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Rappers Now Safer on Streets Than in StudiosNovember 29, 2004 |
Flatbush, NJ E-Z Pete Def-Roc Stunned witnesses at the Vibe Awards all, "Damn, did you see that?" in the wake of a multi-rapper pile-up following Dr. Dre's now-infamous punching and the stabbing that followed.
The study, mostly performed on couches in front of TV sets or while reading newspapers at desks in the office, listed a number of occurrences in the past month and other events in recent history that, though anecdotal evidence, lend great support to the theory rappers are getting fucked up way too much in the music business, actually making it less safe than the hard-ass streets they struggled for years to get out of.
Among the more notorious public incidents was the ...
study done by friends of this reporter and other keen observers everywhere released stunning findings this week: Hip-hop artists, young and old, are now officially safer doing the hard-core gangsta stuff they rap about than being in a studio, awards show, or in any way involved with show business.
The study, mostly performed on couches in front of TV sets or while reading newspapers at desks in the office, listed a number of occurrences in the past month and other events in recent history that, though anecdotal evidence, lend great support to the theory rappers are getting fucked up way too much in the music business, actually making it less safe than the hard-ass streets they struggled for years to get out of.
Among the more notorious public incidents was the stabbing of a man Nov. 15 after he punched gangsta rap founder Dr. Dre in the face. A fellow hip-hop artist on Dre's label, G-Unit member Young Buck, was arrested for the crime Friday, while some speculate the beating was put on Dre by huge motherfucker Suge Knight, who has long had a falling out with his former label artist.
Both the punch and the stabbing didn't occur in Dre's famous neighborhood of Compton in Los Angeles, but in Santa Monica at the Vibe Awards, where Dre was receiving a lifetime achievement award. On the streets of South Central L.A., there's reason to believe Dre might have been better protected and not in such close proximity of rivals like Knight, also attending the show.
The very same day as the stabbing, Wu-Tang Clan co-founder Ol' Dirty Bastard dropped dead in the studio after complaining of chest pains. The Roc-A-Fella rapper's cause of death had yet to be determined, but he had recently served time on drug-related charges and was famous for his notorious history with drug and alcohol addiction. Had he been on the streets of his hometown of Camden, New Jersey, the possibility exists he might have been thrown into rehabilitation early enough to give him a chance against the physical deterioration that well may have killed him.
Excluding the famous shooting deaths of Tupac Shakur in 1996, and Notorious B.I.G. in 1997—which some have claimed as revenge for 2Pac's slaying—rappers have been getting brutalized by assaults and murder attempts in recent years, most frequently by others in the hip-hop business. Among other incidents, the shooting of Eminem protégée and Young Buck's G-Unit homie 50 Cent, the murder of Lost Boyz member Freaky Tah, and perhaps most saddening, the 2002 killing of old school rap group Run D.M.C.'s Jam Master Jay, a serious sucker-slayer who could really cut a record from side to side. Two years later, his murderer remains at large, and the police, as usual, clueless. Rest assured, if a member of ultra-white Bon Jovi got clocked outside the studio, New Jersey police would have descended on the crime with a swarm of teary-eyed uniforms, all humming "Living Under a Prayer" in slow monotone.
While the independent study refused make further comment on its own findings, this reporter is more than happy to do it for them: Rappers, Jesus Christ, get out of the business, save yourself. Pick up a guitar and learn to play bar rock. You don't see Hootie getting shot at every other week. the commune news vehemently denies ever dangling the Editor-in-Chief of Crochet! magazine out a window, no matter what the rumors are—a balcony can hardly be confused for a window. Shabozz Wertham has found reporting the hard realities of the world to be a thankless job, and also payless, and would have been deskless if he hadn't pitched such a fit.
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 September 5, 2005
OmareliefQuit being so goddamned selfish, people. There are folks drowning or something down wherever they're having that problem, because of rain or malfunctioning plumbing of some sort, and we're in a position to help. Wherever these people are, and I want to say "Magnolia" but I have a sneaking suspicion that's not a real state name, but wherever they are, we're their only hope. That's why we need to donate to Omarelief, like right now.
