LET US DO WHAT YOU FEAR MOST PT. 1

TO: THE PROFESSIONAL
FROM: IF I MOVE, KILL ME
RE: THE LAST SCENE OF THE WILD BUNCH

WHAT UP, BOSS! LEADING OFF: SORRY I DIDN'T GET BACK TO YOU ON THIS SOONER (I TOLD YOU I NEVER CHECK MYSPACE ANYMORE, BABY! YOU NEED THAT WORK, DIAL 1-900-HUSTLER!) BUT BETTER LATE THAN NEVER, RIGHT? TO ANSWER YOUR DILEMMA:




"For the independent woman with hot abs and cold boobies; upgrade yourself to the Fleur Hoodie"

NO, I DON'T THINK IT'S REALLY KOSHER TO RE-GIFT HOUSE OF DEREON. REAL TALK: SHIT'S DISGUSTING.

SORRY IF THAT AIN'T WHAT YOU WANT TO HEAR, MY DUDE. BUT THINK OF US LITTLE PEOPLE. I'D EAT A FUCKING CANNIBAL IF MY ONLY WORRY WAS WHAT TO DO WITH ALL THOSE BIJOU LUV CAPRI PANTS OVERSTOCK. THE PROLETARIAT, BABY; WE'RE SICK OF MUSIC AND WE HATE EACH OTHER. BUT THAT DON'T MEAN WE DON'T LIKE TO MINGLE.

THERE ARE DIFFERENT WAYS OF SOCIALIZING FOR DIFFERENT KINDS OF SOCIALITES. PERSONALLY, I LIKE ROLLING UP ON THE BRYANT PARK PRET-A-MANGER WITH SOME DIXIE CUPS AND A BOTTLE OF SAINT MAGGIE'S. I PICK OUT SOME ROOKIE STYLIST IN A MATERNITY FROCK AND TELL HER, 'I DON'T CARE THAT YOU GOT RED ONION BREATH, AND I WON'T TELL A SOUL ABOUT YOUR BARELY CRACKED COPY OF THE ROAD, YOU NEED TO GET OUT OF MY DREAMS AND GET INTO THIS ZIPCAR. THEY'LL SCREAM YOUR NAME AT NIGHT IN THE STREETS AND YOUR SMITH GRADUATION GOWN WILL LIE IN RAGS IN THEIR FEET.




YOU DO SHIT LIKE THIS:



THEN THERE'S THE SHIT EVEN LA REID CAN'T GET INTO. OLD MONEY, STRONG DRINKS, TROPHY WIVES AND BLUE RIBBON MISTRESSES. I'M A CASH POOR MICK WITH A RESUME THAT READS LIKE MAD LIBS AND YOU WERE SELLING CRACK IN THE BUILDING BACK WHEN SELLING CRACK IN THE BUILDING WAS SELLING CRACK IN THE BUILDING. SO WE'RE ON THE OUTSIDE LOOKING IN SCREAMING 'ELAINE!' WHILE OTHERS ARE IN THE ROOM WHERE THE WOMEN GO, SPEAKING OF THE BLACKSTONE IPO.

BUT I HEAR THINGS--STORIES--AND JUST LIKE THE OLD DAYS, THESE STORIES HAVE USES.

HERE'S A STORY ABOUT OUTER SPACE AND LIFE BEING OVER BEFORE YOU DIE.



FULL DISCLOSURE: I'VE TOLD THIS ONE SO MANY TIMES, IN VARIOUS STATES OF SOBER, FADED AND BEYOND, THAT I CAN'T SWEAR ON LEVITICUS TO ITS VERACITY. I'M SURE I'VE REMIXED IT AT SOME POINT TO FEATURE CAMEOS FROM IONE SKYE, KENNY "SKY" WALKER AND MARK HAMMILL.

BUT WHO GIVES A FUCK. IT'S CLOSE ENOUGH FOR PUNK, RIGHT, BAD BRAIN?

1980SOMETHING, UNDER BRIGHT LIGHTS IN A BIG CITY: SOME GUY, AN EXECUTIVE VICE PRESIDENT OF MONETIZING RITZ CRACKERS AND SURFACE-TO-AIR-WEAPONRY (SOME FUCKING GUY IN A SUIT WHO STACKS PAPER), HE'S AT THIS PARTY. AND HE'S GOT THIS HUSTLE SPECIALLY PREPARED FOR THESE VERMOUTH DRENCHED AFFAIRS.

HE FINDS THE MOST FAMOUS CAT IN THE CROWD AND HE SAYS 'WHY DON'T YOU AND ME DITCH THE FUCKING DEBATE TEAM AND HAVE A REAL DRINK.'

THIS HAS SERVED HIM WELL: HE'S PULLED THIS ACT WITH G'S LIKE GORBACHEV AND THE WHITE WARREN BUFFET. WORST CASE- HE'S TOLD NO THANKS. BEST CASE HE'S SIPPING BARREL AGED SHIT WITH SWISS-BANK-ACCOUNT-HAVING DUDES WHO GOT SOPHIA LOREN BY THE HAND AND LABOR UNIONS BY THE BALLS.

ON THIS PARTICULAR NIGHT HE PLAYS THE ANGLES AND WINDS UP IN SOME PENTHOUSE WITH NEIL FUCKING ARMSTRONG.


We are just now learning the shit that he taught

A-S-T-R-O-N-A-U-T. GET ME? I MEAN, FUCK ALL EYES ON ME; HE HAD HIS EYES ON ALL OF US!

SO THIS GUY GETS ARMSTRONG A LITTLE TOASTY AND THEY'RE TALKING ABOUT THE TRAFFIC AND WEATHER AND WHATEVER. THEY'RE PASSING THE SHIT BACK AND FORTH LIKE THE SOCIETY PAGE VERSION OF E-DOUBLE AND PARRISH SMITH




OPEN SESAME, SON. FINALLY, THE CHECKWRITER ASKS THE MOONWALKER TO TO BE A DECENT PROTESTANT AND LEVEL WITH HIM; SOMETHING LIKE:

"BETWEEN YOU, ME AND THIS SIDEBOARD, DID YOU REALLY PULL THAT SHIT OFF? BECAUSE I BELIEVE IN MONEY, TOM SEAVER AND JESUS CHRIST AND IF YOU GUYS FILMED THAT SHIT ON THE BACKLOT AT PARAMOUNT WHILE MIA FARROW WAS GIVING THE CHAIRMAN OF THE BOARD A HUMMER, THAT IS A-OK. BUT WHEN I GO HOME TONIGHT AND FUCK MY WIFE, I JUST WANT TO KNOW FOR SURE HOW MANY STEPS MANKIND HAS TAKEN."

