I shot a good bit of this... no credit though.

I have heard tell that Werner Herzog stood up and shouted "masterpiece" at a screening of this in Germany. It was one of the most surreal experiences I have ever had. Meth, religion, and pro-wrestlers turned preachers.

Thank you RZA or Bobby or, uh, just thanks.

Why?

Why doesn't anyway besides Bob Lefsetz, Seth Godin, and Barack Obama email me? i mean sure they are very nice and famous and I do feel quite special, but I am not sure they are my real friends.

C-Martin & J- HOVA

I don't know how this stuff happens. Are they just in the ultrabackstage at Glastonbury and J is like, "Yo C. Let me lace one of your tracks!" and Chris Martin is all like, "Why thank you Jay, Old Chap. I must say that would be most delightful." Or do managers call one another and have talks about reaching new demographics? I really hope that it's the first scenario (but I doubt it).

You ask if I am a whore?

and this is my only answer.



sorry Mom.

I believe that children are our Future

Stand behind them, let them lead the way.

Uh, drool...

You say "Crappie", I say "Crappie."

This is my boss. He took me fishing out on the Caney Fork last Saturday night. He was in a hell of a mood at first cause his wife had been chewing his ass cause she wanted him to stay home and not go fishing cause their daughter was in labor. Hell Nah. He already missed the ACC football game of the day. Randy just flat told his Old Lady he was fishing. We really need to get back to The Time When Men Were Men.

Diplo Fertilizes M.I.A!

M.I.A. claims the project to have a been a collaboration.

Santogold none to happy!

Sometimes I am glad I don't have a car to drive to work.

Normally, I'm not much of a fan of Friday mornings. Most often they're Thursday night's awkward, fuzzy-headed curtain call. But this Friday morning was a different affair.

I'd just hung up the phone with a good friend of mine. And Like most mornings, I proceeded to peddle my bike across the Shelby Street Pedestrian Bridge. As I reached the part where the going up starts to go down, a man without either a home or a shirt stood, looking down toward the water. The tattooed head of a black panther screeched on his chest.

"Morning." I said.

"How high you think it is?" he asked.

"What?"

He asked again.

I touched the brakes and slowed a bit and responded, "I don't know man-- 70, 80 feet. Pretty high."

"I can do it," The Panther spat back confidently.

I pulled hard on both brakes and whipped the bike around. "You can do what?"

"Jump it." said The Panther.

"Yeah, you could but you'd die."

"Maybe... I could do it."

"Nah man. You'll die"

"I could make it."

"OK," I said.

"You smoke?" The Panther asked.

"Nah man."

"Fuck!"

"Don't do it man. I mean you could... that's your thing, but you'll die."

He just stood looking out over the water.

"I mean if you don't die, that shit'll hurt."

"Yeah." He thought for a few seconds and I stood straddling my bike looking at him. "Maybe I'll base jump it. I base jumped a 90 foot rock once. Shoot opened so hard, I ripped my asshole." With both hands he gestured toward his grundel reminding himself of the harness.

"You ripped your asshole?" I queried.

"Yeah, and my pants"

"Damn."

"Yeah man. I wish you had a cigarette. You don't smoke"

I shook my head.

"If you can do 90 I bet you can do 70. I'm gonna wait till the Titans are playing really good and walk out here. Light a cigarette and throw my shoot. And swim over there and drink a Bud Light on that dock," The Panther mused.

"Well, I mean they are 5-0. That's pretty good. I don't think they have ever started this good," I said. He looked back at me, so I carried on. "You'll be on TV. Probably nationally, maybe Sports Center."

"Yeah, I'll wait. You have a good one brother." The Panther looked out over the Cumberland with a fire in his eye.

"You too man."

I couldn't say that I talked him down from the bridge. Cause either way it would have made for a good story. And there's a part of me that'd like to know what a grown man hitting water after jumping such a long way would look like and sound like, and he probably wouldn't have died-- it's not that tall. It was the way he went about it. He didn't seem particularly sad or hopeless or forlorn, he just seemed like he didn't have anything better or more interesting to do today than jump from a bridge.

Scoring a parachute for an NFL game day proved the trump card and might have made life seem like there was something down the road worth planning for. I hope The Panther finds his parachute.

This is how you know you are baller

LV brief case stackin' hunnies and Ice Sculptures poppin' hunnies.

Weezy is 26.

I think i made $8K the entire 26th year of my life.

Marc Hogan's Favorite Recording This Year!

Words for Today

There is a Presidential Debate going on today. The general apathy around here proves that last Saturday's ESPN's College Game Day (which I fully expect is CIA funded- I mean they did it with abstract expressionism) was a much bigger affair.

And maybe there's a kernel of some answer, some hope in these words from a failed soldier and house-painter from Mississippi.

Our tragedy today is a general and universal physical fear so long sustained by now that we can even bear it. There are no longer problems of the spirit. There is only the question: When will I be blown up? Because of this, the young man or woman writing today has forgotten the problems of the human heart in conflict with itself which alone can make good writing because only that is worth writing about, worth the agony and the sweat.

You want THIS guy to be your president?