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.]
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.
People are always saying that Hip-Hop is too violent. And the general response to this statement from those defending Hip-Hop's right to using violent and vulgar rhetoric is that actors like Arnold Schwarzenegger and Sylvester Stallone have killed more people on film than any thugged-out rapper has killed MCs on wax.
So I came across two videos of two different Rambos. One uses the machine gun and the other uses his mouth as a weapon. You tell me: Which of the two deadly MCs is really killing it?
BLACK RAMBO:
WHITE RAMBO:
Seems to me that our Italian-American brother John Rambo is way realer than the OG from Compton. Gangster rap stays losing.
Trae tha Truth punched Mike Jones in the face? Southern rappers are beefing? Rick Ross had his goons manhandle DJ Vlad - all down in Houston at the Ozone Awards? Really?!
I absolutely don't care. It's probably a good thing I wasn't there in Houston for this event. I still have some issues with a few people who attended the show, and I'd rather not start an epic fight outside of the venue. Trust me, if I get punched in the face a'la Mike Jones at an awards show, there will be metallic repercussions. Even though I have more than a few friends who were down in Texas attending Julia Beverly's cottage-cheese rendition of a black awards show, I declined to attend. Look at everything I missed...
So I'm passing off the torch on this one. The homie Maurice Garland wrote a recap of the show, and he's obviously not as slanted against the machinery of false cultural representation as I am. That was a joke.
CLICK HERE to read Garland's take on the 2008 Hozone Ozone Awards. In the meantime, here is another take on the truth from Trae. It's funny how snitching on yourself is the new album promotion. Oh well, that's why southern Hip-Hop is where it is today - half in the spotlight, half in the coffin.
And you probably wonder why I spend so much time writing about politics...
[please notice the phrase "Promotional Use Only" underneath "THE BOSS." True, true.]
If you haven't already heard - and it's everywhere right now - the rap career of "Rick Ross" is OFFICIALLY OVER.
The Smoking Gun has found records that *allegedly* show "Rick Ross", a.k.a. William Roberts, at some type of training graduation for correctional officers in Florida, shaking hands and smiling in a tight-ass brown and beige uniform.
This has been a two-week saga in the Hip-Hop world, as it involves a famous rapper (Roberts) that claimed to be a cocaine dealer and outlaw leader of his own Florida narcotics gang. He even went as far as naming himself after a California crack lord - "Freeway" Ricky Ross. As you would guess, being a one-time employee of the state prison system doesn't bode well for the reputation, especially while we're still in the "Stop Snitching" era. But creating the false persona of a criminal when you were actually trained to babysit them for the government is, if true, inexcusible and unacceptable.
Trick Daddy had already put the word out that Roberts used to be a prison guard, but without providing proof, it was just held as a possibility and an unfounded joke. But once the word got strong enough to spread, Media Take Out posted the picture, and the internet went nuts like Jesse. Soon after, Roberts put out his own YouTube joint, denying that he was ever a prison guard and saying that he would "see" Trick Daddy.
But now, all we see is that TDD was on point. I don't think it's so unreasonable that a prison guard could become a rap artist, or even a cocaine dealer-turned rap artist, but why front for the camera? You don't have to lie to kick it. Bad day - William Roberts. Good day - Trick Daddy.
"Fake thug, no love / you get the snub / CB-4 'Gusto' / Your luck low / I didn't know 'till I was drunk, though..." Nas - The Message
I apologize in advance, because I just have to curse on this one. This shit is a total fucking disgrace. It's so unbelievable, I can't even believe it. But I'll be damned to hell if it isn't the truth.
YOUR FAVORITE RAPPER DMX HAS BEEN ARRESTED - YES, AGAIN, for some brand new bullshit. Just click that link above and you'll get the story; I just can't even do it anymore. At this point, I can't even excuse any excuse he or his attorney might have, either for the judge or the media. What the hell gives anyone the right to be arrested so many times in one year and not go to jail? Isn't he beating Amy Winehouse's record right about now? It's so bad that all you have to do is type in "DMX arrested" in Google, and you'll find more pages than any encyclopedia will ever print. Ever.
