RACISM AIN'T DEAD YET...

Before you go all Obama/Dr. King/Biggie Smalls crazy with the rest of your holiday weekend, I just thought I'd come back to say hello and burst your bubble with regards to race relations in America, and specifically in the south.

Absolutely 100% true story:


Last night, after doing research for the job, I went to my old bar hangout in Marietta, GA. It's called Churchill's Pub. You don't normally see a lot of black folks in and out of there, but they do come through. I get treated like some sort of celebrity by the staff and owners, simply because I've weathered 2 years of coming in consistently. Working across the street at another bar made it accessible, and the fact that they have really good food, free wi-fi and would let you order a pitcher of beer for yourself were enough to keep me coming, even though I would sometimes sense race hate from the other side of the bar. Which I never pay much attention to anyway, but sometimes I would actually engage the people directly with a sarcastic smile and a knowing look.

It wasn't that way last night, but there was this dude that I know pretty well from seeing him there a lot, sometimes with his mom and dad. He was hanging out with this guy that looked like he was born in a hunting jacket; like he literally fell out of a deer's coochie one morning, reached for a rifle and shot his own mother dead. This guy was short, pudgy and had extremely wild eyes -- probably from meth of coke or... who knows -- and did all he could to get my attention when he played "99 Problems" by Jay-Z on the Rhapsody jukebox. I gave him a salute and even played along with him when he shouted out the lyrics to the part of the song where the officer is talking to Jay. You know: "Cuz I'm young, and I'm black/and my hat's real low/do I look like a mind reader, sir?/I'ont know..."

This is ironic, because 20 minutes later, as I walk over to say what's up to the other homie, he meets me in front of the jukebox, like, "Are you gonna play some shit!!@?? (drunk as hell). I was like, "Um... yeah!?" And he was then like, "YEEEEAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!" So I guess that meant we were cool. It had to mean he had established some type of relationship with me, at least in his mind, because not 5 minutes later, as I'm looking through the web, he does the irritating thing which people always do when I take my computer into a public place -- ask if I'll go to some stupid website or YouTube video. This time, I said "Sure," and actually found this really cool site that showcases a local artist who lost his arm or something and draws completely with his mouth. So I say to him, "That's actually cooler than I expected it to be, my man." And he says, "OH!!! YOU WANNA SEE SOMETHING COOL?!??!@@#%?! CHECK THIS SHIT OUT, MAN!!*#!"

That's when he pulls out his phone and shows me how he won last year's Halloween costume at a neighborhood party.





I actually got the guy to send that picture to my email address. That's really him. Now, if you're white and reading this, you might be thinking, "Aww, come on, Mike. That's not really racist! It's just a harmless joke! Stop being so damn sensitive and taking all the fun out of something that's not even that big a deal..."

True, true. Sounds great, but what was I supposed to say about the picture of his black dog, who he called his "down-ass nigger" and bragged about how well-trained he is, and why I'd love him, and why I should come over to their house to get really drunk(er) with the whole backwoods family.





I politely declined, shook my head a little and laughed. Finished my drink, turned back to him and asked a very simple question:

"So, did you vote for Obama?"

He said no.

I paid out my tab, walked over to the bartender and gave her a hug, tipped my waitress, threw the deuces to our shared homie, and after putting on my long, black winter coat and throwing my Macbook back into my leather shoulder bag -- looking like a future black senator, I might add -- I extended my hand to shake that of my new, ignorant-to-his-own-racism friend and said:

"You're actually a cool cat, besides your bullshit. Hope you think twice about your picture and the N-bomb in the future. Oh, and happy MLK day."

AULD LANG SYNE IN 2009

We're getting close to the end of this chapter, my brothers and sisters. And what I will tell you is that we need some motivational mottos for the coming year. We've still got Republikkkans on that racist b.s., Israel and Palestine are still beefing and the media is still hyping the recession. But there's good news all around, if you can sift through the seasoning salt.

Me? I'm taking the next 48 hours to determine what will stay and what must die in my own cypher. In the meantime, while I get my green on, here is a list of possible mantras that you might hear me drop once the ball in Times Square falls. Feel free to use anything you like in your own dialog with other progressive peoples. Add one if you wish!


