I'm Famouser than You Are

Sit down eat your slice of pizza and be quiet

2007-10-09T08:03:00.000-05:00

Lately, it seems that there has been a lot of complaining on the My 2 Cents forum. People bitching and moaning about whatever the fuck people on message boards bitch and moan about, mostly shit that was cool to them when they were in their formative years, that kids that who are currently in their formative years could give a fuck about, thus leaving this older group all butt hurt about it. I understand it, and I don’t really want to go off on a rant about it because, let’s face it, that’s just boring and annoying.

I prefer to live in the now. The past is the past, it was fresh no doubt, but let’s not forget that there was a lot of stupid shit back then that conveniently gets overlooked. I mean come on now, why would the library be used as a tool of the government to bury the lies? Doesn’t it make more sense for the lies to be right up front with the new periodicals and new fiction as opposed to buried in the basement next to dead languages where nobody can be exposed to them?

That’s the kinda shit I'm talking about. People getting all worked up over some song by a sixteen year-old kid about a dance he does when wearing an over-sized shirt, yet they never talk about how 'The Pee-Wee Herman” is an ode to a creepy pedophile who hangs around with a goddamned cowboy with Jheri Curl…no Morpheus.

I don’t know, maybe it's just me. I might be getting old and seeing things with a bit more perspective, but I really could careless if Lupe ever heard Midnight Marauders or not. It makes not one lick of difference in my life. So the sort of over-the-top outrage bandied on message boards is ridiculous, and it should be saved for things that really matter and affect the lives of people. Things like whether or not Pharrell dresses like a homo.

Granted, I know that message boards are a place for hot windbag know-it-alls to wax nostalgic about why Kool G Rap is better than Kanye, or why the next Lox album is gonna save the game, but isn’t it kinda pathetic to get so worked up that you actually out yourself by calling everyone who disagrees a faggot, I mean we all know the most homophobic people are usually the most gay, just ask the Christian Right.

Personally I love all the new shit that’s coming out. It's getting away from the golden age ideal, that has been damn near canonized and just inspires bland copies of great albums. I would much rather hear some new-sounding shit that is taking the music to a new level and gets young women ready to disrobe, as opposed to being in a room full of thirty-four year-old men who still really like smoking blunts, drinking cheap beer and talking about the second Gang Starr record. Christ, I already do that for a living, why would I want to do that in my free time?

I guess what I'm getting at is that you guys are making me look bad. I am having a harder and harder time defending my position of fourth most famous rapper on a page where grown men cry like Mets fans because someone they don’t know or really like has the audacity to say something like “I never really liked Tupac and thought he was an overrated fraud,” or “people who still dress in oversized gear are like metal heads who still have mullets, thus deserving of our mockery.” You should leave things like that to me. See how much easier it goes down when I write my opinion, and it’s not coming from someone with thinks spoken word is the eighth element of hip-hop.

Anyway that’s all for today, next week I will have a very special guest feature. Until then, fuck off.

The Fatty Top 10

2007-09-26T13:46:00.000-05:00

So I just got back from lunch with Reggie, we hit this new BBQ joint on 26^th b/t Broadway and 6^th called Hill County or some shit like that. The food was killer. I went there a few weeks ago with Wind and our friend Sean who has been working with us for the past week and a half filming a bunch of shit we need filmed for the album. This all has nothing to do with the blog I am about to write other than the food part. Today I get emails from both Reggie and Dr. Gloss telling me to get a new blog done and since I’m kinda not into the whole I’m famouser than you thing this week I decided to go a different route. It came to me while Reggie and I, to admitted fat boys, and were chowing down on some good brisket and fixins. Today I am going to give you my top ten food recommendations for fatties:

10. Toasted Marshmallows – I know many of you live in the city or in apartments with no access to an open fire or grill to toast marshmallows on. But fear not my fellow fatties, I have found a sure fire way to make all your toasted marshmallow fantasies come true. Use your stove. That’s right. Your stove top, especially if its gas is a perfect alternative to the tyranny of outdoor fire. You are in control of you marshmallow toasting and can do it anytime of day or night. I know I have certainly had toasted marshmallow and Capt. Crunch for breakfast.

9. Boboli Pizza – I used to be a diehard supporter of the tombstone and d’giorno frozen pizza families, but lately I have switched to the Boboli. It is a delicious alternative to the frozen pizza’s that line your frozen food isle, for starters it gives you the illusion that it is some how more healthy because you are making it yourself. However once you put a full packet of sauce, some grated cheese and pepperoni on it, you are killing yourself just ass fast as if you ate the frozen one. I suggest putting toasted marshmallows on top.

8. Kennedy’s Fried Chicken – honestly I don’t partake in Kennedy’s that often, but when I do its usually because nothing else is open. I always forget how good it is too. The great thing about Kennedy’s is that you go in reluctantly and end up walking out with $20 worth of fried foods, everything from popcorn chicken to pizza rolls

7. Atomic Wings – I know every city has the wing spot that fatties across the city swear by. That place for me is atomic wings. Atomic wings are located at about 5 different bars across the city. If you are lucky you plan your wing eating events around great nights like $1 draft of $4 pitcher nights. I recommend the extra crispy. There is just something gross about chewy chicken.

6. Caesar Salad – Sorry health nuts, there is nothing healthy about a salad that has creamy dressing, croutons, some sort of meat, and cheese. Delicious, yes; healthy, no.

5. Any restaurant that bases its menu on southern cooking, whether it’s BBQ, Cajun, Creole, Cracker Barrel or whatever. The thing is this, where do most fat people live? Correct, the south, which means the food’s delicious and anything but nutritious. In addition to the BBQ place mentioned earlier, Dukes, Acme Underground and any Cracker Barrel or Bob Evans should do the trick. If you want you pants to include an elastic waistband I suggest you get your asses down there.

4. Pizza Rolls – I haven’t had them in a while but I used to fuck with the Tino’s Pizza rolls something serious back in the day. Especially on Sunday, I remember watching many a Jets game and cooking a gang of these bastards at half time for a delicious second half treat. Added bonus – wicked gas and killer heartburn

3. Friendly’s – Seriously what other restaurant do you know of that you know nothing on the regular menu but everything on the ice cream menu.

