How You Doin’ Blondie?


Just Drifting Through
May 11, 2008, 8:55 pm
Filed under: dirty, Life, Life Experiences, lust, Media, Music, Quotes, Random, random musings, sex, thoughts, Volvo | Tags: ,

“Where do all the porn stars go
When the lights go down?
I wonder where all the porn stars go
‘Cause when you need one, they are never aroundI think they moved out to the suburbs
And now they’re blonde, bland, middle-class Republican wives
They all have blonde, bland, middle-class Republican children
Blonde, bland, middle-class Republican lives

Where do all the porn stars go
When the lights go down?
I think I know where all the porn stars go
They all become Volvo-driving soccer moms”

 

Sometimes, though, there are such things as Volvo-driving porn stars. I substantiate this claim with the red Volvo S40 currently parked in my driveway.

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Money hoes and clothes
April 18, 2008, 5:01 pm
Filed under: Greed, hip-hop, Media, money, Music, Rap Music, sex | Tags: , , , , ,

Of all my automobiles, my favorite is my Volvo. It’s a 2006 S40, passion red, and it’s essentially a crush-proof box. The first car I ever owned was a Volvo, and I really fell in love with them. It’s an odd car for your average twenty-something single to own, Volvo’s are notorious for being the ride of choice for the stodgy white-bread class…which is the bulk of it’s appeal. I hold a considerable amount of contempt for these kids today, with their flashy Acura’s and Lexus’ (Lexis’s? Lexuses?) who will spend $600 for a pair of sunglasses or $1000 for a pair of sneakers just because they bear the Louis Vuitton stamp. They acquire and acquire and acquire all theses THINGS, all these status symbols, and they don’t realize that they look like fools. They’re so ridiculous, they’re caricature’s of themselves.

So I enjoy my Volvo; I take great pride in the fact that my neighbor, the one with the musical career of dubious distinction, has never once expressed even a remote interest in my S40. I like that I’ve yet to see a Volvo cruise slowly down the street with base music reverberating from the speakers and chrome monstrosities affixed to the wheel-wells. But perhaps the key ingredient to my Volvo enthusiasm has been the fact that never, not once, have I ever heard a Volvo be mentioned in any capacity in a rap song.

Until today.

I turned on the radio in my car today in time to catch the following line:

“…pimpin hoes that drive Volvos and Rodeos…”

I later identified the song as “Niggas” by the Notorious B.I.G.:

“To all my Brooklyn ‘Niggas!! (Niggas!!)’
To all my Uptown ‘Niggas!! (Niggas!!)’
To all my Bronx ‘Niggas!! (Niggas!!)’
To all my Queensbridge ‘Niggas!! (Niggas!!)’
‘Nigga nigga nigga..’

Back up chump, you know Biggie Smalls rips it quick
and kicks it quick, you know how black niggaz get
with the hoods fatigues with the boots with trees
Smokin weed, flippin ki’s, makin crazy G’s
Hittin buckshots at niggaz that open spots
on the avenue, take my loot, and I’m baggin you
Pimpin hoes that drive Volvo’s and Rodeos
Flash the roll, make her wet, in her pantyhose
Damn, a nigga style is unorthodox
Grip the glock, when I walk down the crowded blocks
Just in case a nigga wanna act out
I just black out, and blow they motherfuckin back out
That’s a real nigga for ya

[Chorus]

When we smoke spliffs, we pack four-fifths
just in case dread wanna riff
He get a free lift to the cemetary, rough very
Not your ordinary, we watch you get buried
That’s a real nigga for ya
Get mad do a quarter flip the script, and rip your lawyer
Spit at the D.A., cause fuck what she say
She don’t give a fuck about your ass anyway
Up North found first stop for the town
of fist-skill, where the hand skills are real ill
You’ll be a super Hoover doo-doo stain remover
Ha hahhh, yo G, pass the ruler

[Chorus 2X]

Money hoes and clothes
Blunt smoke comin out the nose, is all a nigga knows
Flippin on foes, puttin tags on toes
Watchin the stash grow, clockin the cashflow
The neighborhood gravedigga
Gettin paid so much, all the bitches wanna see a nigga
I guess they figure I’m paid, I wanna get laid
or since I got loot I wanna knock boots
I’d rather beat my dick than trick
and if she don’t suck then we don’t fuck
I’d rather make a buck, drive a fat-ass truck
Grab the 9, two clips, and run amuck
Yes, flex at the two or three Benzes
I wreck shit, what the fuck you expected?
A fly guy? Well fuck it, I’m the high guy
from Bed-Stuy, puttin the swellin on your eye
and your nose even, when I choke ya you stop breathin
And when Jake come, I’m leavin!”

I am indescribably depressed.



Whore Redux

Today; “Search Engine Terms: define whore”.

Really?

It was vaguely amusing, now it’s just mildly insulting.

…Oh and honey? If you’re concerned enough to research the formal definition, you’ve probably already been immortalized by Joe Francis.



Somewhere Otis Redding and Lou Rawls are Weeping Quietly

I’m telling you, this urban demographic and their music industry, it’s a Grammy  goldmine! It’s a regular chart-topping factory! Especially with this character I’ve been hearing about lately, this “Fat Joe,” my he is quite the wordsmith. I stumbled upon another gem of his, this one entitled “Still Not A Player,” featuring Monsieur “Big Pun.”

Does this gentleman have a fan club? How might I gain membership?

 

 

And yes folks, he really did just say “I’m not a player, I just fuck a lot.”



Everybody Here

If I’m reading Michael Stipe correctly, I think the idea is that everybody has a burden they feel they have to carry, the trick is getting the fuck over it.

“No one remembers and nobody cares”

Preach it, brother Stipe

 



Ladies and Gentlemen, Poet Laureate Robert Sylvester Kelly:

    I heard a song the other day, and the lyrics in the opening chorus gave me pause. The name of the song [and I use the term very, very loosely] is “Make it Rain”; penned by Messrs. “Lil’ Wayne” and “Fat Joe,” featuring a guest appearance by R.Kelly. As a woman, I should be offended by the chauvinistic and frankly degrading lyrics Mr. Kelly is crooning; but as someone who considers themselves a novice at the game the big boys play, I was highly entertained by the song’s stark materialistic and animalistic overtures:

“I be drilling these chicks like Major Payne
When I make it rain, they be like ‘Kell… do it again’
From the club to the coupe, inside my gates
Up in my bedroom screaming each other’s name
They was perty perty, and I was flirty flirty
Lil’ dro, lil’ bub now they gettin’ dirty dirty
Don’t ask me what my name is, stupid bitch I’m famous
You gon’ make me aim this, leave your ass brainless
I’m tryin’ to stay R&B but these streets is a part of me
So don’t get it twisted
You see I order one bottle, then I talk with one model
Then I order more bottles, now I got more models
I’m from that city where them niggas don’t play me
I take a chick to my room like cave man
So ask your girlfriend my name, I bet she go
‘Skeet Skeet Skeet Skeet, Weatherman ’bout to make it rain!’”

 

I particularly enjoy the line wherein Robert raps incredulously, “Don’t ask me what my name is, stupid bitch I’m famous.” I simply must find an opportunity to use that line…perhaps during my tete-a-tete with Diane Sawyer when I’m identified as [insert powerful man’s name of your choice here]’s proverbial “side dish”…