THE UNDERWRITER'S
AULD LANG SYNE IN 2009:


Time to shine in 2009
(Be a star)

On the grind in 2009
(Don't wait for anything; go get it)

Smoke some Pine in 2009
(Why not?)

Vintage wine in 2009
(Spoil yourself)

No Calvin Klein in 2009
(Pause. Nolo.)

Grow some spine in 2009
(Where your heart at?)

Free your mind in 2009
(The rest will follow)

Please stop lyin' in 2009
(Real talk.)

Gon' get mine in 2009
(Get yours!)

First class flyin' in 2009
(As long as you're paying)

Fly design in 2009
(Swag is dead)

Not left behind in 2009
(Stay ahead of the curve)

Style divine in 2009
(Do it like Jesus would)

Deserve to dine in 2009
(I gotta eat)

Lead the blind in 2009
(Dumb rappers need teachin')

No mo' cryin' in 2009
(You can complain, but who'd listen?)

Beat Ben Stein in 2009
(Get money!)

Get off the vine in 2009
(Gossip and rumors are for girly boys)

Read, then sign in 2009
(Don't get jerked!)

Don't rewind in 2009
(The movement moves forward, not in reverse)

Clean vagine in 2009
(Because feminine hygiene rules)

Fresh behind in 2009
(Gentlemen: wash your draws)


This could go on forever. The point is that 2009 does not have to be lame as hell. Power to the people, wisdom, success, health, strength, honor and happiness to you and yours. And be safe out there on Wednesday night, whatever you do.

Peace!

HIP-HOP SHRUGGED: A Dystopian Fable for the Recession Xmas of 2008

Ladies and Gentlemen: Your favorite blogger will not speak to you tonight. His time is up. I have taken it over. You were to read a post covering bullshit black gossip, stupidity in the form of “urban news” or the current legal fuckery of your favorite rapper—whatever you normally check for on the internet that has recently occurred in the world of Hip-Hop and/or politics. That is what you are going to hear.

For two years, you—the dying music industry of Atlanta—have been asking axing, “Who is Mike Jordan?” This is Mike Jordan speaking. I’m the guy who loves and values Hip-Hop. I’m the cat who does not sacrifice his love or his values. I am the dude who is relieving you of your victims and thus destroying your world.





And if you wish to know why your record labels are perishing—you who dread fresh, innovative, empowering and creative Hip-Hop music, I am the writer who will now present it to you on this post.

You, the A&R, music executive, program director, record label owner and--hell, yeah--magazine publisher, have said that this is an age of creative crisis in the music business and that southern rap’s sins are destroying Hip-Hop. But your chief virtue has been sacrifice. You have sacrificed innovation to sales. You have sacrificed empowering lyrics to demoralizing chants. You have sacrificed development to current market conditions. You have sacrificed art to commerce. You have sacrificed talent to hustle. You have destroyed all that which you held to be evil, and achieved all that which you held to be good.





Why then, do you shrink in horror at the sound of the Hip-Hop music that surrounds you in your Mercedes-Benz’s Bose stereo system? That music is not the product of your sins. It is the product, the rhythm, melody, lyrical content and chorus of your virtues. It is the moral ideal of your musical reality brought into its full and final perfection.





You fought for it. You have dreamed of it; you have wished it… And I am the man who is helping to grant you your wish. I am removing the sources of all those evils you are sacrificing—one by one. I am ending your battle; I am stopping your cipher. I am depriving your world of The 5th Element.

Writers do not represent the culture, you say? I am withdrawing those who do. Writers are insignificant, you say? I will withdraw those who aren’t. I’m showing them the way to live by another morality: mine. It is mine that they are choosing to follow. Will you soon be crying that this is not what you wanted? The culture of Hip-Hop in ruins, abandoned by its embedded and entrenched yet mentally emaciated writers, reporters and journalists is not your goal? You did not want us to leave?

You damned Atlanta. You damned Hip-Hop but never dared to question your code.

Yes, this is an age of creative crisis but it is not Hip-Hop that is on trial. It is your moral code. And if you wish to go on existing in this culture, what you now need is not to return to creativity but to discover it.