2. Waffle House – perhaps the greasiest places in America, I would say that its always a problem with the cholesterol level is higher than the collective IQ of the staff but in this case I wouldn’t say so much for that, since most people under the hire of Waffle House make the banjo boy in Deliverance look like a Rhode Scholar.

1. Bacon Sandwiches – now I know some of you might be disgusted but don’t knock it till you try it. It’s really quite delicious. I haven’t had one in well over ten years but I do remember the days of coming home drunk, cooking up about 8 slices of bacon, toasting an English muffin and making a delicious sandwich. Sure it probably took years off my life but so did smoking and I don’t see anyone saying that’s bad for you.

So there you have it. The top ten fatty delicacies according to me, the 4^th most famous rapper on philaflava.com. Enjoy and remember to keep it heart smart, whatever the fuck that means.

Just got back from paradise

2007-09-06T13:54:00.000-05:00

Well, well, what do you know? It’s been maddddd long since my last entry. Since my router is bugging and I can no longer lurk or read about your collective hate for Kanye, I decided its time for a new blog so you can live vicariously through me.

I guess there is a lot to cover, and since I don’t feel like covering it I will instead give you a list of my random thoughts. You can consider this the new version of The Secret, since it will enlighten you with the secrets to my success which in all probability you will never achieve and it will end up in Oprah’s book club.

For starters, you all know I was part of the first ever Rock the Bells/Paid Dues tour. It was amazing, basically like rap summer camp. Hung out with a lot of friends on tour buses, driving around the country drinking, smoking, and fornicating. Jealous? You should be. It was just like you imagine those early Van Halen tours were except without the massive coke consumption, fake titties, and spandex. So really it wasn’t like that at all. The tour was just great.

I just got back from vacation in Playa del Carmen, Mexico. It was really quite fresh. Pretty much like a Corona commercial, if Corona commercials were filmed after a twelve-pack.

I got a link to the new Kanye album—yeah, I’m that important. It’s pretty good, but not as good as the last record, which might be one of the ten best hip-hop albums since ’95. But it’s still damned good. That’s all, no snarky comments or jokes

9/11 is coming up, when does that become a national holiday? I really can’t wait so the 9/11 Truth movement people can complain on message boards and in Union Square Park. It’s really some of the best free entertainment the city has to offer. They might even knock the angry Black Hebrew Israelites out of the top spot.

Did you hear of a staunch conservative in Congress that might be gay? Shocking, right?

I don’t know if I ever mentioned it, but Reggie looks just like Rog from What’s Happening? if Rog was fat and white.

Between being on tour and on vacation, I have no idea what’s going on in the world anymore. That being said I’m done with this blog. Sorry it’s so short, but I have to shit, and as you know when I shit, I shit gold. It’s one of the things they teach you how to do when you are famous. Just ask David Letterman.

Oh yeah Hangar 18 Sweep the Leg is coming October 23. My early prediction: quadruple diamond. That’s right, forty million copies sold.

"I don't mean to bust your shit up"

2007-07-25T10:28:00.000-05:00

“I don’t mean to bust up your shit,” were the first words of the last conversation I would have with Johnny Conspiracy Nut tonight. It all started when I walked into a bar in our producer paWL’s Brooklyn neighborhood around 10:30 Sunday night. We had just finished mastering our new album, and decided to celebrate with a few beers and relish in the glow of a job well done.

The night before we were in our engineer Fred’s South Bronx studio until about 4:30 AM, putting the final touches on the record for the next day’s mastering. I ended up going back to Wind’s place to crash because the fifteen-minute car ride to his house sounded much better than the inevitable three-hour train ride to Brooklyn from the BX, which was way too much to deal with on a belly full of beer and a head full of trees.

Since I had no plans of staying at Wind’s place, I didn’t have a change of clothes. In an effort to seem somewhat clean, I took a Hangar 18 shirt out of our merch bin to wear for the day. I usually don’t wear our shirts unless I haven’t done laundry or I’m just chilling at the cribbo. It comes off kinda tacky and attention whoreish when one wears one’s own band shirt. It would be like Michael Vick wearing a Ron Mexico jersey to a dog fight on his Virginia property.

I get to the bar to order a round and I hear someone yell across the bar from a dark corner “Whatchu know about Hangar 18?” so I walked over to see what this dude was talking about or if it was someone I knew. It wasn’t anyone familiar, it was some lonely guy scribbling in his notebook asking me if I knew about Hangar 18, which of course I did. I told him, “They were the greatest hip-hop group ever,” to which he responded “Hip-hop group? I might have to report this.” He seemed normal, but I guess his tin foil hat was at the cleaners.

I walked away and went over to our table to drink some beers, talk about women from other tables’ titties, and just relax. Unfortunately, Mel Gibson had other plans. He came to the table with a little scrap of paper and asked me to write down a website for Hangar 18, so I gave him the url to out myspace page and figured that was it. He then handed me a scrap of paper that had three names on it and told me “If you know Hangar 18, you should know these guys.” The list included notorious nut jobs Paul Craig Roberts, Alex Jones, and Thom Hartman. I had no idea they were fans. Being that I am polite, I thanked him and then turned my attention back to the conversation.

About twenty minutes later, he came back to the table and informed us that he didn’t mean to be a dick but was wondering if we were in Hangar 18. paWL informed him that only I was, and the guy asked for my e-mail. I notified him that he would have a better chance of sitting with Dick Cheney and discussing U.S. policy towards torturing the Greys, and once again turned my attentions to the conversation at hand, which I believe this time was about some chick in the bar’s tits.

Guess what happened twenty minutes later, on his way to the bathroom dude slips me another piece of paper with “FEMA prison camps” written on it and walked away. At this point, it became as funny as it was gay. paWL suggested blogging about it so I decided to save the papers and told the fellas about this girl sitting by the bathroom that had great tits.

Right after wind got caught pointing out a set of great tits on the woman sitting behind us, this dude comes back and sits at the table next to us and proclaims “I don’t mean to bust up your shit, but if you’re in a hip hop group called Hangar 18, you need to read this,” and tried to hand me his notebook which was filled with what looked like a child’s hand-writing. At this point I had to tell him to fuck off, I declined reading his chicken scratch and told him “We are named after a Megadeth song.”
“Do you know about the FEMA prison camps?” he replied.
“No, I don’t. There are things I know about, things I don’t, and things I could give a fuck about,” I informed him.
He was convinced he could turn me. “Well it’s all around us, man,”
“Yeah, well,” I shrugged, and gave him the “you’re about to get fucked up” look.

