Thursday, April 12, 2007

Sisters Get Respect, Bitches Get What They Deserve

Sisters work hard, bitches work your nerves
Sisters hold you down, bitches hold you up
Sisters help you progress, bitches will slow you up
Sisters cook up a meal, play their role with the kids
Bitches in street with their nose in your biz
Sisters tell the truth, bitches tell lies
Sisters drive cars, bitches wanna ride
Sisters give-up the ass, bitches give-up the ass
Sisters do it slow, bitches do it fast

You know- there is something that needs to be said: Niggas is stupid. “And I don’t mean nigga in no disrespectful way. I mean as a generic term for black people.” (c) 2005 Riley Escobar.

We, and I use the collective “we” as in men and women who also happen to be niggas, fall for the okie doke Every.Fucking.Time. And my Grandmom (R.I.P) said, “Any nigga that falls for the okie doke every time is stupid.” Yet every time there is an okie doke – niggas in line to fall for it. Shit, maybe we are mentally inferior. Would explain much.

It all started with Michael Richards-aka Kramer- aka KKKramer (c) 2007 Illseed. Mike went off on a couple of niggas and then- when he was confronted on his shit – said that he was influenced by black people’s cavalier use of the word, oh, and hip-hop. So, what did Reverend Al’nem [ (c) Hostess Sometime in like 2006] do? Move to ban the use of the word nigga by niggas!

Then, last week, Don Imus called the Rutgers Women’s Basketball Team “nappy headed hoes.”(c) Don Imus 2007. He also mentioned that the game between Rutgers and Tennessee (a team of obviously prettier women) looked like “the Jiggaboos vs. the Wannabes” dance number in Do the Right Thing. Putting aside the fact that the dance number was in School Daze, it was a pretty funny comment in all honesty. Whatever. Folks became incensed and Imus got fired from MSNBC. ‘Cept Imus pulled a KKKramer on us. See, he blamed – albeit indirectly, because the direct approach didn’t work for KKKramer – hip-hop too.

His point of view was, “Well, rappers call bitches ‘hoes,’ so I figured it was okay, cause I didn’t mean hoes in no disrespectful way, but as a general term for bitches.”

And we bought that bullshit hook-line-and sinker.

The insanity is that, in a weird way, by buying this line of bullshit, we effectively let the Imus’ of the world off of the hook.

To buy Imus’ “hip-hop made me do it” is like blaming niggas for Michael Richards calling niggas, "niggas." Wait, that is exactly what happened, isn't it?

It is illogical and impractical to allow someone the argument that "you can't be mad if I insult your family, because YOU insult your family." White-brown-yellow-red- and blue (smurfs?) people around the globe understand that I may say things about my brother/father/mother/and yes sister that no one else may. Period. Life is just unfair that way.

But somehow, when one of life's inequalities affects a white person (Don Imus, Michael Richards) all they need do is point out that it isn't fair. And all us stupid niggas act accordingly.

The rule was: The use of the terms ‘nigga’, ‘nappy’, ‘nappy nigga’, ‘nappy hoe’, ‘nigga hoe’, ‘nigga naps’, and any variation of thereof by a white person is a violation. Your usage of these terms could (should) result in an ass-whuppin. Just like our driving through certain communities did (does) routinely result in an ass-whuppin.

Life just ain’t fair sometimes.

(I like the rules. Hell, I’d only add that “Brother, Brotha, Sister and Sistah” should also get your ass kicked.)

So excuse me if I’ve no interest in altering the things that go on in MY house, because you aren’t allowed to insult me with them.

Next- Jennifer Hudson

Byron Crawford wrote an amazing piece over a that points out more of the subtle fuckery that niggas fall for.

Basically, his conclusion – which is correct – is that Jennifer Hudson is today’s Aunt Jemima.

Consider: When white America speaks highly of a bbw (big beautiful women (c) Porn sites that I don’t frequent.) she is almost ALWAYS a black woman. There are bbw's of all colors, races, and ethnicities- but the bbw poster girl is the black woman. Mo’Nique, Queen Latifah, Countess Vaughn and...much to my utter and complete dismay and disappointment, Raven Simone all come to mind.

Consider also: Because the white media is condescending toward bbw's and the very idea of them, it is then condesending to US as black people to be the focus – the very image --of this practice. If it is true that white media feeds white girls unhealthy stereotypes on body image, then by this practice they are similarly feeding US an equally unhealthy – if diametrically opposed – standard of body image. (Theoretical Tangent: If the image of black beauty that the black man is also fed by the media is the bbw, how does that effect him?)

