#MNR: MONDAY’S [BLACK] HEART
“Slip me a xany at once. I got the earth in a blunt.”
Hot damn hoe, here we go again.
Alas, another Monday has arrived. We endured the rigors of the weekend and made our way to the start of another work week. Yay!
No one in history has ever said that shit.
Many of us limped our lazy American asses into the slave, err umm job, on this blessed Monday morning. Personally, I’m ensured of a litany of complaints about shit that isn’t even a damn issue. The shit sounds like Charlie Brown’s teacher: unintelligible yet audible enough to cause a distraction. Shut the fuck up, please and thank you. You sound like a petulant child. This message isn’t specific, but it is intended for every coworker at every job in America who does nothing but complain as a full-time sport. In the words of the legend Lamar Thomas, “I don’t mind you coming to me with a problem but come with a solution.” Right on, LT. I’ve never had a problem with someone complaining when there is genuinely a problem at hand...IF they are at least willing to ponder a solution. Not everyone is an expert problem solver. I’ll admit that much. But if all you bring to the table is a complaint, I feel like you just want to be a stormy cloud. Shut your ass the fuck up and figure the shit out. If not, lower your voice to immediately lower noise pollution. Stop your blood clot cryin’. Thank you. Jerkface. With your complaining ass.
You filthy Americans and your whiny first world problems...
I lost two of mine this week. Losing your folk is never easy. It’s painful. RIP to them. Naw, those MF aren’t dead. We just had to mutually part ways. The cutoff game is strong in the final quarter of fiscal 2023. My accountant said we had to make sure the books were in the black and not the red. That means some dead weight had to be cut. The scissors are sharp and strong, yet my will is even stronger. A thug changes, and love changes, and best friends become strangers.
Is either relationship reconcilable? That’s a good question. Personally, I feel that time heals most wounds. But in one of the relationships, the fuckery has existed for far too long. That one’s Angelo Dundee. RIP. I may miss you, but I won’t be missing any meals. Translation: I’m a be alright.
I was on the Twitter the other day and I saw na tweet about “Niggas for tRump.” I’m not lying, “tRump for King” was a quote from the originator (I’m assuming) of yet another dumb ass movement. Derrick Gibson (the coon in the spotlight) conspired to attract attention in a play straight out of the “old-time n*gger shit” playbook. I listened to Gibson. He didn’t include a single fact in the soundbite, only ignorant propaganda. I wasn’t surprised at all. Niggas for tRump...are you fucking serious? I hate you troglodytes a bit more each day.
My thoughts and prayers are with the families of my sister and two brothers who were slain by yet another white supremacist. Those good folk were in a Dollar General in Jacksonville, FL...
Pardon self, y’all. Let me honor my slain folk by first stating their names:
Angela Michelle Carr
REST IN PARADISE
A.J. was only 19. He’d just begun life. The youngest of five, he worked at DG to help support the grandmother who raised. Him. Ms. Angela, 52, was a mother and an Uber driver. Jerrald, 29 and the father of a 4-year-old, was fatally wounded whilst entering the establishment alongside his lady. The killer was a 21-year-old, hate-filled pilgrim. Those who read #MNR in an ardent fashion know that I don’t mention the names of these cowards. Do know that he had a swastika painted on his assault rifle. He targeted our folk. And, in typical pussyclot fashion, he offed himself after his acts of fuckery. May he rest in piss.
Vile, disgusting Nazi Florida Governor Ron DeSantis found his raggedy ass way home from the presidential campaign trail to call the pilgrim a “scumbag” during a press conference in which his Black constituents booed his punk ass. No, Ronald. He wasn’t a scumbag. He was a violent, homicidal, racist coward. You’re the scumbag. That white boy was from a county over. How about preventing a future Floridian race war shooter from following in this pilgrim’s footsteps? Stop meddling with the education curriculum and policies and pushing anti-Black, revisionist history. We don’t know you don’t like us. It’s cool. History will look back and judge you for being the man you are: a racist, xenophobic, homophobic, and bigoted weirdo who wears polar bear galoshes and eats pudding with his fingers. You have the swagger of a home-schooled Oedipus Rex. Andrew Gillum still owes you a Florida-style ass whooping.
