Another day, another hangover. Last night was fool as me and my fellow alcoholic half-breed friend (who’s leaving New York! Boo!) braved the monsoon to traipse through Chelsea for Terrence J’s birthday party. We deserved all the gaytardedness that went down that night.
Guess who crawled out of the crack crypt? Aaaand guess who may need to crawl his ass back in? D’Angelo resurfaced today with a song on the ‘net called “Really Love.” Honestly this sounds like somebody impersonating D’Angelo. It’s like some hep cat in a Mad TV sketch all boppity boppin’ with cornrows and his shirt off, pecs glistening, playing rhythm and blues music ‘cuz that’s what the kids are into.
Don’t be mad that you’re gaytarded.
Sometimes a bitch needs a break and between all those too cool scenesters and rowdy-ass hipsters that infest New York, I needed a change of scenery. The Klaxons (my new play-husbands) had been DJing their brains out all last week in New York but chile, they were fuckin’ right in Philly.
Here’s the thing. I never really liked Sa-Ra. I fell for the hype but I was seriously turned off after hearing those My First Pro Tools, tech-ass beats from their earlier joints. They just seemed to spend mad time looking fresh, all space-age swagger and free sex – which is always a reason for unnecessary hate.
I tried to leave this Imus foolishness to the PC nitpickers but cotdangit, I’m tired of all this. Personally, the fact that he called those girls a bunch of nappy-headed hoes is high-larious. I’ve been chuckling to myself for the past week thinking of Imus (who’s really looks like Martha Stewart and Sam The Eagle’s love child) fussin’ to hissef and spittin’ out Skoal like “those nappy-headed hoes!!!” Comedy.
I think I’m just gonna have a whole category dedicated to Nigerian foolishness. These mugfuckers just make it too easy sometimes.
What are you going to do with 13,000 pairs of fake Dunks??
Nappy-headed ho.
Oh, and this picture is just amazing.
I got my hands on a sampler by Bonde Do Role, the Diplo-endorsed trio who swayed his ears by sounding like little kids screaming in the street — or something to that effect.
Just four songs, two of which you can find on their CrackSpace. You know, good clean, Brazil fun. I’m trying to see the children in Philly this weekend with The Klaxons (I approve of their album but I wanna see the madness up close) and Soulwax (eh, a bonus). They better scream their nutty little butts off – else, I don’t know, I’ll be vaguely annoyed.
I have no words children, discuss amongst yourselves. Or check out the ruckus over at ExclusivelyExclusive or Okayplayer.
Sad though, that couch is kinda stunna.
