Liberal Arts? More like Conservative Arts.

The most heartbreaking thing anyone's ever told me (besides "Yes, we have no bananas. We have no bananas today."):

"Don't be yourself. Write for the grade."

Guess who said it? The Dean of Students.

Quick overview of what I've been through at school: nine different roommates -- three of which I actually didn't mind -- being chased by a drug dealer, kicked out of two dorm halls, five visits to the Dean, an interrogation by the campus police because some 27-year-old retarded kid thought I was prank-calling him, one required trip to the campus psychologist (who I definitely had some fun with), the Farmhouse fraternity threatening my life. I had my computer confiscated for cracking internet porn sites, a shouting match with two professors, an argument with the English Department Head, the campus police pulling me out of my fiction writing class because one of the characters in my story said FUCK, a professor calling me a "piece of shit" at a poetry reading, and another professor telling me I couldn't read my poem "Fat Stripper" at the poetry reading.

I read that motherfucker anyway. Right after "Good-Looking Midget."

People think I write the things I write, say the things I say, act the way I act because I want a reaction. Truth is I'm just being honest to myself. If I write about a fat stripper or good-looking midget, it's because it's what caught my eyes, what compelled me to sit down and punch the keys. Tasteless stuff? I don't think so. Certainly not anymore tasteless than the shit that earns As in my poetry class -- the he-dumped-me poems, the I'm-not-pretty poems, the I'm-here-and-queer poems, the I-love-me-for-me poems.

And the fucking nature poems. The stilted language. The overkill on description. The talkiness. And I don't even consider myself a poet. I have been made to hate poetry by my professors and peers.

Poetry is like taking a huge shit. The hugest shit you've ever taken, and you're so impressed with it and you want to show everybody but nobody wants to see it. That's fucking poetry. Shit.And so here I sit, up to my eyes in everybody else's shit and some of my own and I have to smell it and put my hands it and do it all with a smile. And I can't even shit the way I want to.


This brings me to now. I received my poetry portfolio back today with an Incomplete on it. Why? Because my poem, 9/12, a short little play on obesity in America contained the words "fat girl" in it. My professor, the child, said it came off as a "put down piece." I told him it was -- in a sense. He scrawled back, in his second-grade handwriting, that I'd have to write another poem to turn in or I'd take an F. F for fat girl. Here's a copy of the poem below. The poem isn't good, by the way (what do you expect when we're churning them out twice a week and I have to balance class and my script, the most important piece of writing I've ever done, with this?):

9/12

A fat girl
eats ice cream
in the shade.

Her tear ducts break
when I tell her what
happened:

terrorists flew
a vegetable into
the food pyramid.

Nothing good survived.
She drops her sugar cone.
What a tragedy.


Ladies and gentlemen, this is a putdown piece. An incomplete while the ol' I-got-dumped-again-he-fucked-my-friend earns an A. This professor, by the way, is the one who failed me for tardies, who told me I couldn't read Fat Stripper. And no, I don't have a fat fetish. It's just so easy to notice large women when you go to school in Kentucky.

Wrapping up here: I'll have to write something else. My next poem for class is due today. I shouldn't fuel the fire, but I'll be goddamned if I wasn't inspired. I didn't even have any trouble writing this next piece in the required format (5-7-7-5 syllabic verse, or some shit like that). I need a title though.

Your PhD means shit –
something you masturbate with.
Doctor, mister, missus. Kid.
Who are you again?

You’re a weak handshake –
A wiener at a cocktail
party, dipped in insecuri-
ty. How’s the wine taste?

Frame all the degrees
You can. Ignore the reject-
ions in your bottom drawer.
Self-publish a heart

nobody cares to
hear beat. You’re good enough to
teach. Chalkboard king. Reign over
small desks. You’re the best.

I had a lot of fun writing that. Also, I realize blogs are a lot like poetry -- masturbatory shit -- so I don't expect you to read this far. Thanks if you did. I was going to put something after this, something that killed my spirit for a month, but I'll put it at the beginning now.

Till whenever.

Cam'ron ft Lil' Wayne - Suck it or Not: A Masterpiece.

(Warning: Listening to this song may cause severe knuck-if-you-buck moments, domestic violence, and hook-ups you may regret.)

