Super-Villain Style

I hate the new Pharrell album. And my opinion isn’t anything special because I hear a lot of people don’t care much for this album either.

I’ll describe the problem with the album in only this way: it’s similar to Pharrell’s singing, it’s catchy and tuneful in spots, but always slightly off key. Every track sounds like it should be good, but there’s always something missing, something that should be there, but isn’t.

I found myself listening to the tracks, hoping to like the majority of them, but finding myself, ultimately, dissatisfied. It’s like when you eat something, and when you taste it, you know something isn’t in there that’s normally in there. That’s how this album is. It tastes funny. And it ain’t all there.

And I hate to say it, but I’m glad, because as of late, Pharrell was throwing out some Kanye West-type bullshit. He was making it sound like he had produced all those Neptunes hits by himself.

Sure, all Chad Hugo does is play a little synthesizer, and lay and fiddle with the tracks when they’re done. But I dare say, there probably wouldn’t be a Neptunes sound without him. Pharrell was straight pissing on his boy like Dre pissed on Yella all those many years ago. And that ain’t cool.

Even if your boy ain’t pulling his share, you don’t out that shit when you say you’re still cool with him. And I haven’t heard Pharrell say he ain’t cool with the Filipino. So, he needed to chill-niz-oid on dumping on his main hombre like that. It just wasn’t coming off nice like that.

I predict, because of that crap, Pharrell and Chad will officially break up after at least two more years. The hits will eventually run dry, like they always do, and Pharrell will go the way of his mentor, Teddy Riley, and try to put together several groups where he can showcase his awful crooning.

Pretty soon, these groups will break up, and within a decade he will be doing NERD reunion tours, sans Hugo and that other dude who seems to be around to carry the boulders, if you know what I mean.

These pictures have been floating around the web for the past week or so. And I’ve been asked a couple of times to put them up. But I’m not the biggest Christina Aguliera fan, so I just couldn’t see myself putting up a photo album of her crap.

I personally find her kind of skanky. I hate those fake large breasts on her tiny little frame. Skinny, tiny chicks can’t pull off big fake breasts, and they’re the first ones to try to get some. And I liked her better as a brunette, although she was getting a little bit too chunky for her on good during that period. She might have been trying to live out her inner latina. But now she’s back to being white.

She went back to her bottled blonde and lost the weight. And for the past year, I think she’s just been walking around, showing off her boobs, because I haven’t heard a song, or heard that a new cd was coming out. Not that it would matter, because I don’t even download her stuff. But I can admit that she has some talent, but like Mariah, she seems to want to waste it on stage histrionics.

So, she’s been nothing more than an afterthought for the past couple of years, sort of like Britney. Although, I think Britney still has photographers stalking her. Who said having a baby by a worthless clown wasn’t a good career move?

Christina was supposed to have done Playboy last year, or the year before that. These pictures make me wish she had. There are only five of them, and I only put up three. The only two I didn’t put up were the one with her in some kind of tight black bottom with her bending over (a position she’s probably been in hundreds of times), and the cover shot, which is pretty similar to one of the other three pictures in the shoot.

And she’s looking kind of tight, especially the one where she’s sitting on the bed with a bed sheet and her hand covering her bare breast. She’s definitely naked, and she probably wouldn’t mind showing more for the right money. Hear me Hef?

Jay Dee aka J Dilla, dead. 

Going out to get a dozen.

That future double chocolate goes out to you.

Man, I sure could go for a donut right now.  Last donut I had was one from Dunkin Donuts.  It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t good either.

 I think I need to take a trip to the white part of town just so I can get a good one. Maybe head on over to the west side to pick up some Krispy Kremes. 

I wonder if you can call that shit in, you know, place an order over the phone for a dozen to go.  Maybe place an order tomorrow at the rib shack, then head on over to Krispy Kremes.  Add a heart attack to my schedule for Saturday morning.  I say you never know that you’re really alive until you’ve had your first heart attack, or so I’ve heard.  You’re life sort of flashing before your eyes.  Amazing.

To go completely off topic, or to finally be on topic, everybody knows about Jay Dee.  Dude had this mysterious illness, or maybe it’s not that mysterious and I’m just too lazy to have checked to see what he had. 

