#MNR: BUYER’S REMORSE
 
“You feel this deep in your torso. Feel like someone’s reading your horoscope. Some shit only me and the Lord knows.”
Travis Scott
 
“Emotional luggage, nothing of it, I don’t check bags. I just carry on, leave that bullshit in the past.”
Curren$y
 
“You know your town is dangerous, when you see the strangest kid come home from doing a bid and nothing changes.”
GZA
 
Ok, y’all. Your boy has been quite proactive this holiday season. I copped some gifts and all that, you heard? Usually...usually I don’t give one fuck. I’m not Kris Kringle. I’m a poor Black man that works OD hard for my rupees. In other words, I ain’t got it. But, you know what? Even though I’m a single man with no earthly mother, my holiday assignment has not waned. It has only increased. Obviously, I’m crying like a rat eating raw onions because I’d much rather spend that bread on myself. What? Did I say something wrong? At least I kept it a buck. No one loves me like I love me. But I’ve got to do what I’ve got to do. Let’s get our holiday on, y’all.
 
I’m just bad news...
 
As much as I hate to admit it, I am. I’m a good human. That I know in my spirit. But I am bad fucking news. I’m Brainy Smurf meets Kevin Sabian meets Keyser Söze. I’m a got-damned know-it-all who always tries to negotiate peace yet exhibits underlying sociopathic tendencies. I could’ve played the lead in American Psycho. I exhibit levels of narcissism, often used to counteract bouts of self-loathing. I’m all over the fucking place. I crack jokes and maintain an amicable exterior to mask my morose view of reality. I’m not the best at communicating with my blood family. I love them all dearly, but I’m not the type to reach out just to say hello at this stage of life. As long as they’re in good health and spirit...cool. I’m fair; I don’t expect anything different in return. I have emotional issues I can’t really express because I can’t fully interpret them. Plus, they’re dormant. They are suppressed somewhere just below the 1 train 191st Street Station (IYKYK) in the Heights. After saying all that, I’m sure you’re thinking that I’m depressed. I’m far from it. I feel like a million euros, cash money. Life is good. Sure, my short term economic outlook is shaky (exacerbated by holiday shopping), but I’m ten toes down on my grind and I like the long term outlook. Every day is a blessing that I am grateful for and attack with voracity and grit. I have nary a complaint. But every now and then, around the time I sit and let the sick thoughts enter, I take it to DEFCON 1.
 
PRAY FOR PALESTINE. I don’t pick sides, but I’m on y’all side.
 
 
In a recent interview, Bryce Wilson said that Groove Theory’s second album would have easily gone multiplatinum. He felt that they had perfected the recipe after their self-titled debut album. That album was a solid 7.5 in my book. It had two classic tracks (if you must ask, ask me later) and another lowkey classic. I’ll give you the lowkey classic: “Ten Minute High.” I also love their Todd Rundgren/Isley Brothers cover “Hello, It’s Me.” Amel had the perfect voice for that track. Ok, ok. Y’all pulled my damn right leg. Y’all pulled the one that twitches when I’m nervous and ‘bout to split a MF forehead wide open. I’ll tell you. The other classic song is “Keep Tryin’.” Winter 1995 – what a time to be alive. “Tell Me” went global in my book. I don’t give a fluff what RIAA says. It played at every party senior year. Ev-er-y. After they dropped the dance hit of the winter, they slowed it down on the second single. “Keep Tryin’” is an amazing song. Amel Larrieux flows so effortlessly over Bryce’s production. It’s sultry in a nonsexual way. Listening to that track will inspire you to work a double shift after going on an all-night cocaine bender. But back to the sophomore album. Bryce said they would have done something similar to what The Fugees did. I’m jacking it because their debut was leaps and bounds above that bullshit The Fugees put out the first time around. What prevented the sophomore album from being their The Score, you may ask? Bryce said Amel was on her ultra-diva shit. The man said she wanted production credit even though she didn’t lay not one damn beat. She wanted 60% of their publishing after agreeing to a 50-50 split. Non-cipher. Remember this: Amel was relatively unknown outside of Philadelphia before Groove Theory came to be. Bryce had production credits with Mantronix at like seventeen years of age. His name was the one that carried weight going into the project. He also said Amel had first crack at “You’re Making Me High.” YES, that “You’re Making Me High.” She had dibs before Toni. The man said Amel wanted production rights on the track. He told Amel and her entourage to get the fuck out of his studio – over the phone. I love Amel Larrieux. I always will. She follows me on the Twitter. But I’ve heard about her diva mentality for a long time. I’m not mad at her or Bryce. They gave us a classic. But damn...what could have been.
 
RANDOM: I didn’t feel sorry for the fat Puerto Rican kid who got killed in Fresh, even though he was Fresh’s manz. Fat boy had it coming. But, in direct contrast, I damn near cried when teenage Donald Faison got killed in Sugar Hill. When you think on it for a taste, he too had it coming. And when you really think about it, both died for the same reason – wanting to be down. The fat kid thought he could run with and outsmart grown wolves on some drugs shit; he had an anchor tied to his ankle off jump. And Fresh warned his dumb ass. But Donald’s character...I will always feel empathy for him because all he was guilty of was wanting to be down. He shouldn’t have had his ass on the block that night. He should have been in his new crib in the ‘burbs. And just like Fresh shot fatty a warning, Roemello basically suggested that Donald had no purpose in coming back around the block. But he had a good heart. He just wanted to be down. There was nothing insidious in his approach. He would’ve held it down for Roemello if need be (or at least attempted to). But, at the end of the day, he should have had his ass in the crib. Quiet hours. The shit is kind of deep when you think about it. This is the type of shit I ponder from time to time. Fuck is my problem?
 
NOT RANDOM: The scene in Fresh at the basketball court when the bitch ass nigga shoots the younger kid (because he was doing him dirty with the handles) and lil mama who Fresh had mutual feelings for (she caught a stray) will always haunt my soul. I’ll never forget that slug stuck in her neck, her little leg twitching, or Fresh’s empathetic yet stoic reaction. Fresh is one of the best movies I’ve ever seen.
 
It's been a minute since I gave you good folk an outro paragraph to conclude the blog. I’ve just been dropping the microphone and walking off after a Dame Lillard buzzer beater from 32 feet. Swish. All jokes aside, I hope y’all had a good Turkey Day and extended break from the slave (if you read Malcolm’s autobiography you know). It was back to work today. My day. Ty Monday. But look at it this way, as shitty as the prospect of the beginning of an arduous work week can seem, we’ve already got one in the books by the time you read this. And just like that, 20% of the shit is done. Now comes the rest of the gauntlet before the next weekend begins. I live for the weekends, but I fret over the work week. Why? Because for many a year now, I’ve made sure that I do my best to treat every evening like a Friday evening – until it’s time to go to bed. What I’m saying is that I don’t deprive myself of capricious fuckery during the week. I galavant through the evening on my Don Quixote de la Mancha type shit. I turn my brain and phone off (unless you really, really matter), then I enjoy myself. The point is this: live before you die. Don’t deprive yourself. Now, make sure the kids are straight. Don’t go AWOL and all. But find the time for a daily by myself meeting. We only have one life to live. Enjoy this shit. And spread the word. #MNR is the best 5-minute read in America. I stand on that. Until next time, y’all. I’m out through the back dough (door).
 
tymonday.com: @tymonday on Twitter & IG
crewunb.com: @crewunB on Twitter & @theunbearablescrew on IG

#MNR: CORPORATE BAILOUTS
 
“The Chinaman built the railroad. The Indian saved the pilgrim, and in return the pilgrim killed him. They call it Thanksgiving; I call your holiday Hell Day. ‘Cause I’m from poverty, neglected by the wealthy.”
Nasir Jones
 
“You no kin to me so how the fuck you inherit my style?”
Kurupt
 
My nigga @BigRich1128, you know he’s down with us. @Damn_she_tall_2 and @DirttMcGirt, down with us. The good brother @alexjuli6n is down with us. @Devinpsu and @carribeanflavaz, you know they’re down with us. The one and only @iamdjgreen, he’s down with us. @GrBest1yet and @_RMCMB are down with us. My nephew @FourCornerConvo is down with us. @TakeALSmoove and @BrightBlueSlang, you know they’re down with us. Fly mama @designer_clothe – down with us. @LeekMJB and @RealMalcB are down with us. My nigga @PayHomage is down with us. My bruva @MELVVLN, you know he’s down with us. It’s UnB, nigga, we’ve got the game in the tuck. We’re number...
 
