Don’t you love new days. Sunrise in the eye. Sounds of children playing, birds chirping. New hope. Doody-Doo, Doody-Doo-Doo. Is that John Mayer I hear in the background? La-Di-Da. Rah-Rah-Rah. The smell of blooming flowers. The knock of the sheriff on your door waiting for you to open it up so he can give you a summons to appear in court. Oops, lost track there.

I love you, my brothers, Farrakhan-style. 2+234-for-5645/54628-90345=HELL. Go to Hell. Burn like hell. Smell the funk from my tongue. Burn like the fiery surface of the sun. Fry like a murderer in the electric chair. Cook in oil, crispy chicken brown. Today, my homie, Ja Rule, you are the brand spankin’ new Asshole of the Week.

I love you like Satan, son. Know that your wife and children are all right with me. Irv Gotti. I love that fat fucker. Ashanti. Ashanti. I wouldn’t mind rubbin’ margarine on your ass and eatin’ biscuits off of it. I’d chew on your bottom like fries, rub ketchup all around that backend. Bar-B-Q sauce. You just don’t know. I’m losin’ it just thinking about it.

But let’s get back on track. Why did my man Ja Rule make the list this time? Well, of course, it’s simple. That ass faked his self in a hole. See what I did there. Ass. Hole. See that. Faked his self. In the Hole. The ass in the hole. See it. I’m a fuckin’ genius. A genius just like Irv Gotti, Lyor Cohen, Russell Simmons and Ja Rule.

The shit: Ja has beef with 50. 50’s been ripping Ja’s ass for the past few years. At first it didn’t mean jack because 50 was a low rent, street corner, mixtape shopping, no deal having, rap thug wannabe. And Ja was the real deal new age, sweet ass talking, gravel-voiced, rap thug truth. He had the record sales. And the dough. And the beyotches loved him. So, Ja thought little of 50, outside of natural hip-hop dick protection, making sure no one, not even a new kid on the block, would talk shit about you, anywhere, in the whole fuckin entire universe. Trust me, rappers got shit where they receive disses by radio waves from other galaxies and shit. Nigga on planet QCXUSY in quandrant X7-49 is talkin’ shit, sayin I’m gay. Get the space cruiser ready, my nigga, so we can ride on they alien asses. MUUURRRDDDEEEERRRRRRR!!!!

But something strange happened. 50 Cent gets love from great white hope, hip-hop messiah, Eminem, and is signed to Eminem’s record company. Best thing to come out of it is that 50’s shit would not only go through Em, but he would also get love from producer god/thief, Dr. Dre, and be marketed and distributed by Jimmy Iovine and the Interscope Record fairies. And of course Interscope marketed him right down the public’s throat. The bastard child of Tupac and Notorious was born. And 50 was now the truth.

Of course like most Kings of New York, from Cool J. to Jay-Z, none of these lords know how to rule gracefully. Instead of letting bygones be bygones, they all tend to want to round up and execute all the peasants, lords, noblemen, and past kings who ever said or did them wrong. And as we have learned about 50 Cent, he ain’t a graceful thug. So, 50 went on the attack, even hinting at the rumors that Ja Rule may have had a past sexual encounter with another man. And in hip-hop, the worst thing to be called is a homo. And shit escalated. And here we are, two grown men worth millions of dollars, threatening to kill each other on compact discs and vinyl at a store near you.

Music Should Be The Focus

…reminiscent of the Death Row-Bad Boy wars, we have the Shady-Aftermath camp going at it with Ja Rule’s Murder Inc. masterminds. However, the feud is helping both rappers lose credibility, and rather than getting quality music, we’re getting songs and interviews filled with unsubstantiated claims and threats.

But shit gets better. Ja Rule reinvents himself, Madonna-style, drops Ashanti and Bobby Brown duets, and tells his producer to lace his new shit with gun blast sounds and shit. Lady Lovin’ Ja Rule becomes Murder-Nigga Ja Rule. And the Rock the Mic lite, Clap Back is born. Of course, smelling publicity a mile away, Farrakhan steps up and G’s up, NOI-Style.

It’s anyones guess what Farrakhan hoped to gain from his little pow-wow with Ja Rule. I honestly believe he wants to stop the violence in hip-hop. But I also honestly believe that he constantly sticks his nose in hip-hop affairs to gain publicity because outside of hip-hop he’s a joke.

