“I can’t wait to turn 30!” said no one ever. There’s this van culture thing happening. Cute 20-somethings are living in vans. … KEEP READING👀
Imagine if every tall shallow-man-child you knew woke up and was magically turned short for one year. Would they grow into real men? Imagine if short men were tall for a year, would they steam up into asshole lattés☕️ or would they be every single swiper’s dream? If a girl can ask how tall a guy is on an app then a guy has the right to ask what her weight is. Game on.
They come in all shapes and sizes. Their bank accounts will always have a different sum. They drive Mini Coopers, lifted trucks, shiney Mercedes Benz, used Teslas, Ducati’s, fixies, Bird Scooters and prefer a good lease on luxury. A lease is usually favored, you know, so they can trade them in when they wear them out and the miles wrack up. Yes, I’m referring to the overpopulation of assholes. No it’s not just tall men, shorties and woman can be assholes too. I know this because I used to be one. KEEP READING👀
I’m almost 30 and Instagram has officially has let me know that I am not living my best life. We’ve literally amazed the fuck out of life that nothing amazes me anymore. Everyone is #livingtheirbestlife, but yet why does it feel like I’m not living mine? I don’t even have Instagram.
Is it really that easy, to choose your own adventure?
If I could choose, then I would never turn 30.
In another life… I would be, do, see, love…. What about this life? Why can’t I do it all in this life?
With Instagram, it appears everyone is on a grand unexpected journey. Have you ever been to a party and later watched it on someone’s story only to wonder if you were at the same party, but then you look back and all you recall was them behind their phone taking selfies (you probably were too), and the devil inside you takes over and boom “that bitch is so fake.” KEEP READING👀
We just ate the whole cake. That’s right, if you watched IT, then you were just forced to eat the whole fucking cake without knowing what was underneath the frosting.🎂
Do you taste it? The after?… That flavor is a pallet that just doesn’t go away after a rinse; it’s the smell lurking type.👃🏾
The theme of this article is “what isn’t being said after it was all said.” Scared to be too late into the Glover dance analyzation game, after 5 days of rewrites, no sleep, and deep hesitation about what is wrong or right to say, I’ve come to the conclusion that I’d rather fail big than fail small. I have to do what I feel. Michael Jordan and Kobe Bryant broke the record for the most shots in the NBA, but what no one ever talks about is that they also have the most missed shots. You gotta keep throwing shit out there. I never want to hurt anyone and don’t intend to. If I’m wrong, then I’m wrong. Make sense of what you will, this is just my art, my rap track. Being culturally appropriate here at TLG. 👊🏽
Here we go. After eating Glover’s whole cake, I drove through one of the blackest streets in America blasting Donald Glover’s This is America, something felt so wrong about publicly playing that song as black people glanced, like I was exposing it to cultural appropriation, and for playing it and not being black. There’s an entire conversation about Glover’s video that we aren’t having. What isn’t being talked about is, is it appropriate for a non-black person to enjoy the song and dance to it? What’s appropriate? Intention is. Moral is.
After cruising through the streets whilst during a media triad of Glover, the Met Gala, and Kanye’s free thoughts, this story came to me. It’s what I thought of, so I wrote it. Here we go. Fail big.
Donald Glover’s This is America
The west changes faster than the wild. The Harbinger Gorilla.
There once was a King Silverback Gorilla. He looked after his own, kept his family safe from outsiders, and knew that his type were being hunted and on the verge of extinction. He could always foretell when danger lurked and taught others how to spot it. He was brave and in moments when an attacker approached, he would beat his chest, growl, and doing everything he could to distract the danger until his pack family could flee to safety. When he and his family weren’t running from poachers and had a moment to rest, he’d find a grassy patch were the sun shined and he’d begin to sing. His family would often join in with the hums and hoos. The King was growing old and was tired. He had a big heart and always hoped that the poachers from the West could exist with gorillas peacefully like the rest of the Wild. One day, whilst happily in the free sun, the King was relaxed and saw several poachers coming forth. Un-instinctually and sun-dazed, he thought “maybe if I showed them I was friendly, they’d come join and sing with us.” He started to hum and dance to distract the poachers, but his family got confused. “Why would King hum and not growl?” Because they followed King, the rest of the pack joined in and sang and danced in front of the men with guns. The poachers had never seen something like this before. “Gorillas dancing? What a rare thing to join in on.” So the poachers joined in and danced with the primates and even locked both their five-finger-hands, but as time passed and the gorillas were ready to retreat to the forest, the hums stopped and thats when the poachers were no longer distracted. It was fun, but unlike gorillas, poachers are carnivores and they had to feed with a their bounties. So as the gorillas waved goodbye and turned their trusted backs, a poacher made a monkey sound, “oo ah ah”, KEEP READING👀
Mirror mirror on my wall, look at who I follow to see through it all.
While the U.S. Congress and hashtag-trolls bitch about the all-powerful-yucky-Zucky, ya’ll forget that the devil is in the details you give. You want privacy ay? You want to remain the mystery woman of the night? Boys wanna keep their Tristan Thompson game? Well wee’z about to get real-as-phuck right now. Leave Zuckerberg alone, dis shit is on you.
Having an instagram is like having a home address, it’s a place where you live, and a place that you decorate and constantly reinvent yourself. It’s a place where you discover fetishes you never knew you had, like butt girls, oozing fudge brownies, fuzzy pups, before and after hungry hoes… whatever you look for, there’s a destination for you to travel to on IG. It’s a space to invite your friends and watch not-real-story reality selfie shows. It’s your best fake friend that you share every moment with. Giving your instagram ‘screenname’ (yeah, I’m old school like dat) to someone you just swiped right on is so so very much more than giving your digits. When someone asks for your IG, they are inquiring in the same way of some crystal loving unemployed Venice dweller who asks what your sun sign is. Your instagram can make or break someone’s opinion of you, it can make you undateable, unemployable, and unreal. KEEP READING👀