“I’m having nightmares (ooh-woo-ooh-woo). My niggas say I’m p-noid.”
I don’t think “shut the fuck up” is said enough in everyday life. Either a MF is talking too got damn much, saying dumb shit or doing both at the same damn time. I’m growing ornerier by the day, and I have little to no tolerance for the dumb shit. Now, it’s all good if I have my air pods in. They allow for my escape from the fuckery that spews from the lips of bloody idiots. But damn it, sometimes I can’t avoid the noise pollution. Being that I can’t always just tell a MF to STFU when I want to, I’m forced to go with my number two move: just staring at a jabber jaw with a look that would cut glass. And even though I can’t always tell a MF to STFU, they usually know. The stare and the vibe tell the story. But if I CAN tell you, trust, I’m going to tell you quick, fast and in a hurry: shut your dumb ass the fuck up. Respectfully.
I JUST HAD TO GET THAT SHIT OFF MY CHEST. LET US CONTINUE ON.
I was blessed with an invitation to attend the Sweet 16 of one of my Bergen Family Center day ones, a beautiful person named Tahneshia; she was one of my little ones back when I had early elementary students in the afterschool and summer camp program. I’m not gonna lie, I was initially a bit blasé about the party. I figured there wouldn’t be much excitement at a kid bday party. I seldom party in my old age. When I did party, I PARTIED. But boy was I wrong. Tahneshia’s Sweet 16 was official tissue. The location was lovely. The dance floor was lively. The food was delicious. There was a candy bar. There was also a BAR bar. Oh yes, I got nice. But perhaps the best part of it all was the fact that the Sweet 16 was also a sneaker ball, so damn near everyone in attendance under 50 had a fresh pair of kix on. I had a ball (pun intended). Big ups to the CEO and first lady. We held our table down by ourselves.
Our favorite orator of the fine art of distributing a certain white substance, Pusha T, is back with another studio release, titled “It’s Almost Dry.” As usual, King Push came through magnificently, with help from pals Pharrell Williams and Kanye West on production. The album, twelve songs in duration, is quintessential Push, rarely if ever deviating from the topic of yayo. My favorite track is “Hear Me Clearly,” for which a video was released a few weeks ago. Other standout tracks include “Rock N Roll” featuring Yeezy and Kid Cudi, “Neck & Wrist” featuring Shawn Carter, “Diet Coke,” and “I Pray For You,” with a vintage verse from his brother and Clipse member Malice. If you love Pusha T music, you’ll love “It’s Almost Dry.” If you love hip hop, you’ll love “It’s Almost Dry.” I can’t lie, though. Hearing Malice on the same track as Push made me miss the vibe from The Clipse albums and Re-Up Gang project. Somebody find my nigga Ab-Liva. I need a few 16s from him and Gene. Fam-Lay too. Hit his beeper. IYKYK.
Yes, Kyrie Irving is my favorite NBA player from a pure talent standpoint. Yes, I’m a big fan of Kevin “The Slim Reaper” Durant. Yes, I detest the Brooklyn Nets. And yes, the Nets got SWEPT. There’s only room for one team in NYC, and that team plays in the world’s most famous arena. Anti-vaxxers and “solo artists” around the sports world will continue to back Kyrie’s decision to not get the jab, but the truth is that his choice not to get vaccinated directly hurt his team. Everyone else maintained eligibility by receiving vaccinations. They did it because they put team over self (ask Wiggins in San Fran). It didn’t matter if they were pro or anti vax. It created a rift between the team and James Harden, who had a serious problem with Kyrie choosing self over team. Kyrie’s absence made cohesiveness damn near impossible. First, he was outright deemed ineligible to play by the organization. They then acquiesced and allowed him to play away games, as NYC COVID policies continued to forbid Kyrie from playing home games. Finally, Mayor Adams relented, and Kyrie was allowed to play home and away games. But the damage was already irreparable. Brooklyn never gelled into a cohesive unit. The Nets were outmatched and outclassed by the Celtics. The result was a four-game sweep. See ya, Brooklyn. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. What about KD? Sure, KD wasn’t his normal self. But his ass showed up from day one. Nets fans and most of the sports world may disagree, but he gets a pass from me. If you disagree, persuade management to ship him across the East River. We’ll give you Randle and Kemba. We’ll even throw in tickets to the circus when it comes to town.