I think the last part broke his heart, because the look of crazy that was so dominate in his eyes changed to one of utter disappointment and sadness. I can relate to that, because it really does suck when your rap heroes disappoint you. He left the bar with a shattered heart, but I hope even more resolve to spread the word of raving fringe lunatics.

See how lucky you are that you don’t have to deal with this bullshit? Why do you think us famous types like to go to places that refuse to let in common, every day roustabouts like you, my loyal readers.Until next time, remember: I’m better than you.

2007-07-10T15:48:00.000-05:00

Well, well, well. It’s been a while since I have blessed you bastards with my wit and wisdom, and I do apologize for that, but one cannot force greatness--and I refuse to deliver a sub-par piece of crap like my name was Reggie to you, my beloved minions. That was one hell of a run on sentence, but hey I shit greatness and everything I write is golden. Don’t try to bog me down with your rules.

So anyway, today I feel the inspiration. I have written the last verse for our new album Sweep the Leg coming out this Fall on Definitive Jux Records, and now I have time to channel my creative juices into the warm moist vag I call “I’m Famouser.” That being said, expect a flurry of activity in the coming weeks or, at the very least, one or two blogs.

Right now I’m going to supply a quick-fix with a top ten list. Future blogs will include a post tour wrap-up, a review of the new Hangar 18 record written by yours truly, and a forward for the book I just learned that Mindbender was writing. So exciting things are afoot and I think we are gonna have our best two-week run yet.

Let’s get right to it. The new top ten list is: Ten People I Hate and Why

10. Tyra Banks – I have never actually liked her. I always found her personality grating and in the words of RZA, “Tyra’s forehead big.” Don’t get me wrong, she is pretty fly. No question about that. But when I’m looking for a self-righteous ex-supermodel, I like mine in the form of Kimora Lee.

9. Jack from Lost – Have you ever noticed that he is always out of breath? Seriously, watch the show and you will see. On top of that, he is really kind of a douche bag. They could kill him off, and nobody would get in trouble. Just give him some blunt head trauma and cart him to the woods. People might say, “Well he’s the only doctor on the island,” So what? The only people who get sick are the annoying Australian girl (who we can all do without) and Hurley’s impending heart attack--and unless Jack can perform a triple bypass with a coconut and some vines, Hurley is fucked. I don’t think Jack is remotely as talented as the professor from Gilligan’s Island. Speaking of which, do you think we can get an episode where the Harlem Globetrotters land on the island and play robots in a game of hoops? Are the Globetrotters even relevant anymore? I guess we can send the AND1 all-stars, its not like they have a lot of time left in their careers anyway.

8. Anyone who likes and/or cries about shit like Transformers – Why? ‘Cause you’re fucking nerds.

7. Reggie – Let’s face it: his whole steez was a lot cooler when it was done by Kevin Smith.

6. Casper Van Deen –I expected big things from him after Starship Troopers. You let me down, Casper. Come to think about it, most things with “Van” in their name have let me down, with the exception of Van Full of Pakistans.

5. William Jefferson Clinton – I mean Christ, he has been out of office for almost seven years, he should just dump his wife and get into some young fresh pussy. But no, he has been shamed into playing the regretful husband by the liberal Jew-run media. He should grow a pair and dump that mannish, mannish woman

4. Cybil Sheppard – I will never forgive her for pushing Bruce Willis to leave Moonlighting, thus destroying the greatest show ever born from the evil bastard vag of television.

3. Jason Gloss – For all his little quips about my blog not being updated in over six weeks, and making me feel bad about the seventeen hours a day of amateur porn I have been watching since I got back from the road. I mean really. He isn’t even really from Phila or from Flava.

2. Mindbender Futurama – For creating the RZA/Bobby Digital-esque alter ego, Conspiracy. He may have even topped the whole Garth Brooks/Chris Gaines fictional rocker thing. The man just keeps innovating and I hate him for it.

1. Myself – For even caring.

In closing I’m happy to be back and I will be hitting you with a lot of new material that will give you a glimpse into the life of someone you look up to, envy and secretly want to sleep with…no homo.

Mail Bag - No Homo

2007-04-25T11:38:00.000-05:00

Well, good people of Philaflava, I have finally answered your questions. Sorry it took some time to get around to, but I have been in the studio finishing our new album, which for the record is called The Gods Must Be Crazy.

I embarked on this question/answer exercise with high hopes. But guess what? With the exception of of Drizzle you have all let me down. Your questions ranged from gay to stupid, and back to gay again. I answered them out of obligation. Next time we do this, I am gonna bring in a panel of experts, so fuck you guys and your non-famous gayness.Love,Alaska.

What’s the difference between hifphfop and raphf? - citizen, Cincinnati, OH

According to my extensive research into the field of hiffop and raphf, I have uncovered a few disturbing trends. The first is that hiffop is actually only different from raphf in that the people that claim ownership of it are actually mildly retarded. The second is that raphf and hiffop are actually intentionally misspelled in order to 'flip' words like beats or records, and you damn sure wouldn’t clown someone for doing that and risk being labeled an industry whore.

2. When you get on the mic, do you drop KNOWLEDGE, or drop SCIENCE? - machine, Parts Unknown

Neither. Those terms went out of vogue in the 90's along with claiming rap or hip-hop. With the current status of hip-hop in the mainstream and the dumbing-down of the art form, the appropriate term would be “dropping shop,” either wood shop or metal shop. The important thing is to limit your aspirations early in life so your future failures wont be too traumatic. I also use this term when I have to take a shit.3.

Would you rather give me your bitch than let me breathe on your last hit of indo smoke? - Gurped Out, Gurp City, USA

You can breath on my last hit of indo smoke, since I don’t smoke indo. Thanks for playing

4. What is the meaning of death? What is the reason for life? What is the meaning and reason of RAP?! Why doesn't anyone want to jail R. Kelly? Will Ice-T ever be scary again when he raps? What is "the underground" of hip-hop culture and why is "the underground" so in 2007? How did you get to be so awesome and can you sell your awesomeness in microwave-able single person packets, and sell them at Wal-Mart? Rap is spiraling out of control. Everyone has “Flyentology” and the pilots are dead cause some terrorist named ACTHEPD took over the Hiffop! Soul Plane and suicide bombed himself into Rakim Allah's Heaven (he was denied access, FYI.). Anyhoo, we're all on the plane, about to die in flames. WWJDD? (What Would J. Dilla Do?) - Mindbender, The Future

:killa: :darrylstrawberry: :seagraves in a truck:5.

