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Why did New York do this to herself? No one really knows, but she claims its because her weight fluctuates a lot,and she loses her breast. I don't understand why she went that big, its one thing to get breast implant because you have small breast. When you just go too damn big, and don't even know what size they are that's just stupid. New York don't even know the accurate size of her boobs, she just let them do anything to her in surgery what a idiot. I wasn't so surprised when I heard her high school nick name was D-Breathe...Iol, I wonder why.
Check out New York in the latest issue of blender magazine Click here to read
--along with my dignity - and what’s left of my sanity - please, let me testify as I’ve come to a few realizations. First, After watching last night’s episode of “I Love New York” I haven’t been as embarrassed by a group of black men since "State Property 2". Secondly, I would not fuck ashy-ass New York with Pootie’s dick dipped in sherm. Thirdly, I’m embarrassed that I couldn’t tell Heat was a junkie. Finally, I lost a Final Four pick.
Let’s throw his undercover-ass a party. Yeah. A surprise party for my new best friend.
As Chamo YMCA's the remaining manwhores into their challenge of carpentry and architecture, I can’t help but notice that every member of the collective either looks like 2Pac, a Village Person, an extra from “Blood In, Blood Out,” or some combination of the three. VH1 finally flexes its muscle and shows that these dudes weren’t going to sit around for 11 episodes holding their dicks and smiling. Nay! They’re going to make doghouses for Majesty, Princess Tiffany’s only friend.
While the Boston vs.Chance saga rages on (with an argument about a champagne room in their doghouse), 12 Pack proceeds to display the mighty goon hand over his prag, Heat, who apparently can handle wood with the best of them.
Impressed with the chain gang sweating all over Flavor Flav’s lawn, this wophead New York fantasizes about using a damn power saw in bed. Shit, whether that’s her natural coronation of ash or some cheap-ass moolie-colored pantyhose she's rocking with the G.I. Joe drawers, this broad already looks like somebody done gave her the once-over with a power sander. Lookin like Roadblock, girl!
Since 12 Pack and his 2 flunkies Bootz and Buck… umm… Heat and Real won the dollhouse challenge with some Project Runway-worthy shit, I got a chance to examine Heat in his confessional. I’m sorry I’ve egregiously overlooked the fact that this man is a raging cocaine monster. It’s not like Mr. “Heat is ON! *sniffle*” is just showing this now. Nigga look like Michael J. Fox in a butterfly collar. That tingle is called Simplex 5, Butterlips. That’s that instant herp!
And oh, yeah. Heatrock ain’t talkin bout no damn woman when he says “Yaya” has to eat first. That’s the little pet name for his yayo.
He bows to the table mirror and thanks Yaya every day for carrying him this far.
Yaya also drove this broken man to aid and abet Rick James in a criminal plot to stalk and kidnap Tiff Pollard. Al Cowlings over here held the ladder while calm, quiet Captain Cockblock crept around the balcony like Agent Lee in “Enter the Dragon.” I love how the nigga had time to eat and drink champagne while on special ops recon.
After the triple dong date ends, Psycho Real is the only one with sense enough to take his ass upstairs. Heat and 12 Pack decide to spoon, sip and smoke a wet Dutch. Onix was about ready to jump in on that lovely scenario. He could smell Heat in heat. O-Dog wanted to join Heat and 12 Pack for a drunken late night game of “gookie cornbread” …and throw the match.
“We’re just drinkin buddies, Alma.”
Boston, don’t let Darth Vader fade you. She is pressing the issue. We know you’ll be okay if you and New York have a little Jeter baby. I'd be more wary of that 25% chance of ManBearPig though. Them genes is dominant than a mawfucka too.
That Cicely Tyson spectacle in the church house, Sister Patterson… God don’t like that, boo boo. I’m with you, Onix. Testify, brother! You ain’t supposed to play like that in a church… filled with cameras… and fake ass bourgie niggas.