A blogger by the name of Clay Cane posted the Vogue covers of the other black women who made it... take a look. Tell me where J-Hud fits in? White America loves a mammy.

There is this idea that black femininity is so utterly different from white femininity – and therefore mainstream femininity – that black women end up non-women in the eyes of mainstream society.

See – and right here is where I go and get intellectual, note the lack of profanities and the polysyllabic words – the black woman in the mainstream is a big, fat, take no prisoners, kind as she can be to white children-but will beat her cheating black man’s ass- type of girl. She will curse you out and break you down if you ‘disrespect’ her. She has sex hard and fast, and she is more masculine in her deeds, than the men of her race.

But she ain’t pretty. She can’t be pretty. Hell, she ain’t even a woman. She’s just a mammy.

I got nothing against Jennifer Hudson (besides the fact that, having seen Dreamgirls, I don’t know how she won an award for acting like a big fat black girl who can sing. She is – after all – a big fat black girl who can sing. You don’t get an award for playing yourself. And Beyonce – who only had 10 lines – could not have seriously expected a nomination for best actress for saying nothing, but this is all a new improved Sonny “I Invented the Digression” Redd digression (c) 2005 Sonnyredd. ) but she should not have made the cover of Vogue. Beauty comes in all shapes- sizes- and colors, but beauty is still beauty. Putting Jennifer Hudson on the cover is like putting that broad from Misery on the cover (Kathy Bates). I mean let’s not make cover girls out of girls who should cover up, either. Say what you want about J-Hud, she ain’t no Beyonce, Nia Long, Tyral Hicks, Naomi Campbell, *sigh* Raven Simone (minus 45-55 lbs) or Lauren Hill.

I mention these women because these women display an array of black beauty. They have different complexions, different hair, and different body type – but are all beautiful black women. So when the white mainstream press puts one of us on the cover of Vogue – at the behest of a nigga I might add – and she is not what anyone would call a classic beauty – I gotta remain skeptical.

And I can’t be surprised if someone else thinks all we got is “nappy headed hoes.”

Sunday, February 04, 2007

"Lovey Smith and I..."

"Not only the first African American -- but Christian coaches showing that you can win doing it the Lord's way."

If you weren't proud to be Black tonight, then you never will be. We truly are the shining star of the diaspora. Black athletics, artistry, leadership and FAITH were all on display this evening. And in this age of "embarrasing negroes" we should all celebrate those of us who do things well AND who do things RIGHT.

Thank you Coach Dungy, for reminding us of our greatness.

Sunday, January 28, 2007

That's Real, Mixed Feelings Like A Mulatto

Thug thought he was O.G. Bobby Johnson
I played him like Benny Blanco,
Mano a mano
You ain't ready...

As the title suggests, I am struggling with some mixed feelings lately, and apparently I’m not alone. Okay, so last we met, I said something about Black America’s “golden (brown) boy” Barack Obama’s not being “ethnically black”. If you missed it, I said it here. I think that it is important that I elaborate, lest I be accused of “haterism” – which for the uninitiated is a disease whose symptoms in men include uncontrolled outbursts of “he’s wack!” whenever Puffy’s image appears, and in women is marked by the thought “I can’t stand her” whenever she is in a room with another woman.

The background on Obama – which you will hear much more of as the 2008 primaries approach – is as follows (And appears here courtesy of wikipedia . Wikipedia – when you absolutely positively have to win a bet about some useless piece of trivia. Serving geeks and nerds worldwide.):

Barack Obama was born in Honolulu, Hawaii to Barack Hussein Obama, Sr. [of Kenya] ... and Ann Dunham (born in Wichita, Kansas). ...

When Obama was two years old, his parents separated and later divorced; his father went to Harvard to pursue Ph.D. studies, eventually returning to Kenya. ... His mother married an Indonesian foreign student, Lolo Soetoro, with whom she had one daughter. The family moved to Jakarta where Obama attended Catholic school and public school from ages 6 to 10. ... He then returned to Hawaii to live with his maternal grandparents. ... He was enrolled in the fifth grade at Punahou School, a large, private college preparatory school in Honolulu, which he attended through 12th grade, graduating in 1979. ...

