Friday, February 07, 2003

Dr. Dooom (Kool Keith)
First Come, First Served
1999 - Threshold

"You Live at Home With Your Mom"

[Dr. Dooom]
Yeah.. New York City!
Dr. Dooom Pebblestone
I took the Batmobile out last night
Went to Tony Rhome's.. and I seen..

{you were perpetratin, you was fake}

Chorus: repeat 4X

Spottin fools frontin fly, girls act material
{You live at home with your mom!}

[Dr. Dooom]
I spot MC's on BET with the fake zirconia bezel Rolex
Lookin like virgin with the see-through back bought from
the Indian kid off the rack -- sterling silver delivery
Y'all tryin to fool me actin bougie with the platinum wannabe
It look real, stainless steel appeal, that's not the Presidential
Let's keep it confidential; you ordered that fuckin kit
in the ad in The Source boss -- step up your rep up
in genuine fashion I caught your ass in;
with your name on the rented car lease
Feathered top hat, zoot suits with vinyl alligator boots
Extreme dream with no apartment space
You frontin in the fly ride and empty place
with your rent due on the first of the month
Your second month you exit, portrayin to girls
like you everything in the world
Fuck master, prepare to face disaster as I pass ya
Movin Galactica with no capacity
You ain't got enough to buy a small soda in Johnny Rocket's, B
Posin with baldhead black girls with a Florida tan
tryin to act like you the man
Starstruck with one buck, your girl look like Donald Duck
Party-figure perpetrator, undercover hater
Smell your cheap cologne in the elevator
Dope you smoke, half of y'all can't never touch the mink coat
with your four carat white gold you look like you're pantomiming
Tryin to rhyme off of unflexible facial bone structure
I crush ya, down to the paso
like spicy foods burnin through your asshole
Remember I did the damage to your lasso
then threw your Pampers in a manhole; your engineer walked away
with ponytails like Annie Mae, laughin and talkin the other way
You was the first rapper to pull out grease
and turn your butt the other way
Your girl think you're tough, big buff and rough

{90 percent of these rappers are very soft}


[Dr. Dooom]
I look at your audience and fanbase
Nuttin but a bunch of men tappin each other on the back again
Fools with backpacks tryin to show me they asscrack
Cigarette lighters blowin smoke on my Polo shirt
and you're bound to get hurt
With one leg, tryin to walk to work on the mic you rap hard
and overexert, Material Girls catch diarrhea
Won't make it to my concert
It don't have to be 4th of July for your rectum to see fireworks
While you buy clothes at Ross sew in the weaves tryin to floss
Walkin in large resteraunts, orderin a small bowl of chicken broth
Water and napkins, you ain't tryin to be a captain
Put down this wack actin skills from movies
send you to Niko lobbies like a groupie
Stagefright out of sight cover your ass up
Prepare I pull my mask up

{Watch your custom jewelry kid!}


{That's right kid, clean up your room}
{Go clean up your room}
{Clean your room otherwise you'll be on punishment}
{for two weeks}

OK this is really starting to piss me off. Once again today I cannot get on my goddamm mofokin page. Am I like the designated hobag this month? Every other blogspot page I open no problemo senor come right in sit down and have a margarita would you like chips and salsa, possible a cold cerveza? But if you try opening up the on the rise venerable yet still rookie style ultrablognetic you get a cold stare from the maitre dee or whatever the hell they call that goatless bastard that gets you your table and he’s like “I THINK we have a table in the back, the WAY back, right by the kitchen so you can hear the staff calling eachother goatless whores and spraying chemicals all over your chimichanga, and if you want chips go to fukn safeway you little pile of donkey shit.”

See that’s what I feel like when I can’t look at my beautiful web page which brings me the joy of the creator. I think “no one else can read this.” The fact that no one besides me gives a quarter of a rat’s bulbous asshole never crosses my mind. The world must be saved from lack of my wisdom. I know I said I’m not wise yesterday but I lied.

Ok like a good boy I ignored my page for a while, got some work done, and then calmly and coolly went back to see if I could access my page. Hmmm no dice. OK stay calm. Republish on blogger a few more times, maybe that’ll do the trick. Hmmm, well, no. ok go to blogger’s help page, otherwise known as the most useless piece of dogshit in the western hemisphere, um I mean, that really helpful thing. Ok maybe I’ll leave a message on the black hole that is their dillio, so I click on leave a message, and get a page that says, oh sorry, we’re repairing this part right now. Ok, so um, everyone else can go to their web page and be bloggers but me, despite my standing in the society of welders, am screwed and tattooed. Thanks a whole HELLA’ve a lot. I had some really seriously interesting stuff to say today, and now it’ll probably never be heard due to this savage destruction of that very intense yet fleeting idea known as justice.

