CHESTER IS ALIVE

Tony Alamo, a man of the cloth, has been watching too much Sesame Street, it seems; thus, his career as an epostle of the Lawd IS OFFICIALLY DEAD. He has been arrested for being a weird pervert, but this is far from the first time. Alamo was convicted of tax-related charges in 1994 and given a four-year prison sentence, after the IRS claimed that he owed $7.9 million to the government. Prosecutors argued during the trial that he was a flight risk, a polygamist and a weirdo, who not only prayed for forgiveness but also preyed on married women and young girls in his flock.





According to his beliefs and theology, a woman is ready to marry at the point of puberty. It says so in the bible, according to whatever chapter he's read. He and his now deceased wife Susan founded a Christian ministry in 1969. When she died in 1982, he KEPT HER IN THE BASEMENT, asking his followers to pray over her displayed body so that she would rise like Lazarus. Wow.





This most recent arrest occurred at the hands of the F.B.I., at his cult compound in Arkansas five days after his 74th birthday:

On September 20, 2008, federal and state investigative agents raided the Arkansas headquarters of the ministry as part of a child pornography investigation. This investigation involved allegations of physical abuse, sexual abuse and allegations of polygamy and underage marriage. According to Terry Purvis, mayor of Fouke, Arkansas, his office has received complaints from former ministry members about allegations of child abuse, sexual abuse and polygamy since the ministry established itself in the area. In turn, Purvis turned over information about the allegations to the FBI. Alamo denied the child abuse allegations. On September 25, 2008, Alamo was arrested by Arizona police and FBI agents in Flagstaff, Arizona on charges that he transported minors over state lines for sexual activity in violation of the Mann Act.

SOURCE: WIKIPEDIA

Here's a video of how Alamo, pronounced "A-Lame-O" by the Fox News personality interviewing him, believes that the Lawd will deliver him from the wickedness of the world, and how women shouldn't yap their stupid mouths off.





Jesus, what evil hath men done in thy name? R.Kelly wears Jesus pieces on the regular, and he pees on any pre-pubescent Punky Brewster he pleases. Nobody complains, and his star stock actually rises. He can even get on TV and come across as Chesterly as ever, taking no responsibility for anything he may have done while asking heaven for a hug.





But that's still not enough. Did you know he started a business selling sequined denim jackets under his own name, and his failure to report his revenues to the IRS would land him in prison for tax evasion? I mean, what kind of pervert makes his living selling stonewashed and airbrushed denim? No wonder he was ashamed of claiming his earnings.





Catholic priests have been fondling a lot more than their own balls and bibles, oh my brothers and sisters. Some, it seems, may secretly use their Rosary beads on themselves, if you follow. Then you have the whole "gay marriage" debate, which in my opinion is not worthy of any debate. Civil unions are just fine with me, but marriage is and should always be used for lovers of the opposite sex. This is not a religious issue; it's a natural one. I thought that one of the major reasons to get married was so that your child would not have to go through life with the title of "illegitimate." But now that's all dead, and the children are going to be raised by couples made of husbands and wives that can ask axe each other, "How's it hanging, honey?" How do all of the fatherless bastards of today feel about this, I wonder?





This is what happens when we condemn sex as an ungodly act. Not only do people go underground with their weirdness and freaky ambitions, but the criminals become the equals of people who aren't even committing crimes. I just hope that the true believers out there take this as a message and start getting serious about cleaning up their churches--from the inside out. Nolo.

I wonder who's gonna be next?

THE DUMP OF DEATH

The Dump of Death? | Movies & TV | SPIKE.com

Shout out to "The Doo-Doo Man," who obviously has no self-respect that a check can't buy. I know I've made some mean and vicious deposits in the early part of this year, but nothing came close to feeling as if I were on the verge of losing my life. And is that really true about Elvis and ol' boy from The Bee Gees? Dag. R.I.P. to them, I guess.

THE OBAMA CRUSADE: Day 39 - MCCAIN'S PAIN

I have to apologize to my readers, because now I get what's happening, and as of right now, I'm taking the bait. So this will be the last time I write an entire post about what the hell is or isn't going on with this. But for now, I have two separate theories as to why Senator John McCain chose Governor Sarah Palin as his VP candidate.