And by "we" I mean you, because it doesn't make a whole lot of sense for me to donate to my own charity, since that's like a hooker paying to play with herself or something asinine like that. But for some reason "Let's us do this!" always seems to be a better motivator than "Hey asshole, you need to solve this problem!" So like I said, "we" need to donate to Omarelief immediately.
90% of all cash donations made to Omarelief will be spent on feeding and housing any refugees from the disaster who make their way up to Flatbush, New Jersey, find the Bricks Manor in spite of the bogus directions I gave them, cross the moat I've dug around my house, defeat the security system, and then refuse to leave when asked politely. This is the real deal, people.
We also need to quit donating to Red Bagel's scam charity "Red's Cross," because it's giving him a big head and he keeps blowing all the money on weird portraits of himself in famous religious poses that are creeping the rest of us all the hell out.
But how does...
º Last Column: WEASELS-B-GON
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Quit being so goddamned selfish, people. There are folks drowning or something down wherever they're having that problem, because of rain or malfunctioning plumbing of some sort, and we're in a position to help. Wherever these people are, and I want to say "Magnolia" but I have a sneaking suspicion that's not a real state name, but wherever they are, we're their only hope. That's why we need to donate to Omarelief, like right now. And by "we" I mean you, because it doesn't make a whole lot of sense for me to donate to my own charity, since that's like a hooker paying to play with herself or something asinine like that. But for some reason "Let's us do this!" always seems to be a better motivator than "Hey asshole, you need to solve this problem!" So like I said, "we" need to donate to Omarelief immediately. 90% of all cash donations made to Omarelief will be spent on feeding and housing any refugees from the disaster who make their way up to Flatbush, New Jersey, find the Bricks Manor in spite of the bogus directions I gave them, cross the moat I've dug around my house, defeat the security system, and then refuse to leave when asked politely. This is the real deal, people. We also need to quit donating to Red Bagel's scam charity "Red's Cross," because it's giving him a big head and he keeps blowing all the money on weird portraits of himself in famous religious poses that are creeping the rest of us all the hell out. But how does it work? How can Omar Bricks afford to be so good to people? I'm glad you asked. The brilliant part of the charity is that I don't have to spend a dime of the donations on anyone who's not smart enough to find the Bricks Manor, which includes pretty much everyone on earth because Mapquest made a cock out of its directions to my house. I'm serious; I tried using them once myself and I ended up in Newfoundland, no shit. These are the directions I give to bill collectors, girls wanting paternity tests, and the pissed-off boyfriends of girls wanting paternity tests. They're like paper gold for a million uses, unless you're actually trying to find my house. But don't you imagine for a second that I'll be unprepared if any sad sack motherfuckers actually make it into my house. I've got those bases covered as well, and Omar Bricks isn't one to welch on his charity commitments. We've got plenty of room here in Bricks Manor, and several sets of rubber bedsheets. And there will be plenty of mustard sandwiches to go around. Anyone who's not too put off by the fact that Foghat wets the bed can bunk with him. Otherwise you're going to be sleeping on the toilet. Don't think that's as bad as it sounds—I do it all the time, it's fine. I'd offer to let you sleep in the bathtub, a more traditional bathroom-sleeping arrangement, but the fact of the matter is I can't have some homeless lug sleeping in the tub when I need to take a shower or bathe or make some beer. Some homesteader camping out on the crapper I can handle, but it's not like you can just stick your Johnson out the window and take a shower. That's just the reality of the world, folks. Any charity-case overflow will be housed on my neighbor Hamms' lawn, and when he's not home, in his house. So don't worry that our donations are only going to help one guy sleeping on Omar Bricks' toilet. This charity is for everybody. Everybody who was effected by the thing and who made their way all the way up here and tracked me down like a goddamned bloodhound from hell. So let's us open our wallets and give, until we've made Red Bagel's bullshit charity look like the second-rate bullshit charity it really is. Because that's what giving is all about, people. Bricks out. º Last Column: WEASELS-B-GONº more columns
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| May 30, 2005
The Sad Fate of the World's Greatest InventionEveryone loves seeing movies in the theater, because the screen is so freakin' huge. Plus when you throw shit at the screen at home, usually you're the one who has to clean it up later, unless you're smart enough to throw something the dog's not too proud to eat off the floor, like steak. But regardless, Omar Bricks has always had one major problem with seeing movies in the theater, and it's not the rule about discharging firearms during the exciting parts or the mandatory frisking for fireworks. No, the real pain in my remarkably-tolerant ass is the way they keep the movie playing like fascists even when you've really got to piss but don't want to miss the best part of the movie, which filmmakers strategically place right at the optimal time for a piss break to ensure repeat business.