Screw, Marry, Kill? Your options are: Lisa Bonet, Jennifer Love Hewitt, and Salma Hayek. – ardamus, Washington, DC

Screw: Salma Hayek. She is fine as fuck, killer body, beautiful face. However, she seems like she might be a little overbearing, and I really don’t like Penelope Cruz; since they are best friends, I would have to chill with her a lot and that would suck.
Marry: Lisa Bonet. Still hot, a little crazy, a touch earthy. You know she will want to have tons of sex, and probably really yank it off. Plus she will take good care of me and make sure my chi is balanced and all that good shit that I’m not good at doing myself.
Kill: Jennifer Love Hewitt. Let’s be honest, she is hot as fuck. She’s got a killer rack, but she’s a bit too churchy and nice for my tastes. I get the feeling that she isn’t really into sex and probably way to into spending time with her family. That’s not a good mix. She is the human embodiment of the dick tease. She might as well be a dude.

6. I think the first question for any famous person is how much $$ it would take for you to pose nude?Also, if you were a tree, what kind of tree would you be? - drizzle, Building Hurting Bombs

It would cost $17.50 to get me to pose nude. I accept PayPal. As for the tree, I would be a learning tree.

7. If you are friends with Reggie. and he's a HLB, then what’s HLB status in comparison to a famous rapper like yourself? - Orale Holmes, Beat Kid

HLB status in comparison to being a famous rapper like me…that’s a tough one. I would have to say it is like Deion Sanders and that song “All About the Money.” It’s borderline gay, just like Reggie.

8. If you had to fuck an animal, which one would it be and why? - random sample, Pittsburgh, PA

A lemur because, from my experience with animals, the lemur's vagina feels most like the vagina of a woman.

9. Which of the ladies on The View do you identify with the most? - drizzle, Buildin’ Hurtin’ Bombs

Rosie O'Donnell, because we both have struggled with our weight and enjoy eating box.

10. Who would win: Masked Terror vs. the Bushwackas? - Event, New Jersey

Masked Terror would win, but only with the help of their manager Jim Corenet.

11. Can I borrow five dollars? - dudley dawson, Parts Unknown

No, but you can earn five dollars, along with the respect and admiration of your fellow citizens.

12. Are you Will Ferrell? If not, why? - Phat Anorexic, Anorexia, CA

I am not. Because I am Will Forte.

So there you have it, all of your stupid questions answered. Now in other I’m famouser related news, my group Hangar 18 is about to hit the road for a month and a half with our labelmate El-P, Yak Ballz and Slow Suicide Stimulus. I will be suspending the whole im better because I’m Famouser routine to bring you running tour blog I hope to update at least twice a week. I’m sure it will be filled with stories similar to the ones in these blogs because believe it or not they are all true. Anyway here are the upcoming dates hopefully we will see some of you there and if you do make it out say what’s up to the god and lets have a drink.

Peace,
Alaska

Upcoming Dates

05/01/07 Cambridge, MA Middle East
05/02/07 Montreal, QC Le National
05/03/07 Toronto, ON The Opera House
05/04/07 Cleveland, OH Beachland Ballroom
05/05/07 Columbus, OH Little Brothers
05/06/07 Detroit, MI Magic Stick
05/07/07 Cincinnati, OH Top Cats
05/08/07 Chicago, IL Abbey Pub
05/10/07 Lawrence, KS Granada
05/11/07 Denver, CO Bluebird Theater
05/12/07 Salt Lake City, UT The Depot
05/14/07 Seattle, WA Neumos
05/15/07 Vancouver, BC Plaza Club
05/16/07 Portland, OR Wonder Ballroom
05/18/07 San Fransisco, Ca Great American Music Hall
05/23/07 Tempe, AZ The Clubhouse
05/24/07 Albuquerque, NM Sunshine Theatre
05/27/07 Austin, TX Emos
05/28/07 Houston, TX Numbers Night Club
05/30/07 New Orleans, LA The Parish House of Blues
06/01/07 Orlando, FL The Social
06/02/07 Common Grounds Gainsville, FL
06/03/07 Ybor City, FL Orpheum
06/04/07 Atlanta, GA Lennys Bar and Grill
06/06/07 Ashville, NC Stella Blue
06/07/07 Carrboro, NC Cats Cradle
06/08/07 Washington, DC The 9:30 Club
06/09/07 New York, NY Irving Plaza

Weekend at Bernie’s 3: My Raptastic Weekend

2007-04-04T10:52:00.000-05:00

Hey Philaflavas and Philaflavettes, it’ good to be back amongst the people I consider myself to be better than. I hope all is well in your tiny world because everything is roses over here.

I have been hearing a lot of guff about not posting as of late, and how I am letting my fans down. For that, I do apologize, and I will try to post up more consistently. However you need to know that banging wannabe actresses and ciphering take up a lot of time. Not to mention my newfound heroin addiction…but that’s another story for another time.

Today we are gonna discuss three days of raptastic fun I had last week, or as my new friend Charlie Chan called it, “the tour that wasn’t.” We rocked three shows over three days on two coasts. Why? Because we can and because we’re hot (I just now understood this MIMS fellow).

Without further ado, here is the running diary of that weekend:

Thursday March 22, 2007
Bowery Ballroom NYC
EL P’s I’ll Sleep When You’re Dead album release party

6:00 PM – Showed up for sound check on a rainy afternoon
8:00 PM – Checked the lines

8:30 PM – Doors open. Wind, Bobby Sonz, myself, our new DJ Ktel and a few other friends head out to get some food before the night starts. We decided on one of NYC’s most exclusive eateries, Ray’s Pizzeria on Houston St. I went with the square slice; it was magnificent. After eating and shooting the shit, we realized we needed to head to the venue because it was almost show time.

9:15 PM – Made my way through the downstairs bar, without really seeing anyone, and headed up to the stage. The show time has been pushed back so we decide it’s time to drink, which as you may or may not know is one of our favorite things to do. We throw down the Hangar 18 platinum corporate card—yeah, that’s right: platinum. Talk about stuntin like our daddies! Well, if our daddies had corporate accounts, that is.