He was laid up in the hospital bed all close to death and shit.  People were mourning for this brother.  I sort of felt bad for the dude.  Dude finally starts getting some real love, brother’s saying they love him and shit, artists wanna use his beats.  He finally starts getting all that critical acclaim he so richly deserved, and here he is up in a hospital bed with tubes up his ass.  Shit like that makes you wonder, contemplate on the wildly unstable nature of life.  Here today, gone tomorrow.  And then some shit comes on the tv and you forget what the fuck you were thinking about.

Take me for instance (remember, everything is all about me).  One day I might be getting jerked off by a hot ass, big bootied freak, with a rib in one hand and a donut in the other.  And all of a sudden while hitting the big O, I start feeling the big  Oh-No!  My heart starts going off on my ass, and I know I’m about to join Elizabeth up in the sky and shit.  I got this big smile on my face, and a tear runs down the side of my cheek (drama).  That’s my shit right there.  The end is near.  And all of a sudden, I drop dead, hopefully with a piece of rib on one side, a chunk of donut on the other, and a titty right down the middle.  You gotta have a titty right down the middle.  That’s like some pre-destined religious shit right there.

I was about to say that Jesus had one right down the middle, but I ain’t lookin’ to go back to Hell right now.  So, forget I ever mentioned that shit.

By the way, have you ever had one of those jumbo donuts you get at the gas station.  I used to eat one of those shits daily until I found out that one donut had like 50 mgs of fat and shit.  How the fuck do you get 50 mgs of fat in one piece of food.  They must’ve didn’t give a fuck when they came up with the recipe for that shit.  They were like Fuck it!  Let’s just stuff this shit with two pounds of butter in each bite, and rub some of that pig fat on it before we drop it in some Kristie Alley fatback for the frying.  Shit may not be good for you, but they sure do taste good. 

Anyway.  I did promise a review.  So here it is.  Blah Blah Blah.  This shit is good, but not in a great way.  It’s sort of good in an average way with great moments.  Or maybe I should take away the great moments part, because there aren’t really any great moments here, but there are several above good moments. 

What exactly is this shit.  It’s Jay Dee’s attempt at an instrumental album.  But he doesn’t really take take the DJ Shadow or RJD2 approach, constructing full-on complete instrumentals.  Instead, this shit plays more like a Madlib/Quasimoto album, or better yet, Madvillain without the vocals.  Jay Dee gets in and gets out, each track running between one to two minutes.  Once one beat ends, another one starts, like some continuous mixtape. 

The problem with this shit is that it’s hard to get into any individual song.  Take the middle section of the disc where Dilla goes in complete soul mode.  I really wanted shit like Two Can Win and Don’t Cry to play out a little longer.  Instead, the  good shit runs as long as the average shit.  By the way, I love how Dilla shows the sample in Don’t Cry then chops that shit up nicely.  Shows some of you how to chop that shit up right. 

All in all, I recommend this here, but only barely.  The beats here aren’t the most spectacular.  The song construction isn’t all that great.  And the overall disc is slightly above average at best.  But since I’ve been riding around playing this in the car, and listening to it while surfing the web, I definitely see a place for this disc in everyone’s collection.

http://www.stonesthrow.com/jdilla/

Originally Posted at LTMFK

Ahhhhhh. A brand new year.

I wonder why people think the day after December 31 will be any different than the day before it. It’s crap. Nothing really changes. And yet, I find myself like so many others looking forward to the new year coming in. Because, well face it, 2005 was probably one of the shittiest years in history.

Of course I’m not counting anything before 1960, because everything before 1960 was pretty shitty already. But compare 2005 to many of the years after 1960, and I bet it comes in the top ten. I mean, you got the year Kennedy was shot, the year Martin was shot, maybe the year where Vietnam had the highest body count, of course 9/11 2001, and the year Wall Street collasped. I mean you gotta have a pretty shitty year to top 2005. You gotta have major massive deaths beyond Katrina. And a president or two have to get shot. That shit’s gotta be bad. So, I’m actually looking forward to 2006. It’s gotta be better than 2005.

Anyway, I decided to drop a long awaited load on the one or two of you who aren’t fuckin’ spambots. At least force the spambots to break that shit up among posts. So, I decided to drop my top ten list of the top hip-hop albums of 2005. Of course, it was hard picking 10 albums I actually enjoyed. Hip-hop sucked in 2005. Actually, rock kind of sucked, too. Just not as much. So, here’s my picks to go along with the crap Xplicit dropped in December. By the way, I wonder if he’s dead. I heard he’s dead. I could be mistaken.