AND ARMSTRONG, WHO WAS A FUCKING SQUARE BY ALL ACCOUNTS, HE FINISHES HIS DRINK AND SAYS:

"I WANT YOU TO YOU LOOK ME IN MY EYES; I HAVEN'T SLEPT A PEACEFUL NIGHT IN MORE THAN A SEVENTEEN YEARS. I AM INCAPABLE OF ANY KIND OF HUMAN CONNECTION. I AM CONSTANTLY IN DANGER OF DRIFTING INTO TOTAL MENTAL OBLIVION. THESE EYES, THEY LOOKED UPON THE EARTH AND SAW AN INCONSEQUENTIAL PARTICLE IN AN INCOMPREHENSIBLE, INFINITE UNIVERSE. YOU THINK THE JETS HAVE A SHOT THIS SEASON? I WALKED ON THE FUCKING MOON. THANKS FOR THE DRINK."

OKAY, OKAY. I KNOW YOU'RE ONLY 50 PAGES INTO DEATHLY HALLOWS RIGHT NOW, SO I DON'T WANT YOU TO BLOW A GASKET. THINK ABOUT THIS OVERNIGHT AND TOMORROW I WANT TO TELL YOU ABOUT THE BLACK ALBUM, EXILE ON MAIN STREET, AND DEATH.

GO NOW, BROTHER

TO: YOU USED TO BE MY MAX ROMEO
FROM: WEARING A BLACK SUIT A LONG TIME
RE: CURSE THE DAY THAT BIRTHED THE BASTARD

YOU REMEMBER THIS DUDE? HE ROLLED WITH FAB AND JOE. BEFORE HE WAS WITH JIMMY HE SAID HE'D BEEN TALKING WITH YOU. MAJOR FIGURES. HE WAS PROBABLY THREE QUARTERS FULL OF SHIT WHICH IS PROBABLY WHY I LIKED HIM.

I MET STACK TWICE. FIRST TIME HE PICKED ME UP IN A BEATER MINI VAN DRIVEN BY SOME DOMINICAN CHICK. WE SHOT DOWN BROADWAY AND HE POPPED SHIT ABOUT THE "GO CRAZY" REMIX HE JUST CUT. WE WENT TO THIS MCDRINKYS SPOT ON HOUSTON. HE KEPT CHECKING THE DOOR LIKE ATF WAS GONNA COME IN AND STEAL HIS FRIES. HE WAS JUMPY. MAYBE THE LOWER EAST SIDE WASN'T HIS LOOK.

THE SECOND TIME WAS IN FAR ROCK.




LIL' KEKE CALLS HIMSELF LIL' WHEN HE IS, IN FACT, BUILT LIKE A BRICK SHITHOUSE. FAR ROCK DOESN'T PLAY THAT GAME. THE SHIT IS FAR. AWAY. YOU GET TO FUCKIN AQUEDUCT AND YOU'RE HALFWAY. IT WAS LIKE WHEN I USED TO MAKE THOSE CHUCK E. CHEESE RUNS WHEN I WAS JUST A SHORTY, LISTENING TO EAGLE 106 ON MY WALKMAN, THINKING, 'NOTHING IN THE WORLD IS FARTHER AWAY THAN CHUCK E. CHEESE." THAT'S HOW THAT TRIP FELT. LIKE SOME FRANCIS PARKMAN SHIT. LEMME TELL YOU SOMETHING, POWERBROKER: IF YOU EVER GO OUT THERE, BRING YOUR LBJ BIO.



"You heard that Ne-Yo shit, son. Tender tones right there."

ANYWAY, BY THE TIME I GOT THERE I HAD GROWN A BEARD AND LOST MY ANTE-UP EDGE. I WAS STANDING OUTSIDE THE STATION, STARING AT MY KICKS, CHECKING OUT THE SHOPPING PLAZA ACROSS THE STREET. I CHIRPED STACK AND BY THE GRACE OF THE BLESSED VIRGIN AMERIE HE PICKED UP (ANSWERING THE PHONE WAS NOT IN HIS SKILL SET).

HE SAID HE'D BE THERE IN LIKE 10 MINUTES (AKA HALF HOUR). I WAS LIKE, "DUDE, LEMME FREE-BASE THE SCENERY; I'LL FIND YOU."

"STAY RIGHT THERE, DUDE. JUST WAIT FOR ME IN MCDONALDS."

I LOOKED AROUND. IT'S NOT AS IF SHIT WAS POPPING OFF LIKE THE END OF CHILDREN OF MEN, YOU KNOW? BUT IT SEEMED LIKE IT WASN'T A POINT UP FOR DEBATE AND BESIDES, THIS IS AMERIKKKA! MAC-DONALDS IS MY SPOT!




HE CAME AND PICKED ME UP AT RONALD'S HOUSE AND WE TOOK A STROLL THROUGH ROCKAWAY'S SHOPPING DISTRICT: MIXTAPE SPOT, CITY BLUE TYPE SPOT, PIZZA SPOT. PEOPLE RECOGNIZED HIM, HOLLERED AT HIM FROM ACROSS THE STREET. IT WAS MORE SMALL TOWN THAN SATELLITE NEIGHBORHOOD.

SOME DUDE--AN ASPIRING MC, NO LESS--FOLLOWED HIM OUT OF THE MIXTAPE EMPORIUM. HE WAS FROM BALTIMORE. HIS NAME WAS MAD HOT BARS OR SOME SHIT. I REMEMBER NOTICING HIS WHITE AND BLACK POLKA-DOT COAT. IT LOOKED LIKE HE'D JUST TACKLED A FUCKING DALMATIAN. I DOUBTED THE LONG-TERM VIABILITY OF HIS RAP CAREER.

HE WAS ASKING FOR A DROP. STACK WAS COOL WITH HIM FOR A MINUTE BUT EVENTUALLY WAS LIKE, 'GET OUT OF MY FUCKING AIRSPACE, STAN. UPS IS HIRING'

WE WALKED DOWN TO THE RED FERN PROJECTS AND WENT UP IN HIS SPOT. ONE BEDROOM. HE HAD A GIANT BIG SCREEN TV THAT WAS OUT OF SOME '98 TIME CAPSULE AND AN EVEN BIGGER FRAMED BLOW-UP OF HIS SHOW N' PROVE. HE PLAYED ME "COLD ROCKIN' IT," GOT HIS PICTURE TAKEN A FEW TIMES AND TRIED TO FIND A NEON ROCKAWAY RIOT SQUAD T-SHIRT THAT HE HAD MADE.

