“SO, WHY 'THE UNDERWRITER?'"

Sometimes I wonder how far I’m going over the heads of my own dearly departed readers. In moments of personal inquisition, I sometimes ask axe myself, “Do they get what I’m putting out [NOLO]?”

Here’s my best explanation of the pseudonym that I, Michael Jordan, use to best match my own literary shadow. In four equal parts, I’ll now explain my motives with this blog to you, oh my brothers and sisters, so that you won’t think I’m too far off my meds with this whole weird experimental writing fuckfest.


1. The “Underwriter”



Hit up Dictionary.com. The definition of an “underwriter” is someone that either guarantees an insurance policy (I co-sign Hip-Hop) or finances something. Let’s just say I’ve paid my dues, so I feel like I can speak my mind.


2. The “Under” Writer



I was born a black/Native American/white guy in Nashville, Tenn. I was raised in Huntsville, Ala. And I live outside of Atlanta, Ga. With my dirty Dixie pen, dipped in the blood of my ancestors, I represent my tri-state area of the south like a senator and I always look out for homebase. Since I’m used to the Gulf Coast, I tend to be somewhat biased towards any state east of the Mississippi River and below the Mason-Dixon Line. Get it?


3. The Underwriter



Everyone knows about The Grim Reaper. Everyone seems to be scared of him, but these days, people still, for some reason, worship death. So why the fuck not start a blog that made a parody out of the modern fascination with death culture? At least it's better than a cult.

For God’s sake; niggas wear silver and rhinestone belt buckles made in the shape of the poison logo! I’m not afraid of death, but if you are, I’m sorry. You should get over it before we all perish. Plus, why not laugh at something that is coming our way eventually? Should we really be scared, as much as we say, “This is dead,” or “that is dead?” Hell no. We should embrace the humility of our humanity. I feel it’s my duty, since I have little feelings left for this game, to take the role of Hip-Hop’s Undertaker and use some black humor to demolish the status quo, so say hello to Joe Black. Since I’m a dope writer, I do it like I’m doing it for The New York Times. So don't be such a little bitch about it; geez!


4. The Under-Writer



I love the underdog, like everybody else. So I love to look out for cats like Lupe Fiasco, until they start believing that they’re so “Cool” that they can shit on legends like Q-Tip and A Tribe Called Quest. Nope, I still haven’t let that one go. But I still think that Little Brother Phonte is one of the best rap acts in the game today. So I’m going to keep telling people that Phonte Little Brother deserves more attention. But they still need 9th Wonder…


To wrap it all up, this is the voice of my shadow, which has developed over the ten years I've spent working in the entertainment industry. I get paid to make people look better than they deserve to look, and the checks almost never come on time. So you’ll have to excuse the seemingly negative undertone of my style. I really mean no harm, and like Common, one day it’ll all make sense. Until then, to be honest, you can ignore it or applaud it. But I appreciate all perspectives and support from my readers. Just don’t come incorrect, or you will get literarily buried alive.


Viva la Vida!

CREATIVITY IS DEAD

Writers are mentally fucked. It’s not a theory; it’s a given. In my case, maybe you noticed that I took something like two weeks off from blogging. Let’s just say that life caught up with me recently, and there was absolutely no room for recreation. Of course, the title stays in the South, so everything’s fine and dandy now. I’m now back on my happy, creative bender.







But that brings me to this point. Why, I ask axe myself, are people like me so damn aggy sometimes? If I may speak for creative types, and I can, we’re always upset and brooding about something, and even though some great writers that I know are always cool and congenial, I can always find multiple frustrations in their eyes. And I understand; sometimes it takes a lot to be creative; other times it’s nuuuthin’. But to all things, there is a season.

This leads me to one of today's lead stories on AOL.com, which for some dumb ass reason is still the internet homepage of your homie THE UNDERWRITER. I’m looking at the normal sensational bullshit that AOL puts in it’s news headlines, and I see a link for a story on J.K. Rowling, the billionaire Harry Potter genius. Come to find out, this chick actually CONTEMPLATED SUICIDE.

Think about that. A woman who is now one of the richest in the world was convinced that her best option, during the fuckfest of life known as her “twenties”, was to say, “Fuck it,” and self-kick the proverbial bucket. Again, think about that. There would have been no Harry Potter. There would have been no billions. There would have been no famous J.K. Rowling.





That made me curious, so I Googled the phrase, “Famous+writers suicide attempts,” and was surprised at what I found. CHECK IT OUT, if you are interested in seeing how many pioneers of creative and intellectual thought actually believed themselves to be losers. For good measure, HERE'S ONE MORE. As it turns out, the best writers tend to be bipolar, like that “journalist” dewsh-tini, Michael Jordan. That dude is fucking crazy – take my word for it. But I can say with true faith that he’s never thought about committing suicide, because the idea is supremely stupid to him. At least in my opinion; not his. Jordan thinks he’s THE BEST WRITER ALIVE. I think he sucks, but at least he’s not a quitter.

