MNR: Mr. Random

RANDOM: How come none of yous gangster type MF have sent George Zimmerman to the gates of hell? MF will shoot an apartment house party up with just one entry and exit. MF will air a block out full of people who have done nothing to them. But MF won’t buck for a righteous cause. Y’all greatly disappoint me.

Have any of you out there in the land of I STILL READ ever been going through some shit and went on your device to Twitter World, saying whatever was on your mind? Yeah, I know you have. I read some of y’all Twitter TL from time to time. Don’t act like y’all don’t vent...for all to see. Shit…some of y’all can be downright nasty and evil with the vitriol y’all spit when on a fuck errbody streak. I just want y’all to know that I love it and I’m here for err bit of it. But me? Nah, I don’t vent (anymore). Honestly, I never feel any different after I talk my shit. I’m usually still pissed TF off. Fuck ‘em (Bernie voice)! I just sit back and analyze the world as I see it. After a few minutes of seeing how fucked up everything else is, I’m already done being pissed off about my own personal issues and I just end up being pissed off in general. But hey…the shit I see that takes my mind off my own bullshit -- my uncle said it best: the coal pile is wild. Let’s dive straight TF in.

If you cried like Van Jones after the 2020 election, danced in the streets like some of my sisters did that same day, and/or genuinely feel like we made any type of progress with a guilty verdict for that PIG Derek Chauvin – go sky dive off the tippy top an interstate billboard with just your arms as wings, you dumb MF. Shut that shit up. With respect to the Floyd family and their loss, that guilty verdict didn’t do jack shit for Black America. They killed another unarmed Black man that same fucking day, same county. The senate is still dragging its feet on the George Floyd police bill, as expected. Police and pilgrims alike still have carte blanche to kill unarmed Black folk at will. What the fuck do I look like celebrating for one guilty verdict? That verdict came because Minnesota did not want to see that city burn again. America did not want to see other cities burn. If we learned one thing from this past year, it’s that my younger brothers and sisters and my down ass white folk (salute to y’all frfr) ARE NOT afraid to go out in the streets and lay it down in the name of freedom. Racist America didn’t mind trading one devil off as compensation for 400+ years of institutionalized oppression. Big ups to Dr. Umar and his appearance on The Breakfast Club this morning. That man reinforced a lot of what I’ve been feeling since…forever.

Sleepy Joe, I told you on this blog months ago that I was watching closely to see if you’d keep your word. And you haven’t, respectfully. Yes, you’ve delivered on the monetary side and made provisions for me and many Americans. But I’m seeing a lot of ducking and dodging with regard to racial matters. Civil rights are not negotiable. We shouldn’t have to continue to seek justice. We deserve to live and prosper like everyone else. I’ll take it a step farther: our votes got you in 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. We made the difference at the ballots. Yet, the Floyd policing bill (the George Floyd Justice in Policing Act of 2020) was soft off the jump ball (it only proposes to LIMIT, not END qualified immunity) – and we can’t even get that passed in the modern Jim Crow senate. Fuck qualified immunity. And like Dr. Umar said, taxpayers should not have to be the ones paying for settlements or awards in civil cases against PIGS. Make the PIG unions pay. My Asian brothers and sisters got legislation passed (the COVID-19 Hate Crimes Act) – quick (Anthony Johnson voice). But there’s still nothing on the books to prevent a PIG from slaughtering us like…a pig. I can’t fuck with you and Kamala. I was never a fan of Ms. Harris. She made her bones sending my brothers to those Level 4’s out Cali. It’s time to wake up. Black folk in positions of power on your television screen are not going to bat for their own, for us. Now, before one of you Encyclopedia Brown-type dick heads say some dumb shit like, “but she’s here to represent every American, not just Black Americans,” shut the fuck up. I know that. But she, Obama, and all the other folk don’t deliver when they are put in place to deliver. But y’all still eat mad dick and act like they’re Moses and we’re the children of Israel. Youse MF disgust me. We’re no better off. We’re worse off. I’m calling it how I see it. Fuck compromise. My lil bro Dro and I told y’all a few months back. I’m doubling down. If you’re a Black politician that isn’t 100% about getting us on equal grounds with the rest of America – FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU DEMOCRAT MEAT GLAZERS TOO. I’m done with y’all. I’m a registered INDEPENDENT. Y’all can’t have my vote. I’m not a sheep. Ain’t a bigoted bone in my body (perhaps a couple). A person is a person. I’m just asking for what WE deserve, all that we continue to be deprived of. That’s it. Having my young brothers return home from work or a trip to the Wal Mart without rounds from PIG Glock pistols stuck in their chest plate isn’t too much to ask for. And yes. My old ass is willing to die for EVERYTHING I speak on.