Dammit. Allright I’m just gonna go put this up in blogger and see what happens. Maybe everyone else can read it, and they’ll all laugh at me and call me goatboy. Maybe I’ll be a big star, and come back to the farm with a fancy perm and a nose ring. Then they’ll all say, there goes keith pennyworth, the belle of the ball. Yeah that’s the ticket, and then they’ll pour pig’s blood all over me from the rafters the very second they give me the homecoming crown. Yeah, thanks but no thanks you heartless fucks.

On a lighter note, Cal won last night.

Thursday, February 06, 2003

I’ve never been accused of being Mr. Political Joe or even Mr. Political Ed or Frank or for that matter Keith or Alfred. Well, actually, I’ve been accused of being Keith & Alfred, but never Political Keith or Alfred, I mean Mr. Political um whatever. Dammit, this is not going as planned. Anyway, what I was trying to say before I bogged myself down in horse manure, is I’m not like the guy that always knows what’s going on in that aforementioned world arena, but I like to breeze through the politico blogs, just like everybody else every once in a while, and if backed into a corner by a crowd of villagers waving pitchforks and shit like that, under oath and with 99 witnesses, I’d have to say that when it comes to that type bloggage, my favorite one at this time, if you just have to know Mr. Inquisitor, is Michael Totten. He knows what’s up. So check him out.

Or don’t. Shit I don’t give a fuck. I just work here. I just sweat my fingers to the goddamm BONE trying to find worthwhile crap for you to read and whipping these baby seals in here to crank out more and more material. Do you realize that if I let one of those little fuckers have even one cigarette break then it’ll be total bedlam? Imagine if you will, 23 baby seals, strapped into little chairs with heat lamps hanging over them and little kiddie pool sprayers and type writers lined along a wall and a poster of Cesar Romero hanging on the wall (motivational tools, my pretties) and all these complicated mechanisms and Darwinian objects are basically in order to keep the machine rolling. If I let one wander out and have chillie-willie time, then I gotta let ALL those little sheisters out for one chillie-willie and then I’m only left with little old me and what can I do? I’m not even supposed to BE here today!

Anyway, I think on second thought I am going to give the little fellas some time off. There’s more than enough material up on this wall of shame for one day, and hell even though it’s Thursday and it’s against cash money’s advice to venture out, I just can’t be a total goat like that.

This is one of the coolest things I’ve read in a good long while, and it is courtesy of that broken girl:

you know those crazy kids that are so infatuatedly in love, so wonderfully obsessed with each other, that they forget that the rest of the world exists and everything fades away and the light gets all filtered and the crazy kids don't do homework and they don't eat and they don't talk they just walk around with goofy looks on their respective faces?

i know two such kids, and i hope they don't wake up. keep dreaming, babycakes.

So fukn cool! Now hopefully she won’t sue me for reprinting her stuff. That would not be cool. Hmmm. Lemme call my lawyer real quick.

“Johnny? What you already read it? Damn you are good. Oh, so I’m cool? Werd. You the man. Oh and one more thing, Johnny? Did OJ really not do it? What’s that? Oh c’mon you can tell me Johnny, c’mon main. Aaah sheet. Yeah Johnny, you go, that’s right just testing you, I know you got that Hippocratic oath shit going on. All right boss, peace out.”

Ok I guess it’s cool. Well, I gotta get going as I’m due to be running behind a bus to party camp in about 5 astro-medallions (minutes). Peace.

Ok my little drama regarding this page seems to have passed. I’d like to give a huge thanks to Moxie for answering my cries for help on such a prompt basis. She is so damn cool that it makes me shiver. This is in no way related to but in no way unrelated to the fact that she is a kick-ass writer, and I gotta say I think I’m digging her site even more than the insane amount I already was (and it was not sane, but in a good way, ya know like when rocky road ice cream is really rocky?) now that she’s basically bustin’ on the creativity tip, although I did enjoy the random spillings of all her personals, coded or uncoded as they may or may not have been. Rock on Ms. Slade. And as for you, young hooligans that may or may not be reading this, (hey maybe your just staring at the screen, waiting for enlightenment), get over there and bask in her wisdom. And she is wise, she even has a little Buddha on her desk, just like me, and the fact that I am NOT wise is in way indicative of her un-wiseness, in fact quite the opposite. Very clear, yes? Yes, I thought so.

