7.31.2005

Today was strange for me.

I think one of the bells of adulthood began ringing in my head today. I was taken back to a time and a place I haven't visited in a long, long time. It's a time and place in my mind - a time when I was younger and still living at home, working with my father on a rainy Saturday afternoon.

There was a time in my life when I resented Saturdays. I couldn't stand them, to be honest. For most kids, Saturday meant freedom. They were one of two days not spent in the halls of their crummy school going through the motions of being "educated" by what passes for a school system in their local municipality. They could sleep in, eat sugary cereals while watching goofy cartoons, and otherwise just goof around.

Not me.

When I was 10, my mother married the man I call my Dad. This man was an old seafaring man. An early riser. A martial of other people's time. To him, Saturdays were days where all of the work he didn't have time to do during the work would be finished, come hell or high water. He rousted me out of bed at 6:00 AM and within 20 minutes, we were either working on some project around our house or on our way to work on some project at someone else's house. Hauling boxes around, cutting and loading firewood, digging wells, mending fences, collecting fallen branches and chipping them, hauling the chips around to be delivered to the homes of old ladies in the church who had a garden or some shrubbery that my dad volunteered our mulch for, mowing lawns, installing or removing just about every single appliance or fixture one has ever seen in a house - Saturdays were work days. They were hard work days. They were littered with Bell jars full of sweet tea, barbecue sandwiches for lunch, corn and mashed potatoes with some hunk of something that used to be alive for dinner, and an aching back and sore feet at bedtime.

I HATED THEM.

I resented every moment spent working with my father. I was a KID, for fuckssake! I was supposed to be lollygagging and goofing around! That's what kids did on Saturday, you know? Calling girls and pretending I knew how to talk to them, playing yard ball or video games, getting into trouble... These were the toils fit for Saturday. Not hauling freakin' cinderblocks around some old man's yard in order to build a faux retaining wall along a drainage ditch. And the commands... Christ. It was like I could do NOTHING right. "You're not hitting that nail straight-on," he'd bark. "You're working left-handed - don't work against yourself!" He'd yell when he saw me reaching over my own shoulder to screw something in. "Don't just slap the bricks together - lay them on gently and slide them into place!" He'd command. No matter what it was we were doing, he had the perfect way of doing it and made sure I followed his method of doing things to the letter. He just wanted to control me, that's all.

As I got older, my Saturdays began filling up with things that pulled me away from working with my dad in the yard or in the shed. I had football games or wrestling meets, every single one of which my father attended. I had some dates with girls whom I picked up with my father's car. I had some art shows, I had some time with friends... I got "busy." He'd ask for my help, I'd ask for the car. He'd tell me about a widow in the church who needed a dresser moved upstairs, I'd tell him about girl du jour who actually winked at me. With every request, I'd find something better to do and ask him for permisison to do it. He'd make these deals with me - "Help me this afternoon and you can borrow the car this evening." God, what a jerk! Why's he always controlling me???

Then, around age 18, I moved out. I broke away, I sought my own road... However you want to describe it. I spent some time away from home, travelling on consulting jobs for the booming IT industry. I'd keep in touch with my parents, but rarely visited or stopped by. I was an ADULT. I had ADULT things to do. I never even gave a thought to anything going on in my parents' lives. My dad, the master and commander, surely had everything under control. He's strong, he's fit, he's smart and he's in control. It wasn't even a question in my brain. Things were fine. I have stuff to do. You can't control me anymore.

But then I'd hear these reports back from my mom. "Dad cut himself on the lawn mower this weekend, trying to fix it..." How the hell does one cut themselves on the lawn mower? "Well, he didn't have anyone to hold it up, so he was trying to tighten something or other with his right hand while he held the mower with his left and it fell..."

Or how about the time he nearly chopped his leg off with the chainsaw while he was trying to cut a limb out of a tree? The ladder, unsturdy because there was no one to hold it, fell from under him and the chainsaw landed on his leg.

And all the while, he never even asked for my help.

And thank God, you know? Because all he wanted to do anyway was control me. Wasn't it?

