• » Name: Meka Soul
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Slap-Boxing With Jesus

The Armchair Revolution

You gotta love this shit: humps worldwide come to this section of the Internets to read up on the latest news of their favorite half-tard rapper, listen to the next shitbag single that’ll make them uncontrollably do the Whop in clubs, read interviews by intelligent-deficient artists or simply come to the blogs to see who the fuck is gonna catch a mean one. Where else can you see a site host an online listening party for Pudgee The Arabian Fat Bastard one day, then jump on his ass because he likes to drop the dreaded n-word the next? Blogs are one of the few joints based on the forgotten element of hip-hop: the cipher. An e-panel discussion, if you will. Someone’s here to open up a topic of interest, and others come to respond back, or in my case, call me out of character and demand for my e-impeachment. I don’t mind, though; if I can get just one hump to expand their thought process a little bit past the dregs of media television, I know I’ve done my job. And it’s not like I do this shit for a lot of money either, so consider these my gifts to you. I spit these crowns to leave your heads wrapped with jewels.

I give big ups to some of the peoples, places and things that inspire me to keep doing this shit. If it weren’t for this little thing called hip-hop, I’d probably be writing some quasi-homosexual bullshit about Jesse McCartney or something. I’m actually surprised at how many people are willing to jump down my throat in the name of their favorite rapper, even if said rapper reminds me of Rowlf the Dog and/or rock vice grip-tight V-necks and meatwatcher jeans. So I know I must be doing something right, regardless of the slander mail I receive.

Speaking of which, I’ve noticed that my other blogging brethren followed my lead and have carved out their own niche here. It was about time too; it was getting lonely being the only one that talks shit here. Had I known Donwill was gonna show up, I probably wouldn’t have yoked his crew’s album off the Internets. That shit took forever to find, but it was worth the search. Brillyance is coming correct giving love to local crews; I’m too much of a cynical bastard to attempt that. J-23 is like my paleface alter ego; he’s blacker than a lot of you suckers out there. I ain’t forgot about you either, Shake; keep stirring shit up. Andres is probably the only Latino I know that actually hates “Lean Like A Cholo;” can’t go wrong with that. And have you seen the women here? I don’t know why the humps would swoon over some shitty singer whose bobble head weighs the rest of her body down when you got genuine wifey material here. I know I wasn’t the only who fell a little bit in love with aliya after her ode to H.E.R. a few days back. A.H.L.O.T. got the style game on lock, and Soopa Starr’s like my e-baby moms; her swagger is a wonderland. All three of them are on some “flowers & candy,” old-school chivalry shit. That’s the prototype right there.

Extra shout outs go to the rappers that take the time out of their crazy hectic schedules and drop jewels here. Stimuli keeps the young’ns schooled and you’d be hard-pressed not to root for Termanology and Torae. Crooked I reminds me of that one live wire cat in your crew that doesn’t give a fuck and says whatever pops up in their mind. You gotta respect that.

Recognize that hip-hop ain’t dead because some cantankerous chump says so. If the shit did suck, I wouldn’t spend a good part of my life writing on it. The armchair revolution will not be televised, so either get down with it or lay down from it.

Fifty posts down, and I’m just getting started. Fresh for ’07, sissies!

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