Mannnnnnnnnnn fuck everything and everybody. Dead ass. I'm at the front of the list. Fuck me! How you watch every story and laugh at the nigga who makes the stupid mistakes and you become the nigga justifying the ignorant behavior?
\nLife crazy sometimes man, there's a lot of shit in life that seems like it should be pretty plain and simple, however there are some things that some people take easily and others can't process and/or decipher the answer to. Either for a lack of knowledge or a lack of understanding the situation.
\nI work at a pretty interesting place with pretty interesting people, I know people who put themselves in harm's way purposely because they are unhappy with their lives and definitely spend too much time in their heads. It's funny though; u tend to wonder why people make the choices they make, why they choose to jeopardize perfection for a messy situation. Boggles the mind. Unless you really know people. It's one of those things that's gonna keep the earth spinning with us on it for a lil while longer. Humans self sabotage all the time, there's always going to be something about success that scares people. Robert Kraft got like 10 digits in his bank account, that's before the decimal, he had the wherewithal to show up in the Bentley, but he cheap as fuck for not havin a high priced chickedy on payroll. Vetted. Pulling up to him, in the Bentley.
\nConspiracy theories: he's being targeted for allying himself with Meek Mill in the course of this prison reform situation that's happening now?? I mean they got 21 Savage IMMEDIATELY after his video for "A Lot" dropped and his changed second verse brought light to the ongoing immigration situation. "I couldn't imagine seeing my kids stuck at the border" Next thing you know:"we've got Savage" but nah, that was probably his cheap ass Karma. Ijs.
\nThis nigga Drake man, re-releasing "So Far Gone" as an album ? I've just got 2 questions how the hell much did the samples cost to clear (heard Ye cleared his) and are we gettin new visuals? Other than that? Salute my guy, but I'm still waiting for Chris Brown to drop that best of the 90s cover album. And I lied 3 questions:is this the start of the next musical movement? I mean who is to say that reimagining the visuals of songs 20 years old won't be great and at at least at par with the original. Shit we may even get visuals for album cuts that have become "classics". Maybe.
\nMore nonsense at another time.
And it does sound ill like noise in Brownsville, or fatal robberies in Red Hook where feds look...
Salute to the planet of Brooklyn. The gods and earths choose to call it Medina. Need to go see my OG. Soon.
How y’all? It’s your friendly neighborhood asshole Mr. Monday, back again to entertain you in the final hours of Monday night and marinate through the week. I’m three weeks clean, y’all. I’m done with the reefa until further notice. Indefinitely. I need a better job. Those types usually need a piss sample. Before, I just used to ask the person who handed me the cup if there was some juice or Kool Aid to fill it with because it was a complete waste of time to take my urine. My shit’s been dirty since Illmatic. Ready to Die. But it’s a wrap. So light one up in my honor. Fasten your safety belts. It’s time to ride.
Salute to the legendary Spike Lee for FINALLY receiving his just due from the Academy. Finally. Best Adapted Screen Play for Black Klansman. I saw it in the cinema this summer past. Dope ass picture. Big ups to the brother who won Best Animated Picture for the latest Spider-Man flick. I saw pieces of it on a bootleg movie site off the lil homie Jason’s iPhone 8 during sixth period lunch a few weeks back. #dope. Big ups to my baby Regina King for her Best Supporting Actress for that movie about Beale St. Been loving her since Calvin and 227. Fuck Calvin and his S-curl. Love you lady. Big ups to Mahershala Ali for his Best Supporting Actor Oscar. I didn’t see Green Book. Looks like typical pilgrim-with-a-newfound-conscience rhetoric to me but my man Ali is the truth. It’s such sweet and poetic irony that he won his Oscar around the same time that Season 3 of True Detective concluded (he’s the lead actor). The storyline for this season wasn’t the greatest, but the brother acted his ass off. Check it out. It’s a damn good HBO program (how my gpa would say if he were alive). Big ups to the sister who won for Wardrobe Design for Black Panther. Wakanda forever. Finally, big ups to my ex-lover Lady Gaga for taking Best Song for “Shallow” from the movie A Star Is Born. . She is a great artist and amazing actress. Get ‘em mommy.
