“What’s the kid’s name?”

“Zion Williamson.”

“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.”

Huffing & Stuffing

“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.”

Give Peas a Chance

“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.”

Aye Aye

“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.”

Rod Smart Went to Western Kentucky

“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.”


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?


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.

Chipmunk Soul

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.