Normally I just end up pissing in a trash can in the back of the theater, where I can still see the screen, but that's not a perfect solution either. Sometimes the trash is really full and you get splashback like from a cheap Korean urinal, and other times some 90-year old woman chooses that moment to pop into the theater to check and see if this movie has that delightful Kevin Costner in it, only to grab a stroke-inducing eyeful of your man-monster. So this was clearly a national problem worthy of serious scientific inquiry.
That put me at a slight disadvantage, since the only thing I know about science is that you can't freeze gasoline. But God never slams a door...
º Last Column: Guanica
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Everyone loves seeing movies in the theater, because the screen is so freakin' huge. Plus when you throw shit at the screen at home, usually you're the one who has to clean it up later, unless you're smart enough to throw something the dog's not too proud to eat off the floor, like steak. But regardless, Omar Bricks has always had one major problem with seeing movies in the theater, and it's not the rule about discharging firearms during the exciting parts or the mandatory frisking for fireworks. No, the real pain in my remarkably-tolerant ass is the way they keep the movie playing like fascists even when you've really got to piss but don't want to miss the best part of the movie, which filmmakers strategically place right at the optimal time for a piss break to ensure repeat business.
Normally I just end up pissing in a trash can in the back of the theater, where I can still see the screen, but that's not a perfect solution either. Sometimes the trash is really full and you get splashback like from a cheap Korean urinal, and other times some 90-year old woman chooses that moment to pop into the theater to check and see if this movie has that delightful Kevin Costner in it, only to grab a stroke-inducing eyeful of your man-monster. So this was clearly a national problem worthy of serious scientific inquiry.
That put me at a slight disadvantage, since the only thing I know about science is that you can't freeze gasoline. But God never slams a door without kicking out a window, and my lack of technical know-how has always been made up for with ingenuity, which is another word for balls. And that's about as good an explanation as any for how I came up with the Movie Theater Remote Control®.
Because when I started thinking about it, not being able to pause a movie in the theater was only one of a number of problems with our antiquated movie-projecting systems. You also couldn't rewind to see cool parts of movies again, or fast-forward through the lame parts to get to something good. And the lack of a volume control was a ridiculous oversight. Only an idiot would try to sell you a TV without a volume knob, but we've been buying that same bullshit from the theaters for years. It was time to wise up and kick the man in the pants.
Most of the tech for the MTRC® came from plans I found in a dumpster outside of NASA. Did you know NASA locks their dumpsters? True as shit. And did you know you can pick a dumpster lock with a Bic pen and a Zippo lighter? That's one to grow on, kids.
The early prototypes didn't work exactly as planned, in fact the first one ended up blacking out most of Flatbush during a screening of The Country Bears. Not that you heard anyone complaining. Version 2.0 was far more effective, only too much so, if such a thing is possible. The problem was that while I was fast-forwarding through one of the many lame parts of Hidalgo, the MTRC® was actually controlling all the projectors in the multiplex at once, so although at least half the people there were being saved from lame bullshit, the other half were missing the best part of Starsky & Hutch, or at least seeing it at twice its intended speed. That's when I learned that as cool as a car battery can be for ultimate juice, sometimes AAs get the job done more appropriately. Plus you don't have to design a special harness to sneak a couple of AA batteries into a movie theater under your jacket.