A few years ago, My dad had his first knee replacement. At that time, he was laid up for months, recovering and going through rehab. Every time I'd visit the house, I'd notice a new job that needed doing... The yard wasn't getting mowed, the bushes weren't getting trimmed... Boxes were still in the dining room that needed to go into the attic... Someone needed to get that stuff done.

And that's when it hit me. For years, my dad was that someone for a whole bunch of people who had no one else to do those things for them.

And that's what I mulled over today, at age 28, in the rain-soaked backyard of my father's house. I was unloading things from the truck that needed to be moved, helping this man with two fake knees but a will stronger than oak. And all the while, he was issuing "commands"... "Lift with your legs, son. Save your back." And it struck me - it didn't really sound like a command... It sounded more like advice. And I thought back over nearly 20 years of working with this man, the absolute image of strength, intelligence and confidence in my life.

It wasn't about control. It was about being a DAD.

It was about taking a 10 year old kid who had a previous example of what a "father" was, and it wasn't very good -- In fact, it was abhorrent -- and teaching him what a father is supposed to be. It was about teaching responsibility, both to myself and to those whom I know who need my help. It was building skills and learning lessons that might serve me in the future. Here I was, soaked with rain and covered in mud and grass clippings, and I realized that there's hardly any other place in the world I'd rather be than with him, doing what needs to be done.

7.20.2005

Um... Oops.

Yesterday, a friend of mine IM'ed me a story at CNN (whose link has changed now, the reason for which you will see in just a second) which featured a picture of hundreds of vacationers sleeping in a gym-become-hurricane-shelter in Cancun yesterday.

I didn't quite see what the big deal was, and he didn't really elaborate. Today, another friend emailed me the picture from the article, and I finally get it.

Here's a copy of the article at Yahoo! News. And in case the image gets removed or changed, here's the photo:


(credit - AP Photo/Dario Lopez-Mills)

See anything... Interesting going on?

Look again:


(credit - AP Photo/Dario Lopez-Mills, edited by your local Peacock)

Still can't see it?

Try this:


(credit - AP Photo/Dario Lopez-Mills, edited by that joe guy)

Now, this ran on the front page of CNN. From what I could tell, the image I saw when he IM'ed me showed no such activity going on, and he says that it was cropped and blurred by the time he sent me the link. If that's true, it's pretty much a violation of AP policy (and if anyone can find the blurred / cropped version, I'll send you a shirt).

Anyway. I just thought it was interesting, is all. Maybe it'll make a nice Fark photoshop contest or something.

7.18.2005

Wow... She came back.

Usually, after a night of dealing with me, people are about ready to rip their hair out by the follicles and burn me in effigy. But for some reason, the rap star princess has returned.

Post the log, you say? Well! I don't mind if I do!


barrenunmami: hey, do u know what an FTP

barrenunmami: is

joe: yep

joe: why

barrenunmami: cuz my friens is trying to make a website & i was like "I THINK I KNOW THE RIGHT PERSON TO ASK ABOWT IT! HE HAS HIS OWN WEBSITE N ITS PRETTY POPULAR I THINK"

barrenunmami: friends*

barrenunmami: err

barrenunmami: friend*

barrenunmami: u think you can help him on publishin his website

barrenunmami: or w/e

joe: hmm

joe: im not very good at it

joe: i suck

joe: ok, ok, i can help you

barrenunmami: yayy

barrenunmami: !

joe: tell him to open his CMD prompt

joe: He'll need to interface his SMTP with his LOL

barrenunmami: ok

joe: let me know when that's done

barrenunmami: u wanna IM him?

joe: no no

joe: it's better this way

barrenunmami: lol

barrenunmami: ok

joe: does he have powersupply wax?

joe: because this is prob. going to tax his system and send his SYSMON into OMG or WTF status

joe: so he'll need to keep his powersupply waxed

barrenunmami: he uses frontpage

joe: hmm

joe: I don't know about that

joe: backpage is WAY easier to use

joe: because it's WYSIWTF

barrenunmami: hmm

joe: hmm?

barrenunmami: backpage?

barrenunmami: does that really exist?

