HOW MAXWELL SURVIVED MOREHOUSE

Anybody who went to an A.U.C. college or university in the mid-90's and remembers the 1995-1996 Morehouse Homecoming concert will understand why I'm writing this blog about the Maxwell + Jasmine Sullivan concert in Birmingham this past Tuesday night. Obviously, nooobody had heard of any Jasmine Sullivans back then, so of course the same went for Maxwell. But he was a new artist at the time, making rounds and paying his dues on the Chitlin' Circuit, and he was the unlucky bastard new guy that was scheduled to open for The Fugees.




If you remember Fall '95, that was the year when 2Pac's All Eyez on Me and The Fugees' The Score put Kanye vs 50 Cent numbers up on the Billboard charts, sparking equally lucrative tours, creative offspring and zealots of every sort trying to jump on either the west coast gangster rap or neo-soul bandwagon and ride that beeyotch to the top. So if you were opening a show for them and you weren't aready a star, you were taking a major gamble with your pride trying to "warm it up" for headliners that were obviously among the biggest names in the business at that time. You can imagine my crew's impatience, having executed a stampede to get past the line at King Chapel's doors for the concert, when the host announced some guy named "Maxwell" that was going to entertain us until Lauryn, Wyclef and Pras were ready to take the stage. Do remember how dude used to look back then, with the hair, glasses and either some dusty jeans or those kung-fu master linen scrubs.





Oh, my brothers and sisters, we booed that young man off the stage with glorious, reckless abandon, and I mean the whole crowd joined the chorus. I'm pretty sure I recall that he came on stage with a bar stool, an accoustic guitar and no shoes, maybe chancletas. Cats weren't having it. We pointed him away from the building with the same steadfast posture as carried by the statue of MLK out in front of the building, waving our arms and shouting for the music to cease. Hearty and magnificent in depth, the ringing and rolling boo went from side to side of the auditorium, with an awesomeness of vocal strength and determination that made it feel like a scene from the colosseum battles in Gladiator.

It was something like this...



But worse.


Anyway, thirteen years later, though we believed we had killed his career at the time, it has become apparent that Maxwell survived our unrelenting Apollo-styled reception of his performance and progressed. Maybe he just wasn't ready for the stage back then. Maybe we just couldn't dig his "energy" and "swag." Either way, he continues to excel at the job of singing live and making women swoon. He will be around for a while for that reason alone, even if he does put on a weird show. On the low, I bet 80% of dudes hovering around 30 have used Maxwell (nolo) for at least 1 romantic interlude with a special lady in the last 13 years. Maybe on the high. All I know is that he's coming back from a 7-year hiatus, and the comeback looks like it should be a success thus far.

Happening as it was on the first Monday after The Day, the crowd at the BJCC was quite dapper and upbeat, even though most of the people there were probably just coming off a shitty first weekday like myself. You could tell that we were all riding the Obama high for as long as it would last. You did get a sense that people's smiles seemed to be worn naturally on their faces with nothing to hide, as if tonight's ticket price for a well-timed musical performance was an uncharacteristic luxury that we all deserved for showing up at the polls. Oh yeah - don't let me forget about the abundance of black women with jobs, nice dresses and other special qualities that you didn't get to see, because you were commenting on somebody else's blog. You lost.








Oh yes, my brothers and sisters, women love Maxwell, with all his weird "energy" and "swag". He's strange for different reasons than he was in 1995, which may be the key to his career as a performer at a time when nobody's buying albums. Back when we first saw him, this guy was earthier than dirt--even beating out Erykah Badu in a male sort of way. But now he's weird because he does weird dances and says crazy shit on stage about how sorry he is for missing that last show... which, from what I heard, was like six years ago and nobody even remembers.

Then he makes a public plea for free panties, asking the ladies in the front to throw them, and suspiciously he receives a pair that must have been pre-planned for trajectory. And what kind of heifer already has draws in her hand ready to toss in 2008? More fuckery occured when he spent an extended amount of time on the floor with the mic stand between his legs, hunching the air while looking up at the spotlight, possibly searching for an answer to a question I wouldn't dare pose.




