop: Keep your musical taste and cultural affiliation private until you’re in the clear. Don’t piss off the establishment when they have the legal right to watch and document everything you do as a RACKETEERING BOSS public servant. And if you do get caught trying to run a dice tournament out of the chamber of commerce, buy a ticket to Tampa and start looking at real estate.


(DISCLAIMER: This post is not meant to disrespect or offend those I know personally who know the former mayor very well. This is just how I write. It gets worse…)

Rappers Trying to Cheat the Reaper... Vol. II: IT'S MURDA!!!

If you actually know who UNCLE MURDA is, because most people probably don't, you qualify to receive a coupon for a FREE McDEATH BURGER at your local hood McDonalds, just for being able to prove that you were aware of the backstory before this post.

Ba-da-bap-ba-baa!!

Just leave a comment with your government name, social security number, telephone, email and physical address. I promise not to give this info to my telemarketing staff or Blackwater USA.

*DISCLAIMER* This offer may not be applicable at all any McDonalds in the world.




Moving on, there exists (maybe temporarily) a rapper named Uncle Murda, who represents East New York. He's gully, ganster, hard, brolic, thuggy--a vertitable tough guy. And he's signed to Roc-A-Fella Records, the label owned by Damon Dash, Kareem Burke and Shawn Carter, a.k.a. Jay-Z. I guess that the Jiggaman needed a roughneck figure to solidify his label roster, especially since he's got Kanye West repping for the emos.





What THE UNDERWRITER doesn't like about Uncle Murder's thug life coonery is that, for some reason, my man seems to take being shot in the head as a misfired joke. Peep the quote from ALLHIPHOP's exclusive interview with U.M.:


"If anybody, I think it may have been the NYPD. But who it ever was that did it, they missed because I didn’t even know I was hit. One of my crew told me that my face was bleeding and took me to the hospital. They said I still have a bullet in my head and if I am sexually active it will fall out [laughs]."


It was also reported all over the web that Uncle Murda is NURSING HIS PAIN WITH HENNESSY AND NEWPORTS. Far be it from my authority to say that cognac and nicotene can't be sufficient in terms of numbing the nerves. But this is, after all, a head wound. A doctor might have a better way, but who am I to say that a thug can't self-medicate?

But at least I now know that this is how a "real" gangster rapper responds to a "Bullet-Bullet" to the dome. Good. I love it when thugs laugh at being shot, thinking that death is a game that they can win. It only makes it funnier when I'm forced to report his obituary two weeks before his album drops, two days after never.

Just for extra emph, here's a poignant, poetic and creative rap song, in video form, by the artist known as Uncle Murda. Pay attention; it may be a subliminal cry for help. Let's pray that he avoids this blog in the future.





"In the Bible I read, 'Death is of the tongue / and if you talk about death enough, death is gon' come.'"
50 Cent - "Shot Down" feat. DMX

YOU'RE ABOUT TO WITNESS A MASTER AT WORK...

For the record, I used to do my Myspace thing. My Myspace blog - not just my Myspace page - had thousands of hits before I quit. I say that conservatively. But when I heard that Rupert Murdoch was buying out Tom and the other partners of Myspace, I decided to take my talent elsewhere.



My argument is this: Why the eff should I spend my hard-earned mind power on something that will financially benefit a right-wing billionaire? Am I the Alan Keyes of Alabama?

Hell no. I'm Michael Jordan from Alabama, and I'm an I.Q. tested genius. No disrespect to the "special" people out there, but some of y'all are too "special" to be excused. Others of you understand that a mind is not only a terrible thing to waste, but it is also a beautiful and infinite thing to expand and nurture.

One of my former adversaries called this undertaking of mine a "vanity blog." Maybe it is. We'll never know, because I'll never tell. But what I am willing to share is my thoughts on real shit in this real world of ours. The earth is suffering. Minorities are going through so much drama that they're no longer asking for help, which is not necessarily a good thing. White people are even feeling the pressure (see the stock market for proof).

Here's the problem: If poor or underpriviledged people don't express disdain or say that something is wrong in this society, it usually means that they are taking survival into their own hands. Which can be deadly, like life itself.

So here's what you should expect from me. I have a plethora of posts that I think should be shared. Not because I want comments, but rather because I think people should see how a writer thinks. Is that vain? If so, that's fine with me, as long as it helps the greater movement.

Whatever you think it is, I agree. So just be happy that you have something interesting to read on a consistent basis, or at least something to hate on. With this plan, along with my penchant for coming through on a literary bender every two weeks or so, you should be quite satisfied.

