I don’t trust this Golden Sweet Potato and I’m concerned the reasoning might be racial. Maybe it’s just my white guilt bubbling up from my empathy glands making me think this is an issue of race, but I can’t shake the feeling that I don’t trust this potato because, and I’m feeling damn-near-fainting levels of anxiety typing this, of its color. Now I know that’s wrong. I do! I know that deep down inside all sweet potatoes are orange, much like pumpkins or botched cloning experiments. I know that this potato can’t help but be the color that it was born (grown) as. But still… that lingering trust issue is there, that kind of deeply embedded gut instinct that forces white people to cross the street when they spot an upcoming black man idling on the street ahead. I know judging by color is wrong, but I can’t help it! Blame the media, blame my parents, I don’t know, blame Obama! But when I read the words “Golden Sweet Potato” on a sign next to a potato, I expect that potato to be, well, gold. And gold you are not Mr. Golden Sweet Potato. So I don’t trust you. But I am concerned that I’m a potato racist.
Walking to or from work? Toss your earphones on and let Michigan’s Albanian import, JMSN foreplay the eargasm – matched by your strut – that should be dripping swagoo by the 1st beat break! The soft-spoken producer-writer-singer won’t talk the big game, but he’s all the game you’ll need to Turn Up your Tuesday to Level 12 (that’s 2 more than you even knew that $hit could go!)
Earlier this week news broke that hardworking ghost Tupac Shakur is preparing to release new music. It’s still a little unclear what form the poltergeist’s project will take, but I’m assuming it’ll be a new album. Meaning, despite the fact Tupac has been dead for 19ish years, he’ll have released SIX more albums in the time that’s passed since we last had a new Dr. Dre album. Tupac is literally the hardest manes in the game (Mythology joke. Get on my level).
Look, I was only seven when Tupac was shot, so I really can’t speak to how the world was different with him being corporeal vs his current incorporeal state. Hell, you shouldn’t even trust my take on his music – at that age I was listening to the rap equivalent of flaming garbage. That being said, I am an admitted phantom Pac fan, and am completely excited about the upcoming release. I stand by his posthumous music. He’s dropped some of his dopest tracks from beyond the grave, ranging from the introspectively spiritual, to the eerily prescient, and the hard as all hell.
Still, it seems like Pac should consider settling down and start doing standard specter shit. Take over a rundown motel. Chill in graveyards at midnight. Hit up the church and/or insane asylum circuit. Whatever it is that the ethereal are doing these days. It seems unfair for the afterlife to be spent working. Do what you love sure, but it’s okay to retire too, dude. You’ve earned it. Rest in peace.
This past weekend I wore skinny jeans for the first time and nothing happened.
To properly tell this story, we’re going to have to go back, way back, all the way to the BIG BANG. And then fast forward a lot, really fast to get to like whenever skinny jeans became a thing again. And I say again because skinny jeans were fucking huge in the 50s. Elvis, Marilyn Monroe, Gene Autry, some fictional dude named Cisco Kid, which aside in an aside, totally makes me want to hear the Thong Song remixed over a Cudder beat. And if we’re being really historical in this bitch, skinny pants were like the dopest in the 1660s. White wig wearing white men went fucking ape shit for their tight breeches, their tautness making it easier to run down would-be slaves. Yes, I did some basic Wikipedia research on tight pants. No, it’s not even close to the weirdest thing I researched yesterday.
Anyway, the Fiat of pants, I thought skinny jeans looked stupid as fuck when they were introduced to my life during their popularity boon of 20whenever. I mainly had three issues with them:
Continue reading Ben’s Diary: I Wore Skinny Jeans For The First Time And Nothing Happened
Andrew Wiggins is so, so young and adorable and can jump to the moon. Just like a puppy from outer space. And just like real puppies, sometimes Andrew Wiggins SHITS ON THE RUG THAT IS YOUR FACE.
Rudy Gobert, Andrew Wiggins just space puppied you, bro. You might want to go back to playing with cats.
This just gets more and more twisted. Drake’s been reportedly stealing several people’s love interests recently (including Lil Wayne and Chris Brown TWICE). Apparently that’s not enough. The love of teenagers everywhere – One Direction – is the latest victim according to
sources we won’t name because no free shoutouts. Drake’s latest victim, Zayn Malik has been “listening to a lot of Drake’s stuff. He’s hoping that some of the magic will rub off on him. (His new music is) very slowed down R&B and quite sexual. It’s going to blow fans’ minds”
A lot to process, but nobody’s taking it harder than some of the fellas below:
Look at this motherfucking Red Idaho Potato. Look at it. I SAID LOOK AT IT. I found it on my kitchen counter, silently rotting away in the shadows of a never-used spice rack. See those wrinkles? Those are the creases of time. This potato has seen things, man. This potato has survived. This potato is an old soul. He moves for no one. I Snapped the potato to prove it. That Red Idaho Potato doesn’t go 0-100, bro. He’s not Drake. He keeps it straight ZERO. That potato is a goddamn inspiration to us all.
Ben threw away this potato immediately after writing this post. R.I.P. potato.