But alas, I guess he had to keep on "keeping it hood." All we can do at this point is offer his name up in prayer. Dude is obviously a complete geek monster, and will be deemed as such until further notice.
Just for continuity, below you'll find that hilariously sad video from a few months ago where The Dog was severely geeked, throwed, twisted and shitfaced, all at once, in the booth. SMMFH at DJ GQ (the Asiatic dude at the mixing board), who co-signed this absolute tragedy. But I guess it makes sense, because people act any old way when they have friends enablers around them 24/7.
"With friends like that, you don't need enemies!" Whodini - (if I really have to name this song, you don't belong here.)
According to SOHH.COM, NEW ORLEANS RAPPER SPORTY T IS DEAD. He was killed in a monsoon of AK-47 gunfire in his FEMA trailer while he was sleeping.
Is this the promised outcome for pioneering gangster rappers? What happened to getting chubby and moving to Miami? Why did he deserve to be killed in such a vicious way?
Who knows. All I can say is that I wasn't at all fooled by the atmosphere of the French Quarter when I was in The Crescent City during the Essence Fest. I knew better than to take my out-of-town ass through the lower 9th ward. It's not my turf, and I'm under no misgivings that I am welcome anywhere in the world. Especially the destroyed housing projects of the world's murder capital. And as you can see, I'm still alive.
Now I suppose I should post a video or something that shows Sporty T doing his thing. Here's a YouTube joint of his group, The Wild Boyz, dissing Cash Money back in 2000.
Pretty funny, I guess, but I must say that Baby had the last laugh. It's 2008, and Lil Wayne is still outselling Coldplay. That's major.
R.I.P. to Sporty T. Hope you get everything in heaven that should have been yours on earth.
In case you’re somewhat new to this seventh layer of Hell, which I like to call, “The Underworld,” you may not know that I keep track of who passes on, or in the funny cases, who kicks the proverbial bucket, from time to time. I mean, you’d think that a guy who calls his ink pen a "scythe" (and kills the competition) would at least keep an accurate account of who gets bodied along the way. Well, my weird friends, here is the bad news that you can depend upon me to deliver. In this case, we have one loser and two people who I don't think deserved their death sentences. But then again, I’m not God. Do me a favor, and please, pay your respects.
CAREER-DEAD/LEGALLY-DEAD (The Funny Part): RAS-KASS
I’m sorry, but this dude is a f*cking idiot. This same guy BECAME A FUGITIVE years ago, while putting out mixtapes against his label, Priority Records. As if they were the reason why the law wanted him. I’m sorry again, but po-po doesn’t come after you for not releasing an album within the time limit of your recording contract. You’ve obviously broken a bigger rule than that.
So he goes on the lam, either gets caught or turns himself in (I don’t care enough to research it), and does a couple years or so. Comes out claiming to be “The King of L.A.” As if Snoop wasn’t still around. As if The Game wasn’t responsible for bringing the first multi-platinum plaque back to L.A. in years. As if Ice Cube wasn’t still selling gold – independently. Cube made more money off of one independent album than Ras-Kass probably received his whole career in label advance money. Which is, of course, recoupable (look it up). If you remember, Game was upset enough at some of Ras-Kass’s rhymes that he gave Kass a black eye, to match his black revolutionary disposition, I guess. Oh, the irony.
Now, according to Illseed, Ras-Kass is in the first few months of a three-year bidsky for who cares what. As in, right now, while I’m typing and drinking beer, he’s in jail. But if dude really thinks he can even start that, “I’m the king,” dewshery again, when he gets out in 2011, he’ll automatically earn one title: The Dumbest Rapper Alive. God knows, I don't want to see another rapper jailed, but - word to Lupe Fiaschoe – a good vocabulary doesn’t always mean that you’re smart.
