TUPAC IS DEAD; THUG LIFE IS NOT

The Don Makaveli, a.k.a. Tupac Amaru Shakur, passed away twelve years and four days ago at 25 years of age, from still-unclaimed bullets in the streets of Las Vegas. We can't bring him back, yet we've continued to study his every move in life and death (and in the minds of some, his resurrection).

He said himself, in an interview with Vibe Magazine, "Thug Life to me is dead. If it's real, let somebody else represent it, because I'm tired of it. I represented it too much."





The man was a cult of personality, but he died way too early and for a cause that has still not quite been identified or taken up in a positive way--let's be honest. But the truth is even more tragic; it's 2008, and "Thug Life" lives on without it's founding father. Guns are still used for us, by us. Drugs are sold in similar fashion. Prison sentences await those who take either path, and boys remain boys as girls become women. Fathers are invisible, futures are bleak. Civil rights are revoked, voter registration fails. And tomorrow's soldiers remain stuck in the ageless trap of being righteous thugs.

Don't blame Tupac; blame our insistence on reincarnating the worst side of mankind through his name and image, over and over again. And the best way to avoid manufacturing more thugs for nationwide distribution, fueling the continuing state of mental, spiritual and financial poverty in the black community is to let the man rest in peace.

THE KING IS DEAD

Elvis Presley kicked the proverbial bucket on August 16, 1977, the exact same day that my best friend WHITE JESUS was born. Tell your favorite redneck; spread the good word. And tell him that Hip-Hop killed Elvis's legacy and Michael Jackson boned his daughter. See, I'm not a fan. Although I do respect the dead, that whole nice guy thing dies if said dead person had a racist reputation that was "never substantiated." Yeah, right.

In 1957, despite Presley's demonstrable respect for "black" music and performers, he faced accusations of racism. He was alleged to have said in Boston, Massachusetts: "The only thing Negro people can do for me is to buy my records and shine my shoes." Presley always denied saying, or ever wanting to say, such a racist remark.

SOURCE: WIKIPEDIA

Oh well, who cares now. I can forgive him, I guess. I mean, didn't Hip-Hop forgive Eminem for dropping the N-bomb a few years ago? It's only right; after all, it was more than 50 years ago when Elvis went Kramer. Times were different. You could call a spade a spade back then, I guess...

But just to be a prick, here is one of my favorite clips from Eddie Murphy's Delirious. Ha!





R.I.P., Elvis Aaron Presley. Maybe it was just a lie. Or maybe it was never meant to be made public that you didn't really care for the company of African-Americans. Whatever. I'm still not a fan.





"Elvis was a hero to most/ But he never meant shit to me
To millions, a straight-up racist/The sucker was simple and plain...
Mother-f*ck him and John Wayne!!"

Public Enemy - Fight the Power

REALLY DEAD MCs

Estelle Getty, known to the world as Sophia from the hit television show "The Golden Girls", IS REALLY DEAD.


Ol' girl was the quintessential embodiment of an old lady. She died in real life at 84, but she played an octogenarian on the show for years. I'm sure my Mom will call me today and tell me how sad it is and tell me how that, along with "Cheers" and a few other 80's shows, used to be one of her favorites. You should call your Mom and console her.

But really, ol' girl did her thing. She made big money, got famous and made a character that everyone will remember. Much respect.


Please show your appreciation by singing along with the following video:




Or you can crank that Golden Girl one last time...

A MOMENT OF SILENCE...

My laptop is officially over. It died on Wednesday, and I still am in a state of denial. For the time being, it's going to be difficult to post new images, but I should find a way around it soon enough.


I am going to miss the little bugger (NOLO), but I did back up most of my shit a few months ago, so it's no big loss. Plus, I had over 200 albums stored on the hard drive, so I guess I was kind of asking axing for something like this to happen.

Well, it finally did. Mourn with your boy.





Actually, eff that. Let me bounce back on these hoes with a second line for "Sade."






I need a moment, y'all. See, I almost felt a tear drop.
Nas - "Can't Forget About You."

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?)

THIS WEEK'S OBITUARIES

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

THE MYSPACE FILES (nolo) - VOL. 2

As I said before, THE UNDERWRITER used to be a Myspace slave, until he called "To Catch a Predator" and realized that Myspace is for secret perverts.




So now, Michael Jordan THE UNDERWRITER works for himself. Sure, Blogger gets its share, but I gets mine too. Get like me. The following post is a direct copy from Michael Jordan's dead Myspace blog, which was insanely popular before THE UNDERWRITER deaded it. You can't cheat the Reaper...

