Monday, June 02, 2003
Joe is analyzing the idea of the hip-hop GOAT ie the greatest of all time, and the decision should be obvious and it ain’t cool james beyotches. It ain’t kool moe dee either. It’s a certain gangsta named pat.
Ok it’s not, but it amuses me to say that it is and thus I shall. Say it.
Weekend was phaaat. Kicked it on the rich folk’s back yard at kahala beach, swam with the, um, water, and like, got sun burnt. Well Mrs. P got tan, I got red. As in bizzled. Lucky we live Hawaii, and lucky for the guy that invented aloe. “aloe wasn’t invented dumbass” oh really? Well who asked you, mr. Other part of my brain? I know I didn’t. fuckhead.
So Gangsta Pat was hanging out at my cousin gertle’s grandson’s bar mitzvah, ya know, it was his big gig, clocking majah papah, ie free dessert & parking, plus transpo via bus pass, and, ya know, why am I ragging on gangsta pat so hard? What was his big crime? Ok he straight dubbed the bass line from “Grand Finale” off the DOC album for his single like back in the day, and he was the butt of a few frizzled out jizokes but seriously what’s the dizzilio?
Damn. If yer talkin’ GOAT, ya gotta throw GZA in there. You just. Gotta. And sir-mix-a-lot. Ok not Sir Mix-A-Lot. But I’m serious about GZA. And ya know whut? Whutever.
but the GOAT? no-brainer, though, ferreal? I mean, c’mon hoes, it’s me. Kool keith, at your service. no really doe, THE kk, na mean?
For all those that were offended by the lack of any kind of coherence and/or theme and/or underlying and/or overlying meaning and/or hypothesis in this here dogshit, see section 72 of the ultrablognetic code, which therein is inscribed, though shalt take thine complaints to the kickstand processing department in building 68 room 81 at exactly 9:29 am on a Tuesday or a Thursday. Mahalo.
And I ain’t done you donkey piles. Oh wait yeah I am.