9:30 PM – I am on my fourth pint of a fine German lager called Budweiser, which I believe is pronounced “Bood Viser” and means “to cradle God’s sack” in German. It’s tasty.

9:45 PM – Slow Suicide Stimulus hits the stage and tears shit up. We were going on next so we hit the on deck circle and prepared to bring the thunder. Like most bands, football teams and hate groups, we have many pre-show rituals, including—but not limited to—hallucinogens and sex with under-aged girls. We have another pre-show ritual which has never been seen by anyone outside of the group, but for you, my loyal serv…err readers, I will let you in. We learned about this ritual when we were exploring volcanoes in South America. Apparently the natives believed that this practice would give you eternal life, but we (being smarter than those savages) realize it doesn’t, it just gives you a four-hour erection. It’s a small blue diamond shaped pill called Viagra, I believe it is pronounced “Vee-Ah-Gree-Ah” which means “last, but not least” in Latin. It doesn’t give us eternal life, but it does help our package look massive on stage.

10:10 PM – Hangar 18 hits the stage for three songs. Since it wasn’t our usual set, the Heavens only partially opened.

10:30 PM – Set over, hit the bar downstairs

10:40 PM – First sighting of Reggie of Philaflava fame. He is wearing a homemade shirt, but hey, what else is new?

10:50 PM – Finish fifth beer, have first shot with Blockhead of Party Fun Action Committee fame.

11:00 PM – Run into Mr. Lif. We talk some football, and I try to head upstairs to get some more beer on the corporate card. That’s right: corporate card.

11:15 PM – Finally make it upstairs, have a few beers by myself to wind down a bit, get a few compliments on the show, and take a shot or two.

11:30ish PM – I venture to the downstairs bar, since El is a few songs deep in his set the bar is pretty much empty accept for one Jim Bissel of the world famous NOW Crew. He is pretty much drunk. A few minutes later he leaves to puke. Good job.

12:00 AM – Rip-roaring drunk now. Talked to some girls, don’t really know what I said; probably something smooth. Doesn’t really matter, because I am me, so I know it was fresh.

12:30esque AM – I think the show is over, lost track of time. People are coming down to the merch booth, I run into a girl I “know” who has a new boyfriend who took the time to send me a picture message on my phone of him holding a gun suggesting that I “fall back or fall back.” That was great.

1:00 AM – Leave the venue, walk to Max Fish with the rest of the Jukies and entourage.

1:30 AM – Mr. Dibbs, his wife and I tried to win things out of that crane machine.

2:00 AM – Left Max Fish and started walking to the F train. Ran into the world famous Metro aka Met from SA Smash fame, kicked it for a minute.

2:30 AM – I was lucky, caught the train and made it home quickly.

3:00 AM – Went to bed while watching the Departed.

Friday March 23, 2007
Long Island NY
Cancer Benefit Show

5:00 PM – French rapper Rob Sonique, Creature, Wind and myself pile into my homegirl’s Carbiolet and head out to Long Island. I know, perhaps the most gayish moment in hiffop or raph history.

10:00 PM – Rocked the show; cancer cured

Saturday March 24, 2007
San Bernadino, CA
Paid Dues Festival

I am not gonna give you a minute-by-minute rundown, because I was too drunk and too tired. Instead I will give you the highlights of a long and wonderful day:

- Saw porn star Mr. Marcus on the security line at the airport. He hit on a sixteen year-old white girl. She was creeped out, but didn’t know who he was until Wind told her, which creeped her out even more.

- Played to about 2500 kids, we opened the show and it was a blast.

- Hung out with Brother Reade, Mr. Lif, El, Murs, Slug, my homegirl Jasmine, Charlie Chan, Grouch, Zion I and others.

- Met Alchemist and others.

- Got fucking wrecked.

- Sold a shit ton of CDs. “Shit ton” is a unit of measure in the metric system kinda like a kilo but better.

- Ate a killer burrito. I believe it was made from human flesh

- Got a fresh Mars Blackman shirt. I then bought another one at NikeTown during the week, that’s right I plan on building my whole wardrobe around spike lee characters this summer. Can’t wait to get my Mookie medallion.

- Saw the hiffopphilosophy.com crew distributing flyers after the show while we were hustling the last of our CDs and shirts which of course was the highlight of the weekend just edging out curing cancer.

- Went to In and Out Burger – got shorted on the ketchup. I tell you, you cannot trust middle class white kids whose parents make them work to teach them the value of a dollar for shit.

- Hit the hotel, ran into Slug and his girl in the driveway. Who laughed at us and then took a picture in our PT Cruiser. Normally we wouldn’t tolerate such behavior but since he ranks higher than us on the PhilaFlava.com most famous rapper list we had no choice but to let it slide…oh and plot.

- Cried myself to sleep.

Overall, it was a great day and yes you wish you could live the life as well. Unfortunately, you can’t. One final point: on the flight back, we shared a private plane with the dudes from Good Charlotte. They seemed cool, although we didn’t get to talk to them because they were in business and we were in coach, but still we shared it and with my iPod on it seemed semi-private so fuck you.

Jimmy Kimmel Live

2007-03-02T15:09:00.000-05:00

As a semi-famous rapper, I often get opportunities that most of you do not. One such opportunity was to visit the green room at Jimmy Kimmel Live last October when my good friends Gym Class Heroes played the show. I had certain expectations, just like anyone who saw the episode of Entourage when the main character Vince appeared on Jimmy Kimmel’s program. The green room was shown to be a den of sin, however this was not an accurate portrayal of what the green room is like. Sure, it’s a den of sin, but it is so much more. The reality of the green room destroys any expectations one might have built up from Entourage. In my case, it actually exchanged numbers with my expectations, picked them up, took them on a few dates, got them to trust, made passionate love to them, and then left them for a younger, hotter, sluttier and whiter set of expectations, leaving my expectations shattered and unable to connect with another set of expectations, because I now know what true love is.

It took us three hours to make it through several layers of security, and—if I remember correctly—four check points designed to keep people with less than 100,000 search results when they Google themselves out of the area. Obviously, we made it through with flying colors. Ed Begley, Jr. was not so lucky, and had to be forcibly removed by security. Last I heard, he was screaming something about appearing in Boston Legal.

