Saturday, March 06, 2004
God bless Neal Adams. And Dave Cockrum too. I’m a wee bit tipsy off some year and a half old sake. Good shit, evident from the fact that it’s still crystal clear with what may be the only definably pleasant after taste. My main homey behind the stone gnomey mc booker brought it for me and mrs. P from Tokyo like, shit, back in the dizzle, ya dig? Of course you do.
Wait, lemme have a sipple. I was reading up on sake on the web, and they say that the good shit, as it ages, won’t age quite so much, but the crap, it’ll turn to like the consistency of soy sauce after like 20 years, but you can still drink it. Bet you didn’t know that. Well now you do.
I was telling mrs. P about dave cockrum’s predicament and she wants to dump our marvel stock now. We’ll see. It is pretty high now. Shit, I am a bastardized capitalist and part of the infernal system. May I burn in hell. Actually, no thank you. I’d prefer purgatory. Heard they actually have a really nice buffet.
You know this is like a total bonus track. I mean, I never, if never, blog on Friday nite late albeit this will come out on the official record as a Saturday edition. But what can you do. This is vital info as always.
Not much else to say except that hope all is well for you wherever you are. Keep it on the level that is most copacetic for you at the given moment. Aloha.
Friday, March 05, 2004
Um, quick question, haven’t modern musicians figured out yet that having p-diddy spit 16 bars on your quote unquote hit single is not a good call? Hmmm. Maybe I’m the one in la la land cuz that piece of shit’s on the radio.
Ah, yes, ludacris’s roll out. Haven’t heard this one before. Jesus fucking Christ. Someday, I will be on the radio and play shit that people don’t have the word to every goddamm beat memorized. But maybe that’s what people want. My dj buddy was telling me that the gigs he gets, it’s pathetic, all people want to hear is the same ol shit, people don’t want change, they don’t want to hear new shit, they want to get down and boogie and get drunk at the Christmas party and hear “it takes two” for the 85 hundredth time while Ed from accounting grinds his crank all over her bent over shaking ass. Or something like that.
A lot of media outlets are making a big deal out of this year’s si swimsuit ish but I kind of admire sports illustrated for saying fuck it and just going strait up porn style. God bless America. I mean who the fuck is anyone kidding? It’s a once a year tittie and ass fest to sell mad magz and milk cashola out of the ready and waiting pockets of the global corporate whore cartel. I for one can only stand back and admire the process.
Speaking of corporate whores, however, marvel’s taking it a little too far with the shabby, no, shabby’s too kind of a word, with the way they’re basically fucking in the ass, no Vaseline style, one of comicdom’s most cherished artists, Dave Cockrum. Read all about it here. Dave created Nightcrawler before even coming to marvel, and had a hand in creating other x-men like colossus, storm, and a few others, was the artist on such seminal works as Uncanny #94 and Giant Sized #1 (the debut of the new x-men), was basically the man who visually defined the x-men as they are known today, carrying the title, along with writer Chris Claremont, from lagging sales to the flagship cash cow that it remains to this day. However, due to bad timing in copyright laws or some shit like that, he doesn’t see a goddamm penny of royalties on all the phat cash currently being milked from the galactic teet vis a vis especially the wildly successful x-men movies, as well as comics, toys, cartoons, all that shit. and he’s sick as fuck in a fucked up veteran’s hospital with marvel’s cutthroat lawyers tearing him to shreds whenever he tries to appeal these draconian laws for a few scraps of fundage to pay his medical costs. Read all about it here.
Fuck marvel comics. They should be ashamed of themselves. And I’m a fukn stockholder, believe it or not. Bleh. Anyhoo, have a good one, try to stick it to the man, peace out.
Thursday, March 04, 2004
Soif and when the jurkstorr does call you gotta be ready to propogate on that shit,and fully, just get in a position where all the appropriate activities will proceed with regards to the professional organization that you recently joined. On 12th street.
Uh, so yeah, oh yeah, check out dj dangermouse, as if you didn’t hear already, iknow, I’m like the last wagon on the platform shoe factory’s wagon playoffs, but I just gotta be whut a, well, you know what I mean.
Is it that obvious that the jurk storr is calling the shrimp farm as we speak? I mean what are the odds of that? roughly, just a ballpark, that’s all we need, folks, don’t look at the disturbing propoganda. And sure as hell don’t even think about raising a ruckus cuz if the jurk storr does call, and shit ain’t copacetic for like kizzlnation to transpire freely and naturally like a honeydew stream, in hell.
And the last and final section that must be inscribed is the one that made you feel so insanely blessed with knowledge of that which is of utmost importance on any thanagarian scale of justice available.
Wednesday, March 03, 2004
When I get mad dough, I mean MAD dough, I’m buying the clippers. And you think I’m joking. Oh wait, when I tell you what I really might do, you’ll think I’m completely nuts. And then I’m moving them to Honolulu. The Honolulu Clippers, you got it, Sally, the only team on an island, except for the New York Knicks, and I ain’t gonna say anything like propogating on some shit, but I’ll just tell you that the way Rodney O and Joe Cooley feel about that topic is very similar to mine own. At least in a sports sense, when matching up against the la clippers or the Honolulu clippers or even the Buffalo braves, which was actually in new york. Shit, yeah. Wrap your mind around that daniel san, you prolly can’t.
So anyway, I’m home, I’m watching the wind down of the pregame of the clips against the Indiana pacers live from staples center in the city of angels and it makes me really rethink my strategy of moving the clips to Honolulu. First off, would the nba even let me, second of off, is it economically feasible, and third off, exactly how rich am I gonna be? Cuz it’s gotta be super, not just to buy em but to manage em properly and the way I want. Now I think I would honestly be my own general manager. And you think I’m joking. I know how to do that kind of shit. Well, actually, I’d be like an al davis, and hire a general manager, but have wherewithal over all trades and shit like that, hey nobody gets the phat wallet enhancement and even minimal signage without my signature on the check, ya dig, so don’t even propogate.