DISCLAIMER: Yes, I heard about the DOJ opening a case regarding the PIGS in Louisville and their handling of the assassination of queen Breonna Taylor. I remain impervious. DO RIGHT and continue the process of doing right throughout America. Gut the NYPD and other crooked police departments across America, from big cities to hick towns. Hire police who are dedicated to the neighborhoods they patrol. Hold dirty police fully accountable for their fuckery. END QUALIFIED IMMUNITY. Until then, I’m not impressed.

RANDOM: Dre’s first two bars on “Bitches Ain’t Shit” were so smooth. They immediately come to mind when I think about a couple of old friends. IYKYK.

I’m so glad that reality isn’t like that new movie with the lil white dude who also currently plays Spiderman. You know, the one when old girl can hear his thoughts (and all men, I think). Imagine that shit! I’d prolly be hated by a solid 72% of all Americans, family included. I know. Most of y’all see me as T, that benevolent and cool ass MF from ‘round the way. Truth is, ion like most of you cotton-picking MF. Some of y’all stink, some of y’all are ugly AF, and damn near all of y’all talk a lot on things you have little to no grasp of even a shred of knowledge about. A lot of y’all lie incessantly. And the crazy part is that (personally speaking) no one actually gives two fux about any of the shit you’re speaking on. You really don’t have to lie to kick it with me. I don’t care about your past exploits, who you fucked that semester and a half you went to school, or how you used to hold the block down while I was going to choir rehearsal back in the day. I don’t care. If you cool and you got $40 on it, we good bit-ness. Shut the fuck up and roll that shit up. Respectfully.

They said they want that old Monday back, that steal a bottle of Tommy cologne out your medicine cabinet while using your bathroom Monday…

RANDOM: That was pure facts. And if you fully analyze what TF I just said, it should be disturbing on a couple different levels of fuckery. I digress.

EVEN MORE RANDOM

As I told y’all before, when I was doing my two-step in Highbridge, #BXNYC around the ’05-’08 era, my folk dem had two different pharmacy plugs for the Oxy and Percs. I told y’all that they used to get ‘em off at an open market “emporium” in the Heights on Amsterdam in the 170’s. I’m talking ridiculous amounts of meds and money being exchanged on a daily basis. That was primarily a Hispanic and Black consumer market. No one gave a single fuck. Now, that’s two different pharmacists, two pharmacies, a patient, and a supplier, all moving in literal synchronicity with impunity. I repeat – no one gave a fuck. But when those pills made their way out to Long Island and Bergen County? Thus began the opioid epidemic. In comes the television specials and PIGS coming into public schools to speak to kids about the dangers of opioids. Smmfh. Rest in peace Guru. You and Premo told me it was all a daily operation when I was still trying to figure it all out. I listened. Trust.

If this world were mine, all Cadillacs would be 27’ long. Nah, that was ole Romey Rome’s vision. If this world were mine…well damn…Dennis Edwards told y’all how I felt before I even touched down in the physical. Shareon was a high school foreign exchange student in Brazil (she was the flyest) when he said it. I just want my people to be free…word to Dennis, Umi, and Pretty Flaco. If y’all could dig what I just said, we kinfolk. If not, don’t worry ‘bout it. RIP to all our folk lost to the belly of the beast. The last shall be first.

tymonday.com; @tymonday on Twitter and IG
crewunb.com; @cerewunB on Twitter & @theunbearablescrew on IG

