#MNR: CHELSEA’S MOST HATED
 
“If you want to be my family, we’ve got to start all over, be friends.”
Charlie Wilson
 
“I’ll be patient with you, no more fighting.”
Tems
 
“Last night was poppin’ like cop Glocks with hollow tip rounds.”
Fatal Hussein (RIP)
 
That’s word to the OUTLAW tat on my left forearm. RIP to Makaveli & Kadafi too. Outlaw Immortalz.
 
I know I’m that motherfucking nigga. I don’t need anyone to affirm that. I’m a handsome, fat, fly nigga with charm, sagacity, and immense intelligence. I talk my shit. I’m battle tested. I’m tried and true. I’m sincere. I’m a good lover. I pay my tax.
 
It comes as no surprise that niggas stay on my dick. Much love to the LGBTQ+ community. This messaging is not for y’all and is in no way intended to disrespect or belittle. This is for allegedly heterosexual MF who nut hug extraordinary gentlemen such as myself. I’m not gay, hoe ass niggas. I knew I loved pussy since my mom caught my best [girl] friend and I butt ass naked in my bed one Saturday morning. Bestie and I were both six years old. I didn’t know what to do, but I knew that we were supposed to be butt ass naked. What can I say? It was an Olympic year. Ever since that day, roll Tide. Having said as much, it came as no surprise that I was told the other day that a MF I know was texting with a lady I know. There’s nothing wrong, right? Wrong. This hating ass nigga threw reference to your boy in his texts, trying to throw salt on my name to boost his profile in hopes of some of that sweet potato pie. You, sir, are a bitch ass nigga. First off, you should know better than to think that she wasn’t going to hit my line and let me know all about your bitchassness. I got that word earlier than the news when they announce snow day school closings. LMMFAO. Typical. Y’all know the routine. A lame, unconfident nigga tries to tarnish your good and solid name in hopes of getting the pussy. SMMFH. This is a MF who I speak to and shake hands with. You hating ass nigga. The nerve of you. I should smack your brim off your MF head. You dumb ass nigga. Don’t you remember you slipping and telling me some of your personal business? I should let the females know how you like to play in your spare time. I’m not, though. I’m not a bitch ass nigga. I’m just going to carry the fuck up out you. In your face. In front of others. You’re just a hoe ass nigga. You’re not worth any trouble. Better luck next time, fuck face. Eat a dick. I still might spit in your face.
 
I know ole boy isn’t the only hater. I’m flattered.
 
We call this blog Monday Night R*w because it’s just that – raw as fuck. We discuss all types of fuckery every Monday night. But this blog is me on 35%. I’m way wilder than this. There were way too many days in this life that I didn’t give a single fuck. Plenty nights, too. Only a few MF know Mr. Monday frfr.  If I blogged on some of my escapades y’all would talk about me in the church house. Bad. A few of y’all would hate me. C’est la vie. I wouldn’t blame you, either. You can call me Despicable T. Just don’t call me collect or a liar. But I’m a leave my most vile thoughts in the vault. CEO and I need a Patreon for the true raw shit, LMAO. I can hear my Auntie now. You know I subscribed to your channel. Nigga, you ain’t got no damn sense. Not one bit. Auntie ain’t lying. Neither am I. I’m so sincere.
 
The city is starting to crack down on the dirty weed shops. They recently closed a shop I went to on 38th and Eighth Ave from time to time. They put a sticker on the gate explaining that they busted a dirty shop. My favorite shop had to close for a few days the week before last because their sister shop down in the financial district was raided. Those rich white folk asked questions. I’m guessing they didn’t hear what they wanted to hear so they called the man. Ole boy in my shop was so shook (and rightfully so) that he was sending lil mama down to the shop to reopen because he felt the community would be more friendly and receptive to her face opening that lock for the first time since the raid. The writing is on the wall. It’s only a matter of time before the city runs down on every dirty shop, Manhattan to Brooklyn. Yet, somehow, I know in my heart that my city will always find a way to stay dirty. When one shop closes, another will open. This shit is like bootlegging battle rap events. Them folk will never be able to fully stop the rain from falling. We shall see. I’m good regardless. I know way too many plugs. I get amazing prices. That’s nothing new. I used to move...never mind. Long live the hustle.
 
