Rapper's Delight? But Rapper's Aren't White. Right?

Listen, I'll be completely honest...I know marbles about rapping and freestyling, but I do know a thing or two about making sense...sometimes.

My only question is WWBD (What Would Biggie Do?)

He'd shot a motherfucker, that's what he'd do...

OK, you caught me. I'm fuckin' nerdy. But so is Asher Roth. And I'm not the one rapping.


I think, no I'M POSITIVE a retarded baby with spina bifida can freestyle better than Asher Douche.

CAUTION: This next one will make you want to lick a hooker's snatch.



YOUNG!

All the way from where, asshole? The land where rappers write rhymes the night before on their blackberry, then "freestyle" on Hot 97? Or that TV show on The N where you play a paraplegic high school basketball player? (It's called Degrassi, people. And yes, I watch it, along with iCarly and Wizards of Waverly Place).

Blackberry freestyling aside, this song is my shit. Bananas.



With all that said, I have nothing else to say except...well...titties.

and

since I'm "hatin'," I guess I should freestyle myself. Somebody provide my some "tight-ass" beats "yo," and I will "blow the roof off dis motherfucker. Young"

To be posted soon...

EDIT: A [insert word] Unrequited Love

I'm starting to realize writing is more harmful than therapeutic for me.

::how i've spent the majority of this rainy friday night::

curled up on my bed, attempting to channel some sort of inner...Plath...or Didion...or Hemingway...or, at the very least, Nicholas Sparks. Instead, I haven't even managed to achieve the talent and (dare I say) sheer brillance of this --->

For now, I'll let the beast defeate me.

Until another angsty episode...

What will they think of next?!

Milk-flavored beer...

amazingly awesome or absolutely fowl?

You be the judge...

You may die, or want to die, after watching this.

Sunset Rubdown - Mending of the Gown

Comedy at its finest? Perhaps.

"A white guy checks the date on a milk carton."

-courtesy of "Chapter H"

It ain't a squirrel...it's your child.

You've heard about parents running over their 3-year old child while pulling out of the driveway (because apparently people don't look in their rear view mirror while driving anymore. Or children just enjoy laying behind vehicles), but this is a new one...I think.

Is this wrong to laugh about? Because I'm laughing...pretty hard, actually.

each one's a treat...

Listen to music.

Listen to music.

Listen to music.

Listen to music.

Listen to music.

Listen to music.

Listen to music.

Listen to music.

Listen to music.

Listen to music.

Mindless Drone

Three posts in less than 10 minutes.

Is this allowed?

I'm stuck behind a computer screen for eternity.

I think it's time I start to appreciate the stars a little more. And the moon. And even this ungodly heat that I like to complain about so often.

That's how a majority of my time is spent...complaining.

It ain't right, fella.

And neither is my lack of creativity lately. You know when you have so many ideas floating around in your head, and you don’t know where to start? Fuck me sideways, that’s my problem! I'm searching for creativity and satire and humor and whatever in all the wrong places. I want something original, but ORIGINALITY doesn't exist.
Let's think...
How about I write a witty attack on the government? No, screw that. How about I write a witty attack on those who attack the government through their "witty" writings? That's never been done before! Genius. Or how about pop culture and entertainment? There is so much wild and crazy stuff going on right now in the world of the rich 'n' famous!!! Or even better, how about I try (“try” being the KEY word) writing a farcical discourse on me not knowing what to write about, when in reality, it IS what I’m writing about, and try to be all slapstick and gelastic and use other words that probably don’t make sense in this sentence, and add a few “fucks” here and there for the dramatic effect? Fuck, I’m going with the latter!

Or maybe I'll just continue to complain...because that's easier and takes less effort.


isn't poetry
somewhat cliché?
comprised of feelings
sometimes empty
but always shared
some sort of way

how embarrassed we
should all be
when we convince ourselves
that we're original

this is just recycled
thought
i'm a contradiction

fuck.

Monkey Wrench

So...I'll give you a taste of something light. Actually, something quite fattening. And delicious. And cheesy.
Hey...I'm a tart at heart.

Bon appetit...

Oh, the Sweet Sorrows of Cheesecake

A woman’s journey of self-discovery through dessert.

Because you don't live near a bakery doesn't mean you have to go without cheesecake.
-Hedy Lamarr

Do you remember when you lost your virginity? C’mon, think back and relive that horrible and awkward experience. Alright, now add a piece of cheesecake to the lovemaking. I don’t care what you do with it – eat it, smear it, roll around in it – just add it to the intercourse and tell me how much better the sex got.