Elon Musk, the richest MF in the world, purchased Twitter for about 44B. The acquisition came after he initially purchased nine percent of Twitter stock (amounting to 3B), making him the company’s largest shareholder at the time. Although his end game was initially uncertain to pundits, I had an inkling that it was only a matter of time before he made the big move. Musk claims that he wants free speech to reign supreme and that democracy has been undermined on the platform. Perhaps he’s referring to Twitter’s ban of incendiary, bigoted and divisive accounts like 45’s or MTG’s. Critics fear that the purchase will lead to the return of the aforementioned racists and plenty others who fled (or were forced to flee) to platforms like Parlor to freely spew their ignorance. Some bleeding hearts have claimed they will leave Twitter now that Musk is at the helm. I think they’re full of cap. Sure, I don’t like hatred on my TL, but I’m not naïve. I don’t think banning racists from Twitter makes the world a better place. Let them spew their ignorance for all to see. It leaves a timestamp and noose loose enough for them to slip their own necks into. Toughen up lib shits, this is the world we live in. It’s time for you pussy ass MF to fight fire with fire. Bring on the bullshit, Elon. I think I’ll ramp my 2012-2015 Twitter game back up and talk my shit how I used to talk my shit. Game on.
That’s all for this week, I suppose. I’m sure the world and society will disappoint me enough to have compelling material for you children of God to ponder and ruminate by next Monday-ish. Just know that I went from iPhone 11 to 13. You figure out the reason why. If you can’t, look at an old computer keyboard. Stay dangerous and do remember: the man who sleeps on the floor can never fall out of the bed.
tymonday.com: @tymonday on Twitter & IG
crewunb.com: @crewunB on Twitter & @theunbearablescrew on IG
“New York streets, where killers will walk like Pistol Pete, and Pappy Mason, gave the young boys admiration...”
My apologies for the absence of last week’s #MNR. I was going through some things. If I’ve learned anything from this era of social media, it’s to think twice before pressing “send.” There was so much ether in my veins that dropping the blog I had on my mind at the time would have been catastrophic. So, I held my tongue. I was ready to deliver a late entry a couple days later, but a dear friend commissioned me to edit copy for a business proposal. I went with the money.
Rest in peace to the iconic Eastside Harlem DJ, mixtape gawd, and aerosol artist Kay Slay. Slay, born Keith Grayson and also known as “The Drama King,” passed away at age 55 after a lengthy battle with COVID-19. Rap aficionados remember him for his mixtape prowess, both street and official label releases. NYC residents also remember him for his late night “Drama Hour” radio broadcast, which famously intro’d with his legendary Riker’s Island roll call. “C-74, lock in!” Slay was the first NYC radio station DJ to publicly embrace the Nas and Jay Ether/Takeover debate, playing both records and having the first 100 callers settle the score. Nas won the 60/40 split and Slay honored it, even though Jay was the more popular artist and fan favorite. But before spinning records and before becoming The Drama King, Slay was known as Dezzy Dez, all-city aerosol artist and pioneer of the esoteric artform. Along with the great, late King Kase 2 (my fav ever), he had the most memorable scenes in Style Wars (1983), one of the first films/documentaries dedicated to the burgeoning hip-hop culture. Slay will always be remembered for his Eastside Harlem swagger and no-nonsense attitude. Here’s to East River Houses’ finest, the legendary Kay Slay.
I’m glad it’s NBA Playoffs time. The 82-game schedule is long AF. Moreover, my bum ass Knicks have been sent to slaughter for the year. That means I don’t have to suffer any more heartache until at least November. My preseason predictions were shaky, but I’m sticking with Milwaukee and Phoenix in a rematch of last year’s Finals. I feel that there will be a different result this time around, however, with the Suns claiming their first NBA Championship, laying to rest the ghosts of Paul Westphal (RIP), Gar Heard, and the Sir Charles led 1993 squad. We shall see.
