Pardon Isley? Hell-To-Tha-Nizzo!

Wassup, Y'all!

Let me be the first to jump off this damn bandwagon before it gets started. Now Ol Ty's out kicking it in Philly when word reaches him in the hoopty that Southside DJ's and Ronnie Isely fans are petitioning President Bush to give Ronnie Isley some Scooter Libby love by pardoning his conviction on flagrant a$$ tax evasion. Who's next? Wesley? R. Kelly? I'll admit - I've never been a big Ronnie Isley fan but even if I was, I have to think that there are much more deserving southsiders either in or heading to prison to save this high caliber silver bullet for...

Now if y'all run through the actual factuals of Mr. Biggs conviction, you have to admit that ol boy was doing some Olympic level tax dodging. Ol Ty ain't got much love for the tax man either but I have faithfully paid my fair share and I'm not feeling much love for a brother who was given so much and willingly chose to get big time greedy and not break a taste off for Uncle Sam. When I send my check to Gangster Sam, I just imagine it's going straight to my mama's social security check to take the sting out of it - so on the other side of the ledger I see Mr. Biggs chippin' off mama's check to keep up his livin' large lifestyle and I'm damn sure not feeling that, y'all.

Yeah I know about Mr. Biggs being a 'cornerstone of the R&B community' and ill with cancer (there are plenty of law abiding folks who won't be getting a pardon for that either...) and all the rest. Still, I can't help but think that if you're going to holler back to G-Dub and ask him to rain down some Scooter Libby Commutation Love on a southsider, first - we know it will never happen, and second, if by some miracle it did happen, wouldn't you feel better knowing that that miracle happened for a heinously bogus case like Genarlow Wilson's?

Y'all have to be feelin' me on that one. Come on now! We need to make our stand on some higher ground than Mr. Damn Biggs...

Peace@Least,

Tyrone

With Kinfolk Like Davon Boddie...

Wassup, Y'all!

Admit it fellas. Look through your relations and without a doubt you'll always find at least one Davon Boddie. The knucklehead, the Bad Luck Schleprock, the weakest link, the brother always moochin your Lime Chips or your Trident sugarless, or your new Oldspice Ahoy cologne or... For the uninitiated let me introduce you to Mike Vick's cousin Davon...

As family is known to do, Mike Vick did the loyal thing and put his cousin up in his Virginia crib - the one he was 'rarely' at, the one that somehow morphed into the center of a dog fighting enterprise. I say 'somehow' though I have to speculate that that knucklehead Davon at least had a finger in that stupid a$$ idea as well (tho surprisingly he's not up on any related charges). Anyway, Mike Vick puts his cousin Davon into plush digs. You know he wasn't asking for any rent or grocery money so Davon, who I have to speculate likely has nothing to fall back on except the kindness of his friends and family, is living large off his Golden Goose. For those of you who check out Entourage - Davon would be Turtle. The dude who runs odd jobs for his Golden Goose - Vinny Chase the A-list movie star - and spends his 'down time' gettin' high, playin' video games and knockin' boots with shortys willing to sleep with someone who knows someone famous. Shoot - life don't get much better than that, y'all.

So flash forward to April 20th when knucklehead Davon is cold chillin' on the block in Hampton, doin' his thing - talkin' smack to the honeys, promisin' them meetings with his boy and sparkin' up one of the fat doobies in his pocket when the Po-Po rolls up on him and tags him for drug possession. So far so good.

Now under questioning about where he lives, knucklehead Davon gives his real address - Mike Vick's crib in Surry County, VA. The crib that he knows has been running an illegal dogfighting enterprise, the crib that is housing beaucoup dogs in various states of jacked-up-ness, the house that sits on property that was used to bury dogs killed for not making the cut, the crib with enough dog fighting paraphernalia around to make Stevie Wonder suspicious. As they're sometimes known to do, the Po-Po follows up by paying a visit to the house to see if there any other drugs are up in Davon's room and lo and behold, what do they find? Enough dogfighting evidence to bring a federal indictment against his Golden Goose, Mike Vick.

I'm not sayin' Mike Vick didn't make his own bed if the allegation prove true - that's not my point. My point is that the loss of his reputation, endorsement deals (old boy had his mug on the cover of Madden 2004 for cryin' out loud - guess that jinx is still in full effect!), possibly his starting job as a quarterback in the NFL and most importantly his freedom to not have to share a cell with the Tossed Salad Man all hinged on a cousin who didn't have the good sense of a six year old on crack. Maa fact - comparing knucklehead Davon to six-year old crack addicts is givin' those biddy-boppers a bad name. See? Now y'all are getting the point that it pays to pick your friends wisely (same goes for family once you're old enough to make a choice...).

The good news for the dog fight fans who are bummed that Bad Newz Kennels won't be puttin' on any more main events is that there is a chance for them to see one last fight. That would be the one between Mike Vick and Knucklehead Davon when those two get back together. Man, I hope they put that bad boy on Pay-Per-View...

Peace@Least,

Tyrone

Duffosity in the Southside Nation

Wassup, Y'all!

It pains me to say that extreme duffosity is not limited to any demographic 'side'. I was going to conveniently let the story of the southside judge suing a Asian dry cleaner for $54 million for a pair of damn pants they misplaced go, especially when I found out that homeboy was a southsider. It was too embarrassing. The case got (rightly) decided in favor of the Asian dry cleaner and I thought that would be the end of it - that that Tom Foolery would sink into justified obscurity, but noooooo. Now it appears that I have to do the right thing now that this fool, Judge Roy Pearson, has asked the presiding judge to reconsider his verdict. That's him on the left in the glossy, y'all. I can only imagine that what's in the briefcase behind him is all his common sense, which he lost on the way to his courtroom...