With that said, Tango, you continue to disappoint me. You disloyal, bitchmade, fool-ass motherfucker. I thought you’d take a stand lined up against these soft-ass niggas. First you let Whiteboy punk you, then you cry like a little bitch with a splinter in your pinky. I didn’t tally that initial count of snitchin against you because Pootie was crazy, but now I see this is just how you operate. We once had Red Oyster, now your ass is Blue Oyster. I wonder what poor, unsuspecting nigga is gonna catch a Captain Harris next week.
Yep. Tango & Cash. Rico Suave and this dude playin the 2007 C.H.I.P.S. on niggas. We gonna see how they get dealt with in the coming weeks.
We knew Onix was gone from the moment he opened his scrotophile lips to “disrespect [New York’s] mama’s fate.” (Note: Not faith but fate.) Heat goes home to Mama and Yaya. Mr. Boston lives!
I was gonna do up some T-Shirts, but that’s a little extreme. Instead, I’ve decided I’m gonna have a Mr. Boston at the bar every weekend until dude is eliminated.
This week on “The White Rapper Show” our remaining gentry have apparently earned the right to contribute something musical to our great culture. The Magnificent Seven split into two teams and visit Justin Blaze at his Baseline Studios to make what Serch refers to as a “Club Banger.” I’d much more readily refer to it as Marion Barry smoke break soundtrack.
Yes. It was that bad on both sides; and in case you're wondering, we're still playing up to the stereotypes of black culture than training and assessing MCs.
While I have nothing against strip clubs, their employees or patrons (that's not a drink), when I think of skrippin club music en masse, I think of BET UnCut bullshit that’s primarily devoid of talent or effort. Only a handful do it properly even among seasoned skrip professionals. Why torture these poor white kids this way? If Nas can’t make a decent one, why should 100 Proof?
Serch telling someone their rhyme scheme is simplistic is like the pot calling T-Weed black. I know I wasn’t very old, but I do believe I remember Pete Nice scraping the floor with Serch on damn near every 3rd Bass track.
“When I say ‘Club Banger’ I mean a record that’s going to play in a club.” Are you fucking serious? That needs to be explained? I guess it does when you think “Club Banger” i.e. “Walk It Out” is synonymous with “Skrippin’ Music” i.e. “What That Thang Smell Like.”
Hearing the instrumental, Self-Hate… I mean, Jus Rhyme, really had a "Hustle & Flow" relapse on that shit! “How about ‘Beat that bitch? No? ummm… 'Stomp that ho?' Hmm…”
Ah, I remember the group of white pseudo-revolutionaries with Che Guevara t-shirts that "partied their way to social justice" back in college. One of them was a rapper too. They did nitrous in their rooms, scared the shit out of me, and failed to make any kind of sense regarding their plans for societal upheaval. Whenever I’d ask them what the plan was, they’d mumble something about a “Ghetto Revival,” do another line of coke and make their way to Starbucks.
While Powder is concerned with the mindstate of the white children he’s been poisoning with his message of self-hatred and the black children he’s been confusing with handfuls of U.N.-issue cheese and powdered milk, it’s quite refreshing to see Jon Boy stepping up and leading his team to puff-puff supremacy. I was impressed with dude in the challenge. For the first time ever I felt like his verse was clean.
Eh. Maybe that’s just my brain finally acclimating itself to the substandard level of talent I’ve been forced to follow for a few weeks now. I’m confused. I’m starting to see different sides to these kids. John Brown looks less and less like a shithead every week and I may not be the smartest nigga in the prison library, but I get the notion Persia is feeling this man.
“Okay, John. I’m sorry. You can get me back. Go ahead. Put your dick on my lips.”
On the other side of “Tha White House,” Sullee, Shamrock and 100 Proof are writing a singalong hook that is complete and utter suicide. I had to look away. I still feel ill just trying to recall Paul Wall, jr. wailing “tooooooo-niiiiiiiiiight.” I was however, thoroughly entertained by 100 Proof’s “Let’s swap body fluids!” exchange and the subsequent reactions.