Don’t make me go, no. I just want to hold you. I need no control, no. Would you let me love you, me love you? It’s all over. I lost my composure. I got love to show you. Would you let me love you, me love you, baby?
 
I love Tems. I love this song. I forgot about how much I played this song a couple of years ago. I just want the DJ to play it back like three times while I dance with a beautiful lady. Then do it again just before the final song.
 
As CEO and I take our curtain call bows for this week, we want to shout out the Eastside of Harlem and the Fourth Ward of #07631. Big ups to the entire #100Blocks and #200Blocks. That’s Uptown Harlem and the entire #BXNYC for those who don’t know. Big ups to every borough. Peace to the entire Benjamin (Bergen) County and New Jerusalem as a whole. Peace to my folk in money earnin’ Mt. Vernon. I can’t forget Y-O and Strong Island. Big ups to VA, Murrland, the Carolinas, Georgia, PA, Delaware, Louisiana, Missouri, the great state of Texas, and Cali. Big ups to every African nation. Roll one more up. Leave the blunts and Grabba alone.
 
Not yet, tRump. I’m going to let this pot simmer a bit longer. The seasoning is just blending in the way I like. But this summer is your Waterloo, Cheesy. I’m here to usher you to political perdition.
 
Not for nothing, but "Scared Money" by Stalley and Kevin Durant (yes, KD35) is my favorite shit from anyone other than Sule' and The Hoodies. Listen to that shit immechiately if you haven't heard it yet. 


FELIZ CUMPLEAÑOS, TONANTZIN. 


Y'all know where the fuck to @ us.

#MNR: EASTSIDE
 
“I pumped a 100 pack instead of running for ice cream.”
G-Dep (free my nigga, it’s time)
 
“I be the P.D. world tourer, Harlem horror. Catch me in the Lex 470 or the Explorer.”
Black Rob (long live Jeff’s greatest)
 
“Empty rumors, ignorant listeners. Petty motherfuckers stuck in hate mode. It’s like I’m Flair with the glittered robe. They want to be me or near me.”
Ty Thompson 115
 
I’m a second half Jefferson Houses, #210, 15th & 3rd  Avenue veteran. I’m a Crown’s Fried, La Nueva Caridad, Cuchifritos, Milano’s and Sam’s Famous pizzerias aficionado. Can’t forget Rao’s. I’m a 12th & 2nd with the faded detergent boxes in the window beside the Ak deli, 19th between 3rd & 2nd haze building by Taino, 17th between 3rd & 2nd Steve (RIP), Cutty & Malik cheeba spot endorser. Big ups to my girl Neff (Mendeecees’ sister) and the homie EW. They had shit jumping too. So did the Ari spot on 19th my nigga P.R. put me on to. I’m an Uptown Jiggy/Pegasus & Pelle Pelle spots on 109 & 3rd, VIM on 2-2 & 3rd, and the old mom and pop Pepe spot on 3rd by McDonalds ‘fit copper. I like my steak & cheese and chopped cheese from the same Ak deli on the corner of 12th & 2nd by the old limousine bag reefa spot. I like my baconeggandcheese from the bodega on the corner of 15th & Lex. I was in the Body Shop at 16 in ’95 – G-strings, no pasties on the dancers. Long live P.R. Long live Black Rob. Long live Papote. Long live Desmond. Long live Rosa’s BF Andre. Long live Charles “Chub” Chisolm. Long live Saroya Johnson. Long live Betty Bradley.
 
Some of those spots and people have been gone for two decades and better. But they will always live on in my spirit. It’s a Spanish Harlem thing.
 
Free Albert Bradley. Free G-Dep.
#EASTSIDE
 
RANDOM: Please forgive me for all the times I didn’t put my ice sweaty Solo cup on a coaster and left a perpetual ring on your table. I ask that the same grace be extended for all the times I missed the ashtray on the aforementioned table and it and the carpet paid the price. My bad (PB Williams voice).
 