One.
 
Big ups to all my folk who don’t fuck with the social medias but support this blog. Y’all are most definitely down with us. Big ups to the ladies of the Black Atlas Mafia: JuJu, ShanT and Nella. They don’t fuck with that Twitter shit, but they tune in. You three are loved and appreciated. Just wait until Nella starts her blog up. She’s going to get super busy. I love her sagacity. We’re going to drop the next great YouTube Black politics channel one day. I know y’all finna tune in. When we go global I’m a have to get my teeth fixed. I think I’m going to go with the Cameron Giles model. Pause, if necessary.
 
It just so happens that I got a jump on this week’s blog. I’m up into the wee hours on a Saturday night. My creative juices are flowing, and I’ve got enough reefa to get the 2000 Portland Trailblazers from Oracle Arena in Oaktown to Staples Center in downtown Los Scandalous on a Greyhound bus with the AC on “fuck you” and the “check engine” light on the entire MF ride. I love to write deep into the late night. I take a few pulls of the J, sit back, and let the sick thoughts enter. I always have the deepest affinity for blogs that are birthed simply through sitting at the Mac and letting my fingers go, sort of how Sugar Ray flurried at the end of each round the night Marvelous Marvin Hagler was cheated. The difference between Sugar Ray and your boy Monday is that I’m not stealing points. There’s no chicanery on this side. This shit is authentic, like the Washington Capitals Alexander Ovechkin alternate jersey with the captain patch I procured through scrupulous means. It’s only right that I mention a hockey jersey because I skate all over the keyboard – effortlessly. I make love with each keystroke. This is very serious business. Supreme shouts out to those of y’all who tune in every Monday like we’re broadcast on ESPN. That’s a beautiful thing. And hey...even if it’s Tuesday morning, afternoon, evening, or whenever the fuck you get a few minutes to yourself to tune in...we appreciate you. You heard?
 
We are in the fourth quarter of 2023. We’re looking 2024 dead in the face. I’m talmbout the Olympics and errthang. Look, I’m finna get straight to the point. If you’re wearing a du-rag and it’s not a silky, I’m a need you to make moves to the beauty supply store and rectify the situation. Immechiately. It’s non-cipher, and frankly, I feel that it’s nasty work. I don’t think it’s fair that you have us all in a long-ass Target checkout line staring at your $2.99, two-tone, porous, short-string nylon dooey with the minimum hangtime cape. Shit looks like a restaurant dinner napkin. The whites are looking at you like you’re dirty and you stink. The college kids standing in line with 246 pair of pajama bottoms are pondering if you gave up on social conformity and went smooth into fuck-it mode. I’m looking at you like you have crumbs in at least two of the pockets on your clothing. Flagrant #1 foul. Two shots and the ball. I’m a need you type of Negroes to stay in the crib. Looking like Hustle Man with those damn pigeons on a stick.
 
UPDATE: Speaking of Hustle Man, I saw/met/? Tracey Morgan in my friendly neighborhood ShopRite during my Sunday afternoon grocery store experience. That is all.
 
Big ups to my brother, the CEO. 11.19 was his born day. That man is getting old, which is a blessing. He and I go back quite a few years now. He’s still the same person I met 20 years ago. He’s a benevolent man who would literally give his last for his folk. This is completely random, but when that man was the Assistant Director of an old after school program I was a part of, he knew the first and last names of EVERY student in the program, more than 300 altogether. He also knew where they were located. Always. That’s why I call him CEO; he has key traits found in CEOs. The only thing he lacks is true belief in self. He’s brilliant. I’ve seen it for years. But it’s cool. That’s why I’m around. One thing I know how to do is remind my folk of how great they are. He’s the only creative partner I’ve ever had; he is one half of 2NN. We’re going to have our time. Just keep the faith. More life, my brother.
 
On Thursday, most filthy Americans will sit at a familial dinner table and celebrate a holiday known as Thanksgiving to the United States of America. The white folk taught us in public schools that the Indian and white man one day decided to sit down and commune. The books say the white man gave thanks to the indigenous man for saving his unprepared, ignorant ass from calamity. He arrived in the Americas with no type of strategic plan, suffered like a MF, and needed the first corporate bailout in American history to avoid extinction on this side of the Atlantic. God bless the indigenous man. Now, most civilized folk would have cherished the indigenous man forever and a day. Not the white man. The white man went on to rape, pillage, kill and steal the indigenous man’s land. Yadda, yadda, yadda...we celebrate Thanksgiving. Fuck Thanksgiving. I’m with Nasir. I call your holiday Hell Day. I will never celebrate Thanksgiving. I will eat and watch football, however. I will also watch the virtual battles CAPS is hosting on Angryfan007. I call it a day of thanks. I give thanks daily, so every day is a day of thanksgiving. Eat, drink and be merry. Just don’t forget the perpetual savagery of the white man.
 
The yadda, yadda, yadda line really works if you’ve seen the Seinfeld episode. Jerry and Larry were brilliant.
 
Enjoy your time with loved ones this week. Nothing is for sure, nothing is for certain, nothing lasts forever. But until they close the curtains...
 
tymonday.com: @tymonday on Twitter & IG
crewunb.com: @crewunB on Twitter & @theunbearablescrew on IG

#MNR: MAKES ME WANNA HOLLER
 
“As I recall, I know you love to show off. But I never thought that you would take it this far. What do I know? (FLASHING LIGHTS) What do I know? (FLASHING LIGHTS) Know.”
Dwele (Yeezy)
 
“If we can take off now, we can catch the sun. Maybe watch it set, have sex, get some rest.”
Lil Baby
 
Good evening. How y’all? It’s Monday, your friendly neighborhood playboy. I’m higher than NY sales tax, you heard? That’s always a great thing, err umm, the me being high part. NY sales tax ain’t nothing but the Albany devil. I just finished talking to my ace and I’m pumping “Flashing Lights” through my soundbar. So much has changed since 210 E. 115th Street apartment 2A. But this song, this album...I miss those days. I remember a particular Friday evening. I just got back from work in the Wood: NJ Transit 186 Bus to the MTA M98 Limited Express Bus to 116th St and Lexington Ave to the weed spot to the [pick one] eatery to the bodega to the block. I hit the block. I dapped up whoever was standing outside the building. I walked my ass up the A-stairs because it’s shameful waiting for a pissy elevator to travel one flight; take the possibly pissy staircase. In all fairness, most stairway pissers prefer the B-stairs (see 100 Blocks Stories: “B-Stairs Prelude” for further context) out of whatever respect they do have for the building. Anyway, as soon as I get to the 2nd floor landing I can hear Yeezy and my nigga Dwele blasting through the hallway door. At that moment, the weekend officially began. I already knew it was Jose blasting the sounds. I already knew he was semi-litty. I have no idea what I ate for dinner that night. I have no idea how many blunts I smoked. I have no idea what alcohol I drank. I do know that those were some of the happiest moments of my life, all of us in one apartment. Aunt Betty had transcended, but my mom and dad were still alive and relatively healthy, living their respective lives in Virginia and North Carolina. The older I get, the more I embrace random memories that occurred while my mom and dad were alive. Innately, it makes my own mortality an afterthought for those fleeting moments of nostalgia.
 