I ASKED ABOUT WHY HE WASN'T REALLY WITH CLUE ANYMORE, WHETHER HE WAS GONNA WAIT FOR A DEAL OR GO KOCHDEPENDENT. PROBING. PROVOCATIVE.

HE SAID HIS NEXT MIXTAPE WAS CALLED BIDDING WAR BECAUSE THERE WAS...A BIDDING WAR (BOOM) FOR HIS SERVICES. HE MADE ALLUSIONS TO SIDE HUSTLES, TAPPING CAINE LIKE THE BLIND. TOLD A STORY ABOUT HIM AND HIS BOYS GOING OFF AT THE PREMIERE OF SOME MOVIE (STATE PROP 2? MUST LOVE DOGS?). I ASKED HIM IF HE WATCHED THE WIRE. HE HADN'T SEEN IT. WASN'T EXACTLY MIKE WALLACE GRILLING AHMADINEJAD. WHAT CAN I SAY? DUDE ESCORTED ME BACK TO THE TRAIN AND TWO WEEKS LATER I GOT BACK TO 212.

I'VE GOT NO THUG-MANSION-LEVEL JEWELS FOR YOU. I WAS HAPPY FOR HIM WHEN HE GOT DOWN WITH JIMMY BECAUSE AT LEAST HE WAS EATING. THOUGH AT THE SAME TIME, I WAS KINDA BUMMED THAT HE WAS ON VINNY/SPLIFF STAR DUTY.

STACK WAS WAY TOO FUCKING STRANGE TO BE SUCCESSFUL. AT ONE POINT, STANDING AROUND ON THE GRASS OUTSIDE HIS BUILDING SOME D'S ROLLED BY SLOW.

'THEY SEE WHITE PEOPLE OUT HERE THEY THINK YOU'RE BUYING DRUGS...YOU BUYING DRUGS?' (PARDON ME, SIR. IT'S THE FURTHEST FROM MY MIND).

I ASKED DUDE IF A LOT OF PEOPLE IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD WORKED AT THE AIRPORT.

'WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT?' HE RESPONDED, GENUINELY PUZZLED.

I POINTED AT THE RUNWAYS OF JFK ACROSS THE STREET. HE LAUGHED. 'MIGHT ROB THE AIRPORT!'

HE HAD SWAGGER AND HE DEFINITELY HAD RHYMES. BUT HE ALSO HAD THIS GILBERT ARENAS RUNT OF THE LITTER VIBE. WHICH PROBABLY FUCKED UP HIS 5 YEAR PLAN BUT ALSO MADE HIM A MOTHERFUCKING HUMAN BEING INSTEAD OF PAPOOSE. HE CALLED ME BY MY FIRST NAME (PROBABLY HAPPENED 6 TIMES IN 7 YEARS), HE WOULD GET REALLY SHY WHEN HE KNEW HIS PICTURE WAS BEING TAKEN. HE SAID HE WANTED TO GET REAL MONEY, BUT HE ALSO WANTED TO KEEP THE MIXTAPE WOLF REP.






HE WANTED TO BE A STAR BUT YOU COULD TELL HE DIDN'T REALLY WANT TO LEAVE FAR ROCK. HE NEVER DID. RAP SUCKS A LITTLE MORE WITHOUT HIM.

MAYBE HE WAS BULLSHITTING ME ABOUT MEETING WITH YOU. I COULDN'T REALLY TELL. IF THAT WAS THE CASE, IF HIS SHIT WAS JUST SOME CD-R ON YOUR ASSISTANT'S ASSISTANT'S INTERN'S DESK THEN DO ME A FAVOR, SHRUG OFF YOUR DIPSET ALLERGY FOR AN HOUR AND LISTEN.

BLAME IT ON THE SON OF THE MORNING. THANKS AGAIN.

IT REALLY TIED THE ROOM TOGETHER

The treachery of images


TO: ALL OVER MAMI'S LIKE BODY PAINTERS
FROM: HYPOTHETICALLY WILLIAMS
RE: NOT TO RAIN DANCE ON THE PICNIC...

YOU AND ME GO BACK LIKE GO-BOTS, RIGHT, CHIEF? CAN I ASK YOU SOMETHING THAT'S BEEN BUGGING THE SHIT OUT OF ME? NOW, I KNOW YOU DON'T DO THIS KINDA STUFF ANYMORE; THE CHARITABLE SIDE OF YOU IS GIVING MORE THAN JUST CAB FARE AND DIRECTIONS THESE DAYS...



...BUT TELL ME SOMETHING:

LET'S SAY YOU'RE AT 40/40. IT'S BEEN A LONG NIGHT. SOME FUCKING ROCKET SCIENTIST FORGOT TO PUT THE SPECIAL SAUCE ON YOUR SURF AND TURF SKEWERS; YOUR BODYGUARD CAUGHT A LEE PRESS-ON EYE JAMMIE WHEN HE PHYSICALLY PREVENTED JOUMANNA KIDD FROM SEARCHING UNDER THE TABLES IN THE VIP FOR ONE OF JASON'S GOATEE HAIRS. AND TO TOP IT ALL OFF...THAT FUCKING MILDEW SMELL IS BACK!




SO YOU GET SOME HENNY IN YOUR SYSTEM AND START CHATTING UP THE NEW GREETER/HOSTESS CHICK. THE ONE THAT KINDA LOOKS FARRAH OUT OF CHERISH, OR, IF YOU'RE BEING HONEST, LIKE RIHANNA.





I'll remember you, Ma. You're the one that got away.

YOU'RE FEELING ADVENTUROUS. YOU DECIDE TO LIVE A LITTLE AND ROLL BACK TO BROOKLYN TO THE LOVELY'S SPOT. LAST TIME YOU SAW 718 WAS JANUARY AND THAT WAS JUST THE MODEL VERSION RATNER HAD BUILT SO Y'ALL COULD SEE WHERE TO DROP GEHRY'S RUCKER.

SHIT, YOU MIGHT FUCK AROUND KILL TWO PIGEONS WITH ONE STONE SEEING AS HOW THE SIDEKICK IV JUST REMINDED YOU THAT YOU'RE PAST DUE ON IMPLORING B-K TO LICK A SHOT FOR BIG POP IN HEAVEN! NOT SURE IF YOU'RE GONNA HAVE TIME.