Speaking on hypocrisy. Isn’t it ironic that the dude who may have fingered Malcolm X for death because of internal Nation Of Islam bullshit is the same dude brokering peace between 50 Cent and Ja Rule. Who’s more important, Ja or Malcolm. Who means more to black culture, 50 or Malcolm. I honestly could give a shit if 50 or Ja got shot down in a blaze of infamy, yesterday. But Malcolm. Malcolm was on another level, and means more for the survival of black culture, hip-hop, and American life in general.

Now getting back to our story. Farrakhan invites Ja Rule to visit him for a little discussion on his beef with 50 Cent. And Ja Rule agrees. And Ja and his Def Jam cohorts knew they had something good. They told the minister that Ja would only meet with him if the meeting was taped. Irv Gotti put out the word that Ja was meeting Farrakhan on his behalf. Truth be told, Ja didn’t really want to meet Farrakhan. Shit. Ja was ready to bust some caps in some niggas asses. YanoWhutImeens, Son. But Gotti nudged him on because of his love for Ja, hip-hop, and black life.

Ja Looks to Settle 50 Beef

Farrakhan had harsh words for the media’s sensationalism of hip-hop beefs and urged Ja Rule to settle the feud for the benefit of hip-hop and the youth who emulate rap stars. “I never want to see anything happen to you, Ja,” he said, “and I never want to see anything happen to 50. I want to see peace. And if you want to dis each other in the culture, that’s fine. But once we go past the line, when we’re talking about killing one another, they print it and put it out.”

“I see the bigger picture that you’re talking about,” Ja said. “It’s not about me and 50’s personal beef. It’s about the overall state of hip-hop and the children that are coming up watching and learning and pitting themselves against each other because one rapper says he doesn’t like the other. I’d be crazy and disrespectful to say I wouldn’t sit down at the table and try to help hip-hop.”

And the final nail in coffin hit when the Def Jam bastards released the tape of the meeting the day before Ja Rule’s new album, Blood In My Eye (that sounds peaceful), would hit the store. The laughter continues when the world learns that Ja Rule spends pretty much the entire album ripping on 50 Cent and threatening him in so many colorful ways on how he’s gonna bust a cap in 50’s ass. And can we all now say we smell bullshit.

Ja Rule/Farrakhan Transcript

The sad part is that some of these rap bastard need to learn to keep the murder talk silent, and stick to dissing each other’s mommas. Some kids still haven’t learned from Tupac and Biggie. And wasn’t it only a week ago the anniversary of Jam Master Jay’s death, gunned down in a music studio.

Hug May Be Jam Master Clue

In the final moments of his life, Jason William Mizell pulled himself off a couch in his Queens recording studio to hug a large man dressed in a black sweatsuit and black hat who had stopped by for a visit.

When the brief embrace ended, the man suddenly pulled out a .40-caliber handgun and from point-blank range fired at the man known to millions as Jam Master Jay, DJ for ground-breaking rap group Run-D.M.C. Those in the room reported to detectives they heard Mizell yell, “Oh, — !” before the gunshots rang out.

Jam Master Jay Remembered
Rapper Slaying Lacks Arrests a Year Later

Some authorities also have suggested Mizell was caught in the crossfire of a rivalry between rap figures who associate with known criminals. 50 Cent – a Queens-reared rapper who worked with Mizell – has feuded with Irv Gotti, head of the Murder Inc. recording label.

Federal agents earlier this year raided the Manhattan offices of Murder Inc. amid allegations that the label was laundering money supplied by a convicted drug kingpin, Kenneth McGriff. Prosecutors believe McGriff may know something about Mizell’s death.

Can’t they see that things are getting out of control. Biggie killed Tupac. Tupac killed Biggie. Drug deal gone bad. Now Ja Rule’s people might have murdered Jam Master Jay because he was cool with 50 Cent. It’s all bullshit. But that doesn’t stop the force. I doubt that the 50 Cent and Ja Rule battle has anything to do with Jam Master Jay. But when mass media, and crazy old ass wrinkled machine gets a hold of shit as juicy as murder in hip-hop, they waste no time trying to tarnish the image of the culture. And these dumb bastards are giving them the ammo.