Say what you will about his "energy" and "swag"; the guy can sing. And he can pack a concert hall in a major city at seat prices starting at $70, which is way more than he used to get when he was onstage chewing an incense stick. Much respect to him and the lovely Jasmine Sullivan, who played "new vocal Whitney" to Maxwell's "R&B Obama", putting a serious dent in the coffin of R&B music, if only for one night. Musical highlights include Sullivan's entire performance--this girl is serious--and Max's "Lifetime", "Til The Cops Come Knockin'", "Ascension (Don't Ever Wonder)" and "This Woman's Work."







(Jasmine Sullivan and her painter's uniform)


The moral of this concert is that if you have true talent you can get away with murder on stage. Jasmine knows that she is wrong for wearing a Dickies suit with the legs rolled up to the knees. And Maxwell is a good enough vocalist that you don't even mind his "energy" and "swag". He's a true musician, and for that he deserves respect.

If he comes to your town anytime soon, go ahead and take out a payday loan so that you can go to the show with some change in your pocket, find a thirsty woman and groove to the rhythm of romance and blues. Maxwell has come a long way from sporting farm attire to wearing a suit and necktie. Now, if we can just keep him away from the "party favors" backstage so he's not getting geeked up before the show, we'll have a new-school Marvin Gaye for years to come.




Is it me or did Maxie steal the infamous "Soy Bomb" dance? You be the judge, dear reader. I'm about to go to bed. If you live in NY, let me know what's good for the weekend. I'll be in town.

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.

LEGALLY-DEAD MCs

I'm late like a pregnant MILF on this, but just for the record, Da Brat, aka Shawntae Harris, aka Lisa Raye's adopted sister, IS LEGALLY DEAD.


Ms. Harris, known for being introduced to the Hip-Hop world by Jermaine Dupri as the older sister of Kris Kross and the female answer to Snoop (Doggy) Dogg, was sentenced to three years in prison for assaulting an employee of Studio 72, Dupri's club in Atlanta Tucker, GA.

Side note: The recipient of the bottle to the dome was also an Atlanta Falcons cheerleader.

The rapper and a half-dozen family members all broke down after hearing the sentence.

"I love y'all," she said to her relatives as a deputy hauled her away, the Atlanta-Journal Constitution reports.

"We love you too," her family replied in unison.

SOURCE: US MAGAZINE

Harris is also known as a "good friend" of Mariah Carey. I wonder how this will affect the relationship with Nick Cannon. Better yet, I wonder if Mariah, Jermaine, Lisa or any of Brat's other famous friends will have any pull in getting an appeal. So far, it seems like it's being accepted as the way it is.

For the record, I actually always thought that Da Brat could rip any female artist (nolo). Remember the "No One Else" remix, featuring Lil' Kim and Foxy? Those were the days when women were on the rap music come-up. Now? Well, all three of them can call themselves convicts. Sexy? Not at all.





UPDATE: I'm hearing rumors that the sentence got reduced to a year and a half, and they're trying to get it down to 1 year. Good luck with that. Keep your head up, Brat. And tell J.D. to drop a mixtape or something soon, so the buzz will be sustained. What buzz?

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.

THE SOURCE: BACK FROM THE DEAD?

I was lurking checking out the news today, and noticed that The Source hired Spike Lee to shoot two of the four alternate covers for its 20th anniversary issue. Shout to NAHRIGHT and MISS INFO.


Reader Challenge:

If you can find the typographical error on the cover of the 20th anniversary issue of The Source, you'll win THE UNDERWRITER'S WEEKLY PRIZE!!!


Sorry to say it, but it doesn't look good for the long-awaited sike comeback of The Sauce. Not that I'd buy it even if it was a classic; from what I hear, they still owe a few good writers I know a few thousand duckets. I can't get with that.

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.

REALLY DEAD MCs

Tony Snow, former White House spokesman, is dead from colon cancer, and that’s for real. He was given the job after Ari Fleischer and Scott McClellan decided that that shit was for the birds and flew away.


SOME PEOPLE BELIEVED HE WAS JUST ANOTHER BUSH MONKEY, but others were just frustrated that he never seemed to know what the hell was going on.





I remember him being pretty shifty with the truth in most if not all of his press conferences, but it was his job. And who wouldn’t take a job working for the president, knocking down questions that he doesn’t have time to answer? Sounds uncomfortable, but the check was probably nice enough to deal with it. Who am I to tell him not to feed his own? He was a journalist and a great writer from what I hear, which can make you a professional liar of sorts, especially in the wrong situation. Who knows if he was any better or worse than the rest of us. At least he’s out of his pain. Blessings to his family.