All jokes aside, I spent my daily five minutes on Twitter scrolling as per usual. I don’t remember which day it was. I was high. I saw a tweet showing a Black family sitting on a WalMart floor eating ice cream and chips. I counted four or five chillun, a mother, and a father. The father did the talking, all while eating chips from a bag AND off the floor. In his defense, the dip he had clearly cleansed the chips on the floor of any type of germ or bacteria. And if it weren’t troubling enough that these cotton-picking mongrels (the parents, not the babies) were sitting with their babies on the floor of a supercenter stealing on camera with absolutely no shame, the father explained that this was his go-to when his babies were crying and there was no food to eat. This [CENSORED, with the hard -er] didn’t go to the produce aisle or even steal some deli meat, cheese, and bread for sammiches...you know...something resembling sustenance. Instead, he took his babies AND wife to the junk food aisle to feast. Of course, the whites killed us-skinned folk in the mentions. I don’t even have a rebuttal. Fuck you bigoted, punk bitches is all I have. Why? Because the racists are just doing what the racists do. I expect it from them. But this buck row ass nigga. This bloody idiot. This shine was as ignorant as could be in his indignant diatribe. I guess the coon figured that working to support his family wasn’t a viable option. I do agree with the whites in one regard: this family almost certainly (definitely) receives TANF, SNAP, WIC, Medicaid and everything the government has to offer. There clearly has been a gross mismanagement of allocated funding. But this monkey had to take the fuckery a step further and decided to be an attention-seeking, thirsty ass troglodyte. The nigga felt compelled to shoot the criminal AND pathetic act in 4K. That was historic horse shit. I want to push that nigga out of a moving trolley. I don’t want to kill him. I just want to...if it weren’t for those kids...they need that simple ass MF.
 
Serenity now...
 
Want you to make me feel, like I’m the only girl in the world. Like I’m the only one that you’ll ever love. Like I’m the only one who knows your heart. Only girl in the world.
@rihanna
 
This portion of #MNR is dedicated to the goddess Rihanna. I love you Rih-Rih. Your absence from music has shown me one thing: no one currently outside can fuck with you. Yeah. I said it. I love you Queen Bey. But pound for pound, you’re not fucking with Rih-Rih. I have no reservations admitting that Rih-Rih’s songs resonate with my core better than Bey’s. And my baby is the queen of anthems. She can make an anthem in her sleep on an off day. My favorite Rihanna song is “You da One.” I heard it for the first time at an Englewood Raiders cheerleaders’ presentation a decade or so ago. The entire gymnasium went crazy, females (pardon the term but it’s most befitting) from the ages of 8 – 50+. It hit different. All I could do was literally sit back and absorb/enjoy all the exuberance before me. There have only been a few times in my life that I’ve been in a setting amongst scores/hundreds/thousands of people and the entire house exploded when a song came on. This was one of those times. My brain was immediately blown to bits. It was an entire moment in Black history. Baby girl had a decade run comparable to John Wooden with Alcindor & Company and later Walton & Company on the back end. “Sex With Me.” “Work.” “Pour It Up.” “Cockiness (Love It).” The aforementioned “Only Girl (In The World).” There are so many more. I love you @rihanna.
 
It's not that I don’t love Beyonce. It’s just that I love Rihanna more.
 