Upon entering the green room, your eyes are given a special treatment of saline solution, panda blood, and sixty year-old scotch. It is to help your eyes adjust to the room’s opulence. The treatment is an ancient Peruvian method which gives the recipient perfect 20/20 vision for four and a half hours. I was told by the tuxedo-garbed gentleman guarding the door that Jimmy insists all his guests experience total perfection. Let me tell you, the twenty minutes of searing pain were well worth it. The green room is the most wondrous place on earth. I imagine it’s kind of like visiting the Neverland Ranch if you were an eight year-old cancer patient who is totally into Michael Jackson and statutory rape.

Once you make it through all the security detail and ocular procedures, you are greeted by a seventeen foot ice sculpture of a thirteen year-old Jesus. Rumor has it that Jimmy is highly religious, but he prefers the teenage representation of Jesus because of His sweet teenage mustache. The ice sculpture was on a rotating pedestal that rose approximately ten feet off the ground. Underneath the pedestal was a Japanese gymnastics team doing gold medal-winning floor routines. After the performance, the gymnasts all disrobed and offered each guest sex. They assured us that their periods had all but stopped from keeping their weight below eighty pounds, so there was no chance of an unwanted pregnancy. Talk about a touch of class.

Following an exciting romp in the sack, I made my way into the extremely plush main lounge. In addition to two fully-stocked open bars, there were eighty-seven plasma screen televisions all showing the 2006 ALCS, seven couches upholstered with baby seal skin, and a pool table with a cue ball that was made from the bones of people that have tried to steal from the green room. I quickly hit the bar and ordered two Johnny Walker Blacks. By the time the barkeep returned with my drinks, I was surrounded by starlets and models. It was quite amazing. One minute, I was by myself thinking about pussy, and the next minute I was surrounded by it.

I had a few more drinks and started up a conversation with a young woman named Jessica. She told me she was an heiress, and that her father made a fortune franchising As Seen on TV kiosks in malls across the America. After some small talk, we were joined by two of her friends that were also heiresses, one of whom was briefly a hostess of The Source Sound lab, the poor thing. We exchanged numbers and then I made my way to Gym Class Heroes’ dressing room to wish the fellas good luck before filming their performance.

The dressing rooms were very much like the rest of the green room. The only difference was that each dressing room had its own DJ and chef. Gym Class’ DJ was none other than Wolfman Jack. I was amazed that he was even alive, and as amazing as that was it was nothing compared to the cuisine that was prepared for the group and their friends. This chef was a master; he made a plate that was like nothing I ever tasted before. I asked the chef what the dish was and he told me it was an olive couscous with pan-seared asparagus tips, and the meat was from a baby that wasn’t christened. I find this a bit disturbing at first, but after having seconds I realized that you just can’t get meat that tender from babies that have been christened. A necessary evil, I guess.

The producer came downstairs and told us it was time for the group to perform. As VIP guests, we were brought into a special booth away from the rabble-rousing tourists that wear satin I heart America jackets and attend tapings of these godforsaken late night talk shows. This booth was nuclear bomb-proof and made of solid gold. Each seat had an elderly Asian woman, sewn up inside, who was forced to give us massages. Those old Asian women have magic fingers. The chairs were all equipped with glory holes for happy endings. I remembered I had Jessica’s number and a handful of roofies, so I opted out.

After the boys played, we all regrouped down in the dressing rooms and made our way out for the evening, but that’s another story for another time.

Man, I do live a sweet existence. I’m so glad I am semi-famous and not semi-unknown like the rest of you fuckers. Until next time, enjoy your miserable lives.

A Day In The Life of Philaflava's 4th Most Famous Rapper

2007-01-30T13:24:00.000-05:00

Many people wonder what a day in the life of the fourth most famous rapper on Philaflava.com is like. Usually I tell them to imagine floating in a warm vagina. It’s pretty much the same thing, with out the smell and pubic hair. Most times, people stare back at me vacantly and walk off disgusted, but is it really my fault? They are not ready to accept that life is better for those of us that are better. Regardless, it can be annoying, to say the least. So I have decided to save myself the trouble of dealing with the inferiority complexes of common folk and give you a running diary of my day:

Jan. 29, 2007

8:00 AM – Woke up early--too early in fact--decided that I need to go back to sleep. I clapped twice to call for my harp player, so she could play me something that would send me back into the blissful land of celebrity sleep.

12:00 PM – Finally decided to start my day and woke up to breakfast in bed served by my lovely maid Jordania. She is Moroccan royalty, and often wakes me up with eggs and a hand job. It’s terrific. I highly recommend starting your day like this. I like it a lot more than when Jorge the Norwegian chef is on duty.

12:57 PM – Finished breakfast and post hand job nap. Decided it was time to hit the shower. Now as a celeb, I have to keep up with the Joneses, and this means a state of the art bathroom. My bathroom has a Jacuzzi tub that fits five, a stand up shower, a Jacuzzi toilet that fits three, and a 76-inch plasma TV that only plays books on DVD. I like to read in the bathroom, just like a lot of regular people.

3:27 PM – Showering’s finished, what to wear, what to wear…I look through my extensive collection of Bapes, Ice Cream, and Old Navy, finally I decide on my Old Navy techno fleece for two reasons: one, I love Morgan Fairchild, and two, I’m totally into techno.

3:53 PM – smokablunt

4:27 PM – smokablunt

5:03 PM – smokablunt

5:33 PM – Call my boy Myles to pick me up so we can head to the city for some shopping.

5:34 PM – Myles shows up in his tricked-out Scion* and we roll to downtown Manhattan or “Tha Ville” as kids from Jersey and Long Island call it.

6:03 PM – We are in “Tha Ville” and we decide to hit up some of the exclusive boutiques that only a star like myself or LA Reid’s son have access too. Places like H&M to stay up on cutting edge euro fashion, or maybe The Gap for some really fun zip-up hoodies and the new Common album. Finally, we hit a nice little coffee shop called Starbucks to reflect on what we have purchased (or more like what Myles dad purchased for us with his corporate platinum card….booyeah!!!).

