“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.
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