Iron Mic: Eli Porter Vs. Envy

It was a brisk autumn afternoon in 2003 and there I was, sitting at the Iron Mic Freestyle Battle at Chamblee High School in Atlanta. That was nothing out of the ordinary, though; Eli Porter and I were pretty tight back then, and Envy and Marv-O were always joking around with me. Envy would always ask me, “Who are you and why are you hanging out at our high school?” “Good one, my man!” I’d reply with a hearty laugh, holding my hand up for a high-five. Then Marv-O would say, “No, seriously - Envy, go get security in here,” and I’d point at my still-raised hand and say, “Don’t leave me hangin’, bro!” Then security would come and escort me off school property, knowing full well that I’d be back the next week and we’d do the whole thing all over again. That was like our little inside joke.

Anyway, I remember this particular day very clearly. It was a day or two after the judge told me I wasn’t allowed within 200 yards of Chamblee High School, and Eli Porter and I were sitting in the school cafeteria. Eli was working on some lyrics, but he seemed really nervous.

“If you’re nervous about battling Envy, don’t even sweat it,” I said. “You’re a way better rapper than he is.”

“I’m going to call security,” he said without even looking up from his notebook.

“This is no time for inside jokes,” I replied. “You need to get your head in the game if you’re going to beat this guy.”

“Dude, how old are you? Why are you always hanging out at our high school?”

“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “The point is this: Envy is a total chump. Seriously - the guy is like Rosie O’Donnell at a bisexual bridal shower.”

Eli looked up at me wide-eyed, and starting scribbling furiously in his notebook. Emboldened I went on, spitting potentially awesome science to be dropped.

“Envy doesn’t even need to come out, because he’s already in a gay parade,” I said. “You’re the best, man - you did it.” Eli slammed his notebook shut, got up and went racing into the studio. He didn’t need to thank me, and the police were already dragging me out of the school, so it was kind of a moot point anyway.

I guess what I’m trying to say is this: It’s my fault that Eli Porter lost this rap battle. Do I feel good about that? Of course not, but you know what?

Nobody ever said the rap game was going to be easy.

The beamz™ Music Performance System

If you’re like me, you have vague, completely unfocused musical inclinations. But if you’re like me, you’ve never actually acted on those inclinations and purchased any sort of musical instrument. Maybe you’ve been busy at work. Maybe it’s family stuff: The kids need to be picked up from school and the goddamn wife needs you to stop at the store and buy milk, leaving you wondering, “How do we go through so much fucking milk in this house? It’s like she’s pouring it down the drain or something.” And you’re right about that - she IS pouring it down the drain - but that doesn’t change the fact that you have to stop at the store and pick up the goddamn milk.

Or maybe you’ve never attempted to learn an instrument because you’re too focused on your career. You know - that career that has consumed your entire life but gives you the luxury of being able to buy $600 gadgets at Sharper Image. Well guess what, little buddy?! The beamz™ Music Performance System is a $600 gadget that is going to solve all of your problems (except the erectile dysfunction).

What kind of music are you into? Do you want to be a classically trained violinist? How about a “one-man rock band”? Do you want to “scratch” your favorite pre-programmed hip-hop “beats” like the real “homeboys” do, or would you rather relax in a darkened room full of your favorite Sharper Image products for a moment of “quiet reverie”? Whatever it is, beamz™ has you covered. You know those boring weekends you think to yourself, “I kind of wish I had to go to work so I’d have something to do”? With the beamz™ system you can kiss those goodbye. Just head down to your “studio” in the basement and tell the wife to let you know when dinner’s ready. Then when people call for you, she’ll answer the phone and be like, “He’s down in his man room playing with his beamz™ again. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

And here I was thinking that Sharper Image went bankrupt when all this time l could’ve been down in the basement, playing with my beamz™ and softly weeping.

Bob Blackman - Mule Train

I look out across the comedy landscape these days and it’s just about enough to make me puke!

Just look at the garbage that they’re calling entertainment these days! Blagh! It makes me sick! Larry The Cable Guy? Dane Cook?! Carlos Mencia?!?! These guys all suck, but things are even WORSE in the world of comedy!

Blame 9/11, blame Jason Friedberg and Aaron Seltzer… hell, blame Wayne Gladstone if you really want to (he’s probably the one responsible). Blame whatever person or terrorist attack makes you feel comfortable, but you know what? That’s just making excuses. If this clip teaches us anything, it’s that comedy used to be a lot funnier than it is today.

