The King is Back!

Enjoy. This is approved by the Carriers of the Rod. Hov wields the rod well (pause). This type of stuff offsets much of the wrongdoing in the universe, thereby, saving it singlehandedly

Don't go looking for something you'd rather not find

Some people can handle the truth, others can't. We all know this. You can tell some people you got that promotion, while it's best to let others find out on their own. Same thing with females. Now I'm not gonna generalize...much. I actually have a few questions:

1. Why do women feel the need to go thru a man's phone? Do you think you're gonna find an interesting YouTube vid on it? some cool photos? Or do u really wanna read word for word what I planned on doing to some chick right before I came and saw you?

2. Why do women ask questions to which they KNOW well and good they won't like the answers? I'm in my early 20's. I'm in college. Don't be surprised I do rude nigga shit from time to time. See, my problem is that I DO tell the truth. Because I'm a grown man, I choose not to speak about my sex life to any and everybody. If we are not an item, I owe NOTHING to you in that department. Some things are just better left unsaid. I'm not saying walk around like a clueless fuck, but I'm 99% sure you're 100% sure I talk to other women. Isn't that what "single" means anyway? Oh, and that 1% is me thinking there's an off chance you're mentally challenged! Again, I'm not saying we all should have Jedi-like levels of intuition, but I mean, if you know me as well as you do (and you know who you are), get a clue. Use common sense. I tell you everything you need to know, not what I think you need to know, but what I know you need to know. Otherwise, feelings get hurt. Quite frankly, the rest just complicates things. Shit like that could destroy the universe...seriously.

Shining Down On You

Random thoughts on this gloomy Thursday morning:

1. I can't get Lupe's new single "Shining Down" out of my head. The man is a lyrical genius; no if's, and's or maybe's. There's not a more complete rapper out there in terms of lyrical substance, flow, and sheer creativity. Simply put: 98% of the shit he puts out is excellent. He could be on a song with Clay Aiken, and I would stop and listen. The guy even manages to sound cool using the autotune (beginning of verse 2). Add the fact that the version I have doesn't even sound completely finished, and I'm pretty damn excited. My only hope is that half a million people don't end up illegally downloading his next album, which could possibly piss him off enough to make him quit the game early like Barry Sanders. The Lions haven't been the same since...

What's G? Here's the answer.

2. Well, we still have a very long way to go here in America in terms of equal treatment of people. Obama's victory doesn't mean America is suddenly gonna transform into Sesame Street, where minorities and whites live in a color-blind society, and noone thinks it's strange that there's a 9-foot tall talking yellow bird walking around the place holding hands with small children. I remember reading a story a few months back about how some white boys here in the lovely state of Pennsylvania ganged up on a Mexican immigrant named Luis Ramirez and beat him to death. Now yesterday night, I found out that two of the culprits got their punishment: a max of 23 months for both of them.

This is what I don't understand: how in the world does Michael Vick get the same sentence, and a hell of a lot more flak for killing dogs? Not humans. Motherfucking dogs. Now I'm obviously not absolving Vick of all the blame, as what he did was extremely cruel. But hearing how two punks got 6-23 months for a brutal hate crime against a human being just makes me sick. It makes me sick because a good, hardworking young man is dead, his family is grieving, and a bunch of racist pieces of shit are still walking around laughing because they got away with murder. Actually, this seems like deja vu:

Vincent Chin anyone?

RIP

3. Now that I'm 21, I feel like I've finally crossed into a zone from which I can't escape. When I graduated high school at 18, I felt like I was reaching the ends of my childhood. But I knew that there were still 4 years of college ahead of me. When I turned 20, the fact that there was a fucking "2" at the front of my age blew my mind. But I still knew that I couldn't legally drink (but could get myself shot up in Afghanistan of course). Now that I'm finally the big two-one, I know that I'm officially a young adult. I don't feel like an adult, but I guess I'm part of that club now. It's definitely the last cool age to turn...noone gets their friends piss drunk when they turn 50.

4. That leads me to my next point: cherish thy youth! I remember back in high school all I wanted was for it to end so I could start college. And now that I'm about to embark on my senior year of college, do I still think that?

Yes.

But that's because my high school sucked balls...but for the sake of conversation, I think that people should take the days as they come and not wish for the future to come too soon. I know that's throw-up-in-your-mouth cliche, but it stands true. Here's a nice metaphor (or analogy...I still can't tell the difference, can you?): when you're driving in your car in intermittent rain, and you really begin to appreciate how every swipe of the wipers makes your view so much clearer. You then begin to think about how much you take sunny weather and clear visibility for granted. Same thing here: don't take shit for granted.

