Was anybody else laying around sleeping and eating meat like a porch monkey this Memorial Weekend? All I needed was a straw hat, some dusty ragged clamdiggers and some sunflower seeds and I could have been an extra in Shuckin’ Down The Avenue: The Negro Comes To Williamsburg (that’s actually a bad ass idea for a screenplay…). Firstly, that shit was like a vortex. Err’time I tried to roll, somebody’s colored ass was blowin’ up my shit. Felt like I was an Adderall dealer. Sorry to those who had rooftop barbecues that I flaked out on. You know my darkie ass ain’t gots no kinda concentration.
Yoooo…wait, hold up. Yooooo….Ok, see I thought Jay and Fab were the epitome of falling off in the ‘07. But some children sent over this grimey lil’ banga that made me remember I’m black. OMG, I had tooootally like, completely forgotten that I was colored and that us coloreds like hip hop. Tubular! I’ve been all two-steppin’ to Erol Alkan and Justice and other malnourished losers signed to VICE Records but now, I may just cut that shit out. For a couple hours anyway.
Conny is still haunted by the ghosts of fool-past from last weekend. Here are few phrases I’m learning that should help Conny be less derelict this upcoming weekend:
“Yes, Mr. Cabbie there will be TWO stops.”
“How old are you?”
“Is that a Sparks? Please throw it out the window.”
“No.”
Please feel free to send more along. Chile, you know I be needin’ all the helps I can git.
Hey gang! Many of you may know that when it comes to her love life, Conny is either a hot ass or a hot ass mess. So I ain’t got no bizzyness tellin’ naan y’all how to keep him at home, work the middle or get the spice back into the bedroom. I’m pretty good at anonymous make-out sessions and late-night text message wars but otherwise, you got me. (My girls, beautiful and racially ambiguous potential video-ho-esque they may be, are no better. Check out my girl Rehes’ perspective on why boys are poo!)
However, one of Conny’s friends does have his cotton pickin’ head on straight and he’ll be contributing as a love and relationship expert (by expert I mean, he doesn’t have any baby mamas or the gay cancer so I guess he’s alright). Children, bend over and receive Lucid Dreamer as he dishes on fool ass scenarios that Conny “readers” (some of them are clearly just me trying to get my life together) send over.
So Cracky McCrack busted open the doors on somebody’s recording studio. Lauryn, “His Doo Wop Eyes Are Killing That Thing Softly” Hill-Marley-McCrack blessed the n*gganet with her new song “Lose Yourself.”
I feel like my couch is being fucked. This looks like Master P made this on the photoshop after 17 Highballs, in the dark, with his feet. Like why is that cat paralyzed in the tree? Who are those fake Africans in the background? Who is that shady midget bishop? How come Master P, in his styrofoam muscle suit that doesn’t look like it’s attached to his head, looks like he doesn’t even know what’s going on? What the bejeezus is this movie about because if I’m going by the poster its about how crack kills. Are you so serious?
Thanks for sending down your sexy, neo-soul, boho-types – Conny appreciates pliable, naive, easily accessible ass (even though their heads are often full of cotton).
But please, can you do anything about that squirrely accent? “What’s the movie aboot?” “Let’s go to my hoose,” “You wanna put it in your mooth?”
That shit is unappetizing.
Be waiting with my legs open and my fingers in my ears,
Whoo lordy jesus! I been staying prayed up for the past week cuz it done took me a minute to recover from the madness but here you go, good chilluns, I’m about to break it down.
Ok, this is very easy. My man Cameron Gilles dresses like a homo, lost mad weight for no good ass reason, always has a bad attitude and can get shot and will still roll to the party. All around, a hot ass blipster mess.
