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?

BIRTHDAYS ARE DEAD

If you know somebody that's a Libra, give them a pound today. Michael Jordan, otherwise known as THE BEST WRITER ALIVE, is celebrating a birthday today, oh my brothers and sisters. In memoriam of his dead Myspace blog and the success of this weird, savage undertaking that you are now reading, he decided to post one for nostalgia's sake. I mean, KANYE WEST might be reading it, or at least some great writers from around the globe. Might as well flex some mental muscle from MJ's Think Tank.

This one was called "The Birthday Blog." It was posted two years ago on Tom's Rupert's social networking site. Since we're two years past, I went ahead and updated it for flow and maturity. Enjoy it like it's the last blog you'll ever read.



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THE BIRTHDAY BLOG





As hard as I tried not to do this, I broke down 30 seconds ago and decided to write a blog on my birthday. My honest intention was to just clog the Bulletin Board with announcements and irritate people the way they do me everyday. I figured this one time it was for a good cause; those bastards never mind asking me to "CLICK HERE TO SEE MY TITS!", so I don't mind telling everybody that I was born 100 years ago today. At least that's what my profile should say if it's working. How old am I really? Well, I'll admit to being old enough to have finished college (which I haven't), old enough to have put 10 years in the music/media business, wise enough to know that kicking a dead horse won't make it trot and young enough to get carded faithfully when ordering a drink.


Some of the things I've learned thus far are listed below, in no particular order:


- Family is most important. True friends are family, and everyone else is an outsider.

- Women will get you killed.

- The truth is a joke. Try telling a Republican that they're ruining the world. I bet they laugh.

- Never plan your day around someone else's schedule. I've been telling myself that for 12 years, and it's finally kicked in, giving me the ability to feel great about being self-centered and to stop worrying about anyone else's actions.

- You don't necessarily have to put God first. He/She is first anyway, and you're going to figure it out the hard way unless you embrace the grand reality of life.

- I'm the best writer alive. And yes, I mean it.

- Some people never change, for better or worse.

- With the exception of what we call "Kush", Drugs are Bad. Mmkay?

- Most people don't read. They just look at the paper and criticize the pictures.

- You can't work for someone who can't pay you.

- Politics are important, because if you have to put up with liars, you have to pick the ones who are most sincere.

- For some reason, Black people are a threat. Don't ask me why.

- The music industry doesn't exist, like the Mafia or the illuminati.

- Sex cures anything. Except STDs.

- Having musical talent can and will save your life.

- Gossipping men are most likely perpetual masturbators. Eventually they run out of friends and sympathizers.

- Celebrity Blogs are like right-wing radio: destroying our collective conscience day after day after day...

- By the time you read this, I'll be tipsy off some high quality red wine. Spoil yourself; no one else will.

- You have to find something to live for before you start considering what you'd die for.

- Capitalism has good and bad points, but it's still a better system than anything other current model.

- People think that love is about sacrifice, but it doesn't have to be. It could simply and purely be about love, if you think about it.

- Grudges will get you nowhere, but not all things should be forgiven easily.

- You can't compete with someone who doesn't see you as competition.

- There are some moments, people and incidents that you never get over. In order to survive, gotta learn to live with regrets.


AND STILL MOST IMPORTANT...

- I'm Free.

DIG THIS: ROLLING STONE'S 25 FUNNIEST WEB VIDS

Rolling Stone just dropped it's "25 Funniest Web Videos" list, and it already stole an hour of my Friday night, because I'm a nerd like that. I won't give it all away, but I had to put this one up again, because in my view this could have easily been #1:




R.S. used a different version, but I think the one ^ was actually much funnier and straight to the point. By the way, this happened in the "D", where it's so cold.

PRIDE, DIGNITY, SELF-RESPECT - THEY'RE ALL DEAD

Warning. This shit is sad. You've been warned.

So I was riding along I-20 yesterday afternoon on my way back from Birmingham, taking in my daily dose of the best news program on the planet, NPR. Forget whatever you heard or thought; no television station, newspaper, magazine, blog or website does a better job of reporting the events that occur in our world with as much consistency and objectivity. Which reminds me, I need to go ahead and start donating money (whenever I get some).