YOU GET BACK TO HER LIL' ALCOVE STUDIO (BECAUSE SHE "IS JUST DONE" WITH ROOMMATES) . SHE TELLS YOU ABOUT HER DAY YOU PRETEND YOU'RE LISTENING.

ONE THING LEADS TO ANOTHER AS THESE THINGS ALWAYS DO. NEXT THING YOU KNOW MA IS UNBUTTONING THE CRISP PURPLE LABEL AND WHATEVERWHATEVER : IT'S. ABOUT. TO. GO. DOWN. (THE CROWD GOES WILD).

YOU LOOK DEEP INTO HER EYES LIKE MAJOR PAYNE. WELL, YOU'RE REALLY STARING AT HER FOREHEAD, WONDERING ABOUT HOW MUCH OF A CUT CURTIS IS GONNA GIVE YOU ON THAT FREEWAY ALBUM AND IF THERE'S ANY WAY TO TALK SNOWMAN OUT OF CALLING THAT SHIT A USDA RECORD (THUG MOTIVATION 103: SUMMER SESSION...HAS A RING TO IT, RIGHT!?) BUT SHE'S BUYING IT BECAUSE YOU KNOW HOW TO SELL IT. TONE TO THE PHONE, RIGHT, KILLA?

AND THAT'S WHEN YOU SEE IT.

ON THE WALL.

FOR ALL WHO PASS THROUGH THOSE DOORS TO SEE...

A PHOTO OF POLOW DA DON'S MAGIC STICK.




THERE'S A RUSH OF BLOOD TO THE HEAD. YOU QUICKLY PUT THIS IN BOXES. YOU TURN TO MS. UMBRELLA TOO AND PLEAD FOR A KERNEL OF HONESTY IN THIS SHANTY TOWN OF LIES. AND SHE CONVINCES YOU: IT IS NOT IN FACT JIM JONES' ONE-EYED WILLIE



(YOU MIGHT'VE HAD TO SYLVIA PLATH'D THE BUTTON WERE THAT THE CASE).

NEXT YOU HAVE A BY-YOURSELF-MEETING AND THOROUGHLY AFFIRM THAT SEEING THIS DOES NOT MAKE YOU THE GAY RAPPER.




FROM THAT POINT ON IT'S CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE, RIGHT? YOU CAN TAKE THE GREEN-EYED BANDIT EXPRESS ELEVATOR OUT THE MOTHERFUCKING WINDOW; YOU COULD FALL TO YOUR KNEES AND HAVE THAT FEELING WHERE YOUR THOUGHTS ARE THESE TOTALLY SEPARATE, TOTALLY SELF-SUSTAINING PHONE BOOTHS AND THERE'S LIKE THIS VAST UNINHABITED SHOPPING MALL IN YOUR HEAD...



BUT THE CLONOPIN IS DOING THE DAMN THING AND YOU STAY UPRIGHT. YOU STAY IN THE MOMENT. THIS IS HAPPENING. YOU KNOW WHAT JAY-Z WOULD DO. JAY-Z WOULD LEAVE A CHICK PIGEON-TOED. JAY-Z WOULD THUG 'EM, LOVE 'EM, LEAVE. HE WOULD NOT FUCKING NEED THEM. JAY-Z WOULD NOT NEED A TIME OUT TO DRAW UP A LAST SECOND PLAY.

BUT WHAT THE FUCK DOES SHAWN DO? WHAT DO YOU DO WHEN YOUR MANHOOD IS CONFRONTED WITH THE MANHOOD OF THE MAN WHO SAID YOU AREN'T FUCKING COOL ANYMORE?

DOGGIE, I'M JUST PLAYING STEVE KROFT HERE. YOU PROBABLY HAD MORE SEX THE NIGHT YOU DIDN'T GET ANY TRIM DURING A ROC THE MIC TOUR STOP THEN I HAVE IN MY ENTIRE LIFE. I GOT MY PHILADELPHIA LITTLE LEAGUE CITY CHAMPS JACKET AND YOU GOT THAT. LET'S CALL IT EVEN.

BUT THAT SHIT MUST BE LIKE SOME OLD GUNSLINGER RIDING INTO TOWN ON A HORSE AND BEING GREETED BY A SHINY MODEL MOTHERFUCKING T FORD ROLLING DOWN MAIN STREET.

SO MY QUESTION IS TWO-FOLD:

A) DOES EVERY GIRL HAVE A PICTURE OFPOLOW'SDICK ON THEIR WALL?



AND B) WOULD SEEING SOMETHING LIKE THAT MAKE YOU RE-THINK THE WHOLE GROWING-MIDDLE-AGED-GRACEFULLY BATTLEPLAN? WOULD YOU RISK BEING LIKE KANE AT S.O.B.'S EVERY OTHER MONTH TO STAY IN THE MIX? TO KEEP THE NUMBER ONE SPOT ON THE WALLS OF THE WOMEN OF THE WORLD AND IN THE HEARTS OF THE D-BOYZ AND CHAIRMEN OF THE MESSAGE BOARDS?

BECAUSE I CAN SMELL THE GARBAGE; IT'S CALLED THE YEAR IN RAP 2007. AND I BET YOU'RE THINKING "DON'T CALL IT A COMEBACK: THE COMEBACK STRIKES BACK." SHIT, YOU MIGHT BE UP IN THE LAB WITH POLOW, THROWING D'S ON ANY WHITE GIRL THAT WANDERS OUT OF BUTTER WITH STILETTOS AND A DREAM. GOOD ON YOU. 2003-JAY WOULD HAVE MANSLAUGHTERED 'THE MADNESS' OR 'BOY LOOKA HERE.'

JUST BE CAREFUL, HEWLETT-PACKARD....



MEMBERSHIP HAS ITS PRIVILEGES.

HANNAH AND HER SISTERS

TO: HIT A U-TURN, DROPPING HER BACK HOME
FROM: THE SPORTSWRITER
RE: THE GREAT SUBURBAN SHOWDOWN IN THE SKY

KIMORA: So, look, it was what it was. And because of that I'm willing to let it off the leash a little.

TYRA: Take it for a walk, Bitch!

KIMORA: Right!? But don't tell me that shit isn't self-indulgent. If I want to watch an hour of new-money, mid-life suburban malaise...I'LL TURN MY FUCKING SECURITY CAMERA ON! Okay!? Staring at a lake? It's called Independence Day! I read that shit in hardcover. Watching a bunch of peolple play Monopoly?! I'm busy! Child-labor scandals, marriage shit the bed, Djimon Hounsou keeping me pigeon-toed.