REALLY DEAD (No Humor Intended): Static from Playa and Juvenile’s Daughter
STATIC:
Do you know that Static was one of the best songwriters alive when he passed? Here’s what HIP-HOP ELEMENTS said about his passing:
Among the major hits Static wrote lyrics for are Aaliyah's "Are You That Somebody" and "Try Again"; Ginuwine's "So Anxious" and "Pony"; Nas and Ginuwine's "You Owe Me"; Pretty Ricky's “On the Hotline" and Truth Hurts' "Addictive."
Let me take it a step further. He also wrote “We Need a Resolution,” “Rock the Boat”, “More Than a Woman,” “Same Ol’ G” by Ginuwine, and one of my favorite songs that you’ve never heard, “Joy,” which was on Timbaland & Magoo’s first album. When I tell you that song is the truth, you should not only believe me; you should either go buy the album or download it. Trust me, the track is hard to find. But if you’re interested in finding out about even more songs he wrote that you might love, CHECK THIS SITE.
This is one of those stories that I find a little depressing, because dude was the serious truth. He could rap, sing and write, and I always told people that he was dope, even though I liked the fact that I knew something that other’s didn’t. Selfishness… yuck. He was probably one hit away from being a star in his own rite. Now, he’s gone, because of something nobody saw coming. R.I.P., Static. Cheers 2 U. At least it’s better than a bullet…
JELANI DELESTON - JUVENILE'S DAUGHTER
This one is… man. Four years old. Yo, I can barely even speak on it, because I have no idea how to comprehend it, how to cope with if I were a father, or how it could happen in the first place. Basically, Juvenile’s daughter – yes, that Juvenile – WAS KILLED by her older half-brother. He also killed his mother and another sibling.
When this type of tragic shit happens, it makes you wish you had the power to keep people from suffering in the first place. Then again, that might be vanity, which is a deadly sin. Let's just pray that Jelani is beyond the trials of this life, and is now freer than anyone on Earth - laughing and enjoying eternity, while waiting for us to join her and everyone else whose spirit was true enough to cross over into Nirvana while still somewhat innocent.
They say the good die young...
“This ain’t funny, so don’t you dare laugh.” – Slick Rick
Say goodbye to the guy who once made you believe that you were a future Hip-Hop mogul. Say R.I.P. to the person who danced in Jodeci and Father MC videos in the early nineties. Say peace to the man who put out "It's All About the Benjamins." Say good riddance to the name by which we once knew Sean John Combs.
Puffy / Puff Daddy / P. Diddy is dead. Who knows, Diddy is right there in the bottom right corner of the YouTubery posted above, but if you listen to the man, he's telling you like it is. He's got, no tiiime for fake names. He's officially crossed the glass ceiling of Hip-Hop, which is usually "label head" status (nolo) and negro endorser of white-owned products. My man is a household name, so I guess it makes sense for him to use his very own name, since he can't change faces when he calls himself by various nicknames. I mean have you ever looked up the word "Puffy" in Google Images? As long as you're not at work, try it right now and see what comes up...
Don't worry; I'll wait...
None of us close to 30 years old can lie and say we didn't aspire to having what Puffy had back in the 90's. He was big, but he was still something of a hood secret. Now, he's executive producing the ABC version of A Raisin in the Sun, and playing the starring role alongside some heavy hitters. It'll be better than the Broadway version, I'm sure, because a TV production has editing. Broadway is live.
Sean John Combs wants you to know him as an actor now. He wasn't so pressed back when Oliver Stone first courted him for Any Given Sunday, but now he seems convinced that with his presence, money and power, he can move Hollywood his way. More power to him. But it is sort of depressing that he's showing us that he's too grown for Hip-Hop. Jay-Z is already wearing suits, and he hasn't been in the executive chair that long.