Let me tell y’all something. I really love y’all and I’m dedicated to this blog, through it all. I have a prospective freelance position and need to produce one more article in short time. I also need to tweak my resume to only include my Communications experience. But fuck all that. I promised my folk that I was going to stay consistent. That’s what I plan to do. I hope y’all got y’all cheeba rolled in the finest paper. Light that shit up. We L riding in a low-low from Benny’s with all the Benny enhancements. I’m talmbout downtown Los Santos to deep out Blaine County...on the freeway by the casino...with the radio on Frank Ocean’s station. Crack rock, crack rock...
 
I really do love y’all. The very thought of people reading, accepting and appreciating my craft is so amazing to me. It instantly humbles me. To God be the glory.
 
Respectfully...I’m nice as [CENSORED].
 
Fuck is the censored word. I just didn’t want to put it directly under “To God be the glory.” I give all praises to Him. He blessed me with this craft. I’m not bragging. I’m merely asserting my brilliance and command of the lexicon and all dat, youknowI’msaying? You do? Well alright (Nipsey from Martin voice – RIP).
 
First things first. CONGRATULATIONS TO THE VIRGINIA UNION PANTHERS, 2023 CIAA FOOTBALL CHAMPIONS! Coach Alvin Parker’s men defeated defending conference champion Fayetteville State, 21-10. VUU (10-1) was led by First-Team All-CIAA back Jada Byers, who found his way to paydirt twice during the contest. He carried the ball 40 times for 135 yards. His carries set the tone on offense and the defense brought their best to the field in Salem, as the lone FSU touchdown came on a kickoff return. The win also meant that the Panthers avenged their only loss of the season, a September game played in typhoon-like conditions. This is Virginia Union’s first conference championship since the 2001 team led by QB Jasun Thompson. As an alumnus of VUU, I’m very proud of this team. 1865 Panther Pride.
 
I would like to revisit a portion of the 3.22.2022 #MNR, titled “To the East, Blackwards.”
 
There have been seven military coups and conflicts on the continent of Africa in the past six years: Guinea, Mali, Chad, Sudan, Burkina Faso, Cameroon, and Ethiopia. The last two are currently engaged in civil war. Cameroon is engaged in the Anglophone Crisis, and Ethiopia is engaged in the Tigray War. Each coup and conflict tears at the fabric of its respective nation, and deep humanitarian crises (including sexual violence) have developed. It comes as no surprise that the United States has done the bare minimum by way of direct support to many (or all) of these countries. tRump outright blocked aid to Ethiopia; Biden’s merely done a lot of talking. Look, I’m not saying America owes these nations a damn thing. I’m just seeing and recognizing the apathy when it comes to Mother Africa and absolute empathy when it comes to lighter skinned [European] nations in peril. It shouldn’t be and isn’t a surprise. America has already [REDACTED] the continent for all it wanted to plunder. What may come as an absolute surprise is that Russia has given aid to several African nations in peril. They’ve helped with infrastructure, amongst other things. This is likely the reason that sixteen African countries who are members of the United Nations gave a no vote/abstained from taking sides on Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. They’ve chosen to mind their damn business. And, in the most polite manner, they’re showing that they could care less about the Russia/Ukraine war. They’ve got more than enough on their own plates to deal with.
 
Why did I choose to revisit this blog from a year-and-a-half ago? Because I have inner visions. I see things before most eyes get the opportunity. I pay attention with soft eyes. Last week, the United Nations warned that violence amongst civilians in Sudan is “verging on pure evil.” More than half of the Sudanese population, or about 25M people, need humanitarian help and more than 70% of health facilities in the conflict areas are now out of service, resulting in outbreaks of cholera, dengue, malaria and measles, and high levels of malnutrition among children. The UN is targeting about 12M people for aid and has appealed for another $2.6B. There are numerous reports of sexual and gender-based violence and forced disappearance, arbitrary detentions and grave violations of human and children’s rights.
 
The war is nearly seven months old. My 3.22.2022 blog predates the war by almost a year. I spoke on the problems Sudan and several other African nations were facing way back then. Nothing has changed. The UN must do all the bidding because African nations in peril are not close friends or allies of the United States and its wealthy allies. I don’t remember any Sleepy Joe State of the Union Address where he directly appeals to congress for monetary aid to any of the previously mentioned nations. Not one damn dollar. Translation: he and America don’t give a fuck. But I do. The African nations are my people. Don’t mention anything about Ukraine or Israel to me, respectfully. My concern is with my folk. It always has been. It always will be. I stand with us. I always will.
 
tymonday.com: @tymonday on Twitter & IG
crewunb.com: @crewunB on Twitter & @theunbearablescrew on IG

#MNR: MAUNA KEA
 
“I’m stuck in your claws. I try to run but I don’t get far.”
Brent Faiyaz
 
“Mama – I just killed a man.”
Freddie Mercury
 
What up, niggas, how y’all? It’s Monday, the villain. It’s another beautiful Monday morning in the melancholy metro. The sun shone so bright through the Hudson Yards skyscrapers during my ride into midtown that I couldn’t get my good eye on One and Two Manhattan West, the twin towers on 31st Street and 9th Avenue. Though they are only 58-stories tall, they are aesthetically pleasing to a skyscraper enthusiast such as myself. Their glass exteriors make them a sight to behold, but the intrigue lies within actually seeing the two towers. Depending on your angle of sight, you may only be able to see one of the towers, as the other would be hiding directly behind. Like I said, though they are less than 60-stories tall (996 ft), they are a lovely sight. They’re no 270 Park Avenue, but they are beautiful. I’m eager to visit Dubai, only so I can return home and proclaim with absolute certainty that even though it has the most skyscrapers of any city on earth, it’s not fucking with my hometown. If I start a GoFundMe to raise the Fly Emirates travel and 5-star luxury hotel stay, would y’all contribute? The only acceptable answer is yes. Appreciate y’all.
 
The following segment of #MNR is dedicated to all the try-hards out there. Peace to all you MF out there doing the most for no damn reason at all. We can always count on you to turn a grain of sand into Mauna Kea. In the exact moment when no one asked you a got damn thing whatsoever, you made it your business to share your primitive thoughts. You always find a way to make nothing into something. You’re a grade-A try-hard. I, on behalf of all of us out there who are subject to this type of bullshit from time to time, implore you to sit your dumb ass the fuck down and shut your dumb ass the fuck up. No one asked you. No one gives a fuck. No one sought your opinion. No one gives a fuck. Go find a rock to kick. Fucker.
 
I’m sooooooooo glad I got off those blunts, y’all. That tobacco ain’t nothing but the devil. I’m convinced that I was as addicted to the leaf as I was to the flower. It took some time to completely shake the tobacco leaf, but I’m good frfr. Nah, like really good. Louie copped a two-pack of cigarillos the first time we ciphed during the homecoming trip, thinking I still smoked blunts. I informed him that I too had moved on from ‘em. I struggled through that damn L. I felt like George Foreman (old ass man George) jabbed me straight in the middle of my breastplates. Then a Tuesday ago I smoked a J with a coworker on my way to Port Authority after work and this nigga smokes Grabba. I damn near passed out on 38th. I felt a wheeze in my chest, followed by a pain akin to being stabbed in a rumble by Pony Boy in The Outsiders. For those who are unacquainted, Grabba is ground tobacco. Plenty of people up top who smoke J’s like to add Grabba to their flower in a white boy. The only reason I can even comprehend smoking ground tobacco is that NYC tobacco prices are so high that only a fool or rapper smokes blunts. A pack of Backwoods is $17.50 at Gardenia on 30th and 8th Avenue (my favorite deli in Chelsea). Packs go for more than twenty cash in certain spots downtown. I’m guessing that Grabba gives some smokers the blunt feeling. Fuck if I know. I just know that if I wanted to smoke tobacco, I’d smoke blunts. And if I couldn’t afford to smoke blunts, my J’s would be anti-Grabba. But that’s me. Carry on, mongrels. Continue to pollute your lungs with the tobacco leaf. I put my 30 in. I’m through, mane (Sly Stone voice).
 
