When 141 characters isn’t enough, you gotta air it out. These are old tweets of mine that I felt needed some expanding on. Sometimes I’m defending them, other times I’m just solidifying my point. All the time, I’m ranting like an asshole cause why not?

I feel as though , when a song gets huge on a pop level, the message of that song is often lost. All people care about it the catchiness of the hook and blindly singing along , word for word, without really even trying to capture the meaning of those lyrics. I can’t really blame anyone for that though. Pop music isn’t exactly known for having lyrics that matter in any way and I’m certainly no stranger to knowing every word to a song then realizing , 2 years later, it was actually about something.
In the case of “Hotline Bling”, we have an extremely catchy song. The kind drake tends to make. On the surface, it sounds like any other mournful r&b song about lost love. “Oh, I miss you girl, blah blah blah” but…no.
This is the song of a sociopath.
It’s basically a bitter man who got dumped (or the girl got fed up and finally left) so now he’s shitting on her for enjoying her life. All based under the guise that “Yo, remember when we used to fuck?”. Yeah, dude. Like how everyone who’s ever had any sort of relationship that involved sex fucked? Oh, like that? Yeah.
He’s over here talking about getting phone calls late at night meaning she’s coming over to smash like it’s some rare thing only married people do. Bruh, that’s everyone. It doesn’t make you or your dick special.
Later in the song he complains about how she’s out and about on the town, wearing less and chilling with new friends. Meanwhile, he’s Drake. This motherfucker isn’t sitting on his hands waiting for that hotline bling. He’s on tour, making millions of dollars and fucking whoever he wants on the planet. But noooooo, god forbid his hometown slam piece actually moves on from their faux relationship.
Yes, this song is deeper that it seems. Perhaps it’s social commentary? Perhaps Drake is playing the character of an awful guy with no perspective. Or, maybe, he’s just shitty about this kinda thing. The type of guy who gets upset when he hears how many guys a girl has fucked or the type who asks endless questions about a girls sexual history.
It’s funny cause I’m not one to really care about peoples intentions in lyrics. I don’t get outraged about anything. This is no different. I don’t give a fuck. It’s a catchy song that will be around for the next 30 years (sorry, but it’s true). However, IF I was one of those outrage types, I’d definitely look at this song as a slut shaming anthem. Just saying…

There’s an edible arrangements store near my house and it baffles me. For many reasons.
1)How did a company that specializes in covering old fruit with chocolate then giving it as gifts become so big?
2)I’ve never seen a soul inside this place and rent in my area is insane. Yet, it has been open for years. Surely they don’t get THAT many orders for yogurt covered cantaloupe to afford such a place. I understand it’s a large business but…come the fuck on. Mcdonalds have closed in this neighborhood but fucking Edible arrangements got legs?
3)Does anyone actually like this shit? It’s almost like an idea that everyone heard and was like “sure, why not?” but, in reality, if someone gave me an edible arrangements basket for any occasion, I’d think they were insane. On the list of “things to buy another person”, it’s right below used socks and an ab-roller.

I feel like we’ve been fooled. Or perhaps there is just a whole community of weirdo’s who rely on Edible arrangement as their go to gifts. People get married? The highest end Edible arrangement money can buy. Death in the family? Somber edible arrangement. Someones birthday at work? An edible arrangement with a candle shoved in a fucking candied apple. By the way, that’s how you know E.A. is some bullshit. When a candied apple, possibly the most bullshit treat in all the land, is your #1 stunner, you are a garbage business.

You can’t say anything online. Nothing. I mean, YOU CAN, but prepare for the feedback from everyone who has working fingers. This kinda thing used to be limited to when people would say outrageous things. Often people would be mining for a reaction. And, boy , did they get one.
But now? You can’t mention even the most simple things without the peanut gallery blowing hot loads of bullshit all over your face. Anything that has to do with food or health? Forget about it. I’ve tweeted about bacon before and had people leave links to articles about how pigs are treated on the farm. Dude, I just wanna eat some bacon. Let me live. No one asked for a guilt trip simply cause I mentioned the word bacon in a tweet. There’s always someone who feels lie it’s their job to inform the world of some shit we already know. Trust me, if that kinda thing bothered me that deeply, I wouldn’t eat bacon. But I do eat bacon so you can do the math on that one. (I expect that line to garner all sorts of links I won’t read. Go nut guys).
I once tweeted something about my hangover cure was that there is no hangover cure and people flooded me with their own fucking hangover cures. “Take a bong rip and eat a hot dog!” or “drink tons of water then take a big shit”. Hey guys, those things might help you feel a LITTLE better but it’s not a cure. If I have AIDS and smoking weed makes the pain less, it doesn’t mean I don’t have AIDS anymore. It just means slight relief for something that is still very present.
So, the other day, I wrote the above tweet. It was somewhat of a test. Knowing how people react to any sort of health related thing, I knew by tweeting about how people on the internet think they know everything then adding in “I think I also have a cold” at the end…it was bait. Bait that some of you thick skulled people ate up like it was your last meal. Half the comments were people joking around (as they should have been) the other were people earnestly trying to cure my cold via twitter and facebook. It’s sweet and I know your heart was in a good place but, goddamnit, learn to read. The entire tweet was shitting on that very act. It’s so simple but you cannot stop the internet. You can only hope to contain it. Kinda like AIDS.

My most recent tour was one that took place on a tour bus. Those types of tours are generally for big acts on long runs. This was no different. I was opening for Emancipator (What up, boizzz?) and they we’re in the midst of a 2.5 month Us tour that I hopped on for the last leg.
Now, I’ve done tour bus tours before. I’ve done van tours. I’ve done tours where I fly everywhere. But Bus tours are their own breed. For one, you live on a bus. There are no hotels. You leave after the shows. You sleep while the bus drives late at night. You live in a coffin like bed and share a small space with 8-12 other people (usually all men). It takes a little getting used to but, after a while, it normalizes. It’s like a frat house of wheels , no matter who is on the bus.
These buses are actually really nice sometimes. Tv’s, good sound systems, fridges, etc…they also have a bathroom. A bathroom you can only urinate in. Shitting is not allowed. So, here’s what happens.
You party a little the night before. You pass out. You wake up in the morning in a city you haven’t been to before. Your stomach starts roggling and alerts you “hey guy, time to take a shit…” but here’s the problem: There is nowhere to shit. Perhaps, you’re parked in a city where you can find a starbucks (I , personally, would find a diner, buy an egg and destroy their facilities). But, in some cities, there are no options. You can’t walk anywhere and you pretty much have to sit in the bus until the venue opens (anywhere from 2:30 to 4 pm). Meaning, you’re holding in this monster, urgent dump for , like, 4 hours. Just sitting there. Thinking about what it will be like when you finally get to release these demons. Eventually, the venue doors open, you rush to the bathroom (cause , trust me, you’re not the only one in a hurry) and you let it go. Angels circle you around the toilet, gently strumming their harps and blowing sweet air into your ears. The sound of violins waft through the room and the clouds clear and you once again feel human. I don’t believe in god but that’s about as close as it gets for me.