Sincerely Yours,
Mike Jordan

a.k.a. The Underwriter
a.k.a. the black John Galt
a.k.a. The Best Writer Alive
a.k.a. Jihad Ballout Jr.
a.k.a. Perry A. Pelagreeno
a.k.a. Mickey Reagan
a.k.a. Grumpy McNasty


[This blog was inspired by Atlas Shrugged, a book that I highly recommend to any serious reader, writer or thinker.]

HOW MAXWELL SURVIVED MOREHOUSE

Anybody who went to an A.U.C. college or university in the mid-90's and remembers the 1995-1996 Morehouse Homecoming concert will understand why I'm writing this blog about the Maxwell + Jasmine Sullivan concert in Birmingham this past Tuesday night. Obviously, nooobody had heard of any Jasmine Sullivans back then, so of course the same went for Maxwell. But he was a new artist at the time, making rounds and paying his dues on the Chitlin' Circuit, and he was the unlucky bastard new guy that was scheduled to open for The Fugees.




If you remember Fall '95, that was the year when 2Pac's All Eyez on Me and The Fugees' The Score put Kanye vs 50 Cent numbers up on the Billboard charts, sparking equally lucrative tours, creative offspring and zealots of every sort trying to jump on either the west coast gangster rap or neo-soul bandwagon and ride that beeyotch to the top. So if you were opening a show for them and you weren't aready a star, you were taking a major gamble with your pride trying to "warm it up" for headliners that were obviously among the biggest names in the business at that time. You can imagine my crew's impatience, having executed a stampede to get past the line at King Chapel's doors for the concert, when the host announced some guy named "Maxwell" that was going to entertain us until Lauryn, Wyclef and Pras were ready to take the stage. Do remember how dude used to look back then, with the hair, glasses and either some dusty jeans or those kung-fu master linen scrubs.





Oh, my brothers and sisters, we booed that young man off the stage with glorious, reckless abandon, and I mean the whole crowd joined the chorus. I'm pretty sure I recall that he came on stage with a bar stool, an accoustic guitar and no shoes, maybe chancletas. Cats weren't having it. We pointed him away from the building with the same steadfast posture as carried by the statue of MLK out in front of the building, waving our arms and shouting for the music to cease. Hearty and magnificent in depth, the ringing and rolling boo went from side to side of the auditorium, with an awesomeness of vocal strength and determination that made it feel like a scene from the colosseum battles in Gladiator.

It was something like this...



But worse.


Anyway, thirteen years later, though we believed we had killed his career at the time, it has become apparent that Maxwell survived our unrelenting Apollo-styled reception of his performance and progressed. Maybe he just wasn't ready for the stage back then. Maybe we just couldn't dig his "energy" and "swag." Either way, he continues to excel at the job of singing live and making women swoon. He will be around for a while for that reason alone, even if he does put on a weird show. On the low, I bet 80% of dudes hovering around 30 have used Maxwell (nolo) for at least 1 romantic interlude with a special lady in the last 13 years. Maybe on the high. All I know is that he's coming back from a 7-year hiatus, and the comeback looks like it should be a success thus far.

Happening as it was on the first Monday after The Day, the crowd at the BJCC was quite dapper and upbeat, even though most of the people there were probably just coming off a shitty first weekday like myself. You could tell that we were all riding the Obama high for as long as it would last. You did get a sense that people's smiles seemed to be worn naturally on their faces with nothing to hide, as if tonight's ticket price for a well-timed musical performance was an uncharacteristic luxury that we all deserved for showing up at the polls. Oh yeah - don't let me forget about the abundance of black women with jobs, nice dresses and other special qualities that you didn't get to see, because you were commenting on somebody else's blog. You lost.








Oh yes, my brothers and sisters, women love Maxwell, with all his weird "energy" and "swag". He's strange for different reasons than he was in 1995, which may be the key to his career as a performer at a time when nobody's buying albums. Back when we first saw him, this guy was earthier than dirt--even beating out Erykah Badu in a male sort of way. But now he's weird because he does weird dances and says crazy shit on stage about how sorry he is for missing that last show... which, from what I heard, was like six years ago and nobody even remembers.