If you have Showtime or a firestick that allows you to watch whatever TF you want, check out the Rick James documentary Bitchin’: The Sound and Fury of Rick James. It will answer any questions you may have regarding the pioneer of Punk-Funk. I knew plenty about the Buffalo native and still learned volumes. Rick was a unique character in every sense, and his music and influence remain indelible. I definitely recommend watching if you think his claim to fame solely consisted of his skits on Chappelle’s Show; Rick had so much more to offer. He was far from a joke. He was a pioneer as a vocalist, musician, and producer. He was larger than life.
DISCLAIMER: I’M NOT CONDEMNING ALL CRIMINAL ACTIVITY. I AM A FORMER CRIMINAL. I’LL ALWAYS HAVE LOVE IN MY HEART FOR MY STREET NIGGAS. BUT THERE’S A CODE TO HOW IT’S DONE.
Last week, a Negro lunatic [allegedly] smoke bombed a Brooklyn subway station and shot ten commuters during AM commute. Miraculously, there were no casualties. The pigs found that the alleged perpetrator made his sentiment known on YouTube prior to the attacks. He has gotten and will continue to receive the lion’s share of the city’s crime-related attention for the moment, but the reality is that NYC is spiraling out of control. Gang culture, mental health, and the macabre results of bail reform have the city looking like it’s destined to return to the ‘70s “Bronx is Burning” era or the mid ‘80s to early ‘90s crack era. Illegal guns and ghost guns are as superfluous as roaches and rats. Adolescent gang members terrorize the streets of #BXNYC and Brooklyn, making shootouts a regular occurrence any time of day. The grim reality is that Mayor Eric Adams is going to have to (unfortunately) mirror the Giuliani approach of the early ‘90s: harsh sentences, extra pigs on patrol, and even stiffer penalties for illegal guns. And this no bail shit gotta go unless it’s (in certain cases) for a criminal with no violent priors of any type, felony AND misdemeanor. I’m damn near fifteen years removed from the height of my ignorant AF, street nigga era. I have no compassion for the dumb shit. These MF think they can move with impunity. I’m in favor of mirroring Florida’s “10-20-Life” law. There’s a minimum 10-year sentence for being convicted of committing or attempting to commit a list of 18 felonies (murder, sexual battery, robbery, kidnapping, aggravated child abuse, etc.) while armed with a firearm, a minimum 20 years for firing the firearm and a minimum 25-life for discharging a firearm and killing or seriously injuring someone. My hope is that it will make MF think twice before doing some dumb shit. But there must be stiff consequences for all the fuckery that’s ravaging the city. When I think about who’s at risk, I think about my little cousin Stephen (Wookie-Doo). My baby boy is precious, precocious, and talented. He wouldn’t harm a fly. He deserves the right to grow up in a safe neighborhood, and so do all the city kids. Get these domestic terrorists off these NYC streets.
“A wise man once said nothing at all.”
One thing I’ll never be able to relate to is how loose MF’s lips are these days. If it ain’t self-snitching, it’s self-snitching’s first cousin – a MF telling all his damn business. There is indeed a difference. The former relates to criminal activity. The latter relates to a MF telling all his personal business like a female. Self-snitching has somehow been glamorized through rap music and social media, as somehow idiots think there’s glory in admitting to crimes on songs, IG, Twitter and Facebook. “They’ll do anything for clout.” MF think that talking and posting about their criminal activity will endear them to absolute strangers. The irony is that these MF don’t GAF about them. The same people who watch you tell on yourself will be the first ones laughing at your dumb ass when you get knocked. They won’t check in on your family to make sure your kids are ok. They won’t put any money on your books. They won’t come visit you behind those walls. Shit, they won’t even take the time to write you a damn kite (letter). Now for the idiots who feel it necessary to tell their damn business to any and everyone. It’s the same concept, with a subtle twist. These MF think that telling people their business will make them more endearing to MF who don’t give a damn about them, when the reality is that it just makes the teller more likely to be manipulated by the told. People will use what you tell them against you. You brag about the amazing vacation you and your family are finna take and return home to having all your valuables stolen. You confide in a MF about your intimate feelings and setbacks, and they use it to tug at your heartstrings or to expose you on social media. You tell your “homegirl” how wonderful a man you have and how he puts it down in the bedroom, and, soon enough, she’s sucking his dick and fucking him in YOUR bedroom while you’re at work. These are just a few of many everyday examples. Shut the fuck up and keep your business to yourself.
