I don’t know where BJ The Messenger has been hiding out since 1987, but I think it’s about time he comes out of retirement and single-handedly saves hip hop. Rap has gotten way too ridiculous in the last decade or two, and all this bling-cars-and-bitches shit has got to go. There was a time when hip hop was about the lyrics, about sending a positive message to the community. Now we’ve got dudes ghost riding whips and getting silly and lunatics crankin’ dat all over old ladies on the train. We need a hero to come and save this once-meaningful form of music, and from the looks of him, I think this bafflingly-anonymous middle-aged rapper just might it.

I’ll admit that he’s a little bit hard on the crackheads. I’ve personally woken up with my face stuck to the pillow, my mom has called me an ugly gorilla, and I’ve had people tell me they could smell my body odor through the telephone. Does that make me a crackhead? I’ve been called all kinds of things for all kinds of reasons, but if you’re going to call me a crackhead, it should be because I’m hopelessly addicted to potent, smokable freebase cocaine. Not because I sleep in, not because my mom made fun of me once, and not because of my powerful, wafting body odor.

No - call me a crackhead because I spend every single penny I earn on that sweet, sweet rock.

Anyway, we need to get BJ The Messenger out of retirement, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes. To that end, I’ve set up a PayPal fund to take your donations, which I promise will definitely go to BJ and not to my all-consuming crack cocaine habit. Feel free to chip in as much or as little as you want, but anything less than $50 is basically a waste of my time. I mean… his time. You know - because the money will go to BJ The Messenger. Because I know who he is and how to get ahold of him.

Please send me money.

I don’t know if you guys have noticed, but we’ve been plugging Grand Theft Auto IV pretty hard this week. Some of you have probably been wondering how much free shit Rockstar has been giving us, how many sacks with dollar signs we’ve had to haul to the bank in the last week. Before today I would’ve dismissed such insinuations with a wave of my hand. “No, no - you’ve got it all wrong,” I’d say. “We’re plugging the game because we’re fans, not for material gain.”

Or at least that’s what I would’ve said before I saw this trailer for 50 Cent: Blood on the Sand. Although if you caught me right after I saw it, I probably still would’ve said something like that because, you know, I thought it was a joke. But if you caught me a few minutes later, after I’d googled it and confirmed that it was a REAL video game about 50 Cent killing terrorists, well, I’d probably say something different. You know - something like “Fuck GTA IV - this is going to be the greatest video game of all time.”

The plot of the game goes something like this: 50 Cent and G-Unit play a concert in the Middle East for some reason, the promoter pays them with Damien Hirst’s “For the Love of God” (retail price: $100 million), and then some bad guys steal it and 50 has to try to get it back. It’s important to note that, according to the game’s Wikipedia entry, “much of the game is spent following 50 Cent when he is without the skull.”

Thanks, Wikipedia.

It’s been almost seven years since that whole 9/11 thing happened. (See? We TOLD YOU we’d never forget!). Why in the name of God has it taken SEVEN YEARS to start seeing video games where our favorite rappers roam the Middle East killing terrorists?! If you’re reading this, video game industry, please make a game where you play as Biggie and have to chase Bin Laden through the caves of Afghanistan… on GO KARTS. Or how about one where you’re Snoop Dogg and you have to find weed to buy in Fallujah? (Snoop LOVES weed.) Wait, no! Make one where you have to keep P. Diddy’s fancy clothes clean in the middle of war-torn Baghdad! You could call it Super Keep-Diddy’s-Clothes-Clean Man or something. Whatever - it’s a working title. If you hire me, video game industry, I promise I’ll come up with a better one. Although you should probably just hire me regardless. See all those ideas? I just made those up in like 10 seconds.

Please hire me.

I can’t say for sure whether or not this Riskay character is going to be remembered 5 years from now, but that doesn’t mean that there aren’t valuable life lessons to be learned from her hit song, “Smell Yo Dick.”

It’s a universal story: You come home from the club at 5 a.m. after buying drinks for a stripper named Diamond all night, when your girl asks you to present your genitalia so she can smell it and ascertain whether or not you’ve been cheating on her. You try to tell her that you have “enough dick to go ’round” and that asking to smell yo’ dick is how a “bitch get her eye swole up” but she doesn’t listen. She then proceeds to pour bleach all over your clothes, throw your iPhone off a balcony, and perform a song about smelling your penis live in concert to a large club audience.

I’ll admit that it’s been a little different for me personally, but the idea is the same regardless. True, my “clubbing” has traditionally been a D&D night in the basement of my local community center, and sure, my “girlfriend” is the girl that I see at the bus stop if I get there early enough (about 45 minutes before I actually need to), but what’s the difference in the grand scheme of things? So what if the real-life version of my girlfriend asking to smell my dick is actually some girl at the bus stop asking me what time it is? So what if my real-life iPhone is prepaid? No matter which verison of the story you choose to go with, some basic facts remain the same: My name is Ross, I’ve met a girl before, and I own a mobile communications device.

