Forsooth

Continued - Technizzle My Nizzle

Continuing this week's theme. We've got two requests, and one just because I luff it.

Pro - it's high. Con - requires an aviation license.

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Vanilla Ice
To the Extreme
Ice, Ice Baby

"Dance, Bum rush the speaker that booms / I'm killing your brain like a poisonous mushroom."

Encoded in my melody line is a sonic frequency that mimics the effects of Amanita phalloides. Quickly, destroy the speakers before it's too late!


(Fun fact: Vanilla Ice's decision to appear on The Surreal Life was a result of said mushrooms.)

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Sir Mixalot
Mack Daddy
Baby Got Back

"So your girlfriend rolls a Honda, playin' workout tapes by Fonda /
But Fonda ain't got a motor in the back of her Honda /
My anaconda don't want none / Unless you've got buns, hun"

The reason your girlfriend has a flat ass is because she listens to workout tapes in the car, as opposed to listening to them while working out. P.S. I do not want to sleep with Jane Fonda.

(fun fact: did sleep with Jane Fonda, but is ashamed of it.)

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Mistah Fab
Da Yellow Bus Rydah
Ghost Ride It

"when you get a new car / and ya feeling like a star [ ok ok ] /
what you gon do / GHOST RIDE IT / ghost ride cha whip. "

If you have a new car, you should let ghosts ride in it, because ghosts need rides too. Also try driving it while standing on the hood.

(fun fact: "F.A.B." stands for "faeva afta bread" and Mistah stands for "Money is something to always have". For real.)

for instructions on how to ghost ride, see below.




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That's it for this week! Thanks to Andre and C-Unit for sending me requests. Did you enjoy the fun facts, or would you prefer more literal translations?


IMPORTANT: I NEED YOUR HELP

Do you have rap lyrics that you need translated? Maybe you don't understand the mathematics of H to the O to the V to the A, or perhaps you're having trouble digesting the poignant imagery of 2 Live Crew's "Me So Horny". Whatever the case, I'm here to help! Just send the lyrics, preferably with the artist, song, and album, to mixocologist at gmail dot com. Help is just a button click away.

Week 1: Technizzle My Nizzle

This week's theme? Technology!

"Hello, can I have some rizzle shizzle?"

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Jay-Z
The Black Album
"Encore"

"Out the country but the blueberry still connect."

I am so fantastically rich that I can ignore interational long-distance roaming charges on my wrong-fruit-label cellular phone.

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A Tribe Called Quest
Low End Theory
"Skypager"

"The 'S' in skypage really stands for sex / Beeper's goin off like Don Trump gets checks"

My girlfriend took my new beeper with a vibrate setting, and is now making me call her every 45 seconds.

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P. Diddy
Press Play
"Hold Up"

"When his majesty speaks, speech defy gravity / Bluetooth nigga but I don't have any cavities"

"Listening to me is uplifting. Not only am I an excellent speaker, I also happen to possess a cellular headset and a clean bill of dental health.

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Next update - Thursday.


IMPORTANT: I NEED YOUR HELP Do you have rap lyrics that you need translated? Maybe you don't understand the mathematics of H to the O to the V to the A, or perhaps you're having trouble digesting the poignant imagery of 2 Live Crew's "Me So Horny". Whatever the case, I'm here to help! Just send the lyrics, preferably with the artist, song, and album, to mixocologist at gmail dot com. Help is just a button click away.

H to the Me

Hey there.

Sup?

If a thing becomes truly awful, eventually you'll stumble across irrefutable evidence of how bad it is. Here is a good example. One more. Another excellent example: I realized that my last blog post was, oh, last year. Double-plus fail.

This is very much a "meet the new boss, same as the old boss," moment. Even though I'm not changing, the blog will. To begin with, this will no longer be for bar reviews.

The new subject of my blog will be rap lyric translations. And maybe some funny pictures, I haven't really made up my mind yet.

Is this random? Absolutely. But it'll be whipass, too.