I’m tired of all you Oreo cookie ass, apologetically Black MF. I’m not saying that it’s cool to be a bigot. It’s not. What I am saying is that I’m tired of you Blacks acting like you have to compromise your Blackness to fit in. Stop capitulating because you’re afraid of being who and what you are. It’s disgusting. Why do you feel that WE always have to compromise? Fuck that. Also, stop adopting nicknames from other ethnicities. You are not Hispanic. Papi isn’t our thing. You are not a mafia boss, capiche? Steer clear of the frank stand. I am 100% unapologetically Black on both sides. I don’t want to be white. I don’t want to be Hispanic. I’m striving to ascend to the next degree of ultra-Blackness. I love ME. I love MY BLACK SISTERS AND BROTHERS. Get off your knees, lame ass house niggas. I hate y’all more than the KKK and Ron DeSantis. Now that I think about it, Ronald may be the Grand Wizard.
If I struck a chord, see me when you see me. Snowflake.
tymonday.com: @tymonday on Twitter (Fuck Elon X) & IG (Fuck Zuckerberg too)
crewunb.com: @crewunB on Twitter & @theunbearablescrew on IG
#MNR: SUICIDE DIARIES
“Life moves fast when you’re doing what you want. I guess I don’t know what I want. [I] hope you’re doing what you want...what we want.”
“Sometimes I look in the mirror and ask myself, ‘am I really scared of passing away?’ If it’s today I hope I hear a – cry out from heaven so loud it can water down a demon with a Holy Ghost ‘til it drowns in the blood of Jesus.”
neurotic - noun
a person who tends to be emotionally unstable or unusually anxious
I remember the times when I over thought everything, and I mean everything. I questioned everything. I was eternally incredulous. I was eternally cynical. My outlook on life was dire at best. My personal outlook was even worse. The cause of my “tick” is far from a mystery. I don’t have daddy issues, but my issues began with daddy. I’ll spare the details; just know that it was juvenile hell. Fast forward to early fall 1994, the time period that I found out that Mary Warren, my maternal grandmother, nurturer, first educator and hero, had Alzheimer’s. That led to years of questioning everything – literally everything. How could the most amazing and benevolent person that I’ve ever known have an illness that promised to rob her of all the special memories she’d amassed over time? The toughest of tough days was college graduation; she was unable to attend. In TGI Friday’s at the post-graduation meal I cried the most since I was 5 and my mom told me that her paternal grandmother Beatrice James, my great grandmother, transcended. I went from experiencing one of the most amazing natural highs to sheer sorrow in about an hour. The one person with whom I most wanted to share my achievement was unable to attend. What was even worse was the reality that, even if she were there, she wouldn’t have been able to remember what happened. Years later, her death triggered emotional descent. I wasn’t much for religion by then, though I was raised in the church. Losing faith in the Lord is catastrophic. Losing faith in self could possibly be worse. I couldn’t land the proverbial “promised” career job, though in retrospect, 9.11.2001 played its own role in that situation. But instead of digging deep, galvanizing and doubling down on resilience, I lost all confidence in myself. I took all types of “underachiever” jobs for pay. I began to make my foray into the streets. I know, I know. Who the fuck cares, Monday? Get to the MF point.
Truthfully, there were plenty of other issues and heartbreaks that contributed to my near demise, but the enduring motif is that I have always overthought every damn thing. When you’re a neurotic, every thought is magnified and then ruminated incessantly. If I felt that you crossed me in any way, [in my mind] I’d immediately go from being cool to wanting to damn near you, or at least never speak to you again...in my head. Half the time, the perceived issue was simply a misunderstanding, usually on my end. I can think of plenty of times that I was prepared to sever all ties (or a head) from a friend or [dare I say] family member, only to have the matter amicably resolved in a relatively short time. I’ve come to realize that I couldn’t help myself; that’s how I was wired. I’m person enough to admit that I was in dire need of some re-wiring. I spoke earnestly with the Lord. I prayed for him to work on my shortcomings. I spoke at length with a dear friend who is also a psychologist. I had loved ones who encouraged me to remain calm in these types of situations. I’m thankful to say that I’m not the human I was a decade ago. I do all that I can to protect my peace and to remain positive through it all; my faith has plenty to do with that. I’d be a half-truth-teller if I didn’t admit that I still want to kill the entire world from time to time. The difference is that it’s only a fleeting thought. I remain calm and employ a certain measure of patience. My strategy is what Stevie (if you have to ask, ‘Stevie who?’, see me in my office after class) said in his thinly veiled tribute to Robert Nesta Marley, “...is to let all our worries, like the breeze through our fingers, slip away.” Believe it or not, it works wonders. In the words of so many brilliant ghetto scholars, “IT’S NOT THAT SERIOUS.” I had to discern.
