Friday, 31 October 2008

Thizz was your life

Whenever the subject of dead rapper murals come up it's usually the countless corny Biggie R.I.P murals which splatter the walls of basketball courts and bodeagas in Noo Yawk City or the respective Big L and Big Pun murals in Harlem and The Bronx by the T.A.T.S Crew which come to mind.



But it's worth remembering that besides the ballet-dancing and enemies/hennessey couplet rhyming rapist 2pac, there are a plethora of dead rappers from regions other than NYC. One such rapper being the Thizzface-pulling late Bay Area legend Mac Dre, who was shot dead in Kansas of all places. Probably my favorite R.I.P piece out of all the ones i've seen. Salutations. Now go bump Feelin' Myself in tribute.

Mac Dre - Feelin' Myself

Porn is dull.

Well, apart from the clip i saw of Nailin' Palin, obviously.

But porn, in general, is something that was only ever good before the free-for-all of anything-goes perversion that the 'net has provided for us. Real porn was soggy scraps of stuck together pages of Club International found down your nearest woods that you and your accomplaces tried to piece together or grainy vhs cassette tapes of dodgy 70's European porn involving burly handlebar-moustached men in jailhouses which your mate found in the suitcase that his dad was looking after for a friend who'd just split from his wife or scrambled German softcore porn on Sky after 11 'o clock where, in all honestly, you probably rubbed one out to a pair of elbows which you thought were a pair of tits.

So, it's in this spirit that i bring you this vintage no-frills porn involving low-budget tinned supermarket food and a paddling pool. Now that's real erotica for you.

Sunday, 26 October 2008

Martorial elegance # 2

Where to even start with this one. This is almost the complete antithesis of the previous installment of Martorial elegance and a reminder of the complete hopelessness of the average British male during summertime.



The best thing about this guy was that he had a touch of the preening peacock about him and was stood around for ages posing like Christiano Ronaldo soaking up the adulation as he catches sly glimpses of himself on the titan-tron screen during a game. Yep, if there's any get-up which screams PUSSY MAGNET to the fairer sex it's a grubby moth eaten grey sweatshirt with rolled up sleeves tucked into a pair of hoisted up to Simon Cowell-like proportions 38" waist tennis shorts from Ellesmere Port market and some soiled Air Maxes which look like they were something the cat dragged in and then dragged back out again. The shitty generic tattoo of a dragon only adds to the overall effect and it's clear we're dealing with the benchmark for the badly dressed here on which all future contributions will be judged against.

Not quite 007 and more like 0.0/5 on the Martorial elegance rating scale.

Biz and the Jets.

Has there ever been a worse format for music than the flexi disc? Sure, they were usually magazine freebies and invariably featured a song which was otherwise unreleased but they always either ended up creased and unplayable after about 10 minutes or lost to the wind after a few weeks when you forgot what LP sleeve or book you stored them inside.

The latter fate is what became of my flexi-disc of Biz Markie's live cover of the Elton John hit Benny & The Jets which came with the second issue of the Beastie Boys vanity rag Grand Royale magazine. I've never managed to find my copy to this day, but thanks to the joys of Youtube I can now hear it again and even see Biz performing it live on the Chris Rock show. Take that, you fucking lost flexi-disc bastard!

Wednesday, 22 October 2008

Martorial elegance # 1.

How you dress as you get older has been a topic between my friends and I for a while now. If you're a girl it's easier because you've got a far better selection of clothes but if you're a bloke you're basically fucked once you reach about 45 until you reach pensionable age at 65 when you can start wearing tea cosies, Spaghetti Western ponchos, earthtone coloured kecks, jumpers that look like they're made out of various household pets and orthopedic crocs. The 20 years inbetween are generally a fashion disaster for 99% of men unless, that is, you're this guy.



Yes - he could do with losing a bit of weight, some type of polo shirt would be preferable to the checked-shirt and cargo shorts are only ever acceptable if they're camo but, damnit, let's not let these 3 slight niggles detract from the fact that my man here is one fly motherfucker. The lemon-with-baby blue contrast of the jacket and shorts is so neccessary and you just know he has a closet full of slacks and sweaters in similar pastel colours. Look at how he strides mid street arm-and-arm with wifey (who has a pretty nice plump arse, it has to be said) like he's Moses parting the red sea. Like a catwalk model in Milan he's the centre of attention and the peasants can only gawk in wonder at his ensemble.

Obviously, i'd complete the ensemble with a Kangol 504 flatcap and some type of slip on deck-shoe in matching colours but this is a glimmer of hope for my future and your future. In 15 to 20 years time every early-to-mid 30 something male should aspire to be as dapper and fly as this chap. Martorial elegance rating : 4/5.

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