Posts will be 2X a week - Tuesday & Thursday, and each one will have at least two translations, depending on length.

I'll be posting this Tuesday's translations tomorrow!

IMPORTANT: MIXOCOLOGIST NEEDS YOUR HELP

Do you have rap lyrics that you need translated? Maybe you don't understand the mathematics of H to the O to the V to the A, or perhaps you're having trouble digesting the poignant imagery of 2 Live Crew's "Me So Horny". Whatever the case, I'm here to help! Just send the lyrics, preferably with the artist, song, and album, to mixocologist at gmail dot com. Help is just a button click away.

Heineken? Not Likely.

I recently watched David Lynch's Blue Velvet, and saw what is perhaps my real father. (The one yelling, not the pussy.) Enjoy.

My New Car

24's On My Feet, Son. You Best Be Steppin', or I guess driving or ghostriding the whip or whatever. You know what I mean. I am so bad at being gangsta.

Mad dubz.

It's probably a song reference, I guess...something like "Tweet tweet, now show me your vagina, bitches." Ill lyrics, dawg. Almost as ill as the color of your car.

New Jersey

Now that I'm somewhat recovered from my trip to NJ, I thought I'd put up a quick pic of one of the odd things I saw while in the drug-needle Garden State. As you may or may not know, blue laws are different up there...and when I say different, I mean mind-numbingly stupid. You can't buy any beer or wine at the grocery store.

That's right, nada. Any type of alcohol must be purchased from a liquor store. As you can imagine, there's one on every corner, and they're open late. Oh, and in Philadelphia you can buy six-packs from the bar, but that's another story.

I got my friend to stop at one on the way back from the airport, and it just so happened to be the strangest one I've ever seen. From the outside, it looked pretty normal.

Bar on the left, liquor in front, poker in the back. Kidding.

My mind was blown when I walked inside, though:

I call it "The Gauntlet"

When I asked the pretty young thing behind the counter why the store was set up like this, her answer was "I have no idea." I couldn't really blame her, since I didn't have any idea either, and she was hot as hell (I tend to be more forgiving of stupidity if looking at you doesn't make my face hurt)."My breasts speak for themselves, sir."

I did ask her if you could buy a bottle of booze and drink it at the bar, but the answer was no. I think this is because they haven't had to deal with me before. I shrugged, tequila in hand, and continued on my way, pausing just long enough to document this oddity for you, my loyal readers.

More stories from New Jersey to come, plus the exciting answer to what the hell the SC Beer Wholeseller's Association really does. All this and more in the next episode of Two's Company Because There's Only One Bottle.

Summer In Columbia: A Mixocologist Pictoral

I have spoken to the SC Beer Wholesaler's Association, and I have answers to your questions. But today, I have a different topic on which to speak - our climate.

As we're approaching the hottest month of the year (August), I thought that it might be helpful to inform and educate all of you about our great city during these nut-poachingly hot times. I could go on and on, but I'll just say that I hope you enjoy The Mixocologist's Summer In Columbia Guidebook.


Overview

It's best to approach Columbia's summers as you would a rabid, naked supermodel. That is to say, with mace in one hand and beer in the other. At best, the climate can be tolerable. At worst, the 102° temperature, soaking humidity, and sinus-liquifying allergens severely tax one's patience. Even more terrible, all the college girls leave, and Columbia's bars resemble Kroger's deli isle. It's a great time if you like bratwurst and deli pickles, but good luck finding a tender rump roast or a succulent rack...of lamb. You see what I did there.

Climate:

It's so hellishly hot every year at least 5-10 people die - not from heat exhaustion, but from flaming avian missiles. It's a real problem for the city, since most birds "Flame On!" after about five minutes of direct sunlight. I don't know if you've ever been hit by a pigeon on fire, but it's unpleasant. Oh, and try explaining to your insurance agent that your house burned to the ground due to flaming bird bombardment. Here's a pictogram to help you envision the environ:

At least twice as hot as him.