Positivity is literally a culture – it is a way of life. I’m not the type to preach at the next human or have expectations that are derived from a selfish nature. I’m only speaking on how I went from a perennial Negative Nathan to an eternal glass half-full, smooth operator. I was prepared to end my own existence on two occasions. If I had completed the objective the first time, 100 Blocks Stories would have never seen the light of day. I would have literally killed my lifelong dream before it came to be...abortion. That would have also meant that Shareon would have had to bury her firstborn second. What I failed to realize during those dark hours was that I have so much to live for.
Now, I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t speak from a perspective birthed from the dark side. Candidly, the thought of death is something that I don’t shy away from. My thoughts are now far removed from those of [CENSORED]. I’m a reinvigorated believer, and according to the Good Book, that’s the one thing that is unforgivable in the eyes of God. But I’ve experienced so much death in half a lifetime. Weary thoughts have been stuck in my atmosphere, sort of like smog in Mexico City. Each day, they threaten to deplete me a bit more, until eventually there is nothing left. Lately, I have had visions of being 18 years late to the 27 Club. Maybe I check out without trying to check out. Fuck it. Many a night amidst a by myself meeting, I like to get extra low, sit back and let certain thoughts enter. At times, I have visions of making CNN. You know, going out in a true blaze of glory. Fuck it. Let’s go out like that. But I wouldn’t make the global news for any nefarious reason. It would most definitely be for the cause. Pick one. Fuck it. Don’t matter, so long as it’s for the benefit of my BLACK people. They gon remember me (Meek voice)!!!
And then there’s the grey somewhere near the center of it all...
Approximately 90% of the time, I begin my day feeling two ways: blessed and like I’m unfuckwitable. I’ll take my beautiful mind and razor-sharp tongue over whatever you bring to the table. I have supreme confidence in my skill set, fortified by my faith in God. I was raised by people with good sense. They instilled self-love and pride for my-skinned folk. If my back is against the wall, I know exactly who to call when I need a favor – in any situation. At my best, I’m Parker Lewis.
You definitely have to be my age to get that reference and its nuance.
As we near the end of this blog, the best I can tell you is that the mind is fragile. Stephanie Mills said it best: I’ve been up, and I’ve been down. I don’t have a prepared inspirational speech for you. Just take everything a day at a time. If you insist on dwelling on what you don’t have, count your blessings first. Then formulate a plan to go out and get it. Have faith in God and yourself. We gon make it, I swear my nigga.
IN TOTALLY UNRELATED NEWS BUT NEWS I’VE DEEMED PERTINENT BECAUSE THIS IS MY SHIT
Paz a mis primos de la tienda Gardenia Deli. The trio makes the best made-to-order “quick” food in all of Chelsea. The guys (the main grill man is a bit taciturn but he’s valid) always greet patrons with genuine smiles and light banter each morning. Primo means that you’re a regular and that you’re familial...cousins. They don’t have any idea how much of a blessing they are to my coworkers, me and all who enter. Thank you, guys. You are loved and appreciated. I got word that them people were all up in the spot and that it shut down for the day. I don’t know what the fuck happened, but I pray y’all are back open and thriving tomorrow. And not just because of the food, but because I rock with y’all. Salud. I told y’all I was going to give y’all a shoutout. If you’re in proximity to the Garden (that’s Madison Square, not Olive), fall through Gardenia Deli, located at 404 8th Avenue near the corner of 30th street. They are open 24 hours a day, but mis primos leave around normal quitting time.
Aye yo CEO, take us the fuck outta here.
tymonday.com: @tymonday on Twitter & IG
crewunb.com: @crewunB on Twitter & @theunbearablescrew on IG
#MNR: DIVE BAR AURA
“Various shades of Black, leaning off the roof of the Ac(ura). Don’t know how to act, wildin’ with a nonchalant pack.”
“While my Nikes match my Lo hat.”
Y’all know how many years I’ve spent making sure my Nikes match my Lo hat? Shit, me either. It’s been a minute.
PRAYERS TO MAUI.
Salute to all my folk out there who read the Monday Night Raw blogs in an ardent manner. Y’all are one of two the reasons why I fire up the old Mac every Monday night and make love to the keyboard. I cherish the support. The other reason why I do what I do is because there is an insatiable fire that burns within my soul. It compels me to create. I try my best to bring words to life every mother effing time. It’s my desire. My passion. I couldn’t ever possibly have an audience of zero. I write to delight my own soul first. I read my blog for the 74th time as soon as CEO texts me that we’re live...I read it like I’ve yet to lay eyes on it. Every time I finish reading the blog, I thank the Lord for the talent he has bestowed upon me.