"white people love the roots"

Da Merciless famously imparted me with some wisdom a few years back. As I was listening to the Roots in my dorm room, I thought I was annoying my next-door neighbors. I'm black, I'm me, so I play my music very loudly. I was aware of the rude ass, near-unhealthy levels of music I was playing, so I decided to turn the volume down a tad. No less than 37 seconds later, I get a knock on the door. It was my fair-skinned friend from next door. Instead of reluctantly telling me to lower the volume and fearing I’d vehemently deny because I’m black, she said, “Can you play that song again? I love the Roots.” I was surprised. Merciless was not. He, being a Philly native, had been exposed to the Roots and their fans far more than I had been up to that point. As my fair-skinned friend walks away, Merciless turns and says, “white people love the Roots,” and it stuck.

Not only is it funny, it’s true.

See evidence below, from the Roots Picnic last weekend. They were going IN!

Here's another for good measure.

I know, I know, black people enjoy them, too.

Clothes kill individuality?...Not

I read a post on my friend’s blog implying fashion is the death of individuality. In my opinion, that is completely and utterly false. As a clothing connoisseur myself, I just could not come to the conclusion his implicit theory was true. If, like he says, a rapper makes a style “pop off”, he believes people who then dress like said rapper, or cultural influence, lack individuality. I partially agree with this statement, but what he fails to realize is such people actually promote individuality.

They present something of interest, which is new, fresh, resulting in an increased awareness about that style. Kanye didn’t set out for kaffiyehs to become popular. Some people love fitting in, others don’t. Some kaffiyeh purchasers thought it would be cool to look like Kanye. Others, presumably those who have a soft spot in their heart for fashion, thought “Wow, this works pretty well with this outfit, etc…”. I.e., they were NOT trying to conform. In fact, they sought to enhance their individual style by implementing this piece into their wardrobes. People on the outside looking in, so to speak, will not understand this. They’ll think “wtf, it’s 74 degrees out and everyone is wearing a scarf.” In addition, fashion is art, like it or not. You go into a store to buy pieces, and depending on how they look, how they’re worn, people want to buy them and have their own, similar to any other piece of visual art, like a painting.

As with modern fashion, there were movements in other art forms. During the Spanish Golden Age in the 16^th century, most painters drew naked figures, as opposed to clothed ones with no shape, little humanity. Sure, there were a lot of naked Spaniards on people’s walls at that time, but not for lack of individuality. If you ask me, their individuality is paralleled with this notion of fashion because they, and we, want(ed) to express ourselves as best we could, given the medium. It’s important to note that people can only operate in what is possible. If perspective hadn’t been introduced, we wouldn’t see beautiful landscapes and realistically imposing structures made on oil and canvas we still see today. Similar to that, increasing the exposure of a type of clothing only increases the possibility that it will be worn well and refined by the fashionistas, some of the great thinkers of today. Avant-garde, bitches.

Workout with Big Workout

Just about everyone at some point in their lives has had a hobby: something they enjoy doing on a regular basis on their own accord. Some people like to read thought-provoking novels. Others like to paint water-colors of magnificent landscapes or take photographs of those magnificent landscapes. Also, a good number of individuals like to harness their creative potentials by playing various types of musical instruments.


Me? I just like lifting heavy objects up and then putting them back down (repeating as necessary).


Because of this exciting hobby of mine, I've had the opportunity to become quite acquainted with my favorite Penn facility of all time (besides DRL and Hillel of course): the David Pottruck Health and Fitness Center. Like all college spots, Pottruck (or as me and Sid call it: "The Gym") has its cast of characters. Over the past three years, we've managed to pick out a core group of fellow gym-goers who lift during the same times we do. We've even given several of them pet names just because we love them so. The following is a list I've compiled stereotyping the lifters I've observed during my time at Penn. Not everyone fits into one category, and many people span several. I just hope you're not both a "Gorilla" and a "Bomber" because I can't even begin to fathom what that would smell like.

1. The Bum

He is easy to spot because he is the only one working out in whatever he wore to class/work that day (polo T, Vato shirt, jeans, sandals, crocs...whatever!). 99.9998% of the time you can find him solely on the pec dec and bicep curl machines using weights your grandma could lift with her pinky toe, giving the impression that he probably doesn't know what the hell he's doing.


