Ok – you are fat.
You are ugly.
You are not welcome at Abercrombie and Fitch.

Well at least according to the following meme – which admittedly kinda twists dude’s words… but..

The CEO was recently quoted as saying the following:

I think this is downright genius. Let’s look at the tactic:

Step 1) Call out fat people for being fat and ugly and not worthy of wearing Abercrombie + Fitch clothing.
Step 2) Get them to make your quote a viral sensation.
Step 3) ????
Step 4) Profit

I mean seriously – fat and ugly people are now boycotting Abercrombie in droves, which doesn’t really concern the CEO, he wants them gone anyway. The consumers that still wear Abercrombie + Fitch (You FGTs know who you are), think they are part of a special / elite good looking popular club now and will be more loyal than ever. Sheeeeeet, some people who are ugly and THINK they are hot don’t want to be lumped in with the unpopular kids and are probably more likely to start wearing Abercrombie like a badge of honor, like “Oh hey Chad – check out my hot new slim fit Abercrombie V Neck sweater. Look how snug it fits me. I guess I’m not so ugly after all? Right Chad? Right? Wanna finger me in the stairs to the retard wing after gym class?”.

This brings me to another point. If you’re ugly – ok I get it, you were born that way. Shit, I am no prize, I accept it.

If you’re fat – fucking hit the gym and eat right. Being fat is not a disease. It’s the same as addiction. You need to want to change. You need to want to work towards a goal. Getting slim. Getting sober. It’s all the same shit.

Stop being fat America. It’s not that hard, eat right and get off your ass. Simple. If you want to wear Abercrombie so bad, (first of all kill yourself), lose weight. Boom. You’ve got yourself a brand new $90 pair of distressed, pre faded/washed/ ripped/ stained jeans.

I’ve got nothin to talk about so I’m gonna write about wine to meet my jtts deadline.

It’s no secret I love me some red wine. JK-3PO and Treez can attest to this. I’ll probably be a red wine drinker from now until I die.

In a way I see it kind of as a progression. As a yung yt male, most of us start by sippin a beer. Then as an adolescent / pre-teen, you try hard liquor. Vodka, Peppermint Schnapps, Sambuca…fill the bottle up with water so someone’s parents don’t know and spend the next morning puking, wanting to die. Malt liquor’s introduced later on. Then one day you realize the money saved buying (or having someone buy you) a Colt 45 isn’t worth the next day’s hangover.

Keggers, ice luges, the spins, blackouts, bars, shots, years of shit beers and debauchery…… then eventually at some point it’s wine time.

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It’s true: white people love coffee table books. There’s nothing better than sipping your coffee from your coffee table lazily flipping through your coffee table book, which accomplishes the task of making you look really cool and smart for doing nothing better than staring at mostly big color photos and skimming some text you’ll soon forget. It’s hipster-ness defined.

And what group could be better at bringing a wry smile to the face of the aging hipster at their coffee tables than this news: the surviving Beastie Boys (Ad-Rock and Mike D) have just signed a deal with Random House for a book “celebrating their history and aesthetic,” according to the New York Times.

What we know is this: former ego trip editor Sacha Jenkins will oversee the project (released by subdivision Spiegel & Grau, of Jay-Z “Decoded” fame), and it will be a loose oral history of the group with contributions from other writers, something more of a “multidimensional experience” than a straight memoir (perhaps like the short-lived Grand Royal mag, they say). Oh, and lot’s of pictures.

What we don’t know: much else, as it’s slated for 2015. Start shopping for that perfect coffee table now.

My mind has officially been blown.

I just had a moment of clarity that put our time and place in the universe in perspective.

Sure, my mind was also blown when at 10 years old, I learned of a box I could place food in that would heat up my food through molecular polarization. Microwaves were cray.

Equally mind blowing was when my rich Joo uncle picked me up in his Benz that had a telephone in it. Shit wasn’t plugged into the wall! For only $12 a call, he could speak to anyone in a 2 mile radius. Craaaaaaay.

Cable television, the internet, Serato, cars that park themselves…I’ve witnessed the world dramatically change since I first came through in 1975.