That is all. Catch y’all next week. Same bat time, same bat channel.
tymonday.com: @tymonday on Twitter & IG
crewunb.com: @crewunB on Twitter & @theunbearablescrew on IG
#MNR: Title IX Heroes: The Melanin Edition
“Give it up for the ladies!”
Babs Bunny (Brooklyn Babs)
2 Connecticut 49
1 South Carolina 64
NCAA Tournament – Championship (Women’s)
Target Center, Minneapolis, Minnesota
Last night, women’s basketball icon Coach Dawn Staley led her prolific South Carolina Gamecocks (35-2) to the NCAA Women’s Basketball National Championship over perennial powerhouse UConn Huskies (30-6), led by Hall of Fame coach Geno Auriemma, 64-49, in a game they led from wire to wire. SC was clearly the better team, dominating to the point that my sis Jon Jon pondered in our group text whether Stanford, the defending champions who were “upset” by UConn in this year’s national semifinal, would have been the better opponent. Perhaps. But, like I replied, it probably wouldn’t have mattered who stood in SC’s path. They were a team of destiny (pardon the pun, IYKYK), and no team was going to stop the Gamecocks from cutting the nets down in Minneapolis. SC brought a defensive intensity reminiscent of their coach during her storied playing career. Final 4 MOP (Most Outstanding Player) Aaliyah Boston, who came up a putback short in last year’s Final Four, would not be denied this season. Her 2021 tears in defeat were transformed into tears of joy in 2022. Boston, a double-double machine of historic proportions (30 this season), finished with 11 points and 16 rebounds. The point total is misleading, for the Huskies double teamed Boston for basically the entire game. But those double teams led to an offensive rebound fest for SC, as they were +15 (21-6) and +25 on the boards (49-24) overall. Many of the offensive rebounds led to easy putback buckets for SC. The darling of the evening was easily 5’7” point goddess Destanni Henderson, who led the Gamecocks with 26 points, including three trifectas. She also led the team with four assists. The Huskies and Coach Auriemma suffered their first loss in a national final, previously 11-0 in the championship game. Last season’s National Player of the Year Paige Bueckers led the Huskies with 14 points but was stifled most of the night by Henderson’s smothering defense.
The 2021-2022 Gamecocks were a thoroughly dominant team. They went 14-0 against teams ranked in the Associated Press Top 25. They became the 12th team to go wire to wire as the AP number one and win the whole damn thing. Their dominance was on full display last night, as they scored 13 of the game’s first 15 points and led 30-12 early in the second quarter, never looking back. Their aforementioned advantage on the glass was the second best in the history of the women’s tournament. Coach Staley improved to 2-0 in national championship games.
I never pondered how much Coach Staley’s achievements and influence have meant to Black girls and women until I was in a mini-group chat with my sisters Jon Jon and Dr. Lisa during the game last night. Both ladies are sports junkies. The elation they felt last night brought genuine joy to my heart. It was bigger than the game. Coach Staley is showing Black girls across the country that they don’t have to be a part of a traditional machine to be successful. They don’t have to go to Storrs, CT, Waco, TX, or Stanford/Palo Alto, CA to be validated (I didn’t include Knoxville, TN cuz I’m a Lady Vols fan – RIP Coach Summitt). They can go down to Columbia, South Cackalac and ball for the legend from Iladelph. I love Dawn so much because she, the Burge twins, and their UVA Cavaliers were my introduction to women’s college basketball in the early ‘90s. I loved her gritty, all-out style of play and unrelenting attitude. She kept a straight-faced mug years before Chris Webber (fuck nigga) [dis]graced the floor in Ann Arbor. She’s always been my favorite point goddess, and I’m proud of her. Better, WE are proud of her. Lisa has already copped her national title tee and matching socks to go with a fresh AF pair of ’97 Air Max she recently copped. And, yes, I’m still player hating you a day later sis. Jon Jon always cops the gear/memorabilia, so I know her order prolly went in this morning. I need to cop my national champion tee for the collection. Lord knows my fat ass can’t fit into one.