Look, I don’t give a fuck who you vote for. I don’t. I just want you to take your sorry ass down to your precinct and vote tomorrow. It’s not a presidential election year, but plenty of state and local ballots will be ripe with candidates and legislation. These candidates and potential legislation have a direct effect on your everyday life. Virginia is voting for every seat in their state legislature. That’s 40 state Senate seats and 100 state House seats on the ballot. Reproductive rights are a hot-button topic. Loudoun County, VA, home to one of America’s best public-school systems, has school board elections on the ballot Tuesday. Why does this matter? Because since 2020, far-right lawyers, politicians and parents have pushed to drastically reshape the objectives and curriculum of the school district. Education (and a Freudian slip) cost Terry McAuliffe the Virginia governor’s race two years ago. Stakes are high all over the country. MAGAt is relentless in its attempt to turn America back into Little House on the Prairie. I don’t ever recall seeing a colored on nay episode, get what I’m saying? It all comes down to this: one side is steadfast in its attempt to strip Americans of rights while the other side is steadfast in its attempt to protect rights. The choice is yours from there.
 
Shout out to my old coworker Carla. She texted me last week and told me she was looking forward to #MNR. That meant a lot. I do this for y’all. I appreciate y’all. With no audience, #MNR doesn’t exist. I’ll see y’all next week. I promise I’m a be on the exact same shit. Ain’t nothing changed but the drawz. Keep your eyes off mine ma, while I watch yours. RIP Chico Del Vec.
 
FUN FACT: Mauna Kea’s (HI, USA) total height is 30, 610 ft, making it a full 1.5K ft taller than Mt. Everest. Only 13,796 ft of Mauna Kea is above sea level. All 29,032 ft of Mt. Everest is above sea level.
 
tymonday.com: @tymonday on Twitter & IG
crewunb.com: @crewunB on Twitter & @theunbearablescrew on IG

#MNR: IMMERSIVE
 
“Back in the days when I was a teenager, before I had status and before I had a pager. You could find the Abstract listening to hip-hop. My pops used to say it reminded him of bebop.”
Queens Tip
 
“You say you love me, but is it really real? Would you -- fix me green tea if I’m feeling ill? Could you -- give me a back rub to soothe after a long day? Dinner by candlelight but you’re the main entrée.”
Elzhi
 
“I shot a gangster and he told. Now a nigga on the run – nigga better have his gun.”
Waydah Blacc
 
This opening segment of #MNR is dedicated to every New Yorker who actively smoked weed outside during the stop-and-frisk era of NYC, mostly during the 2000s decade. Big ups to those of us who risked it all to light a Dutch or Owl up in the project plaza, on the block, or in the neighborhood park. Too many of us took L’s for no fucking reason, getting screwed by Bloomberg’s carryover of Adolph Giuliani’s mid-to-late 1990s fuckery. Quality of life my dick. Fuck you punk ass pigs who tackled, cuffed and jailed kids for smoking a tree outside in the comfort of summertime weather. I’m overjoyed by this current era of weed being smoked freely. It makes my heart smile. I light up in proximity to the fuzz every chance I get. Fuck ‘em. New York is New York again.
 
Instead of a true purge, my macabre fantasy is a 24-hour day once a year in which every internet troll who crossed the line gets exposed and can get their shit rearranged, penalty-free. I’m talmbout 100%, absolute impunity. If you bust a nigga head to the white meat, chilly cool cool. If you take it three steps past that and leave a nigga where he stood, I’ll allow it. We can attend his funeral together and coordinate spitting in his face while he’s snuggly in his casket. Way too many Twitter fingers have been out of line for years. But this type of shit predates the Musk platform I will always call Twitter. I don’t mind the good-natured trolling. That’s merely entertainment. No malice intended. I take issue with the MF spewing personal disrespect and hate toward people through the safety and anonymity of the virtual universe. I’d love to have a day when the virtual fourth wall is broken, and atonement is on the table. Keep that same energy, Tough Tony. Hoe ass niggas.
 
Yeah...y’all should be able to see that I’m on my bullshit tonight. This one is for day one #MNR readers. No worries. Even if you’re just a casual or a newcomer, you’re super valid. Roll that shit up, doggie. This is one of those.
 
Are they still killing those innocent Palestinian civilians in the name of war?
 
I’m still in agreement with the MAGAt collective on sending NOT SHIT more to Ukraine. They don’t fuck with my kind, and I didn’t forget. Yes, we kept the receipts. I don’t give a flying Boeing 757 fuck how many times Zelensky finds his way to Washington to give old Sleepy Joe a reach-around on national television and give his best “Puss in Boots meek eyes” speech to Congress or the United Nations. HOLD THE LINE, MARJORIE!!! You bigoted, dog-faced pilgrim. I don’t fuck with you either, bitch. The only pilgrim I fux with is the MF in that upcoming Thanksgiving slasher horror movie. If you don’t know the movie, find out the name for the both of us.
 
There are currently over 60K [verified] migrants in the care of NYC seeking asylum, although I’ve heard the number to be triple that amount. Y’all remember the DeSantis (FL) and Abbott (TX) bus fuckery. Those egregious acts were just a small piece of the pizza pie. There are enough asylum seekers in the city to populate an entire other city. Think about the strain that’s putting on the rotten apple. Mayor Eric “Teef” Adams has already advised several departments in the city to expect at least 10% budget cuts for 2024 because the city is going to need all types of resources to accommodate these people, and Sleepy Joe has basically done little more than wish Adams and the city good luck. I wish no ill will on those folk. Many of them have the same color skin as I. I get it. They just want the opportunity to exist and to thrive. I love, respect and appreciate that. However, there is a certain way to do this – legally. Send all of them back to where they came from and send them yesterday. I’m not the type to keep quiet for the sake of courtesy. NYC cannot afford to support them. Come correct. And yes, I’m fully aware that most, if not all do not have the financial means to do so. That’s tough titties but somebody gotta suck ‘em. C’est la vie. I don’t care who has a problem with what I’m saying. But I know for certain that I’m speaking for plenty of people. I am not a dreamer. I cannot save everyone. That’s just how it is. God bless them folk. See ya.
 
If you don’t fuck with Sleepy Joe because of his past senate dealings and polarizing philosophies, I respect it. It is what it is. But don’t cut that man short on his accomplishments while in office @ 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. And before you uncouth, uneducated idiots lose your shit because tRump gave you tax cuts for a couple of years, do know that those cuts will only favor the wealthy as time goes on. You’re (we’re) going to pay for those cuts and then some in the long run. AND he added $7.9T (that’s trillion) to the national debt with those tax cuts. Now, hop off his orange testicles and pay attention. Biden has given America the CHIPS and Science Act of 2022, which provides $280B in new funding to boost domestic (American) research and manufacturing of semiconductors in the US, aimed at competing with China. That will bring jobs to America immediately and in the long term. Biden also signed the Infrastructure Investment and Jobs Act (IIJA) of 2021 (fuck the alternate bipartisan title because only a handful of R’s voted in its favor), providing $1.2T in spending for everything from highways to tunnels (like the 125-year-old North River [Hudson] Tunnels that could go at any moment) to transit programs to research to the electric grid. I’ve already seen a sign on I-87 touting that the repair of a particular stretch of the highway was a result of the IIJA. Biden’s Inflation Reduction Act of 2022 addressed deficit reduction, climate change, healthcare and tax reform. #46 also pushed to permanently raise the current maximum child credit from $2,000 per child to $3,600 per child under age 6 or to $3,000 per child ages 6 and up. He and a Democrat-led House and Senate passed legislation in 2021 giving qualifying parents $3,600 per child through the American Rescue Plan. Guess who crushed that legislation when Biden tried to spin the block in perpetuity. Your friendly Republican elitist bigots, homophobes and xenophobes, as soon as they gained an advantage in the House. The man tried.
 
