Thursday, April 15, 2004
Yuuuup. Um, count the number of astromedallions on your shoe and that’s how much time I have to spit a little game at yall. Why do I do it? why don’t I? Shit, better question would be, how many duckets are gonna be floodin my account as soon as the editors catch this shit on their radar? Answer: zero my hero. Cuz it’s all about the love, or at least the ocd style wherewithal that somehow keeps me coming back for more pain & punishment. Or whatever the name of that book was.
Speaking of books, I was gonna put up a little section on the left like listing and with amazon links to books I’m reading, will read, have read recently, like to pimp game on my many game pimpings, but, we’ll, now that I’ve said it it wouldn’t be nearly as monumental and original, which it ain’t even anyway, nothing’s original anymore, ain’t it a damn shame? Don’t answer that.
Sooo, I’ve been watching bruce lee movies the last few days, and like, why does America have to fuck shit up and do everything their own way. 99% of the rest of the world knows Bruce Lee’s first film (produced after he moved back to hong kong, frustrated at unable being able to break through in hollywood, although he WAS pulling down mad coin as a martial arts trainer to the stars) as “The Big Boss” but here in cowboyville we call it “Fists of Fury.” (Clarification: this was not his "first" film if you're being nitpicky, he actually was in movies his whole life growing up, and a few roles in the states, but shit, you know whut i mean, starring role in a kung fu movie whereby he's famous for and not backcatlogged famous for. ok that's not clear, but clarity is not my JOB, asshole. and i'm not calling you an asshole, just remembering an Ice-T lyric. sorry) Now compound this with the additional confusion that the rest of the world calls mr. lee’s 2nd movie “Fist of Fury,” yes, the one which we call “The Chinese Connection.” The relevance factor of this will dawn on you as the day or night progresses, as you look out the window at the setting or rising sun and ponder to yourself the many arcane mysteries of the nom de plumes of kung fu movies and realize slowly but surely that that bullshit you read on the internet a few hours ago was the most important and life changing assemblage of words that were ever laid upon by the glance of even the most skeptic eye.
Then maybe you could eat a kumquat. Or a pineapple. That’s all we do here in Hawaii, you know. Yah I live in Hawaii. Hey mr. or mrs. Local aina, yah, I don’t know whut I’m talking about but not enuff traffic anymore to get in trouble for it, actually, I might have acres and acres of traffic to match my crap, I really don’t know, which I explained earlier. If you weren’t here to witness it well you may want to ask somebody. And now it is the time on the show up against sprockets for the Nielsen rating at which I do the adieu. And the aloha shuffle. Eace-pay.
Wednesday, April 14, 2004
I think that Kevin Garnett's time has finally come, this time around, and the Minnesota Timberwolves will run the table this year.
I say that with the same certainty that I feel when I tell you that Kobe Bryant will never even go to trial in Eagle, Colorado, and that Vice-president Dick Cheney will not be on the GOP ticket in November. Take my word for it. I know these things. Good Luck.
That’s actually the ending of this column. But read the whole thing anyway. Seriously. For real. no joking this time. Ok, seriously, no, c’mon, that’s not cool. Oh, dude, man, that’s so fucked up.
You know why? Cuz in the same article, he writes the following, which should show you that it’s like the most random thought diagrammed diatribe on the internet today, bar none. Observe:
Then his voice trailed off in a cackling noise that I remember so clearly from my days as a youth, when we first watched Old Will from up the street beginning to tear the head off a live squawking chicken as he slid to his knees and passed out.
So yah, he goes a few different directions.
Um, ok, I’m gonna, um, go now, ok? Yodel.
Well. That was a worthwhile departure.
Bruce lee was fa sho a legend.
One sentence paragraph central, unlimited astromedallions for a fee.
That was like two participles. Participating in beating your mothafocken arse. Shit I know ther’es some shit I hoff ta dew with doing the dew and otherkine shite. Bid alo for the nonce. Ensical.
Oh yeah. Detroit.
Word to officer bird.
And to Woodsy Owl cuz he be clockin duckets like Thurston Howell.
Tuesday, April 13, 2004
joe’s place, yo. And then, like, come back and get some chicken.
Ok, are you back now? Like, um, really back? For the flack attack? Ok not for that.
So anyway, don’t expect any expectations out of possibly expecting something in the mail on Tuesday. Or was it Thursday? Damn I can’t remember. So like the jurk storr DID call on Wednesday or dammitall was it Monday. Um, yah, so, hi, you, right there. You’re the last reader on a price is right. Come on down here after sitting through all that filtering process and let me impart to you the only information of any way shape form in all legal and or ethical parameters is the following ideally phrased coefficient: meaningful stuff can only be attained by heartfeltfully listening to with unbelievable rapture the latest video by avril lavigne. Ok? Go. Go listen to it. in fact, please close this blog and go seek it out right now. It’s the only way, to really impart to you the ultimate wisdom.
Hmmm dee deee dee dummm deee dummm, mmm, ok, um, there you are you came back. Oh no you didn’t, I’m making you up? Oh isn’t that just so cute little cerebellum, making up a fake identity that my alternate identity refuses to believe is real. that will trick even the last participant in the non compulsory activity. We just want to make it very clear that all personnel in this effort are willfully urged to contact their urgent care practitioner for the finest possibly ottainable medical advice, sanctioned by at least three states of the union.