Then he makes a public plea for free panties, asking the ladies in the front to throw them, and suspiciously he receives a pair that must have been pre-planned for trajectory. And what kind of heifer already has draws in her hand ready to toss in 2008? More fuckery occured when he spent an extended amount of time on the floor with the mic stand between his legs, hunching the air while looking up at the spotlight, possibly searching for an answer to a question I wouldn't dare pose.




Say what you will about his "energy" and "swag"; the guy can sing. And he can pack a concert hall in a major city at seat prices starting at $70, which is way more than he used to get when he was onstage chewing an incense stick. Much respect to him and the lovely Jasmine Sullivan, who played "new vocal Whitney" to Maxwell's "R&B Obama", putting a serious dent in the coffin of R&B music, if only for one night. Musical highlights include Sullivan's entire performance--this girl is serious--and Max's "Lifetime", "Til The Cops Come Knockin'", "Ascension (Don't Ever Wonder)" and "This Woman's Work."







(Jasmine Sullivan and her painter's uniform)


The moral of this concert is that if you have true talent you can get away with murder on stage. Jasmine knows that she is wrong for wearing a Dickies suit with the legs rolled up to the knees. And Maxwell is a good enough vocalist that you don't even mind his "energy" and "swag". He's a true musician, and for that he deserves respect.

If he comes to your town anytime soon, go ahead and take out a payday loan so that you can go to the show with some change in your pocket, find a thirsty woman and groove to the rhythm of romance and blues. Maxwell has come a long way from sporting farm attire to wearing a suit and necktie. Now, if we can just keep him away from the "party favors" backstage so he's not getting geeked up before the show, we'll have a new-school Marvin Gaye for years to come.




Is it me or did Maxie steal the infamous "Soy Bomb" dance? You be the judge, dear reader. I'm about to go to bed. If you live in NY, let me know what's good for the weekend. I'll be in town.

WILL OBAMA KILL GANGSTER RAP?

I had the unfortunate luck of attending the BET Hip-Hop Awards last month at the Atlanta Civic Center. On the way towards the gate, walking from the parking lot, I saw plenty of friends and even one of my former interns, which still trips me out to this day because it makes me remember that I’ve actually had people work under me for free before I was 25. Wow @ the music business...

Anyway, she and her friend, who I’ve also known for the same amount of years, were headed in the opposite direction of me as I was walking up Piedmont. We saw each other, hugged, and I asked axed them where they were going. “To sell these tickets and get the hell out of here.” They both seemed like they were beyond anxious to get rid of the tickets, and almost gave off the vibe that they were secretly willing to just toss them into a sewage drain. Maybe because they knew that the minstrel show was about to pop off.





Once I got inside, I realized that sometimes the student can teach the teacher. Those girls made much better usage of their time than I did for the next two hours, even if they did nothing more than stare at a piece of chewing gum on the street until 10pm. BET should have let Oreck vacuums sponsor the event and could have given out free FlexiStraws to the audience members, because the show simply sucked.

The three performances that stood out the most were the Salt-N-Pepa/Yo-Yo/Rage/Mc Lyte ladies’ night show with the "Whatta Man" campaign, the Common/N.E.R.D mosh pit which featured Lil’ Wayne, Swizz Beats and T-Pain, and presidential thug Young Jeezy, who performed from a bully pulpit onstage while openly and enthusiastically supporting Obama for president.

Now that the election is over, Obama is in transition between his current job and his future one, naming cabinet members and appointing point persons to assist in building his administration. There is a fervent level of support within the Hip-Hop community for the new leader of the free world, and everyone from listeners to artists are unified with pride. Young Jeezy’s “My President is Black” is blaring from thousands of old school Chevrolets in any and every hood in America, while Will.i.am and John Legend are rocking stadiums with "Yes We Can." Even the moguls are involved with the moment. Everybody won!