Everything I just stated about Sleepy Joe is documented fact. That’s three major pieces of legislation passed within two years of office. Find the last president who can say the same. I’ve got time. I’ll wait. And let’s look at that child credit legislation. That helped a lot of families out. I know personally. It helped MOST American families. Biden wanted it to become commonplace. Yet, elitist politicians said no. Once again...that man tried.
 
Say what you say, but facts are irrefutable.
 
And after all that I’ve listed, if you’d rather vote for a man with four criminal indictments and 91 charges, go right the fuck ahead. Might I add that he’s already been proven guilty of massive tax fraud in his New York state civil case. The motherfucker stole classified documents, tried to overthrow the fucking federal government through insurrection, pressured a state to reverse election results and...oh yeah...that’s right...gave hush money to a silicone-laden porn actress for letting him get his schmeat wet in all holes. But if you feel that he’s the man to make Amerikkka great again, el mundo es suyo. Cabrón.
 
Brent Faiyaz’ new project Larger Than Life is my shit. I’m not going to provide a detail the first. Go cop his shit because I threw you the alley. Thank me later.
 
I’m out this bitch.
 
tymonday.com @tymonday on Twitter & IG
crewunb.com: @crewunB on Twitter & @theunbearablescrew on IG

#MNR: 23220
 
“Nothing should come before your fam, from ki’s to quarters, grams.”
Nasir Jones
 
My apology for the blog being a day late, y’all. I was tired then a MF last night. I was so tired I didn’t even smoke a J after work. AND I only worked a half day (second half). Yeah, I know. That’s some shit. But anyway...
 
Amtrak cars smell like old, stale white men. And they never turn the cabin lights off. It’s hard to go to sleep under interrogation room lights. “You know you done fucked up, right?” Type shit. But damn it, I had both seats to myself for the duration of the trip and we made perfect time. Shouts out to Moynihan Train Hall and Amtrak Lounge. Shoutout to Amtrak. I’m finna take one to Hawaii next summer. Who’s coming with me? Oh, ok. Well bump y’all then. No souvenirs for none of youse.
 
Homecoming is a cherished Negro tradition, whether it be the church house or university hall. It’s an annual opportunity to return to home base and coalesce with loved ones. Homecoming is perhaps the most important event on the HBCU calendar after graduation. There’s the obligatory step show, parties for students AND alumni, a concert (if it’s in the budget) and the football game. The game is usually against a pushover, all but guaranteeing a win for the home team (unless they’re completely ass). I’ve had the privilege of going to a few different homecomings, and they had their own unique flavor. Howard University, the Harvard of HBCU, probably has the most well-known homecoming, immortalized by the BIG fella’s bars, “may see me in DC at Howard’s homecoming with my man Capone dumbing, fucking something.” If you didn’t attend an HBCU, there’s a good chance that you’ve never been to a homecoming. I’ll leave it at this: If you know someone who didn’t attend an HBCU but who’s been to an HBCU homecoming – ask them. Let them tell you what it’s like.
 
Shouts out to Coach Alvin Parker (my era) and the Virginia Union University Panthers football team. They beat the horse shit out of Lincoln University. When we left Hovey Field with about 1:57 left in the 4th Quarter, they had just scored to go up 56-0. Shout out to RB Jada Byers, the best back in Division II football. Word is he may play on Sundays in the future.
 
VUU Homecoming ’23 was an amazing affair. The yard was filled with alums and coeds, more of the former than the latter. The kids were extra litty. I saw bottles getting drunk and big J’s getting smoked. They woulda sent us home forever with our mamas had we smoked in the wide like that 25 years ago. Instead, we smoked in the dorms. And we smoked at cribs off the yard. But back to the point. The kids were lit like they were on Bourbon St. during Mardi Gras. Shouts out to them. I’m happy they can do their thing without having to worry about the campus fuzz getting crazy. I didn’t see a single campus police walking the yard. I only saw a few officers from the sheriff’s department here and there, but they weren’t there to harass students and alums for the trees. Having said all that, I didn’t smoke a chronic bud on the yard at homecoming. I didn’t have to. We smoked too many J’s and drank before we hit the yard. And we took edibles. I was wild loopy, mellow AF. The fraternities and sororities were out heavy. I saw a Delta (Delta Sigma Theta) or three (RIP mommy) who looked to be north of 70. Shouts out to Beta Epsilon. Shout out to Shareon. My classmate Kim’s daughter continued the legacy and crossed Alpha Kappa Alpha (AKA) days ago. Big ups to Kim, her daughter, my sisters (Jon Jon, Lisa, Apryl, Daisy, Shay, Meek) and the Alpha Eta chapter. I saw 8,000,001 Ques (Omega Psi Phi), including one of my closest brothers Rock and my big bro A-Wax. Do willie. Shout out to Z-Squad. I saw legend and NBA Hall of Famer Ben Wallace. My sis Jon Jon took a pic with Charles Oakley, but I didn’t see him on the yard this time. I saw plenty of people from my era. I’m not much of a party guy at this point in my life, but I did attend a rooftop party at The Graduate hotel. Keisha from my class threw the party. It was age appropriate for me, which is the only way I can fully enjoy a function in my old age. Keisha was a sweetheart all night. I’d definitely attend another event if she’s throwing it.
 
The squad had an Airbnb. I chose to stay by my lonely in a telly. Y’all know I’m a semi-recluse. And, just like senior year when I interned at WRIC-TV8 (ABC) all the way down Midlothian on Arboretum (southside), my Huntley family made sure I got scooped and dropped off every damn where from the moment I got off the Amtrak 10:30 AM Thursday. Big ups to my fam, especially Rock, Louie, Keith, Jon Jon and Darrell. There are so many of us, but I spent the most time with them. I love spending time with my friends of 25+ years. They are true sisters and brothers. We’ve been through damn near all aspects of life together – even when we are apart. I can always count on my Huntley Family. Case in point: Rock lives in Philly. I had a round trip ticket on Amtrak, purchased a month ago. He insisted that he take me up the Turnpike to the crib in the black Suburban. He really is the greatest. AND I just received an email from Amtrak tonight apologizing for the delay Sunday night. That would have meant a $70 Uber trip to travel about 8 miles (7.6) from Moynihan Train Hall to the crib . God is the greatest. But back to the ride home. We didn’t listen to the radio one second up I-95. Facts. We talked all the way up. That’s my dog for life. RIP to Shareon and Moses. I’m going to end this blog here because I want to keep it positive. My family knows why I’m going to end it here. But hey. Some beef is everlasting. Sides get taken. Those of us caught in the middle suffer the most. C’est la vie. LONG LIVE MEEK. I miss you girl.
 
 
tymonday.com: @tymonday on Twitter & IG
crewunb.com: @crewunB on Twitter & @theunbearablescrew on IG

#MNR: I RIDES AND DIES FOR MINE
 
“War is hell.”
William Tecumseh Sherman
 
“So proud to be just who I am. So proud to say that I’m me. I’M BLACK!”
Styles P. & Marsha Ambrosius
 
Happy 69th heavenly birthday Shareon. You are the greatest. You always will be.
Shareon D. (Warren) Smith 10.17.54-7.17.17
 
My beloved Eagles took their first L of the season. It was a nasty game. We gave the Jets the ball 4 times. The NFL turnover chart says it is damn near mathematically impossible to win a game finishing -4 in the turnover department. C’est la vie. We deserve that L. We played like shit. Oh well. On to the next one. Those nuclear-powered Dolphins are coming to the Linc.
 