The city’s been kind of crazy the past week or so. A jealous boyfriend pushed his lady into the tracks in front of an oncoming train. She lost the better parts of her lower legs. Her feet, of course, are no more. This punk ass MF just finished doing a bid for stabbing his ex-girlfriend AND her seed TF up. Marinate on that for a taste. Some bozo got clapped with his own strap on the A train, after he pulled the strap out to fire at the nigga he had drama with. The pigs didn’t even charge old boy who clapped Bozo the Monkey (and they shouldn’t have). We actually witnessed a rare case of New York City self-defense. It’s probably the toughest city in America to successfully beat a case of self-defense. Ask Kay Flock. Ok. Bad example. But only because this is a blue state. Flock wouldn’t have been charged in a deep red state. But back to Bozo the Fuckboy. The footage is 101 bananas. I never want to hear innocent humans scream in the tones I heard. I heard pure and utter fear coming from those straphangers who were desperately pleading with the train conductor to open the doors. Another ass wipe and his folk stabbed a set of twins – one fatally – because they wouldn’t follow them on TikTok. Let me repeat that for those of y’all (like CEO) coasting through this blog and may have missed it. One girl is dead, and her twin is in the hospital because they were butchered for not following two lame MF on the socials. What in the entire fuck? There are more tales of true fuckery to report, but I think those three are enough for today. Welcome to New York, the illest of all places. I walk the streets with absolute impunity and nary a shred of fear. I’m not waiting to see where you’re trying to take it. I’m fucking you all the way up before you get the drop on me. Thee end.
 
It's spring again y’all. Let’s all celebrate and sniff an eighth. I’m just kidding. I don’t want the lethal dosage of fentanyl the punk ass nigga who laced my yay with to silence my heart like a nigga in Twitter spaces when his mic is muted. Let’s celebrate and smoke an eighth. There. That’s better (I guess). Sighs. My dad, uncles, and big cousins had all the fun.
 
I’m just playing, y’all. Don’t set up any damn interventions or sum’n. Lmao. I’m just having a good time amongst myself. I was actually in a good mood when I wrote this blog. I love that for me. Until next time, y’all. Go out and dominate all four quarters. Survive and advance to the weekend.
 
Y’all know where the fuck to @ us. 

#MNR:  4TH WARD TO FALLUJAH
 
“Used to ride around in a Crown Vic getting baggies off. Less than twelve months went from Crown’s Chicken to caviar.”
Sule’, #07631 GOAT
 
“I just suplexed your bitch like a wrestler. Dog, let it all fly, even the extras.”
E-Class of The Hoodies
 
“But still skeptic on who I cling to, cuz every single nigga that swing through ain’t my man just cuz we mingle, too much snake shit.”
AZ
 
It’s a beautiful thing when a dream is manifested.
 
I am blessed to have met Sule’ when he was a seventh-grade student at JDMS in Englewood, NJ. I soon learned that he was easily the sharpest blade of all aspiring MCs his age. He always had a great demeanor. He was always willing to listen and to learn. I told him to listen to the greats of my era like Nas and Buckshot. He listened. Yadda, yadda, yadda...he released his first “major” album on Benny the Butcher’s Black Soprano Family label, titled Written On Wides Corner. Released on 2.27.2024, the album is nine tracks in length and features Benny, Inspectah Deck, Fuego Base, Sy Ari Da Kid and The Hoodies. If you know Sule’, you know that he is and has always been super lyrical, and the flow is remarkable. He’s only gotten better with time, from the 4th Ward of Englewood to YF to Eviction Notice to Written On Wides Corner. Every track gets busy, but my clear favorite is “Crown Vic” featuring the duo The Hoodies. Su, E-Class and Young Poppa spit fireworks from front to back. Su set it off in his customary A++ lyrical form, matched by few of his ilk. The Hoodies take over after the hook and proceed to shut it down. I didn’t even know who these guys were before this song. I do now, MF. They remind me of Styles P. and Jadakiss. They sound completely unique, but the way they weave and intertwine their lyrics remind me of 2/3 of the legendary Yonkers trio. Tek and Steele of Smif -N-Wessun also come to mind. The track is 101 bananas. I can spin that shit back like two, tree, six times. Other standout tracks include “Courtesy Inn,” “Made For It” featuring The Butcher of Buffalo, “Wu-Sopranos” featuring Deck and Fuego Base and “Jodie,” a storytelling masterpiece reminiscent of "Julio” off his Eviction Notice EP. I am sincerely happy for my brother Sule’. He had a dream, he worked his ass off, he manifested it. I always saw this day coming because I knew he had everything necessary to be great: the ability, the expertise and the work ethic. He had two of the three when I met him back when. The expertise came with time. I am also happy for Englewood, NJ. Another one of its native sons/daughters has made it big. He’s an inspiration to every kid from this era, too young to remember Bill Willoughby, Bruce Harper, Regina and Bernard Belle and Big Bubba Drakeford and Today. Su joins NFL wide receiver Juwann Winfree (Colts) as role models for this current generation of Englewood’s babies. Keep winning Su. You earned every accolade and penny.
 