10. Prince Paul - Instrumentalist. This isn’t a great album, but I like to have an instrumental album on my top ten list. And this, unfortunately, is the best of the bunch. Plus, Prince Paul is still good for a funny skit or two.

9. Blueprint - 1988. Blueprint tends to make my list each year. But that’s because he’s always trying something new, and coming pretty close to succeeding at it. This year it was old school beats and samples over nostalgic and battle rhymes, or what many call “the standards.”

8. Big Pooh - Sleepers. This shit made my list because I played the cd constantly the first couple of months of the year. This shit was a surprise. I wasn’t expecting it to be good. And I kept passing this shit up. But this was one of the top underground records of the year.

7. Common - Be. This shit made my list because, well, it was supposed to make my list. I was sort of underwhelmed by this shit. When you make a ten track album (don’t count Food), every track better be banging. Instead, most of this shit was just adequate the whole way through. But I guess this shit gets points for being constant.

6. Cage - Hell’s Winter. This shit was sort of hit and miss for me. Many of the El-P/Camu Tao tracks were killer. And DJ Shadow always comes through, but the rest was sort of lackluster. I wanted to enjoy this shit more than I did, but all it did was make me look forward more to that El-P/Camu Tao album that’s supposed to drop next year.

5. Little Brother - The Minstrel Show. This shit is like Common’s album. It was adequate and constant the whole way through. A real solid album that bored the fuck out of me in places. I really wanted to like this shit more as well, but alas.

4.Muggs v Gza - Grandmasters. Muggs goes ole’ school Wu on a brother. And Gza just keeps painting those pictures. This was one of those big surprises of the fall season. I found myself listening to this shit more than some other shit I was supposed to be enjoying.

3. The Game - The Documentary. Yeah, he’s a name-dropper. And his flow is choppy. And he’s only been rhyming for two, now, three years. But this one wins because of the production. The first six to seven tracks on here kills most people’s sloppy seconds. Probably why Fiddy was so pissed off his shit got so little care. Second best produced album of the year.

2. MF Grimm - Scars and Memories. Did this shit drop last year. Because I swear, I spent the first six months listening to this shit back and forth. Sure, it’s all old shit, but damn, Grimm’s old shit beats most people’s new shit. I couldn’t get enough of this shit. I had it in my Dell Jukebox, my cd player and my car player. I pretty much played this shit out. And although, this shit is more like some greatest hits type shit, the fact it got heavy personal rotation beats all its limitations.

1. Kanye West - Late Menstruation. Yep. The asshole wins again, just like in real life. George Bush don’t like black people. Black people can’t stand Kanye West. But we gotta give him his props. He drops the best produced album of the year. He can’t rhyme. He can’t sing. But he sure can put those beats together.

Congratulations, Christina Milian. You are now my personal mascot, sort of like the Cleveland Indian, or that fuckin’ crazy Irish fighting Leprechaun mothafucka, you know the one all ready to fuck up a brother. You might be asking yourself, if you ever visit this bullshit here, what does being Savage’s personal mascot entail? Well, nothing really. I’ll just pimp your image out on everything I do, and not pay you shit for it, unless you decide to sue me.

I believe this union between you and me will be mutually beneficial. See, since I’ll be continuously stalk… I mean, watching after you, I’ll be more apt to publicize your business and entertainment moves to an audience of nobodies ready to put down money on jack shit. You’ll gain a whole new fanbase. Of course, that audience will mostly be made up of Nambla members, crackhead teenagers, and savage rapists and looters (I’m gonna miss New Orleans). But I say, some audience is better than no audience. Don’t you agree?

Who knows, maybe if I live long enough, and happen to become famous, your image will reach heights associated with greatness. And when I say greatness, I mean bullshit. Hopefully I’ll get a sitcom, or become mayor, or do some other bullshit like that, and you’ll finally be able to buy yourself some new clothes, maybe feed yourself regularly. Who knows, being associated with me, you’ll finally feel the need to stop whoring yourself to Nick Cannon. That’s right, girl. I know the humilation you’re going through. I know that bastard has shit on you. Maybe a sex tape? Please? It’s okay to cry.