Ok y’all. I’m done being gracious. Let’s get this shit jumping like David Thompson. Hell yeah, that’s my kinfolk. And if you think I’m lying, prove it.
I finally copped a bong. I wanted to invest in a sophisticated, $200 type of bong. But in all fairness, I also want Lauren London. I ended up settling for a considerably less expensive bong which I purchased on eBay. I put entirely too much flower in my Woods and papers. A bong will take me to the upper room much faster than a J or L, and with much less flower. I burn way too much greenery. I don’t live on a rapper’s budget. I need to call my boy Gary Payton and see if he wants to sponsor #MNR. CEO and I are cool with free GP in perpetuity. It’s my favorite strand. And furthermore, we know how to work that, you heard?
Proper. What you say, Hammer? Proper...
Shout out to the Lincoln Tunnel XBL, a 2.5-mile contra (against the flow of traffic)-flow bus-only lane that runs along Route 495 from the NJ Turnpike to the Lincoln Tunnel helix. It speeds up the morning commute by an estimated 15 to 20 minutes. It runs from 06:30-10:00 on weekdays. Anyone who’s ever approached the Lincoln Tunnel helix knows that you can sit still for a good while at damn near any time. The traffic sucks ass. The XBL all but ensures buses make time in the morning. I love it, and I wanted you all to know about it. Fuckers.
“You love to hear the story, again and again, of how it all got started way back when.”
Last week the dominant culture of my lifetime, hip hop, turned 50. A half a century ago in Sedgwick Projects, #BXNYC, a Jamaican immigrant named Clive “Kool Herc” Campbell brought his records and turntable set to the recreation room and made shit happen. I don’t know exactly what he did other than play records, but it was the start of something amazing. Here we are, two-and-a-half scores later, and hip hop has permeated every single aspect of life. I remember listening to commercial jingles growing up, and every score was rock inspired. I used to eat my cereal and wonder, “why don’t they ever have a rap jingle?” I remember when the Grammys didn’t televise any of the rap category winners. Look how far we’ve come. Nas’ label Mass Appeal threw a 50th birthday concert in Yankee Stadium (it had to be in the X). Damn near everyone who was anyone touched the stage. Lupe Fiasco set it off (fittingly). The stream is available on YouTube, completely free of charge. Check it out. Hip Hop is here to stay. Big ups to every aspect of hip hop: DJ, MC, break boys/girls, aerosol (graffiti) artists, and the unofficial fifth and sixth elements – the clothing (style) and beatboxing. Where would I be without you?
Big ups to MY favorite MCs: LL Cool J (my 7-year-old, 1985 GOAT), Q-Tip and A Tribe Called Quest (the ones who made me truly fall in love with this thing of ours – RIP Phife), Ice Cube (my favorite from the west side of things), the BIG fella, Makaveli the Don, Redman (Jersey’s GREATEST), The Roots (The World’s 8th Wonder), Nasir bin Olu Dara Jones (my personal GOAT; thanks for changing my outlook on life), Run-DMC (there’s no culture without y’all), the Wu (Wu-Tang is forever), Mobb Deep, CNN, Big Pun, Black Rob (RIP), Cam’ron, Snoop Doggy Dog, Curren$y Spitta (the only favorite I encountered as an adult), and the originator of hip hop/R&B soul, the GOAT Mary J. Blige.
I can’t forget my favorite DJs & producers: DJ P-Funk (the VUU resident DJ for my era at 1500 N. Lombardy – RIP my guy), Grandmaster Flash, Jam Master J (RIP), Erick Sermon, Ali Shaheed Muhammad, Doo Wop, DJ Clue (the GOAT of my high school era), Mr. Magic (RIP), RZA, Kool DJ Red Alert, Large Professor, Dr. Dre, Jay Dilla (RIP), DJ Premier, Marley Marl, Havoc, Pete Rock, DJ Quik, DJ S&S, Timbaland, the Neptunes, The Ummah, Q-Tip, Ron G., Doo Wop, Daz, DeVante Swing, Mr. West (we still love you – fuck what they say), Mr. 10, DJ Green, DJ Showtime and the newest on my favorite producer list – Hit-Boy.