joe: ... yeah, of course

joe: all the popular and famous webmasters use it

joe: that and hotdog

barrenunmami: i didnt know hotdogs can make websites

joe: hotdog is one of the best HTML editors

joe: by far

joe: http://www.rps.psu.edu/0009/graphics/HotDog.jpg

joe: err, i mean

joe: http://www.sausage.com/

joe: no kidding

joe: they call it that because when you make your first ever blinking spinning email icon, you scream "HOT DOG!"

barrenunmami: * adrian *: hmmm
* adrian *: well see
* adrian *: I AWREADY BUILT DA SITE

joe: oh

joe: in that case, he needs to watch out for the google and yahoo spiders.

joe: seriously, the spiders get into your site

joe: I recommend using RAID

barrenunmami: lmao wtf

barrenunmami: wow

barrenunmami: all of this is jibberish to me

joe: oh, i know, it's confusing

joe: you have to be famous to understand it, i think

barrenunmami: lmao omg

barrenunmami: yr stuck on yrself!

joe: yep, it's that fucking superglue

joe: they make it in those metal tubes, you know?

joe: and if you bend it, it forms a crease and a little hole forms on the fold

joe: it's a mess.

barrenunmami: whaat

barrenunmami: in the fllyyyin hell are you talkin abouttt :

joe: even I don't know.
Oh look! Some group of retards thought it would be a good idea to put on a Musical based on the music of The Smiths.

I just... I mean, really, I don't... I...

LKNBUJEIDGUIEGNJINEU IUHNGSBKIB

All I can say is if I ever even accidentally walked past a place where that show was playing, i'm sure God would send Metatron to instruct me to blow the place up in the name of doing His Good Work.

Because God hates Morrissey.

7.12.2005

Okay, I've finally done it.

I've shaved my legs.

Oh, I know you're laughing. And you know what? I don't mind. Nope, not one bit. You know why? Because shaving my legs is quite possibly the most manly thing I've ever done in my life.

I'd heard all the arguments for leg shaving in magazines and books and such, saying that leg hair creates wind drag and yadda yadda. But what finally convinced me to do it was speaking to my cycling coach. He said "Look, I could tell you about aerodynamics and wind drag and all that, but the simple fact is that you are riding a bicycle at high speeds on asphalt. Now, I've read your website, and I know with 100% certainty that you are GOING to crash -- and when you do, it's going to be a LOT better on you if you don't have hairs growing in your wound."

Now, having taken spills on my mountain bike, I can attest to this. So I just bit the bullet and decided to do it. I've taken a step I KNOW will bring me ridicule and harassment by my male friends, and why? Because I know that i'm in a sport where i'm going to fall and get very hurt.

Shaving my legs is a sign that I've accepted the fact that I will eventually fall on my bike and get carved up, and I'm going to keep cycling anyway. Not only that, I'm going to do it in spite of the fact that I know I'm going to catch hell for it.

You can't tell me that that doesn't take balls (and don't worry... I've left those fuzzy).

7.08.2005

I wrote this thing about 2 years ago in my notebook journally thing (whatever you wanna call it). I figure, with the story that's up on MI now, it'd be kinda fun to put it up. It's crap, but it's my crap, and since this is my crappy online journal, it just seems appropriate. So, here ya go.



The Road

zzz... zzz... zzz...

zzz... BZZZZ! BZZZZ! BZZ-*

6:00AM again.
Time to hit the road.

The road.
That most evil of all pathways.
I traverse many throughout my day
Hallways lead to bathrooms
Foyers lead to kitchens
Stairways lead to gamerooms
And somehow, I don't mind travelling on any of those.
That's because none of them are a direct pathway to pain
and suffering
and dispair
like the road is.

My feet hit the floor
and before I even wipe the sleep from my eyes
I reach out to the dresser
I grab and put on my shorts in one well practiced motion
I slide the jersey over my head and pull it down over my waist
I unroll my socks and slide them over my feet
Within two minutes of being up, I'm dressed and moving
I have but one goal:
To actually get out the door.
Because if I pause for even one moment -
To check the weather
Or my email
Or even pet the cat
I'll find some reason not to hit the road.
"Oh, look," I'll say.
"It seems that there is an issue with a server at work. I'd best handle that instead of working out this morning."
The funny thing is,
There's ALWAYS an "issue" with the servers at work.
It can always be optimized, or reorganized, or updated.
It's a sure bet.
One I know I'll take if given the chance to.
And no matter what I do or when I do it, there will be more "issues" with the server.