Yet it was rumored that someone behind-the-scenes, on behalf of President-Elect Barack Obama, quietly requested to Sean Combs, Sean Carter and Mary J. Blige—among other A-list celebs and entertainers—that they refrain from attending the victory celebration in Grant Park on Election Night. Speculation ensued that this was so that no attention would be diverted away from the man of the moment. But you didn’t have to look too closely to spot the most powerful woman in the world, Oprah Winfrey (in her money green business suit) or the Reverend Jesse Jackson Sr., who kept a finger to his lips, his arms tightly crossed and his face wet with what appeared to be some form of moisture. Whether or not this was actually salt water in the form of tears is up for question and not confirmed at press time.





Those two celebrity entertainers made sure that they weren’t outside of the view of the video cameras. What I took from their presence was that Obama stood in between the old guard and the current establishment, but that did not include Hip-Hop--at least not yet. Some of us are probably already calling foul and seeing the exclusion of the Hip-Hop power elite as biting the feeding hand of urban culture, which could of course be reasonably included as one of the major factors that resulted in the election of Mr. Obama. I even read somewhere that dead prez, the radical black militant rap group, is already kicking up dust and drawing a line in the cultural sand between themselves and the soon-to-be "44." How this is going to boost their careers, I have no idea, but I do remember that they were open supporters of Cynthia McKinney and Rosa Clemente, which was quite the fairy tale if you ask axe me; no disrespect to Bill Clinton. And I do remember that, as much as I admire what dead prez does for Hip-Hop, they are a little too ill to be taken seriously sometimes, and it's way too early to cast Obama as the next Uncle Tom.


The question is, will Obama ever have a concert on the lawn of the White House that looks anything similar to this year's BET Hip-Hop Awards? We know Common is invited automatically, and Michelle will probably use her pull to get Salt-N-Pepa added to the lineup, but will Young Jeezy get to perform at the inauguration? Does Obama need him anymore, if he ever did? Or does Young Jeezy need Obama now, and does he foolishly expect to be embraced as a former “snowman” turned Democratic activist? Should he hold his breath waiting to be named the new national drug czar chosen to be in charge of the ONDCP? Or is this a prime opportunity for people like Young Jeezy and Ludacris to join the national political debate as leaders of the new school of Hip-Hop, not to mention southerners with a listening audience in the millions? That could turn into votes one day, which could turn colors like Georgia Red to Obama Blue.





Or will we see something that nobody expects but everybody knows is possible: President Obama will openly repudiate the culture of gangster rap and promote creative arts without graphic sexual, violent, racially insensitive or just brutally obscene language? Will the first black presidency be the first bullet in the heart of Street-Hop? Or will President-Elect Obama continue to see our Hip-Hop movement as irreverently relevant rebel music?

I’m pretty sure that we should get ready for certain rappers to be avoided full-time by the White House and the Democratic Party now that it's all over, while others will be promoted vigorously. Don’t be surprised if Obama has more White House concerts and public events with Bob Dylan and Bruce Springsteen on the stage than Jay-Z and Puffy; let's just admit that for right now, there’s nothing wrong with that. Let's allow the dust to settle and the emotions to calm for now and let our man Barack tell us his preference of mood music. Just because he might prefer Anita Baker and Maxwell to Keyshia Cole and Lil' Wayne doesn't mean that he will let himself to be used to destroy the force that provided the strongest push for his new position of power.

I think that Obama's true feelings about rap music and Hip-Hop culture will come out in the next four years and we can't expect him to say all positive things, especially if we continue to allow certain artists to keep popping champagne bottles, making money rain from the sky during a savage recession, retelling stale drug war stories and pimping those beautiful black women they adore enough to call "bitches" over mechanical, uninspired beats and melodies. I wouldn't expect it this year, but you know it's coming. And how will we respond?

Time to grow up, Hip-Hop. We’ve got one of our own behind the big microphone now. Let the man lead and don’t bump the turntables while you're trying to get noticed by the cameras doing the Cupid Shuffle at the inauguration. And please don’t shoot up the party if you aren't on the guest list. You already know what they'll say about us the next day on Fox News.

ALTERED BEAST - THE REINCARNATION

"Rise from your grave!"


