What could be worse? A new artist comes along, with an refreshingly unique sound, and their debut album goes through the roof. They win a load of awards (Grammys included), and everything is lovely, life is all sunshine and roses and their shit don’t stink.Then the second album comes out, and the follow-up sounds like it was made by someone else.
5 myths about black people
Liverpool 8 – 0 Besiktas
First of all, dude, I don’t know you. I don’t remember your name since my mate introduced us three hours ago. I don’t need it.
I want to go home.
Jou ma se linke tet skiet rubber bullets.
I don’t know which sign I currently have emblazoned on my forehead which gives random people the incredibly misguided impression that I care about their tepidly vapid existences. Because I am not sure how the menacing scowl permanently etched on my face can be translated into a come-hither -and-unburden-thyself look. (p.s. There isn’t even the excuse of alcohol!)
Now that I’m finally here, sipping a beer by the pool at Ilala Lodge, I can’t help but think back on my flight yesterday. It’s fun dissing that MA60 plane from afar, but when you’re sitting in that shit taking off, all the religion comes flooding back.
Right, let’s talk facts. Not to sound like a whining little fool, but that English ref did the All Blacks wrong. Two clear examples – that pass to Michalak was forward, and play shouldn’t have been allowed to continue. Secondly, when NZ was pressuring the French line at the end, French hands in the ruck were not penalised.
You know how sometimes you’re in a situation, and you really want to say something, but at risk of ridicule / physical violence / firing you say another thing? When that little inner voice tells you one thing and says another?
I mean seriously, a brotha should know when to lay the shovel aside and just stop digging . How many more periods of this brand of idiocy should the masses have to suffer? Has he not done enough already to get
himself a serious beat down? This would be on par with another kid being found in Michael’s bed. Or yet another middle class white kid disappearing from some villa in Portugal.
Over-share. We love to do it, don’t we? Especially after a nice afternoon spent watching New Zealand post a rugby century, and life is rosy, the place is humming and waitrons are getting prettier by the minute.