Lil B – I Got AIDs Review

Now I don't usually review music as it's not at all my forte and my opinion is usually too bias to give a creditable opinion on a piece of audio art. Yet, after hearing Lil B's I Got AIDs track, I thought I'd give it a go. As Lil B is somewhat of an inspiration as he's clearly gone about producing a piece of work in which the content is unfamiliar to him, I'm just hoping that when I tackle an unfamiliar subject I don't come across as a clueless moron.

Now some deluded hip hop fans will praise Lil B for daring to tackle such a taboo topic such as AIDs in a genre that most pierce of glorifying violence, drug use and misogynistic values. Yet conscious hip hop has always been around and always will be, it's just not often pushed into the limelight. I can neither confirm or deny that Lil B is a trailblazer in the respects of making a track about AIDs, although I'm sure someone must have touched on it in the past.

But to the track itself; it begins with a small phone conversation then Lil B delivers the bad news; “I've got AIDs”, for what is supposed to be a conscious track about AIDs awareness, this opening bar instantly installs a perception that this song is in fact a piss take. It almost presents itself as a spoof, something that is likely to feature The Lonely Islands if they were more puerile and controversial. Yet it's not, this is meant to be serious, so don't laugh at the ludicrous line, it's time to learn about AIDs.

Lil B goes on to rap; “I shoulda used a condom, instead of trusting these women”. There's a bona fide tip for all those attempting to avoid contracting AIDs; use a condom! Apparently you can still fuck a women that has AIDs as long as your boy's in his wetsuit. Because condoms have never been known to tear or anything, condoms are the most durable substance in the world. The latter end of that line places the blame squarely on the shoulders of Lil B's ex-lovers, as he trusted them when really he shouldn't, so be careful guys if a woman wants to sleep with you she probably has AIDs. Lil B calls upon some advice passed down to him from his mother; “My mom said; 'keep ya dick in ya pants and you'll be good'”. Wise words there from Mother B. But while mom was dishing out sexual advice over a bowl of Frosties in the morning, it seems they've fallen on deaf ears. Lil B goes on to say that he was worried about getting the girl pregnant, not knowing that she had AIDs, now I'm no sexpert but condoms are often used to halt pregnancies. I understand that I've pointed out the drawbacks of them already but in all seriousness, if you're worried about getting a woman pregnant and you take no precautions you deserve AIDs.

The start of verse two offers some possibly unintended wordplay; “Now I'm fucked, cos I had unprotected sex”. Get it? He's “fucked” cos he had “[unprotected] sex”! But why is this an unintended piece of wordplay? Because I highly doubt Lil B to possess the skill/talent/luck of penning this line, also this line in itself is quite humorous, therefore it probably isn't meant to be pierced how I've seen it. Remember this is about AIDs, AIDs is serious! We then find out Lil B's also contracted herpes, but moaning about herpes when you have AIDs is like whining about a paper-cut on your figure as your lower intestines slosh out of a stab wound in your gut. Lil B continues on and brings up famed basketball player Magic Johnson [whom, from my research contracted HIV but it never developed into full blown AIDs, guess that's why they call him Magic]; “Magic Johnson the only one that's still alive, sittin' down all alone, it makes me wanna cry” before we highlight the subtle genius of rhyming 'alive' with 'cry' [I've heard of half-rhymes before but never half-arsed-rhymes]. At first listen I thought this line was entirely about Magic and Lil B was thinking about how Johnson was all alone and that thought made him want to cry. But on later inspection I'm not sure if Lil B is simply talking about himself wanting to cry after what has happened to him. That's surely the mark of a true artist, the pure fact, that I as a hip hop head can not truly assess what the fuck he's on about. Lil B ends verse two by saying if he could go back in time he would have wore a condom, so again I'll point out the fact that he'd still fuck a AIDs ridden woman, so he clearly hasn't learned his lesson. The final line is; “Now I’m dying, saying 'goodbye' to my momma”, I can just picture Momma B's 'I told you so' face.