The other thing I was gonna mention, is, shit, there’s really no proper stadium or arena I guess you’d call it to house the clips out here. Stan Sheriff Center is out, not nearly big enough. That’s where the UH rainbow warriors play in case you were wondering, and, well, even if you weren’t, there, the info’s in your head. Deal with it. And, hmm, the Blaisdell? Nah, still too small. But, well, they do arena football in there, actually arena2, but, hmmm, still not big enuff, I mean, if I’m gonna carry a big stick, I wanna be bling blingin’ with that shit.
Well, the opening tip is coming up right after the break, and you know what that means, and even if you don’t, you’re about to. It means that our time is done, at least for the nonce. Aloha.
Tuesday, March 02, 2004
this new interview and courtesy of THE site for all that is keith aka dr. dooom aka, shit, you know the drill, oh yeah, um where was I? Oh yeah, THE site for black elvis type shit, also known as KOOLKEITHdotUK. Thank you. Thank you for existing kk dot uk. Mahalo nui loa, all that shit.
Ok, yah, so here’s the quote. Go read the interview, cuz keith knows whuts up, and well, shit, I’m out.
“What is underground? To wear some plaid shirts, have your hair in dreads, wear a backpack? 8000 motherfuckers do that. So, that's commercial too. You want to be different, paint your face green and color you eyeballs white around the edges. Their is no difference. I am at the point where anything I do, goes. If I rap with Barbara Streisand, it goes. Fuck it, it goes. It just goes because that's the style.”
The picture’s courtesy of kk dot uk as well. Please go hang out at their web page for like 85 astromedallions plus.
And thank you to you as well, kool keith, for existing, and for the music, and for not being a fukn g-unit spinning gold encrusted manhole cover joker malone. not that there's anything wrong with that.
All respect and zero nut swinging. Peace.
I like thinking about my life, about my place in the world, and then saying, well, fuck it, I am where I am, I am what I am, I be where and when and what and blah blah fucking blah! Who the motherfuck am I, popeye? Dog SHITE.
I’m having serious problemos over here hoss. Almost to the degree that this blog may be dying a horrible and ugly and messy not so clean and beautiful death. The reasoning for this saying is thus: every morning afternoon evening whatever the fuck time of day it is that I sit down to type something for what shall now be, ugh, blah, it just comes out the same cruppity crup.
And see, there, I just fell into yet another pile of ass manure, by bitching about how my shit always sounds like the same shit sounds like the same shit. that last bit was repeated on purpose, yet, that’s the degree of ineptitude.
I’ve done this before, the beat myself up role. Fuck that. I know I got the good shit. I know it’s on the market. I know it’s on lockdown back in the vaults. Please don’t say shit like, oh it’s ok, oh, man, don’t say that about yourself, or, hmmm, c’mon bucky you can do it, nah, fuck that shit, it’s all me, it’s all, hmmm, just a bunch of like random thoughts percolating to the surface and that seems to be the only way to write shit here and thus I guess I gotta run with it.
But serially in all seriousness I sat down to write this time thinking, ok, deep thought central, but it’s just another episode of disposable nation with your host, secret name whathistat, jesus, the joke is done, the jig is up, yes, no, the man behind the curtain is not secretly the lead singer of your favorite band, or a super hero, or a rapper, or a microwave repairman, he’s just a joker, not the joker, don’t get excited, I mean, shit, if you knew what a foolio I really was you’d do one of 83 things, including but not limited to: never read this crap again, read every word on this page and every word in the files, click on a link, swear to your god that you will someday find me and exact revenge against my medulla oblongata, or, the most likely, fall asleep in utter boredom and wake up with drool all over yourself.
Warning: the above was written by a crackhead that snuck into my office and mentally soaked all my blogger account information from my brain intravenously. Please disregard and move on with your day, blissfully unaware, hopefully, of the transgression against the standards predetermined by the jurk storr, in an ancient and arcane text, that was herein perpetrated. I tried to edit most if not all of it out, but carlton, bastard son of a bastard son that he is, would not allow it. aloha.
Monday, March 01, 2004
Ok the crazy thing of this whole story is the way that it started rather the way that is encompassed so many dimensions of jene say kwah-esque attributes that there was no alternative than to name it utmost baddest to the bone level 83.
Just imagine like a car chasing you down this alley and it’s red and sleek and with chrome rimes and shining new paint job and fykn styll a piece of shit, knawwatahmean? Sure you do. It’s so obvious that it’s almost jurkstorred, wait, I promised the bird people I wouldn’t utter that utterage. But well, that which must be done is done and then you know that your name is mr. alphabet. Wait, why, why, wait.
Muuuuuuuthafuckin jurk storr knows mad avenues to bust through that shit without a moment’s delay.
Fukn files. They are available for perusage, don’t make lenny send over the Korean krime kartel to put the kibosh on ken kenifff’s power ab machine enhancers. Whaat the fukc ever that’s like retarded with a capital arded.
No you are.
ok i won't sell out and have that be the end of this shit, um, no. fukc, everything soudns so durrrr what the fuckever and i'm just like well my last names' kids library is seriously locatated across the sxtreet at the jurkk storre, yah that's ths italian version of it.
okey dokey uno mas paragropho, hmmm, i have an idea, wait, whut the fuck? dang i keep fukn forgetting what the fuck it was i was gonna muthafuckin say and i keep thinking that it is the most retardated thing in the land to be feeling that way, not with the state of the gray nation. i mean if you're into keeping the peace in all the five realms of parrallax, then i think you oughta be ready for a little coat smurf snail related incidents.