The Brawny Man has feelings for you

Around mid afternoon on this crisp, lazy Brooklyn Monday, seeing as I had the day off from work and, as it appeared, had already seen every movie, watched every television show, and heard every song ever made, I decided i would do a little internet dumpster diving. It is a dangerous venture, i know, that can result in at the very least a virus spreading through your computer like a black plague of ones and zeroes or at the very most: jail time [ass rape included]. It involves digging through my spam folder and clicking on various links, just to see if I can find any gold, or women, or drugs, or even quite possibly, hopefully, a larger penis. As luck would have it, I found none such riches. But I found something much better:

THE BRAWNY MAN

I don’t know if Brawny intended for these clips evoke the reaction they do from me. I'm sure not going to look at those thick pillars of soft, Brawny paper towels in the same way again. There is something about a really big lumberjack talking to you in voice that skates the fine balance of friend, therapist and rapist, which just puts me at unease. It was as if when you hear him talking to you, you simultaneously feel him massaging your feet. It feels nice for a second, and then you're like, "Whoa dude, who said you can massage my feet?"

Why don’t you tell Brawny Man about your Monday, he'll listen to you, I promise. Uh huh, really?

and to make it even more fun, you can create your own. i did.

Now, sit back and let the Brawny Man serenade you...

credit due to Alex Fairchild for the link to comedy gold

Boy

you better hold on to your bus pass. you better not lose it. and keep your key around your neck and your lunch money in your sock. and dont go pulling it out and showing nobody. i know how you get when your with those friends of yours, you can hardly keep it together. its like you think the worlds going to end before dinner. well its not, so bundle up and be careful of whats around you. listen. listen. listen. look up when you walk, dont just stare at the ground. dont talk to strangers unless you need to. dont let anyone make you do what you dont want to and dont go playing in the street because its stupid and dangerous. dont you dare get bad grades because it will come back to haunt you and dont let the sun go down, i'll find you in the dark.

that aint cute

and I took another walk, this time through the neighborhood and then to the city then up and down the avenue then back home again. sometimes I was stoned and I had my headphones on, at others I was marching and gritting my teeth. neither time was a cracking jokes or being witty. to tell the truth I was being quite boring.

this blog has lost its funny. like the other sock, the remote control, or the evidence against me in that dead hooker case, its just plain missing, and no one has a clue where it went. it used to be here in abundance, like ass cheek on a brazilian trannys back, but it slowly disappeared, until the only post in ages was about a dead hip hop producer or a fake recipe for liver disease. its like my funny bone stopped shivering, and now when you hit me there I just say 'ow,' and punch you in the face.

its not like I havent been funny. not at all. on the contrary, ive been downright hilarious these past few days. ive been shit your pants funny at time. really, you should have been there! I would have slayed you!

oh I can create a long list of clever quips and amusing anecdotes ive shared for entertainment in the past few days. theres been crazy frat parties gone horribly wrong

[an unruly crowd of baseball caps screwed to the back pump white knuckled fist in the air and chant: FELCH! FELCH! FELCH! FELCH!]

and gay star wars fan fiction involving Lando Calrissian, Jabba the Hutt, and Darth Vader using THE FORCE for auto erotic asphyxiation. and im not even going to get into the clever cracks about homeless people, most religious deities, and the obligatory dead baby reference. so its not like i havent been delivering the gold. its just not been on the ol blog.

so i tell you what, why dont you have a glass of wine. then another. then another, then a few more. then another. and then when you wake up, still drunk, with your mouth tasting like cotton soaked in expired milk, read my site and laugh a little. you wont give a fuck what it says as long as it takes your mind off the insufferable pounding in your head.

A Great Loss

in what has to be one of the most monumental losses in hip hop, this morning producer extraordinaire J Dilla, AKA. Jay Dee, has passed on. I am not sure of the details, but understand it was a consequence of his ongoing kidney problems, unreliable sources reveal a more grim explanation [check the wiki article].

im not even going to get into his lengthy discography. I will only say that he was an inspiration. Producers could only wish they had the throwaway beats that cat made. a true genius in hip hop. I can think of a long list of producers id have rather seen go, but thats neither here nor there. J Dilla was slowly changing the landscape of how Hip Hop was produced. He made terrible MC's sound suddenly remarkable, and gave really bland albums a spark of magnificence. it was no wonder that Pharell Williams and Kanye West regarded him as one of their inspirations and the Mighty ?uestlove determined him hands down the greatest producer in hip hop.

he inspired an entire generation of bedroom beat fanatics, and the entire country of Sweden wanted to have his babies. for real. check the liner notes for the amazing Raw Fusion Compilation "Base-Ment Classics." they all took their cue from J Dilla. all of em.

Im lucky enough to have a few cd's of nothing but Dilla beats. there are about 80 in all. and all of them are like small, 2 minute miracles of production. he was a prolific cat, and we should be thankful for that.

that raw, dirty, stripped down detroit shit. those soaring soul samples and other worldy drums. those bass lines that dripped like melting candy. he made beats that made today sound better. it is truly a profound musical loss.

R.I.P. J Dilla - Jay Dee - James Yancy- an inspiration to us all.

a mighty nightcap

You will need:

3.5 gm. delivery grade marijuana
3 22 oz. Ol’ English 800 malt liquor
1 television (36”)
15 loose cigarettes (frozen)
2 hours alone
1 very long day

first you must queue up an episode of Seinfeld on your tivo.* Preferably, “The Butter Shave,” episode because it has that scene where Putty just wants to stare into space instead of read a book on the plane and Elaine gets all pissed and annoyed and breaks up with him but he just kinda shrugs his shoulders and is all, “Whatev.”

Let that simmer over a medium heat and begin breaking up the marijuana for the spliffs.

Begin to drink the first 22 oz. of beer.**

Once the marijuana is broken into fine, tight slivers of green, slit the cigarette down the middle and dump tobacco into empty shoe box top. Mix bud and tobacco leaves until blended thoroughly, then line with fingers into small Bamboo rolling paper. Add pre-rolled crutch from corner store matchbook. Lick gummy side of paper. Twist delicately until closed.

Smoke. Repeat.

While the heat from the stone bakes in, reflect on your day. Think about the remark you should have made, or call you should have avoided. Think of how the sex would have been, think about all the poon you could have banged. Think about that joke again. Think about that joke one more time. Think about the tv being on. Think about his dimples. Think about a field of brown grass or a closed subway track tunnel. Think about how things are done. Think about God. Or you know, just stare into space like Putty.

Be all, whatev.

Just as a heightened “whatev-ness” is reached, turn off heat, serve to bed. Ensure that bedding is warmed by a soft, curvy body (slight snoring optional), and that a thick, down comforter is FULLY COVERING your side of the bed.

Kiss her on the shoulder.

Boom.

*For this recipe we will assume you have tivo, because as it has already been discussed and agreed upon by those with very nice ties and super flashy haircuts, tivo is the way forward.

**As each 22 oz. booze bottle is emptied, another cold one sits in the fridge waiting to be cracked. This continues as such until you fall asleep…

thanks supereggplant for the sweet pic. i give props.