The Nigerian Culture Shuffle

The dream I had last night.

Major Lazer "Keep it Going Louder" from Eric Wareheim on Vimeo.

This Just In

Be wary of future posts containing erotic male genitalia and other provocative phallic symbowlz.

Shroomsville

Beware the Santa Cruz Shroooooooooom.

ON A SIDE NOTE COUGH COUGH

YOUR SISTER LOVES DONKEY DICK

Sweetness

Landscape Altered - Episode 1 from Kai Neville on Vimeo.

A Queer Excusion Into One Of New York's Infamous Dark Neighborhoods

Two days ago I left Los Angeles heading east on a 767 American Airlines jet towards New York. This would be my first real trip to The Big Apple. Upon arrival my female companion and I hailed a cab and made the 45 minute drive from JFK airport in Brooklyn to our third floor apartment in uptown Manhattan. The first day was spent scouring the city, sightseeing mostly. It was our second day, the one after the first, when things began to get strange...


April 11th 19:00

It's been 3 days since my last drink, quite the stretch for a man of my age and habit. I enter the liquor store on Broadway and 76th and head to the liquor section. Outside the store are four tall black men, I did not like the way they looked at me, could it be they are onto me? Could they sense I'm 8 months short of the required twenty one years? I have never liked this law. I shake off such harrowing notions and begin to graze the Indian owned liquor stores selection of fine ales. Chimay it is, a 12 dollar ale brewed by Belgium monks. One pint 9 fluid ounces of 9 percent alcohol with a champagne cork top. I grab three from the shelf. I take another glance at the black men outside, I must be careful, one wrong step for this Angelino of European descent could lead to mortal disaster.

Back at the apartment I gulp Chimay from a crystal tulip beer glass. It is dark, rich, and filling, after a few glasses I sink into a comfortable buzz. Tonight we head to Harlem, named after after an old Dutch village in the Netherlands. Today Harlem is the African American capital of New York, could this spell trouble for a transplant anglo saxon such as myself? Perhaps I would encounter the four men form the liquor store in their home territory?

A wave of uneasiness penetrates my buzz as I board the subway headed north to Harlem. Next to me stands a middle aged couple, they wreak of dangerous habits and marijuana cigarettes. Their eyes the color of a bullfighters cape, red, a menacing red. I turn away and sink my hands into the front pockets of my wool overcoat, I must avoid eye contact. Across the subway car stands the most interesting creature I've seen during my stay in the Empire state. Their she stands, or is it a he? No it's a she, gender differentiation can be difficult in such situations. The individual bobs their head to hip hop beats that blair out their white ear plugs. At roughly 5'6" it stands, in all its "dike-ish" glory, dominantly with legs shoulder width apart and a street hardened look upon it's face. It wears a mahogany leather jacket atop a red plaid shirt, a New York hat with sticker still intact tilted and lifted slighty upwards as if to say im here, I'm steezy, but I don't try to hard. It sags, around mid thigh, tight blue Levi's that must have been bought off the children's rack, and it dons size seven white high top Reeboks upon its dwarfish feet. It's hair is tied back in a pony tail and three piercings pertrud from its bottom lip. This creature would turn any savage dike's crotch into the Niagra Falls.

The subway grinds to a halt, this is our stop, finally I am free from danger, or am I? As I walk up the mosaic tiles that lead from the subway below onto the street I remember where I am headed, this is Harlem.

The street signs tell me I am on the corner of 116th and Malcolm X, one block south is Martin Luther ave. Our destination is 113 116th street. We find our bearings and walk towards the intersection. One look around tells us we lack the required pigmentation for this area of New York. Obama seems to be on everyones tongue. On the corner one man exclaims, "Think of what that nigga inhereted, and all these nigga's now ain't believin' in Obama no mo'!"

We arrive at 113 116th street, site of Amy Ruth's, a New York times top pick for mouth watering soul food. "Table for two please," we tell the man at the front door, he glares brashly. We are shown to a table in the front sandwiched between to Pakistani gays and a group of Hasidic Jews,  we share a common strife, our inferior pigmentation. As we sit African American groups are escorted past our room into the back.