I know myself too well.
"No distractions," I tell myself as I pull on my shoes and latch them tight.
"No excuses," I say as I grab my helmet and gloves.
I lean over and kiss my still sleeping wife...
Oh, man, I should just take all this stuff off and curl back up with her... Look at her. She's an angel. But I know her. I know she wouldn't be proud of me, even though it's a nice thing to do.
"I'm going out," I announce.
"Mmm, okay baby," she mumbles. "Be careful. I love you."
"I love you, too," I reply, walking out the bedroom door.
Careful, she says.
I do need to be careful, huh...
There's MANIACS out there.
Trucks refuse to give way.
Cars honk and flip me off for not going fast enough
Or not riding in the gutter
Or not riding on the sidewalk
It's just too dangerous.
I'd better not go.
... Right.
It happens every day.
Without fail.
Honking, speeding, passing, flipping off - it's all part of being on the road.
It didn't kill you yesterday.
It won't kill you today.
Don't be such a baby.
Finish your granola bar and fill your water bottle and get into that garage to prep your bike.

Yes, prepping my bike...
I need to replace that tube I blew out yesterday
What if that happens again today?
What if it happens six miles out instead of only one?
What if I have to walk back all that distance?
What if I hit a pothole and break another wheel?
Well
I guess that's why I carry spare tubes and a cellphone.
Any other excuses?
Before the sun comes up and I lose the freedom of having no traffic on the road?
Yeah... This jersey shrunk in the wash.
Passing motorists will see my fat parts as I ride.
They'll laugh at the stupid colors and tight shorts.
I should save face and turn around and go back to bed.

That's pathetic. Open the garage door. We're going.

And like that
I'm in the driveway
And I'm in the saddle
And I'm getting my hands in the right position
And I'm pushing the pedals
And I'm off.

Last chance.
Last chance for what?
Last chance to turn around before we leave the neighborhood and crawl back into bed.

And before I can even dismiss that notion
I'm on my way
Before too long
The humid Georgia summer begins to go to work on me
I begin to sweat early into the workout
My legs begin to burn from initial exertion
My butt and back cramps a little
My neck cracks as I roll it around a little
And I begin to climb the first hill out of my neighborhood
People are getting into their cars
Waving like they do every morning
Dogs are taken for walks
The powerwalking couple from down the street is at the intersection of the main street I ride
They say hi
I say howdy
And it all begins again.
As I get started on my morning ride, I greet the road as I always do.

"Hello, road.
We meet again.
Listen:
I don't expect you to make this easy on me.
In fact, I already know you won't.
You're going to twist and turn sharply in parts
Forcing me to stay balanced and watch my speed.
You're going to rise sharply and suddenly at times
Forcing me to stay strong.
You're going to send a few sloppy or rude motorists my way
Forcing me to stay sharp.
And in the end
I'll thank you.
You see
The truth is
I don't WANT you to take it easy on me.
I can't wait to bank those turns at high speeds
And climb your hills with burning legs
And stay steady and aware as cars pass.
I'm ready for you, road.
So show me what you got."

And with that, we go.

7.07.2005

I spent my entire morning and most of my afternoon in the dentist's office, having an abscess drained due to a split root from a root canal a year ago. The crown had to come off, and as the dentist looked at what remained of the tooth, he just sighed and explained that there's no way to save the tooth. He then cleared out the goo that formed in the split root.

Yeah, I know. Eeew.

It also hurt like HELL the past, oh, I dunno. Three months? It's one of those things that you kinda learn to deal with and then you just get used to.

Last night, 2 tornadoes came through our area. One completely demolished a subdivision-in-development not a mile away from my house and continued on to demolish the Atlanta Motor Speedway which sits about 4 miles down the road from me. We were super lucky that we weren't hit.