2. The Gorilla

No in-depth explanation needed for this one. He is usually the first person you spot when you enter the weight room because you just can't help but stare at his physique. However, your gaze is not out of envy but is rather triggered by sudden feelings of disgust and horror. With arms so grossly oversized compared to the rest of his body, veins which look like they are screaming for mercy, and a non-existent neck due to his comically-bulging traps, you suddenly realize that he's the kind of guy who buys all the weird shit they keep in the very back of GNC.


How about some SUPER MASS GAINER to help you gain weight without eating all that pesky real food?




Or if that's not your thing, how about some MONSTER MILK: Made from the breast milk of actual Himalayan Yetis.



3. Deadpool

Unlike the Marvel character of the same name, this guy is real...and deadly. Abnormally active exocrine activity in his body results in the "dead pools" of sweat he leaves behind on every bench he uses, leaving the poor bastard up next to clean up. He doesn't even have to use it for very long before a nice puddle accumulates under his head. It would also be wise to avoid being downwind of him at all times.


4. The Celeb

Seeing Jim Jones and Ron Artest look-a-likes walking around the gym really brightened up my days for some reason.

CUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRLINNNNNGGGG!

5. The Pick-up Artist

Another gym staple is the Pick-up Artist. This guy doesn't play any games. You immediately figure out the only reason why he lifts just by recognizing the fact that he resembles an ostrich: huge upper body....and teeny weeny chicken legs. His physique is scientifically tailored to stretch out tight T-shirts he wears to the bar to impress the ladies. But really, who can blame him? I've yet to see a drunk girl ask to feel a dude's quads. You can also find him at home doing push-ups to get a pump before heading to the bar.


6. The Ninja Warrior

This guy obviously isn't lifting for the same reasons the rest of us mortals are. While most college-age males lift to stay in shape and/or to get girls' attention, this motherfucker is preparing for the rise of the machines. While the rest of us bench press, pull-up, squat, and curl, the Ninja Warrior is following some esoteric-ass training program passed down from generation to generation (or just some crazy shit he looked up online). He must also really want to keep his body guessing because I have yet to see him do the same routine twice.

True Ninja Warrior


7. The Chick?

There are some young ladies who pop into the weight room from time to time. They usually do abs and very light dumbbell work, but it's all good. I am always grateful for any extra motivation. However, there is also one girl who pops in and does some decent weight. I even saw her do standing military presses with around 90 pounds. While I think that she's just a big woman with a strong chin, Sid insists that all that power is caused by a sex hormone that doesn't start with the letters "E" or "P"...


8. The Bomber

I understand that sometimes you just have to let one rip, but right as I'm walking by? While I'm carrying weights? Seriously?

Women, you can't live with 'em...

I hate when women get angry at you just to see how you’re gonna react. Over my illustrious career of women-chasing, I’ve noticed some women just try their best to give their man (men) what I would characterize as bitch tests.

No, this is not bitch in the sense of a female dog or a female, even. This is bitch as in pussy, if you will. Anyway, such examinations usually occur when the woman (some women get mad when I call them females, or women for that matter—I think ladies is the middle ground) feels insecure about herself and/ or her man and/ or the relationship as a whole.

Exhibit A: a woman and I got into a WWF (Mean Girls)-style shouting match. What the argument was about is irrelevant, but the aftermath is important. After a few days of not talking (daily phone conversations were common before our Wrestlemania fight), my phone rings. “So you don’t care about me anymore?” I didn’t even get a “hello.” She jumped right into it. Such things occur on tests, as the examiner tries to throw you off guard with some questions you didn’t even get to yet. Anyway, I responded plainly that I did, and that I was just annoyed by her at the moment and didn’t feel like talking. “so u just don’t care?” “I do” “no, you don’t” “I DO! LEAVE ME THE EFF ALONE YOU’RE EFFING ANNOYING!”

Now, there’s a difference between caring and giving an eff. Caring includes cognisance that the woman is alive, a genuine interest in her well-being and safety.

Yes, you read the text correctly. I do NOT miss you.

Giving a eff would require the man to acquiesce in a situation like above and say something just to make her smile, like “I’m sorry baby, I’ve just been tremendously stressed out from (work, school, eating babies, etc…)” instead of the reaction in all caps above. As far as tests go, I passed this one with flying colors. She, on the other hand, just couldn’t understand my handwriting.