I look at the menu, it is quite intriguing. They bring us corn bread as a starter. You are given two choices, The Waffle Menu, or a Classic Dinner. The waffle menu includes favorites like The Rev. Al Sharpton, a chicken and waffles combo, and The Dougie Fresh, a decitant paring of waffles and fried whiting. I elected to pick from the Classic menu. This menu offered The Barack Obama and The Nate Robertson among others. I choose the Ludacris, a combination of 4 fried Chicken legs and side orders of mac n' cheese and french fries.

I was slightly put off when a waiter came and asked for my drink order and I noticed they did not serve alcohol, however they have a fine selection of soft drinks. I read down the list, Sprite, Coca-Cola, Fanta, Koolaid Of The Week, hold up! I will take one Koolaid Of The Week please.

So far I have managed to stay out of harms way upon this impromptu excursion into one of New York's most notorious neighborhoods. I know I am not impervious to danger, I know the night is young. I can only hope I come away from this strange cliche evening unscathed, perhaps my Koolaid will keep me safe.

Glug glug, I induldge in Harlems finest Koolaid of the week.

Fuck You

SPLIFF STREET CHRONICLES: a new installment

late night shenanigans.

the next morning's sesh.

Immense Instrumentals

     People Under The Stairs are non-stop beat machines.  PUTS, separately known as Double K and Thes One, have been on a rampage with edgy lyrics and mind-numbing samples since '98.  They've held it down all over the world, but at the end of the day, they reside in sunny California, more particularly, Los Angeles.  Yes, that's right, LA.  Not San Francisco like all you kooks might think. 

     Always diggin' in the crates, I was able to strike up some of their rarer, unreleased songs.  Most of which, however, are hair-raising instrumentals.  Here's just one of the many conjured up on youtube.  And if anyone asks, you didn't get it from me.

The Ancient Art Of Big Timing And Its Staggering Correlation To Modern Day Wave Riding

(Miley Cyrus is so NBT)

Surfing: The Art of Big Timing

Some are born with it,  some aren't. "IT" is the uncanny ability to live your life in unapologetic Big Time fashion. The roots of Big Timing can be traced back to ancient Greece and the birth of  Pythagoras, a philosopher whose Pythagorean Theorem is still taught in high school math classes around the world. His birth gave way to generation after generation of Big Timers that have since changed the modern world in ways Pythagoras would have never thought possible.

The ability to Big Time can be compared to American Slavery of the 17th, 18th, and 19th centuries. There are those born into slavery (non-Big Timers) and those born free (Big Timers). We shall refer to non-Big Timers as slaves or NBT's. Big Timers will be called Wigs after the traditional headwear of congressmen during this era. For the slaves, or NBT's, there life will be a constant struggle as they crave the urge to just once be given the opportunity to Big Time. On the other hand the Wigs will live their superb lives in utter Big Time as others jealously watch them in amazement.

However what many NBT's fail to realize is that there is a third option. There are the Trannies. "Tranny" is derived from the latin word Transformer. A Tranny is someone that, through hard work and impeccable dedication, has been able to work themselves free of the shackles that bind them in mediocre non-Big Timetry. Every third blue moon one member of the enslaved population is set free. He has earned his rights to Big Time through loyalty and determination to the cause. Every third blue moon one NBT enters the world of Big Timing. Fuck. Excuse my French.

Now you may be asking, "What does this have to do with modern day wave riding or surfing?"

Surfing is riddled with past and present Wigs (Big Timers), as well as despicable NBT's. Take Robert "Wingnut" Weaver (Wig) who perfected the art of "Hangin those toes" or Robert Kelly Slater (Wig) who slept with Cameron  Diaz AND Pamela Anderson. On the other end of the spectrum you have Brazilians (NBT's) and neo-hippies like Donnie Frankenreiter (total Slave) who has an incredible inablity to simply dissapear.

Dane Reynolds leads todays modern Wig movement. His caramel locks and "I don't care attitude," have made an entire generation blush.

With the economy and stability of the men's PGA tour being the worst they've been in years many things are uncertain about our future. However one thing is certain, and its been certain since Pythagoras's large cranium first appeared outside his mother's wizard sleeve (ironically this is the name of the board shaped by Al Merrick for Robert Kelly Slater). And that certain certainty is that there will always be those who Big Time and those locked in hellish non-Big Time slavery. It's the way its always been, and they way it will always be.

SHIT

hahahahahaaaaaaa

SHIT

This Movie Looks Super Good!!

I just can't wait to thee this on the big thcreen!!!!


If one day I was as big time as these dudes I would so totally change my name to
MANLY RAMIREZ