MNR: Jeff Houses’ Greatest

“I speak in codes man, tú sabe? Always cállate. Bendición to mi madre. Even though she never did nothing for me, acknowledge me, as I run down my life story.”
Black Rob “Life Story”

You don’t know…how crazy it is…outside. I died inside so many times. Oh, I cried. Oh, I cried…Thomas Jefferson Houses and #eastside Harlem lost a legend in the rap game. RIP to 1st half ([1]15th St. & 1st Avenue) Jefferson Projects legend Black Rob, AKA Bacardi Rob, AKA Robbio, AKA Banco Popular. BR is widely known for his 2000 smash hit “Whoa,” which went on to win a Source Award (when they existed AND mattered) for Best Song. His debut album Life Story was hailed a classic. It reached #3 on the US Billboard 200 (THREE, MF!!!) and #1 (DON’T GET NO HIGHER THAN THAT) on the US Top R&B/Hip-Hop Albums. It is CERTIFIED RIAA PLATINUM. Although Rob never matched the acclaim or sales of Life Story, he went on to release six more albums, including The Black Rob Report (my shiznit). Not only was Rob a member of the home team, but he was also our #1 representative. He didn’t put Jeff Houses on the map, but he damn sure provided a bright ass light to shine on the P’s. BR grew up in Jeff with my big cousin E. Bradley; they were cool with one another. Rob had it tougher than most kids in the P’s, he was really from one of those deprived households. Cuzzo said the kids used to pick on him when they were small (cousin included). Rob took his share of hard knocks, but he stuck with his craft. We love BR so much because he always repped the P’s and the Town to the fullest ; he had crazy love for Jeff and the entire Spanish Harlem. He also introduced the world to fellow #eastside representative G. Dep, who hails from the other side of 3rd Avenue in [James Weldon] Johnson Houses (FREE MY NIGGA). This was before he introduced Dep to Puff (NO COMMENT). The hood remembers the Eastside Sopranos. Fuck. We just lost X, and it hurt. I still hadn’t gotten over that one. But this loss touched home. Literally. Rest in power Black. Love, infinite.

As of last Friday, I’m no longer working virtually. I’m back in the building (happily). Earlier today, I noticed the flags are at half-mast. Respectfully, I could give a fuck about who they’re actually at half-mast for. In my heart and corrupted mind, they fly at half-mast for X and Rob. Champagne tears for our two soldiers no longer here.

Since March 16 (the Atlanta spas shootings), America has endured at least 50 mass shootings. A mass shooting is defined (by CNN) as a shooting with four or more casualties, excluding the shooter. That’s 50+ mass shootings in just over 40 days. I WANT Y’ALL TO MARINATE ON THAT FOR A MINUTE. LITERALLY.


Ok. I’m back. It rips me apart at the seams when I think about how we are so desensitized and apathetic toward tragedy in our own country. We live in a country that has averaged more than one mass shooting a day since mid-March, but I’ve yet to have heard it mentioned in any casual conversation I’ve had with others. Outside of the news and the people and areas directly affected, it’s almost like they never happened. We typically just think to ourselves of how sad these shootings are, and quickly move off the thought. At most, we ask a loved one if they’ve heard about the latest shooting, agree that it’s a sad situation, and progress to the next topic, happy it didn’t happen in our community or affect any of our loved ones. It’s crazy. I’ve been saying for years that I live in one of the “safest” places in America, NY metro. I’m in Bergen County on the Jersey side of the Hudson, minutes away from my childhood home base of uptown NYC. I say that we are the safest because outside of the crazy sections of the boroughs, much of Paterson, some of Jersey City, and Newark (Essex) area, violent crime rates are very low. Tri-state, along with California, is the toughest place in America to purchase legal firearms. It is also the epicenter of America’s melting pot; damn near every race, religion, and culture can be found somewhere in NY metro, as well as a very prominent LGBT community. This means that we grow up together. We live together. We work together. It all equals increased tolerance toward the next person. I’m not acting like we live in a utopia; I’m simply saying that we are naturally more tolerant towards others through familiarity. This isn’t the case in a lot of areas, especially below the Mason-Dixon Line (with love to the Hali and VA) and much of the Midwest, meaning there are few relationships built outside of “comfort zones.” This natural segregation almost certainly breeds contempt when ignorance, propaganda, and misinformation are prevalent. The hate is organic.

