fun facts about the world

Now, everyone says stupid shit like "chivalry is dead" and "Latin is a dead language".

But I see people opening doors for girls (excuse me, ladies) all the time and throwing their jackets over puddles and all that chivalrous shit.

And Latin was offered in my HS and my AHS (Alcoholic High School, or "college") and I’m constantly having these intellectual discussions with people who know about things like the "Latin root" and all that shit which would leave me to believe that Latin, despite the rumors, is as alive as you, me or bin Laden.

But what I’ve realized is that, while the aforementioned "dead" things are thriving, I’m surrounded by incompetence.

I’m not going to front like I’m Gods gift to functioning (however I am Gods gift to the internet, audiences, long answering machine messages, morning 40’s, rap music, style in general, unlaced Timberlands and a slew (yeah, a slew) of other things) but I don’t just stand there like a deer in headlights, fucking up left and right. Maybe I wouldn’t have turned to alcoholism if people could hold conversations and remember what happened from one day to the next. I’m not saying you need to know how to spell well, or even have that large of a vocabulary. When I look into your eyes sweetheart, I want to know that you know what I’m talking about.

Do you have ADD?? I have a nice warm fire for you to burn in.

People with ADD seem to think that paying attention to annoying bullshit (like teachers, jobs and traffic lights) is some sort of adventure in extended orgasm for normal people. It’s not. It’s taking every ounce of my concentration to not just run away from my job, take my shirt off and start drinking a 40 and screaming at the top of my lungs. But I’m making it happen. Here is a "pie chart" showing how my attention and thoughts are constantly compromised by my brain trying to insure my failure by distracting me and hiccuping.

So in short, just try your best not to be a drooling fucking douche bag waste of life, and maybe you’ll make everyone around you happier. Maybe one day we can all team up to finally put both chivalry and Latin out of their collective misery.

Just don’t get distracted by the flashing lights.

*Classroom Conversation* - Are confused, distracted people a necessary evil in modern society, not unlike condoms and the police?

In his own words, with my emphasis.

“My clothing line is still coming out and I’ve been in Milan lately. It’s coming straight out of Italy,” Cam’ron explained to me. “What I’m doing now is I’m working the runways so when I come to America, it will already be out in Italy for two years. I’m not doing a sports clothing line. I’m doing a straight up couture clothing line.”

"To deprive me of the tribute to Michael Jordan, such a prestigious event at the All-star game, I felt like it was a miscarriage of justice."

"The NBA said that they don’t do any rap so they didn’t let me perform," Cam continued. "I mean they act like they are such an elite group of people- no disrespect because I have friends in the NBA. Its like realistically, they got people that beat they wives up, get caught with guns, smoking weed - all types of stuff - and then they say they [don't use] rap. They said they sued Cam’ron when I had the gun in the NBA logo. It was really Untertainment and they were like, ‘we don’t care, its Cam’ron.’"

(During the 1999 promotion of his S.D.E. album, Untertainment/Epic released an advertisement, which was a play on the NBA’s trademarked logo by adding a gun to the silhouetted hand of Jerry West player.)

“Lemon heads  in my ears, $60 on my neck its nothing.”

"That’s like when Don King started wearing his hair up; if you go outside and everybody got hair cuts like Don King. What’s going to separate Don King? You feel me?"

"That’s just me being from Harlem being fresh, and saying I am taking it to another level, if everybody’s going right, I’m a go left. And then I go left and everybody goes left and now I have to make a U-Turn."

"Mase got on the radio and was lying, and I had to check him and I did a little song just saying stop lying you’re a reverend."

"If Saddam Hussein moved in right now, I’m making the phone call. I’m getting cake. I don’t even snitch like that, but it’s like, Yo, you aren’t getting away from me!"

"We can come straight from the basketball court and we’ll do well in the ladies’ department."

"I’m depriving the world of this entertainment that’s on my answering machine!"

"A lot of black people are so twisted into trying to sell records, they’re doing whatever. They singing, they dancing, jumping rope, they’re on skateboards."

So, you know, back when I was still motivated and I had beats that needed to be written to in order to make songs for further hip-hop doings, I would write a lot of verses.

I haven’t written anything worthwhile, in terms of verses, in like 6 months. I got a couple of lines and I still be killing them on the hooks, but no complete 16-24 bar joints yet, which just means the next shit is gonna be killer for real.

But anyway, I write a lot of shit (not unlike this blog) that most likely won’t see the light of day (unless I get on making the "I Thought That Kid Died" mixtape) but I figured that was okay, because not only am I contantly improving (assuming you can improve upon perfection, lets smoke an L and talk about one day at your crib sweetheart) and I also amuse the hell out of myself.