1. Either McCain hit it when Palin visited him on a LATE NIGHT SECRET FLIGHT to Arizona last week, and she put that thang on him so badly that he gave her a key to a room in the White House for some late-night creep action in 2009,


OR...


2. McCain is spitting in the face of the Obama campaign, saying with subtlety that since OBAMA IS A CELEBRITY, the Republikkkan party can create it's own star, while still having a balanced ticket with a Senate veteran, just like the Dems. Except, the roles would be reversed.

The argument sounds like this. If Biden beats Palin in the VP debates, that means nothing, because, historically, no one votes for a VP anyway. Plus, she's just a politically made celebrity, so it's no big deal if she can't overcome any expectations.

The GOP probably thinks that this neutralizes Senator Obama. They think he has no experience, so they got someone with even less experience than zero. So now, the fight is between Biden and McCain. Both are long standing U.S. senators, and both have a wealth of foreign policy and government experience. But since Biden is not the presidential candidate, it makes Obama look bad, I guess.


All of that is a crazy gamble, but it still doesn't knock down the biggest question:

Is this the best person McCain could find to be president after him, in case he's not available? And if it isn't (and let's be honest - it isn't), what does that say about his judgment?

Seriously, I think he hit it.

THE OBAMA CRUSADE: Day 38 - I’M BRAIN DEAD

Alright, I'm back. But bad news: My mind is blown. It's so bad that I have foregone any attempt at being productive, so I will settle for being effective and just share my mental breakdown with you, oh my brothers and sisters.

These are the thoughts runnin’ through my mind, in no particular order. Seriously, I am stunned at the choice of Governor Sarah Palin. I can barely focus on things I need to do because this is absolutely crazy and unexpected.

Here’s the randomness:



• Be not confused; this is GREAT for the Democrats. But I just can't understand how the Republikkkans would kill themselves like this.

• Today is John McCain’s birthday. He turned 72. That means that if he were to serve a full 8-year term as POTUS, he would leave office at 80. I have no words for that.

• Governor Sarah Palin is 44. She is a first-term governor of Alaska and has 2 years on the job.

• I can’t believe this…

• The term I keep hearing on the news is that the vice-president is always “a heartbeat away” from the presidency. When running for POTUS, a VP choice would need to be ready to assume the responsibilities of Commander-in-Chief at any time. Huh?

• CNN’s Jack Cafferty absolutely roasted Palin on Wolf Blitzer’s The Situation Room today. As he said, the Republikkkans gave the Democrats "an early Christmas."

• Remember that America is involved in the War on Terror, which has us bogged down in Afghanistan, Iraq and could take us into Iran very soon. Does she have any – any – foreign policy expertise? I know she's a member of the NRA, but does having a gun mean that you can run multiple wars and the economy? WTF?!

• The job she held before being elected governor was mayor of a town in Alaska that has less than 6,000 residents. Westbumba-clat, Alaska, I believe is the name.

• …………

• There is only one tactical victory for the GO-Pee in this spectacular moment in historic political fuckery. Nobody is really talking about Obama. Not even me.

• This has fried my brain. The only fear I have is that since this is so unexplainable, it might have the effect of a mass lobotomy, and we will all become walking zombies, mental vegetables, and just start agreeing with everything. Jesus, this is so random.

• Senator John McCain just gave the Democrats the gift of political victory over the GOP, hopefully for generations and not just four years. And it's his birthday, not ours.

• ??????????

• Governor Palin is under investigation in her state, for possibly having a role in the firing of a State Trooper. The trooper was her brother-in-law. Nothing corrupt about that.

• Desperation is so unattractive. The Republikkkans have no game at all. What is this woman doing in this party? She is kind of cute…

• Imagine the Vice Presidential debate, coming soon to your favorite television news network. Trust me, if you’ve never trusted me before: Senator Joseph Biden is going to effortlessly take her apart – no question. All he has to do is ask her on live television to tell him anything about anything in the world.