THE OFT-OVERLOOKED MENTAL HEALTH COMPONENT

To me, the best part of the movie The Joker (outside of Joaquin Phoenix’s brilliant performance) was the mental health component. It showed Fleck’s gradual dissipation, fueled by the lack of availability of sufficient mental health resources. Initially, his social worker seemed to be apathetic, and it was made apparent that she was grossly overworked. Later, Fleck lost access to mental health services altogether, as cuts in budgetary funding meant he could no longer be treated. Not only did he lose the ability to consult with mental healthcare professionals, but he also lost medical coverage and was unable to attain the prescriptions and the meds he needed to remain “regular.” These losses coupled with his personal shortcomings and hard luck led to his demise and the rise of The Joker. Of course, Gotham City is a fictitious, uber macabre society. But damn it, the more I look at the real world, Gotham City isn’t far off.

That’s my parallel to the problems that exist in America today. Many Americans fall through the cracks of society, underserved in the aspect of mental health. Couple that with the ease of purchasing legal firearms outside of the aforementioned areas, and we have a true shit storm on our hands. The solution is multi-faceted and complicated. But honestly, we’ll never see the end of this. Second Amendment fanatics and their influence ensure that we’ll never have real gun control like damn near every other advanced nation. There is entirely too much money being passed over AND under the table for real action and change to take place. The NRA may be crippled, but they’ve already served their purpose. We live in a nation full of gun zealots. Some have mental health issues. And, at the rate of about 1.16 times a day the past month or so, we’ve seen the tragic results of this bitches’ brew. Smmfh. “This world is getting colder.” – Bryson Tiller

“I rap for listeners, blunt heads, fly ladies, and prisoners, Hennessy holders and old school niggas…”
“I reminisce on park jams, my man was shot for his sheep coat. Choco blunts’ll make me see him drop in my weed smoke.”
Nas, “Memory Lane (Sittin’ In Da Park)”

Today, 4.19.2021 marks the 27th anniversary of Nas’ debut album Illmatic, considered by many to be the greatest album in the history of the genre of rap. Its brevity (nine tracks + one interlude; 39:51 in duration) didn’t detract from the album’s brilliance or impact. In fact, it’s closer to today’s standard of album length. Illmatic was the first album to be produced by a team of “super producers,” including Q-Tip of A Tribe Called Quest/Ummah fame, DJ Premier, one half of the legendary duo Gang Starr and widely considered to be the best record cutting DJ ever, Pete Rock, one half of the legendary group Pete Rock & CL Smooth, fellow Queens native Large Professor of Main Source fame, and then newcomer L.E.S., Nas’ childhood pal and fellow Queensbridge representative. It’s as simple as this: Illmatic sounds like nothing that came before it and sounds like damn near every other great album that came in its aftermath in the mid-‘90s. It was a blend of the aforementioned production, Nas’ amazing multisyllabic flow, and his candid assessment of life in inner-city NYC. He didn’t necessarily make you love or hate the hood. He told you how shit went, and let you make that decision for yourself. Every track is classic, so I won’t run down or rank ‘em. I will admit that his bars “And I switched my motto. Instead of saying fuck tomorrow, that buck that bought a bottle coulda struck the lotto” gave me hope as a fifteen-year-old depressed Black boy. I still ponder the thought to this day. The video for “The World Is Yours” forever inspired me when its ending revealed that its total perspective came through the eyes of a young child looking out of his project window; that was some deep shit. To this very day, I’m still intrigued by the lyrics of “Memory Lane.” I think about the homies I’ve lost in the trenches and how special they were to me as well as the world. That’s the epitome of legendary music. It invokes and inspires thought. For me, the homies live on when I listen to his lyrics in that song. Bendiciones to the GOAT Nasir Bin Olu Dara Jones. Blessed born, Illmatic.