Version 3.0 was actually a step backward, but for some reason it ran the Icee machine in the lobby just fine, so I kept that one for future experimentation. Version 4.01 was the real winner, and came in a sweet lime-green finish as well. I was set.
And for a few months, I was in movie-going heaven. Even with the rewinding for cool parts, and pausing for a couple of piss breaks, most movies only ended up taking about 45 minutes, since you didn't have to sit through any of the trailers or bullshit "character development" parts of movies. Sure, there were always a couple of whiners in the audience who wanted to see Barbara Streisand crying in her soup, but those knobs were in the minority and they didn't know who to whine to anyway since it wasn't like I was advertising my role as the dude with the remote. But eventually, I have to admit I got a little cocky and people started to catch on since I was the guy yelling "Bo-ring!" whenever Michelle Pfeiffer came on the screen and suddenly the movie would zap forward to a ninja fight or whatever.
I guess word got out, since things really came to a head last year when I paused The Bourne Supremacy so I could take a leak and when I came back, those fuckers were looking at me like I just ate the baby Jesus with Vidalia onions. I swear, these pious motherfuckers don't piss? Am I watching a movie with the cast of Waterworld again? Well excuse me, you inconsiderate dicks, but not everyone here can recycle their whiz and drink it again. Some of us have to pay eight bucks for a Mr. Pibb that's at least three times the size of our own bladder, and some of us are too modest to piss it down the aisle like Southern royalty. Next thing you know they're going to tell me these egomaniacs have never intentionally thrown up in the sink of the men's room at a fast food restaurant to make room for seconds.
Even getting banned for life from that theater wasn't a huge deal, since disguises are half the fun of going to the movies anyway. But what really sunk my battleship was that after the word got out, everybody wanted me to make them a MTRC®. First my neighbor Mitch, then Red Bagel, and then Roland McShyster. I don't even know what that guy wanted with one; I don't think he's ever been in a movie theater in his life. I asked him if he wanted to go see Star Wars last week and he thought I was talking about a reality show cross between Star Search and The Running Man.
At first things were going great, and I was making some nice coin to dick around in my garage, which has always been a dream of mine. But before I knew it, everybody had a MTRC® (or Griswald Dreck's knock-off version, the JapZapper®) and going to the theater, even in a fun disguise, became a total nightmare. Nobody could agree on what were the cool or lame parts of movies, and with 300 people in the theater there were so many piss breaks that watching a movie was like trying to play Quake on a Commodore 64.
Hence the sad but valuable lesson I've lived and learned to pass on to you, commune flock: If you ever find yourself in a position of absolute power, don't fuck it up by assuming that everybody's got good taste in movies. Bricks out. º Last Column: Guanicaº more columns
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Quote of the Day“Upon being stopped by the Customs Officer during my trip to America, he asked: 'Have you anything to declare?' I burst forward, telling him, 'Only my genius!' I was promptly beaten to a piteous pulp and subjected to a humiliating search. Needless to say, they found my weed.”
-Wildman OscarFortune 500 CookieLove is a relative term, but even that nugget won't save your ass if you pork your cousin. Stay away from salty snacks this week, even if it means tunneling underground. Try wearing your watch on the other arm—maybe that's your problem. This week's lucky names: Alexia. Ephyn. Scatman. Toolio.
