Uncle The Hussein Exposes New Heights In Ignorance
Don’t get me wrong, my hiatus is still hiatusing, I just accessed enough anger to enable me to sound off.
This was gonna be on www.alumnah.com, but the site is being screwy.
So the other day I’m driving around doing a bunch of errands. Grocery shopping, Target, pickin’ up medicine for Pop Dukes, shit like that. I go to cop some petrol for the whip, Joel Jr. (named after Mr. Osteen), and upon leaving the gas station, I turn on the radio. My radio and I have a fucked up relationship where it likes to skip around to frequencies without radio stations all random-like, which triggers my low “annoyed” threshold which then in turn makes me punch the radio. Seriously. I’ve already broken the little protective hard plastic over the green digital display.
Anyway, I put it on Hot97 and I hear this southern-fried, 80’s booty-rap biting shit from Hurricane Chris. These songs usually amuse me, as they typically have so many cliches that you’d swear they were intentionally setting out to make the worst fucking song of all time. So, expecting amusement, I listen to the music, when I hear some shit like this:
“She told me not to wear a rubber, and you know your boy’s a thug so I hopped under the covers.” (or some shit, I refuse to link to that fucking asshole’s youtubery or lyrics).
Let me get this fucking straight: This jizz-infested twat of a recording “artist” has, in today’s day and age of skyrocketing AIDS cases and a fucking disturbingly high number of teen pregnancies, is saying that this imaginary (i hope) idiotic female doesn’t want him to use a condom and, because he’s a “thug”, he grants her wish and has unprotected sex with her.
Lemme fuckin’ tell you something, Hurricane Chris, you insipid pool of vomit, #1- You look like someone slapped a Da Brat wig on a 90lb 5th grader. If you’re a thug, then they have seriously lowered the standards for Thugs. Sincerely, your Whoopi-in-’88 lookin’ self looks like it crawled out of Byron Crawford’s ass.
#2- You deserve nothing more than having a daughter, and having her get knocked up at 15 by some fuckin’ kid that was raised by the child of whichever idiotic female listens to your song and goes, “Ya know what? My boyfriend doesn’t need to wear a condom”.
#3- You then in turn need to catch a scorching case of syphigonorrherpes. No, not the Monster itself, because that could lead to death, and Dr. Beardhussein doesn’t diagnose death. But you do deserve to catch a few cases of STDs from some dirty ass groupie bitches that let other wannabe thuglets like your faggot ass hit it raw.
Oh, but let’s not forget his handlers and the program directing payola piggy banks that enable that fucking awful song with an apocolyptic message out to the airwaves in the first place: You assholes are purveyors of destruction. Not only did you kill artistic integrity and ambition with your payola, pandering, and pussy-nature (“what? stand up and play good music? never!”), but now you’re actively perpetuating the cycle of AIDS and Teenage Pregnancy by playing a song BLATANTLY PROMOTING UNPROTECTED SEX!
Are you fucking kidding me?? 16 years after Magic Johnson’s magic johnson comes down with The Monster, you guys are playing a song that dismisses the use of condoms, which are only a retardedly effective way of stopping sexually transmitted diseases and unwanted, unplanned pregnancies.
To the record label and the people associated with his project: I sincerely hope you find yourselves in great amounts of peril. I don’t care what kind of peril. Maybe you’ll get robbed. Maybe someone’ll steal your car. Maybe you’ll catch a wicked ass-whoopin’ by some nihilistic knucklehead that you created nothing-music for. Either way, for overlooking such a common sense issue, you truly deserve great discomfort, as well as a shattering of what you once knew as “security”.
To the radio stations: You disgust me beyond words. You betray yourselves, you betray your children, and you betray your audience. You’re fucking sellouts of the highest order. I can’t even come up with a horribly crude anatomical reference, or a twisted, painful fate for you to endure. All I know is that you are profiting from such wrecklessness, and it is for that reason that you should, and most likely will, suffer.
“But Rey! It’s not their fault if kids have unprotected sex! They should know better!”
Really? Oh fucking really? Listen up, shitheads: I am friends with (e and real time) people whose choice in music has shaped their lives. Seriously, I’m willing to bet that, if not right now, then for a great length of time in your pasts, music shaped your language, your dress, your demeanor, and most likely your entire outlook on life. Don’t pretend music didn’t get you at least curious in “piff” (which, by the way, is such a gay word it’s unbelieveable–you guys sound stupid when you use it), or high-end liquor, or maybe spending money on cars, clothes, jewelry, or sneakers that you knew danged well you couldn’t afford.
Now that ya’ll are firmly paying attention, allow me to address the fuckery and bullshit that pop music has been shoveling down the throats of the 14-20 age bracket the last year or two. 2007 wasn’t so awful, so I’ll skip over it.
In 2006 you had Cassie’s ass begging some dude to let her blow him. It basically said, “Hey girls, Guys will be impressed if you suck their dicks, so you should really insist on doing it for them.” You also had The Pussycat Dolls drop “Buttons” and “Don’tcha”, two opuses to “Hurry up and do me already! I’m tired of waiting!” and “Hey, that other girl won’t let you fuck her as quick as I will! Come fuck meeee!”, respectively.
Sooo, you take those 3 charming tales catering to the easily-swayed young-ass-girl audience, and you take ol’ Hurricane Christine’s song, and voila! More kids having more sex sooner! Yay!
Now look, I cashed in my V-Card at 15, and I didn’t need a song to do it, but I at least had the sense to use a motherfucking condom. In fact, I rode my bike like 5 blocks down to my boy Danny’s house to get condoms from him just to make sure I was set. But music IS powerful, and if some girl is in the stage where she can’t talk to her parents, and her friends are caught up in their own drama, they’re gonna look for answers somewhere, anywhere.
She’s gonna put on that fuckin’ song and think “Ya know what? I’ll be okay.” and then she’ll load up the gun with 1 round and put it to her fuckin’ head, and play Fucking Roulette (“fucking” the act and not “fucking” the exclamation). She might get lucky after getting lucky, but one day she’s gonna get screwed after getting screwed.
Music is powerful no matter what Eminem and Ice Cube want you to think, and it’s fuckery like this Hurricane Christine bullshit that gives kids just the right idea to do the stupidest shit possible.
Fuck him, fuck his label, and fuck those radio stations. As far as I’m concerned, they’ve all got blood on their hands.
Call Reynolds, cuz it’s a Wrap
The healing process is going well. I’m mellowing, I’ve got some employment stuff a-brewing, and I’ve made it a point to be more active than I’ve been. I can’t say when my next post will be, but have faith that it will be written in a happier time.
Thanks for checking in,