I've always wondered what would happen if Puffy fell off. Would rap music lose it's number one stunner and lose its standing in world culture if the biggest name in the business were no longer commerically viable as an artist? Well, look around, my brothers and sisters; it looks like we're at that moment. Are we as Hip-Hoppers too immature to see that even our heroes are abandoning us? Has the money in music dried up that bad, or is Hollywood poontang just that attractive that video hoes are no longer good enough? Or is Hip-Hop just dead?
Who cares, right? TIME MAGAZINE thinks he's still that dude, and I'm not hating. Unforgivable actually smells pretty damn good, to be honest. Eff it: Long live Sean Combs. He probably deserves to settle into being a thesbian, and we're just too blinded by his DIAMOND IPOD to see that not even precious jewels can sell wack rap music anymore. May the name remain, even if the character is no more.
This following post is why you can’t be prejudgmental (is that a word?) when it comes to the intelligence of rap or rappers. You just never know; the same rapper who gets arrested constantly, associates himself with a gang and takes women to award shows wearing dog leashes might actually be a well-spoken, articulate, thoughtful, respectful and chivalrous gentlemen when asked axed about race issues in America. Even if chivalry is dead.
Conversely, a poster boy for nerd rap that would appear to have a superior I.Q., diversity in cultural understanding, a love for skateboarding, pop radio crossover potential and a legion of internet fans could actually be an intellectual Bozo, whose quirky image could just be a firewall that scares interviewers away from asking the deep questions - a “stupid shield” of sorts.
Because I have super powers and can read your fear-ensconced minds, oh my dear readers, let me go ahead and tell you what you think. You think that Snoop Dogg < Lupe Fiaschoe in terms of lyrical ability, therefore Lupe Fiaschoe > Snoop Dogg in the art of communicating his ideas. Snoop > Lupe when it comes to money, but not when it comes to brilliance, right?
Tha Doggfather:
Lupe Fiaschoe:
Right now, you’re thinking to yourself, “Wow. I never knew that Snoop’s intelligence >>> Lupe’s bullshit. Isn’t that ironic?”
Ok, this one is long (nolo). Bear with me on a tale of sex, money and scandalous city government officials.
The “Hip-Hop Mayor” Kwame Kilpatrick of Detroit, Mi., IS IN DEEP SHIT(nolo). It seems that hiring a mistress/childhood crush as your chief of staff when you rule over a large city government is – surprise – stupid. Running up a $210K credit card bill during your first 33 months in office – when your city is in the hole like Lexington Steele – is also not a good look.
But if you’re put in the position of power and not willing to ball ‘till you fall, what’s the point in being on top in the first place? Isn’t that how you’re supposed to rep for the cause as an historic figure in black politics? Oh, and does anybody from Atlanta, circa the 1992-2000 era, see any similarities to another black mayor?
In case you’re low on virtual memory, there was a certain black man who became a Democratic superstar in the early nineties. There was talk of him possibly being chosen as a running mate for retired U.S. emperor Hill/Billy Clinton. He was young, charismatic, energetic and willing to stand up for his constituency. That means voters, in case the syllables threw you off, and the man’s name is BILL CAMPBELL.
Like the linked story says, I remember how everybody was pissed after Freaknik 1996, one of the last decent years of the festival, because the police were acting a complete donkey AS IF WE WEREN’T. Folks were arrested. Constituents complained. Campbell went on the radio the next year and promised listeners that the weekend would go on uninterrupted by his police force this time around, and that no major road blocks would stop motorists from joining the city-wide fun. Of course, this was either a blatant lie or an attempt to pre-empt the situation with media savvy, since he probably had little control of it anyway. My guess is that he’d probably already received word from then-Governor Roy Barnes that whether he liked it or not, the Georgia State Patrol would be hoo-riding all weekend, all around I-285, and they were having none of the madness that had famously occurred in Atlanta for almost a decade. Party over; oops, out of time.