Thank God I don't work for you, oh my brothers and sisters. If I did, I'd actually be in danger of being fired, because Lawd knows I haven't attended to the job of blogging since we hit October together. You would think that I'd continue to put up those pesky Obama campaign posts as promised, but nope. The way I see it, my job is not to just lurk for news on all the normal sites and post an opinion everyday just for the sake/fuck of it. Sorry if I set you up to be disappointed but it makes way more sense to take my time and put out quality over quantity. Creativity over consistency--all day homie. I'd rather do a great thing once and retire with respect than do a cheap thing forever and be branded as consistently marginal when I'm gone. Call it what you like. Maybe I'm just ungassed enough to know that Senator Barack Obama will win without me, so I can relax and watch history being made without my help.





See, I recently hit a monumental point in my life, wherein I decided to say, "Fuck you." And I don't mean that to be taken personally by you, dear readers. Quite to the contrary, you are something of an anomaly; you read this blog without promotion, marketing or gimmicks. I mean that rhetorically as a retort to those who would allow me to go on slaving just because I wanted to be noticed. I'd rather not be noticed for a flash in the pan, actually, and I consider anything gimmicky to be hot pepper on the stovetop. Speaking of gimmicks...

I'm at odds with myself on what to do with this blog. The whole trial (and error) of putting the word "Dead" in every post title became tiring and restrictive, and it was one of the things that forced a creative vacation. My return sort of signals that I'm ready to make some changes, but I've grown to love and hate this damned thing, which lets me know that it just might be permanent. Is that good or bad? I have no idea. I do know that I feel as if this blog is less of a ball and chain commitment than a labor of love. I can't possibly stop being expressive about the things that I write here, lest I let my guard down and dwindle into unchallenging thoughts and ideas. And that would be figurative death by spiritual abandonment.





By the way, did you know that DOLEMITE IS DEAD? Yeah, I saw it today while I was at work. That's another thing; I've got a new job. It's crazy that it came during a period of negative economic growth, but it gave me a fresh new perspective. I can't lie; it feels great to know that I'm going to get a check when I expect it and it actually pays the bills and leaves extra behind, not even considering my ultimate hustle of writing and promoting. Sure, I want Rudy Ray Moore to rest in eternal peace, but that doesn't mean pimping is dead.





I'm actually in a great place right now. Autumn is setting in, the leaves are dying and changing colors from green to gold, brown to burnt, falling to the earth to fertilize the future. It's a wonderful process that recycles life on our planet, and the earthtones create some of the best scenery you can witness when doing something as simple as walking through a nature trail. Don't forget I'm 1/3 white.





I don't know, dear readers. It just seems like I'm always on the opposite end of the world. When shit is shitty, life is gravy for me. When everybody else is partying, I'm feeling pitiful. Maybe it's only right that the changing tide brings me new fortunes. Hell, you might even say I deserve it, after having gone through that good ol' hard knock life that your boy S. Carter so eloquently mused about. Maybe I'm becoming that person I'm supposed to be, or always was, without the detriment of outside wickedness. Or maybe I'm just drunk off this pitcher of Bud Light I've almost finished.

Whatever the case, I do appreciate your patience and suggest that you hang around. Trust me, big changes going to keep coming. Actually, don't trust me. Just don't act surprised.


Viva la Vida!

T.O.C. # 42: HATE ON ME, HATER

TODAY:


Senator Barack Obama announced that he has raised $10 million since Governor Sarah Palin's speech at the GOP Death Festival yesterday, from approximately 130k+ donors. Yes, that's in less than one day.

The Republican National Committee announced earlier Thursday, at mid-afternoon, that it had raised well in excess of $1 million since Palin's speech. Republicans expect Palin to mobilize their donors. But the Obama camp promptly used the speech as a fundraising hook, sending an overnight e-mail to supporters to contribute.

McCain can no longer raise private donations for his campaign because he has decided to accept $85 million in public financing for the fall campaign.

SOURCE: SALON

And he finally made a comment about Palin that acknowledges that she is alive.




It's good to see the senator staying busy through this nonsense. I'm getting back to my book. If anyone sees anything interesting or worth mentioning at the RNC, drop a comment in the box. But again, I advise you to ignore this brainwashing craziness. Overstand that mental poison is even worse than drugs. Word to Nas.