Rest in peace to Arthur Lee “AJ” Scott Jr, Tisha Pannell, Acie Francis, Nick Breedlove, Duron Moorefield and Michael Vanney, all members of the Halifax County High School class of 1996, and all gone far too soon.
 
HCHS c/o ’96 seniors voted the Fugees “Killing Me Softly” the song of the year for superlatives. I partied throughout my senior year, from Homecoming to house parties to white boy bonfire parties to prom after party to graduation night. We used to go crazy when Lauryn bellowed the bridge. It was and remains my favorite part of the song. I lost my classmates in diverse ways: auto accidents, heart attack, traumatic head injury, and suicide. Some of my friends have been gone for decades while some passed recently. It hurts when I think about them not getting the opportunity to see how wonderful midlife is; my 40s have been amazing. I miss them. But whenever Wyclef says, “a yo L, take ‘em to the bridge,” my classmates live on for those following 15 or 20 seconds. Long live all my fallen folk. I love y’all.
 
Y’all were on my mind. I rarely get the time to think about you all individually after thinking about you all collectively, but I did today. I am honored to have known you all, even if for the seemingly most insignificant things. Breedlove put us on to No Legs, the plug with the best satin in Halifax County. And yes, the nigga had no legs. Breedlove was a cool ass nigga, an old soul. Acie Francis was the prettiest white boy in the school. You know you’re pretty when the Black girls admittedly want to give you pussy. He was cool as a fan; I never saw any type of hubris in him. All I saw was humility and that $1M smile. He’d speak to the most unsightly girl with the same respect he would the prettiest. Tisha was a classmate in high school and university. I had supreme respect for Tisha on the court and off. Duron was a teammate and my nigga; we never had any type of quarrel. Mike was a rival and a teammate. I always thought the world of Mike. I know I’m not the only one. I wish he knew this in his heart before he took his life. AJ was my nigga. I kicked it in A’s mama’s crib. I smoked too many blunts with A. I competed with A. I admired A. A loved me. I loved my nigga A.
 
’96 and forever...
 
tRump, you’re on the clock. I’m finna start flame broiling your pathetic excuse for a human being ass in short time. And I’m not going to let up. I want my blue face, Tina Rose. This clown is cooked food in November.
 
Y’all know where the fuck to @ us.
 
 

#MNR: IT’S ONLY A TEST
 
“I’m from the ghetto, so yo, this is how I shed my tears.”
Mr. Cheeks
 
Life is good. Even if I perish tonight, life is good.
 
I’ve spent far too many days feeling down. I could explain further, but it is of no importance to do so. Pick a reason to be down – I’ve probably been there. I’ve taken every blow life has dealt. Yet, I’m still standing. A wise woman once reminded me of this long ago, when I was extremely low on self-esteem and self-worth. I didn’t have an epiphany (no need to fake). But I did take heed and store it in my mental treasure chest. It has been the best piece of wisdom I’ve ever received, and I’ve received plenty of prudent wisdom. But this time – this time, I got out of my own way and let God. I don’t know who is going to be blessed by this, but to God be the glory.
 
I don’t want to transition directly into f*ckery, so...how about the nice weather we’ve had the past couple of days? Ok. I’m good.
 