Having completed a hard day of bullshitting themselves at Baseline, Serch invites new white supergroup La Coka Nostra over for pizza and Quaaludes. I love Everlast, but damn, all I can think about is how Eminem put 2 dicks in his blowhole a few years ago, so everything he said sounded like Charlie Brown’s teacher.
I never knew Ill Bill was capable of civilized, normal conversation. Responsible for my favorite putdown of all time (“Go eat a dick sandwich!”), Mr. Black Helicopters put some real game into these kids’ ears that Jus Rhyme really needed to be soaking up. Jokes aside, he and Everlast leading the white rapper support group proves to be the most pertinent and constructive portion of the series to date.
John Brown looking like somebody just tickled his balls with that Coka Nostra hoodie on! Hallelujah, holler back!
What better place to test out your freshly-made club banger than seedy Bronx skeet palace, Sin City with Kool Keith? If Laqueshia and Precious like it, then you’re in there.
Didn’t it just tug at your heartstrings to see Sullee carefully droppin them ones? Brother, you ain’t Young Hefner until you can at least drop some Pampers money in one sitting. A dancer ain't gonna bring her baby a pack of fuckin Fitti because you don't know how to behave yourself in a classy establishment!
By the time the song is over you done dropped 4 singles on the floor. A girl’s supposed to damn near break her neck on the pole for that? She can’t even go to Boston Market with 4 damn dollars, nigga. If you’re gonna go and indulge in that kind of entertainment, show some respect for the craft! Support your local skripper! We need a skripper union!
Watching Jus Rhyme lip sync his verse really made my week. That’s gotta be my next .gif file request. I need to have permanent evidence of Jus Rhyme trying to “Smack That” all on the floor. That and... well... the dildo on the lips thing.
As confusing and contradictory as this entire program is, one thing that became painfully clear by mid episode was that I was gonna lose another Final Four selection. Sink-pissin ass 100 Proof didn’t have any tricks in his Mohawk and joins G-Child in the realm of early 90s-era white rappers still better than MC Serch. Jon Boy and Jus Rhyme get to walk (with VH1 supervision) to the bodega for another week.
I Love New York: Who's Your Daddy And What Does He Do?
Tuesday. 2.20.07 3:05 pm
Before we delve into another 2-week hiatus from “I Love New York” we are greeted with quite the road to our Fab 5. Since it’s cheaper to use a group of orphan girls than pay for paternity tesses, New York turns her handful of remaining bitch niggas over to The Brat Pack for assessment. Immediately following, she has the boys take out their testosterone-laden frustration on one another in the boxing gym.
…and you thought the basketball was fun to watch.
In the wake of Tim Hardaway’s All-Star Weekend commentary on gay people, I examine just how unexcited the contestants are to see Chamo in the morning. I know it’s not right to judge what people are thinking, but quite a few of them gazes just clamor “chingado maricon.” I wonder if they’d feel better if they saw the video we did last week. (Chamomillionaire’s not gay!)
I’ll tell you who the Blair Switch Hunt should never have let up on, fuckin 12 Pack. As soon as these foster kids come out, nigga wastes zero time in getting a free facial and foundation. “Who wants to put makeup on Uncle 12 Pack?” Can’t fool me, nigga.
Chance must definitely be trying to lineup a career in acting or sketch comedy, because in his character, he’s zero good to anyone. How you gonna tell a little homeless girl “Your edges look tough.” Alright. Let me stop. I’d probably do that same shit if the little devil spawn put cake in my face. If New York were actually looking for a good daddy, I’d put those wenches in check real quick like.
New York: Why do you girls love Tango so much?
Girls: Tango taught us how to snitch! He even showed us his wire! Oh, god. He told us everything!
New York: Why do you hate Chance so much?
Girls: “That is not a real man!”
Even a 9-year old can tell as much! Ah, I hope she finds those orphans’ daddies eventually.