How about some Jill Scott instead?

GRAFFITI IS ALIVE IN ALABAMA

Jesus; I can't even tell you how proud I am of this. I've only posted one frame of this photo shoot from a guy named Banksy because you really need to click the link below and see what this is all about. If you knew about this dude already, you can hand me a late pass whenever you're ready.

Shout to NAHRIGHT for making this public, and big ups to Banksy again, whoever the hell you are, for keeping it ultra gully in my homestate. Very much appreciated.

CLICK HERE FOR THE SOURCE OF THIS BANKSY FUCKERY.

THE OBAMA CRUSADE: Day 35 - REGGAETON IS OFFICIALLY DEAD

I just can't even believe this awkward buffoonery. Look at your boy, Daddy Yankee, going out like a straight sucker...




Senator John McCain, the presumptive GOP nominee, says he's introducing "a special friend" and a "great American success story" (from Puerto Rico) who's been married for 15 years with three kids, aged 14, 12 and 10. Then this guy Daddy Yankee comes on stage looking like a 40-year old pedophile, hugging girls his childrens' ages and rambling in short bursts of Spanglish about how he's backing McCain because of his stance on immigration.

If this doesn't seem strange to you, it's because you don't pay attention. See, Puerto Ricans have no problem getting in and out of the U.S. Their Visas aren't like Mexican citizens'. So I don't exactly get Yankee's point. However, this is a great moment of opportunity for the Democrats. This is precisely where John McCain is weak when it comes to his political base of support.

You'd better believe that the immigration issue is what almost kept him from getting the nomination from the Republickins in the first place. Now, he's touting it early and unnecessarily. If the Democrats are smart and not the weak, punk-ass beeyotches that the Republickins always frame them as, they'll make an attack ad that goes as hard as McCain's recent commercial that tries to put a wedge between the supporters of Senator Hillary Clinton and the rest of the Democratic party. See below:



See how McCain is trying to meddling in Democratic party affairs, trying to make Clinton seem like a victim and Obama look like a white chocolate devil for not choosing or consulting her on the VP issue? Keep in mind that before the Dems' convention started, something like 24% of Clinton supporters said that they would rather support McCain on November 4, all because they're "outraged" at the way their girl was treated by Obama.

Well, the Democrats need to put something out that says something to the effect of, "John McCain wants the Hip-Hop vote so badly that he went out and got a washed-up reggaeton artist to confirm what we already know - McCain will leave our borders unsecured for thousands, if not millions, of undocumented illegal immigrants to cross into America. This is the guy conservatives don't really want to support..."

That would start some serious whispering among the neo-conservatives and evangelicals who are only supporting McCain because they have no better option. But one thing independent candidates don't want to hear about is our country losing more jobs to illegals at a time when the economy is pissier than McCain's bedsheets.


The Democrats need to either grow some nuts or some nipples and stop walking the fence, so to speak, on this issue. Time to get tough; McCain would have done the same. And by the way, what was the last Daddy Yankee song you liked?




- My name is THE UNDERWRITER, and Barack Obama did not approve this message. But the Democrats had better tell him to get on my level soon if they want to win this election.

POETIC JUSTICE: WAKING UP THE DEAD

I haven't found an embeddable video of HAIK HOISINGTON & TAALAM ACEY'S "TRUE LIES" POEM, but if you have 2:03 to spare this morning, you really need to click that link. The wordplay and animation combined are ill.


Here's a different poem, same poet, no animation. Still dope.




If you wanted to wake up this morning thinking that everything was right in America, now that the Democrats are about to officially nominate the first African-American major party candidate for POTUS, then don't let me keep you from dreaming. Snooze on, and if you have a vision of euphorian utopias, write it down when the alarm clock goes off. Maybe we can sell your notes as a bedtime story for children.

That was a joke. Seriously - wake your tired ass up and smell the rotting corpse of our free democracy burning through your nasal passages. If we're going to celebrate the death of the true American dream, let's just call this convention what it really is - a "second line" parade. Let's bring out the brass band, do our dances and get it all over with. You know I'm down.