Special shout out to my favorite b-boys and girls: Rocksteady Crew, New York City Breakers, and The Lockers (Los Angeles). The Lockers was Fred “Rerun” Berry’s crew. If you don’t know of Rerun, you don’t know what’s happening. Y’all like that pun? Yeah, you did.
Much love to all the aerosol art wizards: King Kase 2 (my personal GOAT; RIP), Skeme, Phase 2, Basquiat (bet y’all didn’t know he was a tagger -- #SAMO), and my guy, the incomparable Dez, better (later) known as DJ Kay Slay (RIP). Big ups to the movie Wild Style, the documentary Style Wars, and The Writers Bench on the 2 and 5 line @ 149th St. and Grand Concourse (#BXNYC). #ALLCITY
Beat Street and Krush Groove together have a unique place in my heart. My mommy took me to the theaters to see both. Yeah, she was absolutely, 100% hip hop (back then). I cried when Ramon (Ramo) died. The scene with the Fatboys crushing the Sbarro’s buffet to their song “All You Can Eat” will never escape my memory. If you know the movies there’s no need to explain which event happened in which movie. If you don’t, ask your mom, pop, or gma/gpa. RIP to Ramo and Shareon.
A unique set of shoutouts go out to the originator of the rap video show, the GOAT Ralph McDaniels of Video Music Box, the aforementioned Mr. Magic -- host of the first rap radio show titled “Rap Attack” on the former WHBI-NYC, the now defunct KDAY-LA -- the first all rap format radio station, and The Source, rap’s first exclusively hip hop-themed magazine (honorable mention to Word Up! and Vibe).
Most people think “Rapper’s Delight” by Englewood, NJ’s own Sugar Hill Gang was the first rap single. Technically, it was not. The first official rap song/single was “King Tim III (Personality Jock)“ by Fatback Band featuring Timothy Washington on rap vocals. It was released on 3.25.1979, half a year before “Rapper’s Delight” was released on 8.2.1979. Even though the former was well-received and charted (peaked at #26, R&B chart), the latter is far more famous and renowned. But I’m true to this shit. It’s imperative that Fatback Band and Timothy Washington receive their just due from me and the hip hop community. Salute to all ‘em. “Rapper’s Delight” blew the roof off the culture. We’ve been an open-air market ever since.
Salute to all the playgrounds, parks and clubs that made the culture what it is today. There are too many to name. Plus, I’ve never been to any of them. My only regret is not making a Sunday night appearance in The Tunnel. You got me on that one, Brandi.
Salute to “fresh,” “word,” “dope,” “fly,” “phat,” “wavy” and all the other slang that hip hop introduced and were made staples in our culture.
Salute to the fly clothes, sneakers, hoodies, jackets, coats, hats, and boots hip hop made a staple in popular culture and fashion. Salute to Dapper Dan (IYKYK). Salute to Uptown Harlem.
“And just cool out, cool out and listen to H.E.R.”
Y’all have no idea how many hours I spent playing sooooo many amazing albums front to back since Low End Theory (the first album I fell in love with). My high school friend Kristy said in tenth grade that you have to listen to an album in its natural order upon first listen. No skips. I agreed with her 30 years ago and I still agree with her to this day...and it sounds so nice, hip hop you’re the love of my life.
tymonday.com: @tymonday on Twitter & IG
crewunb.com: @crewunB on Twitter & @theunbearablescrew on IG
#MNR: CRITICAL BEATDOWN
“If you ain’t nasty, don’t @ me.”
PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT: STD tests HAVE NOT gone out of style. Take your sexually active ass to the clinic or your private doctor and get some bloodwork done. This isn’t the ‘60s. There’s a lot of burning going on...and worse. I just got the complete A-Z done. Passed every test with a C+.
If you know my style, you know it’s finna be one of those. I feel good all over like Stephanie Mills in ’87. I came here to talk my shit. I’m finna be random AF. Please pardon the marijuana aroma, but my cologne would get a wink from Michelle Obama.