“I left a half a hundred in your commissary. You was my nigga when push came to shove. One what? One love.”

tymonday.com; @tymonday on Twitter & IG
crewunb.com; @crewunB on Twitter; @theunbearablescrew on IG

MNR: Dogs 4 Life
 
RIP DMX. You were truly one in 8 billion. Few rappers can say they ever held NYC hostage for a particular period of time, but you did (with no question). It’s Dark and Hell is Hot was in every rotation from spring to summer and beyond in 1998. Wherever you went in those 100 Blocks, someone was playing X, from car systems to boomboxes to CD players to tape players – true ubiquity. Then what did the dog do? He dropped ANOTHER full-length album holiday season ’98, titled Flesh of My Flesh, Blood of My Blood, and wrestled his ’98 title belt back from Pun and NORE. It was a bit of a different vibe from his debut, but it was still a runaway success. In addition to rap gawd, X also went on to become a movie star. He definitely had his demons. I’d be very partial if I didn’t speak on it. We were aware of his past issues with hard drugs. It was what it was. It had absolutely no impact on how I viewed X in life or now in death. He was, is, and will always be my guy. He redefined the energy of rap. I hadn’t seen an act as vibrant as X since Onyx exploded onto the scene a few years earlier. I pray a peaceful journey for you. Rest in power. Hug Aaliyah and pet Boomer for me.
 
U.S. Rep Matt Gaetz…come take a quick walk with me. Now, I’m definitely a proponent of due process, even when it’s pertaining to an investigation on an entitled, strange faced, lying piece of shit like yourself. But the house ethics committee is currently knee deep in one and your boy Joel Greenberg has reportedly already struck a plea deal with federal prosecutors. For those unfamiliar with ole JG, he’s the guy who “allegedly” set up Matty’s sexual trysts with YOUNG ladies, handling the financial part through Venmo transactions. Translation: shit don’t look good for your granite-chinned ass. And when your stepfather #45 begins to distance himself from you…it really doesn’t look good. Even your safe haven of FOX News has brushed you off. Your Lame Phi Lame big bro Sean Hannity doesn’t even mention you anymore. I see what you’re doing. You’re trying to wait this thing out, like it’s the common cold. No, bitch. This is the equivalent of a political terminal illness. Your daddy’s money will not exonerate you from the wrath of the ethics committee, much less the court of law if it does lead down that road (which is still in play). The best thing for you is that all of the ladies you’ve “sponsored” were of legal age at the time (so far). Because if at least one of them weren’t…casket closed, and that’s a burial way past a political one. I grew tired of seeing your fucking smug smile, taunting us with every stone you cast at minorities through rhetoric. You quickly became one of #45’s key meat glazers, echoing all of his hatred whenever you got the opportunity. Matty Boy, your day soon come (old Jamaican lady voice). I’ll have a Wood of satin twirled and my Spicy Sweet Chili Doritos ready to watch the loop continuously on YouTube. I truly want to wish you the worst, you xenophobic, arrogant, entitled piece of chicken shit, but I’m a Christian. I’ll simply leave it at kick rocks.
 
Congratulations to the Baylor Bears for winning the big dance. They were my prohibitive favorite in a tournament that many felt could have been won by several teams. They were actually my favorite to cut the nets headed into last year’s collegiate postseason, but we all remember how that ended. I do have a great deal of respect for Coach Mark Few of Gonzaga. He’s built a powerhouse at a university that previously was largely unknown other than it being the alma mater of NBA career assist leader and Hall of Fame guard John Stockton. Even though the loss was the first and only blemish of the season for your Zags, I don’t consider it heartbreaking because Baylor smoked y’all from the opening tip to the final buzzer. Keep striving coach. I’m confident that you’ll reach the mountain top before you call it quits. I’m a big Jalen Suggs fan. I’m confident he’ll be an impact player at the next level. But just like Ray Charles told Stevie before passing – we’ll see.
 