I know you don’t like Nick Cannon. Nobody likes Nick Cannon. If Nick Cannon’s mama had known she’d be pushin’ Nick Cannon’s ass out of her tore up cootchie, I’m pretty sure she would have went ahead with that abortion. In fact, I think Nick Cannon knows it as well. I can see how he hides his pain with dumb ass fuckin’ skits and bullshit rap songs. It’s his way of coping with the pain of being born an asshole, sort of like that devil baby that came out of Rosemary. I forget that shit. Did Rosemary have that baby, or was that shit just threatening to murder her ass through her womb? Mama, I’ll kill yo’ ass, Stewie-style. And just think, some fuckin conservative Republicans wanna ban abortion.

It’s shit like having a baby threatening to kill you from outta your own fuckin’ belly, and knowing you have Nick Cannon about to come outta your shit that tells me that we should keep abortion legal. What if you had Nick Cannon in your stomach (Christina, say it ain’t so), wouldn’t you wanna throw that evil fetus muthafucka down a garbage shoot, or flush his embryonic ass down a toilet. I know I would. I bet Nick Cannon’s mother feels filthy knowing what came outta her cootchie. Giving birth to Nick Cannon must be how it feels to be violently raped (I think I did this joke before. Fuckin’ hack).

Nick Cannon’s mama, if you’re reading this, I feel your fuckin pain. And if I can help in anyway, you know with providing therapy, or cleansing your vaginal area and whatnot, don’t hesitate to write a brother. I know you haven’t felt like the world has loved you all of these years, but I’m telling you girl, I love you. Shit, girl, I’ll love your ass all night long if you let me. At least if you look like Ludacris’s mother. I saw her ass on television once. And I have to admit, I’d bang her, you know, Ludacris’s mother. I’m sure she’s in her early forties. Although, seeing that Ludacris could have come from the hood — you never know with these rap stars — she could be no older than in her thirties. But i doubt it. If she was that young, she’d have had to given birth to Luda back when she was ten. Although, knowing the hood, I wouldn’t put it past a beyotch to get knocked up that early, especially with assholes like me walking around on this great Earth. Thank you, Jesus.

And in the name of the almighty, I’m looking forward to saving another lost soul. Hopefully Christina and me will meet someday pretty soon. Maybe I’ll take her out to lunch, get her a McChicken, let her go crazy on that dollar menu. Make a beyotch feel special. Take her to see a three-month old movie for three dollars. Possibly, hook her up with some new shoes from Payless. You know how I do. End the night with me slipping a Cubic Zirconia on her finger. Damn it, I can see her now, smiling wider than she’s smiled in ages. I do what I can for my beyotches.

I think I’ll call her tonight, maybe send her a couple of mails. Hopefully, she’ll get back to me soon. We’ll be best friends. Won’t we, Christina. Hee-Hee-Hee.

Today, I planned on continuing my series on man rape. But I got sidetracked, sidetracked by some ass. I was looking through one of my free magazines. I think it was Blender. But it could’ve been Maxim, or Stuff, or FHM, one of those lad mags. They all look the same. I was going through the mag, when I ran across this picture of this Mari chick, the one that’s supposed to be the new Princess of Roc-A-Fella. There was this interview accompanied by this hot ass picture of her. She was in some kind of short black dress, something like a French maid’s outfit. Man. She was looking killer. The only downside was that it said in the article that she was seventeen. You know, borderline jailbait.

It still didn’t stop me from thinking dirty thoughts about her, sort of like when Britney first came out, or recently, Lindsay Lohan. By the way, Lindsay Lohan looks kind of fucked up these days, doesn’t she? Sort of like Britney with her big fat belly, and Christina, with her big fake giant titties on that small rail-thin body. All those old pop chicks look kind of shitty, except maybe Jessica Simpson. But I’m not really a Jessica Simpson fan. Her body’s kind of tight, but her face is straight dookie, white dookie with a blond wig on top. But, there’s no such thing as white dookie. There’s light brown dookie, and green dookie, but no white dookie. At least I don’t think.

Anyway, getting back to this Mari chick. By the way, I’ll probably keep calling her “this Mari chick” because I don’t know how to spell her first name. Getting back to her. I thought she was so hot that when I got my Internet connection back, I had to look her up. I hit Google and did an Internet search, hoping that I might find more dirty pictures of her. First I hit the “images” part of Google, then I hit the main search engine. And guess what. After all that searching, I didn’t find much of anything. It was the same shit over and over again. The same fuckin’ TRL photos.