7:53 PM – We decide we need more weed. I call my man Darius who has the best weed in the city. A lot of people don’t know about him but I think it’s just because he is really discerning about his clientele. You know, only dealing with the city’s upper crust, like me and Min from Style Wars. Any who, I buy an oh zee from him. He has the best stuff, I can smoke blunt after blunt and I never feel too high. He has taught me so much about weed. Did you know the best stuff smells just like oregano??? I didn’t either, but he is so right.

8:30 PM – smokablunt

9:00 PM – I got a wicked case of the munchies, I tell Myles to drive over to Taco Bell. Unfortunately, on the way there, he got a call from his mom who told him he had to get home with his older brother’s Scion*. So I give him a pound and walk over to the Taco Bell, Pizza Hut, and KFC on 14th Street and 1st Avenue. That’s really the great thing about the city, you always have options: Mexican, Italian, Black. All in one establishment. What a time to be alive.

9:35 PM – Two Chalupas and a Choco Taco later, I’m ready to roll. I get on my Virgin prepaid cellie and call a few of the other famous people I hang with. We make plans to get up.

10:34 PM – I am up in the Bronx at a local watering hole of off the Grand Concourse called O’Shea’s. A quant little Irish place in the Dominican section of the Bronx. I went up there to meet my good friend and fifth most famous rapper on Philaflava.com, Rob Sonic. We enjoy out-of-the-way places like this because we are treated like everyone else. We don’t have to deal with all the staring of Midwestern tourists and “bridge and tunnel faggots,” as Pawl of Hangar 18 fame calls guidos from New Jersey.

10:55 PM – Three Budweisers and Jameson’s** later, we decide to go outside for a smoke and discuss the current state of hip-hop today

10:58 PM – We decide hip-hop is gay.

11:24 PM – I beat a short, squat girl named Jacinda in a game of pool and won our bet. She now has to give me a kiss. This is shaping up to be a legendary night of macking for the god. All nickel-pieces and better for the kid.

11:45 PM – I touched boob. Unfortunately it was Rob’s and it was on accident. I didn’t realize he was standing to my side, and I turned around and swiped it. Oh well, it’s still second base and it still counts.

12:08 AM – Jacinda and I go out back to smokablunt, and after we talk, just really talk. She tells me that she has always wanted to sing but her mom and dad want her to strive for middle-management. I drop some hints that I am sort of big in the music industry. I tell her I am part of Hangar 18. She pretends she never heard of us, but I know she is just playing coy.

12:78 AM – I have drunk about twelve beers and done seven shots. I’m kinda fucked up at this point. So I get Jacinda, bid Rob adieu, and head to her place. She has a great place, she lives in a triple-room in one of the dorms at Fordham University but she says her roommates wont mind. If they don’t mind, I don’t either.

1:23/98 AM – Jacinda’s dorm room. Man this brings back memories of my one semester at community college, we didn’t have dorms but my friends that wasted their time at four-year universities did. She has the funniest poster on her door, it is a cat hanging from a tree and it says “Hang in there”! Man, what a knee-slapper. I also wrote “Alaska was here” on her dry erase board. Good times.

1:923 AM – Jacinda comes out of her room and says her roommates aren’t happy, so we have to go to the TV lounge. We are both pretty drunk, so I know what’s gonna happen and I am psyched. No matter how many times it happens—and it happens a lot because I am kinda famous—scoring a new chick never gets tired.

We turn on the TV and watch some Elimidate. Jacinda is fading now… I realize it a little too late because she is passed out, but that’s cool. I decide to take it out and give myself a handy using her hand. Still counts!!

I didn’t get laid but that’s fine because I still got a great handy from a killer nickel-piece.

3:47 AM – the Resident Advisor wakes us up and asks me for my student ID. I say something about it being in my room and I leave. It’s a bit of a walk back to the train, but I use the time to reflect and look over my shoulder. It is the Bronx after all.

4:59 AM – Train comes.

7:34 AM – I am back in Brooklyn

7:45 AM – tall glass of water, some Advil, and bed, and tomorrow we do it all again.

As I’ve shown you time and time again, things are pretty sweet for the borderline rich and semi-famous. I hope this glimpse into a day in the life of me, someone who is better than you, has giving you an inkling of how much your life sucks. Until next time, I am Alaska, and I am famouser than you are.

* The official car of hip-hop.
** The official drink of Def Jux.

2007-01-18T14:43:00.000-05:00

Most people don’t realize how difficult it is to be famous. I know I had no idea until I passed all the required tests. Now, I’m not talking about fingering Lindsey Lohan, because lets face it, that’s not really much of a test. No, no the test I’m referring to is the written exam. There are actually 7 exams you have to pass on the road to transcendent stardom, so far I have only passed 2 and I am studying for my third. If I pass this I will attain the status of coke-addled douche bag, so you can see why it’s a big deal for me.

Up until about two years ago I had no idea that obtaining celebrity was like becoming a stock broker or a CPA, minus the whole element of being a guido from Long Island or New Jersey. The amount of schooling one requires is truly daunting. To get to the level of, say, a Tom Cruise, one would have to spend the better part of their twenties and thirties going through the course work and memorizing The Manual.

You know what, I might be losing you mere normals here, so let me double back a bit to bring you up to speed: The Manual is an insider’s term for The Guide to Celebrity and Celebing It Up by Charles Chaplin. I had no idea The Manual even existed until we signed our first contract with Def Jux. The night we finalized the contract was a truly memorable evening, it was after 6 PM, so naturally we were all wearing our tuxedos while waiting for the limo to take us to Morton’s for a nice steak and a touch of whiskey, when we received a knock on the door. I assumed it was merely another well-wisher congratulating us on our remarkable fortune and rap prowess. To my surprise it was actually New Edition. We figured they were there for the same reason Donald Trump, Yao Ming, Billy Crystal and Frank Stallone were there, which was of course to try to sponge off our new-found status as the ‘it’ group amongst our co-workers and one guy at CMJ.

What we didn’t know was that New Edition were the guardians of celebrity and halfway through their second term in the position. That night, in a ceremony as old as time or at least Larry King, The Manual was bestowed upon us. Everything I know about celebrity I learned from reading The Manual. It was equal parts eye-opening, sobering, and boring. Since I now have a social contract with you, the members of philaflava.com, I am going to give you a glimpse of the knowledge imparted to us by the greatest boy band ever. Prepare to be shocked, mortified, appalled, and indifferent.

