Monthly Archives: April 2013

Nubes

Un vaso sin agua.
Llena me amor.
Una noche sin tu luz.
Adonde estas, mi luna?

Que pronto me olvido de las nubes.
Y noche detras de noche, te busco en el cielo.
No te quiero encontrar, ni te quiero ver.
Pagare en lagrimas, y no te lo mereces.

Mejor solo, todos dicen.
Pero no hablan de el dolor.
Noche detras de noche, mirando el cielo.
Solo con las nubes.

Old Things.

The island of misfit toys from our youth,
A place born of fiction, yet rooted in truth.
Discarded and empty, lonely and blue,
Lies little boy Johnny, and little Miss Sue.

They joyously unwrapped their beautiful faces,
Held them, and rocked them, and took them to places.
No toy could compare, and no person above them,

They loved them, they loved them,
They ALWAYS would love them.

How quickly the years passed,
Or months, perhaps weeks,
Where childish bonding grew terribly weak,

Suddenly they couldn’t remember their faces,
Or kiss them and hug them,
Or take them to places.

They grew up, so they said,
And left them for dead.
Forgotten so soon,
Pieces broken and strewn.

Alone and bitter, never retrieved,
Johnny and Sue so badly deceived.
At first Sue missed him,
And Johnny, he missed her,

But soon after time, in the darkness they whispered,

“We hate you, we hate you, we HATE you for caring,
Then leaving us broken, abandoned and staring,
We wish you may find another someday,

That loves you and cares like you said the same way,
Then leaves you in pieces when needed the most,
Perhaps then, you will shiver from our forgotten ghost,

May the cries from your heart reach our ears and be true,
Our smiles forever, hidden from view.”

Fingerprint.

I’ll toast to you, better now, than later.
The clanging bells so disrupt my charm.
But don’t confuse my tone, Mister,
This set of words is built for you.

To tell of things that went before,
And cover them in metaphor,
Would not say what lies within,
After all, are we not men of action?

There would be no point to all this fuss,
For as we know, lies do not become us.

But they consume us, friend.
As they will,
Even after you’ve had your fill.

So a toast I say, please raise your glass,
For looking good and living fast,
For futures that forget the past,
For never being first or last,
For now, now, NOW,
but nothing lasts,

Just what stays unspoken.

What’s IN Him, Mr. Wonka?! ….everything dear boy…everything..

The Fat Boys, Heavy D, Big Punisher, Biggy, and of course, the awesomely under rated Chubb Rock. These man boob sporting mammoths of Hip Hop are the stuff of legend, but between gunshots, old age, and well, untimely fat related deaths, the ranks of husky rhyme slingers has grown rather thin.

All is not lost however, amongst all the skeletal, epileptic, purple drank swigging rappers on the scene these days, one man has stood up, …shakily I presume, and uttered a ‘RRUHHH!!’ to signal to the musical world that it ain’t over, until the fat man raps. (and perhaps emits several high pitched eerie underwater songs..)

So, without further ado, TWYL proudly presents, What’s in it Mr. Wonka??…Rick Ross edition.

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“Stick and move…stick and move..”  If you were born in the late 70’s, early 80’s, chances are, you happily pounded the stuffing out of this hefty stereotype countless times on the way to the main event, featuring a pre-rape (perhaps?) Mike Tyson, who then cheerfully ‘dynamite’ punched your lilliputian ass into oblivion.

Loyal reader, as you know, every Wonka celebrity needs a base ingredient, and I can’t think of a better ‘Chia Pet’ like beginning for our borderline asthmatic, calorie crunching MC, so although he may have paid the cost, to be the boss, I have a strange suspicion that several well placed body blows would deliver a swift and bitter end to our sweet loving mouth breather.

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Okay. I know what you’re thinking. MANY rappers, musicians, celebrities are guilty of this douchebaggery. Stevie Wonder, Ray Charles…oh…wait…

Right. As I was saying, MANY are guilty of this. But fuck, even Kanye takes his shades off occasionally. How does he do it? Echolocation? Look, lets be realistic folks. We’re talking about a guy who DEFINITELY hasn’t seen his penis since adolescence, so you know damn well under the best of circumstances, he can’t possibly be looking at where he’s going, or what the fuck is in his way.

On the other hand, if your eyes were constantly wigging out every time some little shit socked you in the belly button, well, then perhaps Corey Hart is the way to go.

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Translation:  “Uhhh, RRRUHHH!! …I’ll have, the umm, double bacon whopper, extra cheese on that mofucka, extra cheese on my mofuckin fries, and umm, some big ass mofuckin dranks and shit cause yo chick so thirsty”

Scientists at the University of Cairo have made some recent groundbreaking discoveries regarding Egyptian hieroglyphics and their meanings. Our pudgy poet got wind of this and decided to get some ink.

ALL OF IT.

Yes that’s right ladies and gentlemen. Your tattooing days are over. You heard me. With plans in the works to get the entire Jack in the Box menu tattooed across his buttocks, the tattoo industry has finally admitted defeat to this painted behemoth. Look at the bright side, ritual scarring is still pretty taboo, and nothing says cool and edgy like horrific, purposeful disfigurement. Right folks?

…why so quiet war vets? (-_-)

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“I’ve…..::RRuhhhUHH::….fallen…and I…::Rruhh::…can’t…”

Uh oh. Last, but certainly not least, we have some god damn life alert.

Look Rick, you don’t have to be ashamed. I’m certain you can call Jacob the jeweler and get the fucker blinged out and spinning in no time. Little known fact: Rick Ross began rapping shortly after a family member made a funny recording of him attempting to climb the stairs, and upon playback, realized that if he threw some random words in between his panting for breath, he could pass for Biggy Smalls long enough to get a record deal.

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VOILA!!…you now have your very own Rick Ross!…but remember folks, Rick Rosses require a lot of space and maintenance. Suggested viewing: We Bought a Zoo. Free Willy. Angus.

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Live it, Love it, (hey, hey, HEY!!)

~T