Side Note: Ja Rule will probably only sell 150,000 copies of that Blood bullshit. His lowest album debut numbers. SOHH Link

Secondly, Benzino almost was the asshole this week. I won’t go into it all. I predict he will make the list pretty soon. Hit these links for a preview on the reasons why. Like you don’t know already:

Benzino Bio: Rap News Direct
The Source shoots from the hip-hop

Our first official winner of the Asshole of the Week No-Prize is none other than…

It was hard this week. Real hard. No one really pissed me off. No one made me think. Or made me look. And you need those traits to be an asshole. I really wanted Kobe Bryant to be the asshole of the week. But I’m biased. I couldn’t stand the guy before he was charged with rape. Or openly feuded with Shaq. Plus, Shaq isn’t the kind of person that garners sympathy. So, Kobe didn’t really do anything, outside of being his asshole self, to get the prestigious honor of asshole of the week.

Sure, I believe he raped that chick. Not because I have evidence or anything. I’m just going by instinct, the same instinct that’s telling me that Scott Petersen didn’t kill his wife. No evidence. Just instinct. Like a white man at another O.J. trial. It’s in the heart. And to clear the air, I do believe that O.J. did it. But like Chris Rock said, I understand. He killed her white ass, but I understand.

So, Kobe didn’t make the cut. But he led me on the right track. I wanted somebody out there. Someone I couldn’t get away from even if I wanted to. And just as I was thinking, I heard this annoying Jew-girl, New York accent coming from a short distance. And I had heard this sound before, actually several times before. And I looked up. And on my television screen was Rosie O’Donnell’s fat ass. Butch haircut. Talking about being away from her kids for 10 days. Talking in that annoying child-like voice, impersonanting her son. And I remember feeling cramped. Like I had gas. Or more like I had to shit… Really bad.

And I tipped to my side and passed gas, gas that bubbled under my ass, between my legs, over my nuts, and upward toward my nose. And Rosie was still there. And I knew that I had better drop a load. So, I went to the bathroom. And while I was on the toilet, it became crystal clear that Rosie should be my first pick for asshole of the week. Unless, of course someone did something more assholey than her. And as you can tell, no one did. So, here we are.

So, why Rosie, you might ask. Well, you know. It’s simple. I just can’t stand the bitch. Like I can’t stand Kobe Bryant, or Joan and Melissa Rivers, or the Hilton Sisters, or Jenny McCarthy, etc., etc., etc. You know what I’m talking about. That dude that married Liza Menelli. Martha Stewart. You know. These are people who haven’t really done anything bad. And especially, they haven’t done anything bad to you. And you hate’em. Because they’re there. And they’re taking up space. And you wonder why you know their name. And what they look like. And who they’re married to. And have they really done anything worthwhile that should make you want to know their name, or need to know their name?

Or do they seem phony. Like Jenny McCarthy. The bitch was born in Illinois and sounds like a valley girl. Where the fuck did she get that accent. And Melissa Rivers. What fuckin’ talent does this bitch possess. Who the fuck did she screw to get the position she has? Because of her mother? A fuckin’ has-been ole’ hag and her fuck-butt ugly ass daughter ripping on chicks 10 times more talented, 10 times more hotter, 10 times more deserving of the position those two hoes have.

But of course this shit isn’t about them, at least not directly. It’s about what they stand for. They deserve the public’s hate just by being out in the public, just by being part of the public’s consciousness, by stealing time away from the public. They deserve our hate by making the news. Everytime a news story mentions a Hilton Sister, or Pamela Anderson, or Carmen Electra, they’ve taken time away from real news stories of note. One minute of news on Paris Hilton does not equate to one minute of news on George Bush and the his Imaginary Vision of Weapons of Mass Destruction. Shit, I’d rather hear more about Courtney Love and her fucked up heroin addiction. Or — cough cough — Ben and J.Lo. Yeah it’s all played out, but I’ll still take that shit over those undeserving celebrity hogs.

And that’s where I’m at with Rosie O’Donnell. Here’s the deal. Rosie was a half-assed comedian with minimal success before her talk show. And she cussed and talked shit. And she told a few funny jokes. And we laughed a little. We knew very little about Rosie, about how she felt about the world, or who she was dating, or what she liked or disliked. And it was okay, because Rosie’s place in the world, doing stand-up and the occasional television show, was thought to be cemented. We would see no more, or no less of her. And the universe seemed happy with that. And everything was right with the world.