Obama describes his experiences growing up in his mother's white, middle class family. His knowledge about his absent black Kenyan father came mainly through family stories and photographs. Of his early childhood, Obama wrote: "That my father looked nothing like the people around me — that he was black as pitch, my mother white as milk — barely registered in my mind." ... As a young adult, he struggled to reconcile social perceptions of his multiracial heritage. Obama writes about using marijuana and cocaine during his teenage years to "push questions of who I was out of my mind."...

After high school, Obama studied for two years at Occidental College in California and then transferred to Columbia University ...

Obama entered Harvard Law School in 1988. In February 1990, he gained national recognition for becoming the first African American to be elected president of the Harvard Law Review. ... On returning to Chicago, Obama directed a voter registration drive, then worked for the civil rights law firm Miner, Barnhill & Galland, and taught constitutional law at the University of Chicago Law School from 1993 until his election to the U.S. Senate in 2004.

Now let’s look at that background more closely – he was raised in Indonesia and Hawaii in a white household, attending exclusive prep schools until college, where he MAY have gained some exposure to Black culture while attending Colombia University in NYC (where I will be going this week for a deposition. Pity me, because it is cold as hell up there. Sonny “I live in the tropics for a reason”Redd.) After Colombia, Obama moved to Chicago where he did some socially conscious work for poor folk – whom we must assume to be Black, cause everybody knows negroes are the only poor folk in America – and then he attended Harvard Law School – a “hotbed” of black awareness.

I will say this – for the record I have no real reason to indict the man as not authentically Black. As we all know, if you would have had to sit in the back of the bus in 50’s Birmingham, you’re Black. But I do rightfully question his knowledge of Black culture. And I am not talking about knowing what the 3rd day of Kwanzaa is, or who Garret Morgan was. I am talking about an understanding of Juneteenth, and why one should consume black eye peas (only whitefolks and Will.I.Am refer to them as black “eyed” peas) on January first.

And by questioning his connection to Black American culture, I similarly have to question his understanding of the “black experience”. Moreover, so does his wife. “We tease,” his wife, Michelle, said. “He had this mixed-up, international childhood, while I was Chicago all the way. ...” (Source ) And he also sent letters out in favor of Robert Byrd’s re-election. The same Robert Byrd who – along with Strom “I likes big butts”Thurmond – filibustered the Civil Rights Act. So there are things he just don’t get.

In all fairness, if you look at his issues, he has made helping the poor his priority, and he has publicly supported affirmative action – though that has been somewhat surpressed of late – so he says and does all of the right things. And in the end, I will vote for him of Hillary, BECAUSE he is black. (and really, in the end, THAT is all that matters. Condi, Barack, or “Leroy Jenkins!” I’m down with the brown.)

But it is an inescapable fact that while he married into a black family, and didn’t enjoy being black in New York (ugh, I am SO not looking forward to this trip – but I do have a pretty nice suite in Manhattan, and some fun planned) he himself is still on the outside looking in on some things.

Perhaps it is fitting to have the Obama discussion here and now, if only because the Black community needs to start defining itself ethnically as a culture, and not solely as a function of melanin deposits in one’s skin. Deciding that one is “black” simply because whitefolk can call you ‘nigger’ is antiquated and allows someone else to define ourselves.

Then again, Byron Crawford already pointed out that Barack smokes Kools, so maybe he is indeed black.

Monday, January 22, 2007

You Brought To The Game ...

All the scores
the adrenaline rush.

The next coach to win a Superbowl will be a black man. That is an amazing thing to say. The next coach to win a Superbowl – and winning Superbowls is all coaches are evaluated on – will be a black man!

Now then, I wonder what impact it will have on the collective black psyche. I mean, lets look at it – the coach of the Chicago Bears, Lovie Smith went from a 5-11 record 2 years ago to the Superbowl. And he did it without a quarterback – a big deal since the greatest coach of all time, Joe Gibbs, won 3 Superbowls with 3 no-name quarterbacks (Doug Williams, Mark Ripien, and Joe Theisman) and Brian Billick won with Trent Dilfer. So this is a monumental occurrence.

And if you are smart, you’ll root for the Bears – or Peyton Manning to have a horrible game – because if the Colts offense overpowers the Bears defense, that’ll be Peyton Manning’s victory and not Tony Dungy’s.

In other news, Hillary and Obama are both running for President, and John Edwards is “as happy as a sissy in boy’s town” (No Lloyd). So let me get this straight, someone is gassing Barack Obama to run against Hillary – knowing that the Clintons play dirty, and making sure that Edwards or *gasp!* Gore have a cakewalk to the Whitehouse? Damn.