TYRA: The. Collected. Stories. Of. John. Cheever.

KIMORA: POST-WAR AMERICAN LIT. Hit the Learning Annex!

BEYONCE: I thought it was...fluid.

KIMORA: You read that on a blog!? Look, these things end...

TYRA: Life, love, art...

KIMORA: That's what I'm saying! Who doesn't run out of things to say!? I mean, look at rap; how long can you do that shit for before you become irrel-

TYRA: [LOUD COUGHING] Is it just my anti-psychotics talking, or is Eddy Curry LOOKING. GOOD.

KIMORA: What did I tell you about dating post-players.

BEYONCE: How you doing, Baby?

JAY: Hmm?

TYRA: Jay, you having a good time, Honey?

KIMORA: Is somebody a little borrrred?

JAY: Heh [SIGH]...Actually, you know, I'm gonna bounce...

BEYONCE: Baby!

TYRA: Uh-oh! Somebody's a cranky pants!

JAY: Yeahhhhno. Um, nah...just...I just got this text from Fab, he...um, needs me for something in the studio...

KIMORA: Who's that again?

TYRA: Oh, bitch don't even play: "I'm tryna get in and out of your room/ Just to get/ IN AND OUT OF YOUR WOMB" [hi-five]

BEYONCE: Baby, I thought you said you were shunning him?

JAY: Well, it's not really him...I mean, it's his session, but Just needs me to re-wire someth....He needs me to check something in his shared drive for Pro Too...I gotta go.

BEYONCE: I'm gonna see you later, right?

JAY:...

JAY:...

BEYONCE: Shawn?

JAY: [exhale] A...ffirmative.

[JAY stares at Steve Francis for a moment]

BEYONCE: I need more organic honey.

JAY: I'll tell Bleek. Ladies...

TYRA & KIMORA: Auf Wiedersehen/Ciao....

[fin]

RELEASE WHAT'S IN ME

TO: TRIBECA CO-OP CONDO HALLWAY LOITERER
FROM: WITNESS FROM HIS FOLKS PAD
RE: THE THINGS WE CARRY

















Dame (l) and Biggs (r), Big Pimpin video shoot, 2000


REMEMBER WHEN BIGGS' DOG PISSED ON YOUR MAN'S LEG? I THINK THAT WAS RUDY. HOLY FUCKING FLYING LOL'S! AND REMEMBER WHEN VALENCIA'S BOYFRIEND HAD YOU MAKING MOVES!? THAT IS WHAT WE CALL A WATERSHED MOMENT, DOMENICA! AW SHIT, I'LL TAKE IT THERE: REMEMBER WHEN HIP-HOP DIDN'T HAVE NO MOTHERFUCKING SEAT ON HIS BICYCLE!? THE FUCKING HUMANITY!

MAN, FUCK A BAHAMAVENTION. WHEN US "30-IS-THE-NEW-20" KIDS NEED CALGON TO TAKE US AWAY WE STAYS ON GOLDEN POND! IN 20 YEARS WE'LL PROBABLY BE LIVING IN THE BIGGEST PROVINCE IN CHINA, BUT WE'LL ALWAYS HAVE OUR MEMORIES! UNTIL WE DON'T! FEEL ME!?

FUCK IT. LET'S CANDY-PAINT THE SLED A NICE SEPIA-TONE. CHECK THE RHIME, ANCIENT MARINER: THE OTHER DAY I WAS -- AS WHITE FOLKS ARE PRONE TO DO FROM TIME TO TIME -- LISTENING TO TRIBE.


















I THINK PEOPLE THINK THAT PEOPLE LISTEN TO TRIBE BECAUSE IT INCUBATES SOME LONG-LOST NOTIONS OF A LIFE MORE BOHEMIAN. ROCKING JEAN SHORTS AND CROSS COLORS. BACKPACKS WHEN BACKPACKS WERE BACKPACKS. PRETENDING TO LISTEN LEE MORGAN ALBUMS.

BUT I SMOKED THOSE LEE MORGAN ALBUMS, DUKE. WORD TO GATOR PURIFY.













MAMA, I'M SO SORRY. I DIDN'T LEAVE MY WALLET ANYWHERE. I GO BACK BECAUSE THOSE DUDES WERE MORE OR LESS THE SAME AGE AS ME, MAKING MUSIC ABOUT MORE OR LESS THE KIND OF LIFE I WAS LEADING (GIRLS, TROUBLE, BOREDOM: MIDDLE CLASS WHITE BOY DIVISION). HOW BOUT THAT SYNERGY!?

THERE'S LOTSA WAYS TO TAKE IT BACK. OUT ON THE ROAD TODAY, I SAW A MURDER INC. STICKER ON AN ESCALADE. FOR A SPLIT SECOND I STOPPED THINKING ABOUT YAO MING'S BURGEONING MUSTACHE AND THREE WORDS CAME TO MIND: "POV" "CITY" "ANTHEM."




SO THERE'S THAT. THE FLASH IN THE BRAIN PAN TYPE SHIT.

BUT MAKING A MOTHERFUCKER NOSTALGIC AND MAKING A MOTHERFUCKER PAY ATTENTION ISN'T THE SAME THING.

IT DOESN'T COME FROM RATTLING OFF THE CONTENTS OF A FUCKING TIME CAPSULE. LAKIM SHABBAZZ, DOOKIE CHAINS, DECEPTICONS! LA GEARS, GARBAGE PAIL KIDS, T-SHIRTS WHERE THE BASKETBALL PLAYERS HAD SMALL BODIES AND BIG ASS HEADS, FLUFFY COKE! WHATEVER!

I THINK YOU ONLY GET A SMALL WINDOW OF TIME WHERE YOU CAN RE-CAPTURE A LOST MOMENT. WHEN YOU START, YOUR RHYMEBOOK IS A SLAVE TO YOUR WORLD. YOU'RE TRYING TO MAKE IT ALL FIT. YOU'RE TRYING TO GET YOUR BONA FIDES RIGHT.

BUT THEN GOD (OR WHATEVER) MAYBE GRANTS YOU A MOMENT OF CLARITY. A POINT WHEN YOU'RE CLOSE ENOUGH TO YOUR TRAINING DAYS TO REMEMBER DETAILS BUT FAR ENOUGH AWAY NOT TO CHANGE THEM TO FIT YOUR PERSONA...