Highlights from The Guide to Celebrity and Celebin’ it Up:

1. In order to maintain celeb status, one must be willing to convert to Judaism.

2. The paparazzi are actually guardian angels sent by God to watch over His favorite creation: the celebrity.

3. A celebrity can assume the position of Secretary General of the UN at his whim.

4. Women do not have equal celeb status, and are only legally recognized as playthings, with the exception of Rosie O’Donnell for obvious reasons.

5. Any celeb worth his hide has a healthy distrust of people with mixed racial backgrounds; Derek Jeter being the exception because he is one of the ‘good ones’ and has the best coke.

6. All R&B Singers are gay.

7. Jon Bon Jovi and John Mellencamp are the same person.

8. The CIA assassinated both of the Kennedy brothers and then sold the movie rights to finance classified operations in El Salvador.

9. Conservative Christian groups and Gay rights organizations are on the payroll of every major studio, and are used to drum up business through protest.

10. Celebrities secretly decide the course of humanity through a series of rolls with a twenty-sided die. Lyor Cohen is responsible for our current Middle East policy.

11. If you are caught with a dead hooker, call Edward James Olmos and he will make it all disappear.

As you can see there is a bevy of lessons one must master in order to become a truly great celebrity, like Jason Patrick. I hope you enjoyed this glimpse into celebrity life, wish we could talk more but I have to finish up a chapter about getting your privates on the internet. Until next week, toodles.

My Life is Better Than Yours

2007-01-16T10:38:00.000-05:00

Jay Gloss was kind enough to give me this space to rant and rave about whatever I wanted, and after pondering how I can add something new and interesting to the PhilaFlava landscape, I decided the way forward was to let you guys into my life. See here’s the thing: my life is much different than yours because I am famous. Granted I am not famous in the way that Geraldo Rivera is famous, but I’m closing in. Let’s check the stats:

1. I have underground cred, meaning I was part of a mid-90’s rap crew that never really put anything out, still kinda loosely exists today, and some kids even trade dusty tapes of our shit.

2. At one point in my life I had beef with Sole. Even though it was stupid, I still did it. Did you??? No. I didn’t think so.

3. I have numerous vinyl singles that I am featured on.

4. I laid down a sub-par verse on the Can Ox album.

5. I am signed to Def Jux.

6. I dropped The Multi-Platinum Debut Album, which went multi-thousand, with my group Hangar 18.

7. I have toured the world (well at least the only part of the world that matters, the U.S. Fuckin Aye) over seven times.

8 I know the guys from Fall Out Boy.

9. I know Icon the Mic King, Gentle Jones and Mindbender Futurama personally.

10. Rob Sonic and I drink quite together quite a bit.

11. I have been to Canada.

12. I’ve been given free clothes because of who I am.

13. Finally, I have slept with women who were only interested in me because of my status in 'the rap game'.

As you can see, I lead quite a rich life, but what else would you expect? I am Philaflava’s fourth most famous rapper, after Slug, El and Blueprint. And yes, I know all of them personally.

This space will be dedicated to giving you an insider’s view of the rap game and all of its trappings. It will be kinda like the Beef DVD series if I was one of the twenty-nine people Royce the 5’9 has beef with, and it wasn’t beef but it was about us hanging out and doing shit famous people do together. I think you get the drift. Every week I will check in and let you know about the cool shit I get to do because I am me. Things like hanging out with my friend Rob Sonic in the Boogie Down Bronx and drinking, having a good laugh with Despot and Cryptic at a New York City show in the VIP section (or what some people would call the “merch booth”), or even something crazy like kickin’ it in the green room at Jimmy Kimmel because I am friends with other famous people like Gym Class Heroes.

I think you are getting the point. I am relatively famous and I do the types of things that relatively famous people do.

Here’s a perfect example: as you may know, I live in New York City which is one of the most expensive cities in the world. In order to make ends meet, I often have to do freelance work when I am not on the road. Sure, it’s not glamorous but it allows me the freedom to up and go at a moments notice, much like Robert DeNiro in Heat.

One of my freelance jobs was with a company called Niche Media, they publish a bunch of magazines people like you wouldn’t know about because they are for people like me: the rich and famous. One of the magazines they produce is called Gotham, it is their flagship magazine. Well, Gotham Magazine was having their fifth anniversary party and, sure as shit, the Hangar was on the scene. We were rubbing elbows with the likes of Rudolph Giulliani, James Lipton, Mya, Dame Dash, Dipset, and even the Sugar Hill Gang. The party was in full swing and we were taking full advantage of the free food and drinks. By this time I had already spilled half a drink on Juelz’s custom Uptowns while trying to introduce myself with three drinks in my hand, yelled obscenities at Naomi Campbell, and took pictures of Mya’s ass. All pretty much standard fare for someone of my status, nothing too really get excited about. What I didn’t realize was that I would learn one of the most important lessons of my life this evening.

We started chatting it up with the members of the Sugar Hill Gang. I don’t know which ones they were because father time was not kind to any of them. As the conversation went on, the topic of groupie love came up, and this is where--as the kids say--the science was dropped. Apparently the members of the Sugar Hill Gang had their lawyers draw up what they are calling “The Fuck Contract,” which stated that the members of the Sugar Hill Gang are not responsible for anything that happens as a result of a sexual liaison with a groupie. It didn’t matter if it was pregnancy, herpes or death. The contract also stipulated that the women were not allowed to contact the members of the Sugar Hill Gang after the evening of old school loving. So, needless to say, I was intrigued. The next day I called my lawyer, one James Don Wilson, III Esq., and discussed the merits of such a contract. Within a week, I had my very own version of the contract wrapped up and really, it’s been a godsend. I have used it twice, and it has saved me numerous headaches. If you should ever rise above yourself and join the ranks of the famous I highly recommend you get your very own “Fuck Contract,” it’s the only way to roll. Especially if you like going raw dog like me.

I hope you enjoy my life as much as I do, I am genuinely looking forward to taking this journey together, and I suggest you make the most of it, because the majority of people here will never be famous…trust me, I opened that ‘show us your mugs’ thread and, outside of that Cuban chick that only kinda shows her face, you guys are fucked.

Anyway, I have important famous-esque things to do like take a cab ride with a panty-less Trischelle from The Real World. Until next week, remember you may never be able to experience the excitement of my life first hand, but together we can learn how much better my life is than yours