What ever happened to good comedy? When I turn on my TV, where’s all the spinning bowties and squirting flowers? When I go to see the latest talkie, where’s all the pie fights and men dressed up like ladies? When I go out for a night of dining and live entertainment, where’s all the guys singing “Mule Train” while hitting themselves in the head with a metal tray?

Where’s all the Kaiser Wilhelm jokes? I haven’t heard a good Kaiser Wilhelm joke in years.

Sigh… comedy just ain’t what it used to be.

Some would call my suddenly blogging about Emo kids a transparent attempt to plug the newest Those Aren’t Muskets! sketch. Those people would do well to chill the fuck out and enjoy some embedded video. I’ll meet you on the other side with some exciting news about Mexico.

Well, here we are on the other side. Hopefully you’re not all laughed out, because I have some tragically hilarious news to share with you. Specifically, that Mexicans have once again done the dirty work we couldn’t do ourselves by beating the living crap out of a bunch of eye shadow-wearing, spiked hair-having, My Chemical Romance-listening Emo kids.

You read that correctly (unless you didn’t); there are currently riots raging in Mexico during which people rove the streets, muttering to one another about “these goddamned kids with their striped shirts and black nail polish” (in Spanish mind you), looking for gaggles of hipsters sitting on a parking lot divider to hit with a two by four.

They follow the sounds of Dashboard Confessional like a homing beacon, and then release their collective fury on behalf of all of us who have ever heard a Death Cab for Cutie album and thought “Jesus, does this asshole seriously want me to feel sorry for him because he feels bad about cheating on his girlfriend? I’d like to punch him in the mouth.”

(more…)

Gus Johnson: Dancin’ Queen Diva

I don’t know much about basketball, but Wikipedia tells me that guy on the left is Clyde Frazier, who is apparently a very famous former NBA player and current spokesman for Just For Men hair products. That’s good to know, I guess, but the look on his face when the guy on the right (Gus Johnson, who Wikipedia tells me is also famous) starts singing “Dancing Queen” completely transcends my lack of knowledge of basketball.

You don’t need to know a damn thing about basketball to know that dude looks REALLY bummed out.

Is there really no place for ABBA in sports? I’m pretty sure I’ve heard “Dancing Queen” while cosmic bowling and playing mini golf, but is that as far as it can go? Is it really so wrong for a full-grown man to express a healthy appreciation for Swedish disco?

I know the connotations: Disco is kind of fruity and sports are the opposite of fruity, therefore sports dudes can’t admit to liking disco. That sounds simple enough, but you know what? I’ll bet all those dudes making shitty faces and nodding disapprovingly all know the words to “Dancing Queen.” I bet a good number of them have it on their iPods buried in a secret folder named “Untitled,” and I bet the file itself is renamed something like “Eye Of The Tiger” or “Sports Mix Vol. 1″ or “I Can’t Get Enough Pussy - What Can I Say? I Just Really, REALLY Like Pussy,” which is weird, because that’s obviously not a real song title.

If you’re reading this, members of the basketball community, I have a message for you: loosen up a little. The gay 90s came and went, and now, in these enlightened 00s of ours, it’s totally socially acceptable to admit to liking ABBA. Also, please change the rules of your game to make it not seem so boring to me. All that running back and forth… it’s a real snoozefest. Try to incorporate weapons or booby traps or something.

Oh - also, please teach me how to dunk. That would be awesome.

The Poetic Prophet (aka the SEO Rapper) - Design Coding

Here on the Cracked blog I usually try to post videos with broad appeal, but today is going to be a bit different. Not to diss Poetic Prophet or anything, but there are really only a few specific circumstances where I can fully endorse watching this thing.

If you’re not into hip hop, this video isn’t going to be your cup of tea, but if you’re REALLY into hip hop, you’re probably going to hate it even more.

If you’re trying to teach yourself web design, best to keep moving along; if you’ve read ANYTHING about web design you probably already know all this stuff, and there are lots of websites with more useful information out there only a click away. On the flipside, if you have NO interest in web design, then this is all going to sound very jargony and nerdy to you.

That being said, I guess I would recommend watching this if you KIND OF like hip hop and KIND OF know stuff about web design but aren’t looking to learn anything new. Although that doesn’t really work either, because people who like hip hop even just a little bit would probably think this song sucks. Maybe this video is meant for people who 1) are vaguely aware that something called “hip hop” exists, 2) already know a little bit about web design and search engine optimization but aren’t looking to learn anything new, and 3) like music videos that are filmed in offices.

Actually, you know what? Just don’t watch this video. Seriously - it sucks.