However, if we intend instead to resurrect our democracy and bring America back from George Bush's hell, we've got more work to do than partying in Denver. So let's not get carried away with all the hype. Feel the momentum, breathe in the fresh air and get ready to buckle down. The Republickins are going to do anything and everything to keep a Democrat out of office. If necessary, we're going to have to fight back.

If, by chance, you were already awake, here's another dose of black coffee. Oh, if only "if" was a spliff...


There's nothing wrong with a pep rally, as long as you win the game afterwards.
- The Underwriter
(hell yeah, I quote myself when I say fresh lines like that)

THE OBAMA CRUSADE: Day 33

[I'm going to wait for a day or two to weigh in on why Senator Barack Obama, by selecting Senator Joe Biden as his VP candidate, has made a great political move. Too many people are putting up nonsense opinions right now. I prefer it quiet when I'm speaking.]


TODAY:


Sunday is always the day that the major networks do the weekly wrap-up in political and governmental affairs. This weekend, the talk of the nation is still Obama/Biden but several other stories are also emerging. Senator Hillary Clinton is expected to RELEASE HER DELEGATES and the Rules and Bylaws committee of the Democratic Party have FULLY RESTORED THE MICHIGAN AND FLORIDA DELEGATES, both just in time for the national convention, which begins tomorrow.


But keep this in mind:

Some of Clinton's supporters were outraged that the delegates were not fully reinstated in May. They were also angry that Obama claimed some of the delegates won by Clinton in Michigan.

SOURCE: THE ASSOCIATED PRESS

It could get ugly, or at least stupid, if those Hillraisers decide to cut the fool at the convention. Denver, Colorado has built temporary holding cells in a city-owned warehouse for those who violate the law during convention week. FYI: The first version had razor wire at the top.





New reports say that the razor wire was removed. I guess they didn't want pictures to come out of Hillary fans who had escaped either by chewing their way through the floor or shredding their faces and bodies into square centimeters - just to demonstrate against Senator Obama. I'm telling you, those people have the devil in their hearts...




Not that I really care, I'm just reporting. I'm not trying to find out if there's actually razor wire on those cages, so I'm staying in GA this week. Feel free to get arrested in my place and report the story after you're gagged, beaten and thrown against a chicken wire fence for fun. Like the Chappelle skit said, "If you've got hate in your heart, let it out."

I suspect that there will be plenty acts of random hate this week, as the new Democratic regime attempts to regain the reigns of control over the party, and Republickins do everything in their power to continue the chaos. For God's sake, man; she's even got something called a "whip team", which is supposed to be in place to overshadow the dissenters in her party who plan to disrupt the convention with noise, angst and hate. We'll see how good of a job she does "whipping" her own friends as they yell in her defense.

If you have an Obama t-shirt and plan to support the man in November, this is the week to bring it out. If you don't have one, buy one. They have some cool bootlegs in Five Points, off Campbellton Road and even Old Nat'l. Oh, and even if you want something free, MOVEON.ORG is shipping free Obama/Biden stickers to supporters. I think all you need is an email address, which you obviously have.

Word to the wise: If you're in Denver this weekend, don't trip; the police might get on some "Operation Heartbreak Hotel" stuff and straight gas you haters to death in that warehouse.


"Listen to me now,
Believe me later on..."

Khujo Goodie of GooDIE Mo.B - "Cell Therapy"

ART IS DEAD

This is a painted piece I recently peeped that my homeboy Dubelyoo did (that shit sounds like a Dr. Seuss rhyme if you say it out loud). Dude is a pretty cool cat. You see him in the "civilized" Hip-Hop spots all over Atlanta if you involve and associate yourself with the "music industry." Always wearing some crazy looking outfit that somehow fits together; a real artist type. I'm posting it because I probably can't afford it, so I take what I can get.


If you can guess the name of the image without CHEATING, you get the official FREE UNDERWRITER PRIZE for this winning weekend!!!

But seriously, the painting is kind of ill. I might cop one. When I get paid. If you got it, go ahead and trick on a print or something. Support graffiti and the art which it has inspired over time.

Or just kill yourself and hope that Hell doesn't sell spray paint to its residents.