WHEN AVENUES HAD THE WHOLE TERRITORY. BILLY HAD THE RED BENZ DOOR OPEN.



PUSHING THROUGH THE PARK EVEN THOUGH IT'S DARK.

WATCHING CEILING FANS GO AROUND. TRYING TO CATCH A FEELING. THE 86 ON THE WAY TO DECATUR.

YOU CAN UNDERSTAND WHY I'M IN REWIND-MODE, RIGHT? COME ON, BILLY BEANE! YOU SIGNED NAS! THAT KID IS NOSTALGIC FOR COOKING CLASSES KELIS HASN'T EVEN MADE HIM TAKE YET!

BUT YOU KNOW WHAT THE MAYOR OF MEMORY LANE UNDERSTANDS? THE TRUTH IS IN WHAT HAPPENED, HOW IT HAPPENED; NOT HOW IT FELT, NOT HOW IT FEELS.

THE ART OF STORYTELLING OR MEMOIRS IN BARS. WHAT'S THE FUCKING DIFFERENCE? YOU CAN'T POSSIBLY REMEMBER HOW SOMETHING FELT AT THE TIME BECAUSE FEELINGS, WHATEVER THE FUCK THOSE ARE, ARE FLUID. YOU CAN CON ME WITH THAT. I'M A SUCKER.

BUT THERE'S A DIFFERENCE BETWEEN TRUE STORIES AND TRUE STORYTELLING. AND PEOPLE CAN SNIFF OUT HOW MUCH YOU STEP ON THAT SHIT.

NASIR KNEW HOW TO LISTEN. HE KNEW HOW TO WATCH. PEEP THE JEWELS; EVEN BETTER THAN GOLD.

TANISHA HAD A BLONDE CEASAR. SHE SPORTED VITTADINI. SHE TALKED TO THE IRISH D THEY CALLED RAMBO WHO KEPT HER IN A HAZE. SHE STARTED TO DISSOLVE LIKE COTTON CANDY IN A STARVING MOUTH. THEY BOTH DIED WITH THE SHADES DRAWN.





THE STREETS WERE BLOCKED OFF FOR THE BLOCK PARTY. GAMBLING IN THE BACK. FRANK PULLED FIRST. KILLA LET OFF. FRANK CAME BACK WITH MUSCLE, THE GUN SLINGER, PIERRE. HE CAUGHT ONE AND DIED FROM INTERNAL BLEEDING.

HOW IT HAPPENED? WHAT HE SAW? DOESN'T MATTER. BUT THE ONLY FEELING HE TALKS ABOUT IS THE ONE HE FELT IN THE AIR.

I REMEMBER LIZ GOLD'S HAND GOING DOWN THE FRONT OF MY BUGLE BOYS AT SOME CHICK'S BAT MITVAH. I REMEMBER DROPPING A THROW TO THE PLATE AND FAKING A KNEE INJURY WHEN SOME FUCKER FROM GERMANTOWN WENT CHARLIE HUSTLE INTO HOME. I REMEMBER MARNIE PALIGOW'S FACE WHEN SHE SAW ME CHEATING OFF HER CHEM MIDTERM. SHE HAD ACNE. IT WAS PROBABLY THE FIRST TIME I PAID ANY ATTENTION TO HER IN 4 YEARS.

I REMEMBER OUR PRINCIPAL TELLING US NOT TO GO THE GALLERY OR SPACEPORT WHEN THE RODNEY KING VERDICT WAS HANDED DOWN. SHE TOLD US TO GO HOME. IT MEANT SOMETHING DIFFERENT TO ME THAN IT DID TO MY FRIENDS.

I REMEMBER THAT MONDAY. WILSON GOODE BOMBED THE M.O.V.E. HOUSE. I WAS JUST A KID. I KNEW OTHERS WHO HAD TO EVACUATE THEIR HOUSES. I WATCHED IT FROM ACROSS THE SCHUYLKILL RIVER. MAYBE IT'S EASIER TO REMEMBER WHEN YOU EXPERIENCED IT FROM A DISTANCE.




WATCHING FROM WINDOWS MAKES IT EASY TO REMEMBER.





OH, YOU? I GUESS YOU PUT IT IN ORDER. YOU ALWAYS DO. OTHERWISE IT'S TOO MUCH, RIGHT?

PEOPLE: ANNIE DRESSED YOU. ERIC MADE YOU TOUGH.

PLACES: MARCY RAISED YOU. EAST TRENTON GREW YOU.

THE THINGS THAT SURROUNDED YOU: FAMILY, DRUGS, WORDS, CASH.

HOW IT FELT? ONLY YOU COULD POSSIBLY KNOW. UNDERNEATH IT ALL, I THINK AT SOME POINT, YOU HAD TO CHOOSE AMONGST THEM. THIS IS THE ONLY WAY YOU CAN SAY IT.

EVEN THE COPS IN THE PLAIN CLOTHES SAID I CRUSHED IT

TO: SPANISH JOSE INTRODUCED YOU TO CAINE
FROM: NEVER DID NOTHING TO NOBODY BUT THOSE BOYS SHOT HIM
RE: USED CARS
























"I'm trying to see that Slum Village Dodge paper, Son! Get Low!"


BROTHERMAN, I HAVE NO IDEA HOW OLD THIS SHIT IS. BLEEK, MOP, FREE, PEEDI, AND YOUNG FUCKING CHRIS ("SIGNED FOR THE LAST THREE SUMMERS AND STILL BROKE BITCH"- 2004). WITH THAT SQUAD IT COULD BE ANYTIME THIS FUCKING DECADE RIGHT? I MEAN IF THIS SHIT WAS HIGH SCHOOL AND YOU SAW THAT CREW SITTING AT A TABLE IN CAFETERIA, YOU'D PROBABLY STARE DOWN AT YOUR JELLO AND WALK ON BY, ACTING LIKE YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW YOUR OLD RUNNING MATES, LEAVING THEM BEHIND TO TAKE SHOP CLASS WHILE YOU AND B. CHAIR THE PROM COMMITTEE.

OR WHATEVER.

OK. THERE'S A LINE IN THERE WHERE BLEEK IS FLOSSING ABOUT SITTING IN AN '04 COUPE WITH NO ROOF. A THREE YEAR OLD WHIP. 2004.

I ROLLED BY BASSLINE TO CHECK THE BIRFDAY OF THESE TAPES, OF THIS MONSTER MEETING OF THE RHYMES. I CAUGHT THE FOLLOWING EXCHANGE:

BLEEK: BROWWWWWWNSVILLE! WHAT'S UP, FAM! IT'S BEEN TOO LONG!

