Robyn Rihanna Fenty, 28, brought a tiny thermos (flask) to the award show the other day. It was — by far — the highlight of the event.
One of the clowns put this on this afternoon. Said “Miss Sharon” tweeted it out.
“She did?” asked Pal.
The clown raised his thumb so high, he almost put it through the fluorescent light above.
“Isn’t she something now?” engendered Pal.
— TeLante' Webber (@TelanteWebber) February 14, 2017
“What’s the kid’s name?”
“Shakespeare was wrong about the name bullshit. If his name was Bob he wouldn’t be reaching for the goddamn stars like this. He would’ve just yoked the thing and that would’ve been that. Easy two-hand jam. Tomahawk maybe. But not this piece of art.”
“Da Vinci was Leonardo, not Lenny.”
— Clyde So Fly (@ClydeSoFly10) February 7, 2017
“Bounding and astounding. Dancing and prancing. Dishing and swishing. Hustling and bustling. Loosey. Goosey. Out-muscling and out-hustling. Slicing and dicing. Spinning and winning. Posting and toasting. Stumbling and bumbling. Styling and profiling. Swooping and hooping. Wheeling and dealing. Neophytes.”
All fruits and vegetables are refreshing to eat, if they are fresh.
— Yoko Ono (@yokoono) February 7, 2017
“Airrrrrr ribiibby’s talking boot BAGISM, DRAGISM, MADISM, RAGISM, TAGISM rit dit dit di doo … revolution, evolution, masturbation, flagellation, regulation, integrations, meditations, United Nations, congratulations.”
“Is-m, is-m, is-m.”
“Fucking Molina uncooked, tender. But sharp, like an aged-chunk carefully and preciously rotted, and accurate, true. Painful. Like someone showing you the most elegant sword — not a fancy one per se, just perfect in its design and shape — aesthetically striking,” hummed Pal. “Then, minutes later, it’s daggering you in the gut. But somehow, and almost immediately, the agony’s unseated by the first-person visual, beholding the form of the cutlass — even amid violence — and how effortlessly it carved human flesh and how its product, the warm flood of blood whose rush drowned any and all nerves, is meant to protect and purify, even in its obvious futility.”
“Reminds me of Radio Raheem — Cain and Abel and all of it,” said Pal, staring at the photograph.
“Let me tell you the story of Right Hand, Left Hand. It’s a tale of good and evil. Hate: it was with this hand that Cain iced his brother. Love: these five fingers, they go straight to the soul of man. The right hand: the hand of love. The story of life is this: static. One hand is always fighting the other hand, and the left hand is kicking much ass. I mean, it looks like the right hand, Love, is finished. But hold on, stop the presses, the right hand is coming back. Yeah, he got the left hand on the ropes, now, that’s right. Ooh, it’s a devastating right and Hate is hurt, he’s down. Left-Hand Hate KOed by Love.”
“Whoever dreamt this up deserves a statue,” said Pal. “Even if it’s a bobblehead.”
“When Vin Scully was young, and he went from sea to shining sea, from Brooklyn, settled into Chavez, threw up the fence and the whole thing … wonder if he ever surfed,” said Pal.
“You can tailor clothes, you can reupholster furniture — you can do these things,” said Pal.
Not ideal. pic.twitter.com/dwhWlFJCt2
— Tommy Beer (@TommyBeer) January 24, 2017
Let me see. (takes the skull). Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio, a man of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy. He hath borne me on his back a thousand times, and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is! My gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft. — Where be your gibes now? Your gambols? Your songs? Your flashes of merriment that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one to mock your own grinning? Quite chapfallen?
Yet another crappy recording from those shed boys.
“Sleep like the tiny little baby you are deep inside,” said Pal.
Pal was listening to this, while reading this (via the BBC):
Mr Brennan said “talking and tweeting” was not an option for Mr Trump, who takes office next Friday.
“Spontaneity is not something that protects national security interests and so therefore when he speaks or when he reacts, just make sure he understands that the implications and impact on the United States could be profound,” he said.
“It’s more than just about Mr Trump. It’s about the United States of America.”
The clown with no name has been in Atlantic City all weekend.
The clown with no name, who’s Pal’s favorite, found this on the Wik:
RZA’s production technique, specifically the manner of chopping up and/or speeding or slowing soul samples to fit his beats, has been picked up by currently popular producers – most notably Kanye West and Just Blaze, the two main producers behind Roc-A-Fella Records. West’s own take on RZA’s style briefly flooded the rap market with what was dubbed “chipmunk soul,” the speeding of a vocal sample to where it sounded as though the singer had inhaled helium. Several producers at the time copied the style, creating other offshoots. West has admitted that his style was distinctly influenced by the RZA’s production …
RZA was born Robert Fitzgerald Diggs in Brooklyn, New York on July 5, 1969. His mother named him after the Kennedy brothers.
“For obvious reasons,” Pal said, after he adjusted himself.