Sonic Metal

It happens to all of us every once in a while: You’re doing something completely irrelevant - sitting in your office, working on your car, maybe just playing some Sonic the Hedgehog - when all of the sudden you get hit with a sudden urge. It sneaks up on you at first, just a faint hint of a suggestion, but then you can’t stop thinking about it. You try to ignore it, but the truth is you can no longer help yourself.

You must build a guitar out of an old Sega Genesis.

So you pull the Genesis out of storage in your parents’ basement - which is convenient, because that’s where you live - and you get to work, but then your girlfriend walks in and she’s like, “What the hell are you doing?” and you’re like, “Wait a minte - I don’t have a girlfriend. Who the hell are you?” and she’s like, “Oh, wait - I think I have the wrong house. I’m looking for Donny,” and you’re like, “Yeah, Donny lives a block over. On Kendall Avenue. This is KenDALE Avenue.” Then she’s like, “Oh, weird - his house looks exactly like this one,” and you’re like “Yeah, I know,” and then she looks at the Sega Genesis and severed guitar neck on your workbench and is like, “Uhh… yeah. Good luck with that.”

A few days later you’ll be done building your Sega Genesis guitar, but you’ll still be thinking about Donny’s girlfriend. You’ll read the Wikipedia entry for “Courtship”, hoping to glean something about the art of seduction, racking your brain to come up with a way to win her affections, and then you’ll decide to impress her the only way you know how: by making a video of yourself wailing on your Sega Genesis guitar in front of some Sonic the Hedgehog levels and putting it up on YouTube. Then you’ll sit back and wait for her to blow you up with her digits in the comments, but then your mom will be like, “DINNER!!!” and you’ll have to turn off the computer and go upstairs.

A few days later Donny will kick your ass and steal your Sega Genesis guitar, which he will then proceed to sell on eBay for $101. Good times.

Smashing Pumpkins is suing Virgin records for using some Pumpkins music in a Pepsi commercial. Normally, I would applaud such artistic integrity, but this news —like most things Billy Corgan related— just pisses me off. According to the lawsuit, Virgin violated the terms of its contract by using the Smashing Pumpkins name and music in promotional deals that hurt the band’s credibility with fans.

Really? Which fans? I’m sorry. I lost track of the Pumpkins demographic some time after ’97. Who are we talking about? Thirty five year old Japanese Anime enthusiasts who work at Blockbuster? Soccer moms who have destroyed all the old photos of themselves featuring crotchless black and white striped stockings? Vampires who still get beat up for lunch money?

Yeah, I don’t think Virgin is the biggest culprit when it comes to the band’s loss of public affection. As a former Smashing Pumpkins fan, I’m pretty sure I know where the problem is. Let’s recount:

1991: Smashing Pumpkins releases Gish, an amazing, guitar-driven collage of sound and emotion. Young Gladstone is duly impressed.

1993: Smashing Pumpkins releases Siamese Dream to rave reviews and commercial success. Young Gladstone incorporates Disarm into his acoustic coffee shop set and succeeds in getting the phone number of a super-cute waitress.

1995: Melon Collie and the Infinite Sadness. A goofy title for a double album that contains a number of throwaway tracks and a single (Tonight, Tonight) that sounds suspiciously similar to Disarm. Corgan, in full-douche mode, refers to the album as The Wall for Generation X. Gladstone refrains from purchasing. Incorporates none of the songs into his acoustic set. Gets the phone numbers of no waitresses.

1998: Adore. Smashing Pumpkins take a bold step into a hackneyed form of Eno-influenced electronica, and it’s somehow lamer than it sounds. Corgan shaves his head. Wears black leather or spandex or whatever you call that S&M gear worn by people who enjoy being urinated on. Gladstone’s girlfriend buys the CD and is mocked mercilessly by Gladstone.

2000: Deux ex Machina. Bassist Darcy is kicked out of the band and is replaced by Melissa Auf de Maur. Gladstone grows more suspicious of Corgan. For a guy who’s all about musical integrity, how come he only hires bassists Gladstone wants to have sex with? As far as the album goes? Not sure. I saw the poster for it in a record store window. Shortly thereafter, Smashing Pumpkins breaks up. Glastone’s girlfriend leaves. Gladstone calls waitress from years earlier. Repeated messages go unreturned. Gladstone tries to imagine Darcy and Melissa Auf de Maur having sex with each other. Succeeds.