When I was 5, electric typewriters were an incredible luxury.

My son at 5 instinctively logs on to Youtube, studies a walk through video of an X-Box 360 game, and proceeds to wiz through level after level as he competes against a 24 year old in Beijing all in real time. Fuck I’m old.

However, today, I have seen the future. I have seen something that puts my naïve perception of “technology” to shame. I now realize we, in 2013, may as well be rubbing rocks together, and carpooling with our buddy Barney to the ole rock quarry for a day of work. Mark my words. This invention will change the course of history, and I fear, for the worse.

The 3-D printer. Been around for about 3 years. Here’s the short of it. Scan the picture of an object. Atoms and molecules collide, and voila…you are now physically holding that object.

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As women continue to be gang raped in India, the country is facing an embarassing national crisis as the world watches.

Enter Ford, who is promoting their “Figo” car in India.

To display the roomy cargo space the Figo offers, they thought it would be a smashing idea to depict bound and gagged women in the trunk of a car, and splash that shit all over Indian billboards and magazines.

Here’s Paris Hilton driving with the Kardashians in the back.

Needless to say, Ford has apologized for the insensitive ads after  public outcry.

So this Boss Hog of a douche named Sam runs a succesful Mail Order Bride operation in Colombia.

Pay a couple of stacks for a vacay at his resort as he busses in dozens of piss poor third world women willing to sell their souls for a taste of Amerikkka.

Wife one up, and boom, you’ve got a lifetime prostitute/cleaning lady. #winning losing

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This is going to be the new African-American Barbie doll, representing what young black American girls should one day aspire to.

A blonde weave, fake eyelashes and lenses, fake tits fully exposed adorned with gold chains, toting around not one, but two Louis Vuitton bags.

Yes, young black queens, one day you too can be a high-maintenance, material-driven, fake ass cunt. Thank you evil Barbie enterprise.

Not for nuthin…I’d hit.

Over the past week, there’s been buzz building about the half-secret 20th anniversary Wu-Tang album: after Meth dropped a few hints during a performance in LA, Cappadonna confirmed things were coming together in a recent interview: “It’s all being done in the secret Wu-Tang Bat chamber. RZA has all the tracks lined up. There are recordings taking place in New York, L.A. and perhaps at the Wu mansion in New Jersey.”

That’s big news…not necessarily the album itself, but that a Wu mansion still exists in New Jersey. Cappa also commented on going back to back to the “original formula” of 36 Chambers, but that seems rather hard to accomplish if they are recording tracks in three different places, no?

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So this Dominican restaurant on my block, Delicias, is my favorite spot to hit up for a good $6 plate of rice, chicken, platanos, and beans. Great food, great value.

The way shit was set up, the food was in trays behind the counter, so even though most of the staff doesn’t speak a lick of Ingles, you could be an American fgt like me  and point your way through an order.

Whenever I go in and no peeka Panish, they look at me in pure disgust, because they think I’m some sell out Dominican who never bothered to learn my own language, when in fact, I’m a Kenyan Jew just tryin to keep it real in the field.

 My heart was broken two months ago when they closed for being found with large amounts of cocaine  remodeling.

To my delight, I saw they were back in business like Eric and Parrish last night…time to get my grub on.

Wow…Delicias stepped they game up! Cloth on tables instead of plastic and doilies, the year-round Christmas lights were removed, and they had the music playing at a more tolerable blare…but still loud as fuck nonetheless.  However, the the delightful improvement on management’s part were the new strippers waitresses.

Gone was the friendly 200 pound woman that always  took my order.  In her place were 6 of these broads. Delicia indeed.

A woodgrain bar was now in front, and they most likely had the 200 pound woman slaving in the kitchen with all the food. Fine by me. I didn’t have the benefit of pointing through my order, but shiiit, a little playful back and forth of stumbling through my order with Tits Rodriguez might end up with me bagging a chick por el noche.