“This is my first date with New York or any saucy black woman, so I’m gonna be extra cool.” This obviously entails dude coming out of his room looking like Bobby Kennedy. I had been trying to figure out who he reminded me of for the longest. This mawfucka is a lost Kennedy.
Ewwww. No, no, Boo Boo! New York’s eye makeup look like she gettin ready for the 9:15 performance of “CATS!” What the fuck, mane?
VH1 once again listened to my blog suggestions and cut from ManBearPig at the dinner table to the horse pulling the fairy tale carriage of Boston and the Tramp. [Play At Home: insert fairy tale parody here]
After all goes well, New York apparently has made up her mind that she’s gonna try her out some bangers and mash. Sadly, Bobby Kennedy looks like he’s never kissed a woman before and she is devouring that little ass.
Back at the plantation, Chance wigs out when MBP told him he’d make a terrible father. The shit struck a chord as he was… on “I Love New York,” away from his 2-year old and being a bad father all at the same time. Damn, Chance. I'll tell you what. None of the other guys are worrying about their kids. You good, dog!
No, seriously. If you put some of the indignation of your monologues into taking care of a child, the world may be a better place for us all tomorrow. Take your Dipset ass back home and raise that kid right so he don’t try to carjack me in 15 years. As the MBP previously stated, “Be a father to your child.”
Sister Patterson been listenin to that old school hip-hop.
Thanks to the distraction/unintentional cockblock, Boston couldn’t get that wondrous chocolate nut off in the hot tub. Instead, he gets to watch his curious little prize convince Cam’ron to not raise his son. Couldn’t have scripted a more fucked ending for Boston, or could we?
Chamo in his Don Flamenco gear alerts the boys the next morning that much like they did with the basketball competition, they are going to pair off and pummel each other for New York’s entertainment. The shit was divided into weight classes, undercards and everything!
Real vs. Whiteboy: Real got his ass knocked dizzy quick-fast like by Whiteboy, who never disappoints the crowd. I expected a little more from Rick James... a slap... something, Charlie Murphaayyy!
12 Pack vs. Tango: Pac went Prince Naseem on this nigga. He doin flips in the ring and everything. He dropped “Tango, the big frickin Wango” with a filthy uppercut (a rarely used, but highly effective punch) in the first round, but Snitchin’ Randy got round 2.
Chance vs. Mr. Boston: “I’m ready to land a couple sweet punches on that cocksucker’s face.” Oh, how I wanted to see it go down that way, but Chance rather handily ate dude’s food. Bobby Kennedy’s obviously never been hit in the face before. With that said, he stood tall… even if he got knocked the fuck out of the ring like SoulCaliber.
Chance “Sorry I spit on you through my gap” Giles was feelin real big beatin up on punk ass Boston. He bodied Jay-Z and Nas… now he can add Sully to the list.
Alright, so, when we thought it couldn’t get any worse for Boston, he got cockblocked, knocked the fuck out and then eliminated when he was a tantrum away from penetrating… getting knocked the fuck out… and probably still eliminated. I’ll tell you what. I was pulling for dude until I noticed he really be diggin for fuckin gold! I never noticed the full extent of his nosepicking until last night. You gotta check that nasty fuckin finger for brain matter before you let him touch you, girl!
At least he didn’t hit the bricks without a little love. The entire room didn’t need to see the New York/Boston makeout session though… especially when he been in his nose the way he was. Ugh. I think he eats them too.
“Too bad New York missed out on the Irish Curse! That’s 2.5 inches of jackrabbit fucking fury!”
I’m gonna pour a little out for nasty-ass Lee Greenfinger today anyway. This program won’t be the same for me without him.
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Posted by Ron Mexico at February 20, 2007 11:26 AM
Oh, what I would have given to see the new-superstar Jon Boy in this episode instead of Powder.