##########################################################

BIG BROTHER (Worth breaking my promise)
Current mood: sad
Category: Life


I'm writing this blog, in all honesty, with tears in my eyes. Seriously, I've cried a lot in the last few hours...

It all started in good cheer. Like I said in one of my bulletins, I had just recently finished editing a book. It was a triumphant coup... Me, the exiled music industry guru, being immediately connected back to the top tier of the business through my unbreakable contacts. Shout out to DL... I don't give him half as much credit as I should for helping me build my career...

Anyway, the tears are still growing in my eyes. But before I had anything to be sad about, I was having a great time chilling with two of my homeboys who I never get enough time with - Brian "B-Heat" Washington and Lance "Digital Fingaz" Matthews. I brought the Corona; they had the nicotene. Black men relaxing, reminiscing on the high school days and how we still have every potential possibility to take back our city and the southeast region - all in the name of quality music.

It was at the very end of a great time, talking shyte and remembering "the good ol' days", when I discovered that a great friend of mine, ToeJoe, had passed on in the last few months. And like usual, since I live in Atlanta, I had no idea until the funeral had passed and the body had been covered and laid to rest.

It hurt like I would never have expected...

When I found out, I had to leave immediately. ToeJoe was one of those few individuals who could walk the line between hard-core, thugged-out and intelligent, impressive and instantly loveable. We met at J. O. Johnson High School, and he co-signed me before I was willing to fight, even though I was raised to defend myself at all costs. You could have called him a "gentle giant", except for the fact that he was street-affiliated and heavily respected. I was lucky to have a friend like him.





This wouldn't have hit me so hard if he had not recently commented on my blogs. He was still living in Huntsville, and was very expressive about my writing, telling me that I was "the real deal." He even asked me to help him write his life story. But because I was "so busy"... I was lackadaisical about getting back to him about making it happen...

Now he's dead. And I'm very, very upset about it. What's bugging me out is that I didn't even cry two weeks ago, when my Aunt Gwen died in a Chattanooga hospital. It was almost as if I was expecting her death, so it didn't affect me as much. But I loved my aunt, so I can't accept that her passing was impersonal to my life. ToeJoe just happened to be there for a very influential part of my life, when others weren't willing to be nice or passive. You can't expect a gangster to be a gentleman, but when it happens you feel very protected. But gangsters don't show pity or piety; gangsters recognize strength where others ignore it. They recognize real, even when it's futuristic...

I'm fucked up over his death, which occured months ago to my knowledge. It not only hurts that nobody told me it happened, but also because he was sending me messages over Myspace about bettering himself and breaking away from the definition that American society had created for him. He was going for it, and I missed a great opportunity to be part of amplifying a voice of truth.

This is not my last blog, but I had to break my promise to not write another one just to honor the life of a person who meant a lot to me and many other residents of Huntsville, Alabama. Who cares if I'm late in eulogizing him; ToeJoe was a great friend. I'll miss him. Matter of fact, my eyes are watering again, even as I type... no bullshit.


COMMENTS:


R. Niambi

My heart goes out to you, Mike, I know you're in pain. Love you.

Posted by R. Niambi on Friday, September 14, 2007 at 3:09 AM



The Original

Peace Mike,

Again, I'm touched by your eloquence in painting emotion through a universe of electrical nodes for our eyes to see your inner-being. I hope this isn't the only time you break your promise because unlike many promises, this one needs to continually be broken. I feel your pain and know your struggle brother. Comfort comes in the memories we cherish. Mike, cherish those memories of your fallen friend. Keep striving. I can't wait to read the book.

Posted by The Original on Sunday, September 16, 2007 at 11:48 AM


Young Hughes For President!!

Toe Joe.....yeah, that was crazy. I heard the news out here in Cali, and I couldn't believe it. I had also been getting messages from him on MySpace telling me about his daughter, and how he was glad to be moving past being the thug that everybody knew him as. The crazy thing is, in my last conversation with him, I said that he was the last of a dying breed. The era of the REAL "G's" is over, and the world will be hard pressed to find another complex brother like him......

Posted by Young Hughes For President!! on Wednesday, September 26, 2007 at 11:25 AM


Rest in Peace, ToeJoe. We miss you out there in the 'Ville, even though I don't come home that much anymore...

