He’s the type of friend who throws me under the bus. He tells me the bad dog business is peanut butter and he makes me think the ‘ludes is “inspiration.”
Archive for the ‘Whatever’ Category
Who is Cazwell?
Nola Darling. This is what happens when you have pussy. These girls are so extra untalented. They got a cute name, bubble behinds, long but still natural hair and lip gloss. So that means they got men willing to give up studio expertise for just a peek at the poon.
They do scratchy, tuneless ragga mixed with electro (because that’s the only thing anyone ever does!!!! GAAAAAHHH!!) with the grace of a paraplegic orgy. And they’re Haitian which is ok as long they can pass for Puerto Rican.
I just hate overhypeness.
You’ve been warned.
But this shit is genius…
I”ve got a law degree…and I thank god for that…
You know what’s real in these streets? Alcoholism. Like, for serious. A restaurant can serve gasoline-soaked woodchips with Funion garnish for all I give a cotdamn, as long as there are bangin’ ass drink specials. Wednesdays at Anytime features all-night $1 well drinks which I now refer to as communion. If I’m meeting some friends for Sunday afternoon tea, I pick up a handle of Seagram’s on the way. You know, just for mothafunkin’ kicks. Everything is better, ( work, sex, violence, whatever), when the eyelids are a little heavy.
Anyway, the point is of this story, is well…nothing, really. I just wanted to hear myself type.
I do, however, have some related, kick-ass help for the broken-hearted: the ultimate blipster break-up mix. Too sad break-up music makes you a cutter and too happy break-up music just gives you a beat to cut to. Here’s a few songs that are distracting enough to make you forget your boo and to make your life a lil’ less stoopit.
1. “Hurricane Jane” – Black Kids
“It’s Friday night and I ain’t got nobodaaay, so what’s the use of making the bed”…If you want to feel pathetic-er than usual, you can wallow in this thrashy new wave gem and wail like the abandoned club kid you are. You big baby.
I’m a give it to you yokels straight. A bitch is finally gettin’ paid so she don’t have time to blog all the live long day like some pop culture peon. You rock hoes keep commenting and clicking on age-old shit that I threw together months ago on some,”fuck my job, I ain’t working for the next two hours” bullplop.
You know where I’ve been. I’ve been gettin’ dick. The dick done just infected my brain and I done lost my mind and made the idea of crawling my nekkid ass from under the covers to some eye-sizzling computer screen seem extra gay.
Gather ’round for some oversharin’!! Maybe one of the reasons I’ve been super MIA is because this rowdy African boy has made me an honest woman. It was a very sweet process where I essentially harrassed him for months until he finally gave in and yielded me complete rule over his nether-regions. We’ve been in boyfriend-and-girlfriend bliss for about a month. Longest fucking 30 days of my life.
So lately I’ve been spending a lot of time being edgy. I mean, that’s kind of a complete lie, but I want to make this next rant a bit more picturesque. So, during my recent edgy exploits, I’ve been hanging with a lot of underground, indie, hipster-hop, exclusive tastemaker type jump-offs. Scenester 30 year-olds in day-glo windbreakers who have health plans and end up looking ridiculous bouncing to Plastic Little at Hiro Ballroom. Just sadness.