DANZE: UH-HUH.

FAME: [stares beams of pure white hot hatred]

BLEEK: WE GONNA MURDER THIS SHIT! I GOT THIS RHYME, DOG. LEMME JUST GIVE YOU AN APPETIZER, "I GOT THE '08 COUPE WITH NO ROOF!"


DANZE: HOW YOU GONNA HAVE AN '08 COUPE, DIPSHIT?

FAME: YEAH, DR. WHO. HOW'S THE FUCKING FUTURE LOOKING? WE GOT AN ALBUM OUT YET?

BLEEK: I DON'T KNOW MY DAMN SELF! HOV BROKE ME OFF WITH ONE. IT STILL HAS THAT NEW CAR SMELL.

DANZE: HOV, HUH? YOU STILL CARRY THAT D-BAG'S MAN PURSE?

BLEEK: HE'S MY BENEFACTOR!

DANZE: YOU KNOW HOW THAT SHIT PLAYED OUT FOR US RIGHT?

BLEEK: THAT WASN'T A GOOD LOOK, MAN.

DANZE: IT WASN'T EVEN A GLIMPSE.

BLEEK: WORD.

FAME: WHAT?!

BLEEK: NO! I'M AGREEING! I AGREE!

DANZE: SO LOOKA HERE, COUSIN. YOU EVER HEARD OF REPARATIONS?

BLEEK: YEAH! KIND OF! WELL, I WENT BY RUSSELL SIMMONS' THE OTHER WEEK TO PICK UP SOME BOOK FOR PRESIDENT CARTER -- SEVEN HABITS OF HIGHLY EFFECTIVE PEOPLE? OR DEFECTIVE PEOPLE? ONE OR THE OTHER...

FAME: YOU GET 20 MORE SECONDS TO SPEAK THEN I'M GOING TO TEAR YOUR SPINE OUT YOUR BACK LIKE PREDATOR DID THAT INDIAN DUDE.

BLEEK: WELL, HE WAS LIKE, "REPARATIONSREPARATIONS." I WAS THINKING OF THEM BARS THOUGH! NAHMEAN!? SO I DON'T REMEMBER WHAT HE WAS ON ABOUT.

DANZE: WELL, M. EASY. WE DIDN'T GET SHIT FROM THE ROC. THE ROC FUCKED US UP. NOW I'M AT FUCKING CRUNCH 4 DAYS A WEEK EATING BAKED CHICKEN FOR DINNER BECAUSE CURTIS IS TRYING TO MAKE US CUT.

FAME: BAKED CHICKEN.

DANZE: SO WE GONNA TAKE SOMETHING BACK TODAY. WE TRIED TO
HOLLER AT DAME, BUT HE'S IN THAT SHOE MONEY BIZ NOW. WE TRIED TO HOLLER AT YOUR MAN, BUT HE DOESN'T CALL US BACK. FAME EVEN WROTE HIM A LETTER LAST TIME HE WAS IN THE TOMBS.

FAME: PASSES THE TIME.

DANZE: BUT YOU'RE THE CLOSEST THING WE'VE GOT TO JAY. AND YOU'RE THE CLOSEST THING WE'VE GOT TO PAYBACK.SO HOW BOUT YOU RUN THAT '08 COUPE YOU GOT.

BLEEK: HA! WHAT?

FAME: 7,6,5...
[keys nervously thrown onto mixing board, perspiration, etc]

DANZE: AND YOU'RE GONNA PART WITH THAT PINK SLIP.

FAME: I AIN'T TRYING TO GET PULLED OVER ON THE BQE WITH NO PINK SLIP.

BLEEK: IT'S IN THE GLOVE. FUCK.

DANZE: WHAT?

BLEEK: FUCK AM I GONNA RHYME ABOUT NOW? THAT WAS MY FUCKING HOMERUN LINE RIGHT THERE. THE '08 COUPE!

DANZE: YOU GOT ANOTHER WHIP?

BLEEK: PIECE OF SHIT BEATER FROM '04 THAT I LET GEDDA K PUSH.

DANZE: WELL, COUPE AND ROOF KIND OF RHYME, WHETHER IT'S AN '04 OR AN '08.

BLEEK: OH SHIT!

DANZE: YEAH, YOU CAN HOLD THAT ONE.

BLEEK: SALUTE, MY DOG! LET'S SMOKE THIS DRO AND MAKE ANOTHER CLASSIC!

FAME: DANZE, THAT MEAN RED LIGHT?

DANZE: YEAH, DUKE. RED LIGHT. NO SPINE JACKING.

FAME: [sighs]

DANZE: YEAH, WE GONNA MAKE THIS SHIT POP. BUT, UM, I THINK PEEDI AND CHRIS WANNA HOLLER FIRST.

I DON'T EVEN LIKE TO RHYME, LOVE

"I AM NOT A RAPPER"






















"I AM NOT THE MANAGER OF A SUNGLASSES HUT"


























"I AM NOT LIL' WAYNE'S GHOSTWRITER"


TO: SEPARATING FATHERS FROM THEIR DAUGHTERS
FROM: A CROOK LIKE YOU
RE: MONSTER DOT COM

SHIT, B. I'VE BEEN TRUANT LIKE DMX AT FUCKING TRAFFIC SCHOOL. IT BEING THE FIRST QUARTER AND ALL, REFLECTION IS ON THE MENU FOR ME. I'M SURE IT IS FOR YOU AS WELL, AS YOU NO DOUBT AWAIT KANYE'S DELIVERY OF WHITE JAWNS IN THE GRAD SCHOOL LOUNGE TO GET YOU THROUGH THE FISCAL YEAR. THERE'S A WAR GOING ON OUTSIDE, MAN. I WOULD BE HANGING OUT WITH NICK CANNON TOO! YOU NEED SOME FUCKING SUNSHINE IN YOUR LIFE.

LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT THE FIRST STORY I EVER DID AS A CUB RAP CRITIC. THE FIRST TIME I EVER TALKED ABOUT SOMETHING THAT SOMEONE ELSE LIVED.

THERE I WAS TAPE RECORDER IN HAND, OFF TO MEET CORMEGA AT HIS VIDEO SHOOT. NOW, AS A BIT OF BACKSTORY LEMME JUST THROW THIS OUT THERE: I FUCKING LOVE MEGA MONTANA. UPTOWN NIKES. THUGGED OUT AND ICY. MAD DEEP.