THE DROUGHT IS SO OVER.

I CAN'T FEEL MY FACE

Weezy F. Baby Carter, the self-proclaimed "best rapper alive", just might also be the most geeked up. At least his lips are sealed, as this image suggests. Or maybe it's just the teeth clenching that has his mouth on clack-clack...




The Alphabet Boyz of Phoenix, Ariz., recently had the opportunity to join in a Cash Money/Young Money Records cypher, and found more than enough for a bus full of buffoons. Courtesy of ALLHIPHOP, here's the story of Weezy's stash game:


"The K-9 Unit found multiple types of drugs, as well as currency, and firearms," DEA spokeswoman Ramona Sanchez told AllHipHop.com. "One of the firearms, a .44 caliber pistol was registered to Mr. Carter. He did have a concealed weapon permit from Florida, but we are investigating whether it violates any Arizona laws."

Sanchez added that the K-9 Unit recovered 105 grams of marijuana (3.7 ounces), almost 29 grams of cocaine (1.02 ounces), 41 grams of Ecstasy (1.05 ounces) and $22,000 dollars in cash.

"The two other individuals were charged with possession of marijuana," Sanchez said. "Mr. Carter was charged with possession of the cocaine and ecstasy, and possession of miscellaneous paraphernalia."


The mind wonders if Weezy had visited DMX's house while riding through the Southwest. If not to cop, at least to share. Lord knows that The Dog has been acting a little funny lately...




It's bad enough that everybody's assumption ended up being gospel--Ike Turner died because he was on what Martin Lawrence once called "that OOH-WEEE". And rumors abound that we will all find out that Pimp-C was doing something he shouldn't have been when he was found deceased in a hotel suite. We'll find out soon enough...

Lil' Wayne used to call out his former Hot Boy brother B.G. for being a washed up drug addict, back when the group first severed their ties. And any fan of southern rap music knows the history of B-Gizzle. Now that Blender Magazine has predicted that HE'LL DIE AT AGE 44, one must consider whether or not Wayne has been lured into the same path as his former rhyme partner or is actually a product of his environment that deserves some legal leniency.

Look at it this way. This is a guy whose home city was washed away. He probably knew dozens of the dead from Hurricane Katrina. Right now, he may be running off of a survival instinct that says, "Eff the world, Wizzle. You've gotta just keep smoking that kush, drinking that lean, popping those Es and sniffing that yay. Keep yourself in a comfortable state of mind, and don't look back, or you'll turn to dust..."




His homie Juelz Santana may not be the best influence right now, considering the following picture from XXL's "A History of Cocaine Rap" story from December 2006...




Who cares. If these dudes can afford gaudy jewelry and enough powder to cover a continent of baby asses, they can surely afford Tom Mesereau or another high-powered lawyer. Or they can just keep numbing themselves to reality and rapping about cars that they can't really afford, jewelry that makes them robbery/extortion targets and habits that keep the Feds taking pictures.

Come on rappers; smile for the camera!! Cocaine is a helluva drug!!

SAY GOODBYE TO THE BAD GUY

Dearly beheaded, we are gathered here today to get through this thing called “death.” Electrocuting word, “death”, it means expire, and that’s a mighty harsh term but I’m here to tell you… there’s something else.

THE UNDERWRITER.




In this episode, we celebrate the life and mourn THE DEATH OF HEATH LEDGER. A fine actor (nolo) who was almost an Academy Award winner, until the bosses at the Oscars remembered that he played a bisexual cowboy. And I thought Hollywood was nothing near no-homo status. Guess I got learnt.

I had been looking forward to seeing The Dark Knight, which is the newest movie in the Batman film legacy, due to be released this summer. Shit looks dope. See the You-Tubery below and make your own conclusion as to how N.W.A. this movie is going to be…




Besides all that, I have to admit that The Dark Knight will inevitably become a cult classic, now that the main villain was found naked and dead, sprinkled with prescription pills, in Mary Kate Olsen’s apartment. Weird. Brings to mind another celebrity who died before the release of a highly anticipated film…



Maybe the moral of this story relates to the old warning that everyone heard as a child. Don’t ride in wheelchairs if you don’t want to be paralyzed. Don’t walk on crutches unless you want karma to come through and break your ankles on some Misery shit. And don’t wear makeup of an unnaturally-stretched evil smile in a major motion picture, unless you’re ready to die.

