Can I Talk My Sh*t Again? Pt. 3

I'm convinced that the world went mad in like 1995 and we're just now suffering from the post-partum effects. First on my hitlist is iBeer... I understand that if there wasn't a market for this stuff that they wouldnt sell it, but this might prove that there is nothing that doesn't have a market!!! For 3 dollars per download, you can turn your iphone into a virtual pilsner (a la screen saver aquariums) and this joint is somehow selling.


I cant hate though. If I could convince a venture capitalist to invest in bottling, manufacturing, and selling pre-orders of my spit, I would [pause]. Despite the strange nature of that statement, this might actually be the most homolarious (as invented by tripleOGCara) product on the market.


The only thing that has recently restored my faith in the genius of man is the Dark Knight Returns. Despite the fact that I loved comics as a youth, and again as a young adult, I would be very surprised if this joint doesn't end up in the next generation of film studies curriculae, next to The Wire. I haven't seen a movie do a more masterful job of combining superheroics, senseless violence, tragedy, romance, comedy, special effects and social commentary. It was definitely worth Cee's $10.50.

Upon finally listening to Nikki Jean's The Project (I can be as much of a audiosnob as Mr. Garr), I discovered that I'm addicted to a little joint called Sunshine on there and if you put it on repeat, I promise you will too.

Thanks to NBATV's coverage of Summer League ball in Orlando and Las Vegas, I've been able to completely ignore the more pressing matters in my daily grind. Its like 2 beasts and 8 malnourished niggas with dumpster juice for skills on each team playing their hearts out like the final four is 2 wins away. The gym is so empty that you can succintly hear the insults of the individual hecklers that dropped 20 bucks for 8 hours of wnba caliber ball. Speaking of the WNBA, I realized recently that I might really have an Amerie-level addiction to Candace Parker.



I also came to the realization that WNBA players make less than public school educators. The hall-of-fame caliber vets (Leslie, Swoopes, Thompson) arent even clearing six figures. I'm currently contemplating developing a documentary in the vein of Borat in which I travel to LA to find her and stunt this non-profit dough on young'n. I'm kidding. Sort of.

Last but not least, if any of you know me personally you know I have a competely heterosexual obsession with Rick Ross. When the news of him taking the definition of fraud to a HNL, broke on the seven internets I shouldnt have cared, because all rappers are liars and cartoon characters to some degree and the ones that aren't are too busy gooning to remain relevant. Yet, Ross' persona and adlibs were too fantastic and entertaining to ignore. Did I believe Ross was a young Carlito that escaped the vengeance of Benny Blanco? No. But I figured the streets of Dade County couldnt be completely amiss if it was ALL bs.


Damn William. I may never shave my head, grow a castaway beard, rock aviators and sell coke on collins ave again.