The old adage states money can’t buy you happiness. Those of us on the lower end of the economic spectrum like to joke that we’d be willing to sacrifice ourselves in the name of science to test whether or not that theory is actually fact or jus a tool that the haves use to make the rest f us feel better as we struggle to make ends meet and pay bills while they take the elevator up to the private movie theater in their 4 story condo.
Birds do it. Some fish do it. We do it. A least, we try to do it. No you dirty bastards; I’m not talking about sex (this time). (Most of us do more than just try to do that) I’m referring to the “M” word. Monogamy.
There is a movement afoot, one that can only be traced back to the war on Hip Hop. It’s a subwar of sorts. A war on one of Hip Hop’s favorite pastimes. No, not gun collecting. Stripping. Strippers are under attack. In Atlanta, the city government is practicing nothing short of ageism, decreeing that all clubs that serve alcohol cannot hire workers under 21. In St. Maarten, health officials are accusing a stripper of spreading tuberculosis to over 40 people.
I was listening to the radio this weekend and I noted there were an inordinate amount of pro-abstinence commercials. Not that I’m anti-abstinence per se, but I must admit that this trend of abstinence only sex education is rather disheartening because it seems to miss the target. Commercials ending “I wish I waited” miss the mark. Why? Because people ARENT waiting.
Happy motherfucking Friday ladies and gentleman. It’s been a crazy week, one that felt as though it had an extra few days mixed in, but alas, it’s over. Before you go off and drink yourself into oblivion (I see you Big Homie) here are a few news stories to wet your whistle on.
As most of you may be aware, I tend to think Tyler Perry = the Devil. Or at least a tool of the Devil. Or at least a tool to creating some god-awful modern day minstrel shows. However, as with my prejudice against Vitamin Water, I figured in order to be truly fair and balanced (not that I actually care to be), I should give the motherfucker a chance before calling his film and TV work as coon-erific as his stage plays.
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When the kid in the picture above is a teenager who listens exclusively to Marilyn Manson, dresses like a vampire reject, hates people and shots up his school before ending his own sad, miserable, self involved life, please believe it’ll be 50 cents fault. Or maybe at that point, it’ll be Marquise’s fault.
Since A&R and Artist Development budgets have been cut like healthcare and every one and their uncle’s baby momma wants to be a rapper, we here at Southern Comfort have decided to put together a nifty Idiots Guide to a Successful Rap Career, detailing a few of the less obvious rules (misspell as often as possible using a “z” any chance you get, pick the most retarded ass stage name you can think of, make it an acronym for something outrageous if you can, etc.)
Follow at your own risk. And if you blow up, I expect mad residuals. Crazy mad.