• On the low, this is insulting as hell to women. Maybe on the high. McCain basically said, with the national microphone, "Look here, bitches: I picked up this strange married MILF from Alaska. So vote for me, because all you broads are the same anyway. Oh, and don't get pregnant accidentally anytime soon!! We ain't havin' it, but you are!!!"

• !... ?... !

• This is what you call political pandering, and my guess is that Senator Clinton’s “Hillraisers” support group is going to see right through this as soon as the Democrats begin to mount their assault.

• Seriously, I just knew that the GOP would make this harder. I’m shocked. Happy that they made the wrong move, but disappointed at their stupidity and taking all the fun out of the game.

• ??!!?

• I agree with David Gergen. It should have been Mitt Romney. That would have made sense. How would you feel today if you were Mitt Romney? You know how much chee$e that fool spent trying to be McCain's flunky? FAIL.

• Republikkkans have got to be nervous as hell.

• Wow. She's a journalism graduate. Journalism is dead.

• I gotta call my Dad and my older brother. I know they’re tripping as well.

• I need a drink.

• They say that Palin hasn’t even been “vetted” by the media yet. God, how bad is this shite going to be??

• She came in 2nd in the Miss Alaska '84 pageant. Damn. But, like I told the homie GARLAND earlier, I can’t front. Palin is thick, and I would beat.

• ! ! ! ?

• Jesus. Obama and Biden won’t even say anything bad about her. That’s smart; they don’t even need to. They can let the rest of the world wobble on its axis today and just remain cool. See, that’s why I like Obama. Cooler heads prevail.

• Meltdown… We are witnessing the meltdown of a major political party... My brain is farting…

• The only president to take the oath and enter the Oval Office older than McCain was Ronald Reagan. You know he had Altzheimer's.

• I have to leave this house, or I will suffer complete and total mental collapse.



I’ll be back later. Maybe not until tomorrow. Help me, Jesus. Help me, Tom Cruise.

I'M DEAD @ THIS

Angel Pantoja Medina is dead, but don't tell nobody. Especially not his mother and family. They're obviously just not ready for the truth. And I'm not ready for the next trend in funerals and wakes.

This dude was found under a bridge. They still don't know how he died. But for some reason, he had made a prehumous request to be embalmed in a way that would allow him to remain standing for three days during the wake process. His family said he wanted to stand tall and be happy. So they got him posted up in the corner of the house, looking like the hardest man alive dead. Yo...





*Heebie Jeebies just kicked in*


Yo, yo, yo... All I can say is that this might be the illest ever. Definitely a contender for the "WTF-'08" Award. Don't let this catch on in the hood. Please, no thank you. I'm afraid of the future.




Jacque'd from DLISTED.

SOBRIETY IS DEAD

[Me, right now, after last night's horrible fourthmeal choice]


Still recovering from last night. Here's some free advice: Don't eat collard greens at 4am, on top of 100 ounces of Heineken and two shots of Patron. Your stomach will lock up like San Quentin and you'll be in bed for 24 hours, like me right now.

Speaking of getting overthrowed, here is a clip that I've been waiting for, even though I didn't expect to see it remixed like this. I don't know if you watch Intervention, but it's one of the best shows on TV. It really doesn't get any realer.

The last episode I saw was about a girl named Allison. She's far from your average geek monster. I mean, this chick is the biggest fiend that I've seen thus far. Hell, I didn't even know that people actually got high off inhalants after the 2nd grade. That's up there with sniffing glue and breathing in unleaded gas fumes. I just don't get it. These people never heard of the chronic? Way safer, that's all I'm saying.

But anyway, here's the clip.




Kids, don't do drugs. Those things Allison sucks are meant to blow the dirt off your computer keyboard. Legal or not, you probably don't want your lungs to freeze and shatter inside your chest.

Where are the Reagans when you need them?