On the low, some unsigned underground rapper needs to take that name now that it’s available, if you ask axe me. Sounds like the biggest cocaine dealer the world ever knew. No disrespect.


And now, for your pleasure, the late Tony Snow plays the blues.





R.I.P. to The Snowman.

THE EXECUTIVE IS DEAD

Courtesy of OnSMASH and Smarten Up Nas, here is DJ Kay Slay's "Streetsweeper Radio" response to J.D., who recently took the piss and told his blog TheMostAccess.com that the Hip-Hop DJ is dead.


CLICK FOR AUDIO RESPONSE.


Living in Atlanta, you get used to Jermaine Dupri saying whatever he wants, and nobody says shit, because it is perceived that he holds the cards. And maybe he does. But if you ask axe Kay Slay, a lot of executives have been spending too much time at the Terrance Dean barbeque holding balls, which is the real reason why artists like Janet Jackson can't sell anymore.


DEADLY QUOTE:
"Another problem we got with the f*cking executives and the higher ups in the industry - too many of you niggas is f*cking each other! That's the f*cking reason why y'all can't pay attention to what the f*ck a hit record is, because you're too busy trying to find out where the hit asshole is!!



*I just died*


After all of the drama, Kay Slayed em. Wonder who's going to spin those TAG Body Spray records for Don Chi-Chi now?





UPDATE: Greg Street Weighs In.

BACK 2 LIFE... BACK 2 REALITY

Dear beloved readers: run yourself a hot bath and drop a bottle of black ink in your already dirty-ass tub water and get ready to scrub away the rigor mortis of bad writers and bitch-made editors. I’m coming back around.

Let’s just say that some weird cat had the nerve to post an anonymous comment on the blog of His Supreme Awesomeness, and it kind of made sparks. If you’d like to read it, just CLICK HERE and start at the actual blog post. Then look down at what this urethra sponge had to say about what was obviously intended as a joke. Gotta love those internet militants!





I mean, dude got sensitive. I read the comment and was taken aback by the sheer emotion. But come on, hoe, where’s the bravado? You mean to tell me I’m being stalked by an internet geek who can’t even make up a pseudo identity? “Anonymous” is just another word for non-famous, and since I have the microphone on this here stage, no no-name heckler will ever merit a response from me other than fuck you, whole fistedly.

Nolo.

On a positive note, thanks to the few of you who have kept coming back through my two-month hiatus. No apologies; no excuses. I just had to make sure I stayed up while shit was going down, if you will follow my lead.

So here’s some hope for the hopeless, anonymous haters out there. A slap on the ass for all the babies who can’t live and breathe without my help. Things are turning a corner of sorts for your humble and faithful narrator, and I’m just now feeling like I might know what to do with this blog.

Thanks again. Good night. See you tomorrow?

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.

HEAD: DEAD OR ALIVE?

I’m a little distracted. I’m watching Donna Brazile on Anderson Cooper (nolo) 360, giving commentary on the newest debate between Barack Obama and … uh… I forgot, but Ms. Brazile (if ya nasty) has my heart racing. Forgive me if this one gets a little freaky, but I started thinking about oral sex for some reason, and I have a question I'd like for you to ponder, in the hope of making a point.

The question is quite simple. If you had the choice of your preferred method of sexytime with the partner of your choice, assuming that you are looking for the opposite sex, what is your favorite? I’ve been pondering this one for a long time, and it comes up (nolo) in conversation on the reggie. In my opinion, nothing is more safe or moral than decapitation. You know it as head. Not to go pr0n on you, but the truth is that sex is natural; sex is good. No George Michael. I’m just saying that not only men but women also enjoy the metaphysical phenomenons known as Fellatio Alger or Cunnilingus Rice. But I can recall a time when I was younger, when girls would swear up and down that they weren’t down with the get-down. The reasons girls gave for this were usually as follows:





Now that I'm past the age of 25 and I spend time talking to women, not girls, they don’t seem so aggy about it. I’ve noticed that once women cross the sands of time and get college degrees or fatherless children of their own, they don’t have such a hard time with free trade. (Chuckle.) When you are old enough to be responsible for your own car insurance and have an ID that says, “I can get into the old folks club,” you hear life through a new set of ears. Women say things closer to this:





So you can imagine my dumbfounded mental state when I finally decided to do a lil’ research and found some disturbing statistics. It looks like the kids are way ahead of us, and as the world turns, they’re turning into booty freaks. Here’s the gist.

