• » Name: Meka Soul
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Slap-Boxing With Jesus

The Bitchmade List

I had planned on adding recently promoted New York governor David Patterson to the list for dropping dime on himself about his extramarital affairs, but then I thought against it on the über-gulliness of capturing the beefeater when you’re blind. Shit I hardly get pussy, and not only am I STD-free with no children and/or criminal record and am gainfully employed with my own studio apartment, but both of my retinas work.

Maybe I need to switch up career paths...

As I was saying, this particular list is dedicated to the complete opposite of the former jawnt from yesterday; meaning, to paraphrase the misogynistic genius of Kurupt, they’re more of a bitch than a bitch. As always, feel free to toss in your three-dollar bills as well.

Canibus. This is quite possibly the most agonizingly frustrating entry on this list because duke has legitimate rhymes coming out of his medulla, but damn if he just can’t get it right. An inane ability to pick out the shittiest, Casio-driven beats available and putting himself in the most retarded of scenarios (joining the Army in your mid-twenties is extra ungully) is one thing, but looking like the gay Silver Surfer at that one MTV Awards was the nail in the coffin.

Bow Wow. When the toughest thing you’ve ever done in your career was impersonating a kindergarten Snoop was the fuck back on Doggystyle, that’s definitely saying something about your faux-hardbody status. Threatening ice cream-soft Touré would have been dope if you actually ran up and slapped the kufi off his too-soft-to-be-hetero mop top, but hiding behind your security guards cancelled that shit. Then there’s that story I heard about him getting anally violated by said bodyguards way the fuck back when I was still using my resident advisor status on my college campus’ apartment complexes to nab some cheerleader twat damn near five years ago, which is just wrong on so many levels.

Paul McCartney. How is it that you were a member of one of the largest groups ever, only to see your group split up over some lettuce wrap-chomping China banshee, get the rights to your music yoked by a child toucher (Thriller is still my shit, though) and to top it all off get yoked for half your shit from some tree-hugging peg leg bidge? I personally would put trademarks across Heather Mills’ eyes on GP; at least then I’d have a legitimate reason for giving her a thick ass chunk of my life’s earnings.

Wifebeaters. Contrary to the statement above me, I am actually not a proponent of firing off on a woman for no reason. If anything, should a woman try to act out of pocket on some KeKe Wyatt shit, by all means she’s due to catch a clean one across the jaw. But Super-Kicking her through a window just because she forgot to add those Pillsbury rolls to the dinner table is kinda fucked up, as hilarious as that may be.

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