It is a pretty sad basis of reality how much I get paralyzed by the thought of this page not functioning properly. Like the absence of the availability of this rambling bullshit is mission critical for the continued existence of humanity in any semblance of rational & happy theoretical implications. And I’m not letting the fact that that last sentence was total and complete nonsense stop me from my preordained quest.

Is there such thing as a lucky pen? Like if you sign a proposal with your lucky pen is there a better chance that once it shows up in your target’s fax machine they will be like “ah, yes, the golden chalice of chronic boobonics, let me call up the fukn money people right this fukn minute and buy about a billion dollars worth of this crap!” I think there is, but sometimes I think that, ya know, that’s totally fukn impossible. I’ve signed a lot of stuff with some crappy pens and these little diddlios turned out nicer than ice cream on a pan am flight to Guantanamo Bay. Then on the other hand, I’ve busted out what I thought was the pen that conquered Waco, Texas, signed that shit with the most fancy but understated swirl you ever saw, and what happened, a phone call of derisive laughter and offended outrage, followed by about 20,000 lashes with a wet noodle. This was on a Thursday, and besides Tuesday, that’s the day that I know that you should stay inside, that’s what the Hot Boys told me. And they know.

Well, actually, I’m pretty sure that rule only applies if you’re down in the dirty, dirty. The south. Ya know, gritsville, the place where they whistle Dixie and make sure “those” people stay on the right side of the street. Well, actually, they probably aren’t as obvious about it anymore, I mean, they probably whisper to themselves and talk story in dirty backrooms with liters of moonshine whiskey and plan how they’ll have to go live in them thar hills pretty soon as those people are taking over and noone seems to be flying in on a white horse and a hood and doing something about it. Well deal with it you damn racist fucks, it’s 2003, and the days of having your own drinking fountain are over and done.

Ok Alfred, feelin a little racial today, yeah? Go take your medicine, big guy. Aaah, yes, good to the last drop.

But really doe, I see it like this: now is the time for everyone to be what they wanna be and if you don’t like that big orange taste all up in yo’ face then buy a big ranch and go there or just chill and say “ya know main, we bruddas from anudda mudda, so it’s all super duperdy good.” Or just say “please pass the salt, oh & have a nice day.” Or just have an oreo-shake, cuz really it’s all gravy. Why you gotta be trying to rule the world? Just have a coke & a smile and shut the fuck up, or join the party, or kick back like a new jack and have a phat sack. Ya gotta keep it adam’s family style, and do what you wanna do and respect other’s rights to do the same.

So now that you’ve heard my thought of the day, go out there and by nice to each other, or whatever the fuck Jerry Springer used to always say.

And that’s on Berkeley.

I am getting fuckin' pissed. I cannot open this goddamm page. If you are having the same problem, please e-mail me, or even if you're not, please e-mail me - I'm trying to figure out if my computer is fucked up, cuz I can open every other single fukn page on the internet except for this one. so i may never read this. how does it sound? is it flowing? thanks. ok fuck'n e-mail me you goatless varmints and let me know whats up if you read this.

thank you - quality control - always in the liquor cabinet just a little deeper today, hence the southern comfort is having full representation.

aloha - oh yeah - to e-mail scroll down and click on "tell me how much i suck" - i don't know if a lot of people realize that's what that link is for. if this is too damn baffling for you, my e-mail address is yes I know i shouldn't talk shit to people i'm begging for assistance but well then, I'm not supposed to stick knives in electrical outlets either, now am I?

Wednesday, February 05, 2003

i've seen it linked elsewhere, but let y'all know you need to read ken layne's reaction to the space shuttle tragedy, the first description that's ever made me smile in the face of sadness - it's good good good kine stuff, bruddas & sistahs.

well i guess i'm here i can say whutsup.

whutsup. so um shyeah. whut's the dilli scrilli? on the fillie with grillie and silly frilly. ferrilly.
gyup gyup. so then this janitor walks up on some sleestaks and is like - yo heckel & jeckel it's a reckle of smectle and jethro bedthel.

you see i really just stopped by to post the layne thing. it's really good. if you just are going on reading this crap and didn't click the link you should go up there now. I mean well no wait, it's not going anywhere. stay, yes, read these exciting words of a backpack saddled thoroughbred winnah named Samson. and his handsome yards of wooly green.

seriously guys (oh and gals) there's really nothing happening around here today. werk werk work. and then some shlurk. a billy bup rollo and a steaming dish. a filleted potato peelah and a ride on trues and voes but an alabama g-dog aint the type to lose a stone.

and THAT is on glendale


2000, Untertainment Records

"What Means the World to You (Remix)"
(feat. Ludacris, Trina, U.G.K.)