My point is simple. Pumpkins kind of went to pieces, and Billy Corgan breaks my heart. He’s a talented guy who was very good at making some interesting and attractive sounds. He was also talented enough to want to do something more. Something different and iconic, but he never succeeded in purveying that new sound successfully. Unlike the similarly situated Kurt Cobain, however, Billy chose not to kill himself. Instead, he moped about with his bald head and shiny clothes whining and whining and whining. Occasionally, he appeared for photos like this:

That’s what killed Smashing Pumpkins. Billy Corgan. A talented, geeky, suburban kid who dreamed of greatness. Who achieved it. But who fell when he tried to become more than a talented musician. When he tried to be an icon. He wanted 14 year old girls to swoon. He wanted black and white graffiti of his visage on the Berlin Wall. He wanted the kind of rock star celebrity that is very rare and often created only by untimely death. Kurt Cobain is an icon. Jim Morrison is an icon. Jimi Hendrix is an icon. Billy Corgan is not. (Even though I think he’s more talented than two of those three guys. Can you guess which?)

Billy, if you’re reading this, which you aren’t, but hey, this is a literary device, let me make a request: just be content with what you’ve done. A lot of it’s great. I wish that made you happy. I wish you’d grow out your balding hair, sit down with your guitar, and record some tunes with no agenda.

And don’t be sad. I’m pretty sure I know the number of at least one waitress who would still totally sleep with you.

The McCain Girls - It’s Raining McCain

Just the other day I had a great idea for a new business: a day care center where random strangers off the street pay by the hour to play with other peoples’ children. It’s awesome because I’d be getting money from both the parents and the random people off the street, and I wouldn’t even need any employees - it’d be just me sitting at a table, counting hundred dollar bills and laughing maniacally.

There would also be a juice bar.

It seemed like a great idea at first, but when I told a friend of mine about it he was like, “That’s the worst idea of all time.” Then he explained all the problems with the concept, and I was like, “Holy shit - you’re right. How did I not think of all those problems you just named?” That’s the great thing about having friends - when you bounce an idea off them, they’re usually more than happy to tell you that it’s terrible.

And that’s how I know that the three girls in this video are not friends. If they were, when one of these women approached the other two and said, “I have a great idea: Let’s make a video of ourselves singing ‘It’s Raining McCain’ and put it up on YouTube,” one of them would have said, “That’s a terrible idea.” If they were actually friends, when one of them wrote down the lyric “I’m gonna go out and let myself get absolutely John McCain,” don’t you think one of them would’ve been like, “That doesn’t even make any fucking sense - this is a horrible idea and I don’t think I want to be friends with you anymore”?

I’m actually starting to think this might have been made by Obama supporters - possibly the same people who made that horrendous Hillary Clinton song - but I don’t really have any time for further investigation; I have this business I’m starting and I’m supposed to be meeting with some of the investors later this afternoon. If all goes well, we’ll be the first all-in-one muffler shop/laundromat/erotic massage joint in America. What can I say? Some people are just born entrepreneurs.

If there’s anything classic rock nerds lust after more than a night with Chrissie Hynde, it’s the oft-heard promise of NEW BEATLES TRACKS.

Most of them…okay, us…would gladly shell out for a box set of recordings of John Lennon slowly decomposing, as long as it had some light harpsichord and a message of universal love.

But all good things must end, and the ever-diminishing pool of unreleased, re-mastered, and pre-un-de-recorded tracks of the boys improvising into a shitty 8-track means that every “new Beatles track” is inevitably scraped from an even deeper, heretofore unexplored part of the barrel.

Tupac they ain’t.

This week’s scrapings are a few recordings of the Beatles playing at a club in Germany. The quality is dubious, and it’s reputed to be Ringo’s first performance with the band.

For those who haven’t heard about Ringo’s arduous journey towards adequacy, his first performance probably looked like an orangutan flailing at a particularly stubborn coconut.

Have we gotten to this point? Is there really an appreciable market for what is likely the third most regrettable moment of the Beatles’ existence (the second being Lennon’s assassination and the first being that bitch Heather Mills scamming Paulie out of his “Yesterday” money)?

Does it really take a lawsuit from Apple Records to keep the hordes of decrepit Beatles fans from bursting down the door in an attempt to get their grubby hands on a slice of the one decade when their opinions were relevant?

The answer to all of these questions is of course an emphatic yes. I will be the first in line to buy not only the album, but also the accompanying coffee table book detailing its creation. Hooray capitalism!

Also, hey, how was your Easter? My delicious-ham to violent-family-meltdown ratio was up this year…truly, the Lord moves in all of us.

When not blogging for Cracked, Michael harasses the estate of George Martin as head writer and co-founder of Those Aren’t Muskets!