THIS WAS 2000. RIGHT WHEN THE GOD'S DOLO SLAB DROPPED. RIGHT WHEN DUDES WERE LIKE, 'YOU AIN'T HEARD THE TESTAMENT!? STOP FUCKING SPEAKING TO ME!" I THOUGHT I WAS GONNA BE UP IN THE QB CHINESE SPOT (THE ONE WHERE BLIND DUDE FROM SCREWBALL WORKS). BUT WE WERE ON SOME UP IS DOWN, BLACK IS WHITE SHIT. SO IN PLACE OF THE HOOD WE WOUND UP ON KENT AVENUE IN WILLIAMSBURG. AND IN PLACE OF AN ARMADA OF HARD-BODIED VALHALLA-VISITING-RACKETEERING-ASS-GANGSTERS, MEGA HAD A FEW OF HIS COUSINS. IT WAS TRILL.

SO THINGS ARE GOING WELL. ME AND MEGA ARE CHOPPING UP SOME SERIOUS SHIT:

"NAS AIN'T SHIT"
"I'VE BEEN TELLING PEOPLE THAT!"

THERE WAS A BREAK AT SOME POINT. THE PRODUCTION TEAM (BASICALLY A NYU DROP-OUT AND SOME BUBBLES-LOOKING DUDE) WERE DOING SOME MAINTENANCE ON THE ARMADA OF EVER PRESENT RYDE OR DIE MACHINERY (BASICALLY ONE ATV WITH A "LEFRAK LANDSCAPING" STICKER ON IT) (I THINK THEY BORROWED FROM NORE).

ME AND MEGA PASSED THE TIME IN HIS COCAINE WHITE JEEP, CHILLING IN A BUDDHA-TYPE MEDITATION. ONE THING LEADS TO ANOTHER AND THE LAH IS PASSED (NO THANKS, WOULDN'T WANT TO TARNISH OL' OBJECTIVITY!) A BEAT TAPE IS PUMPED AND MEGA AND HIS NEPHEWS BEGIN TO TAKE PART IN A CIPHER.

DIG IT, HOT CHIP: I WAS JUST A BOY FROM SCHOOL. THESE DUDES ARE COMING OFF THE TOP OF THE MIND GRAPE ABOUT THE JOY AND PAIN OF STEPPING ON COKE AND STEPPING ON NAS' FACE.

AND THEN MEGA TOLD ME TO RHYME.

IN MY ENTIRE LIFE I'VE WRITTEN LIKE ONE BAR. I HAD FABOLOUS IN MIND. HERE IT IS:

"SHE GIVES HEAD HANDS-FREE/I CALL HER BLUETOOTH"

F-A-B! YOU CAN HAVE THAT ONE ON CONSIGNMENT, SON!

ANYWAY, TO WRAP UP THIS YEAR-LONG PIECE OF MAGICAL THINKING, I FOLDED ON THE CHANCE TO "GO IN." MONTANA SOMEHOW GOT OVER IT, I THINK SOMEONE CALLED ME "BUBBLE BOY" AND NEXT THING YOU KNOW THE VIDEO SHOOT ROLLS ON.

VIVID, RIGHT? WELL, I TELL YOU ALL THIS TO ILLUSTRATE A SIMPLE POINT:

NOT EVERYONE CAN RAP.

I BELIEVE IN AMERICA AND KEVIN GARNETT. I BELIEVE THAT HARD WORK GETS YOU PLACES. BUT IT DOESN'T GET YOU A RECORD DEAL. EVEN ON KOCH. YOU AND ME BOTH KNOW: SOME DUDES SHOULD STAY ON MUTE.

WHICH IS WHY I NEVER GET THE "I AM NOT A RAPPER" STANCE. A GUY LIKE HELL RELL AKA THE RAKIM OF THE JAIL-PHONE FREESTYLE. I USED TO THINK THAT DUDE WAS JUST AROUND TO KEEP WRITER COMPANY OR SOMETHING. BUT I KINDA LIKE HIS LAST TAPE AND HE'S PRETTY FUCKING NICE ON THAT NEW CAM SHIT. HE'S ALL LIKE, "I'M PACKING ALL THE TOAST BUT YOU HOGGING THE BUTTER!" THAT'S A FUCKING DOUBLE ENTENDRE DUDE! HE'S TALKING ABOUT HIS GUN! NOT SLICED SEVEN GRAIN! THAT, DEPENDING ON YOUR ANGLE, IS FUCKING RHYME-ART IN MOTION.

SO, AS A DEALER-TURNED-RAPPER-TURNED-LAND-BARON, CAN YOU TELL ME WHY THE FUCK HE'S LIKE, "I AM NOT A RAPPER"!? I'M NOT EVEN PARAPHRASING! HE HAS A SONG CALLED, "I AM NOT A RAPPER"!

DUN: I HAVE NEVER COPPED DRUGS FROM A DUDE WHO WAS LIKE, "YO, JUST SO YOU KNOW, I AM NOT A DEALER. I JUST DO THIS CUZ I'M NICE."

IF YOU ARE SPENDING SO MUCH OF YOUR WAKING LIFE MOVING KI'S OR IN RELL'S CASE, AR-15'S (OK, DUDE) (BTW, GUNS ARE THE NEW COKE) THEN AREN'T YOU LEAVING A LOT OF FUCKING CAKE ON THE KIDS TABLE BY RAPPING? SOMEWHERE IN BRIGHTON BEACH THERE'S A RUSSIAN GUY WITH A SUITCASE FULL ISRAELI ARMY GUNS. AND RUGER'S IN THE LAB WITH DUKE DA GOD! WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!

I AM NOT A LIFEGUARD (ANYMORE) (YO, IT WAS A GOOD LOOK FOR ME). RELL CAN SWIM IN THE DEEP END OF SELF-DETERMINATION WITH NO FLOATIES. I WISH HIM WELL AND ENJOY HIS "THROW SOME D'S" FREESTYLE. BUT THERE'S NOTHING WRONG WITH RAPPING. THERE'S NOTHING WRONG WITH SAYING, "I FUCKING RAP ABOUT COCAINE. IT'S ENOUGH OF A TIME COMMITMENT THAT I DON'T REALLY GET TO LOCK DOWN CORNERS ANYMORE." YOU'RE THE ONE WHO HAS TO LOOK YOURSELF IN THE MIRROR EVERYDAY. YOU MIGHT AS WELL BE AT PEACE WITH WHERE YOU PUNCH THE CLOCK. IT'S A SHORT FUCKING LIFE.