But somehow, all this crappy crap just doesn't seem to matter in comparason to the bombings in London. I know that every human being with a website / blog and a solid grasp on reality has posted messages condemning the attacks and expressing their condolences for the people of London, and I'm no different. It just plain sucks, and I hope the jackass cowards who pulled this off die horrifically. Perhaps by being ripped apart by a tornado just after having root canals.

7.05.2005

More IM Conversation Logs. Because this is a BLOG. I've already explained why the 2 things belong together, so to find out, go look in my archives. And while you're at it, call a famous movie producer and tell them to read this thing so they can realize my brilliance and offer me $$$ to write Tom's new movie.

This one is more of a One-Act play about the origins of the NASA Deep Impact mission. It stars myself and Angryrobots. The setting is a NASA control center during a dead Thursday night, after the nightly poker game has taken place and the effects of the hash brownies that those guys eat all night have kicked in.

*Raise Curtain*

joe: "Dudes... you know what we should do? We should blow up a comet."

angryrobots: "No shit - We can do that?"

joe: "Fuck yeah, man! We have all this government money and rockets and engines and shit... Let's do it! Let's blow up a fucking comet!"

angryrobots: "YEAH! Fuck...i'm so high right now... Let's go fuck with the aliens in '51! They hate that shit."

joe: "Yeah... You know what else we should do? Send out, like, this satellite with a beatles record playing. Let's do that."

angryrobots: "We've already done that, dude. Voyager, remember?"

joe: "No shit? Wow... Wait. Fuck, I knew that, man! I totally knew that! My dad worked on that... Holy shit, I AM SO BAKED."

*Close Curtain*

*Raise Curtain*

*Joe and Angryrobots Bow*

*Close Curtain Again*

*Raise Curtain Again, Due To Unrelenting, Thunderous Applause Of A Crowd Eager To Display Love And Affection For The Actors And Their One-Act Play*

*Angryrobots Bows. Crowd Goes Crazy.*

*Joe Bows. Crowd Cheers Loudly.*

*Close Curtain Again*

7.03.2005

It's not as common as it once was, but every so often, I get a completely random IM from someone out of the blue. I must say, I truly live for these moments.

I haven't the first clue who barrenunmami is, where she got my IM name, or why she'd ever think that I'd give half a crap about the new John Gotti CD (isn't he dead? And when did they start installing sound studios in prison?) Anyway, I thought I might post the conversation here because this is a BLOG. That's what you do on a BLOG. You post random, boring, useless, absolutely inane bullshit in the hopes that a famous movie producer will just happen upon your BRILLIANCE and offer you 24 million up front to write the next big Tom Cruise movie.

It's true. Just ask that guy who wrote this latest one... H G Williams or something. Isn't that how he got famous? Writing about Finding Nemo under the sea and some time machine thingy on his blog?

Anyway, I digress. Here's an IM conversation log. Enjoy it. Or don't - USE YOUR FREEDOM OF CHOICE (and while you're at it, Whip It Good).

--------------------------------

barrenunmami: so u din like the jOhn gOtti Cut thrOat Cd huh

joe: you are correct.

barrenunmami: whyy? it wasnt THAT bad. what made u buy that cd in the first place?

barrenunmami: err.. u know hes coming bacc.. hes gonna start rapping again

joe: i haven't the first clue what the hell you're talking about.

barrenunmami: lmaO Omg...

barrenunmami: im taLkin abOwt the jOhn gOt`ti Cd

joe: why do you capitalize every other letter?

barrenunmami: nOpe

joe: and John Gotti is behind bars

joe: he can't release a rap cd

barrenunmami: nO hes nOt

barrenunmami: wtf

barrenunmami: lmaO whO tOLd u that?!?!

joe: the media.

joe: he's a reputed mob boss, he's behind bars

joe: besides, everyone knows italians can't rap.

barrenunmami: im nOt taLkin abOwt that One

barrenunmami: Omg

barrenunmami: lmaO wOw....... this guy

barrenunmami: nO

barrenunmami: im taLkin abOwt the bLaCC jOhn gOt'ti

joe: oh, you mean the black guy who took the real john gotti's name.