Or maybe the message is simpler: Don’t get naked and take too many pills at Mary Kate Olsen’s old apartment. You might wake up gone.

R.I.P., Heath. See you in the movies.

CHIVALRY IS DEAD - Part 3

So I was sulking around the house on Monday night. Not caring about what could or would happen in the world on Dr. Martin Luther King's national holiday. You can say I'm jaded.

And something happened. I didn't mean to turn on CNN, but that's usually the channel that my television is on when I turn it off in disgust. I can only take so much of the propaganda, but I do like to stay abreast of current affairs. I love how that sounded...

Anyway, CNN was in progress of covering the live debate between Senators Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama, with extra jestering from South Carolina's "son of the south", former senator John Edwards. For the record, I follow politics like evangelicals follow white Jesus. I hadn't expected to catch the debate; at the moment, I was in the throwes of intellectual exile and a case of Bud Light. Yes, I was trying to avoid importing the profane realities of politics into my own life, but still I was trying to stay abreast (smile) of national affairs. After all, it's 2008, ain't it?

I just couldn't help myself. I tuned in at the exact moment when the hottest chick in the game, Suzanne Malveaux, asked a question that set it off like Queen Latifah, and never turned away...


DON'T FRONT; SHE'S FINE.

Check the evidence of how Black Alabama held his ground against a week of dewshery from the Clinton camp:



Theories abound about why the Clintons have finally chosen to tackle Barack in South Carolina for his ownership of the black vote. Maybe they think it's time to shatter the African-American electorate. Or maybe they think he is not worthy of being nominated by the DNC, as if Hillary is, so they thought it best to attack him most viciously in his own backyard (nolo), the place where he's most likely to win. Let's face it, nobody thought he'd win Iowa. But he did, and now he's looking at Hillary like this...



Anyway, it's good to see that my choice for POTUS is still being tough on crime. Black Americans have been slighted and shorted for a long time. I'm not bitter; I'm just better. That means that I'm willing to vote for a fresh perspective rather than an old theory that didn't sustain itself. I'm glad that B.O. is willing to defend himself against this B.S.



Can you tell that I'm voting for B.O. yet?

BAT OUT OF HELL -- THE DROUGHT IS OVER.

That intellectual and ignorant editorial assasin, THE UNDERWRITER, is back for you and yours, late as hell. It took a few weeks, and yes, I feel terrible, but what makes that any different from any day? The weather changes, but the writer stays consistent, even in his absence. I'm always in a bad ass mood.

Chris Rock once said, "Death is my friend." In 2008, death is still the most feared, misunderstood, avoided and ultimately career-defining goal that we all share. But me? I'm so much more afraid of pain than death. I don't want another morning of pain from a wisdom tooth growing against (and breaking) another tooth. I don't ever again want to step on a sewing needle and have it break off inside my foot, deeper than I can pick it out without a surgeon's assistance. Which required another needle in the foot to administer the sedative. And I certainly don't want to break my arm again in three places. Pain sucks. Death happens.

I'm moving towards a seismic shift in my own understanding of my ability. Not many people do it like I do it. Shout to Dallas Penn *again*, Bol, Jacinta Howard, Maurice Garland, Ali Early, Elliot Wilson (sic?), Bonz Malone, dream hampton and all the writers who I always followed when I was doing my duty as an intern and assistant in the music industry publicity machine.

Right now, I'm writing a book. And it's so dope. You will love it when you read it, or you will be another miseducated buffoon that doesn't have the necessary mental setup to withstand the firestorm of hatred, assholery and indignant fuckery that comes with having an unprecidented opinion.

Dude, or baby girl, I'm so crunk on this writing shit right now. It takes a village to raise a child, but it takes a general to move an army. Don't get in my path unless you're ready to follow.

Humility: -1,000
Arrogance: +1,000,000
Swagger: Unlimited

Jumpman Jordan. '08 is leap year.

THE DROUGHT IS ALMOST OVER...

Shout to DALLAS PENN.

To those wondering what the business is, sit tight. Patience is a virtue. I'm not quitting; I'm reconfiguring. The blog is changing, like draws and priorities. When I check back in in a few hours, it will be the beginning of round 2. Bet that.

Thanks for staying tuned. And thanks for being able to read. It makes a difference.

Yours Truly,

Michael Jordan
a.k.a.
Jihad Ballout
a.k.a.
Michael J. Focks
a.k.a.
Mickey Reagan
a.k.a.
Baby Bear (don't ask...)
a.k.a.
THE UNDERWRITER.