Try again later.Top Surprising Oscar Snubs| 1. | Yentle 2: Yentler | | 2. | The Berenstain Bears Don't Care | | 3. | The Diary of Al Franken | | 4. | assBUSHhole: An Empire in Decline | | 5. | Jamie Foxx in Socks | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 2/4/2002 Aloha, America! Nope, I'm not reporting to you from sunny Hawaii today but that was a pretty good guess. I'm just in a sunshine and grass skirt kind of mood today; I can't explain it. Maybe it was that Hawaiian Tropics commercial I saw the other day. Or maybe it was the Eskimo Pie I ate this morning. Actually the more I think about it, that Eskimo Pie bit doesn't make a bit of sense. Some would argue that you can't get any further away from Hawaii's welcoming shores than to be huddled in a miserable freezing igloo, gnawing on whale fat. And they're probably right, but nevertheless I link the two mentally. Maybe it's those cute little pudgy babies. Come to think of it, Eskimos and Hawaiian Islanders sure do look a lot alike. Maybe a little too much. I'm beginning to think they're running a...
Aloha, America! Nope, I'm not reporting to you from sunny Hawaii today but that was a pretty good guess. I'm just in a sunshine and grass skirt kind of mood today; I can't explain it. Maybe it was that Hawaiian Tropics commercial I saw the other day. Or maybe it was the Eskimo Pie I ate this morning. Actually the more I think about it, that Eskimo Pie bit doesn't make a bit of sense. Some would argue that you can't get any further away from Hawaii's welcoming shores than to be huddled in a miserable freezing igloo, gnawing on whale fat. And they're probably right, but nevertheless I link the two mentally. Maybe it's those cute little pudgy babies. Come to think of it, Eskimos and Hawaiian Islanders sure do look a lot alike. Maybe a little too much. I'm beginning to think they're running a scam on us, a complex ploy to secure more than their fair share of dancing puppets on the "It's a Smallish World" ride at Disneyland. Interesting. You tend to the entertainment reviews below while I ponder this further over another Eskimo Pie.
In Theaters Now:
A Beautiful Mime
If there's one thing this movie taught me, it's that mimes are a lot more tolerable when they're jaw-droppingly gorgeous and have the body of a porn star. I'd like to thank Jennifer Connely for expanding my cultural awareness and my BVDs for a solid two hours in this powerful film. There's a lot of awards buzz surrounding Connely's performance here, and I have to agree: she's hot as hell! You can bet I'll be keeping an eye out for her Golden Globes in the future.
Big Fat Liar
What's funnier than Jim Carrey running around like he's retarded and not being able to tell a lie? You guessed it, a 300 pound Jim Carrey running around like he's retarded and not being able to tell a lie. They promised the sequel would be bigger than the original, but none of us dared to think they were talking about Carrey's drooping leg fat. And yeah, it's pretty funny, but I have to admit it's the ultimate insult when Hollywood would rather dress up attractive people in fat suits than hire one of the many genuinely fat people available for the role.
Collateral Damage
Arnie's latest meat-headed action flick casts him wholly unbelievably as a nerdy office drone who's expertise in collating office files and Xeroxes somehow prepares him to be an awe-inspiring ass-kicker who cold-boots faceless terrorist booty, in triplicate. Wait until this one comes out on video, then put it back on the shelf and see if they have any decent soft-core in stock.
I Am Sam
The Dr Seuss classic takes a turn for the creepy in this dark psychological thriller starring Chris Kattan as the food-obsessed stalker who just won't let Michael Douglas' businessman be. Some might consider this re-imagining disrespectful to the original book, but I'm convinced that Dr Seuss himself would have done the train shoot-out scene just the same way if he'd had access to this kind of technology back in his day.
Rollerball
I know what you're thinking. Cross the white-hot fad of rollerskating with the popular teenage dance movie, throw in Skeet Ulrich, and you've got a sure hit on your hands, right? Think again. Take a closer look at what you've got on your hands, and note it's nutty texture and off-brown hue. Pretty nasty, eh?
Now on Video:
Captain Correlli's Man-dolphin
I can't honestly say I knew what the hell was up with this movie, or how they got Nicholas Cage involved, but to suffice it to say it was original. It was sort of like a cross between Buck Rogers, Powder, The Abyss and an Arco commercial, if that makes any sense. It wasn't bad, but it was one of those movies that makes you wonder if you left the gas on.