But back to the point. While I'm enjoying my highway cruise, I was flabbergasted by a story about PRINCELLA SMITH, a 24-year old Republikkkan who is an African-American female and happens to be a member of Newt Gingrich's think tank, American Solutions. CLICK HERE FOR THE AUDIO. And if you will excuse me for a moment while you listen, I will now puke on myself.

*earling*


Ok, we're back. So anyway, this heifer intelligent black woman has decided to show her independence and freedom by being a token negro mascot for the GOP. She even had a blog post published at one of my favorite liberal bully blogs that attacked my beloved Hip-Hop. Check it out:

Sadly, the new slave master portrayed in many (not all) rap videos is the black man.

The executives and heads of these hip hop record companies are white males who sell 4 out of every 5 rap records recorded to a young, white, suburban, male audience. This image of oversexed black men who disrespect women, wear gun wounds as a badge of honor and brag of "bling and bills" is ingrained into the minds of white America, and thus becomes a new form of bondage for African-Americans. These young white men go out into the corporate world, and many are eventually sitting behind a desk to hire employees, and we want them to be objective. Yet, in their subconscious lies these images of African-Americans.

SOURCE: THE HUFFINGTON POST

Good try, sista. Now, let's examine that theory a little bit more. If we are seriously defined as a race by the entertainment that we created for our own enjoyment and is now an incredibly popular worldwide financial juggernaut, that would not be a failure upon our part in sending a clear message. The onus lies upon the anuses who listen and believe anything they hear, see and read. All art is open to interpretation, and what seems like mysogynistic and self-hating garbage to you might be comedy to me. In other words, I don't have to tell a joke or write a sentence that you like, if I don't wish to do such a thing. If you like it, great! If not, kill yourself!

Here's an example. I don't get upset at Oprah, Tyra or that other black woman on The View when they say dumb shit that I don't agree with or could shine a negative light on black men. I just think that they're entitled to their own opinions, and then I ask axe myself, "Why the eff am I watching Oprah?" Immediately following this revelation, I shake my head and change the channel. Problem solved. I don't sit around and wonder, "But what if white women believed that all black men were worthless, irresponsible, shiftless, immature animals with bad credit? Do you know what that would do to interracial dating and the population of light skinned babies? Oh, the horror!"

That was a joke. All I'm trying to get across here is that if you don't like something, don't watch, listen to or read it. Leave it the hell alone, like I'm doing with your beloved GOP convention. And I'm going to do my best to ignore you, my sista, because you are being used like a rubber dildo by the Republikkkans to sodomize the African-American race in a manner that Nelly could never achieve with a million "Tip Drill" videos.

My problem with Princella Smith is that she is a tool. If she doesn't know it, then there is hope for her yet. Ignorance is bliss, but nothing lasts forever. Now, if she does realize that she is letting the Republikkkans parade her around town as their new weapon against their own reputation of racial hatred, then she is despicable, stupid and a classic sell-out. And I'm sure that will put her on the path to the Supreme Court like another famous GOP ball-blower.





For the record, Ms. Smith, I do not judge you for being an opportunist. I'll pray for you tonight, even. Now go back to your aluminum shack behind Massa's house and finish shucking corn for tonight's GOP convention dinner. I'm sure they'll save the "chitterlings" for you.




Lord, give me a sign.

THE BUCKET LIST

The Bucket List is a list of things that need to hurry up and die, because they're killing the human race in one way or another.

For this installment, we explore ENERGY DRINKS and the geek monsters that drink them. If you haven't noticed, energy drinks are usually guilty of some of the worst and most blatantly ridiculous product names and marketing schemes in business. If you don't know what I'm talking about, take a look at the list:

--------------------------------


SUM POOSIE



(What every man wants)
--------------------------------


GURU



(Is Gang Starr getting check$ from this?)
--------------------------------


GO GIRL



(Sugar-Free?!)
--------------------------------


PIMP JUICE



(Did Nelly skeet in this? Nolo.)
---------------------------------


COCAINE



(The Devil is Alive... How sad is this??)
---------------------------------

Do what you will with your own fucking health. I'm not a doctor, and I'm not trying to tell you muh-fuckas what to do with your body. But just don't be a victim of your own need for extra energy and such. Because that would make you a geek monster. And I love you too much to let you go out like a sucka.