I wanted to stay away from politics this week. I wanted to keep it light-hearted. But there’s this one thing that scuffed my Nikes on the way to Happy-Go-Lucky Lane: the hate mail Fulton County (GA) District Attorney Fani Willis has received for the eminent indictments set to be charged to #45 for his “perfect” call and all the fuckery associated with him trying to steal the state of Georgia’s 16 electoral votes following the 2020 election. Unless you were in a coma from 1.5.2021 until two minutes ago, you already know what occurred, so I’ll spare the needless details. I’m strictly talking about some of the hate emails Sis. Willis has received from MAGA zealots regarding their disdain for having their god Donald Cheesy tRump endure a fourth case. Now that I think about it, this devil is more cased up than the entire State Property was that Friday night on Hot 97 in maybe ’04 when Young Chris had to give the phone interview by himself cuz like four of them nuccas were locked up at the time. But fatty has accomplished this feat by his lonely. Anyway, these hate spewing pilgrims are using n*gger in their emails like it’s one of the FAFSA or U.S. Census ethnicity bubbles to pencil in. An email. An email to an entire District Attorney. An email to a woman – a Black woman. Hate is a sad thing. Picture me being that upset if they attempted to lock a Dem president up for alleged criminal transgressions. Lololololol. ROTFL. CTFU. FOH. SMD. But then again, I’ve never purchased and flown a flag with a man’s last name and an inherently racist slogan on it, either. I don’t eat dick. If that last sentence made you feel sensitive, get the fuck up out of my blog.
I damn sure didn’t vote for tRump in 2020 (2016, either), so I obviously voted for Sleepy Joe. If it’s him and Fat Ass again, and it’s going to be, I’m likely voting for Old Man Biden again. I’m not a fan of either, but I’m not voting for a treasonous devil. I’m voting for the old-as-fuck white man with the questionable past regarding his views on my-skinned folk. And yes, I’m aware of his past quotes on the Senate floor, his vote and voice on the 1994 Crime Bill, and who his political mentor was. I’ll state the disclaimer that all this Hunter Biden bullshit hasn’t a leg to stand on. I’m more than acquainted with all of it. It may fall on the cokehead son if it can be proven that he used his dad’s name for financial gain and influence (it HAS NOT thus far), but Sleepy’s prints are nowhere on it. But, if by chance they are (they aren’t), I’ll sit on a federal grand jury and indict him. I’ll sit on a federal trial jury and convict his ass. I don’t give a flying 757 fuck about that man other than his capacity as Commander-in-Chief. You don’t have to agree with my politics, that’s your choice. I said what I said.
P.S. If my guy Dr. Cornel West is on the ballot in Jerz, I’ll probably vote for him because I’m in accord with more of his political views in comparison to Sleepy Joe and because Joe will win the state with relative ease regardless. I don’t fake, lie, or duck smoke, so I’ll say that if New Jersey were to be a toss-up, I’d have to go with Biden over Doc because it’s too risky to leave those electoral votes within tRump’s grasp. It’s political strategy. Politics makes strange bedfellows (pause if necessary) is the quote, I believe.
Now that I got that shit off my chest plate...let me light my shit up. I developed anxiety writing the last couple of paragraphs.
I just replied to a YouTube post with a pic of Phife and a question asking what his best verse was. Of course, “Scenario” and “Electric Relaxation” were mentioned heavily, but my choice is his verse on “God Lives Through.” He dominated that track AND that album, and, for absolute context, Tip was my favorite Quester from El Segundo on. But thinking about Phife no longer being here got me thinking about classic rap groups in addition to A Tribe Called Quest and all the brothers and sisters we’ve already lost. Here’s an off-top roll call with group names included for likely lesser-known rappers or groups (comment if I leave someone out): Cowboy (Grandmaster Flash and The Furious Five), DJ Scott La Rock (Boogie Down Productions), Trouble T Roy (Heavy D & The Boyz), Jam Master Jay, Eazy-E, Professor X AND Sugar Shaft (X Clan), Ol’ Dirty Bastard, Prodigy, Bushwick Bill, Pimp C, DJ Easy Rock (Rob Base & DJ Easy Rock), Chris “Mack Daddy” Kelly (Kris Kross), Sean “Ruck” Price (Heltah Skeltah), DJ Subroc AND Zev Love X/MF DOOM (KMD), Lisa “Left Eye” Lopes (she has to be on this list), Big DS (Onyx), and Gangsta Boo (3-6 Mafia). Every man and woman, irrespective of the causes of their demise, perished relatively young. They all left indelible marks in their own unique way. Long live hip hop.