I’ve recently made forays back into two of my childhood pastimes: sports card collecting and professional wrestling. For today’s blog, the focus is on wrasslin’. No, I didn’t fall out of love with wrestling because I found out the outcomes are predetermined (don’t say fake). I simply developed other interests and didn’t have the time to devote to watching all the diverse leagues (before WWE swallowed damn near every competitor whole) like I did when I was a kid. But I always kept an eye on the sport. From time-to-time, I’ve watched RAW and/or Smackdown. I had the opportunity to watch SummerSlam live on PPV in 2000, but I’d never seen a WrestleMania live until this past weekend (that Peacock subscription decision has aged very well). And I didn’t just watch, I watched BOTH NIGHTS, relegating the Men’s Final Four and Women’s Championship games to my iPhone 13 Pro Max. Mr. McMahon loves extravagance, and WM is truly an event of grandiose proportions. There were plenty of great matches to speak on, but this one is for my sistas, purriot. Check the title of the blog again if you forgot.
In perhaps the match of WrestleMania 38, Bianca Belair defeated Becky Lynch for the Raw Women’s Championship. “The Man” (one of Becky’s nicknames to those who don’t know) pretty much embarrassed Bianca in last year’s SummerSlam, defeating Belair for the Smackdown Championship in a pathetic 26 seconds. It almost seemed as if fate would repeat itself, with Lynch trying to quick pin her several times early in the match. But Bianca kept fighting. She showed her prowess as perhaps the best female athlete in the sport. Her relentlessness wore Lynch down as the match persisted, and eventually Bianca pinned her to win the title belt. I screamed in enjoyment as if the Yankees had just won #28 (smh), knowing what her victory meant to all the Black girls who are aficionados of the sport with dreams of one day following in her path. The WWE hasn’t exactly been on the cutting edge of racial equality (IMO) over the years, so it was refreshing to see one of us back in the driver’s seat. Titles are won and lost at Mr. McMahon’s whim (unless you’re Roman Reigns), so there’s no telling how long she’ll continue to wear the strap this time ‘round. But hey, she stole the spotlight on the sport’s biggest stage. Big ups, Bianca. I – we’re proud of you.
In an action-packed Fatal 4-Way tag team match for the WWE Women’s Tag Team Championship, Sasha Banks and Naomi triumphed over Carmella & Queen Zelina (the champs), Rhea Ripley & Liv Morgan, and Shayna Bazler & Natalya. To the best of my drug-distorted memory (residual – I’m still clean), this was my first time ever seeing a Fatal 4-Way, and I was far from disappointed. The action was frenetic for the entire match. But HOLD ON FOR A MINUTE (Piperboy Williams voice)! In a weekend full of amazing ring entrances, Sasha Banks and Naomi stole the show, coming out in a lime green Lamborghini that was fresher than produce in a supermarket in a white neighborhood. But back to the action... like I said, the match was intense from jump, as all eight ladies beat up on each other as only WWE athletes can. It seemed like it could have been anyone’s match until Banks and Naomi seized control late and Sasha pinned Rhea Ripley to win the belts. It was a special night that no one in attendance or who watched from home will ever forget, especially the Black girls who watched. It was a moment in Black excellence. WE got to shine under the brightest lights the sport has to offer. Again, I’m exceedingly proud of the ladies for their achievement.
GIVE IT UP FOR THE LADIES!!!
BLACK POWER (BLACK FIST EMOJI)
tymonday.com: @tymonday on Twitter & IG
crewunb.com: @crewunB on Twitter & @theunbearablescrew on IG