Anyway, as my trails and tribulations at work continue to leave me with seemingly infinite time in front of the computer, I figured I would share some of my yet to be recorded verses with my adoring public. This first joint is maybe 14 months old, and didn’t make the album. I don’t really know why, but I’m guessing the thuggish nonsense aspect of it, and also that I cut about 20 bars from the ending. ————————————————————————–

This is for the kids with no loot/

Huffing glue in phonebooths/

Herbs jet so fast you’d think they was rocking gold shoes/

If I told you once, I spit a million lines, killed some time/

Used my pen knife as a pen and then killed some rhymes/

How you gonna deal with mine, walking a fine line/

But I shine so hard, everywheres your blind side/

Origin I’m fly, call the kid Kitty Hawk/

No lie, hawk you up when you in my city, sport/

Life is pretty short/

Your nose is bleeding and people have the gaul to ask "what did he snort"/

I live in LIC, catch me by the City Corp/

Or stashing drugs and weapons before I roll into city court/

This isn’t rap, this is the lottery fuck it/

Until then, gravity bongs and bottles in buckets/

Love it or leave alone, I’m taking trees to the dome/

Y’all falling in line, trying to be like clones/

Homebase or krills in the crib, the illest of kids still in the mix/

Feeling on chicks, talking shit and flashing fists/

And y’all don’t want that to happen/

In rumbles my crews a step team, stomping and clapping/

Violence and drugs, razors lace throats like based coke/

So they spoke with fake quotes and got played quicker than 8th-notes/

I’m watching out plainclothes thats hows the game goes/

It don’t take a cokehead to tell which way the yay blows/

If you say so, fucking with great flow, try and dead it/

This rap shits a piece of cake and y’all are diabetic/ ———————————————————————

Hello my pedantic populus.

I was watching TV and taking GBH’s last night when a commerical came on for "Party Mix" and it showed the normal elements of any banging party; pretzels, nuts, chex and various other food products.

It basically looked like this.

(Click on me for a bland array of salted snack foods)

Now my plans are, in the next couple of months or so, to launch my own rival brand of party mix, however we’ll call that "Afterhours Party Mix" and it’ll cater to a more adult, derelict market. After tweaking the recipe and talking to world renound chefs like Charlie Cypher, I finally nailed it on the 1st try and the results look something like this.

(click on me to get the party started!)

I’m not sure what your personal preferences are in terms of like "sex or pretzels" or "oxy contin or peanuts" but it seems pretty obvious to me.

ROX ONE - I’m going-going, back-back, to jail-jail.

If you ain’t up on thangs….

Mike Jack be the name with the cancer-stricken 13-yr old same sex flame.

You like my interpolation of Still D.R.E.??

More on this when I have time at work tommorow, as God knows anyone who goes on the internet in their free time is the sort of incorigable pervent that does the things Mike Jack was accused of in real life and has no pasty white makeup to serve as a guise of innocence.

plus, as tulane just won their Super Regional (see here) and my voice is still hoarse from the high-energy second set (we bring baking soda on stage. and what?) on Saturday, I was going to reduce myself to a state of inebriation where both talking and typing are out of the question. You gotta shoot for the stars, playgirl. C’est mon raison d’etre. Je suis le roi, le roi de forret. Bon soiree, mes amis et les autres qui je n’aime pas.

It’s official, motherfucker.

With our dramatic win over the Rice Owls, the Tulane Green Wave is headed to Omaha (Yeah, we the illest niggaz in Nebraska) to try and win out first ever baseball national championship. We also retain the #1 ranking in the country.

Shouts to Dane for the phone calls letting me know what was up as the internet doesn’t do such a superb job of the live updates, and shouts to ESPN, for national coverage.

T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-UNIT!

more on this as it develops, if you have a whip and a will, I’m down to kick in gas money and trees (and more importantly, I’m down to quit my job) to make this trip down to Nebraska.

I’m a great roadtrip buddy and watching me urinate in a bottle is something you should do at least once before you die. Shouts to everyone thats seen me urinate in a bottle.

Over the weekend, I went out to go see Mr. and Mrs. Smith, like many other Americans. I do this sort of shit to stay grounded in reality and in touch with the more common members of my extended peer group.

Anyway, the best I could tell the plot was centered around this married couple, Mr. Smith (Angelina Jolie) and Mrs. Smith (Brad Pitt). This is a very good example of the studio keeping the title relevant. They also could have called the movie Dick Sucking Lips.

Mrs. Smith, as some of you may remember is the mid-western baked goods baron, who came to fame when Cam’ron, ghetto Walter Cronkite that he is, said he "baked more pies than Mrs. Smith", harlem stand up.

Anyway, the "plot" develops and I’m pretty sure Jennifer Aniston comes on in the 2nd act as a woman scorned. You may remember she used to be married to Brad Pitt and was also a lady actor on Friends, she showed some restraint and didn’t go fuck Ross on the low. Wow, first Freinds ended and now this. Life can really throw you curve-balls, huh Jen?

Back to the movie, whose script may or may not have been the product of someone taking way too may Qualudes and thinking they had writing skills, when in fact, all they had was a 22 of Colt 45 and a bus pass. There was something about explosions. I don’t really remember, this movie wasn’t very good, and I was making out throughout most of it. Girls can’t keep their hands off me. One of the major selling points of this movie was the similarity between the plot to this movie and True Lies, which came out less than 10 years ago. And was also about an assassin and his signifigant other and the lack of knowledge regarding the spouses employment details. Jamie-Lee Curtis was born with external genetalia. Ew!