Lull. Lull in the battle of the mind of one miscast refugee from some interwordly land where hard effort and wherewithalls are met with screams of derision if not outright laughter. A solemn acre on which fortunes are won and squandered, except not by this lonesome lad from the lock, no no no no no and no again. He toils and climbs the ladder of alderon only to find up at the top a big ol toilet training manual advocating changing diapers right out the gate, with on, uh, shit, fuck, fucked that all up, I meant to say, the theory about how you should just have kids go to the toilet from the time they’re born. No diaper style. Like training your cat to go to the bathroom, but it’s really your kid instead, and they make a few messes, um, I mean, you prolly make a special little toilet for them so they can craperoooo.
Monday, April 12, 2004
Look at the picture and know. I ain’t makin’ no political statement. Ok, I am. But nothing that ain’t already been said is being said will be being said in this moment and 85 million others.
Yah, bush, you fucked up. Vietnam part II. Or 3, or 4, depending on how many people knew about slash categorized it or whutever. Ok that didn’t make any sense.
But serially, um, ok, you still going with that date? Cuz shit is fucked over there son. Fucked hard up miss crabapple’s ass. Dagnabbit.
Ok lemme get some werk done for a minnitt for chrissake.
Tony says I should read the bible and just skip the begat begat begat joe john jinglemeyer Schmidt part. Don’t know if I can. May try. Lots to read first. But, hmmm, the good book does have staying power. Like that old time dr. something or other.
Hmmm, that’s not part of the thought strategy. But the thought sink is the best blog in the negasphere. Take it from me I took two called my doctor in the morning and that itchy rash is historyville.
Well, if you must know, yes, I did buy it at Ross. Bullshit. No I didn’t. neiman marcus all the way playah. Fuck fuckn ross on friends for being like, “oh, I don’t wanna just be remembered as ross,” little fucking bitch, what you’d rather be remembered as, the no talent hack that slurped on the teat of pop culture for 85 astromedallions and ended up getting splooged out the wrong end of the porn industry at age 53, tired, bored and cold, looking for a job that would pay a canister of smack and a nice dry martini flavored with the latest literature by ian fleming.
That’s right, bitches, I said literature. And latest. He wrote one more. And I’m gonna find it. and not the way you think neither. It may really exist and I’m gonna discover it and give it full credit and specifically make a law that they can’t make a movie out of it and then at the last second right before I die I’m gonna give them the rights, all payable to mr. fleming’s ancestors, and it’ll be the best movie ever except the one based on the master thesis.
Knock on wood.
and i know i didnt follow through on my political diatribe or whatever that i went on. i did it on purpose. it makes it more sophisticated. like that chick in the public enemy song.
Hmmm, start off an album dissing rasheed Wallace? Hmmm. I, I, I don’t know e.
Lemme bask in the rhythms.
Damn you e-40 and your crafty rhymes! Actually, shit, FUCK, I don’t know how to handle this situation. I’m, shit, I’m, hurting. It’s a, shit, FUCK. damn you e-40, I mean, sickwidit.
Shit, I still hate you though, even in the back of my mind. And you can’t escape that with 800 thousand astro-medallions.
So don’t even try.
I might hate Donald sterling more than I hate you now. But, shit, I mean, he’s trying though, but, damn, he’s brought me much more heartache than you have, but, shit, not all just kicking your ass over the process of one entire night like being the worst piece of shit ever like you did. You bastardized son of a goatless mother.
But… you can rap. And well. And that just, like, propogates shit out the gate. It’s been a long time e. I mean, every time I even heard you rap for even like a second, even on like old skool random ass crapsterpieces, it’s like, I avoided that shit like the draculinian plague of 1732 in Prague. It was a nasty one, one of the ones that is for some odd determination and lack of reason not nearly as famous as it should be. Like me. Maybe that’s why I relate to it so damn well. I mean, like 85 times the people died in that one than whut died in that pussy ass London one. And shit, you talking bout jack the ripper. Don’t forget svenisky the blood-letter of 1693. shit, look that shit up, and read up on yer fucking history for five minutes before you try to step in here and like, yeah, fuck it, propogate on shit, I’ll say it again. It’s an important word.
Ah, E you sneaky, sneaky, unbelievable sneaky bastard sword of an unbrandished brigand, to bring in too-short on just the 2nd song. It’s like, you almost trick us into knowing that this is gonna suck when you start off THE ALBUM by dissing rasheed Wallace, in fact, letting the man talk on your record, first thing, him dissin you, you are the stupidest goatless bastardized ass crapsterpiece to ever walk the light of day without a light sabre. Ok? Just accept it. and by the way, my name is P. Funk Malone, in case you were wondering.
And don’t even step, I know AMG created p-funk. Beyatch.
By the way, it’s ok, please don’t be offended, and fuck you anyway if you are. You should know, you were there, it was Honolulu, over by the airport. Oh yeah, I think you know, I think you’ve read this 85 times over the years and every time you do a little tear comes to your eye, and you think, damn, dawg, the kids, the fuckin kids, I gotta do better for them and theirs and the island nation. You know it, so represent like a true oaktown plizayah.
Ah, fuck you though. Sorry. But enjoying the music, good werk. You percolatin with sam snead and the crackalacka mack jackers. Whuuuut? No you’re not. Can’t end this with the proper line walking Escobar? That word came out of nowhere. This is prolly the most nonsensical shit on this side of the east side.
There is a really dope tupac guest shot on there too. Song 4. yup. So now if you do the research you’ll know exactly how long it took me to write this post. Nay, design it, as the trolls from east johannessburg already brought over the secret eggs filled with the imagery contained herein and therein and in jackies heroin chic quiche bag full of, shit, I don’t know. Substitute in whatever in that sentence whut you think is the most playified thing on the face of the planet or even on Pluto’s 5th moon.