I don't know what to say. I mean I've always been happy to have been born with a penis, but this song... this song overflows me with pride. I fill up with warmth the second those horns hit, trumpeting the arrival of the royal cock as it rides in on a white stallion. "Lower the drawbridge, bitches and hos," it says, "for I am here and you are going to suck it or not." But really, the "or not" part is just to be polite. There's never any question that no sucking will occur. Never.

This shit is on a whole 'nother level. Kna'mean?

Cam'ron sets it off with, "My dick hard as a motherfucker," which has obvious thematic implications. His dick is hard. As a motherfucker. Something needs to be done and fast. Right off the bat we know we're in for a ride, one that rap music constantly promises, yet fails to deliver. This is a ride on the brain train (like my double entendre?). Because this song isn't just for the homeboys or the club crowd or the young white people who call their friends their "niggas" but would never actually say it around black people. No. This is also a song is for the intellectuals, as long as those intellectuals have functioning penises.

This is the most masculine song I've ever heard, right down to the beat. The pounding bass, the rising-then-dropping horns: a phat not-so-subtext that mimics the motion a girl's head makes when she sucks it or not. A phat not-so-subtext that all but suggests the inherent superiority of the male species. All hail the King Cock. But the most impressive thing about this song isn't the beat or the flow.

It's the lyrics. Now let's pause for a second while I say that THIS BLOG ENTRY IS COMPLETELY SERIOUS! I LOVE THIS FUCKING SONG! Alright, let's move on. Below are the lyrics. I've bold-faced my favorite parts and bold-faced and italicized my ultra-favorite parts:

[Chorus: Cam'Ron]
Ma, I been hugging the block
That's right! hustlin rocks
I know, I been pufffin alot
But a nigga wanna know
Babygirl, are you gonna suck it or not?

[Cam'Ron]
Huh? My dick hard as a motherfucker
You don't what?! tell that shit to another sucker
I ain't no sucker mama, come on fuck the drama
And kiss it down, lil pucker-rama
I'm so active, you being so drastic
Got something for ya face, fuck pro-activ
I'm a pro at this
Round the globe, atlas
But I need to know ma, are you gonna suck it or not?
Baby girl, I'm in love with the twat
Missionary, back shots, pop it off, rock it off
I tell you right now if my cock is soft
But I want head before and after, top it off
On ya knees, show you how to top a boss
Lick, suck, deep throat, stop, cough, hop on, hop off, lollipop off
I know it's white, but here come the hot sauce

[Chorus]

[Cam'Ron]
Lookin light skinned, mami was tight slim
Fat ass, big tits, I noticed her nice chin
I approached her, slight grin, white Timbs number you can type in
Said she don't like men
I just laughed
Ma, if we lay, we lay
You don't like men? me neither, what a coincidink (what a coincidence)
Ms. Jiggy, Ms. Piggy, Pinky mink, pinky ring blingin'
Ma, are you gonna suck it or not?
I ain't the type to diss you, kinda like to hit you
That's the situation, bring wifey with you
Would you like a tissue? (Why?) You gon' need it
for the cum up in your nose baby girl cause you suckin my cock
Ain't a question now, it's a guarantee
They say I think I'm the shit, well apparently
But you won't hear words like "Marry me"
Only thing you gonna hear is, suck it or not

[Chorus]

[Lil Wayne]
I get head in the strangest places
2 at the same time, call it +Changing Faces+
I tell a bitch "we ain't trading places"
Now stand back and catch my amazing greatness [hehehah]
Taste and savor it
Vanilla Ice Cream, she say "ooh, my favorite"
Do you know who you playin' wit? Wayne
Chillin' like a scarecrow, looking for some brain
Drivin' in the range or flying on a plane
Her head is crazy so she's insane
She know the game
Get in and get right
Every bitch in the industry wanna rock my mic
I'm hot like light
I'm tough like Ike
I don't fuck with dog hoes cause them hoes might bite
Yeah, and if she follows
In the back of my mind, I'm hoping she swallows

[Chorus] - repeat 2X

Impressive, isn't it? If pressed, I'd have to say my ultra-ultra-mega-fave part is "Vanilla ice cream. She say, 'Oooh! My fav-o-rite!'" There's something about Lil Wayne's raspy, gangsta-Urkel voice that captures me. You can tell he's having fun on this track. Not to deny Cam'ron anything, but Lil' Weezy takes it away with his patented, on-track giggling that sounds uncannily similar to Crazy Legs's giggling in "Don't Be a Menace to South Central..."