THE REPUBLICKINS' SECRET TO LONG LIFE

Look, it's my job to pay attention, ok? While you were sleeping, I've been noticing that these GOP dinosaurs never seem to die like natural human beings. Like, I think George H.W. Bush is 665 years old, on the low. It might be a rule that once you become down with them, you become one of the undead and have to drink the blood of innocent Shi-Tzus, stolen from gay liberal couples, to achieve everlasting life and help Satan to endlessly steal presidential elections. Truth be told, I used to think Republickins were secretly the descendants of dragon-lizards that once dwelled in moist caves, ate runaway squirrels and wiped their arses on nearby stalagmites. But no, my brothers and sisters...

Courtesy of Ernest Borgnine, a recent tv guest of Fox & Friends, This is why Republickins live for thousands of years:





For the record, I totally believe him. He looks like he hasn't seen female loins since Prohibition. The question is, using the borrowed logic that sexual pleasure is good for the mind, body and soul, shouldn't a person live even longer if they actually had a partner - preferably of the opposite sex - with whom they could have intercourse? Or is it really the process of rubbing one out that makes the difference?

I think it's much simpler. Republickins are wankers who never make contact with other humans, so they avoid the germs. What a bunch of weird losers.

HOLLYWOOD IS DEAD

I got an email today from a reader. Wow... this blog thing is getting out of control!!

"What's good Underwriter. I found this clip on the net and it look like something you may have put in to your blog. Anyway, give your boy a shout out!"

- Superninja

For the record, I hadn't seen this, but for the hell of it, I'll post it on G.P. Preshate it, Superninja.

FLOWERS

[Photo: ALLHIPHOP]


I can't even go into too much detail about how sad this is. I just hope that INGRID RIVERA is finding some comfort in Heaven after experiencing hell in her final hours on earth. Unfortunately, some men are rapists, killers and cowards - all packed into one body. And those men - not the drug dealers - deserve to die. Kill 'em all, I say, and let God Satan sort 'em out.

If you want to read the story of what happened, CLICK HERE.


Rest in peace, Ingrid. May you never be forgotten, and may your name live on to keep other unsuspecting females from being led into dangerous situations with guys they don't know and shouldn't trust.

I'll tell you this much. I have hella female cousins. If this would have happened to one of them, you'd find the guy's head on top of the Georgia Capitol with a scythe still hooked through his ears. I don't play that shit.

TIGHT JEANS KILLED HIP-HOP

I'm not even going to type too much on this one. It seems that the backlash against tight jeans is now a full-blown movement. But here, for your viewing pleasure or disgust are a few YouTubes of the current state of fashion affairs in Hip-Hop.

All I can say to this is Nolo.











One thing I will say: it's funny how Jim Jones (Dipset/Byrdgang) is DISSING KANYE WEST about what he considers the ultimate Hip-Hop fashion faux pas, yet HE WAS CALLED OUT BY TRU LIFE not long ago. Misdirection, I guess. Hey, whatever works.



Shout out to THE VILLAGE VOICE for investigating this hood tragedy. America, it's time for a (wardrobe) change.

IS SOLEDAD O'BRIEN THE HOTTEST LITE-BRITE IN THE TV NEWS GAME?

Yo, no b.s.

If Soledad O'Brien doesn't deserve to be recognized as one of the hottest lite-brites in the TV journalism game, then I don't deserve to have fingers. After recently putting it down with CNN's "Black in America" series, Soledad is now running neck and neck with Queen Suzanne Malveaux, who is pretty much untouchable in my book. They're both smart, sexy and willing to do the job at a higher level than their counterparts. Both deserve the utmost respect.

But what is it about CNN and MSNBC that they seem to have the black female game on lockdown when it comes to television reporters?


Let's look at the other contenders:



SUZANNE MALVEAUX




FREDERICKA WHITFIELD




ALISON STEWART




AMY HOLMES



(She's a Republickin strategist, but those curls say, "I'm down; just don't tell nobody...")



Much respect to CNN and MSNBC for keeping it extra gangster with the black females. Sly Fox News does the same with blondes, which in all honesty is just staying in line with their audience, so I can't be mad at that. But I must ask axe,


Who is the hottest?

MALE SPIDERS ARE RAPISTS

Scientific researchers at the University of Aarhus (?) have made a brilliant discovery - one whose announcement is sure to spread like cobwebs in the circles of internet-saavy spiders. Female arachnids, beware: your men are out chea boning unsuspecting potential mates by playing dead and stealing the ass.





