You Could Find Me In The Streets, Even In A Drought, My Mattress Is Full, Why Shouldn't I Be Out?

Degrees won't mean shit when we're eating each other, man. When we're, when we're fucking burning our CHILTRIN to stay warm in a post-9/11 dystopia. Mannnnnnn. BURN YR CHILTRIN. On to blackout. I suggest you do likewise. Who's to say there's enough left?

I Bought You A Hamburger, Now Give Me A Handjob: Reprise, Or... Keys Open Doors!

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all i wanna do is ride around shinin while i can afford it!

Aston Martin Bulldog: "Daddy?"


De Lorean DMC-12: "Son?"

fuck a Porsche. any rich asshole can drive a Lamborghini. Ferrari?

naw son, gimme this shit. the Aston Martin Bulldog (pictured above), designed by William Towns.

in the words of Dylan, "the retard son of the De Lorean (DMC-12)."

while it's not the cultural icon the De Lorean DMC-12 was (nor was its designer the utter maniac that John Z. De Lorean was; look him up), i've got big plans for this Aston.

can't you hear the DopeBoys callin?

"ay yo yayo, there go Kasai!"

cruising down the boulevard, five-miles-an-hour-so-everybody-sees-me!

wearing a filthy wedding dress, bumpin ManTronix, rockin the authentic Geordi La Forge Star Trek visor. a few eightballs scattered about my lap. running down any pedestrian who dares to look me in the eye.

and with the rakish angle of the hood/windshield/A-pillar, you'd think that old ladies would just glide right off the car. possibly the greatest implement for vehicular manslaughter ever created!

plenty ice round my neck so i don't get nauseous!

Hip Hop esta muerte, no fuerte.

the less i know about this group/song/video the better, i just woke up to this nightmare this afternoon and unfortunately it's lodged in my head, so i'm detoxing with good music with catchy melodies in the hopes of shaking it loose.

i just use it to illustrate a rather disheartening point.

hip hop really is dead.

i'm so upset by the current trend in "urban" music that i can't piece together some striking, eloquent appeal, so i'll be brief.

where the fuck is new york? where the fuck is the bronx? where the fuck is harlem at? bk? queens? shaolin?

jesus.

has the "laffy taffy" finger snap bullshit really silenced the hip hop epicenter of the universe? has hovah permanently destroyed the psyche of would-be hustlers turned rappers with his whole "i'm a business-man!" nonsense? has the stratospheric marketability of vapid southern rap totally diluted the viability of talented and conscientious northeastern hip-hop artists? have mtv and bet completely ruined the hip-hop spirit?

southern rap does certainly have its merits (read: clipse's hell hath no fury, good to smoke blunts to, perfect drive by soundtrack), but ya basta. enough is enough! a change has gotta come, and since LA is generally on some bullshit, i was kind of hoping that the beast coast would stand and deliver.