But even with the heat, there are great up-sides to summers in this city. Since all the students are outie, expect quick service at bars and restaurants. Did I mention there's almost no traffic? Oh, and the short skirts? Really short.

The classic single rubber band/Wite-Out dress

Also, no traffic, in case you missed that. Yep, times get so crazy hot that there's always a possibility you'll bury your dog. Usually, though, you'll just get stopped at second base. Which is OK, there's always her sister.

Surrounding Geography

Columbia just happens to be all up in the steeze of the state, which means that there's a bazillion scenic destinations just a few hours away. Here's a few that the Mixocologist staff enjoys:


The Beach, 2 1/2 hours away:

They put the lotion on each other's skin.

The Mountains, 2 hours away:

Like it matters if the bathtub was really in the mountains.

If you're in the mood for something a little more old-money, a little classier, you'll want to go to...

Charleston, 1 3/4 hours away:

Vintage clothing models abound.

Local Attractions

If you don't feel like a little driving, there are plenty of beautiful sights to see right around the neighborhood. I mean, you've got the Saluda River, a great place to go tubing and be at one with nature.

Nothing gets the ladies like a 25' white anaconda.

As great as the river is, it's easily trumped by the start of the city's favorite pastime...football! The locals here go absolutely wild for our SC Gamecocks, especially the ladies. In fact, I'm not sure the guys would even go to the games except for them...

Unlike real baseball, these players want two balls.

The "sausage in her mouth" joke is too obvious.

Yes, they're classy now, but wait till 2 A.M. at Bar None.

Conclusion

I hope you've been both entertained and educated by The Mixocologist's Summer In Columbia Guidebook! We welcome any and all additions, and plan to come out with a revised version next year. Just remember Columbia's unofficial motto:

Columbia: We want you inside us

In Transit

I'm sitting ine a green-gray chair in Memphis International Airport, and I have one thing to say:

Thank you, you delicate-lunged fairies, for making it impossible for me to smoke in your airport. When I de-pressurize the cabin in mid-flight, you'll know why.

P.S. I drank a Killians here, it tastes saltier.

Conversant Flirting

A quiz:

Imagine that you're at a bar, late in the evening. Smoke-filled haze slowly circulates the bar, dimming your already lackluster vision. In your hand you clutch your fourth drink...or is it your sixth? Near to closing time, the impossible happens - you meet a beautiful girl, and, no shitting, she makes a hourglass look like a ruler. The two of you hit it off, and she inquires if you'd want to go back to her place. You respond with:

A. I'd love to see what your nipples look like.
B. Do you know what "motorboating" is?
C. I'd love to snuggle my sausage in your hot rack.
D. Smother me to death with your tits, my life insurance goes to orphans.
E. I'm busy taking a dump in your purse.

I'll give you a second to think about that.

"I'll take the ugly one."

Done thinking?

What'd you pick (like I actually believe you won't just scroll past this, look at the answer, and then say that's what you were thinking the whole time)? Anyway, yes, the answer was C! Good job! But do you know...why?

It's simple, really, once you think about it. Real women, truly classy ladies, prefer to have their milk-muffins referred to ask "racks". Not breasts, not tits, not doggy handles, not pendulous mounds, or melons, and definitely not any derivation of "cock buns". No, women realize that racks are classy. To demonstrate, let's examine some famous racks, shall we?

Delicious rack of lamb

I figured I'd start us out with one of my fav's - a rack of lamb. Damn, it's delicious. I can just look at the photo and smell savory charred fats and delicate herbal scents. Regardless of what I think, it's red meat. You're a man. It's tasty because our genes, the same ones that make us love Foreigner, tell us so. As the parable goes; the man who fights himself never wins, and if you don't like Foreigner, fuck you.