Folks just love to use us, huh.

As far as Barack goes, I’m just not totally sold. I really don’t know anything about what he stands AGAINST. See politicians are interchangeable when it comes to what they stand for – a healthy economy, schools, anti-crime – all those things are easy. A man is measured by what he opposes, and I haven’t heard much of that. He did co-sponsor immigration legislation with McCain, so he may be a good guy yet. I just don’t know.

I will confide that I am bothered by the implications of his Presidential bid for election. He is not an ethnic black American. He certainly is a racial one, no question – but not an ethnic one, and I have to question white America’s rush to embrace a man who is not a descendant of slaves.

Another concern is that he is being propped WAY too high, given his lack of having led ANYTHING aside from the Harvard Law Review before. Things like this are sort of invitations for failure. Hey, govern Illinois for a term and then make the run. Then again, the optimist in me figures that it is a set up to allow my man in Massachusetts to make a serious bid. Now that would be good shit.

Anyhow, enjoy the Superbowl. It’s a win-win for Black America, so long as Peyton has a sucky game.

Saturday, January 06, 2007

From The Beginning, See We Never Seen The Ending

Running up in
All the women, all the linen, all the jewels, huh
We sported Pelle’s, gold, diamonds and Pirelli's
Sports cars, the good life'll give you a belly but that's cool


In My Lifetime

In my lifetime, three women have shaped me into the man I am today.

One, Aunt M, instilled in me an understanding of right and wrong. And when I say right and wrong I mean moral, honest, true righteousness that guides my actions every waking minute. To some I may be mean, to others a jerk or an ass, but in the end I have the unwavering knowledge that there is “right” and there is “wrong” and one shouldn’t continence wrong. She also told me that I don’t know everything. She was right. I don’t. That’s why I keep reading and learning. Aunt M died August 6, 2002.

My mother gave me my heart -- that part of me that seeks understanding of someone else’s position, not to disprove it, but to understand it. You all owe my Mother a debt of thanks, for I am sure, without the angel that she is, I would likely be leading the other side’s army at Megiddo. Gleefully. She also serves to remind me to keep nourishing my inner child. Fortunately for you all, she is still with us, for when she goes, I’ll see youse all at Megiddo.

The third woman who has shaped my life is my Grandmother. From her, I learned that every single day can – and moreover should – be a party. Whenever I go out, I can always describe the night I had with “I had a ball.” Because I always have a ball. Because she always had a ball. Grandmom died January 5, 2007. She was coming home from a dinner consisting of good friends, laughter, martinis, lobster and Irish coffee. She had had a ball.

Tonight I will go out. I will raise a martini glass to my Grandmom, who I know will be drinking martinis with the saints and the angels, and I will toast a life well lived.

And I guaran-damn-tee you, I’ll have a ball.

Friday, January 05, 2007

Time To Separate The Pros From The Kons

The platinum from the bronze
That butter soft [ish] from that leather on the Fonz
A S1 DIAMOND from an I class STONE

Happy Founder’s Day to all of my brothers in Phi Nu Pi!

For those who don’t know what that means; the men below define it. Get a Klue.











Thursday, November 23, 2006

I Don’t Know What Life Will Be

In H-I-P
With out the boy
Not only NYC
[He’s] hip-hop’s savior?
So after this flow, [we] might owe [him] a favor
When Kingdom Come
You ready?

As much as I hate to admit it, I am human (though I am gifted with super-human intelligence. Sonny“ego-tastical”Redd). As such, I am burdened with many – if not most human frailties. (If you prick Redd, does he not bleed? If you wrong Redd, does he not revenge? [Yeah, I peep you out there. I’m gonna give you your rope. You’ll do the rest, cause you can’t possibly help yourself.] And this? This is a “Venetian Merchant” digression! I’m back bitches! Hahaha!). Not the least of which is that human emotion of blind hope. Ah, “hope,” the opiate of the dim-witted.

See, just Tuesday, I sat here and penned (or typed) what should probably be taken as a literary primer on Jay’s Kingdom Come. I’ll admit it was lazily done – I mean a “blue pill” link? Who does that? So, sue me. It was exuberance. Shit, 10 years ago the greatest hip-hop album of all time was released. Who can blame ME for being excited that the “Big Homey” has returned? I mean, I’m a freaking disciple after all. The man’s portrait hangs on my wall (No homo.). Point is, to say I am a fan is an understatement.