How the fuck are y’all doing? I hope everyone is good. If you aren’t, hold it together and see me after class. I got y’all. Now, for those of us feeling like 3.5M in blue faces, grab a seat and pull up to the roundtable. You are free to pour of the libations and are encouraged to roll up. I’m higher than Keith Hernandez during and after a 1981 road trip to New York, just not off the yay. That was that good shit too, 100% fentanyl-free and straight from Pablo Escobar & Associates. Damn...a one-on-one off a glass table from the ‘80s does sound...
 
Chill, nigga. You wildin’.
 
My bad y’all. I was having too much fun. I’m just playing. I’m just serious. But back to the fuckery.
 
Good evening, and welcome to Monday Night R*w, frequented by stoners and bail-jumpers alike. I’m your friendly host, Mr. Ty Nitty Monday. Y’all could be reading any of the 4.74B blogs on Phil Knight’s internet, but you’re here with us. Please tip your hats to CEO as he passes infused snacks and bourbon shots to all. He’s a benevolent and gregarious individual. And he’s a fucking pro with the THC oil. Get at us if you are in need of his services. Supreme love and respect to all the ardent readers of this blog. We do this for y’all. Big ups to any new readers. We appreciate your patronage. Tell a friend, you heard?  I even have a message for anyone who doesn’t particularly like us. Eat a dick. And thank you for reading. Yes, this is for you. Heifer.
 
For the record, I was a hater way before it became popular. Y’all MF fake and act like y’all like a MF. I don’t. Fuck him/her and five niggas who like them. I’m not a hater on a person’s success; get yours my nigga. I’m a hater of hoe ass niggas. I refuse to act like a hoe ass nigga is or ever was cool. I’m not mingling with a square in my atmosphere. Y’all can hee-hee with them. I’m going to the bathroom after I go outside to smoke a J.
 
For any of y’all reading this blog and thinking, damn – this sure took a solid left turn from the intro. That’s a fact. In the words of my guy (the great, late) Sean Price, “I’m like that.” It took me a long time to realize that I have an attitude problem, but ever since – Roll Tide! I apologize if I offend you unintentionally. I didn’t mean it. I’m a jerk. To know me is to love me, or something to that effect. If I intentionally offend you, oh well. Tough titties, but somebody gotta suck ‘em.
 
I’m so glad that winter is coming to an end. I need some warmth for my old bones. It didn’t get too crazy this winter, but we had a little bit of action. The week the temperature dipped into the teens was my toughest time of the winter, but once I felt that type of chill, the rest of winter was a breeze. But damn it, come 3.19, I’m kicking winter TF out like Marty Mart. Time to go, bruh. You’ve tormented us for far too long. Ease your punk ass down the damn road. Good riddance. Remember winters past when you had to smoke outdoors? That shit was treacherous. I forgot who said it, but one time someone said that you shouldn’t smoke if you can’t smoke inside during the winter. Fuck that nigga. Shut your punk ass up. If I want to smoke a J in 29-degree weather, pass me a MF lighter and a bonfire. Please and thank you.
 
They said they want that old Monday back. That “piss in the hole where a toilet used to be in a stall in the old GWB bus terminal” Monday. That “light his reefa up in an upscale establishment ‘by accident’” Monday. That “he got put out 20 years ago and still isn’t welcome today Monday.” But y’all aren’t ready for him. Y’all would just read in astonishment and talk about me after prayer meeting Wednesday night. Do what you must. This is for the day one aficionados. Y’all been aboard this train since the @iamdjgreen era. Yes. I’m still ig’nant. And yes, I’m still riding with y’all.
 
“Fuck all that! Shut yo’ bitch ass up!” What if that happened in the break room tomorrow morning while you’re over-sugaring your coffee and fighting the sleep apnea slowly corroding your body? How would you react? Would you stare in astonishment? Would you record it on your phone? Would you too swing on that bitch? Would you do all three at the same damn time? I just want to know for research purposes.
 
Pass me one of those left-hand cigarettes, good brother.
 
Please forgive me if I ever stole out of your medicine cabinet.
 
BLESSED EARTH DAY TO MY BROTHER NICK “BIG DAWG” BROOKS. LOVE, INFINITE. #NFL
 
Y’all know where the fuck to @ us.