If I gotta dead you, know it's only 'cause I love you...
Talib Kweli - "Know That"

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...

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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...

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 MYSPACE FILES (nolo) - VOL. 1

This was the last blog I wrote for Rupert, Tom and Co. From this point, I'm probably going to go backwards from the final post to the first. We'll see if it makes sense, a'la Jay-Z's Reasonable Doubt concert in NY last year. If it is not clear, don't fret. It just means that your comprehensive reading skills are shot to shit. Which is ok with me, oh my brothers and sisters.

STEP YOUR MIND UP.

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Last Call for Alcohol
Current mood: satisfied
Category: Life


I could talk about so many things right now. Politics, Hip-Hop, family, friends, enemies or just any type of sheer fuckery that I might come up with at the last minute. This is, after all, my last blog for the year.

I had several ideas. One was to create a short fictional story about a writer having to choose between his "tool" and his "weapon." After little personal contemplation, I decided to save that one for commerce. Not to belittle the people who read these blogs, but I really have to save something for the cash register, don't I?

Before I started writing blogs, I had no idea that they were really as powerful as they are. I just kept hearing that they were going to take over the media, in one way or another, and it didn't take too many bellweathers for me to get involved. I'm glad I did, because to this day I keep being surprised at how many people read what I write on this page. I have to assume that at least 25% of the readers don't even have Myspace pages, but they read it and pass it along to other people.

Another reason why blogs are important is because you would never have heard about the Jena 6 or any other outrageous injustices going on in the modern world without bloggers. People just like you and I, who decided to put their thoughts into the mainstream without having to be edited by censors, corporations or conglomerates. While you were sleeping, power came back to the people.





But still, this blogging stuff can become consuming. Every time I experience something new, my instinct has been to share it with the world. I don't think there is a problem with that, but I do have an issue with somebody, somewhere, making a brutal shitload of money from people like me who are willing to contribute intellectual property to a middleman. Please believe that Myspace's founders, Tom and whoever else, made a killing - not only from the sale of the website to Rupert Murdoch's NewsCorp (which just recently bought The Wall Street Journal - pay attention), but also by simple advertising. Who wouldn't want their product or service in front of a hundred million confused young people who post pictures, personal information and blogs for the world to see, just for their own amusement?



(YOUNG RUPERT MURDOCH - CAPO DI TUTTI CAPI of the American Media)


Are you following?

Forgive me if I sound cocky. I admit that I come off that way a lot, even though I'm neither arrogant nor conceited. I don't have time to act like I'm better than anyone else. If I really want to be recognized for being different or special, it comes from hard work and dedication. Nothing else, except of course living a life that would make God and my mother proud. But if I do sound cocky sometimes, it's only the natural reflex of me having to dig within myself for my original confidence. I didn't come from being anything but hard-headed, but that's what got me where I am today. I don't always listen, but when I do, I make sure I hear everything. So when I say something, I tend to believe it.

I'm too good for Myspace.





I've been allowing this great internet site to distract me from devoting my time to my own possibilities. And contrary to what we've always heard, it's harder to break a good habit than a bad one. I never felt like any of my time or ideas or honesty had been wasted in these blogs. I've felt more like this has helped me to grow a lot more than I can probably see right now. But the time has come to close up shop.

I'm going to go into withdrawals similar to an alcoholic as soon as I wake up tomorrow. It doesn't seem like I'm saying enough, and already I can tell that I'm going on, and on, and on... But what more can I say for free, for now? God knows I'm not financially comfortable enough to give away free samples forever. Is that what Microsoft did? Starbucks? Sony Music? (taking a deep breath...)

Sidney Poitier told me something one day, a few years back, while we were walking on the beach in California (REAL TYPE).





He told me that I needed to understand the words "providence" and "serendipity." He explained both words individually, then made a point about how they fit together in a perfect order. Using them wisely, once understood, would give me the best direction for my life that was available. He didn't invoke God, he didn't try to make himself seem like an authority and he didn't try to over-explain. Simple and plain, he told me that anything worth having is worth working and waiting for. Some things are worth eternity. And some aren't worth tomorrow.