Hell, at least the spiders don't have to live in Darfur these days, for God's sake. Then not only would such savage spiders rape the ladies, they might just kill them and the kids, then burn it all down on the way to the next unfortunate victim.

So don't you PETA pricks get mad at me if you see me in the woods squashing the shit out of some tarantula or black widow. He might be the "Chester" that sodomized Charlotte.


CLICK HERE for the article.


"I'm gunnin' for your spouse, tryin' to send that bitch back to her maker, and if you've got a daughter older then 15, I'm a rape her, take her on the living room floor, right there in front of you, then ask you seriously, what you wanna do?"
DMX - "X is Coming" (nolo)

LEGALLY-DEAD MCs

Here's what happens when you try to legally represent yourself as an attorney in court, and you realize that you've dug your own grave. If all else fails, feel free to pull the fake heart attack card.


So classic I had to jack it (nolo). Please people, let professionals do their jobs. Shout out to Fresh over at C&D. As she said, this deserves an NAACP Image Award for "Outstanding Fuckery in a Daytime Drama." Hilarious.

RACISM IS ALIVE - DON'T ACT SURPRISED

Yes, that's Michelle and Barack Obama, in the Oval Office, wearing revolutionary and Islamic attire, engaging in flag burning, Osama worshiping and fist bumping.

Absolutely not worth my time. I don't discuss blatant, incendiary racism when it is done just to stir up fear and loathing. Lest you forget, I live in Cobb County, Georgia, where these stupid ass people think that their ignorance is shared by all. It is strange that The New Yorker would take it this far, but I'm used to it.

Check out these tasteful and dignified items of race-baiting that originate not far from where I reside.


FROM THE ROSWELL BEACON:





FROM MULLIGAN'S FOOD & SPIRITS IN MARIETTA




Whatever the fuck. There's nothing new under the sun.


"White people could never surprise me with racism."
- Chris Rock

BREAKFAST IS DEAD

I present to you, "Futuristic Brunch."




If you look at the producer credits, you'll see a familiar name. Don't say I don't break bread.

IF YOU ASK AXE ME

Washington D.C. just got wilder. The 32-year ban on handguns in the District of Columbia IS OFFICIALLY OVER. Who knows; maybe it’s a good thing for freedom, liberty and all that b.s. I mean, the Constitution does state that all Americans have the right to bear arms.

But, if you ask axe me, it’s awfully strange that this happens right when it appears that Senator Barack Obama might actually win the presidency. And if you live in or have ever visited D.C., you know that the hood is right around the corner from Pennsylvania Avenue.

I’m not one to advocate carrying handguns, because in my opinion, that’s why Ninjas are always getting shot. Simple math. Now a rifle, a knife or a scythe is much more preferable. But that’s just my theory.

Let’s just hope that this isn’t Christmas in July for racist militias. When Justices Antonin Scalia, Clarence Thomas and Samuel Alito vote the same way in a Supreme Court case, it’s usually bad news when it passes.

SOURCE: Reuters

"BLACK SUMMER"

Yo, I’m not the only one who thinks that this summer is going to be a permanent memory. And I’m only saying that so that the lames out there can wake the fuck up and start taking advantage of this moment in time. We’ve been waiting for some type of real movement, and it looks like we’ve wished it into existence, while working through the trials and tribulations of the last eight four-hundred years.

Now, let’s not get too excited. After all, the weather is crazy right now. Am I the only one who has noticed that cyclones, earthquakes, tornadoes, mudslides, wildfires, floods and droughts all seem to be showing up a lot more these days, with devastating results? I didn’t even mention hurricanes or heatwaves, because we know that’s coming soon. So, yes, it’s going to get even worse than it is now before the summer is over, if that’s imaginable. That’s a dark forecast for the planet.





But that’s not why I named this post “Black Summer.” Well, it’s not the only reason. Second of all, Lil’ Wayne officially jump-started and ghost-rode the Hip-Hop whip, which means that the south has risen once again. And because other signed rappers know the release schedules of major labels, they knew that it would be in their best professional interest to release their projects in the aftermath of a financial windfall. I’m very happy with the music that’s being released right now, and again, I’m not the only one. Energy is in the air.

