The very nature of being a famous artist can often push otherwise stable people into dark corners, be it drug abuse, spousal abuse, or suicide.
Lil Wayne, a permanent tear tattoo marking its descent, “need[s] a Winn-Dixie grocery bag full of money,” and I wonder why he doesn’t just drop it in a CD or IRA account, whose interest rates alone could buy a new grill
This playlist is comprised of all manner of weirdness with a good backbeat, from pop to electronica to Eurotrash.
The Dark Cristal follows Gelfling Ludacris as he tries to return the Cristal shard to its original vintage bottle. The bottle is guarded by the Skanksis — ten evil vulture-like creatures who drain the vitality of hoes in different area codes to remain young.
But occasionally, a song will crop up that reminds us, “Hey! Women are beautiful and awesome and deserving of being on the receiving end of attention/pleasure sometimes — let’s celebrate that!”
If you don’t like Bob Marley & The Wailers, or this song, then I don’t like you. That is all.
Last night a DJ saved my life.
Look, kids in the suburbs. I get it. There’s not a whole lot to do other than invent new ways to get messed up. I was a teenage “rebel” once. My sister and her friends used to pound Red Bull and have “hyper parties.” I had a guy friend who used to try and smoke banana peels. One time, I attempted to get drunk off my dad’s O’Douls.
His eleventh studio album, Write Me Back, is due next month (and I mean that’s fantastic because this homage was happening either way; at least now it can happen under the guise of relevance). Now’s a good a time as any to brush up on the eclectic, puzzling, oft-straight-up-questionable catalog of Kelz.
Back in 1984 while repeatedly listening to “The Message” by Grand Master Flash and the Furious Five, I contracted an incurable disease. Rapilepsy.