The rich white people of Buckhead had already decided that Bill had to go, and they weren’t trying to wait for his term to end. He pissed them off back when he let us take over Piedmont, during the lost days of Atlanta Live (RIP) and Bad Boy Weekend (which, I can’t lie, used to be diesel). When they complained about noise, traffic and generally-unpleasant public buffoonery, he’d go to Frank Ski and pull the race card on the morning show. His critics would grudgingly back off, and Campbell would crowd surf to victory on the shoulders of his biggest voting bloc…
What Campbell didn’t expect was how betrayed the poor black people of Bankhead felt by their anointed H.N.I.C. after Freaknik. Maybe he thought that it didn’t matter much anyway, since he couldn’t run for a third term. But their former voices of support could have helped him when he became a federal corruption target. Instead of having a booming city to support him when gravity began to settle, everyone, including current mayor Shirley Franklin, looked the other way like MLK when he stage-dived outside the courtroom.
Campbell was convicted. Right now, he’s locked up and they won’t let him out. I wonder if he’s listening to Public Enemy or Akon in his minimum-security cell. And will Kilpatrick start guest hosting Eminem mixtapes before the Feds haul his ass in as well? Here are some the frightening similarities between the two.
I’d keep my eyes on this one, oh my brothers and sisters. I’ve always heard that there’s some weird extradition law in Florida. Maybe that’s why gangsters move there and get chubby instead of just dying like they’re supposed to.
Word to the politically-minded children of Hip-Hop: Keep your musical taste and cultural affiliation private until you’re in the clear. Don’t piss off the establishment when they have the legal right to watch and document everything you do as a RACKETEERING BOSS public servant. And if you do get caught trying to run a dice tournament out of the chamber of commerce, buy a ticket to Tampa and start looking at real estate.
(DISCLAIMER: This post is not meant to disrespect or offend those I know personally who know the former mayor very well. This is just how I write. It gets worse…)
If you actually know who UNCLE MURDA is, because most people probably don't, you qualify to receive a coupon for a FREE McDEATH BURGER at your local hood McDonalds, just for being able to prove that you were aware of the backstory before this post.
Ba-da-bap-ba-baa!!
Just leave a comment with your government name, social security number, telephone, email and physical address. I promise not to give this info to my telemarketing staff or Blackwater USA.
*DISCLAIMER* This offer may not be applicable at all any McDonalds in the world.
Moving on, there exists (maybe temporarily) a rapper named Uncle Murda, who represents East New York. He's gully, ganster, hard, brolic, thuggy--a vertitable tough guy. And he's signed to Roc-A-Fella Records, the label owned by Damon Dash, Kareem Burke and Shawn Carter, a.k.a. Jay-Z. I guess that the Jiggaman needed a roughneck figure to solidify his label roster, especially since he's got Kanye West repping for the emos.
What THE UNDERWRITER doesn't like about Uncle Murder's thug life coonery is that, for some reason, my man seems to take being shot in the head as a misfired joke. Peep the quote from ALLHIPHOP's exclusive interview with U.M.:
"If anybody, I think it may have been the NYPD. But who it ever was that did it, they missed because I didn’t even know I was hit. One of my crew told me that my face was bleeding and took me to the hospital. They said I still have a bullet in my head and if I am sexually active it will fall out [laughs]."
It was also reported all over the web that Uncle Murda is NURSING HIS PAIN WITH HENNESSY AND NEWPORTS. Far be it from my authority to say that cognac and nicotene can't be sufficient in terms of numbing the nerves. But this is, after all, a head wound. A doctor might have a better way, but who am I to say that a thug can't self-medicate?
But at least I now know that this is how a "real" gangster rapper responds to a "Bullet-Bullet" to the dome. Good. I love it when thugs laugh at being shot, thinking that death is a game that they can win. It only makes it funnier when I'm forced to report his obituary two weeks before his album drops, two days after never.
Just for extra emph, here's a poignant, poetic and creative rap song, in video form, by the artist known as Uncle Murda. Pay attention; it may be a subliminal cry for help. Let's pray that he avoids this blog in the future.
"In the Bible I read, 'Death is of the tongue / and if you talk about death enough, death is gon' come.'" 50 Cent - "Shot Down" feat. DMX
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