BURIED IN WORK, BUT FAR FROM DEAD

Sorry about the lapse in posting continuity. The new year brought a super-cool new job, new money and new toolery. Now that I'm working 9 hours a day on a MacBook, things are a little more complicated and I haven't yet figured out some of the deets when it comes to grabbing images and such, so it looks like I'll be having to switch back and forth from my trusty PC (Sade) and this new laptop. Which is probably for the best; nothing like a bunch of weird blog posts that don't relate to the job sitting on a company hard drive to kill your career before it's really born.

So thanks for the patience, and especially thanks to THE GEORGIA BLOGROLL, which just added your faithful and humble narrator to its listings. I'll be back around in a few hours. Hey, at least I'm Twittering more often!!

As if you care.

THE UNDERWRITER LIVES TO SEE 2009

Yes, bitches. I've made it. 31 years, and not a single bit of evidence that would suggest aging. Maturity? Surely. But I'm a child of God, and I retain my youthful spirit and I remain young at heart. I love being alive at this point in time.

Can you believe that we actually have a black president?! I mean, take away the horrible recession, the toxic sludge in the Tennessee River, the still-unfinished business in New Orleans, the pointless violence in Gaza, the ignorant racism of the Republikkkan party--especially in my beautiful south, the lack of self-belief and the persistence of power-lust and you have a serious opportunity for change. And, as you can tell, I'm not one for the fantasy way of seeing things. I see dead people.

I also see live people. I see the chance to make the miracles that we think only God has the power to perform actually happen, with our own work. And I'm ready to make my mark on the world. We're not in a recession, as it would relate to the richness of the human mind. We're more capable of thinking our collective way out of this mess that we've made than at any point in human history. Why waste it?

Give me the green light. I can go all night. And all year. And all my life. I've been ready to go, and right now is as good a time as any in my term on this planet. Let's all get serious about life this year. Let's not substitute anything for hard work and dedication. As my man White Jesus always says, "Get prolific."

If you read this blog, peace and blessings to you in 2009. Thanks for supporting writers and readers.

WHY ATLANTA IS DYING OFF

I tell you, oh my brothers and sisters, the times, they are a'changin' around this beeaieyach. So let me begin by saying that I hope you had a great Thanksgiving, and I hope that you're not only thankful for that gluttonous meal you ate Thursday afternoon with your fat-ass family, but you're also in the spirit of giving something to those who might be in worse need than you this winter.

Keep in mind that I'm not a fan of baseless charity; I prefer that people find something that they love and want to see bettered through personal investment. Deserving a gift is the ideal. But let's be fair; we're in a recession and there are hungry and cold people out there who may have fallen through the cracks under Georgia Bush's reign of terror on the American government. Prayer helps, but action is necessary in these times. Let's all pitch in.

Speaking of Georgia, since it is one of the states that I represent through my honorary position as Senator to the southern tri-state area of Tennessee, Alabama and Georgia, and I do most of my business in Atlanta, let me keep it ultra gutter and tell you what's really hood in the city that made me. Here, as food for thought, are the top 30 reasons why the City of Atlanta is pretty much dead. Listen to me now; believe me later on.


THE UNDERWRITER'S TOP 30 REASONS
WHY ATLANTA IS DYING OFF:




1. Shakir Stewart's death (R.I.P.)
2. T.I. going to jail
3. Luda going Hollywood
4. Gucci Mane in jail
5. Young Jeezy cooling off
6. Soulja Boy
7. Jermaine Dupri running a club & destroying Janet's career at once
8. L.A. Reid in the Hamptons
9. 1/2-ass Janelle Monae project management by Bad Boy
10. Lil' Jon M.I.A.
11. Hot 107.9's A-Team fired; replaced by Ricky Smiley
12. Maurice Garland M.I.A. since 11/5
13. Gyant gaining fame
14. No clear cut female rap queen/leading lady
15. Jax death (R.I.P.)
16. DJ Drama still in legal limbo
17. Killer Mike fadeaway
18. Usher in career limbo
19. Dallas Austin on permanent vacation
20. Alfamega
21. Kaya becomes Club Vision, then torn down for Trump condos
22. The death of Freaknic (R.I.P.)
23. Mike Vick not coming back
24. Traffic
25. Price of a$$ & foreclosures ^; local economy & city budget down
26. Continued water (& weed) drought
27. Polow Da Don recent brick marathon
28. Still no Real World Atlanta
29. Chicago's comeuppance
30. No alcohol sales on Sunday except clubs & restaurants


To be certain, there is only one hope...




