This is the blog entry.

This is the second paragraph. It’s usually where you bite off of an idea of a more polished and talented writer/blogger, in this case Dan the Goose.

Here is where you suck all over the dancefloor.



And HERE is where you talk about the clippers. But yikes you don’t even know whutsup with the clips, except that they lost last night. And the night before that. What they didn’t even play that night? Trust me, they still lost. A piece of their soul.

This is usually the part of the sector wherein words are strung together to supposedly bring some kind of emotional reaction out of the reader. Mention butterflies and apple pie and you should be cool. Actually in this era of everyone secretly hating the government but afraid of the coming McCarthyism better words are probably peace, turban, and existential. That should get a rise out of people. Which will generate….

Comments. Lots of people love em, hate em, ignore em, use em, relish them, mustard them, it’s a whole 70 yards of parameters on it. Do what you will. They’re a click away. And I know it’s stupid that they say “shout out.” Anti told me how to fix that but a brutha ain’t got around to it yet. Sue me.

Theeeeiiiss is usually the area where I cop out of actual writing by either busting my failed ebonics or getting all “gangsta” up in the hizzle. Probably your best bet to skip this paragraph write on down to…

The end. This is the bit where you think to yourself all the more entertaining things you could have done with your life in that period of between 3 seconds to 2 hours, depending on your reading ability, attention level, degree of activity with other diversions, and combination of all of the above. Common reaction is to throw a rope over the doorstop and shoot the horse out from under you. This is a gut reaction and should not be followed through on. Help is on the way, and they’ve got good happy pills that will make everything ok.

Ode on a boston whaler

By og ratbone Johnson

In honor of che guevera, fighting for what’s real, I feel ya Nas.

Whatever che Guevara did, I bet it was important. Something about freeing people from some kind of oppression, ala MLK Jr. and El Sabbiq Shabbazz and Ghandhi. And Abraham Lincoln. And Harriet Tubman. And Beecher Stowe. And Elliot Ness. Wait, Elliot Ness was a big time gangster, not a freedom fighter. But he did free bullets from his gun and take down a lot of gangsters that tried to fuk with him. He would spray that tommy-gun like it was a hose and his backyard was full of dastardly dandelions.

Poison. Some things are poison, right nasty? Nastradamus second verse on the third version. The renewed edition of the first time.

Stillmatic.

I was reading something somewhere in a magazine yesterday that it's in the top ten of that guy from the 70’s show that’s like the fro-haired mutton chop dude that likes the red head chick – ya know which one? Anyway that’s one of his top-10 albums of all time for him to spin on his turntables, cuz he’s like a mr. Dj dude fully and completely.

What comes up must come down.



Dorky magorky, just bitin lines off of Nas. Like he ain’t gonna catch you. He’s got eyes in the back of his head playa, even though pac dissed him I think pac respected nas. Pac talked shit about everybody in nyc, even if your name was Tabasco McLakentire. That’s just the way it was back then. That’s just the way it might always be if certain things that are destined foresee themselves to manifest.