WELCOME TO HELL pt. 2

(My eternal hero)




So let's continue with this whole Las Vegas post, shall we?


I got off the plane and had to lean on US Airways for losing my damn bag. Since I was fitted in a Nautica sweatsuit, I didn't exactly feel as fresh as could be among people whose entire deal was to wear the most expensive shit possible, in hopes of looking like the upper esch of suckers. They mostly succeeded. But me, I would have at least liked to be in a nice shirt and jeans combo. I mean, I am 30 years old out chea...

Anyway, from the airport we went to The Hard Rock Casino...


Ate at The Pink Taco (good Mexican food, yet surprisingly, no Cunnilingus Rice)




After that, the airliner finally delivered my bag and I got back to biz. From there, I had a couple of meetings and such, and then it was on to get some rest. Getting no sleep before a 5 hour flight after a long day will hit you, especially after a 3-hour time zone change. So I went to sleep on them hoes.

Woke up at 2:00 a.m., and everybody else was headed out. I figured I might as well join the crowd. Keep in mind that this was 2 Vegas time, not ATL-Eastern Time. That meant as far as my body knew, it was actually 5 in the morning. Brutal. But a couple of cold Heinekens does wonders for the motivation of my people, as I can testify.



That's where the party started.

We first went to Caesar's Palace.



If you've never been, it's always been considered one of the classiest joints in Vegas. The only thing that probably pissed them off was when the Bellagio opened. That place is fly as hell and for some reason Caesar's was dead at 3am. So we stayed for a couple hours, had drinks, and went to Peppermill, a restaurant that was featured in Casino. Good fried shrimp and chicken fingers. Plus they have this fly ass fireplace that's set in water and encircled by a wishing well-type setup. With flat screens that show concert performances of anybody relevant for the past 40 years. Sweet.



After more drinks, we called it a night. I got back to my room at 9:00 am EST. Tired as the everlasting fuck. But when I woke back up the next morning, the festivities would resume in full force...

MORE ON MICHAEL JORDAN'S VEGAS FUCKERY COMING TOMORROW...

This Week's Obituaries: A Great Week for the Death of Hip Hop

We interrupt this FEAR AND LOATHING post to bring you this special announcement:

I'm still on my grizzly as the grim reaper of Hip-Hop. It just so happens that this week was so busy in terms of expired rappers that I couldn't even calculate the damage until this very moment. So with that said, let's read the last rites for the week of October 3 - 15th. So what it's more than 7 days. My math ain't as good as my English or my scythe swang game...

Let's do the damn thang...


CAREER-DEAD MCs:

Unfortunately for you stans, I'm calling this one as I see it. I don't want to say that this person is done, but with all circumstances considered, I don't see how he's coming back without a powerful apology, followed by a powerful single and a powerful co-signer willing to forgive his nonsensical statements. Oh, you ain't know who I'm talking about? None other than...



Lupe Fiasco. Effin' the eff up.

The former homie snitched on himself by trying to excuse not practicing for a monumental experience - performing in a VH-1 Hip-Hop honors tribute to A Tribe Called Quest. Please believe that I would have been more than happy to replace him. And I know the lyrics by heart in my sleep. But when he forgot the lyrics, instead of taking one for the team (read: Hip-Hop), he made every excuse unimaginable to cover up his fuck-up. This dude had great potential in my mind, and now I don't think he's worth the plastic that will cover his thousands of unbought, unopened CDs when his label finally releases The Fool. Whoops, I meant "Cool."

Dig a hole, homie.

NEXT!!


LEGALLY-DEAD MCs:
T.I. (damn.)



I just can't call it right now. But when I think about celebrities that seem likely to beat their legal cases right now, T.I. is not in the top 1,000. Sorry. Really, I feel like something is fishy like Long John's about this whole fuckfest, but I don't really know what's up, so I have to sit back and say that it looks like Clifford Harris, a multiple felon at the peak of his career, is about to go down for weapons charges. Like it or not, a parole violation usually means prison. Let's pray for the brother; no b.s. I really don't want to see him go to jail.

NEXT!!!