This week on “ego trip’s The White Rapper Show,” our crowded three journey from the Mecca of all hip-hop (no pun intended), to the city that has over the years become the “Mecca of White Hip-Hop.” If Jus Rhyme, Shamrock or John Brown are to make a Rabbit run, it’s gotta go through Detroit.
From the moment I heard they were going to Detroit, I had the strangest feeling they were going to Saint Andrew’s to get their asses handed to them.
After a brief John Brown/Shamrock Prison Peace Summit by the bunk beds, we observe a true-to-life cost of being a VH1 buffoon. Fixing the scope of his AR-15 at the $100,000 prize instead of rolling with the notoriety that would have come to him in already having excelled so far in this nationally televised “competition” (i.e. Persia), Jus Rhyme spurns his PhD grant in Colored Liberation and Salvation Studies to chase his new dream of becoming the next white rapper MC Serch Shanghais in the cold, cold industry.
Powder putting his entire educational future on the line for this shit proves him to be an even bigger shithead than I initially thought. You know you’re fuckin up something terrible when John Brown has that concerned face as he advises you. “Just not the wisest move, man.”
Actually, let me have that one back. That face could either have been concern or John Brown’s general discomfort “around too many white people.” Ghetto Revival, baby! Hallelujah, Holla back!
Bringing these assclowns to “The Mecca of White Hip-Hop” to pay homage to the likes of Eminem and Kid Rock is akin to bringing a bacon egg and cheese to the mosque on 127th & Lenox. Not only are they not welcome, but they are sacrilege in the eyes of the city that molded those Caucasoid champions. Besides, Jus Rhyme got a white woman pork face. The bar has actually been raised since the early 90s. I’m surprised Serch of all people couldn’t come through there with a trio of rappers that he might be able to beat in a battle himself.
At the site of the once integral Hip-Hop Shop, TJ the Trouble Man gave the white rappers a little history on the establishment (turned lingerie shop) and the Detroit scene. "Eminem, yadda, Proof, namedrop, blah blah, yadda…" Did that nigga say Maurice Malone was pumpin his shit out of there? Damn, that gives me a tad more respect for the nigga with them terrible underwear ads of the late 90s.
Ironically, hip-hop music itself is now a lingerie shop-- A collection of panty-drawers and a complete farce of what it once was and could have been. If they wanted to bring this shit full circle, they should have hung John Brown up on a rack next to a tried-on thong.
I don’t have much to say about ICP except them motherfuckers really look like some disgruntled molester birthday clowns. Their makeup jobs are supposed to be the scary part, but I’m more alarmed at how they just talk to people normally like they don’t have that shit on. I wonder if they “clown up” every morning before they start their days. Do they have makeup artists on site? Oh, the questions that arise.
Later, talking to Kid Rock, as former Mr. Anderson-Lee explained the ills of growing up the lone white kid in a circle of hostile silverbacks Serch is like “Nah, they wasn’t takin my chain. I paid entirely too much for protection for some shit like that to happen.”
After the jewels of wisdom from Detroit rap legends, the rapster barbecue is interrupted by an eclectic group of classic Midwestern weird folk (which are different from the weird folk of other regions in their own special way). For example, shit heard at the gathering include but are not limited to: “Uh, oh. Here comes Tupac! He sometimes he’ll sneak up behind me and start fucking me in the ass when I’m doing my yard work. You boys had better be careful.” “Ain’t no shame in my game. I’ll warm a sausage or two.” And of course, lest we forget “I’m trynna promote this uh, fishin!”
A soiree like that would propel me to pursue racial harmony as well, Jus! However, them 15 Anti-Racist Principles that comprise AR-15 are highly disturbing. They are creepy, whiny, roundabout, redundant and don’t express to me that anyone involved with the organization has any serious plan to make a difference by doing anything but whining self-hatred to whoever would be stupid enough to fucking listen.
“Study legacies of resistance?” “Sustain an anti-racist culture?” “Choke on my own dick?” What the fuck does it mean, Jus?