“So much trouble in the world, nigga. Can’t nobody feel your pain.”
Big Syke (RIP)
 
The last thing I want to do is seem inconsiderate from an analytic standpoint in such a time as this. I live in the New York megalopolis, Benjamin County, New Jerusalem to be exact. I work in the Chelsea neighborhood of Manhattan. I live amongst and work with Jewish folk. I’m certain there are plenty of Palestinians in the areas I maneuver through. Pardon me, I don’t make it a habit to ask Muslims what nation they’re from, so I can’t be completely sure. I do know that New York is the world’s melting pot, so my assumption almost certainly has validity. Ok, ok Thompson. Get to the damn point. I will. I remain neutral in the Israeli/Palestinian conflict. I stand steadfast in saying that it’s fucked up when civilians are made victims of war. I can’t give Hamas a pass. I am not a fan of terrorist groups, irrespective of nation and/or ethnicity. In the same breath, I can’t give Israel a pass for the wrongs they’ve committed against Palestinians either. Mistruths and propaganda are dispersed freely. One thing I’ve learned from studying war is that rules are subject to change and goal posts are regularly moved. The British thought the Natives and French were wrong for jumping from out of trees and bushes and sneak attacking the red coats while they formed ornate lines and tried to look cute before beginning combat. Fuck a rule. It’s all about who gets who first. It’s fucked up when civilians are massacred. But we can’t act like the other side hasn’t done horrible things to their civilian counterparts. I’m not one to drink the Kool-Aid and bandwagon ride. I’m politically staying out of this one. That’s that.
 
This eternal war is over land that both sides feel is rightfully theirs. I’ve done my research. The Palestinians were pushed off most of that land into the Gaza Strip and portions of the West Bank. Ain’t no fucking way they can be wrong in my eyes for fighting for what they feel is rightfully theirs. Sell that to someone else. And, for the record, I’m not a fan of the blockade, either. Some have likened Gaza to Alcatraz because of the blockade. But hey...none of that is my business.
 
My prayers are with my coworker Ty. He has a cousin who’s a member of the Israeli army. I have a lot of love for Ty. My first cousin (brother) Reggie did tours in Afghanistan. I was scared for his life every single time I thought about him being over there. I know how Ty is feeling. I told him to his face that I’m not about choosing sides, but I am about showing love to my folk. I wish the best for Ty’s cousin on the strength of Ty.
 
 
I have my own fish to fry right here in Murrica.
 
Fuck it. I’m a keep rapping for a taste.
 
Dear Murrica...
 
The sweat off my back and the blood I’ve shed on this land is my deed to ownership of this country. This is my shit. Despite everything you’ve done to me since 1619, I’m still standing. Tall as ever. I repeat: this is MY shit. Any comment I make and any scrutiny I have is in earnest and is the motherfucking truth. I’m more than entitled to feel how I feel and to speak how I speak. I’m not some petulant, excuse making sucker ass nigga who sits on his ass and complains about all the fuckery I think is happening. No. I am an intelligent Black child, well learned, supremely sagacious and devoid of bullshit. Not nann MF can tell me any type of different, you heard?
 
Salute to my young brother Tory Dro, who [a few years ago] helped me reaffirm what I was taught from day one by Archie G. Warren Sr. I’m not a bigot, xenophobe, homophobe or anything that promotes the inequality, pain and suffering of another group of people. But I am 100%, unapologetically Black on both sides. I love my people in a special way. We have been oppressed for centuries. I’m not here to bitch and complain. I’m not here to beg any type of handout. I do believe that we deserve some form of reparation. 40 acres and a Cadillac seems unlikely. Six years of free university education is fair in my book. It’s just food for thought. But back to the sermon: I am here to uplift and promote an absolute Black agenda. I’m not against anyone but I am absolutely for my people. I’m not attaching any other ethnic group. This is a Black thing. I don’t mind working with other groups of people to collectively be better humans, but my economic and cultural agenda is for us. We spend the most of any ethnicity, yet we own the least. We have a lot of work to do. We need to take a W.E.B. Du Bois approach. Shit, most of us need to read The Souls of Black Folks. But I’m ten toes down for my people. I rides and dies for mine.
 
Sincerely,
 
Ty Monday Thompson
 
In conclusion, I don’t pick sides when Black America isn’t involved. Ain’t none of my damn business. But I do tend to root for the underdog. Discern as you feel. I’m out this bitch. Water.
 
tymonday.com: @tymonday on Twitter & IG
crewunb.com: @crewunB on Twitter & @theunbearablescrew on IG

#MNR: ALTRUISTIC
 
“Late at night, I catch a buzz and I write.”
Buckshot
 
“D.A. got a witness, lawyer can’t explain it.”
Tragedy Khadafi
 
“Behold the uncontrollable, I keep the whole world in drama.”
Mic Geronimo
 
I know who loves me. I know who’s coming to get me if the pigs lock me in one of their government-issued cages. I know who’s going to let them thangs fly if they hear I’m shot and bleeding. I know who’s going to make sure my story is told properly after they put flowers on my casket. I be knowing.
 
Kids, don’t do drugs. But if you do, don’t be stingy. Share your drugs. Let me hit it.
 
I remain amazed at how people are more than willing to believe blatant lies. It’s like some twisted type of escapism. I guess it’s easier for them to believe a lie than it is to accept reality. I don’t need to be specific. You can insert your own pertinent example. You and I both know how nasty it is outside.
 
Drake released his 94th studio album last Friday, titled For All The Dogs. It’s a 23-track effort filled with guest appearances from the likes of 21 Savage, SZA, and Bad Bunny, amongst others. With the exception of his collaborative album with 21, I’ve purchased the last six Drake albums, including the fake Jersey Club album. I haven’t copped the latest release, mostly because I didn’t want to spend the $11.99 (I still purchase all my music in case you didn’t know) just yet. I’m going to get it. Drake is the overall best artist of his era not named Kendrick or Jermaine. Hold that thought...
 
Black America’s favorite podcaster, the incomparable Joseph Budden, had some choice words for Drizzy’s new album. He said that the project was a solid effort but contended that Drake hasn’t grown as an artist. Drake immediately fired back with a blistering IG post that accused Joey of hate and took direct shots at Budden’s [failed?] rap career and perceived jealousy. Some have contended that Drake “ether’d” Joe; others have chosen to agree with Joe. Where, exactly, do I stand on this American/Canadian standoff? Let’s talk about it...
 
To be perfectly clear, I stand squarely in the middle of this “beef”. Both men had their subjective points. I agree with both men to a certain extent on said points. I’m a Drake fan. I’ve been a Drake fan since So Far Gone, the mixtape that catapulted him to stardom (outside of Wheelchair Jimmy and Degrassi) and a deal with Weezy via YMCMB. He’s made music that I feel is genuinely amazing. Having said as much, I’ve always contended that NONE of Drake’s studio albums are what I consider to be classic material; Nothing Was the Same came closest IMO. I do feel that So Far Gone is a classic, and even though it was initially released as a free mixtape, it has since been repackaged as a “for sale” release. That makes it his only legitimate classic album to me. This doesn’t mean that Drizzy hasn’t released classic material; he has what would amount to a double (or triple) album of classic songs/singles. It simply means that none of his label releases have met my personal threshold for the classic moniker. I feel that this is the result of the crux of what Budden said. Drake hasn’t truly grown as an MC. He’s made legendary growth as an artist and game-changer, to be perfectly clear. But as an MC I feel that he’s been stagnant for some time. Drake has chosen to mimic the sound of what’s been popular on the scene. The first example I can think of is when he jumped on “Versace.” I’d never heard of Migos (I was in my “most of this new shit is trash” phase as a rap junkie), so having Drake on the track made me want to listen, as Drake had already established himself as a stalworth in the rap game by that time. Let’s be honest – Drake jumped on the track and mimicked what’s now regarded as the “Migos sound.” He did an excellent job. That track catapulted Migos into mainstream limelight. They have since gone on to become the best group of their era. RIP Takeoff. Drake continued the trend of hopping on up-and-coming artists’ songs in the following years. How many of y’all remember “Look Alive” by BlocBoy JB? Exactly. Apparently, Drizzy continued the tradition on FATD, featuring up and coming artist Yeat on the track “IDGAF.” I did some quick research on Yeat. He’s a young Cali artist that is a part of the sub genre punk rap, which some have associated with mumble rap but is officially titled Twizzy language. I am actually listening to the track as I type. Yeah...if I do purchase this album, “IDGAF” will be a smooth skip for me, doggie.
 