Shelving: Holds learnin' and shit

Throughout the years, many great things have rested upon racks of shelving. I myself have used racks to store any number of things! Onions, shallots, whipped yogurts, breads, snuff films, garlic, cumin, kitten fur pillows, homonculi...the list really just goes on and on. Face it - without the idea of racked shelving, 100% of your shit would be on the floor, instead of a moderate 80%.

Jennifer Connelly

This rack has brought me more joy than perhaps any other, despite the fact that I've never been able to place anything between, onto, or even touch it. Holy crap. I think the left one just winked at me.

Medieval rack

Some people will tell you that the medieval rack was a terrible, evil instrument, one that slowly tore your ligaments free and popped your tendons. Well, they're all short. Listen, the rack remains the first and only invention that will give you an extra 8" overnight. Forgot about those emails junking up your inbox, this is the real deal! And for only 19.95, you can experience the kind of growth you haven't felt since Mandy Tenner let you touch her thigh! ...See? You were totally buying into it. Point proved, moving on.

The server rack.

Believe it or not, humble racks of steel and aluminum just like this house all of the world's porn. That's right - every picture of a wayward nipple straying out of a prom gown resides in one of these holy temples to technology. Also the internet does other things, like Google and Facebook.


I think that by now, I've proved my point. Throughout the history of man, the rack has known many beautiful iterations, and culminated with Jennifer Connelly's magnificent shelving. So, next time that you're having a fine meal with a real lady, flatter her by mentioning how the moonlight makes her rack glisten. And when her eyes light up you'll know that tonight, you're gonna get one of these:

Sammich: Oh yeah that's good.

My Dream House

I was walking to a gas station today on my lunch break, and I passed by a small brick building with heavily-tinted windows. "Huh," I said to myself, "I wonder if this is a secret downtown strip club?"

When I found the sign, I learned that no, it was not. It was even better.

Beer Wholesalers: Wanna Drown In a Vat of Killians?

Good lord, man! Beer, sold...cheaply? Why isn't there one of these associations on every street corner? And why did they hide from me? Frankly, I was a little upset I didn't know about the place. Here is an artistic interpretation of my disgust:


These questions, and others, will probably never be answered. Still, they're fun to think about - and who knows? Maybe when I (finally) have my shot contest they'll award me a honorary wholesaler's license!

*(editor's note: Hopefully it won't be a posthumous award.)

Is anyone else interested in seeing if I can call these people up and get an interview with them? Maybe find out what exactly the hell it is that I do? If so, post in the comments. Just one request, and I'll be blowin' up their phones like a drunk ex-girlfriend in 5 Points at 3 A.M...minus the background noise you'd normally hear at Bar None, of course (which is really the only place still open at 3 A.M., but I digress.)

Also, you may notice I finally changed the poll again. Vote away, it's open till the 30th!

Noni Noni Noni

Here is a quick story...a footnote from my travels, a morsel if you will, that I thought might amuse you. Enjoy.

Becks and I were driving down Two Notch Road this week, and we passed a store called The Phoenix Paw (not, as some thought I said during my first retelling, "The Stink Farm". This wasn't the water treatment plant. How fucking bad is my accent?).

Now, why a New Age patchouli-toxin store would open in the ghetto is a good, but irrelevant, question. The real question was what the hell is this "fresh Noni" they were advertising? Fortunately, not everyone is as ignorant as me:

Me: What the hell is a "Noni"?

Becks: It's a foreign fruit, it's sold as a juice. It's supposed to make you feel better.

Me: Idiots! Of course they feel better, they're drinking juice. When all they drink is Milwaukee Light, I'm sure it's a fucking miracle drug.

Later, I found a picture of a Noni fruit:

The only food that looks better going out than coming in.

That looks like it'd be great! I've been looking for something to compliment the whole-wheat dog turd sandwiches my friends in the commune mail me.

I wouldn't eat a Noni (is that word even singular?) if it removed the fat chick from pictures of hotties.

OK, I'd be a little tempted.

And yes, I hate Milwaukee Light. My hatred is even greater than before since I had to look up how to spell "Milwaukee". What a dumb country.