Supposedly – gasp! – teenagers are into sex. And they’re having it all kinds of ways. Below you can check out statistics provided by William Saletan of Slate.com. Remember, this is his quote, and I’m not co-signing until I’m done reading the report. I’m just too lazy and comfy to investigate fully right now. If you want to scan through the details for confirmation, please do you. I’mma do me!





“There's no delicate way to put this, so I'll just quote the survey report: ‘For males, the proportion who have had anal sex with a female increases from 4.6 percent at age 15 to 34 percent at ages 22–24; for females, the proportion who have had anal sex with a male increases from 2.4 percent at age 15 to 32 percent at age 22–24.’ One in three women admits to having had anal sex by age 24. By ages 25 to 44, the percentages rise to 40 for men and 35 for women. And that's not counting the 3.7 percent of men aged 15 to 44 who've had anal sex with other men.”


Word to T-Pain: NO-LO; NO-Lo, No-lo, no-lo!
More below:


“According to data released earlier this year by the Centers for Disease Control, the probability of HIV acquisition by the receptive partner in unprotected oral sex with an HIV carrier is one per 10,000 acts. In vaginal sex, it's 10 per 10,000 acts. In anal sex, it's 50 per 10,000 acts. Do the math. Oral sex is 10 times safer than vaginal sex. Anal sex is five times more dangerous than vaginal sex and 50 times more dangerous than oral sex. Presumably, oral sex is far more frequent than anal sex.”


To be fair, the author was actually trying to take the conservative high road after that last sentence, but I’m an excellent editor. I use what I need and throw away the rest, as long as I’m pleased. Sorry. In this case, I didn’t feel as if more needed to be repeated; head is good, and if people are going to be freaks, it’s better for our health care system and our ideals of reciprocated love for us to go oral instead of anal. Conservatives can be correct sometimes, when you decode their dookey.

But back to the issue; is this where the kids are heading? Is Soulja Boy Tellem responsible for this ass-pokery, or is it B2K and Chris Stokes? Can you blame all these oily, shirtless rappers that Interscope loves to promote? Hell, they know that everybody may not have breasts or a vagine, but we all have assholes and opinions. That doesn’t make either of them worth exploiting for personal pleasure or perversion. I don’t condone teen sex, but when I was a teen, I was getting busy, as you should have been. To me, natural sex includes V.O. That means vaginal and oral, and maybe a little Seagrams. I’m not telling teenagers to get more head, but I am telling them to chill on their A-game. It’s more likely to land you a disease, make your dong really stink and create a bad sensation within the soul. You don’t want that. You want decapitation. Head saves lives. Make sure you’re setting a good example for the future, oh my brothers and sisters.


Ain’t no shame. Don’t say I never tried to told you something good.

LINKS OF DEATH

I'm in a good mood today. In honor of the total lunar eclipse tonight, here are some links for you that I found while digging through the internet graveyard, combing for lost souls and free music.


To get information about how the moon will be red tonight:
CLICK RIGHT CHEA
(shout to NPR)

To see how someone spent a day of their own life to clown Angel Lola Luv on Myspace:
CLICK RIGHT CHEA
(shout to Fresh @ Crunk & Disorderly & Necole Bitchie)

To get all the free Cam'ron & Dipset music that matters in your life:
CLICK RIGHT CHEA
(shout to the SOHH forums)

To see another reason why hell is filled with false prophets profit$ and gay black reverends:
GO'N AND CLICK RIGHT CHEA
(shout to Marv & crew @ Bossip & Livesteez)

To learn why Gov. Arnold Schwarzennegger is a black plowman and white people were "niggers" first:
CLICK RIGHT CHEA
(shout to Billy Sunday @ Dallas Penn & XXL.com)

To understand why even Jimmy Iovine thinks that the music business is dead:
CLICK RIGHT CHEA
(shout to Eskay @ Nahright)


I'm heading out of town for a day. I'll be back Friday. Please don't cry.

THE DROUGHT IS ALMOST OVER...

Shout to DALLAS PENN.