This was the perfect segue into Joe’s “angst” for Drake’s new music. Drake’s “willingness” to incorporate new artists and their styles into his repertoire is a part of his “stagnation.” Does it move the needle for him as an artist? Yes. It continuously allows for his “style” to be current, which is almost always endearing to the average listener. Does it stagnate him as an MC? Yes. Stylistically, I couldn’t distinguish the 23-year-old from the 35-year-old on the track. Herein lies the issue. For Drake to truly be remembered as timeless, his sound must evolve organically. Jumping on the next artist’s popular song and mimicking their style isn’t the route to evolution. I understand that his ardent fans disagree. I’m not mad at them. If the product is official, why question it? You question it because a lot of us feel that Drake has the ability to step his game up lyrically and stylistically. I think back to his additional verse at the end of the “Aston Martin Music” dirty extended version. His flow was immaculate. That man left earth. “And no, I’m not saying that I’m the nicest, I just live life like it.” At that point, I thought that Drake would eventually claim his seat at the table of great MCs. What followed was the current recipe. That song is over a decade old. At the end of the day, I think this is what Budden was trying to convey. It always comes across as hate if it’s any type of criticism. That’s how popular culture is wired these days. Does Drake need to evolve for popularity’s sake? Fuck no. For history’s sake? That depends on who you ask. I don’t even have an answer, as perception is reality nowadays. There’s a percentage of listeners who already consider Mr. Graham to be the GOAT. I don’t think he’s anywhere close to being the GOAT MC. As far as the GOAT artist? Shit, he may already be there. Congrats on the latest release, Drizzy. Keep on doing what you do. Joey and I are in the minority. Mr. Budden, you don’t usually miss. You’re on point as usual.
 
Y’all thought I was going to let Aubrey get away with that fuckery he posted on IG? Y’all must got me all the way fucked up. Sure, Budden’s rap career didn’t reach the heights many of us initially thought it would. But Joseph’s legacy is not limited to “Pump It Up.” That man made some really good MF music, both as a solo artist and as ¼ of the Slaughterhouse collective. A Loose Quarter is one of my favorite mixtapes EVER. “So Good” and “So Hard” are bona-fide classics to my trained ears. That man was an elite MC. I will not let you casuals forget his Mood Muzik series. Some would contend that Budden’s candid nature and willingness to speak on issues of the mind, heart and soul made him a predecessor to the “Drake sound.” And, and...wasn’t Aubrey once a vocal supporter and fan of Joe Budden the MC? Y’all correct me if I’m mistaken. And I refuse to let you casuals forget when Budden dropped that 4-piece diss collection to which Drizzy never replied. The irony in Drake’s IG novel is that he was silent when Joe was an MC and repeatedly dissed him on Front Street in broad daylight. Once again, there was nary a reply. To diss him and attack the worth of his career now that he’s retired was a low blow. But shit, I play without a ref every time I step into the arena. I’ll allow it.
 
Welp, that’s all, folks. I didn’t know the Drizzy/Budden segment would take up so much copy. (Sly Stone voice) I’m through, mane. I promise the first audio #MNR soon come. Matter fact...
 
tymonday.com: @tymonday on Twitter & IG
crewunb.com: @crewwunB on Twitter & @theunbearablescrew on IG
P.S. – I’m never calling Twitter X.

#MNR: IF I...
 
“Call Mr. Martin. Tell him to build a coffin. Today is that season...a hundred MCs a get murdering...stop it! Call Mr. Martin. Tell him to build a coffin. Today is that season...a hundred MCs a get murdering...ha ha ha.”
Wyclef Jean
 
This warm intro shall consist of wishing former president James Earl Carter Jr. a blessed 99th birthday. He was our 39th president. He was a former lieutenant in the Navy. He was the governor of his native state of Georgia. He was a Georgia state senator.  He is a man of faith. He and his wife, the late Rosalynn Smith Carter, helped build HUD homes for the less fortunate. They helped to build homes well into their 80s. Jimmy Carter is a good man. I pray President Carter had a comfortable earth day at hospice. Why is Jimmy Carter so important to me? It’s because he was the president on 9.10.1978. I’m a Carter baby.
 
RANDOM THOUGHT OF THE DAY: Earth, Wind & Fire didn’t sing a single word in the dictionary on “Brazilian Rhyme.” That is all. (Insert 3 fire emojis)
 
I could be lying, but I swear I saw a battleship floating down 8th Avenue Friday afternoon when I took my lunch break. My phone received three separate emergency tones, a new personal Apple record. All jokes aside, Friday was nasty work for NYC. I’m talmbout nasty to the point it made that bitch Ida jealous. Flooding, the result of upwards of 8 inches of rain in many areas, shut down so many highways and train lines that Hajji was charging $500 for local magic carpet taxi rides. Price gouging ass nucca. I’d say we all ought to bank that man, but I’m afraid of the team of trained killer cobras he has on payroll. Nappy Red, lil Keith (Keef) dem said those cobras are extra deadly. Mean as hell, too. I’m thankful that my commute home wasn’t impeded in any way. In fact, I caught the “in-between bus” and got home like 15 minutes early. I immechiately proceeded to the package sto’ and purchased a bottle of wine, but that’s neither here nor there. Unfortunately, a lot of commuters weren’t as “lucky” as I was. My ace Ju needed damn near four hours to get home to Money Earnin’, consisting of an MTA ride AND a $200 Uber ride. For some reason, I heard Florida Evans’ “damn, damn, damn!” in my mind when I typed that two hundo. Yikes. Another coworker, Laura, said it took her 3.5 hours to get home. I’m not sure where in the city she resides, but I’m guessing she lived by one of the train lines that had the Hudson River flowing through it. I’m glad there were no reported fatalities. Hearing about all the flooding was one thing, but to see it was a whole other thing. I watched a YouTube video that apparently stole its content from a Spanish broadcast, as I could hear mamí’s voiceover faintly playing during portions of the footage. It got extra spooky in certain parts of the boroughs. I can’t imagine having to walk waist-deep in that rancid, nasty ass water. I would have cried like Arsenio Hall in Harlem Nights if my car’s engine block was flooded by raging flood waters. Much love to you if you had to brave the elements last Friday. You’re a certified trooper.
 
I’m hearing word from the journalist nerds that the sneaker market has apparently tanked. I love it. These resell bastards have been fucking the game up for far too long. Either they use their bots to scoop up all the general releases and/or they charge shitty resell prices. Bots make it damn near impossible to score a W on the Sneakers app. I’d say my success rate is somewhere between 15 – 25%, but probably much closer to the fifteen. It’s nasty work. The consumer rarely [if ever] wins. So yes. I’m a hater. Fuck you bot using, price gouging, resell fucktards. Go kiss a barracuda with your tongue out. I know one MF thing: when I take the L on the 11s on 12.9 (I’ve lost all confidence in the app and expect to take Ls on every release I want), you punk ass resell bitches better throw me a pair for under $300. Ok, $325. Pretty please...
 
I apologize, resell bitches. I was having too much fun. I cannot promise that it will not happen again. I have an asshole disposition and a potty mouth.
 
I just took a bong rip and the smoke tasted like an order of jerked pork from the Jamaican spot. That sure is some good tasting reefa.
 
