#MNR: TY MONDAY & THE MIRACLES

#MNR: TY MONDAY & THE MIRACLES

“I been down. But I hope I make it out.”
Brent Faiyaz

“I’m barely standing, and plus my second hand say it’s midnight.”
Makaveli the Don

“You sho’ is ugly!”
Shug Avery


The last time I did this was in college. I’m just going to let my fingers go. Whatever comes to mind is what I’m typing. I’ve got a J lit, two in the ashtray, and it’s whatever. If something I say in the course of this blog upsets you in any way, please go to your local bodega. Walk in. Have a Coke and a smile. Translation: I don’t give a fuck. Shut your sensitive ass the fuck up and enjoy the blog.

For those of us who stay tuned in – howdy. How the fuck are ya? I hope all is well. If not, go to your bed, get in that bitch, get under the covers, and pray that your friendly neighborhood weed man didn’t short you a .5 out of your eighth. My bad. I was having too much fun. All jokes aside, if all isn’t well, take a few deep breaths, exhale slowly, and roll a J. If you don’t have any flower, contact your local cannabis distributor, and...MF I already told you. Pray he doesn’t short you on your package. If he does, take your lazy ass to the dispensary next time and pay rapper prices for proper weight. Go on ‘head and spend some of that money. Good ole Sleepy Joe (and the last 98 job reports) told us the economy is thriving. Show him you agree by spending some of your net gains on that sweet cheeba. And I mean the good shit.

I remember the time I smoked a J with Delores after work and damn near collapsed on my way to Port Authority (LMAO!!!). Ok, I’m dragging it a wee bit, but I was damn near sittin’ sideways. I felt like I was Gumby in his weird little clay world. I felt like my fat clay Gumby legs were going to sink into the clay asphalt of 8th Avenue. I was scared for about ¾ of a block, between like 35th and 36th. After I realized I wasn’t going to pass out, it became fun. I really felt like I was Gumby, y’all. I was geeking. It became an adventure. And low key, I kinda hoped I sank into 8th Avenue – just a bit (sensory!). It would have been like Gumby quicksand. I thought I was in a special scene from The Simpsons or That 70s Show. I wouldn’t call it serendipity, but it was damn near bliss. In typical Ty Monday fashion, my happiness immediately eroded when I got to the top of the escalator in Port Authority and began to walk to my bus. Even though it was air conditioned, my body temperature rose about 2.5 degrees. I was [more] nervous than a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. I thought I was going to have a stroke and pass out in the middle of all the commuters. Pass out, fall, crack my water head on the Port Authority floor, and bleed out until it trickled to the escalator I just ascended. Someone please call 911! And grab me a bacon/egg/cheese on a croissant and a medium coffee light and sweet from the Dunkin for my ambulance ride to who knows what hospital? As long as I don’t somehow end up in Lincoln in the X I’m good. I’d damn near rather head to the morgue than Lincoln. Oh, yeah. I made it to my bus. I made it to my bus safely. I put the little vent on me and got that cool breeze. I was good. I was as happy as a runaway slave in northern territory. Nigga, I made it.

Shout out to my ace Ju for imploring me to drink alkaline water. Six bucks for a bottle of water reminds me of my only sour memory of Vegas – the entertainment tax. A tall bottle of Poland Spring was six damn bucks. But damn it, I bought an almost gallon of Poland Spring from the .99 store earlier and the water tasted like plastic. There goes my $2.50. Damn it, man. First Wham! breaks up, and now this. At least I’m pH balanced like a woman (aye yo!). Fuck y’all. My water has a 9.5 pH, is ionically charged, 9-stage purified, has electrolytes, and has no added sodium, chlorine, or fluoride. It tastes like water in a paper cone cup from the water cooler in an 80s doctor’s office. Clean. Crisp. In a cup made for an icee. From an 80s doctor’s office. Totally 80s: Reaganomics, the crack epidemic, Jheri curls, dope man Nikes, and Morton Downey Jr. What a time to be alive.

America is two weeks away from the first of two planned presidential debates. For those of you who haven’t been paying attention, Big Cheesy sounds like a drunk grandpa gone off Adderall with a touch of dementia. He has been reduced to being little more than a sweaty, shitty, diaper wearing buffoon, slurring his way through speeches at MAGAt gatherings. Have you ever noticed that EVERY time tRump speaks against Sleepy Joe and his policies, it’s always something “of the likes which we’ve never seen before.” He keeps painting a picture of some dystopian society, when in reality, it’s the same old macabre society we’ve always known. America isn’t the hell that tRump portrays; it’s the progression of an “equal” society in an ever-changing world.

There’s plenty wrong. There’s plenty that could be better. But, if you really feel it’s the worst place ever, I’m going to tell you what the pilgrims tell us – leave, nigga. Go see how it is abroad. Pick a country in Europe. Asia. Mother Africa. Shit, move to Mexico. I heard the economy is thriving. Move to a town in a region of a country where once a week they drop all the UPS packages off by a post at the end of the dirt road. Wait a month for a 10-day supply of medicine. Wi-Fi? Laughing my motherfucking ass off! No-fi.

The blatant inflation of the crowd numbers at these gatherings reminds me of the night the Expos were near the end of playing baseball in Montreal (late 90s), eventually relocating to D.C. and being renamed the Nationals. Anyway, they were playing a game in Olympic Stadium and the announced crowd was around 6,500, which is HORRIBLE for an MLB game. A camera from behind the center field wall had a wide shot of the stadium. There couldn’t have been any more than about 800 people in that shot, which comprised about 65% of the stadium. What I’m saying is...that’s the same lying ass MF counting the attendance at these MAGAt rallies. Lies, lies, lies. Don’t believe the hype. Everyday people, rather, registered voters with good sense, see all the fuckery. It's all a facade. It’s all a sham. Cheesy is going to get smoked in November. I’m still taking bets. Put a blue face on it.

I’m just high. High and typing my thoughts as they pop up in my Megadome. Don’t mind me. I’ll see y’all next week. I’m doing online training for a PT gig. 6.5 hours. I can’t (Ju voice).  Stay up, player.