Third, this is the summer before the first election in which a black man was the nominee of a major party. That’s fucking major. You and I know it, even if you don’t agree with my political philosophy. But the power of the black electorate is finally visible, and it now demands respect. We have a legitimate stake in this election, and I’m not even trying to say that you should be biased towards your race if you’re black. I don’t even worry so much about Obama’s ethnicity; I just think he’s a smart dude who is perfect for these crazy times. And others agree.

Black Summer, a.k.a “The Summer of ’08,” will go down in history as a great moment in the story of America. Shit, I might even go on and record that mixtape/EP that I keep threatening to deliver before August. Maybe. Until then, and until Hell freezes over, I hope to be here, happy and healthy, to deliver the story like Tim Russert would have done. So let’s make this summer one to remember for the ages, before the Reaper comes knocking for our souls. And try not to have too much fun…





Viva la Vida!

CLAMWEISER: THE WORST BEER ON EARTH

So I hit the road for Birmingham on Sunday night, to stay at a decent hotel and enjoy a few days away from the hellhole I know as Asslanta. Time for another mini-vacation, oh my brothers and sisters. See, when I take these quick little road trips, all I ask when I’m visiting a different city is cold beer, comfortable living quarters, decent weather, good times and a change of atmosphere that I can appreciate. Maybe a pool table. Monday would be slow and settling, and I’d have a chance to relax a bit while doing some “Spring cleaning.” But, of course, I wanted to get the beer first.


Here’s where, as usual, it all started to go wrong:


First of all, if you’re going to cop some brews before noon while on a mini-vacation, don’t ever – ever – ever, buy, drink, taste or even look at those Budweiser + Clamato beers they sell at the gas stations.

It still may be too early to make such a broad and timeless statement, but this has got to be the worst beer that anyone ever made. If you want a colorful review, I’d say that Bud/Clamato tastes like the original brewer/inventor took one sip of his own creation, killed himself and had his assistant pour his blood into the entire vat, before packaging it in 16 oz. cans and sending them across America.





I didn’t know no better at the time; I just saw an opportunity for adventure, and I like trying new beer, so I’m usually down to take a taste test experiment, as long as it’s not malt liquor. Plus, I do Corona every now and then, so I figured I was safe. So I copped the four-pack from a Racetrak for $5.24, and swooped back around the corner to my sound-proof suite at Hotel Underwriter. The plan was to sit on those 64 oz’s and use the whole day to pimp my priorities.

What I discovered after taking my first sip is that I’d rather drink a goat’s bathwater than to ever drink a Budweiser Clamato again. I thought it was just Bud’s first attempt at a Chelada. If you aren’t familiar with Chelada-styled beers, they’re pre-mixed with salt and lime. They’re usually pretty good, like a Corona after you doctor it up. So, since I’ve already rocked with Miller Chill, I figured that since Bud’s versions looked way mo’ gangsta in the 16 oz aluminum can, it would probably be more authentic. If not, at least it would be only a half step down from a Corona, like Miller, so there was nothing to lose.





My immediate reaction: this is disgusting, nasty, pre-historic dookie water. After the first gulp, I almost ralphed into my rented kitched sink. I picked up the can, eyes wide open, and looked at the nutritional info on the side of the can for any abnormalities. Oh, the horror: “Contains: Shellfish / Clams.”

*Further quoted reaction has been censored by editors*

Let’s just say I was pissed. $5 US gone, just because Anheuser-Busch wanted to compete with Miller for the Mexican beer market. Speaking of which, why the eff would Mexicans drink clam-flavored tomato juice beer? Who knows. If only I had CLICKED HERE before wasting my money. Oh well; may the brewmaster’s soul eternally sizzle in the poisonous Budweiser dewshpot without ever being sipped again. This shit juice excuse for a Chelada-style beer can simply be described with two words. Liquid ass. Nolo.




100% CO-SIGN.


Stay tuned for “The Birmingham Fiasco.”

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?)

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.