Thought so.

Sex, like relationships, always seems to be lacking. But once you add a piece of dessert in the mix – BOOM – you got yourself a damn masterpiece. Amazing, ain’t it? I mean, let’s be honest, cheesecake is a dessert unlike any other – a dessert that comes in so many different flavors and styles, to compare it to anything else would not fully justify the wonders of such perfection. I myself didn’t understand the power of the pastry until first taste. And man, did it taste good.

Allow me to relive this magical experience. Reader discretion is advised:

It started at The Cheesecake Factory in Cambridge, Mass. I was around fifteen and my naïveté about my surroundings, and the world as a whole was holding me back, preventing me from experiencing “adult things,” or at least that’s what my parents called them. I had no idea what rite of passage awaited me behind the giant oak doors to the restaurant. Sweating with anticipation, I turned the enormous bronze doorknob, only to be met with an aroma I’ve never experienced before. I started to panic. What were these feelings? In front of me sat the handsome suitors. There I was, a cheesecake virgin being seduced by the wooers of all Don Juan’s. It was the key lime that made me break.

It only took me a mere 30 minutes to make me “give it up.” And let me tell you, it was a sloppy one. We were both a little awkward, mostly me. I didn’t know how to start and where to end. I was loud, too. People stared, and I’m sure they knew I was a first-timer. I didn’t care. I loved every minute of it. Really. I became a woman that day.

Yes, a simple “coming of age” story, but simplicity doesn’t mean unoriginality. Still, shortly after my adventure to The Cheesecake Factory, the cheese and I grew distant. Why, you ask? It made me fat. It made me hate myself. My thighs started to resemble cottage cheese. It was an addiction I had to break. So I stopped calling. My visits became less and less frequent. I guess you can say we started to fight. I didn’t exactly “cheat” on the cheesecake, but soon I developed an attraction for carrot cake (those grated carrots did a number on me). All in all, we developed a sort of love-hate relationship. When it was there, staring at me in the face, tempting me to eat and enjoy, I hated it. I wanted nothing to do with the cheese’s provoking seduction and heartless taste that stained my lips and soul and made me want more of it when I knew, deep inside, my urge had to be controlled.

This pattern of self-pity and regret continued until we became acquainted again. I’ll never forget it. It was the first time I came back to The Cheesecake Factory since my confection affinity, and there it was, sprawled out on the dessert tray like some oversexed slut. I didn’t know what to say. I tried to avoid the tart hussy at first, but it made its presence known. We made eye contact. I smiled. And then I broke. We did it right there on the counter.

Soon I accepted the fact that I couldn’t live without cheesecake. With the distance put between us, I craved it more and more. These feelings are still present to this day. Am I weird? Maybe. But that’s beside the point. Cheesecake will always have a special place in my heart, over relationships and sex. I’m just hoping my future spouse won’t get jealous.

An introduction to nothing

I intended for this to be a place to share my work, thoughts, and other pointless what-have-yous.
Will I actually do that? Shit if I know...

Wait, who am I kidding...typically that is what a "blogspot" is for, correct?

Well, fuck me in the eye and call me Shirley Temple...

It's actually kind of humorous. I wouldn't consider myself to be too ostentatious (but wait, me pretending to deny my flashiness makes me...flashy?), but -- on occasion -- I enjoy constructive criticism about the work I produce...or praise. Mostly praise.

But who doesn't?

Anyway, previous to this "blogspot" or whatever the proper term is (note: me pretending not to be "up" on the net lingo), I kept a journal, where I wrote down [most] of my thoughts and attempted to draw silly things like Mickey Mouse in a one piece bathing suit or Charlie Brown doing lines of coke off of Felix the Cat's ear.

[Another note: I surprisingly made up the latter-half of that previous statement. I can't draw for marbles.]

I guess what I'm trying to say is...well...I don't know what I'm trying to say. Usually "blogspots" (note: see blog of unnecessary quotes) don't need introductions. I like introductions. I like knowing what I'm getting into before I'm in it. I like feeling safe, though I rarely do (finally getting inside my head? Not quite yet...)

So that's why I'm providing you, the reader who is still astonishingly reading this, with an intro to whatever is to come.

I wish you well, faithful friend.