REALLY DEAD MCs:
Big Moe



I remember "Purple Stuff." The song was always particularly bothering to me because it seemed to glorify the use of codeine, much like Hyphy celebrates ecstasy usage. But I also think Hyphy is a musical turd, with the exception of Mistah F.A.B. Screwed music had a cool factor that went beyond its own region, so you have to consider somebody like Big Moe's death to be kind of a big deal in Texas. Rest in piece, homey. The Lone Star State definitely lost one of its heavyweights in Big Moe, as you see in the picture... sorry.

I'LL BE BACK FOR YOUR FAVORITE RAPPER SOON, BITCHES.

WELCOME TO HELL...

The Underwriter rules your ass. Nolo.

Alright. Let's get right to the heart of this thing. 72 hours ago, I was sitting at the National Urban Affairs desk at my Roswell, Georgia headquarters. Drinking cold Heinekens and chasing them with Guinness. Hiding from the brutish realities of this foul year of our Lord, 2007.

Shout to Hunter S. Thompson. I'm biting his style heavy in that last parag., if you weren't aware. Nolo.

I was drunk, of course, feeling like liberation was right around the bend. My flight for Las Vegas was leaving Hartsfield-Jackson (ATL) Airport at 8:00 a.m. EST., connecting in Phoenix and finally arriving at McCarran at 11:04 in the morn. I decided to stay awake, because I've never been good at getting any sleep within 12 hours of a good trip. So I kept drankin and chiefing, packing my bag and preparing myself for airport security. Would this trip bring about any positive developments? Did I just need a vacation? Was I about to go 18-dummy in the casino and lose my life savings? Is prostitution still as legal as it was when I visited back in 1998?

I left the house at 5:40 a.m. My intention was to buy a digital camera, since mine had been "lost" by a co-worker at my last magazine editing job. Pressed for time, literally and fig, I just high-tailed it to College Park to ensure I made my flight on time. Good thinking, it turned out. Since I hadn't been on a plane in three years, I wasn't ready for the security protocols that came after Young Bin Laden and the gang supposedly knocked down the towers. Things done changed. Stakes is high.

Luckily, I had spoken to 2 very close friends in those early morning hours before the flight, who warned me that Airport Po-Po ain't nuttin to eff wit'. You have to have your Zip-Lock game up to par, or you'll be throwing away cologne, lotion and lubricants. How tragic. I got prepped up and put everyting in it's proper place, but still had trouble in the line at US Airways. It appeared that I had only received the boarding pass for the connecting flight instead of the one from ATL. This was painful, especially after sitting in the security line for 20 mins and being told to fuck off in the most professional of vocal tones. I had to bolt back to the check-in point, with two heavy-ass bags, to get the right ticket. By the grace of Yahweh, I printed my correct ticket within seconds of the deadline for boarding. Lucky me.

The flight sucked. Why the fuck can't pilots actualy fly? I mean, I navigate through potential tragedies every day in Atlanta traffic, and planes have a much better system of organized movement than highways. But fuck it. I guess I have to reliquish control sometimes, even if it feels like rapeage.

But when I arrived, a little after 11:30, the trip began. Oh, my brothers and sisters, I had a fucking blast.

(This trip was so dope that one post couldn't possibly cover the fuckery. This is just an introduction. More pictures and more commentary is forthcoming in the next 24.)

FEAR AND LOATHING IN LAS VEGAS - 2007 HIP-HOP STYLE

Thanks to a corporate sponsorship, yours truly is going on a hiatus to LAS VEGAS this Friday, all the way from the ATL. I'm not expecting to have any psychodelic supplements like my dead homie Hunter S. Thompson, but I am going to document my time there like a true visiting journalist. It's been about ten years since I've seen Nevada, but I'm going in this time with a plan.

What I hope to get is a feel for the local landscape. I think I have a homeboy out there who can give me some insight, but then again he might have moved back home to Alabama recently. Who knows. Anyway, hopefully I'll get the connect regardless and have a story for when I get back. Then again, I just might get drunk and stay that way for 72 hours. Only time will tell.

Either way, I'll be reporting at large for the weekend, still swinging the SCYTHE in the name of real Hip-Hop. Until I check back in, keep drinking that poison and we'll be in touch soon.

Ciao,
MJ

MYSPACE IS DEAD

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

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

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

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

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