But then she got the talk show. And became Elmo’s biggest fan. Fucked up really good songs. And faked like she was juicin’ for Tom Cruise. She became the Queen of Nice. Talked about her adopted children far more than she really needed to. Denounced violence on television. Backstabbed a guest who was pro-gun. Changed a well-known magazine, McCall, to Rosie. And came out the closet with her lover. Became the “unwilling” spokesperson for gays and adoptions, Bill Clinton, 9-11, and every other issue that came up.

Then she ended her show. And walked away from the Rosie mag. And should’ve disappeared from the public eye.

Selleck Snubs Anti-Choice Rosie

Actor Tom Selleck is still uneasy about the comments made by TV talk show host Rosie O’Donnell when he was on her show earlier this year, and he doesn’t plan to appear on her show again.

Rather than discussing Selleck’s latest film, O’Donnell, a strident opponent of gun rights, instead took aim at his politics and his membership in the National Rifle Association during Selleck’s appearance on the May 20 program.

The actor called O’Donnell’s remarks disappointing and said he was not inclined to return as a guest anytime soon. “Based on that environment, why would I want to go back to it?” asked Selleck. “It wasn’t a friendly place.”

(BOO-HOOO!)

Can Rosie Save the Unsaveable?
From Queen of Nice to Royal Bitch?

Boston and New York newspapers have published some jaw-dropping snippets from O’Donnell’s weekend performance during a star-studded party at the Mohegan Sun casino in Uncasville, Connecticut. Just a day after Bill Clinton showed up at the casino to receive an honor (and then broke out his saxophone for a performance), the Democrat O’Donnell dissed the ex-President and said she refused to speak to him.

“He disgusts me,” she told the crowd, according to the New York Post. “And I know I’m not supposed to say this because I’m a good Democrat, but I didn’t want to [talk] to him because he lied to me when he said, ‘I did not have sexual relations with that woman,’ and then put the scarlet-letter bl– job on her for the rest of her life…I hate you.”

According to the New York Daily News, she also said that when she was at Liza Minnelli’s wedding (which she called “the gayest thing since my last show”), she refused to talk to Michael Jackson because “I make it a rule not to speak to pedophiles.” When the audience gasped, O’Donnell said, “Oh, come on. I think you all know that kid was probably telling the truth or else Michael wouldn’t have paid him off…he’s a freak…and not in a nice way.”

Of course, she didn’t stop there, either. “He’s cream-colored and has no nasal passages whatsoever. He doesn’t look human. Did he look into the mirror one day and say, ‘Perfect?’ “

Also a target for Rosie rage: Sharon Stone, whom O’Donnell said missed the Mohegan Sun bash because she was prepping for her next movie role–in 2004. She also ridiculed Stone for once reciting the words to John Lennon’s “Imagine” during a bizarro speech at an AIDS fundraiser. O’Donnell then ripped into Anne Heche for claiming she was never really gay, and Oprah Winfrey, who was too busy at “home counting her money” to make an appearance on the Rosie O’Donnell Show.

Why did the magazine go belly up. No one wants to say it, but, here it goes. The bitch came out. The publishers, even though they might have known she was gay when they started their partnership with O’Donnell, thought that Rosie would keep her private life personal, like she had always done before, and not turn their family-friendly magazine into a personal gay front liberation manifesto. They wanted the success of People Magazine, or Oprah, building on a celebrity brand name. They were partnering with the Queen of Nice, not the Dyke of New York. It was a business arrangement based on the fake image that Rosie, herself, had cultivated to sell herself to middle America. And when she had made her money, and did her shit, she stabbed her partners in the back.

Has Rosie O’Donnell lurched right?

Gay columnists had long criticized Rosie for her reluctance to make her sexuality public while making her family life — her motherhood — central on her talk show. For years her relationship was an open secret in Hollywood and the gay press, drawing reproach from gay journalists like Michelangelo Signorile and Andrew Sullivan, who saw her silence as irresponsible at best and cynically opportunistic at worst. (Sullivan has been more forgiving than Signorile: The latter suggested Rosie went public to silence her gay critics.) Though many gay commentators now praise her dedication, it’s a qualified praise and suspicion lingers. Michael Musto reminds his Village Voice readers that Rosie is promoting a new book and her show is in its last season.

Rosie, Publisher in court

Both sides said a key editorial dispute arose when a newly hired editor chose a cover photo that included O’Donnell and cast members of “The Sopranos” for the August 2002 edition.