Over the weekend, congress avoided a government shutdown in damn near the literal 11th hour by passing stopgap legislation to fund the federal government through mid-November. A shutdown would have been the first since 2018 (I’ll let you guess which party controlled the House), which lasted 30 days and cost the nation billions of dollars (allegedly). When the government shuts down, more than A MILLION government employees are furloughed. 200K would be required (forced) to work without pay. Public assistance programs like SNAP benefits would be halted after a few days of a shutdown, affecting millions of families with children. Federal parks and museums would be shut down. It would be disgusting. Ask an employee or family that suffered in ’18. They’ll tell you. A month is a long damn time to go without [anything]. The rapidly sinking R party loves to use government shutdown as a bargaining chip for budgetary negotiations. Although most of the MAGAt wing would contend that Speaker McCarthy again made serious concessions to the Dems, this game of neo-conservative hardball did succeed in leaving $6B of Ukraine funding OFF the table. Y’all know I’m with the far right on that one. I could care less about their cause. I could care less about any “threat” Putin and Russia poses to the western world. I don’t believe in policing other people’s property (the other OPP). All those billions could go towards truly addressing our national mental health dilemma. Shit, being that you’re giving money away, how about a federal rebate check? How about two? I don’t believe in fighting proxy wars in the interest of “freedom” when shit is fucked up on my own soil. Disagree if you may. I don’t give a fuck. That is all.
 
For those of you who may be reading this blog for the first time and are in disbelief over my flagrant disregard for Ukraine, I never forgot how Ukraine treated my young African scholars as they tried to flee Kyiv when the war began, and non-residents were advised to flee. They coldly turned my brilliant young brothers and sisters away with no problem...as they feared for their lives in a foreign country. They let the pets of those fleeing board the trains as they turned my people away. That shit hurt my soul. I also remember that scores of Africans were sent to refugee camps of bordering nations and treated like political prisoners. I don’t fuck with Ukraine. I don’t care how many Ukraine flag emojis you have beside your Twitter handle and pronouns. I don’t fuck with anyone/anything who doesn’t fuck with my-skinned folk.
 
Well folks, that’s all for this Monday evening. Please be sure to tune into the next episode of #MNR. Same #MNR time, same #MNR channel. Goodnight.
 
tymonday.com: @tymonday on Twitter & IG
crewunb.com: @crewunB on Twitter & @theunbearablescrew on IG

#MNR: THE NERVE OF YOU
 
“My next-door neighbor’s having convos with undercovers. Put a surprise in her mailbox, hope she get it. Happy birthday, bitch, you know you shouldna did it.”
Makaveli the Don
 
“They label my vocabulary abusive. I pack more knowledge than Confucius. I’m deadly.”
Kurupt
 
Peace, blessings and prosperity to the entire #MNR Family. Come on in, y’all. I know it’s cold and wet outside. Hang your parkas up. Rest your shoes. There’s hot cocoa on the stove. Come find a seat by the fireplace. Get comfortable. Twirl your aromatics. Let’s get blown. We’ve got some shit to discuss.
 
Last week, ‘round 'bout Tuesday in the evening time, I immechiately took a dumpy as soon as I got in the crib. The bubble guts were on full disrespect mode. It wasn’t near breech mode, but still. Anyway, I was enjoying my evening dumpy when I got a notification. Someone contacted me and told me that they took exception to something I mentioned in my blog. It wasn’t a difference of opinion; I welcome those. The beef was with my mere mention of something...or someone. Don’t e’en matter. Let’s begin with the obvious. Asshole, this is my MF blog. I can talk about whatever/whoever the fuck I want to talk about. You didn’t put in on this, man! You’re wild for that one. Next...if you read my blog in an ardent manner, you know politics/civil rights are a cornerstone of my discourse. Freedom of speech, the most referenced part of 1A, is a damn civil right. Amendment I reinforces my initial point: I can talk about whatever/whoever the fuck I want to talk about. It’s an inalienable right as an American. It's MY inalienable right as an American. Perhaps you should brush up on the constitution, jerkface. Finally...the nerve of you. And me, of all people. Smmfh. You had a better chance of kissing a Yosemite gap-toothed grizzly in the mouth than you had of successfully checking this gap-toothed grizzly for any motherfucking thing I speak on. This is my shit. I play with no referee. You must’ve smoked a K-2 spliff and sniffed a crushed xany on your way to the liquor store to buy crackhead beer. You trout-mouth heathen. Having said what I’ve said (and I mean every word of that shit), ain’t no thang. I forgive you. Just don’t let it happen again. (Baby Joker voice) Fucker.
 
I’m in the process of answering this long ass work survey about the job in general and about the efficacy of the supervisorial staff. These things are always weird to me. Sure, they’re completely anonymous (allegedly). Still, it’s kind of awkward critiquing their performance. I don’t see what they do all hours of the day. I don’t quite know what to say. Irrespective of my sentiments toward my supervisors, I don’t believe in going scorched earth on any type of evaluation: supervisor, coworker, subordinate, whomever. That’s just not my style. Having said as much, I think they do their damn jobs. That’s all I expect of supervisors. My boss lady has been good to me from Day 0. We talk more than just job shit. No human is perfect, but I have no ill words towards her. My lone critique of the supervisors is that they hover. But it’s kind of hard not to when you work in an area as limited in space as ours. I’m the king of pragmatism; I understand. That’s all I have to say.
 
Y’all know me. I couldn’t speak on critiquing others without critiquing myself as well. It is a short, brief critique: I am flawless. No, all jokes aside, I really am. In fact, I’m so flawless that I’ll speak on my greatest quality as a coworker: my ability to “build” the team as well as individuals. What, exactly, do I mean? I’m always going to compliment and encourage. I regularly speak with my coworkers about what they specifically do well. I uplift as much as possible. When I feel it’s time to encourage, I encourage. At times it’s to reinforce their confidence. Other times it’s to motivate them when they’re a bit down. I pay attention to everything, so I can detect when my teammate isn’t herself/himself. My words are fastidious and poignant. The intended result is always the same: let’s win.
 
Uplifting and edifying those who matter to me comes naturally. I make it a habit to encourage my folk as much as possible. Most of the time a simple accolade or acknowledgement goes a long way for someone’s psyche. When I used to live inside my head, I constantly questioned my worth. Having someone validate my efforts was everything, to the point where I actively sought validation. I had a situation where a family member failed to mention me in a shout-out roll call at a big event. It hurt my feelings. It led me to believe I didn’t really matter to them at the end of the day. After I got over that letdown, I promised myself I’d never allow that type of thing to affect me again. It took some time, but that type of thing isn’t that important to me anymore. But I see that that very desire exists in others. It’s natural. I feel that I possess a great deal of sagacity, or at least enough to recognize when someone special to me needs a quick word of encouragement. I’ll shoot a coworker a text of encouragement on a random Sunday afternoon. Why? Because I consider others’ mental well-being. I know that a random word of encouragement can go a long way. I don’t gas anything, either. There’s no hyperbole in my encouragement. If I give you a positive word it’s because I truly feel that way in my heart and spirit. I say what I mean and mean what I say. It’s not that others don’t feel the same way, but sometimes they fail to express these feelings. In turn, people tend to think that they’re not a big deal. If I fuck with you, you are abso-fuckinglutely a big deal. And even if you aren’t a big deal to the rest of the world, you are to me. I’m thankful for you and I’m blessed to have you as my family/homie/friend/lover/coworker. You matter. You matter to me.
 
In case you wonder why validation means little to me [anymore], it’s because the two greatest people in my life told me [in their own words] I’m that MF: Shareon and Me. The Lord is always with me, so whom shall I fear?
 
CEO and I are considering releasing audio versions of #MNR. What y’all think about that? If it sounds like a thing to do, send a quick memo to your boy on the Twitter @tymonday. I don’t half-ass anything I put my name on, so I’ll definitely make sure the audio quality is to my liking before we release anything. Archie Warren Sr. taught me to never halfway do a job. I don’t.
 
 Big ups to my girl Neek, an avid supporter of this blog and great individual altogether. Once upon a time she was the point goddess for the DMHS Lady Raiders. She could make water spill with the rock and had the flyest braids in the whole school. That was back when. These days, she’s one of the flyest with the dress code in the tri-state. She’s still funny AF. Still a real one. Salute.
 
Mobb niggas to the exit, we out (IYKYK).
 
tymonday.com: @tymonday on Twitter & IG
crewunb.com: @crewunB on Twitter & @theunbearablescrew on IG