Y’ALL KNOW I’M ALL ABOUT EQUALITY
 
Congratulations to the Stanford [Lady] Cardinal and their iconic head coach Tara VanDerveer for winning the big dance. It was the third championship for Coach VanDerveer and the Cardinal (yes MF, I’ve been correct both times – it’s Cardinal – no “s” – don’t question my mastery of the craft). It was also the first time a Pac-12 team has cut the nets down since 1992 when (you guessed it) Coach VanDerveer and the Lady Cardinal won for the second time in school history. The great, late Pat Summitt was my lady; I am and will always be a Lady Volunteers fan. Having said that, I always held Coach VanDerveer in the highest regard. She was always in lock step with Coach Summitt, years before Geno Auriemma became the standard, around the time Kim Mulkey was still an assistant on the bench of legendary Coach Leon Barmore for her alma mater Louisiana Tech. The Lady Cardinal survived a few nail biters, including the national final, when they outlasted conference rival Arizona 54-53. ‘Zona damn near pulled it off, led by tournament darling Aari McDonald. It was an instant classic. As a true fan of the sport, it was one of those games that you felt both teams could and should have won. But there can only be one winner. Congratulations, Lady Cardinal.
 
I can guarantee you damn near no Black person in propinquity to my age or older has watched a second of the Derek Chauvin (the PIG who assassinated Mr. George Floyd) trial. I give you a timeline of my life as personal reference to a total lack of faith in the judicial system. I begin with October 1991 and the Clarence Thomas Supreme Court confirmation ordeal -- what was brought to public record about what he did to Ms. Anita Hill and the apathy of the white men who did the “deciding.” It wasn’t a criminal trial, but the same principle stands. Yeah, I remember. Let’s fast forward less than a year to April 1992 and the Rodney King trial, followed by all the damn police murder cases that end in acquittals up to this very day. They all hurt, but the way they slaughtered baby boy Tamir [Rice] on 11.22.2014 broke my heart. None of those PIGS in any of those trials ever faced a molecule of penance. Yeah, I’ve done my daily reading on the Chauvin trial and paid attention to all the testimony. I know it looks like Chauvin’s goose is cooked. But I thought the exact same thing ALL the other times. And we all know how it went every single damn time. Acquittal. We’ve learned not to get our hopes up, and not watching any of the trial coincides with not getting our hopes up. Hellen Keller could see a conviction this time around. I’m not holding my breath. Fuck the police. RIP George Floyd and all those we’ve lost because of crooked police.
 
CEO blessed me with a few exclusive pieces of merch, including the #MNR snappy and some fresh funeral black #MNR tees. He also blessed a bruva with the hoodie I’m wearing in the pic. Fall through the shop after you finish the blog and pick you suntin’ up for you, your babies, your wife, and your auntie. We’re scorching hot in these streets. Big ups to my brother Todd and sis Shay on the merch pickups. I’m a see y’all when I see y’all, unless you see me first. Love, infinite.
 
tymonday.com
@tymonday on Twitter; tymonday on IG
 
crewunb.com
@crewunB; theunbearablescrew on IG 

#MNR: Throw the Rock, Hide the Hand

I’m from an era in America when things were a bit different from what passes as copesetic today. We kept family business in-house; we didn’t put our personal business in the street. The village helped to raise children, being that in Black America, a lot of us didn’t always have the traditional nuclear family. This help extended past grandparents and uncles/aunties; it also existed within the community. The neighbors could check you, as could trusted teachers and coaches. For many of us, that was the way it went. Sure, our folk were hard on us. At times they were excessive with it. But all in all, I’m thankful for the way I was raised. It wasn’t perfect, but it was effective. It prepared us for the cold world outside our front door. We knew that “America” wasn’t always willing to embrace us-skinned folk with open arms.

Shit talking…let’s talk about it. I want to begin this paragraph by stating that one thing our folk definitely prepared us for in life is shit talking. We actually learned with our ears – auditory education. Coming up, we listened to our mom, pop, grandma, gpa, uncles, aunties dem talk all types of trash at the functions, cookouts, and in the barber shop/hair salon. This was years before we were bold enough to reveal the contents of our own accrued cache of four-letter words, dozens material, cracking [on]/jawning [on]/roasting, and overall trash talk. But we were well prepared because we listened and took meticulous notes. Of course, we made our shit talking debut long before our parents caught wind of our exploits because even though we learned it from their asses, we were wrong to do it ourselves (whatever + 3 sleep emoji). Regardless, we were willing to take that risk. But one thing was always imperative: whatever you dish out, be willing to take in return, and then some. There was no moving of the goal posts. If you talked shit to the next MF, you had to be prepared to take whatever came your way. My brother Robert “St. Louis” “Louie” Glaspy would tell a MF that the only rule was you can’t cry, meaning you can’t get emotional when the shit talking gets heavy. You gotta hold that like a battle rapper has to when her/his opponent is bombing away on their ass with the personals. It’s part of the sport. We always knew and understood this as being the first WRITTEN rule of shit talking. Yup, you know where this is going…