“Ms. O’Donnell hated this photo because she thought it made her look fat,” Hyman said. To express her displeasure, “she threw a foul-mouthed temper tantrum” that caused the editors to switch to another photo featuring only the cast members.

O’Donnell’s lawyer, Lorna Schofield, said her client did not like the original choice, but for several reasons. O’Donnell, she said, saw the initial choice as another sign that her wishes were not being respected.

It doesn’t look Rosy for Rosie

The prosecution cited an email O’Donnell wrote to Ungaro suggesting they incorporate more controversial celebrities into the magazine like Mike Tyson and Boy George to inject some life into it and acquire the attention of younger readers.

Ungaro replied that the email showed a “reckless disregard for the brand,” pointing to a passage that implied O’Donnell didn’t care whether the magazine survived or not: “I would rather go down swimming by trying to break records than stay on the shore and watch people swim,” said O’Donnell in that email.

The magazine struggled, and Rosie was beginning to feel liberated, having revealed her well-known secret to the public. The magazine was failing, and Rosie thought to inject some life into the periodical baring her name. But she seemed to forget who her audience was. They weren’t urbanized, socially liberated, homosexuals. They didn’t want to see Boy George and Mike Tyson on their coffee stands. Shit, I don’t want to see Boy George and Mike Tyson on the coffee stands, or across the street, or anywhere else to be blunt. Her audience was the heartland, the same audience that had made Oprah rich, and has made Dr. Phil famous.

The bigger problem was, and still is, that Rosie O’Donnell was never the Queen of Nice. Many reports from behind the scenes of her own talk show chronicled her fits and tirades and bad language. And Rosie, pre-Rosie O’Donnell Show, was known for her foul mouth, and on stage rants, and questionable relationships with Madonna and Sandra Bernhard. And for whatever reason, to do her show, Mike Dougls-style, she successfully changed that image.

And that was okay. Because she was playing a part, a television role. It’s when that role was forcefully transformed into a “real life” persona was when the trouble began. Nice Rosie became political Rosie, and social Rosie, and anti-gun Rosie, and family-values Rosie, and gay-rights Rosie. Nice Rosie began to try to educate her middle American audience. And Nice Rosie tried to become a real person. And that’s a no-no. Unless of course you have skills. Like Muhammed Ali. Or Oprah. The ability to pull it off. And Rosie didn’t possess those skills.

And like a bad Twilight Zone episode. You’re screaming to your neighbors that a psycho, filthy, alien is in the alleys taking the neighborhood children and eating them. The neighbors don’t believe you. And in fact, they suspect you of doing harm to the kids. They eventually take torches to your crib and burn that shit down. They begin celebrating. And all the while, the alien’s the main instigator in the mob who got the towns people to burn your shit down.

Okay, that wasn’t a great analogy. Let me try this shit again. A crazy lady is trying to harvest the bones of… Ah, fuck it. You get me anyway. You know what the hell I’m talking about. Rosie wasn’t Oueen of Nice, nor, as many gay groups have always known, isn’t truly socially active. She has ripped on Ellen DeGeneres’s coming out party a few years earlier, when she did the exact same thing. She made her gayness part of her public persona. She has said that she is anti-gun, but worked for K-mart who sells guns, and has a bodyguard who carries guns. She’s pro-Bush, when Bush would like nothing more for her gay fat ass to get right back into the closet. And in the process relinquish custody of the children she has adopted.

Rosie takes a shine to Republicans

And remember 9-11. Rosie went on a show and got pissed off because she called up some of her friends just after the towers went down and hit them up for a couple of million. A couple of million. And she was suprised that no one stepped up. I’m sorry, it takes time for me to even pull a dollar out my ass to give to somebody else. And this bitch wanted her people to pull out a couple of million.

BEYOTCH!!!! Don’t make me haul off and backslap yo’ fake fat ass.

And now she’s back in my life. And for the next week or so, we’ll all have to put up with occasionally hearing her ass, and seeing her fucked up grill on our televisions. And here I thought I was done with seeing her. And now she’s brought Boy George out of the bath house. And she’s putting up her dough to fuck up Broadway. And I bet that show’ll make money and stay around for ages. Just to piss me off. And here I am, groveling for a 1 dollar McChicken. Broke as a fuck. Shitty ass life. Damn it. Damn it. DAMN IT!