It's funny, because way back in October I heard Young Buck rap the immortal line, "I just really wanna smoke my weed, fuck these hos, and stack my Gs," on Three-6 Mafia's "Stay Fly" and I was just blown away by the fucking machoness (if that's a word). I thought nothing could top it. I was wrong. While it may possibly be the best rap line ever, it cannot stand up to a whole song busting at the seams with male fantasy.

This song is BETTER than Akinyele's "Put it in Her Mouth." It's NOT BETTER than Kilo Ali's "Love in Her Mouth." But both of those songs have time on their side. They've been marinating for years. There are stories for those songs. Nostalgia. In five years, this will be the song that comes on at a party that makes you stop and say, "Oh, shit! I can't believe they playin' dis!"

And one more thing. I just noticed it actually: a few more jams like this and I'll be able to make a blowjob mix cd. I already have a dead homies mix.

She say, "Oooh! My fav-o-rite!"

It feels good to be the King.

I Miss Ja Rule!

Venni Vetti Vicci. I came, I saw, I fell off the face of the fucking Earth. Where are you, Ja Rule? I miss you... my nigga. You may have sounded like a Newport-smoking frog, but you were a Newport-smoking frog with talent. When will you hop back into the limelight? When will you reclaim your title as ill fucking MC?

When?

The first time I saw you you were being edited by MTV in the "Can I get a..." video featuring Jay-Z and that hot black chick whom I couldn't understand for the life of me. No offense, Ja, but I didn't know what the fuck you were talking about either, man. The only part of the song I could decipher was, "Baby girl better have my money fa sho." But it was brilliant. "Girl" and "fa sho" is near-rhyme if I've ever heard it. And I'm sure that if I could remember shit like meter, I'd know for sure whether your verses were penned in iambic pentameter or trochaic pentameter or just plain pentameter.

You're my nigga.

Holla Holla was a tour-de-force. I don't know the technical term for what that sound was, that uhUHuhUHuhUHuhUHuh bass-type thing that happened before you said "Holla holla," but that shit was tight. Best line in the whole song: "When I hits it, some women get twisted. Have em' twitchin', like "Damn look what the dick did." I've thought those exact same thoughts before, but I could never articulate them as well as you did. Thank you for being my mouthpiece. Thank you for being a medium.

You're my dawg.

While I enjoyed your work on the Light It Up soundtrack, I thought your single "How Many (Niggas Wanna Die Wit Me)" was much too similar to "Let's Ride," one of the better tracks off of your masterpiece, Venni Vetti Vicci. The part where you rap, "This life gon' drive me crazy... something... something... something" is borderline self-plagiarism. While both songs kick some serious fucking ass, I think they could kick some austere fucking ass if a little more work was put into "How Many (Niggas Wanna Die Wit Me)".

You're my fam.


Funny story: I didn't realize that "Livin' it up," that really shitty song you did with Case (is he still alive, by the way?) during my first semester of college was sampled until the other day when I was in this clothing store. Did Diddy produce that one for you? AHAHHAHAHA! See, I told you it was funny. Anyway, that song wasn't good, Ja. But I will never forget what you dropped after it. The song to end all songs. Ever. The song that will define you.

Always on Time.

Never has a song (besides Mo Money Mo Problems and End of the Road, the phat Boyz II Men joint) gotten so much play from me in the whip and the crib and on my old ass mp3 player that I got for mega cheap off of eBay. You have to tell me, what the fuck is that instrument in the background? It sounds kind of like a bassy harp. You used it in the I'm Real Remix with J. Lo, which was also very good, by the way. Those two songs defined my freshman year of college.

In fact, most of your music did. "Down Ass Bitch" was a perfect springtime jam. "Let's Ride" was slammin' in my friend's '93 Subaru Legacy. He had two 12's and he wasn't afraid to use them. For your music, Ja. Your music. My favorite line from all your songs: "Loose bitches in tight jeans." Jesus Christ, man. What the fuck? And you left us because of 50 Cent and Eminem? No, dude. No. Come back. Challenge 50 Cent to a game of chess or Scene It! You will win. He has no street cred left. It' s okay.

Eminem fell off too. And I liked him better than you!

This is my plea to you, Ja Rule. Find me on the internet, read my words, and come back and drop it like it's warm. Because I promise you this Ja: it will be hot soon enough. Scalding fucking hot. Like your bars, meltin' bitches like hot farts.

Do you like my near-rhyme?