may yet live

when a critically conditioned hip hop thrusts menacingly animate hands from underneath the thin, linen auspices of uncompromising documentarianism, party people say "they live!" i love the way this mash hall splinter cell (i call them that because gatsby appears to come to the cauldron bearing fewer cancer rising components than does hall monitor bles one bruce illest from his own basecamp) appears to cast aside suffocating self-consciousness without mustering a midnight bark of nods and nudges that pander to a hipster base desperate for the security of an inside joke.

weed murder, with they live! and barfly making common cannibis over a militarily austere drumbreak, serves less organically as accompaniment to indulgence than as narrative marijuagnolia. as best i can tell, this umpteen thousandth veggie tale visitation offers a fresh take on a bloombanger brand rife with poisonous repetition. you'll find no "i use and love h.e.r." rehashing in this testimonial from a talkjock triumvirate that cast themselves as irritable elitists far afield from the squadron of space cadet scalawags that hip hop listeners inevitably find more familiar. the oldominion exchange student and his gracious hosts offer a perspective roto-v'd of the puffer patronizing, rose-colored glaze typical of post-marley piff pandering.

scarcely departure from the rough-and-tumble rap attack of the hydroponic nursery rhyme described at exorbitant length above, catch the bus pt. 1 features the most creatively depraved threat to escape inclusion in the saw series or wu tang torture skit. "i'll fuck you with a safety cone and piss in it!"

stage show already talk of the town. see it, tell me about it.

h/t hustla in chief