And so it goes that the fan of the emcee receives an album based – very closely – on a work of fiction that said fan also adores. The saying “happier than Mark Foley in the boys’ dormitory” come to mind, but I digress. So excited was I at the possible synergy created by merging of my two favorite art forms – Hip-Hop and sequential art (comic books to the uninitiated) that I posted the connection for all – without taking time to really evaluate the connection. My bad yo. It was sloppy of me. I’ll correct it now. Before I do so, buy this album – it is fire and hip-hop needs it.

Okay, so let me set the stage. Because most of you haven’t picked up a comic book since the 5th grade, and only then because it had some child friendly hook, like “Spider-Man says, ‘don’t talk to strangers...’” I gotta give you the short version. Remember the “Super-Friends” – there was Wonder Woman, Batman, Robin, Superman, Aquaman and the Green Lantern (along with the Wonder Twins, but they were waayyy ghey), all together in the Hall of Justice, saving the world every Saturday (if you are 30 plus), or Monday through Friday (under 26-30), or even real late at night on Cartoon Network (20-25).

Well, Kingdom Come takes that innocent, all good-all the time, world, and supposes that the times have changed. The Joker, one of Batman’s arch-enemies, blows up the Daily Planet and kills hundreds, including Lois Lane (yes, Superman’s girlfriend.) Superman goes off, apprehends the Joker, and brings him in for trial. The Joker, in pure OJ fashion, gets off – he was found not guilty by reason of insanity. Ah, the wheels of justice. When the Joker leaves the courtroom, he is murdered by a new hero, Magog, in classic judge-jury-executioner fashion , right in front of Superman. Magog is arrested, and tried for the murder of the Joker. Superman testifies against him – Supes (that’s what his friends call him) is righteously indignant at the brazen murder. The jury, in classic American fashion, decides that offing the Joker wasn’t a bad thing and lets Magog walk. Superman, incredulous, retires – thinking that the times have changed, and the world wants its heroes a little more blood thirsty (and murderous) than he can stomach.

Stop. See the parallel? Jay said he was “unenthused” by hip-hop when he retired. He said that lyricism was replaced by a hot beat and a catchy hook. (I gotta admit a little bit, I was sick of rap...The game’s fucked up/niggas beats is bangin’/nigga your hook did it/your lyrics didn’t/your gangsta look did it ... forget this rap shit, I need a new hustle) His criticisms were as true then as they are today, but the story doesn’t end.

Predictably, most heroes – remember, this is a world of superheroes – adopted the more violent tactics. Bystanders and villains alike were dispatched without mercy in the new world. The world in fact didn’t become safer, it became more dangerous. Then a tragedy happens. A hero, whose powers were nuclear in nature, is killed, his body becoming a nuclear bomb, and half of Kansas is wiped out.

In the wake of this tragedy, Wonder Woman implores Superman to return – to restore order to the world. Superman, refuses. Later, a group of heroes and villains get into it on the Golden Gate bridge during rush hour, endangering hundreds of bystanders. And guess who saves the day? An un-retired Superman. The citizens of the world rejoice.

Freeze. That is where we are today. Superman has returned. Hip-hop is saved. Or is it? Kingdom Come, the graphic novel, hasn’t even begun up to this point. But here is where I assumed – and Jay assumed – the story of Kingdom Come the album would end. Superman is back, and the world is saved. But, as Lee Corso would say, “Not so fast, my friend.”

Returning to the story, Superman, the most powerful superhero, offers all costumed heroes a choice, one I imagine George Bush cribbed in the wake of 9/11 – either you’re part of the solution or you’re part of the problem. In other words, he did the classic Aaron Jones/JBM move (you’d be amazed at how many folks come here looking for JBM info...) he told them “get down or lay down.” Quite gully for Superman, I must admit. The non-compliant heroes were interned in a camp, and inundated with PSA’s about their duty to defend the weak.

Well, you can imagine how well that went over, and if you can’t, I’ll tell ya – not well at all. A riot ensued at Superman’s camp. Regular humans, scared to death of another Kansas incident, sent 3 nuclear weapons to just kill all the damn heroes – shock and awe style. Shazam explodes one of the bombs (I’d explain the who-what where-why-and how, but I’ve been typing for a minute and I have a point to make damn it.) and most of the heroes die.

Now Superman is mad at the humans for trying to kill everyone, but he is calmed down and he agrees to take a less active role in the affairs of man. The end.