The Dungeon Family. The first shall be last and the last shall be first. Anybody who has been here since the mid-90s can tell you that even moreso than Dallas and Jermaine and only second to LaFace, the DF made Atlanta cool, so only they can reinstitute the groove and save the city. If that fails, expect me to speak to you from New York or Los Angeles in 2010.

Fortunately, there are three OutKast projects and one GOODie MoB. album on the way. Thank God. Shout to the homie Dallas in town for Turkey weekend.

“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!

DEAD-I-CATION

If you noticed, I've been conspicuously absent from the blog game in the last month. Why? Well, it's a mixture of salty feelings, bad time management and lack of inspiration. Of course, there's been plenty of bucket-kicking going down in the entertainment industry, as always, which I noticed and allowed to pass. Others have taken up the slack, which I greatly appreciate.

But now, I hesitate to say that I'm all the way back on my game, but I'm definitely getting back in the groove of thangs. It's funny; every book I've read recently that deals with career goals and such (The 4-Hour Work Week) has flagrantly suggested that I stop spending so much time online and focus on a book, if that is indeed the goal for which I'm aiming to meet. It gets difficult to stay away from distraction, but it also intensifies my focus, I can't deny.

The only blog I haven't checked recently is DALLAS PENN. That's because Billy Sunday pretty much always stays consistent, even when I don't check in. Good writers aren't usually that persistent. Hats off to the homie.

Other blogs I eff with would include anything on my blogroll and a few others, like DAILY KOS, DEFAMER and a few others. I don't really dig most mainstream blogs other than Bossip, because they all tend to share info and re-report things that others discovered, as if they found the info themselves. I do the same, but damn! If that's all it takes, then why the eph am I not rich yet?

MEDIA TAKE OUTwould be a great one, if they didn't put up pure bullshit and wait for someone to discredit their reporting, which is all innuendo anyway. I guess their mentality is that it doesn't matter, as long as they have millions of readers. Quick to misprint public and private business, then retract back for deaf ears, and think it's dismissed? Pa-fucking-thetic. Word to OutKast. But at least they're consistent, which you haven't recently seen from the homie THE UNDERWRITER.

That's why I'm in the middle of a ATL divorce. I've left my 12-year wifey several times, and yet I always find my way back into the city's shitty panties, just because I was too lazy and too entrenched to move away. I tried going back to Alabama and to Tennessee, with no long-term luck. Every time I felt that was that, she called me right back, and I answered. Owatayfooliyam.

But now, I'm really, really, reaally sick of my surroundings; totally, dude. It's so bad that these days I get invited to free shit all the time, with free drinks, food and celebrity dewshes of all sorts. But these socialites and celebritits are no more deserving of their influence and small pond fame than the nameless hooker that served Governor Spitzer with a $4K dirty sanchez buffet.

I'm deadicated to being a writer, but I'm so sick of being nice to assorted prick ticklers who don't pay like they weigh. That doesn't include you, my dear reader, so I apologize for getting my contacts twisted. But really, haven't you ever felt like you've helped hundreds of people, and nobody turned around and said, "Preshate it," or at least, "Let me return the favor?" (nolo). Well, that's my mojo right now. Ain't no love in the heart of the reaper, because my crops are looking dry as fuck right now, all because I haven't been all the asshole I can truly be (nolo). But I am still, underneath all this UNDERWRITER drapery that I wear on the net, a cool cat that likes to associate with other ill creatives. Plus, I'm THE BEST WRITER ALIVE.

So, for the record, until I get my shit right, I'm only putting up one blog a week. That's supposed to be the format anyway, but sometimes I get crunk off those funny cigarettes and go for minez, on some prolific fuckery type of shit, like I have miles to go before I sleep. Right now, it's a recession, and not just in terms of the economy. As the main writer of this blog, I'm supposed to keep the good times rolling, but I'd rather be honest and tell you, oh my brothers and sisters, that sometimes, even THE UNDERWRITER gets a little pissy and wants to walk away. It's human nature. Fortunately, again, I'm still
THE BEST WRITER ALIVE, and soon enough, I just might prove it in hardback form.

Until then, keep checking in. Don't say I don't keep it 100.

C'entanni, bitches!