I (still) get a natural buzz, just rememering that whole scene. I hadn't been drinking or smoking, but I remember feeling high and drunk off of life. I remember being ready to come back home to Alabama, ready to face the adversity. All along, I had asked God and myself, "Why me? Why haven't I gotten what I deserve for doing so many good things?" Suddenly, I was struck with a new question for myself. "Why not me? What makes me so special that I get to break tradition and avoid the hard work that predates recognition? Isn't it a prerequisite to maturity to go though the trials of being a young, confused adult?"

That decision to face life has proven to be both the worst and best thing that I ever experienced. It made me focus on my own pain, my own stuggles and my own fear. It made me confront reality. It made me start waking up earlier and working later. It made me stop seeing people as victims and start seeing them as sleeping giants. And it made me respect time, truth and the concept of dedication to a life's work, even through the adversity.

Now that I've turned 30, I feel like I have a license to be exactly what I want, without having to accept anyone's opinion or feedback if I don't feel that it is constructive. I'm on a positive kick for the rest of the year, and if that means I have to retain my thoughts just to concentrate my energy, that's just what the eff I'll do.

Remember this until the next time I write something publicly: I am no different from you. I write because it is the best way to release my cluttered and long-winded thoughts without being interrupted or misinterpreted. We all have natural talents. Once identified, it's up to us to draw the line and say, "This is my career, or at least the best chance I have to change my life for the better in the short term." And before you know it, the short term becomes the long haul, and you've retired with a lovely house, a beautiful wife and a family of adorable kids. And there's money in the bank, food in the refridgerator and new ideas to discover, even as you go into your eighties. Life can be good, but only if you make it do what you demand.

So that's it. Thank you from my gut for reading so much insanity. Look for a book next year. And to wrap it all up, here are some of my favorite quotes:



"Without a struggle, there can be no progress." - Frederick Douglass

"The future belongs to those who prepare for it today." - Malcolm X

"One cannot hold a man down in a ditch without remaining down in the ditch with him." - Booker T. Washington

"A little less complaint and whining, and a little more dogged work and manly striving, would do us more credit than a thousand civil rights bills." - W.E.B. Dubois

"Every man and woman is born into the world to do something unique and something distinctive and if he or she does not do it, it will never be done." - Benjamin E. Mays

"There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you." - Maya Angelou

"I am not going to die, I'm going home like a shooting star." - Sojourner Truth

""Tremendous amounts of talent are lost to our society just because that talent wears a skirt" - Shirley Chisholm (an ill quote on many levels...)

"What God intended for you goes far beyond anything you can imagine." - Oprah Winfrey

"No matter how far a person can go the horizon is still way beyond you." - Zora Neale Hurston

"Those that don't got it, can't show it. Those that got it, can't hide it." Zora Neale Hurston


Signing off...
(static.......................................................)

YOU'RE ABOUT TO WITNESS A MASTER AT WORK...

For the record, I used to do my Myspace thing. My Myspace blog - not just my Myspace page - had thousands of hits before I quit. I say that conservatively. But when I heard that Rupert Murdoch was buying out Tom and the other partners of Myspace, I decided to take my talent elsewhere.



My argument is this: Why the eff should I spend my hard-earned mind power on something that will financially benefit a right-wing billionaire? Am I the Alan Keyes of Alabama?

Hell no. I'm Michael Jordan from Alabama, and I'm an I.Q. tested genius. No disrespect to the "special" people out there, but some of y'all are too "special" to be excused. Others of you understand that a mind is not only a terrible thing to waste, but it is also a beautiful and infinite thing to expand and nurture.

One of my former adversaries called this undertaking of mine a "vanity blog." Maybe it is. We'll never know, because I'll never tell. But what I am willing to share is my thoughts on real shit in this real world of ours. The earth is suffering. Minorities are going through so much drama that they're no longer asking for help, which is not necessarily a good thing. White people are even feeling the pressure (see the stock market for proof).

Here's the problem: If poor or underpriviledged people don't express disdain or say that something is wrong in this society, it usually means that they are taking survival into their own hands. Which can be deadly, like life itself.

So here's what you should expect from me. I have a plethora of posts that I think should be shared. Not because I want comments, but rather because I think people should see how a writer thinks. Is that vain? If so, that's fine with me, as long as it helps the greater movement.

