Ron Artest Ain't Nothin' to F… With…

Check this, coming in the aftermath of the brouhaha in Detroit.

“The league issued a statement saying it was reviewing rules and security procedures “so that fans can continue to attend our games unthreatened by events such as the ones that occurred last night.””

Yep, rich white folks should feel free to scream slurs and throw beer at players. Apparently, million dollar contracts must also come with a dignity clause. You know, in signing the contract, players must trade their collective manhood and be at the mercy of the whims of those with courtside seats.

Whatever, man…

The Wonder That is Wireless

This message is brought to you live from my living room!

Your intrepid blogger has finally moved into the twenty-first century, and my vehicle to this new millenium is my new laptop. And since I got the laptop, I had to get the fancy wireless router.

I’ll have carpal tunnel in a week and a half.


More on Friday about this, but I think this is worth peeping (taken from an AP report).

His mother, Cherry Jones, said she received the news of her son’s death in a phone call, which she called “every mother’s worst dream.”

“To the public he was known as Old Dirty Bastard, but to me he was known as Rusty. The kindest most generous soul on earth,” her statement said. “Russell was more than a rapper, he was a loving father, brother, uncle, and most of all, son.”

Also, jimi’s got a good one on this.

Alan Keyes, as seen by Luther R. Dawson

Yo, this is Luther. Luther R. Dawson. You don’t need to know who I am, but Bomani said I could post today, so long as I let you know his column last week was on Nelly, and this week will be on Eminem.

We went to see Alan Keyes speak yesterday, and Baba says he’s too tired to post, so he’s leaving it to me. So where Bomani has to be decent so he doesn’t say anything to mess up his career, I ain’t got shit to lose but about thirty pounds.

I'm still alive…thanks to Sean John.

Well, I went and voted on Tuesday. I wasn’t sure if I was going to vote, but I was scared not to.

Puffy said I was gonna die if I didn’t vote. And when a soothsayer like the Diddy speaks, I take heed. I don’t wanna die! More frightening, though, would have been a campaign like “Vote or I’ll put out another solo records, but it won’t have any featured artists!” I’d have walked over broken glass to prevent that from happening.

(Also, maybe Puff should have had some of the good things that would happen if people did vote. You know…”vote and get a free glass of cognac.” Or “vote and get a record contract.” If Da Band could get a deal, we all could.)

Then, Bush won, and death didn’t seem so bad.

Is Tom Yawkey Singin' or Spinnin' in His Grave?

Business…last week’s column entry was on the Jigga/Kelly tour, and here’s a joint on the BSN celebrating the 30th anniversary of the Rumble in the Jungle. Also, my man Mark Anthony Neal serves up a big-league fastball this week in his column on AOL. Long time coming, ha, MAN?

It’s the middle of the night, and I woke up to find out the Red Sox are now World Series champions. That’s cool, I suppose. But it’s moments like this one that I wish Wiley was still around.