Finally, I’d like to take some time to make myself clear about #45 and his “wall”. I’m gonna piss a bunch of youse off (temporarily) and back Donald Chump up: I’d love to see a wall built in his honor. But before you stop reading the blog (now and forever) at least hear me out. I draw reference to the legendary short story The Cask of Amontillado by the prolific Edgar Allen Poe. To hit you with the Cliffs Notes right quick, there’s a guy who doesn’t like another guy. Matter fact, he despised him. We never know why. But we know beyond measure that the first guy hates the other guy because the first guy is the narrator. He continually expresses throughout the story that he despises him without explaining exactly why. The story takes place somewhere during some drunken festival of fuckery. The narrator convinces the other guy to come with him to the crib to have a taste of wine from his cellar. But it wasn’t a vintage bottle of Mad Dog 20/20, rather, it was a rare cask of Amontillado. The other guy, drunker then Scooter Brown, happily agrees to travel home with the narrator to get up on a bottle of the exclusive shit, ya dig? But little does he know that the narrator is plotting on his drunk ass. But like I said, we the readers are privy to the narrator’s thoughts so we know this MF is up to absolutely no type of good. Long story short he leads him deep into the cellar and traps him behind a wall to die one of the most horribly imaginable ways of death—mummification. See, I’m down with this type of wall. Let’s build one to trap the Chumpster behind. Somewhere deep in one of those famous White House tunnels Murder at 1600 put us on to (my nigga Wesley was OD fly in that movie). Die slow you bigoted coward. That’s my time y’all. Time to shake a leg and get up in the wind suga.
MNR: I Needs ALL Mines
PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT
Snitching is only applicable to street-related games and the players who play said games. Civilians don’t snitch. They do what they feel is necessary for the safety of themselves and their loved ones. Don’t get it twisted. Example: you’re a grandmother raising two of your degenerate ass son’s chillen. You live on a block where there’s constant drug dealing and gunplay. Your lil ones play outside. They walk past the fuckery on the way to and from school. So basically, they’re always forced to see nefarious activity and are perpetually subjected to potentially being in the line of fire. Is it snitching if you call them people because you’re worried about your grandbabies’ safety? No, you dumb motherfucker. It’s called protecting your family. Police (in theory) are in place to serve and protect. Grandma isn’t a gangster. She’s a tired grandmother. Stupid. And to all of youse who keep screaming on all this type action, it’s likely that you don’t know shit about the streets other than what your favorite retarded ass rapper or social media or BET tell you. Stop putting your pussy ass propaganda out for the young and impressionable to misinterpret reality with. Just STFU. Thank you.
It’s the most wonderful time of the year. For me, anyways. Major League Baseball Spring Training is a week in. Whether it’s the Grapefruit League in Florida (my Yanks are based in Tampa) or the Cactus League in Arizona, every MLB club is prepping for an October run that will ultimately culminate in the 2019 World Series championship. Sadly, reality echoes that only a handful of teams have what it takes to walk that isle. And in baseball more so than any other American professional team sport, the haves almost always have a decided edge over the have nots. Even with revenue sharing, the larger markets have a lot more in the war chest to go after top-flight free agents than the smaller markets. With this we arrive at my thesis. A week into Spring Training, Bryce Harper and Manny Machado, the two biggest names to enter free agency in a half generation, are still without a team to report to. It’s widely agreed that both men are seeking contracts in the ballpark of $300M over 10 years. What’s even crazier is that these two hit the market a whole two years or better before most do because they entered the big leagues at age 19. The way baseball is set up, a player has to give the first team he breaks into the bigs with a whole seven seasons of service before he is eligible for free agency. This ensures that the team can get quality years of play from a player before having to back the Brinks truck up. Most big time ball players hit the market around age 28. Some don’t hit their seven until after 30. Bryce and Manny are seemingly in the driver’s seat having both begun service at the tender age of 19, an accomplishment rarely seen in baseball at all and even more rare these days. Gone are the days of a 19 year-old Henry Aaron breaking into the big leagues directly out of the Negro Leagues well before voting age. Or a baby-faced 19 year-old prodigy named Ken Griffey Jr. joining his pop in the Kingdome outfield in Seattle. More players attend college and play college ball than in past eras, naturally pushing their start and service dates back further. And nowadays it is a commonplace stall tactic to keep a future phenom in the minor leagues a year or two past being big league ready to hold on to “ownership”. So with all this being stated, why are two of the biggest young stars in the game still on the open market? The answer is quite simple: GM’s and front offices are more than reluctant to dish out any more 10/300+ deals because of recent precedent. Future Hall of Fame Angels 1B Albert Pujols, the best all around hitter of this generation grew old and his skills have diminished well before year ten. The same for Tigers future HOF 1B Miggy Cabrera, the first man to win the storied Triple Crown (1st in his league in HR, RBI, & Batting average) since Yaz in ‘67. There are others who have underwhelmed well before fulfilling the service years on the deal. And with every MLB contract being fully guaranteed unlike the NFL, teams are forced to take the hit, rain or shine, health or injury, productive or otherwise. That means there isn’t as much money in the pot to lure other free agents to town. GM’s have remained steadfast in refusing to dole out these types of deals lately. They’ll give up the $30M+ annually, but not for ten years. I can respect it. In fact, I actually side with the owners. It sets a franchise back. I want every worker in a free market economy to break the bank whenever possible. But if I’m holding the purse or in charge of it, I’m being as cautious as possible before I give that bag out. It’s Business Common Sense 101. But just like the rest of the sports world, fellow MLB players see the vibe, and they’re livid. One (can’t remember who) recently even said that if the trend continues he sees a player’s strike being eminent when the current collective bargaining agreement ends. For those who don’t know, the last work stoppage took place in 1994. There was no World Series for the first time since 1904. The strike, largely seen by fans as a pissing contest between billionaires and millionaires, completely alienated many and in turn the sport came closer to extinction than ever imagined. Luckily, Mr. Cal Ripken Jr. and his consecutive games played streak record in set in 1995 (2,131 to break; 2,632 overall) along with the steroid fueled single season HR record race of 1998 between Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa (Big Mac won with 70, Sosa finished with 66; both broke Roger Maris’ record of 61) brought asses back to seats and sentiment back to hearts. Baseball cannot take another big strike. But as of right now, there seems to be no type of common ground. As a true fanatic of the game (my first love and eternal passion), I pray there is an amicable resolution. But I doubt it. Oh boy... #letsgoyankees
MNR Wednesday Night Fuckery: The Death of Gucci in Black America
I’m going on two weeks off reefa y’all. I can’t lie. I’m low key proud of meh self. I never thought I’d stop smoking. I love Mary. She was my first wife. But my true wife to be and I have plans for a better and comfortable future together. And I always said that the day cheeba became detrimental from an economic standpoint I would cease burning. That day came. I stuck to my word. I don’t miss it physically or psychologically like I thought I would. But I do miss being able to clear my head when shit gets overwhelming. I already analyze errthang to infinity. Now it’s infinity and beyond. I’m trying to increase my gym output but I’m tired after working two jobs a day. An hour or 1.5 is my max on a work day. I’m a whole 40. There’s only so much energy to go around. But I’ll figure it all out. As long as I have my baby’s support I’m good to go (Elephant Man voice). That’s forever and a day, by the way. She got me. My bros continue to hold me down like I’m still dead in the middle of the ciph. I appreciate their encouragement. It’s all mental. I mastered my square. I’m good money.
The high end apparel company Gucci has managed to punch the Black race square in the testicles with its blackface sweater, an unfortunate and painful reminder to the 19th and early 20th century when we were visually demeaned in publications and eventually on the big screen. What in The Birth of A Nation is this shit? Really? And you issue a fucking formal apology saying it was a mistake? Anyone with a shred of business acumen knows that this was contrived and absolutely meant to be. Companies spend heavy bread to gauge the temperature of the buying public. There’s extensive analysis done to determine marketing schemes and product placement. This was far from an accident. Please don’t consider us to be THAT stupid Gucci. And to add insult to injury, social media showed Floyd “King Coon” Mayweather going into and spending heavy bread at a Gucci boutique, then ignorantly dismissing it when confronted by an internet “journalist”and asked why he continues to support Cucci (no typo). Even an ignorant fool should know all the riches in the world don’t matter when it’s time to be judged. I consider Floyd to be worst than a card carrying KKK member. He’s a race trader. I damn near hate his fucking guts. I hope he dies in the ring when they throw the right dollar amount in his face to formally come out of retirement. You fucking sucker ass coon. The sad part is these kids and some dumbass millennials will use King Coon’s reasoning to continue to support a racist company. Cucci is laughing all the way to the bank on our dollar. It’s a damn shame.