This tells me that those boys over at Def Jam ain’t really putting much into this Mari chick. Apparently, her album came out recently, the album I can’t quite name right now. (Joke) And it ranked pretty high on Billboard. But so what, everything ranks high on Billboard in its first week. Let’s see where she’s at by the beginning of September. I bet her shit barely goes gold. Why? Because even though this Mari chick has Jay-Z backing her, and that Def Jam machine, nobody really is talking about her. Sure, she’s getting a review here or there, and the adolescents seem to love her, which is a shame because that little beyotch’s mouth is filthier than mine. Nigga this, nigga that. Shit here, shit there. It’s outrageous. I’m stupified.

She’s also supposed to have a single out, one, which I don’t think I’ve heard. But that’s probably because I don’t listen to the radio that much, at least not unless I’m driving, or not unless I’m in front of my computer. I have one of those TV/FM tuner cards. I tend to listen to the radio during those oft-times when there isn’t anything worth downloading. Apparently, her single has been out for awhile. Still, I have yet to see it on MTV or BET, and I don’t think I’ve heard it on the radio. But that’s probably because I tend to flip through the radio stations very quickly, and often. I just don’t waste time listening to commercials and deejay speak. If a song I’m listening to goes off, and another song I like doesn’t come on right after, I switch to another station. If a deejay doesn’t blabber over the beginning of the song with the artist’s name and song title, or if he doesn’t get it in quickly at the end, I just don’t get it. The song has to be pretty catchy for me to stay around and listen to bullshit deejay speak. I just don’t play that.

So, I might have heard her shit and I just don’t know it. But it’s probably not that great of a song or I would know if I’ve heard it by now, or at least if I’ve seen a video of it. How hard is it not to get your video played on BET constantly. Show a little belly, a little ass, some cleavage, and hop your half-naked ass around a little, and at least your shit gets on 106th and Park. Problem is, I don’t watch 106th and Park. Or TRL, which may be where it’s also getting play. Too bad though. I guess this Mari chick is kind of fucked. Because if I don’t know about your shit, your shit ain’t shit.

I’m not Dick Clark or anything. But I’m sort of the standard for how popular a songs gonna be, outside of country music. It’s not because I’m all influential and shit. It’s just that I’m the demographic for how hot shit’s gonna be. I’m in that 18-34 year range. I’m what all the networks, and cable stations, and radio stations clamor for. I’m the crack of statistical advertisement data. If me and my people don’t give a fuck about you, nobody’s gonna give a fuck about you, at least when it’s all said and done. So, if I don’t know a lot of shit about this Mari chick, then, most likely, other people in my demographic don’t know a lot of shit about this Mari chick. And that means that this Mari chick ain’t going too far.

Now you may say that just may not be the case with music. Just look at such talents as Bow Wow, Justin Timberlake, Hillary Duff and Omarion. You may say that they all have staying power, and no one over eighteen really supports them. Look at what big stars they are. Yep. Just look at those assholes. Trust me kiddies, when you get older, you’re going to feel dirty and ashamed for propping up these whores for all these years. I know these things. I actually have MC Hammer and Vanilla Ice tapes in my collection. And I feel like shit by just mentioning that to you. Give it a few years, you’ll eventually be holding your head in shame like me. Trust me.

Now back to this Mari chick. I’m not trying to piss on this chick, at least not yet. Maybe if I happen to meet her, and have a few glasses of Pepsi in me. Just maybe. Anyway. I don’t want bad things for this Mari chick, if only because she looks too much like Beyonce, and Beyonce is a piece of ass. You just can’t have too many beyotches who look like Beyonce. You know what I’m saying. And if she happens to fail early, I won’t get to experience all the bad slutty fashion choices she’s bound to make. But, unfortunately, in my bones, or in my boner, I can feel it. This Mari chick ain’t going too far. And that’s too bad, because she looks kind of nice, for jailbait that is.