I CAN'T FEEL MY FACE

Weezy F. Baby Carter, the self-proclaimed "best rapper alive", just might also be the most geeked up. At least his lips are sealed, as this image suggests. Or maybe it's just the teeth clenching that has his mouth on clack-clack...




The Alphabet Boyz of Phoenix, Ariz., recently had the opportunity to join in a Cash Money/Young Money Records cypher, and found more than enough for a bus full of buffoons. Courtesy of ALLHIPHOP, here's the story of Weezy's stash game:


"The K-9 Unit found multiple types of drugs, as well as currency, and firearms," DEA spokeswoman Ramona Sanchez told AllHipHop.com. "One of the firearms, a .44 caliber pistol was registered to Mr. Carter. He did have a concealed weapon permit from Florida, but we are investigating whether it violates any Arizona laws."

Sanchez added that the K-9 Unit recovered 105 grams of marijuana (3.7 ounces), almost 29 grams of cocaine (1.02 ounces), 41 grams of Ecstasy (1.05 ounces) and $22,000 dollars in cash.

"The two other individuals were charged with possession of marijuana," Sanchez said. "Mr. Carter was charged with possession of the cocaine and ecstasy, and possession of miscellaneous paraphernalia."


The mind wonders if Weezy had visited DMX's house while riding through the Southwest. If not to cop, at least to share. Lord knows that The Dog has been acting a little funny lately...




It's bad enough that everybody's assumption ended up being gospel--Ike Turner died because he was on what Martin Lawrence once called "that OOH-WEEE". And rumors abound that we will all find out that Pimp-C was doing something he shouldn't have been when he was found deceased in a hotel suite. We'll find out soon enough...

Lil' Wayne used to call out his former Hot Boy brother B.G. for being a washed up drug addict, back when the group first severed their ties. And any fan of southern rap music knows the history of B-Gizzle. Now that Blender Magazine has predicted that HE'LL DIE AT AGE 44, one must consider whether or not Wayne has been lured into the same path as his former rhyme partner or is actually a product of his environment that deserves some legal leniency.

Look at it this way. This is a guy whose home city was washed away. He probably knew dozens of the dead from Hurricane Katrina. Right now, he may be running off of a survival instinct that says, "Eff the world, Wizzle. You've gotta just keep smoking that kush, drinking that lean, popping those Es and sniffing that yay. Keep yourself in a comfortable state of mind, and don't look back, or you'll turn to dust..."




His homie Juelz Santana may not be the best influence right now, considering the following picture from XXL's "A History of Cocaine Rap" story from December 2006...




Who cares. If these dudes can afford gaudy jewelry and enough powder to cover a continent of baby asses, they can surely afford Tom Mesereau or another high-powered lawyer. Or they can just keep numbing themselves to reality and rapping about cars that they can't really afford, jewelry that makes them robbery/extortion targets and habits that keep the Feds taking pictures.

Come on rappers; smile for the camera!! Cocaine is a helluva drug!!

SAY GOODBYE TO THE BAD GUY

Dearly beheaded, we are gathered here today to get through this thing called “death.” Electrocuting word, “death”, it means expire, and that’s a mighty harsh term but I’m here to tell you… there’s something else.

THE UNDERWRITER.




In this episode, we celebrate the life and mourn THE DEATH OF HEATH LEDGER. A fine actor (nolo) who was almost an Academy Award winner, until the bosses at the Oscars remembered that he played a bisexual cowboy. And I thought Hollywood was nothing near no-homo status. Guess I got learnt.

I had been looking forward to seeing The Dark Knight, which is the newest movie in the Batman film legacy, due to be released this summer. Shit looks dope. See the You-Tubery below and make your own conclusion as to how N.W.A. this movie is going to be…




Besides all that, I have to admit that The Dark Knight will inevitably become a cult classic, now that the main villain was found naked and dead, sprinkled with prescription pills, in Mary Kate Olsen’s apartment. Weird. Brings to mind another celebrity who died before the release of a highly anticipated film…



Maybe the moral of this story relates to the old warning that everyone heard as a child. Don’t ride in wheelchairs if you don’t want to be paralyzed. Don’t walk on crutches unless you want karma to come through and break your ankles on some Misery shit. And don’t wear makeup of an unnaturally-stretched evil smile in a major motion picture, unless you’re ready to die.

Or maybe the message is simpler: Don’t get naked and take too many pills at Mary Kate Olsen’s old apartment. You might wake up gone.

R.I.P., Heath. See you in the movies.