Oh - and I have a Snickers jacket. How are you gonna fuck with that?

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 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.

Awesome Video Of The Day

Mitt Romney Doesn’t Know Who Let The Dogs Out¹

I don’t support Mitt Romney as a candidate in any way, but I have to hand it to him: he handled this situation with more style & finesse than I ever would have been capable of.

I’ve never seen a black person in real life, but I’ve always considered myself prepared should the occasion arise. I remember reading something in National Review that said you’re supposed to whistle a soothing tune while clutching your valuables & loved ones to your chest, and that always seemed like sage advice to me… until now, anyway.

After seeing this video of Mitt Romney actually attempting to interact with black people, I don’t even know what to think anymore. Could it be that the National Review was wrong? Is that really possible? To reverse engineer this problem, I think we need to try to understand what was going through Romney’s head at the time:

Well played, Romney. Well played.

¹ Answer: It was the Baha Men. The Baha Men are the ones who let the dogs out.

Awesome Video Of The Day

Helpin’ People Is Cool (Go G-Hog!)

When I was growing up, me and my friends always used to talk about how health care careers were “lame” and “for total douche nozzles.” After watching this commercial, I see now how wrong we were. Maybe if we’d had viral web videos featuring rapping groundhogs back then things would have turned out better for me - I’m basically a vagrant now. Do you have any idea how much plasma I’ve sold this month? I’m cold pretty much all the time.

According to this article, the commercial was thought up by Shannon Powers - a press officer for Pennsylvania’s Department of Labor - for “Health Careers Week.” Powers cowrote the rap with another officer, and it was performed by an undisclosed state worker. I wonder why they didn’t give their name? This could have been their big break.

With totally sick flows like “flexible hours, competitive wages / many jobs at different educational stages” and “chances for advancement, you’ll never be a zero / choose a job in health care, become a health care hero,” I don’t think they’re gonna have any problem staffing Pennsylvania hospitals for a while. From now on their only concern is gonna be finding the tightest, freshest beats… and trying to think of something that rhymes with “defibrillator.”

(more…)

New this week in the Outrageous and Ridiculous Claims Department, Kanye West says he and Justin Timberlake are this generation’s Prince and Michael Jackson, respectively. Astute music scholars will have recognized the parallels sooner, citing Prince’s early work where he often collaborated with Maroon 5’s Adam Levine and, in 1987, famously criticized then president Reagan for not “car[ing] about black people in leopard blouses and purple eyeliner.”

If Kanye’s right, (though, why would he start now), look for Timberlake to build a personal amusement park in his backyard, dangle his oddly-named children from his balcony, and shift ethnicity from white to, I’ll guess Asian, by 2010.

Also, “Dick in a Box” will take on an ironic and totally terrifying new meaning when JT enters into his pederast years.

Growing up, the conversations I had with my Dad about music were pretty much limited to Kenny G (Me: Dad, are you serious with this shit? Him: Shhhhh, just let KG do his thing), Michael Bolton (Him: I appreciate you going with your mother to the Michael Bolton concert. Me: Dad, he took off his shirt. And mom was cheering. Him: I don’t think you’re supposed to use the toilet scouring brush on your eyes like that.), and his unwavering conviction that hip-hop was just a passing fad (Him: Hip hop is a passing fad. Me: I’ve got to say, you’re pretty unwavering in that conviction.)

Given the context of the first conversation, I assumed it was a pretty safe bet that the guy didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about when it came to the third. I’d tell him, “sure it’s a passing fad old man,” smooth his hair, chuck his jaw and go back to listening to Das Efx.

Well apparently, I should stop chucking my old man’s jaw (and not just because he can still beat the shit out of me, and now without facing child abuse charges). According to a recent article in America’s foremost hip-hop journal Time Magazine, rap sales have declined 44% since the year 2000, and they don’t look like they’re bouncing back.

The article blames it on everything from a derth of new talent to an inability to “fool the white kids anymore.” But probably the most fascinating theory is from former Tribe Called Quest front-man Q-Tip, who noted that “When I first signed to Tommy Boy, [the A&R person] would take us to different shows and to art museums…There was real mentorship. Today that’s largely absent, and we see the results in the music and in the aesthetic.”

This makes total sense. You can totally see Q-Tip and the rest of Tribe rolling around to different shows and the Moma, digesting it all and going into the studio the next day to spit some ludicrous rhymes that name drop obscure Japanese art movements.

Now try to imagine a night of culture with today’s most popular rapper, The Game. It would probably look a lot like Grand Theft Auto but with less clothing and more face tattoos.