Salute to all my beautiful Black sisters and brothers who came to the aid of our dock worker brother in distress down by the water in Montgomery, Alabama. The brother was simply doing his job yet got jumped by no less than seven white boys for his troubles. But guess what? Saturday was the wrong day for the bullshit. Salute to all my chocolate Alabamans down on that water who embodied “fuck around and find out” in 4K resolution for all non-believers. It was dark for like a good 20 seconds for that dock worker brother, but trust, the cavalry was on the MF way. And when the cavalry arrived, it got late early. Men AND women endured a thorough ass whooping in a true Pier-Six brawl. My first Co-MVP was Michael B. Phelps, the brother who swam across the waterway to Voltron with the rest of our kinfolk. That brother Aquaman’d up out that water, kicked one shoe off and kept stepping. The other obvious Co-MVP went to D-Von Dudley’s (IYKYK) first cousin Raheem Shabazz Dudley, the folding chair brother. I know an old-school ECW fan when I see one. Someone tell HHH dem to book Raheem Shabazz in the next Tables, Ladders & Chairs match. If he’s sitting still, someone shoot the GoFundMe information to my email. I’ve got some ones on his bail money.
I try to keep things as tranquil as possible. But when it’s go time, it’s go time. I don’t harbor or carry prejudice around in 2023, but I am absolutely, unapologetically, 100% Black on both sides. My grandfather was raised in a segregated section of Tidewater, VA. He fought in a segregated Army in WWII. He instilled a vault of knowledge, awareness and pride within me. I ride and die for mine. You already know what MF time it is.
Kai Cenat, you’re a got damn clown. It’s only a matter of time before your antics and clout-chasing sends some lil nigga on the main line to the pearly gates. It got really crazy in Union Square the other day. Through the Lord’s mercy, no one lost her or his life. The irony is, that if one of the pigs would’ve eliminated one of those kids out there, the city would be on fire. Maybe the pig would’ve been wrong. Perhaps the kid would’ve been wrong. Who could say? But with absolute certainty, I can say that Cenat and his stooges would’ve been criminally wrong. These MF are still doing anything for clout. And these kids are dumber than ever. I’m not an old jerkface hating on the youth; I had my time. I pushed it all to the center of the table plenty of nights. I’m content. There are plenty of youngsters who are completely on point, about their business and aware of the time, both literally and figuratively. But there are way too many sheep. Imagine going down to 14th Street and dying in a riot over some PlayStation5 consoles that never were. Imagine having to live with being the cause of multiple casualties. Shit is always funny until it isn’t.
Salute to my guy Felipe on his 20th birthday. His party was yesterday. I was the only brother in the spot, but I was as comfortable as I was every session during our two years together. His stepdad (DAD dad) Wladimir is Brazilian, so I got to enjoy Brazilian-style meat (leave me alone, fuckers) rollouts. Steak, kielbasa and some other delicious sausage kept coming in waves. Felipe and mom are Colombian, so I got to enjoy all types of delicious Colombian dishes. I had a time and a half. Felipe, you are in my Top 5 favorite humans. I love you like you are my own. Thank you for allowing me to be a piece of your puzzle. When I make it to Capitol Hill to advocate for children with autism and special needs children alike, you’re coming to the Hill with me at least once. No IG posts or tweets. Just my guy standing tall with me. Life is good.
tymonday.com: @tymonday on Twitter & IG
crewunb.com: @crewunB on Twitter & @theunbearablescrew on IG
#MNR: NBA LIVE ‘95
“I know some goofies that want to scalp me (ouch). Wipe out my accounts, leave me needing mouth-to-mouth...”
Nasir bin Olu Dara Jones
Hot damn, hoe. Here we go again...
So...I’ve been working hard the past couple Mondays, on-time for the most part. I haven’t taken any excessive breaks in my time back. I’ve been on the clock full-time. It feels good to be back. It’s therapeutic. I’m up late with this one, but the thoughts are as lucid as can be. Go on ‘head and put a 1.5 or a 2 in that Wood, Fronto, paper or bong. Twirl that shit then light that shit then smoke that shit. Rip that shit. Don’t crash out. Keep the tree burning. We’re on one tonight. Now...can I talk my shit? Well alright then. Let’s get it (free my #eastside nigga Dep).
I am a master creator, an elite amongst the elite. I am one of the best craftsmen to ever unite the Pilot G2 with paper. I create thoughts that permeate the most rigid of brainwaves and soothe the voracious psyche. I am from the ilk of ancient griots or pedagogues from Timbuktu or Cush. So, in other words, what you should be deciphering from my vernacular is – they can’t fuck with me, not even on their best day. That would add +1 to the death rate. And who, exactly, is “they?” They are (is) any half-stepping, mumbo-jumbo, jive turkey, fish-eyed-fool somabitch who asserts that her/his pen can touch mine. Put us on the clock. Ask Fresh’s father what the result would be. By the way...Fresh’s dad is a damn good spokesperson, and he works for the low. I pay him in 40 ounces of Old English. I lost you at Fresh’s father if you’ve never seen the movie Fresh. Keep up, mother lovers. I’m in AMG Mode, you heard?