Anyway, in the end of this movie the assassin team of Mr. and Mrs. Smith eventually team up, and in a little bit of Hollywood wishful thinking, win the Wack Gulf War (as opposed to desert storm, or the Hot Gulf War) for America and then make passionate love in the middle east, while adopted children look on, wistfully.

Clearly I didn’t see this movie.

Now, basically everything I’ve ever done has been in an effort to promote myself as some sort of God-like figure who towers over all of the commoners and this is no different.

My name is Rox (ZEROX ONE, ROX ONE, me ZE Mr. NST) and I’m part of the rap group Chronikill. It’s my voice that you would hear on the CD, were you around to recieve a free copy of "The Years Most Serious Songs" at any point (shows, the streets, my crib) since it "dropped" a couple of months ago.

Normally, I have alterior motive$ when I try and get people to come out to shows, but this time its different.

Cyph and I (or Me and Matt if you prefer) wanted to give something back to the people who have come out and dropped cake to see us put on shows at less than ideal venues with less than stellar opening acts. Since we couldn’t just refund the money (thanks to all the promoters we made rich and all the houses and cars we bought) we figured the next best thing was to do a show that was free.

and thats what this is.

so please feel free to email me with questions, comments and kind words of encouragement at zerox@chronikill.com

If you make beats, sing, rap or have something to contribute (we need a publicist really badly), email me also. we got that work, son.

see y’all on saturday. fo real fo sho.

Welcome to the first installment of "People We Love", and by we, I mean the royal we. When you rock this ridiculous your wrist stays regal.

I know that most of you have probably smoked some stuff, lit some lye, burned some broccoli or fricasseed some foliage at some point in your short and tragic lives. I too have been know to smoke marijuana for the purpose of getting h.

Enter my main man, my hardest homie, the gravity bong.

I first met him back in june of 1998, or thereabouts. I remember I was with a couple of my teenaged associates at some party where we couldnt smoke cigarettes inside, so we decided to bounce. I also distinctly remember seeing some very young girls who were obviously intox on either CPW or 5th ave. I have a photographic memory, but the camera is broken.

Anyway, so we headed to my mans crib up in the BX, where his brother was having a party. Long story short, this was also the night I got put on to the haze up on Post and after having my mans brother chef my first hit for me ("tie me up son") I knew that I wanted to spend the majority of my remaining time in that detatched stupor that I call salvation.

Basically, I went right home, built a gravity bong and put my lifes ambition of hold for seven years. Fuck!

I put the number of people I have directly put on to the gravity bong at around 100, and indirectly, it’s probably up in the mid 2,000’s. When I was a l’universite there were a couple of instances where kids couldn’t stand the heat, but in search of sustenance, ventured into the kitchen. "I feel sick." "The room is spinning." "Thats so harsh." "I fainted." "I’m going to throw up." That was just some of the retarted shit I heard.

Anyways, i wanted to shout the GB, who for the record is the only person Chronikill has ever thanked twice on one album. And a snapshot adorns the CD on our first album, the unforgetable "Krewe D’Etat." So to the GB, you don’t need me, I need you.

And here is an illustration I made showing how to build a GB.

1: the "U" looking thing is a bucket. Fill it with water.

2: The bottle looking thing is a 2liter bottle, which you need to cut the bottom off of. Once you have done that, submerge it in the water until only 1 or 2 inches sticks out.

3: Take a slide carb (or lacking that, some tinfoil with holes poked in it) and insert it into the opening at the top of the 2liter bottle. Make sure it is airtight.

4: Pack the bowl with your favorite flavored tobacco.

5: As you light the bowl, pull up slowly allowing the suction created to begin pulling the smoke into the bottle.

6: When the tobacco is all burned, carefully remove the slide carb/ tinfoil and put your mouth over the bottle opening, careful not to pick the bottle up out of the water.

7: push down on the bottle while inhaling, making sure not to get water in your mouth, which is the sign of a novice.

8: Ta-da. Now go play in traffic.

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I’m assuming that everyone is familiar with the story of Natalee Holloway the 18-year-old who is missing (and presumed dead at this point) in Aruba. The general background information is that she had just graduated from HS in Alabama and this was her and her classmates senior trip.

As the police on the island have been investigating, they came up with two suspects. These were two men who were known to police because "they had a habit of going around to hotels trying to pick up women or bum cigarettes." *1

I’m glad that there are suspects and whoever did this should pay, and pay dearly, but damn!

In America, we had a bunch of terrorists running around learning to fly planes, asking all the wrong questions and planning an attack, and no one noticed shit.

In Aruba, you ask a girl for a smoke and your on their island version of the "no fly list". Shit is bugged.

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1: Michael Norton, Nypost, online edition, 6/8/05.