Much like most of us who have a social media presence, I heard about the Kevin Durant/Michael Rapaport situation when it happened. I chose not to even click on it to go in-depth. It wasn’t that it was of no interest to me. It was because I already knew how both parties get down and that there was a possibility that it could quickly go left. KD can be impetuous at times. I’m not knocking him for that because I was still in my feelings when I was his age. I know that mentality all too well. And much like myself, KD is also TTG (IYKYK) whenever someone shoots in his direction on social media. That boy stays clipped up, as he should be. I endorse it. Fuck you. That’s off top. I’m not gonna be the better person. I’m gonna get lower than granite to earth. I’m gonna try my best to make you cry (that was my old mentality; I’ll mostly ignore now). And then there’s Rapaport. Mike’s a pest and formerly a semi-adorable troll. He’s gonna stir the pot. He’s gonna talk his shit. He’s gonna make you take notice. I had no problem with his approach because I always knew him to be able to take what he dished out. But I knew that any type of conflict between these two men could be problematic because of their aforementioned reputations on social media. I also knew that when it comes down to a Black man getting into it with a white man, the brother is going to lose. Sure, Rapaport is Jewish. But he damn sure ain’t Black, so my point stands. But I couldn’t help myself this morning. As soon as I heard that Rapaport was gonna be on Undisputed with Uncle Shay Shay and Skip, I backtracked and did my research. I read how it went down. As I expected, it began over something petty and inconsequential. Mike subbed KD about his seemingly cold-natured postgame interview earlier in the season with Chuck, Kenny, Ernie, and Shaq. He was quick to point out that he didn’t @KDTrey5 (KD’s Twitter handle), but anyone who has a basic understanding of social media knows that a sub will reach its intended recipient damn near as fast as @ing them. So that was a bitch move on Rapaport’s part. He shoulda kept it a bean. You sent a shot at that man, and he clapped back. Cool. It was what it was. But Mike eventually got emotional when KD started bombing on his sensitive ass. Then he committed the ultimate act of fuckery by making the correspondence public. Did I mention that this interaction took place in the DM? Everyone knows that DM are meant to stay private (lmao). But Rapaport decided to put the interaction on front street. Let’s park the mothership there. Let me out right here Gpa George (Clinton).

Michael David Rapaport, you are 51 years of age. You are a Brooklynite. You know good and damn well how this thing goes. You dish it, you take it. Ain’t no hard feelings or tears. If there are, stay your soft ass away from the mean kids table in the cafeteria. YOU HAVE THE CHOICE. When you buy the ticket, you ride the ride. Now, I could go full Ty Monday 115 mode and Baghdad airstrike bomb on your Hostess Twinkie tuchus until there’s nothing left. But you’re two full graduating classes older than me. You graduated high school the year KD was born. Smmfh. Grow up Mr. Softie. You’re pathetic. NOTE TO MY FOLK: leave these people alone (Reynaldo Rey voice on Friday).THEY JUST WANT TO THROW THE ROCK AND HIDE THE HAND. It’s similar to the personal foul penalty for unnecessary roughness (non-QB) in the NFL: 80% of the time it’s the man who reacts that gets the flag. Treat them like children. Ignore them. KD, I hate your squad (truly…it’s all about #KNICKSNATION), but you’ve been my guy since you took the Big 12 hostage. Keep shining, DMV KING. The streets got your back. Fuck a hater. RIP Mr. Reynaldo Rey.

That’s about all I have to say on this Monday. Love to the world. Eastside get the money, long time no cash.

tymonday.com
@tymonday
crewunb.com
@crewunB