In the past 168 hours, we’ve seen and heard some shit. Nothing’s new under the sun. Magic 2, Nas’ 231st studio album is CRAZY...tRump’s in even deeper shit, it’s hotter than a motherfucker in most of America, Gunna is still a rat ass nigga for telling on the good brother Slime to them people – free that man, FREE THE MF WAVE TSUNAMI SURF (big Jerz), too, Ukraine is still getting Powerball + Mega Millions checks while the underserved in America are still getting the ass end of the stick, every damn thing in the grocery store is still higher than Marvin Gaye singing the national anthem at the 1983 NBA All-Star game (best ever, btw – yes, better than Whitney – RIP to boffum), gas prices are creeping up like DK Metcalf on Budda Baker on that INT return, Ron DeSantis is still a hoe ass pilgrim, Dr. William B. Allen is still a hoe ass nigga, Justice Alito strongly feels that Supreme Court justices are free to be scumbags with absolute impunity (he is also a hoe ass pilgrim), and one more thing...
THERE’S BEEN A COUP IN NIGER
President Mohamed Bazoum, elected in 2021, has been overthrown, according to Niger’s top military brass. Poor economic and social governance along with national security issues were the chief causes of the coup d’état. The regime change could spell a serious blow to the West (specifically France and the U.S.), who have strong ties to Niger. The West African nation is seen as a strategic country in the fight against Islamic terrorism (3 snooze emojis). You know, Al Qaeda dem. Word in the street is that those damn Russians may have fingerprints on this, but I’ll let you in on a secret: Russia has had ties with diverse African nations for a long time now. If y’all would read more about us, you’d know more about us. But anyway, the ties are both strategic as well as economic (of course). We shall see what happens. But something else happened last week...umm, let me see, damn, I can’t remember...oh yeah...
BUD BEAT SPENCE’S MF ASS!!!
I waited about a half-decade for last Saturday night. This fight was supposed to have happened years ago. But y’all know how boxing is when two prospective opponents have different promotions. We eventually had Mayweather/Pacquaio, but six or so years after it actually should have happened. Finally, we had Crawford/Spence. Spence took the first round on points. He threw more punches. But the trained eye could see that Bud was just lining him up. Bud picked up the intensity in the second round. He put him on his ass in the third for the first time in his career. Spence was lumped and bloody by the fourth. He felt the canvas a couple more times, the last time leading to the referee stopping the fight shortly thereafter in the sixth. In the words of the great, late Lawrence Peter “Yogi” Berra, it got late early. The card was well worth my $84.99. I AM NOT paying for the rematch in December. Who’s trying to get some wings and all that night?
I really want to go back to Vegas. No, y’all don’t get it. I REALLY want to go back to Vegas. But I checked my MGM Rewards last night and they were trying to front on me for the week leading up to Thanksgiving. I wasn’t even eligible for a stay at MGM Grand. I would have actually been good to go in The Signature. Now that I think about it, The Signature is a bit nicer than Grand. But I love MGM Grand. It’s MY spot. I’m loyal. I guess I’ll have to settle for The Signature. I’m finna start a GoFundMe for my November trip. No donation is too small, but I prefer a dub and up. It helps get to the goal faster. The goal? A smooth Andre Three Stacks should cover my expenses. I also take Cash App and Zelle. Holla at your boy. It’s email@example.com for serious donation inquiries. I’m just playing. I’m just serious.
P.S. I could really use a 50-piece. Once that thang clears, this blog will from then on be sponsored by you, and you shall have your name on the blog in perpetuity.
Big ups to my lil bro CEO. He’s literally working harder than a one-legged NFL punter. He’s a man and a half. He’s always been there for me. I’ll always be there for him. I’m praying for our brother. Peace to Twin.
I’m out this bitch. It’s 01:03. It’s past my bedtime. I’m tied (tired if none of your folk are from down the way). I love you, Rhino. Peace to everyone out there getting to it every day. Oh yeah, y’all. I’m down 16 pounds. God is the greatest. Oh yeah. Peace to my 5-footer. We’re on our way to Platinum Ave. I just got the directions.
tymonday.com: @tymonday on Twitter & IG
crewunb.com: @crewunB on Twitter & @theunbearablescrew on IG