DEADLINES - A Writer's Frustration with Freeloaders

THE UNDERWRITER is the product of years of journalistic frustration and failed attempts at humility. As a reporter, a staff writer, an editor and a public relations consultant, I've been on the bad business end of the long dick of the literary field and entertainment industry (nolo) more times that I'd like to admit. Nine out of ten times, I’ve helped those close to me get on and get dough, only to see no bread when it starts baking. Now, I help no one but yours truly, unless of course I really want to do it. Hoes gotta eat too.

That’s the key, isn’t it? In my opinion, the media is littered with fame fluffers who most closely resemble something like a mole on my ball satchel. A plethora of nut huggers and assorted smegma. Plenty of people expecting you or I to deny our need for economic gain just for the chance to be involved. Friends and other fuckers with their hands out, asking axing for assistance when they know that business is business is business, and slavery ended with Lincoln. Even though I write from the underside of all things, I do have a humanitarian heart, even though there's not a charitable bone in my body (nolo). Especially when I know you're not starting a non-profit. You want to make money, and that takes money. Especially when you're dealing with the best.


HUNTER S. THOMPSON - The Inspiration




In other words, dear readers, I’m not the one to help you or anyone else further their PROFITABLE career, unless there’s something in it for your homie. That means, in no uncertain terms, that I don’t work for you without an incentive, and you don’t deserve my billable hours at the low-low rate of $Free.99. We’re just not that fucking cool. And if you can't afford my services, you need to get your weight up.


ERNEST HEMINGWAY - The Prototype




But if we are cool, and I believe in what you’re doing – and you aren’t secretly getting paid and leaving me with the pocket lint – I might be willing to barter. You scratch my back and vice versa (nolo). But don’t expect me to sympathize with your lack of necessary funding, and don’t believe that I’m so hungry to advance my career that I simply want to be “published.” No, hoe, I want to be paid like a pimp.


JAMES BALDWIN - The Pioneer




This past week, while taking a few days off from posting blogs, I was coming up with new personal slogans. This comes from my other side job as a copywriter; I tend to come up with a few classic lines every now and then that make it to national eyes and ears through my clients and connects. But I always save the best for myself, because I own it anyway. So I came up with my newest credo this week, and just so you don’t think I’m that stingy with the creative juice, I’ll share the wisdom with you heathens.

MY NEW MOTTO:
“If it ain’t me, it ain’t free.”

That means that if I’m not working for myself, I’m not working for zero down and no interest until 2010. I’m not a used car salesman; I’m the best writer alive, even though this blog is dead.





It also means that if I do decide, by some miraculous example of divine intervention, that I want to help someone else move forward without being compensated for my time and mental expenditure, I’m going to do it my way. There is no representation without taxation, and THE UNDERWRITER has already paid his dues just to keep the party going. You want my help, you’ll accept it as it comes. And without payment, you’d better expect me to be as late as I want to be. Or as rebellious with my ideas as I feel fit.

Sorry to subject you to this immaculate assholery that I’m on today. Contrary to what you might be thinking as you read this, I’m actually in a very splendid mood. I always meet my deadlines, even when they’re not benefiting me beyond knowing that my writing is still in the public view. I love being involved in new and upcoming things that are sure to break the mold. I get thrills and chills when I see something I’ve done make it’s way into the pantheon of literary f*ckery that we call The Beast The Media.

But I don’t work for free, so don’t ask unless you feel extremely lucky. The writer gets paid first, because being “The Best Writer Alive” means that you must believe in your own worth and value more than anyone else, or you’ll never reap the rewards for your hard work and dead-ication.


THE UNDERWRITER - The Best Writer Alive



Pay like you weigh, bitches. Live long and prosper.

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.......................................................)

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.

A World Without Writers = Hell

You, unlike me, might like to watch TV all the fucking time.

You might even find the stale jokes on modern television satires, sit-coms and African-American minstrel comic variety shows to still be funny, twenty-something years after the ideas were first stolen, then re-introduced to our society, then manipulated by corporate executive board members into everlasting money machines for witless stockholders and commercial advertisers.




I have a great respect for comedians, because they have always been brave enough to say something super fucked-up, knowing that you'll probably just laugh their jokes off as harmless comic relief from modern life. But secretly you agree, because these jokes are true, which makes them funny in the first place, I guess. These are our great orators and public speakers, because they are willing to expose their scariest creative thoughts to the public, knowing that they are nothing more than water cooler folly for the next work day. And nothing sucks like being a genius among Gumps, especially when they don't get the pun of your jokes and you never see the monetary benefits from being brilliant in your craft.