There's a concept called 'Collective Guilt' that's always on a southsider's mind. It's basically "the idea that a group of humans can bear guilt above and beyond the guilt of particular members". Boiled down to Winky's Corner Store lingo you have a situation where a fool like Roy Pearson can cast disrepute on the entire southside nation. Y'all may not know this, but every time there's a heinous crime reported, like say someone shoving a pregnant woman into a woodchipper or the Manson murders, a collective sigh goes up throughout the Southside nation when it's revealed that the crime was perpetrated by a Northsider or an West or Eastsider (like that foul Virginia Tech ruckus). This is because we know we're already viewed as suspect #1 when anything jumps off and we don't want to give anyone yet another reason to make wild a$$ assumptions about what we're capable of.

Similarly, when a fool like Pearson pops up on national news, a collective cringe goes through the nation as we know the knee jerk reaction to seeing his mug pasted next to such Ridiculously Blatant Duffosity as suing for $54 million for a pair of damn pants will be something like this on the train the next morning - "Hey Bob, you hear about that black guy suing for $54 million for a pair of damn pants? Man, those people are always looking for an easy buck. First welfare now, this..." Jacked up, but true. Aint' no denying it. Sure there are some reasonable folks around that look at everything based on the individual but that's more the exception than the rule.

So just for the next week, I'm willing to call the Drop Squad off Clarence Thomas and put them on the case of this fool to get him off the air and 'rehabilitate' him properly. And I thought Paris Hilton was a fool. Just goes to show that no side is immune to Ridiculously Blatant Duffosity, but I have to admit, this one stings more than usual, y'all...

Peace@Least,

Tyrone

Mike Vick - Bad Newz

Wassup, Y'all!

I agree. That glossy is foul and it's my humble opinion that Michael Vick's weak a$$ story that he knew nothing about the alleged dogfighting which occurred on his Surry County, Virgina property is equally foul. It could be true and Pop Rocks could be carbonated moon dust and Paris Hilton could still be a virgin. As a dog lover myself, I never got this whole dog fighting thing or, for that matter, the southside and westside infatuation with owning 'fighting dogs' like Pit Bulls, Rottweilers or Staffordshire Terriers.

My old girl's brother used to talk about feeding them gunpowder and hot sauce to make them tough and I used to look at that cat like he was crazy. Well crazy just about covers the nefarious ruckus going on down in the Surry where the Feds are putting together a disturbing body of evidence of a thriving dog fighting enterprise operating out of Vick's crib and I mean 'Hostel' type disturbing, y'all...

Apparently an operation called 'Bad Newz Kennels' has been operating dog fights out of that joint since 2002. For those of you not familiar with the fight game, let's just say that if you're a dog - particularly one with lackadaisical fighting ability - that's about the last place you want to be. Loser's aren't treated kindly, nor are dogs with 'low fighting potential'. Those bad boys invariably always end up dead, either by another dog or by their embarrassed owner who will dispose of the dog by means like "drowning, strangulation, hanging, gun shot, [or] electrocution".

Big Boi from Outkast seems to be trying to do it right by running a legimate Pitbull breeding farm called Pitfall Kennels in Georgia. In fact, he and his brothers got all genetic and created a recognized breeding line which produced one of the first blue Pitbulls. Only in America, y'all. But it is proof positive that that we can get on the right side of this thing. For those other knuckleheads, Ol Ty offers a fool proof way to break them of their dog fighting ways. I propose dropping them in the ring along with their dog, slathered down in some Alpo. If they make it out with their a$$ intact, I'm pretty sure they'll change their ways. If they don't, well--problem solved. Mike Vick! Your table's ready, homey.

Peace@Least,

Tyrone

Taraji P. and Me

Wassup, Y'all!

Okay, well not me specifically. Actually, not me at all, but Ol Ty is happy to report that the highly under rated actress is coming to the small screen as a high powered lawyer in David Kelley's Boston Legal. Now y'all know I've been a Taraji fan for the longest. I have yet to see her play a bad role and she's been in more than a few - even that choice joint as a lesbian hit woman with fly Alicia Keys in 'Smoking Aces' - a combo we could do with seeing more of if you ask me. Now as word reached the basement of TPH's climb to well deserved new heights, similar news filtered in as well on the sad, sinking saga of former track great Marion Jones (who?)...

Man, it seemed like just yesterday that Ol Ty was watchin' Marion running the streets in that American Express commercial. Now it seems that ol girl can't run away from her debts fast enough. According to EURweb, MJ is so far in debt that she had to sell not only her crib, but her mama's crib too! That's cold. Now Ol Ty has given thought to that several times, especially when my mama gets tight with the basement AC or keeps jibber-jabbering about rent. She's lucky our crib is in her name or I'd Marion Jones' her too. Just kiddin', mama! It's a trip how a life can turn on a dime like that. Word has it that former NFL football sensation Ickey Woods had to sell meat door-to-door for a few. Granted it was those tasty a$$ Omaha Steaks instead of Steak-Umms but still...

Finally, let me wrap with another cautionary tale. It's based on an excellent fable by my boy Easy Aesop called The Boy Who Cried Wolf. Ol Ty is gettin' a little tired of my southside crew always fallin' back on the race card when things don't go their way. You feel me, Vivica? Wesley? Frenchie? Hold up - Frenchie!? Even C-listers are gettin' in on that tired act - though her deal sounds a little more like Mo'Nique's 'Big Girls on A Plane ' deal. Anyway - y'all need to quit that ruckus because all it does is detract from serious matters where such a charge can be accurately applied. Mute that noise, y'all - don't make me get all medieval up in this mug!

Peace@Least,

Tyrone