To those wondering what the business is, sit tight. Patience is a virtue. I'm not quitting; I'm reconfiguring. The blog is changing, like draws and priorities. When I check back in in a few hours, it will be the beginning of round 2. Bet that.

Thanks for staying tuned. And thanks for being able to read. It makes a difference.

Yours Truly,

Michael Jordan
a.k.a.
Jihad Ballout
a.k.a.
Michael J. Focks
a.k.a.
Mickey Reagan
a.k.a.
Baby Bear (don't ask...)
a.k.a.
THE UNDERWRITER.

Fire and Brimstone - A Literary Assault from The Underwriter

The Underwriter is all about honesty. Honestly. I just became committed to this blog this month, which is why you're seeing me all over XXL and several other blogs with writers I respect. I'm not a piggybacker (nolo), I'm just able to recognize cats who are serious about it. And if you check my blogroll *LINKS OF DEATH*, you'll find several other places where you can find Hip-Hop in its new home - the Internets. You see, the culture is not dead anywhere else but in the mind of those who control the music industry, and they won't accept the fact that they're killing it. But alas...



We find ourselves at the point of revelations. California is burning, and down here in Atlanta we couldn't give two skeets of jizz. We're too busy washing the ol' school and watering our imported cactuses to read the news. With the exception of yours truly and a few other cats who know what the bidness is.

As far as Hip-Hop goes, we're at a point where lunatics get more press coverage than actual deserving talent, all because the spazzes seem to speak louder and irratically. We think that shit is cute, when in actuality it's weaker than well liquor.

Case in point:

I've been going at it pretty strong lately with an internet cupcake whose name I dare not say. If you're a frequent visitor of the blogs at XXL and you're in the know, you already know. If not, I have no time to explain it. But the problem is that even the internet is being gaffled by idiots who spend their off-hours trying to confuse the relevant issues that Hip-Hop brings to life.




Hip-Hop fosters and sponsors discussion. It makes a loud point, which you'll only understand if you understand the people behind it (nolo). This culture of ours was never supposed to be infiltrated like the Panthers were. It was supposed to be immune, because it's so ugly to the untrained eye that you would think we were all monkeys until you were invited into the palace. At this point, you'd become a fiend and stay forever. Like they say, once you go black... Ask Amy Winehouse.

We're living in such raggedy times that Pac's former bodyguard has identified himself as an undercover F.B.I. agent. T.I.'s bodyguard is snitching on him. Nobody's safe, nobody's protected. Not even the members of "The 5th Element" - the writers who cover Hip-Hop culture. Didn't Suge say something about creating a show called "Internet Gangsters" where he and his clicque would go around finding bloggers and giving nut-checks? Or was that all just a bunch of "I'm trying to stay famous" bullshit?

I'm going with Door #2.

The problem is that some of these people who comment on blogs are disrupting the debate. I don't care if you and I disagree. I just don't like it when somebody joins a discussion that could actually move forward the cause of intelligence, only to push a stupid and false point.

I've put up with bullshit on television. In movies. Definitely on the radio. Even in magazines. But I'm not having this shit on my new favorite entertainment medium. I'm not saying that The Underwriter is all powerful, but I can definitely take at least one loser out every month or so. It's only right, actually.



So here's to the people who continue to try my patience. Intelligence > Hate. My scythe > your pen. Save yourself from my wrath and start putting something good into your internet commentary when speaking on Hip-Hop.

Otherwise...




For examples of how The Underwriter had to get busy on a few cats tonight, just go to XXLMAG.com, click the tab titled "BLOGGERS" and check Bol and Billy Sunday's blogs. And check out my response to a few cats' stupidity.

Don't worry... I'll wait.

Nolo - Explained

I made a comment on XXLMAG.com yesterday, on one of Bol's blogs. He's a definite asshole (nolo), whose blog always seems to penetrate the internets (nolo). But I like him (nolo), so I tend to dig what he has to offer (nolo).

By now, you should get the idea of the word "Nolo." It comes (nolo) from the Latin term "nolo contendre", meaning "no contest", and is used in the legal system as a way of avoiding directly implicating yourself in a crime. Which makes perfect sense if you think about it; the Miranda laws (when they still existed) told you that you had the right to remain silent, so you don't have to incriminate yourself. If you're repping for the homo thugs, you never have to expose yourself unless it's what you truly desire... The term is a great way to stay out of the whole process and just accept the fact that somebody has either said or done something wrong. But we ain't tripping, and you ain't gotta lie to kick it. If you're gay, you're gay. Since I'm not, I'm not. I don't contest your lifestyle, and you don't contest mine. No explanation necessary.