joe: because it's somehow cool to name yourself after a reputed mob boss.

joe: i see

barrenunmami: he was the first One tO take the gOt'ti name

joe: if i ever become a rapper, im going to call myself MC Ted Kazinski

barrenunmami: of awll the rappers

barrenunmami: wtf

barrenunmami: Omg

barrenunmami: but yeah

joe: Ted Kazinski is a fucking badass, dude, he's killed more people than all your rap stars combined

joe: he's all "WORD YO you gotta be dissin' dat technology, fo sho dawg"

barrenunmami: nOt aLOt Of rap stars aCtuaLLy kiLLed ppL

joe: "retreat to da hood in da woods! Yo, DJ Mailbomb, go wild on doz' turntablezzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz"

barrenunmami: wOw..

barrenunmami: lmaO

barrenunmami: this guyyyy

barrenunmami: quit it

joe: which one?

joe: which guy?

joe: i don't see no guy.

barrenunmami: :|

joe: all i see is BIG BAD MC TED KAZINSKI IN DA MUTHAFUGGIN HIZZY

joe: well

joe: it's not really a house, it's a shack

joe: in the woods.

barrenunmami: ur white huh

joe: yes. indeed i am.

barrenunmami: aLready

barrenunmami: s'aLL gOOd

joe: so im wondering who the hell you are

barrenunmami: muh name dRe.. ..

barrenunmami: n dOnt put a dr. in frOnt Of it

barrenunmami: nah i was just lOOkin at sOme review`z fOr my brOther`z aLbum n i saw wutChu put

barrenunmami: hOw u said it was hOrribLe, n hOw u burnt it

joe: you're going to have to link me to that

joe: because i write random garbage and scatter it across the net

barrenunmami: yuhh

barrenunmami: OH

joe: and your brother is John Gotti?

barrenunmami: sO u din reaLLy Listen tO his Cd?

barrenunmami: yuhh

joe: or, rather, The-Rap-Star-Who-Stole-The-Real-John-Gotti's-Name

joe: or is it "MC The-Rap-Star-Who-Stole-The-Real-John-Gotti's-Name"

joe: i get confused, im not really "down" with the lingo.

barrenunmami: ....................

barrenunmami: isnt it the same ?

joe: the same as...?

joe: swahili? NO

joe: not even close

barrenunmami: nO

joe: bucko

barrenunmami: the twO u just named

joe: so link me to this review where i burned down john gotti

barrenunmami: it`z the same Chit

barrenunmami: idk

barrenunmami: i`m tOO Lazy tOO LOOk fOr it

joe: ah

barrenunmami: did u ever hear it?

joe: i see

joe: yes, of course I did, i'm big in the rap underground. Dog.

joe: i own 4 copies of that CD

barrenunmami: dOg?

barrenunmami: nO sirrrr

joe: because i usually have 4 guests over and need coasters

barrenunmami: i guess buddy

barrenunmami: i hOnestLy thOught that Cd wasnt aLL that great

barrenunmami: i OnLy Liked that CUTTHROAT One

joe: are you kidding?

joe: it saves my oak. it's awesome.

barrenunmami: i mean i knOw thats muh kin fOLk but stiLL

joe: i especially like the track "Don't let no condensation drip on me, yo"

barrenunmami: stupid.. u ass! u said u burnt it

barrenunmami: :|!!!!!!!!!!

barrenunmami: lmfaO Omg

joe: so where'd you find my IM name anyway

joe: because I need to proceed there and immediately take it down, lest i become inundated once more with random capitalization and crazy net lingo.

barrenunmami: gay.

barrenunmami: Ok weLL im dOne, i just wanted tO knOw hOw u reaLLy feLt abOwt it

joe: YES! My statement is homosexual! that's crazy, how'd you guess?

joe: you're psychic!

barrenunmami: lOl wOwwww

barrenunmami: urrr a straaange One buddddy

joe: no, i haven't listened to 'ol johnny's record

barrenunmami: his names david.

joe: nor would i, unless it was playing 24 hours a day in a prisoner of war camp

joe: and i happened to be a prisoner.

joe: of war.