Earlier today at the alternate place of employment, I was again confronted with a racist ass comment from a student. Hey, ignorance is bliss. I can take it from a ten year old. But it crushed me when my own supervisor placated the situation and didn’t at all have my back. I was humiliated and I felt completely ostracized for the skin I’m in (rest in power Mr. Curtis Flood). I need this chicken. I’m gon hold what I got until June 20whenever. I have no choice at the moment. But this shit really hurts. I was raised by a grandfather who was a diesel mechanic for a segregated American army in WWII. He was raised in rural Zuni, Virginia and witnessed and endured countless acts of absolute racism growing up post Depression era Jim Crow. I heard damn near every story. He raised me to be Black on both sides and indelibly proud of who I am. In that regard I remain steadfast and undaunted. Otherwise, today just set me back a lifetime in race relations. I love all my folk. Black, white, Hispanic, Asian, whatever. But if ion know you you’re a pilgrim to me. Poppy was right: The onliest good... My CEO can finish it for you. I’m the fuck up out this bitch. Angry as ever. Fuck it.
MNR:Day One (Sobriety)
After a quarter century (literally) I stopped smoking weed y’all.
[insert all laughs/emojis/memes]
I know. Shit, I deserve all that smoke (pun intended). I mean, I am Ty MF Monday Thompson. Formerly Nitty. So if you’re laughing and skeptical at the same damn time, it’s deserved. This is the 1,000,001 time that I’ve teetered back and forth, no Aaliyah. I actually quit for a month and a half the summer after my freshman year of college. I was in the #BXNYC at my gma crib, jobless and sober than a MF. I decided to go play ball in my childhood park on Gleason and Watson/Rosedale. My gma asked me if I had money as I was leaving the crib. I replied no and that I didn’t need any money cuz I was only going to the park. That’s when she gave me timeless wisdom: never leave the crib without money. She put an Andrew Jackson in my hand. As soon as I left the block I saw my manz Angel on Rosedale. He told me he had the limousine nickels. I copped. I smoked. It’s been quiet since. I attempted once more, seven years ago. It lasted one measly day. But there was one key difference: I didn’t really wanna quit back then. It was simply because I was up for a good ass job and faced a piss test. The job didn’t pan out and I was back to blowing big doja a couple days later. But that was then. Now, I actually want to give it all up. And it’s not for health purposes (but is a consideration) or religious purposes. It’s much simpler. I spend (spent) waaaaaaaay too much disposable income on cheeba. By my calculations, the monthly tab was anywhere between $500-$600 a month. No cap. I always told myself when the hobby morphed into an expensive habit that I would part ways. That time has come. I’m trying to make life moves. Life moves that include my queen and her two babies. It’s much bigger than me. That five hun is nothing to sneeze at. That’s $6K a year. I don’t think I need to go any further down that road. You get the picture. In addition, there is a bit of a health incentive. I’ve been working out consistently for almost a half year. Yeah, I’m still fat AF. But damnit, I’ve lost 70 whole pounds. I feel amazing. But there is much work left to do. I feel that without smoke in my system my workouts will only intensify and inherently be more productive. My gpa Archie Warren taught me to never do a “half job”. He told me that if I accept and endeavor upon a task to complete it, simple and plain. I didn’t join the gym to half-ass it. I joined to drop all this weight, then to chisel my body. Look, I’m not blaming anything on the cheeba. She was my first love. She’s always been good to me. I don’t place any of the blame of my physical ineptness the past 15 years on marijuana. That’s all on me. I just realize that in order to take the next step I need to shake loose of all dead weight. Sorry Mary...but I’m done. I’ll always love you...from a distance. Here’s to sobriety.
P.S.— Virginia Governor Ralph Northam...just leave office. There’s no way to account for a yearbook page of yours with a person in blackface and another in full KKK garb. This wasn’t 1884. It was 1984. So, let’s get it straight: you took credit for the pic, then completely backtracked to a denial the very next damn day. Now you refuse to leave. And your folk tried to shit on your own Lt Gov. (only speculation but I believe it), Mr. Justin Fairfax, a Black man, with an unsubstantiated sexual assault claim long proven to be bullshit. Please, take the word of a registered Dem and former Virginia resident of over a decade. Please leave Richmond. Now. Thank you.