Using the term does not mean you're gay and scared to admit it. It means you're straight, but instead of being labeled as a bigot or a being homophobic, you can use the term "nolo" to say, "Hey, if you guys want to cuddle, it's cool with me - even though it's not cool, so I'm getting the eff out of here and don't want to know what happens when I'm gone. But for the record, I'm not co-signing this behavior. At the same time, I ain't scared of you brother-fuckers, so we're still cool."

This way, my gay friends can find their own little gay heaven wherever it exists, and be, well, "happy." It's not gay to have a serious and deep (biggest nolo yet) conversation with a person who likes same-sex sex. Just know when to leave if it's at a Midtown bar you aren't familiar with and the crowd starts getting thick (nolo again). You don't want to wake up in the morning not remembering what happened, looking like this guy:



(Eternal Pause/Nullus/Nolo combined to that pic above... The Underwriter shakes off the heebie-jeebies... )

Anyway, I've been feeling a way (nolo) about the term "No Homo." It seems like it's going to make gay people mad, which I'm not sure I really care about. But I do like to help people avoid confrontation and division if necessary. Now, dividing a gay man from my own asshole is priority #1, but that doesn't mean I can't let him live. I mean, it's not like I'm walking around wearing t-shirts that say this:





At the same time that first image is a pretty accurate image of my own home and personal bodily space. Homosexuality is something I'll never understand. I don't know what's so good about a man's hairy ass that should have my attention. And I don't want to know because it's gross as hell. Sorry. And I just can't, for the life of me, explain to myself why cats would rather see nude balls than a naked woman in their bedroom that looks like this:



I mean, really. You'd rather be touched like


This...


Instead of like


This?!!

Baffling. But whatever dude. Holla. Nolo.

The Underwriter cares about all of his people, even the man-handlers. That's why I'm giving you a few points about how you can use "nolo" to your advantage while keeping it extra gully in your own special way. No need to denigrate your fellow man; just tell him that you can't condone his sexual preference, but you're not judging him.





Nolo is best used when someone not only says something ill, but you've observed behavior in the past that adds credence to your quiet thoughts that he might be "going in." You can either start saying "No Homo" and disowning him, or you can still be cool with him and keep it "nolo." I mean, not to draw a parallel between gay men and mutated mammals, but if a human being can be born with a conjoined fetus, why can't some people be born with the intention to want something of their own kind? I'm not a cannibal, but who knows? A human lemon pepper wing just might be as good or better than chicken. I'm just not deranged enough to try it myself. But eat up, my friend (nolo).

I have to say also that it's pretty damn strange that cats have so many people in the mainstream media to look up to when it comes to the stylistic approach of the modern metrosexual. Or maybe it's all the stylists' fault. Maybe the wardrobe managers know that looking non-confrontational is the new "thug" look. Or maybe they want us all to be gay, or at least believe that our favorite artists, actors, entertainers and personalities are trapped in the closet.



I don't think Skateboard P or Ye Tudda are gay. At least not with each other. But what I do think is that the lifestyle of the intelligent, sensitive heterosexual male has become confused with the closeted batty boy. For instance, I think it's totally cool for a single bachelor to have a chihuahua. They're cool as hell, even though they constantly trip on their own legs and pee everywhere. And they're always Harlem shaking. But there's a difference in having a small, fierce, loyal little fighter and having house-trained animals that are forced to pose for photos looking like this:



Nolo.

I'm just saying. It takes people as open-minded as The Underwriter to keep it real enough to accept every type of person. We're all brothers in the end (nolo). We have to understand that even if we agree to disagree about sex, only dialogue will keep us from beating each other down (nolo). Nobody has the right to keep anyone but themselves from following his or her own heart. I'm not here to excuse or explain my position (nolo), but rather I'm just tryin to get people to respect each other's space (n) to set up some rules of engagement (nolo). If we want to continue to divide ourselves, we can do that. But we'd be missing out on a powerful opportunity to upgrade society by giving diplomacy a chance.



No Homo.