But you might be surprised to find out how many of the most celebrated authors and writers of all time were mentally fucked. Is this a pattern, you ask? Does this mean that creative people are crazy? Should you hang yourself with a tampon string tonight?

Homie, I don’t have all the answers. All I can tell you is that Michael Jordan, being the moron that he is, is no fan of euthanasia, and THE UNDERWRITER is immortal. So, unfortunately, it looks like we’re stuck with each other for life. But it is somewhat comforting to know that sick minds think alike, and great minds are mostly fucked. Reassuring, to say the least.

As THE BEST WRITER ALIVE, it takes a lot of energy to extract myself from craziness as it occurs and to stay focused on this blog. The goal is to finish the book I’m writing - this year. Other goals are there, such as going back to school, leaving Atlanta (for a looong time, if not forever), becoming debt-free and moving out of my own shadow. My sincerest apologies to those who expected more from me in the recent past, especially with all this political fuckery, tornadoes in Atlanta, bullshit rap beef and even real Hip-Hop festivals going on that I could have been speaking on. But give a black man a break, for God’s sake. The business of dead shit is never over. Everybody deserves a vacation every now and then, especially when it’s your job to deliver the death toll. I like to think of it as a cycle. I can’t be too positive or negative for too long without needing to stop and smell the dead roses.

So go somewhere and get a life, you weirdo. And thanks for being a mental patient.





I’m back!!! (as if I ever left this bitch, huh baby?)

GLOSSARY OF THE DAMNED

Here are definitions of some of the words I’ve made up so far on this blog, my brothers and sisters.


NOLO:



Think Nolo Contendre, the “I’m not guilty of this, but just make it go away” plea that you can enter in most courtrooms in America. For instance, I’m not gay. Gay, to me, is weirder than words can say. I mean, why?!!? But anyway, I’m also not a hater or a sexual bigot, so do whatever you do. Just don’t invite me behind the green door. Nolo.


POTUS:



I shouldn’t have to explain this one, but oh well. POTUS is an acronym for “President Of The United States.” When I do my “Chivalry is Dead” campaign discussion about Obama vs. Hillary, I use the term “POTUS” a lot, but I’ve been getting questions about what it means, even from my best homie who’s a medical doctor. Come on; you’ve never seen 24?


DEWSHERY:



Dewshery is defined as the continual and ongoing act of a person, company or group of people engaging in douche-like activity. If you always say stupid things, you should dead the dewshery. If someone says they’re going to do something and they renig, call it dewshery. If you read my blog and don’t laugh, you’re on that dewshery.


TRANSTESTICLE:



This one is pure fun. It can describe a transsexual person, or anyone who’s just too gay for TV. Nolo. A transtesticle can also be a punkdafied person who either won’t stand up for his/herself or a loser that hides behind a self-created image. A transtesticle is always on that dewshery. Actually, I stole this one from Andrew “Dice” Clay from an old HBO special. Dude was, and still is, funny as hell.


THE FREAK GHOST:



Shout to my homie, T-Peso, who invented this one. The Freak Ghost is what you get when you remember something wild you did and have a physical reaction, similar to the heebie-jeebies. Recently, I caught the freak ghost, while staying at the Birmingham Sheraton. I used to wild out there, back when my high school band played the Magic City Classic parade. We had 120 instruments, plus 40 dance team/flag corps girls for additional viewing pleasure, and we all spent the night in the same hotel, four years straight (Good God...). I was also a class president during my one-year stint at Alabama A&M University, so during the Classic weekend, years later, I got to escort the class queen to the game and get a free rental whip and hotel room for the weekend, courtesy of AAMU (Lawd Jesus… ).


OVERTHROWED:



No, not like Saddam or the Taliban. Then again, maybe... To understand this one, you’d first have to understand the term throwed. Hopefully, you do, otherwise all is lost and you should go ahead and hang yourself with a super-sized tampon string. In layman’s terms, overthrowed is a state of being gloriously drunk and happy, having a good time. It can alsu be used as a synonym for being “hung-over.” To be throwed is human; to be overthrowed is divine.


AXED:



This should really be self-explanatory also. You’ve heard it before, in conversation with your thug cousins, or maybe even out of your own mouth when politicking with your people back home. The proper way to inquire about something is to ask. But if you’ve ever spent time in the hood, like THE UNDERWRITER, you’ve probably axed a few questions yourself when conferring with a ghetto colleague.



This should be enough to get you primed. I’ll come with additional definitions as necessary. Now get out of my face, you doo doo-head dummy.