The fact that she’s seventeen sort of drops her on the hot meter. I just don’t like feeling bad when I’m thinking dirty thoughts about a chick. I figure if you’re gonna be hot, then you should have enough sense to be over 18 and not be married or a nun, or some other dumb shit like that. It’s like this old NYPD Blue episode. They had one of these hot chicks I’ve seen before on other shows and in the videos playing a retard. These dudes get over on the retard, you know, talk her ass into giving them blow jobs and shit. You know, like in real life. And her mother goes off on her for being a retard slut. And I think in the end, she jumps off a building, or some shit like that. The point I’m getting at is that retards shouldn’t look hot. And if they do look hot, expect dudes to try to get her retard ass to give up the, uh, you know, ass. Because that’s what dude’s are supposed to do. That’s how God made us. If it werent for that, man probably wouldn’t be the most dominant species on this planet. It’s predestined.

That’s why it’s bad for underage teen-age girls to be hot. What’s a teen-ager anyway but a retarded adult. And just because you’re “not quite there yet” in the head shouldn’t stop a man like me from fulfilling his godly duties. That’s why most teen-age girls usually get pregnant by fucked up dudes that are twenty years and older like myself. A dude in his twenties can’t help it more than most dudes. It’s because twenty-year-old balls are filled to the maximum with the jizzum, and we need massive amounts of release, preferably in a massive amount of varied cootchie. And just because you might be “too young,” and possibly be a “retard” shouldn’t stop a man like me from doing what God put me on this Earth to do.

In fact, it’s your fault if I happen to allegedly bust one in your adolescent ass. You shouldn’t have that nice round ass, or those nice juicy titties. If I happen to fuck you up like a crazy white hoe teacher in a middle school, then that’s on you, not me, especially my jizzum… On you, not… you know… on me.

Click Me
Click Me Too

Now, That’s Entertainment!

Hey, Tippi Turtle, coming down the street
Tell us what you’re gonna do!First, I’m gonna bother everybody I meet
Then, I’ll probably go home and get drunk.

I planned on doing this big thing with these dudes, Super Lover Cee and Casanova Rud, where I posted a mp3 everyday this week from their debut album, Girls, I got’em Locked. But you know me, I got bored with the idea a few hours after I came up with it. And I ended up not posting a damn thing up until now.

So, I’m thinking that I still might actually go through with some shit like this in the future. Not about these dudes, but about somebody I might actually be motivated to finally follow through and do some shit with. I don’t know who that is right now. But when I finally come up with that shit, it just might be the the most tremendous, the most spectacular, piece of shit any human on earth has ever come up with. Or it might end up being just another piece of crud on this electronic blah blah blah we all call the Internet.

Now getting to my people. I tried to find a weblog or a website that I could steal some crap from off of, but I couldn’t find shit. And after like 10 or 15 minutes, I just got tired of looking. So, since I know absolutely nothing about these two, I’ve decided to make some shit up.

Here’s hoping neither one of them comes across this shit. I ain’t looking to get sued. I mean, i only got five dollars to my name. I can’t afford another lawsuit, especially after President White Devil and the House of Honkys fucked with them bankruptcy laws. Now I can’t go crazy on the credit cards and buy a lot of shit and have all that debt wiped away. Damn you! How the hell’s a man supposed to live if he can’t live beyond his means.

Now, let’s begin our story. One was named Calente Frederick (Super Lover Cee), who made his way as a baby from Jamaica on a raft with some Cubans and Haitians. He made it to shore and was adopted by a poor black couple in Miami. This family made their way upward to New York to find work in the big city. His father took on five jobs. And his mother took on three. And at the age of seven, his family made him take up two jobs, one working as a cab driver, and the other, working as a janitor at a housing project. This is where he would meet his childhood friend, Erik Rudnicki (Casanova Rud).

Young Erik was born from the loins of an Appalachian Russian family. He was a wild child that ran around in circles and howled at the moon at night. At age four, he would acquire the nickname, the magnificent barber, after he spent an hour circumcising himself. He did such a good job that he went on to circumcise half the boys in his village. Pretty soon, with the money he made from trimming, coupled with the dough his white daddy made from crystal meth, Erik and his family were able to leave the squalor of the Appalachians for the luxury of the New York housing projects. And as stated before, it was here where the two boys would meet.