Whatever you think it is, I agree. So just be happy that you have something interesting to read on a consistent basis, or at least something to hate on. With this plan, along with my penchant for coming through on a literary bender every two weeks or so, you should be quite satisfied.

THE DROUGHT IS SO OVER.

A World Without Writers = Hell

You, unlike me, might like to watch TV all the fucking time.

You might even find the stale jokes on modern television satires, sit-coms and African-American minstrel comic variety shows to still be funny, twenty-something years after the ideas were first stolen, then re-introduced to our society, then manipulated by corporate executive board members into everlasting money machines for witless stockholders and commercial advertisers.




I have a great respect for comedians, because they have always been brave enough to say something super fucked-up, knowing that you'll probably just laugh their jokes off as harmless comic relief from modern life. But secretly you agree, because these jokes are true, which makes them funny in the first place, I guess. These are our great orators and public speakers, because they are willing to expose their scariest creative thoughts to the public, knowing that they are nothing more than water cooler folly for the next work day. And nothing sucks like being a genius among Gumps, especially when they don't get the pun of your jokes and you never see the monetary benefits from being brilliant in your craft.





Some of our generation's dead greatest comedians first introduced the ideas of racial and cultural differences to society as grounds for comedy, just to have them stolen and abused, over and over, by the corporate suit society that controls modern media. Maybe that's why I support the writer's strike going on in Hollywood right now. Not just because I'm a writer, but mostly because I believe in equal pay for equal work, especially when it comes to creative minds. Whether the business counts blacks, Mexicans or women as its underling employees, we as "the talent" shouldn't be considered as just "help", at least in my opinion. We drive commerce.





You see, the truth is that Hollywood and the entertainment industry as a whole - not just comedy - is a comedy of errors, and the creative society has been essentially re-selling the same jokes around for the last forty years, acting like we can't come up with anything new. In my opinion, this is mostly because the writers want more for their hard work, which they deserve. Ask Dave Chappelle. 50 million just ain't enough. Put another zero behind that bitch's ass, and then I might hit it for life. If not, go get another welfare-happy sucker, because I want more for my mind - especially if you're getting 500-million for my ideas and I'm stuck with a measly 10%.




The truth about this whole stand-off is that the business is changing, and the suits don't want to include the talent in their estimates of incoming cash flow. They want us to be ignorant, yet the writers are infinitely smarter than them, so we figured out their scam and decided to rebuke their offer of little-to-nothing. We figured that it's high time to renegotiate those old-ass contracts so that they reflect the age of the internet. But of course, the suits will never go fully along with overturning power and financial freedom to the creatives. We're just not capable, at least in their minds, of keeping the lights on while pondering the next great gift to the entertainment media community, so they say. So the geniuses of new ideas will always be at odds with the prodigies of the old money establishment. But that's the great war anyway, so who am I to act like I won't fight for my freedom? If my ancestors did it - under hella worse circumstances - who am I to fuck tradition up?





I knew you'd understand. And if you don't, I always knew you were an imbecile.

Creative minds come with deep issues, oh my brothers and sisters. Better yet: uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. You already know my opinion on this one; the writer is the landlord. Without my shit, Mr. or Mrs. CEO, you have no floor upon which to stand.

Oh yes, THE UNDERWRITER is just that arrogant when it comes to his craft, and I figure that you should get like me. My advice for new writers is simple; get behind (nolo) any talent that you possess that can uplift you from the depths of society's sicknesses. I mean, the elites killed Jesus back in the day; why the eff wouldn't they destroy Hip-Hop and urban culture's finest? Hollywood is burning right now, and all the liquor in the cabinet couldn't make an arrogant Hollywood powerbroker capable of creating a hit television series on his own. The creative pen burns eternal, and if you won't invest in a Montblanc, you'll be stuck with a Bic.





There are at least two partners involved in the development of any successful new entertainment idea - those who fund it and those who create it. In the entertainment business, those who make the production connections sometimes feel more important than the very talent upon which they rely to make shit happen. Which is fucked the fuck up, if you ask your homie.

It is the ultimate negotiation point that without the creative minds of the writers, the enterprise of entertainment would wither and fall. So pay like you fucking weigh, bitches. I can write something that I own for free, whether I get paid or not. Tell that to the home audience.


Signed,
Michael Jordan
"THE UNDERWRITER"

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.