Verse three is without a shadow of a doubt the best verse, as it doesn't exist. In total this is a ten bar song (twenty lines) which for a hip hop song is fucking pitiful, especially a song that is apparently about awareness. Lil B's delivery or flow is mediocre, his tone is completely void of emotion, whether or not that's purposeful because of his remorseful emotions or just a complete lack of care on Lil B's part. No anger is present in his voice when mentioning the “bitches” he's trusted. One of the most important aspects of being an emcee/rapper is being able to rhyme words, a process that Lil B has turned his nose up at, rhyming words like; pregnant/sexin', sex/bet, AIDs/pay and the unbelievable condom/momma damn! Basically nothing rhymes, I've released bodily gases that have held more rhyme merit than Lil B on this track. The beat is OK.

Overall, this song is clearly less about AIDs awareness and more about getting people talking about Lil B, yet all they'll say is; “Oh, Lil B, that guy that made that terrible song on AIDs awareness.” Maybe if Lil B took the time to pen something more thought provoking than a confused message of wear a condom and get tested that featured words that rhymed, this review would have been totally different. But if Lil B had made a decent AIDs song, this review wouldn't exist, because I just wanted to take the piss out of it. Too enjoy [I Got] AIDs take your [hearing] AIDs out.

Ben's Rating:
-5 / 0

Writing for Newsjack

For those that don’t know I write for a BBC radio comedy… but before you start thinking I’m ‘someone’; so do hundreds of other people. “No wonder the BBC is having to make cutbacks if it’s employing all these people to write for one show” you may be thinking, but you’re wrong. Newsjack has an open door policy, so anyone can send in material. But now the final deadline has passed us by, so no more last minute attempts to satirise current affairs in the attempt of building up a portfolio in the world of the comedy writer. It’s back to avoiding newspapers like Liam Fox (mmm … satire*).

My style of writing for Newsjack is basically, throw everything I can at them, sit back, constantly refreshing my hotmail account in hope that I receive an email informing me I've had material accepted. But I wasn't lucky enough this series, obviously by “lucky enough”, I mean “good enough”.

You see, the thing is when you're writing your little one-liners or sketches, you think you actually have something of quality; an actual piece of comedy gold that stands a chance of getting aired. That optimism lasts form Monday/Tuesday [when you send your material in] until late Thursday, when the inevitable happens and you don't receive that email. At that point you look back over what you've written and realise how drastically awful the whole thing was and how much of an idiot you were for thinking that poorly stringed together bunch of toss was ever going to be considered for broadcast. You feel shitty. You then listen to the show and feel shittier because;

a) Someone else used an angle you had, but in such a better way you begin to question why on Earth you think that you can compete with writers [that get material accepted] when your approach is so blatantly simple a child that eats PVA glue could have come up with it.

b) You hear a sketch/one-liner that you feel is substandard and you begin to wonder why your substandard material was passed over for that. You then go on to realise that you clearly know nothing about producing or writing for a radio show, so why should you hate on someone else's hard work, when they're the ones receiving a cheque from the BBC and you're not.

Eventually you calm down and last week's knock back inspires you to write something better. So you plunge yourself into the week's news, furiously jotting down fragmented ideas. You go on to construct them into sketches/one-liners. You convince yourself these are way better than last week's effort and the whole cycle begins again. Optimism. Failure. Self-loathing. Back to the drawing board... or writing table.

The hardest aspect of writing for Newsjack, in my eyes is writing for the tone of the show. This is of course the most vital aspect too, the show can't simply throw out a bunch of sketches that don't follow suit; witty satire is probably the summation of what they're after. While my style of writing is more offensive and blatant; that's probably why my sketch; “Top Five things that make Cameron a Massive Cunt” never got the chance it deserved. But it becomes hard to understand why material gets passed over, from my point of view. I mean I was lucky enough [obviously by “lucky enough”, I mean “good enough”] to get a one-liner accepted in series four. Yet I thought that I'd sent in one-liners that were better than that.