The only thing that held my attention through the "Marshall's Law" media blowjob challenge was the anticipation of the prize. You know how they like to play on words all the time. I thought when dude said “A very, very hefty prize” he was gonna pull some Majin-Buu lookin’ broad out or something. You know these ego trip people don’t know how to act!
Jus Rhyme was salty when he didn’t get picked by King of the Burbs and Champion of Eminem Interview Knowledge. Still, he relished the opportunity to devise anti-racist principles in solitude back at the “How White People Really Be Livin’” house. That trailer reeks of bologna and welfare. I can tell.
Jus’ monologue to the camera parallel’s Dave Chappelle’s "8 Mile" sketch entirely too well.
I don’t know if he was going for “School of Mexico” but Mr. Serchlite is definitely trying to show these kids how to “hate” in preparation for being slaves thrown into the coliseum only to catch a rousing thumbs down. By his approach, I can tell Serch caught that "Mad Ciphas" marathon on BCAT and MNN public access cable networks.
Quote of the Day: “You left this outside! Ohhhhh!” *tosses police t-shirt* - Jus Rhyme (see, even Jus hates snitches!)
I know I ain’t been to Detroit to see my folk in a while, but I know for a fact y’all got better niggas than them Cardi Boys to bring to the battle table. They ain’t horrible, but they ain’t say Eminem, One Man Army (who goes by OneBeLo these days), nothing… I’d rather have seen them battle the Cheddar Boyz. At least the battles would have been somewhat entertaining. The crowd acted like the locals ripped it, but from what I heard, both sides should have been booed off stage.
If Shamrock had any composure, he wouldn’t be so bad. Unfortunately, to an MC, that’s like saying if New York wasn’t so plastic, horse-like and whorish she’d be fuckable. That Gatorade “it” that needs to be in you to perform at a high level in moments like this… Shamrock doesn’t have. It’s a shame, because from day one, he’s the one I wanted to root for. However, I don’t feel right pumping a rapper that doesn’t believe in himself.
I have to admit, Jus Rhyme’s problem is not lack of heart. In fact, the clown is quite courageous and I commend him for that. Unfortunately, when you can’t rap worth shit AND are a complete corn ball I can’t pump you up at this level either. Go listen to some black people rap; loosen up your bandana and come back when you’re done with school.
Damn. White people need to get their shit together. Stay in school!
I’ll give you one more jewel for that cloudy brain of yours John. You can’t call a nigga an “Uncle Tom” and ridicule him about being harassed in the burbs. People can usually tell the difference between one who is joking and being clever and one who is speaking out of his milky ass in complete ignorance. Once again, you are the latter. I’d like to meet the “serious people from the street” that support your jackassery.
With that said, these kids were put into a very tough situation and stood strong. I’ve watched people get their asses handed to them in that very hall growing up. It’s nerve-wracking even for a teenage spectator. My hat does go off to the contestants for not crying, running away, collapsing or calling anyone the n-word. (That’s what I do when I’m frustrated. I just call everyone in the immediate vicinity the n-word.)
They still suck though.
Jus Rhyme’s pre-elimination WWF Saturday morning hype speech was pathetic and indicative of why it was obvious that he wasn’t gonna get a chain from Flavor Flav to stick around the house a little more. Goldie deserved it anyway. Still, out of the remaining finalists, I still don’t see a champion in this regard. We’ll have a winner, but we won’t have a rap star. Sadly, Touchdown Brown and the kid who took a meathook to the face as a baby have a better chance of being America’s Next Top Model than they do being taken seriously as recording artists.
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Posted by Ron Mexico at February 21, 2007 11:02 AM
New York Gets Caught In A Lie During An Interview With Miss Jones
Friday. 3.2.07 10:16 pm
Things got heated between Hot 97's Miss Jones and Tifanny Pollard aka New York during a recent phone interview when Jonsie caught New York in the middle of a bold face lie. They should've asked her what was up with Sister Patterson's wig game. Audio via Hip & Pop.
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