Track Mas-ter-rrrah!
What means the world to me? Snappin bras, menage-a-trois
What means the world to me? Smokin hash, slappin ass
What means the world to me? Breakin laws, racin cars
What means the world to me? Makin bail, A-T-L

Uhh, uhh
What mean the world to me?
When I bang hoes, sky blue Range Rov's
Stop comin to my crib with your period
Serious bitch, and you act like I ain't know
I like my dishes deep, I like when I twist a freak
I like when her man find out when the court came mouse
Laugh when he went for me; I tell him
Women are trife - yeah I been in your wife
but do me a favor, dog
Don't call here again in your life, I'm killer
Atlanta I bubbled, in Memphis I hustled
In Kansas I juggle, New York, all my muscle we tussle
Listen you would too, if you knew
what this game would do to you
Been in this shit, two years Boo
Look at all the bullshit I been through
So called beef with you know who (who?)
But I got max gats
Nine nine's times nine, blow, blow, OW! (owww)

Let me tell 'em what'll mean the world
Ludacris and a couple a girls
You find a brotha runnin up in the girls
I get 'em drunk, chugga-luggin the girls
Ding-a-ling face huggin the girls
I get late - think I'm up with the girls?
Skeet, skeet, gone; it's all about that party
Bacardi - motions, rub lotion, all over your body
What means the world to me?
A little head preferably, so I express this verbally
And I don't care, I just want somebody to braid my hair
Cause I keeps it nappy, I'm happy, and I got my word and ball
That's all I need in this world, plus a little bit of alcohol
A box of Phillies and tig ol' bitties in fifty cities
I set it out after shows and the club is comin with me
I'm black and proud, I'm black and loud, I'm black and high
And it really mean the world to me
if I live my life, stay black and die

Uhh, c'mon, yo, yo
What mean the world to me?
Gettin money fuckin girls for free
On the corner hustlin from twelve to three
Cook coke, make twelve from three, uhh
Bottle up, it'll sell for three
Two for five, sound well to me
My coke so good have them fiends outside
on line from twelve to three (uh-huh)
And everything'll stop in the winter
when I cop in the winter
Come to your block in a drop in the winter
Chinchilla top in the top of the drop in the winter
Gotta make it hot in the winter, uhh
Post on your block with the glock (?? ??)

[Cam] What mean the world to you?
[Luda] Breakin laws, racin cars (HO!)
[Cam] What mean the world to you?
[Trina] My house, my rocks, and my Bentley drop (OW!)
[Cam] What mean the world to you?
[Trina] Shoppin sprees in a Prada shop (HO!)
[Cam] What mean the world to you?
[Cam] Ladies? (HO!)
[Trina] Fellas (OW!)
(HO!) (OW!) (HO!) (OW!) (HO!) (OW!)

[Pimp C]
Uhh, what mean the world to Pimp?
My paper, steak and shrimp
My bitches on the track
For they daddy, bringin it back
Pussy is still the best thing going
I got a hoe like Jesse Owens
I used to sell dope, ride dirty, cocaine scorin
Sellin D wasn't for me, I gotta keep the prostitutes hoe'n
Comin through, sittin low, in the C-F-I double-oh
Platinum with the twenty inches
Instrument to get the bitches
Comin down, prancin 'round
Gettin my dick sucked in every town
Sweet Jones, fuck the clone
Rippin wood, in the Brougham
Bitch I got some game to sell
and only money make my dick swell
Hold up.. beitch, Sweet Jones

[Bun B]
Man, now what mean the world to me?
Well, to me man, the world is mean
Cause a - mean world is the only world
that a mean man like me just care for seein
Now ever-green I smoke, forever clean I croak
The average Bun B Texas loc'
The savage choked out, smoked out up in the mezzanine
Now I'm just a fiend, hooked for the mic
Bless the scene, look for the dyke
I get a letter and know that we better
Hit the hotel, do what I like
What's that? Find a fresh one take it in
Strip it, flip it, break it in
My pimp game is rock solid
There's no way for you to bring fakin in
Now we makin men, outta boys, or makin boys wormy
Cause we bust bigger guns, got bigger nuts
And when they go off they make a lotta noise
And I can't think of no prouder joys
than money, big cheese and a girl or two sheeit
That's what the world mean to me mayn
Tell me what the world mean to you, huh
That's what the world mean to me mayn
Tell me what the world mean to you, huh