Two Dominican guys were ahead of me placing their order. Funny breed, those Dominicanos. What they think is extremely macho, is actually the gayest look on the planet.  Dominicans have the concept of being metro a little twisted. Groomed eyebrows, a skin tight shirt with sunglasses hanging on the neck, a shiny purple bubble vest, and Diesel sneakers doesn’t exactly scream “Where the bitchez at?” to me, but hey, to each his own.

I step up, and place my order with a waitress that is absolutely popping out of her clothes. The buttons on her shirt are holding on for dear life. How her magnificent bronzed almond ass fit into those size 2 black jeans would defy Stephen Hawking, and for good measure, she has red thong panties that were put on this earth to taunt me peaking out of her back side. Life is unfair. Taylor Swift is idolized by millions, and this bombshell is slangin pollo on Hyde Park Ave.

I place my order. “I’ll have white rice with goat and salad please, no beans.”

This bitch is completely stumped.

“Rice…arroz? Arroz con….GOAT!”

Fuck. I don’t know the word for goat.

“Baaaaaah…goat!”

Wait…that’s a lamb…do I attempt to make another animal sound, or should I talk this one out? Fuck. I know she hates me. I’ll never see that donkey ass in all its glory.

I’ll just carry on like a dumb American. Maybe if I say it louder and slow it’ll hit her.

“GOOOOOOOAAAAAAT? GOOOAT? GOAT. YOU KNOW, GOOOOOOAAAAAT?”

There, that oughta clear things up.

Crickets.

I’m gonna have to go out on a limb here. I could easily order pollo, or bistec, or spaghetti, or ox-tail, or chicharron…but DAMNIT, I’m in the mood for goat.

Just then…it dawns on me. The one word I always see on Spanish menus and storefront signs…it has to be goat.

“Laaaaaangoooosta? Goat? Langosta?”

Bingo.

“Siii, siii! Tiene…hmmmm…sawooos?”

What’s sawoos? Sawoos…sawoos…oh! Sauce!

“Si, I want Langosta y sauce, y arroz blanco, y ensalada!”

“Ok.”

She carries her vuluptuous frame in the kitchen as her panties bid me farewell. I’m so proud of myself. I’m truly an international ass nigga. Put me anywhere on Gods green earth and I’ll survive.

5 minutes…10 minutes…25 minutes…35 minutes…WTF??? I’m starving, people are coming in and out picking up their orders, and I’m waiting for a simple $6 plate of langosta y arroz.

The service sucks, but thank God I can pass time eye-raping the help.

Finally, Boom Boom Martinez brings me my bag of food. I figure if she knew English she would apologize for the wait, so I won’t hold it against her.

I get to the register to pay.

“Veinte dos.”

Ummm…that doesn’t sound like “seis” but whatevs. I hand her a ten.

“VEINTE dos…two-two.”

“$22 DOLLARS!!?? Goat and rice is $22?????”

What kinda bullshit is this? Never again. Remodeling my ass…a place spruces up a little and they think they can charge whatever they want?

I’ve been waiting 40 minutes for my food, and don’t have the strength to play United Nations any more…lesson learned. I pay and leave.

I get to the crib, dying to know what $22 worth of goat looks like. I pile a mound of rice on a plate, and open up the goat. It sure does look good…swimming in all that brown sauce…peppers and onions and shit. I stab my fork into a big piece, and it’s rock hard. The fuck??? Another piece. Nothin but bone. I pick up a piece. It’s a claw.

Langosta is lobster.

I ordered a fuckin lobster in curry sauce with white rice.

Fuck my life.

I forced myself to eat it on the strength the shit cost $22. Gross.

Here’s the question.

Is it my fault I don’t know Spanish like that, or is it the restaurant’s fault that they do business on Main Street America, and don’t have staff that knows what they serve in fucking English?

This pic was taken at a fashion show. Runway, cameras, gay dudes…a real fucking fashion show. Nigga please.

Don’t matter what Rae is speaking on…quotes for days. Here, he shares his thoughts on sneakers.

Here it is…the only reason why chicks and DJ Knife watch the Super Bowl. The commercials.

Here’s what 3 million bucks per minute will get you….

Audi – “Prom”

Go Daddy – “Your Big Idea”

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