They became friends pretty fast. And by the time they were teenagers, they so acted and dressed alike that many people believe them to be twins. In fact, one incident illustrates this best. One day, Super Lover was hanging out in Casanova’s room. And lo and behold, Casanova’s white daddy came in. The white daddy, believing Super Lover to be Casanova, started beating him senselessly. And much to Super Lover’s surprise, the white daddy told him to take off his clothes so that he could perform “magic” on Super Lover’s bottom. Super Lover resisted, but the white daddy was too strong. And unfortunately, Super lover could not resist the white daddy’s “magic” no longer. It was at this moment that Super Lover felt the pain that Casanova and every other black man has felt for over four hundred years, the pain of the white man raping the black man over and over again. Oh, you white devil with your evil temptations. May the Lord have mercy on your white devil soul.

Anyway. Afterwards they made two albums, which I was surprised to know, because I only know Girls, I Got’em Locked. Their other release is named Blow Up the Spot. I think it was an ep. I don’t know if I’ve ever heard shit from it. Who knows. Anyway, after their successful rap careers, Rud tried producing for awhile. And Super Lover Cee opened up a chicken shack that was called Clucks.

I think, as of today, Super Lover Cee runs a tobacco plantation down south. And Rud married some white woman and moved back to the mountains. One of them is wanted by the FBI for smuggling butt. Hee-hee. Just joking. Actually I heard that Rud was running a pretty successful white trash whore escort service out of his basement. In fact, I think he makes more money now than he did when he was making records. Way to go, my negro.

But seriously. These dudes are way underrated. Girls I Got’em Locked is probably one of the best kept secrets of 1988. In my eyes, this shit is about as good as Critical Beatdown. It probably would rate higher if half their songs didn’t sound like a better version of some shit Kid N Play might have done around that time. These dudes just came off a little too partyish and girl crazy. And that album cover is straight metrosexual, if those two words can be used together. Also, I don’t think this shit sold very well. When you go from Elektra to Wild Pitch, you’ve gone and fucked up somewhere.

Girls Act Stupid-aly
Girls I Got’em Locked
Pump It Back
Super-Casanova

I was about to do this shit on Al’ Tariq. But I was doing some research on Google and found out these beyotches beat me to the punch. I guess that’s what you get for being a lazy procrastinating bastard. Oh well. It’s probably for the best because they knew more about the dude than I did, and they probably did a better job than I would have. I would have just half-assed this shit and stole crap off of other people’s sites like I normally do. I’m all about that copyright infringement.

Although, I will add that this is another case for bad distribution keeping a good album down. Shit like that happened a lot when dudes started going independent in the mid 90s. They would get on some start up backward label, or some label that wasn’t used to dealing with hip-hop, and that shit would come out and nobody would know. I honestly didn’t know this shit had dropped until two years after it was released. I had heard the singles, was anticipating the album, and I never heard word if the shit had come out. If it wasn’t for the Internet, I wouldn’t have even heard this shit.

I first heard it when I downloaded a cheap, fucked up 128 rip of it off an ftp in 98 . I finally got ahold of a decent 160 rip a year later off of Napster. I got a physical version of this shit off Ebay in 2000. And I finally heard the vinyl version of this shit 2 years later with the Nikki song on it from a Internet crew I used to run with back in the day. So, no mstter what the big dogs may say, the Internet has helped to spread the love far more than it has added to the hate. A lot of “lost” art will be preserved because this shit.

Anyway, since my present attempt at writing something informative and worthwhile is off the table, I think it’s best that I return to what I do best: bullshitty gibberish. Not that bullshitty gibberish is easy to do. In fact, it’s quite hard. I went to college and got that edamacation and earned that dez-gree so I cans a learnin’ how to do the writin’ like this. It took a decade to gets my shit to the top quality like it is. That’s how I’m able to entertain and inform the few stupid mothafuckas who come across this shitty ass site.

I work hard to get you two or three what you need to make it through the days and weeks ahead. I’m sure without me, y’all would’ve committed the suicide right about now. So, I guess, in the end, doing this shit on this site keeps me in the good graces of Allah, and out of the fiery grips of the devil. Without this shit, I probably wouldn’t be gettin’ into heaven. So, I guess I gotta say, Thanks Blogger, all praise the greatness of the Invention, the fortitude of His strength, and the magnificence of His glory.

Pretty much the same Al’ Tariq shit.

Al’ Tariq - God Connections

I honestly don’t know how long this one’s staying up. Think it’s permanant for the time being.