I know y'all wonder, who the female stunner, in the G-G-Hunter
Ridin 'round town in a hot pink Hummer, hot like summer
With the diamond bangles
like Charlie's Angels, you can't knock my hustle
And I need my bread up front playboy, cause I can't trust ya
I'm just like a phone bill, if you don't pay me, ain't no conversation
And money mean the world to me, that's why this bitch here paper chasin
When it comes to the figures
I'm way way worse than them hustlin niggaz
With the ki's to the coke, for the mansion
the Bentley and the keys to the boat
I take that dick real, real, real deep to the throat
I'm from the M-I-A, that's where I dwell, niggaz can't you tell
I'm bad as hell, even my pussy smell like Chanelle

[Cam] What means the world to me?
[Luda] Breakin laws, racin cars (HO!)
[Pimp] What mean the world to Pimp?
[Trina] Marble floors, platinum beds
[Cam] What means the world to you?
[Trina] Stacks of bread on my Gucci spread
[Cam] What means the world to you?
[Cam] Ladies? (HO!)
[Trina] Fellas (OW!)

Tuesday, February 04, 2003

God blessed me with a good strong back which I rarely if never have any problems with, and what do I go and do? Lift up a fukn heavy as hell copy machine with my coworker and move it across a room and now my lower back is fukn achin like Farmer John’s bacon. Dumbass!

Go check out Kate Hall. Her site makes the rulons look like rupaul, who has a blog too, I think, but I don’t feel like finding it and/or linking it really. He/she never linked my ass, so fuck him/her. (it?) ok that’s not nice. Oh and yes I bumped into her today through tony pierce, but I mean, I’ve read her site before, just not as in depth as I did today, and well, she’s good stuff. Even though I wonder how she gets away with being so dang honest about her feelings and the whole nine yards what with how it doesn’t appear that her blog is anonymous. There’s like pictures of her & her boyfriend and the whole nine yards, so like, they must know about it, right? No? does her boyfriend get peeved out or manic depressive or not know how to act when she says she’s afraid he’s gonna dump her? Is this any of my business? Can I make it my business? Does she need a relationship advisor? Should I hook her up with Mr. Know it all and they can trade war stories? Could Jack the Ripper have secretly been the Loch Ness Monster? Have I used that joke before in this blog? The answers to all these questions are neither known nor forthcoming, so stay tuned.

Yessiree bobskee. Oh and Ryan wrote a pretty darned interesting dillio on the whole idea of what can you write, what you can’t, what why where and how & overall self-censoring issues. Good good stuff, a lot of which Sarah has touched on in the past, but Ryan gives it that special Ward zippededoodahday. And with a pinch of ass-clown dust.

Fuck look up there, I’ve already linked a bunch of brandons which means I gotta go to their sites, cut & paste the url’s. geezo peezo I hope you people understand the trials and tribulations I go through to bring ultimate quality levels to your door. I really really hope you do. Understand, that is.

Fuck my back hurts. Hello, mr. Back, please forgive me for being such a fukn dumbass and trying to lift really heavy crap with my 30-year old ass. I know I’m an old joe now, and the time is gone for dumbass crapola like being mr. Tough heavy-lifting greek freight liner judo Jackson. I know this, yet I ignore your tender please for mercy. The idiocy shall not resume if Long Beach has anything to do with it.

Monday, February 03, 2003

ok I’m gonna start off this post by saying that it was written all over the place, in no particular order, as in the first part I think was written last, the first part not being this part, this is like the intro, which was written totally last, as in everything is out of order chronologically, which doesn’t matter, in the fact that it’s useless except as an area to make my excuses for the kind of overall badness of it. I went a little more stream of consciousness than normal today, just because I have a lot of thoughts spawned by the Columbia tragedy, possibly none of them relevant, and a lot of extra crap thrown in to kind of lighten up the mood subconsciously (my subconscious, not yours, as in I wrote it subconsciously, to kind of grease the reader mentally and make excuses for my bluntness) in other words, please forgive the fact that I suck.

There are no correct words when shit like this happens. I’ve noticed a lot of “lifestyle” (jeez is that the proper word, sounds like I’m pitching rubbers) bloggers have avoided the issue all together. Good for them, hey there’s really nothing that needs to be said. It happened, it sucks, well what is there to really fukn say? Nothing. Unless you’re an engineer.

