MNR: ETHERIUM

#MNR: ETHERIUM
 
“Bitch please – catch the breeze. The yacht came with two speedboats attached. We don’t do them jet skis. That’s a prom date, I’m big paper. We can travel the world, wine taste, elevate...”
 
“I arrived stoned. Thuggish, Ruggish Bone. For the love of money, loved ones do you wrong. When they see you shining, they feel stunted on. You ain’t e’en know nothing ‘bout it. You were just going along.”
Curren$y
 
I light a L for Vernon [Blvd]. For niggas who would burn in hell for Vernon. 10th Street, 12th Street. Nightmares like Elm St.”
Nasir Jones
 
Raise your hand if you’re a selfish MF. Keep ‘em high. Don’t look surprised when you see my left hand reach high towards the heavens. I’m guilty AF. The problem is that I never realized it until the other day. God bless Ms. Baeza. She did an amazing job with her 1983-1984 kindergarten class. She taught me how to share. I’m thankful for her. My brand of selfishness is a bit different. Just know that I apologize for the jerk in me.
 
I’m always trying to fit a square peg in a circle slot. You’d think that I would’ve learned better after so many years of insanity, but I haven’t. Not fully. Now that I think about it, the definition of insanity might actually be the definition for relentless, assuming that impossible is nothing. Boss Lady’s going to have fun ruminating on that one.
 
The bottom line is that my desire is unparalleled. There’s a fine line between relentless and insanity, and I regularly straddle and two-step along that motherfucker. If I were much younger, I’d griddy that somabitch. Long live my nigga Rich Homie Quan. I done heard more than a few Atlanta niggas say “iuh” (short “I,” one long ass syllable) instead of “is,” but no one could say it like Rich Homie. I iuh relentless. I iuh a bit insane. But my God’s been known to make a way out of no way, and I’m made in my creator’s image. Like I said, impossible is nothing. But that’s assuming that your faith is at least the size of a mustard seed.
 
I wish that I could take your pain away.
 
I must say that I went from a suspect J roller to a solid spliff twirler in a year’s time. I make no excuses. However, I was raised up rolling blunts. I’m from the, “I left my Phillie at home, do you have another?” era. I went from Phillies to White Owls to Dutch Masters to Dutch cigarillos to Backwoods. I knew I had to let the tobacco go because my chest told me it was time. I used to feel like Tommy Hearns jabbed me in the left titty after a couple of Woods.  I studied several great rollers, woman and man, old and young, from old school Black folk to cool ass stoner white boys, from Dominican niggas to Jamaican niggas. I developed my own technique. It works for me. My spliff burns slow like that Target in Minneapolis. I’m happier than Dame Dash’s dentures on their day off.
 
A $2 book of 30 Raw papers beats a $6-$22 five pack of Backwoods every time. Yes, nigga. A pack of Woods in NYC costs anywhere from $17-$25 dollars. They are $6-$8 on the Jerz side. The tobacco tax in NYC is past outrageous. That’s why only rappers and visitors smoke blunts in NYC. Rappers can afford it (they really can’t), and tourists are dumb enough to think that it’s ok to pay the markup price because they’re in the big, fancy city. No, dummy. Bring your Woods with you if you’re traveling to New York. The real already knew that. They ain’t tourists. They come up top when they feel like it.
 
Barry Sanders was one of my childhood heroes. I never took the time to rank my childhood heroes, but it’s possible that #20 was my number one. I’ll never forget calling my Uncle Alan and telling him I made all-stars for my baseball league. He congratulated me and told me how proud he was of me. He told me to be like Barry Sanders. Barry was humble. He wasn’t a showboat. To this day I take my Unc’s word as my bond. He’s dad. But I was already a Barry fan. He was the original human video game, when Michael Vick was a schoolboy in Bad News, #2up2down. If I didn’t see him with my own eyes I would swear he was a product of A.I. He was unreal. He broke ankles (literally) with his moves – in Nikes. Nike ran a series of ads for their Zoom Turf shoes featuring the great, late Dennis Hopper as the “Crazy Ref” whose catchphrase was, “Bad things, man! Bad things!” His commercial with Barry was the most memorable. I just found it on YouTube. I was sixteen all over again. Salute to Barry. He’s my GOAT.
 
I spoke about Barry to set the table for my junior high school bestie Kevin Caudle and his GOAT, who passed today. Kev’s favorite ball player was the incomparable Peter Edward Rose, also known as Charlie Hustle. He played for a few teams, but he became immortal as the cornerstone of the Cincinnati Big Red Machine. He was a Natti boy who grew up to be his hometown team’s most famous player and the most prolific hitter in MLB history. Unfortunately, his penchant for gambling and lying to the powers that be earned him a lifetime ban from the most coveted of Halls of Fame. I know he broke the cardinal rule, but Rob Manfred please let him in. He suffered the last 35 years of his life. We get the fucking point. He’s gone now. I’ve been to that Hall. It’s amazing, but it doesn’t feel right without him there. Big ups to my bro Kev. LONG LIVE CHARLIE HUSTLE #14.
 
We love you Joji. Company A got you.