But let’s apply this allegorical album to the literary work it seeks to homage, shall we? What does the return of Hov mean to Hip-Hop, and lets face it, black America as a whole? Hova, from day one, made “buppie”[black urban professional] music. That’s right, I said it. As much as he wanted to reach the bottom tenth, it is his music’s resonance with the talented tenth that is its true strength. Jay made music that made you want to better yourself. You listen to Reasonable Doubt, you want to go get money – real money. You listen to All Eyez On Me, you want to snatch a purse, smack a bitch, and cry on the phone to your Momma. Listen to Doggy Style, you just want to get weeded. Listen to Talib, you want to hate whitey, and listen to Kanye, you wanna drop out of college and get some new airs so you can say, “You ain’t up on this.” But with Hov, you wanted to pop a bottle (“I thought dude’s remark was rude, okay” Classic!) and have good credit to boot. Hov made – no makes – music for Harlem, it is just Striver’s Row Harlem, and not 145th and St. Nick Harlem (Sonny “ yeah I ran in NYC in my time, but them broads can’t keep their hair done for shit”Redd). It is that niche that he serves.

And by speaking to that niche, he gets the bottom tenth because, contrary to popular belief, they’re watching you talented tenth-ers closely. Ain’t no Chanel shops in the hood. He bridged a gap in the black community, between the haves and the have-nots. But when he left, we were left with “Whoop Dat Trick”, and while it is a catchy hook, the talented-tenth really couldn’t pump it through the speakers in the cubicle, if only because one day we hope to get an office. Fiddy is Fiddy, but he ain’t too office friendly.

But Fiddy became the way of things (“I’m afraid of the future/y’all respect the one that got shot/I respect the shooter.” Fire!), and from there we got Lil’ Jon, Dem Franchise Boyz, and “insert-the-new-hotness-here.” So, Hov became an executive. And he deserves to shoulder the blame for Young Jeezy and Rick Ross. Again, neither can offer much in the way of “cubicle friendly” tunes. But he tried to bring back Hip-Hop – he signed the Roots, who will be performing long after my children are parents – and of course, Nas.

But he also returned -- rather than play the kingmaker, he snatched the crown. And now, it is me that is afraid for the future – for 2 reasons. First, hip-hop is a living, breathing, entity. It has to grow, even if I – at 33 – don’t want it to. Sure, 30 is the new 20 (Fire! Young enough to buy the right car/Old enough not to put rims on it! 22’s are so yesterday!), but if we don’t let this thing do what it’s gonna do, then it will be us, in 10 years, sitting at the Showboat in AC to see Fat Joe and Busta rapping in tuxes for $21.95 (including dinner) 3 shows nightly, talking about “I remember when...”. Hip-hop has to go where it is going to go, if it is going to evolve and grow.

Secondly, Hov’s return can only spell doom for the “second coming.” If the god-emcee has returned, the next generation Hov can’t emerge. Remember 1993-1994? At the end of 1992, there was a void. NWA’s strangle hold on Hip-Hop crumbled – largely under its own weight with internal squabbles destroying the group – and left an opening that was filled by Tribe, the Wu, some kid from Queensbridge, and some fat dude from Brooklyn. Voids must be filled.

But Jay is the ultimate filler (no Lance Bass). His presence I fear, will actually stunt the development of more “buppie rap”, if only because who the hell is going to play in his sandbox? Shit, the niggas stupid enough to do it – Game, Jim Jones – play in the dirty side, without even a nod to the “I’m not afraid of dyin’/I’m afraid of not tryin’” part of the box. I mean yeah, we wanna hear about poppin’ bottles and bangin’ models, but we also need the “I will prepare/a blue print for you to print/a map for you to get back/a guide for your eyes/so you won’t lose [the] scent/I make a stink for you to think/I ink these verses/full of prose/so you won’t get conned out of two cents” main course to go with the bubbly.

It is the “Gift and the Curse” of being the chosen one. Unfortunately – due largely to his ego, any and all challengers were so quickly dispatched (c’mon, Takeover is way better than Ether), that folks decided to play in the “gangsta” sandbox.

Just as Superman’s return in an attempt to restore order resulted in the death of countless heroes, Hov’s return may have similar ramifications. So where will that leave “buppie-rap” once Superman is deemed mortal?

“Knee deep in the concrete,” I fear. I hope (there goes that opiate again. I must be getting dumber-er in my advanced age) that I am proven wrong. After all, even the great SonnyRedd can’t be right all the time. Right?