Some of our generation's dead greatest comedians first introduced the ideas of racial and cultural differences to society as grounds for comedy, just to have them stolen and abused, over and over, by the corporate suit society that controls modern media. Maybe that's why I support the writer's strike going on in Hollywood right now. Not just because I'm a writer, but mostly because I believe in equal pay for equal work, especially when it comes to creative minds. Whether the business counts blacks, Mexicans or women as its underling employees, we as "the talent" shouldn't be considered as just "help", at least in my opinion. We drive commerce.





You see, the truth is that Hollywood and the entertainment industry as a whole - not just comedy - is a comedy of errors, and the creative society has been essentially re-selling the same jokes around for the last forty years, acting like we can't come up with anything new. In my opinion, this is mostly because the writers want more for their hard work, which they deserve. Ask Dave Chappelle. 50 million just ain't enough. Put another zero behind that bitch's ass, and then I might hit it for life. If not, go get another welfare-happy sucker, because I want more for my mind - especially if you're getting 500-million for my ideas and I'm stuck with a measly 10%.




The truth about this whole stand-off is that the business is changing, and the suits don't want to include the talent in their estimates of incoming cash flow. They want us to be ignorant, yet the writers are infinitely smarter than them, so we figured out their scam and decided to rebuke their offer of little-to-nothing. We figured that it's high time to renegotiate those old-ass contracts so that they reflect the age of the internet. But of course, the suits will never go fully along with overturning power and financial freedom to the creatives. We're just not capable, at least in their minds, of keeping the lights on while pondering the next great gift to the entertainment media community, so they say. So the geniuses of new ideas will always be at odds with the prodigies of the old money establishment. But that's the great war anyway, so who am I to act like I won't fight for my freedom? If my ancestors did it - under hella worse circumstances - who am I to fuck tradition up?





I knew you'd understand. And if you don't, I always knew you were an imbecile.

Creative minds come with deep issues, oh my brothers and sisters. Better yet: uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. You already know my opinion on this one; the writer is the landlord. Without my shit, Mr. or Mrs. CEO, you have no floor upon which to stand.

Oh yes, THE UNDERWRITER is just that arrogant when it comes to his craft, and I figure that you should get like me. My advice for new writers is simple; get behind (nolo) any talent that you possess that can uplift you from the depths of society's sicknesses. I mean, the elites killed Jesus back in the day; why the eff wouldn't they destroy Hip-Hop and urban culture's finest? Hollywood is burning right now, and all the liquor in the cabinet couldn't make an arrogant Hollywood powerbroker capable of creating a hit television series on his own. The creative pen burns eternal, and if you won't invest in a Montblanc, you'll be stuck with a Bic.





There are at least two partners involved in the development of any successful new entertainment idea - those who fund it and those who create it. In the entertainment business, those who make the production connections sometimes feel more important than the very talent upon which they rely to make shit happen. Which is fucked the fuck up, if you ask your homie.

It is the ultimate negotiation point that without the creative minds of the writers, the enterprise of entertainment would wither and fall. So pay like you fucking weigh, bitches. I can write something that I own for free, whether I get paid or not. Tell that to the home audience.


Signed,
Michael Jordan
"THE UNDERWRITER"

MYSPACE IS DEAD

Haven't you been feeling a certain type of way every time some fool gets arrested for trying to send out orgy invites to 14-year old dutty wine divas? If you're like The Underwriter, you feel a certain commitment to prudent sexual behavior. So let's have a quick look at one of MYSPACE'S WORST PERVERT MOMENTS.

Now this isn't the only reason I have to give you as to why Tom's house is so filthy. Let's not forget Young Rupert and NewsCorp, the real goon squad. They own the opera, so I have basically been working with Fox News, even though I never watch it. At least that's WHAT IT SAYS HERE.

Besides all of that, Myspace ruins relationships. I can't tell you how many times my girl has called me, long-distance beefing, all because some young lady left a complimentary comment on THE HOTTEST MYSPACE PAGE THAT EVER EXISTED IN HISTORY.

But worst of all, people are starting to hide their music, thoughts and pictures. You have to add somebody before you can look at their photos - which sometimes makes all the difference in the "add me" decision-making process - plus these weirdos don't even let you have full songs anymore without searching for some lone ranger who was such a great stan of the band that he/she (probably both) decided to upload their favorite band's best song. And it looks like Myspace's musical program will have to change all because of THE OTHER REAL GOON SQUAD.

So for now, and probably forever, The Underwriter is back. Michael Jordan's Myspace blog is officially dead, which means that Myspace now sucks. Don't be the last one to abandon the slave ship, oh my brothers and sisters...