And after that written after this part but still deftly maneuvered intro, you really should read what Dan has been writing about this subject. (this subject as in the space shuttle exploding into pieces for all to see, all over the tv, shown over and over and over again). As a hardcore engineering type dude, he’s (mr. Goose, that is, yup that’s me mr. Clarification, no relation) got some serious shit to say about the state of NASA and what the fuck they’re doing, and I got to say I agree with him wholeheartedly. We just lost the lives of 7 brave people and for what? I will admit I have no idea what they were going out there to do. Why are we not pushing the limits? If just going out into orbit is as risky as all this, why not let these people risk their lives to really do something like go to Mars or some serious shit like that? Anyway, I don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about, so check the goose out and learn. He’s also got a link to a Dawn Olsen post which you should really read. Chiggedy check it.

Maybe I’m a total & completely heartless asshole of the highest order, but I’m gonna be honest with you and reveal something that has been on my mind regarding this thing. Obviously the standard things like sadness & overall bummingness, but a thought I had was – does anybody else remember the terrible jokes that went around after the Challenger explosion? Was this only on the schoolyard among little sheister 12 year olds? Because I remember so vividly that less than a week after the explosion, which horrified a nation, that there were already at least 7 or 8 different pretty fucked up jokes about the challenger crew and the tragedy. Do these jokes still happen? Where did they come from? Since 9/11 and our new “patriotism is cool” and “you can’t joke about hardcore fucked up shit the way you used to” attitude, is anyone developing fucked up humor about this? Not that I want to hear it I just wonder.

OK so I’m fucked up. Yes I have an IV of Gentleman Jack plugged into my right quadriceps. No, really I don’t, but fuck.

So yeah, these jokes. They were pretty fucked up. I bet I’m the only person in the country that is enough of an asshole that they remembered that. Well maybe it makes me a good person in that I was so horrified to hear those kind of jokes as a kid that it stuck with me. Does dark humor of this nature occur among adults as well? Is it too soon to talk about this? Am I evil?

Hmmmm. Well then, I guess I shouldn’t put this up on my blog. But ya know, fuck it.

As crappy as it is, this is dedicated to the brave souls that lost their lives in the Columbia explosion. Actually scratch that, read what Dan the goose wrote and mentally dedicate it to those people, with his permission of course, because I don’t want ghosts coming after me and getting pissed like “thanks a lot asshole, now this, this worst thing ever written is dedicated to me and hanging over my shoulders like an albatross at the weekly meetings, which are Mondays, and I’ll tell you, if you’re gonna die, die on a Tuesday, so you won’t have to have your first meeting for six days, cuz they’re boring as hell and there are pop quizzes, even for the new people.” Ok, that will be edited out later. (Shirley, make sure that part gets edited out? Thanks.) Hopefully NASA has learned something and this shit will not happen again. And hopefully NASA will expand what they're doing and as a country we'll stretch ourselves and spark the imagination of a generation for the possibilities and limits of space travel.

I was also thinking this weekend at one point as I stared up at the sky, does the fact that there hasn’t been a totally provable legitimate alien siting, unless uncle sam has really been playing coverup all these years, (and doing a bang-up job I might add) – does this mean that nobody can do interstellar travel? Because if they were out there, wouldn’t they have dropped by for a cup of tea? Or are we like this fucked up jungle planet that they’re like “don’t even fuck with those gangstas.” ? what the FUCK am I talking about?

But seriously, if there were races out there flying around space, don’t you think we’d know about it? Yes think about it. Or don’t. and don’t sue me if it happens. Or do. Cuz I have a damn good lawyer. But I don’t.

Dude this is NOT the proper time to talk all kine story about stupid stuff. Too bad. It’s happening. The whirlwind is whirling and winding. Dude they’re pulling your permit, they’re pulling it, they’re… dude they pulled your permit, your ghetto pass is revoked, you’re off the air, you’re..

(transmission lost)

oh wait one more thing: check this out. Is it total bullshit? It references a murder conspiracy theory regarding the three astronauts that died in the 1960’s during Apollo 1, which I guess was an experimental underwater test run, and there was an explosion inside the space capsule. And the accusations are from the guy’s son, & his widow agrees. Can we really trust NASA? Can I trust this link, it’s got a little spaceman picture on it which usually doesn’t resonate hardcore legitimacy. But I get suspicious any time such a SHITLOAD of money goes somewhere and there’s shady shit going on and apparently not that much progress. And NASA is backed by large amounts of intense cash and who pushes those buttons, mmmm-hmmmm? Am I getting on a “list” now? Um, forget I said anything. Keep up the good work guys.