The Curse of the Sade Scorpion
Another strange one to keep you scratching your head until you're in need a band-aid. Imagine if they remade "Anaconda" in the desert, with Ben Kingsley instead of Ice Cube, and instead of a big snake eating people it's a scorpion that sings "Smooth Operator" almost constantly. And believe it or not, this was actually the scarier movie of the two. Come to think of it, maybe that's not so hard to believe.
Ghost World
The second feature from Nintendo Pictures follows the reasoning that if the original is good, throw in a egg-pooping dinosaur and it'll be even better. I'm not sure what to think of the result, however. Whoopi Goldberg has some great lines as the wise-cracking dinosaur, but I just couldn't get over how dumb Patrick Swayzee looks in that little plumber hat.
Kiss of the Drag Queen
Jet Li is back and this time he must face his toughest adversary yet: his own ambiguous sexuality! How will Li react when he finds out that the girl he just chop-sueyed a platoon of ninjas to save turns out to be a flamboyant drag queen from Frisco? S/he is Li's perfect match, but will he risk the scorn of his ultra-traditional culture and his macho ass-kicking buddies to know her love? No chance, but he did kick a guy's ass with a tuna fish in a scene that I thought was pretty cool.
Television:
The networks are rushing out new episodes of their biggest shows for what they call "sweeps" and that means it's the best time to be a television fan! Here's some highlights of the coming week:
Frasier (NBC)
The episode we've all been waiting for as the champ puts to rest old grievances with his longtime arch-nemesis Muhammad Ali. A tear-jerking episode, or something gets jerked anyhow.
Si, Esse (CBS)
I've been hearing everyone raving about this show about forensic science cops, but didn't think it sounded appealing. Still, pretty ballsy move to have an all-Spanish cast. I managed to follow it pretty good and this week's episode ought to be the best as that guy who seems to be in charge has an affair with the young girl with the sombrero, who I think might be his protogé or something. Hot Spanish chicks and possible nudity? Roland is there, compadré!
Everybody Loves Reagan (CBS)
Last I heard this guy was drooling all over his presidential bib in some nursing home, so I don't know how he gets a hit sitcom. Then again, I still don't know how he beat Mondale in a landslide. It's their biggest episode yet this week as the current president (you know, the one with the dirty name) stops by to talk about his space station that blows up nuclear missiles. You won't want to miss it. I will, though.
Video Games:
State of Emergency (PS2)
This flag-waving tribute to New York is long on sentiment and short on fun. Sure, I agree firefighters and cops and paramedics and all of them are the real heroes, yeah, I'd gladly look the other way if they wanted to murder somebody or rob a bank, but any game with more candle-lit worshipping-at-the-feet and less fighting and explosions just isn't my idea of fun. Not that they aren't walking gods among us, of course.
Rackless (Sexbox)
The boys at Microsoft are going all out to beat the competition. This game is truly a new frontier, as you're a cosmetic surgeon trying to pump up the chest of a young hottie who just can't attract the boys 'cause of her natural flatlands. Keep adding on inches to turn her from Kate Moss to Jennifer Connelly and watch out you don't snap her spine in half. Success is its own reward!
Ninja Gayed In (PS2)
Wash-out of a game based on that Saturday Night Live gay ninja character that was only funny the first sketch. You play the ninja in sequined black commando gear and can stun enemies with glitter-laden throwing stars or your special move which I'll save you the nausea of describing.
There are foul things afoot, Entertainment Policers. After a little cursory research on the "internet", I've discovered that the Eskimos and the Hawaiian Islanders do in fact share a common ancestor! From everything I can tell, his name is Saul Worthington and he lives in the Bronx. Looks like I'll be giving our Mr. Worthington a little phone call this afternoon to get to the bottom of this. Wish me luck, America!   |