joe: at that camp, no less.

joe: and you haven't the first clue how strange i truly am

joe: I.... am a WEBMASTER.

joe: the strangest of them all.

barrenunmami: COOll

barrenunmami: .. a webmaster..

barrenunmami: wtf is that

joe: it's a master of the web.

barrenunmami: One Of thOse COmputer geek guyz?

joe: CONTEXT CLUES, barrenunmami

joe: yup

barrenunmami: Like..

barrenunmami: a haCCer?

joe: im FAMOUS ON THE INTERNET

joe: just, you don't know about it

barrenunmami: nO urrr nOt

joe: am too

joe: super famous

barrenunmami: lOl .. liesss

joe: people LOVE me

barrenunmami: ... die

barrenunmami: LOVE?

joe: adore.

barrenunmami: Oh reaLLy?

joe: they buy my books

joe: and my shirts and stickers

barrenunmami: reaLLy??? ppL LOve me tOO... im perfeCt

barrenunmami: whyyy gOd???

barrenunmami: whyyyyyyy me

joe: it's your fault

joe: you started it

barrenunmami: is it reaLLy :)?

joe: with your pseudo mob boss rap star stuff

barrenunmami: nOOOt me. thats my brOther

joe: tell him I said "please stop. Now."

barrenunmami: hes COming baCC in the rap game, just with better shit

joe: he's polluting our collective unconciousness, barrenunmami

barrenunmami: dre

joe: we could all advance

barrenunmami: Oh?

barrenunmami: tO what?

joe: we could make our way to the moon - or BEYOND! if we could just concentrate as a people and work for the greater good!

joe: but instead, we have pseudo mob boss rap stars and their ilk out yelling and screaming about drugs, guns and money

joe: oh, and beiotches.

joe: lots of beiotches.

joe: and platinum and spinner rims and escalades and big macs

joe: so we can't live on mars yet

joe: and it's his fault

joe: so tell him that a FAMOUS ON THE INTERNET webmaster said "stop. now."

barrenunmami: lmfaO Ok

barrenunmami: buuuuuuut

barrenunmami: i shaLL Let him knOw, he`LL prOLLy find yOu, traCC yOu dOwn

joe: oh, i invite him to do so

barrenunmami: stapLe ur eyeLidz tO ur head

barrenunmami: nO, im pLayinh

barrenunmami: g*

joe: we could sit and have tea and a brilliant discourse

barrenunmami: reaLLy? i hate tea..

barrenunmami: hOw bOwt sOme gin n juiCe

joe: or just juice

joe: gin is so barbaric

barrenunmami: u think sO? idk, i seem tO enjOy it.

joe: i mean, every time i play it with my grandma, she's like "GIN! BITCH!" and i'm like "BITCH! FUCK YOU BITCH" and we both bust caps and it's really a bad scene

barrenunmami: lmfaO

barrenunmami: wOw..

barrenunmami: Like i said... strangeee

barrenunmami: u reaLLy hate the hip hOp wOrLd huh

barrenunmami: u seem Like u dO

joe: no, actually i LOVE the hip hop world. i hate what rap music has become, though.

joe: the shit that's out there now? that's not hip hop.

barrenunmami: hmm

joe: hip hop is DJ's, grafitti, b-boys, and real rhymes about real conditions.

joe: like i said, now it's just bullshit postering for money

barrenunmami: idk.. im LOvin aLL Of this instense hype musiC.. aka Crunkkk

barrenunmami: lOl, why? idk, it gets me aLL hype

joe: yeah, us folks from the south used to really like that stuff.

barrenunmami: high energyy

joe: now? it's all bullshit party rhymes.

joe: no knowledge

joe: no message

barrenunmami: sOme Of them dO..

joe: just the yin yang twins doing their bullshit.

joe: lil john... please

barrenunmami: lOl

joe: not since Cee-Lo left Goodie Mob has there been a decent rap record from the south, except MAYBE the newer outcast stuff

barrenunmami: weLL, i must gO nOw, we`LL meet again One daaaay...

barrenunmami: weLL im Off

joe: yes. you are.

barrenunmami: tOOdLez..