Anyhow, here's a handful of my rejected one-liners and parts from sketches;

UPBEAT MAN: After the Foreign Office warned against visiting Kenya, our travel agent arranged us a place in Cape Town at no extra fee, which is good because it can cost an arm and a leg or a leg at least.

HOST: Boris Johnson opened London Fashion week, William Hague was due to do the opening but a wardrobe malfunction left him unable to come out of the closet.

WOMAN: In Libya David Cameron said the Arab Spring could become an Arab Summer, because ultimately he wants to see the Arab Fall.

HOST: David Walliams’ Thames challenge has shown the nation that persistence, determination and a good pair of swimming goggles will eventually get you through everybody else’s shit.

[from a Sketch about Boris Johnson opening fashion week;]
HOST: Now live from fashion week, we are joined by a man that’s got so many depressed women naked he makes Peter Stringfellow look like a rank amateur; Gok Wan.

… all now fantastically outdated and have stood the test of time like a bunch of cheap flowers.

*I'd like to point out that the line there was [slightly] satirical when I began this blog, but as I usually do I gave up on this blog about ten minutes after starting it and only returned to it as I was unable to create a new topic to write about. Although this has probably added more to that joke as it's no longer satire, which also criticises my attempts at satire; mmm … self-loathing.

Housemate Wanted

Hey lucky reader, yes; YOU! I'm about to offer you a once in a lifetime opportunity not to be passed up.

Due for unforeseeable events involving what can only be described as selfish cunts, a room has become available to rent in my abode. It's not often that a chance such as this comes up, so it is advised that you take this opportunity ASAP.

The house has all the mod-cons*. Over the past few years the world has been savaged by mother nature, while homes, huts and businesses are left in ruin worldwide, my house is 100% tsunami proof, so that should ease any possible worries you have. Also; wild bear attacks are at a constant level of zero and have been since records began, attacks from smackheads with dirty needles has been on the increase over the last decade though; but as they say around here; “we all gets AIDs eventually, why wait?”

The house is situated in one of the East-Midlands biggest (and only) cities; Derby. While Nottingham is known for it's legacy, excellent night life and brilliant shopping facilities (- if you're into that kind of capitalist stuff), Derby has things to offer too; like a regular bus service to Nottingham so you can take advantage of all their great stuff. But it's not just buses into Nottingham, no! You can also take the train. Derby itself has a couple of things on hand to keep you entertained; like Lara Croft Way; a road named after the Tomb Raider character, the Derby Ram [statue]; it may look like a coiled concrete turd but it's something to look at for 20 seconds or so**. All of this exciting stuff is a only minutes away from my house, how I ever get anything done is beyond me!

If you've liked what you've read so far about this amazing, once in a lifetime opportunity, you should carry on reading to see if you fit the qualifications to become my housemate.

What We Don't Want:
Drum & Bass DJs; you're a plague on society, there's too many of you and I can't be seen with any more of you. My quota for D&B DJs as friends/acquaintances is maxed out ten fold, so fuck off.

Jews; we aren't anti-Semitic, we're just not welcoming to anyone that believes in a monotheism religion, so Christians and Muslims are included in this too, as you all basically believe the same thing, you just quarrel over the small details.

Anyone with a political ideology that leans to the right; if you vote Conservative you're not welcome and probably far too posh to live here anyway.

Drug enthusiasts; if you're drugs are anything but; tea, coffee, tobacco, alcohol or marijuana, this probably isn't the place for you as I'm not explaining another OD'd corpse to police/grieving families.

What We Do Want:
Someone with a 'good' taste in music; basically if you have a varied taste in music you'll more than likely get on with someone in the house. A love and detailed understanding on British battle rap (and it's history) is preferred but not mandatory (yet).

Someone with an income; self-explanatory really, you need money to pay bills and keep the fucking debt collectors at bay.

Someone thick-skinned; you must be able to take a joke at your expense, also thick skin comes in handy as we have single-glazed windows (double-glazing is for motherfucking pussies), so on occasions*** it gets a little chilly.

House Rules:
House Rules!! Respect must be given to the fictional doctor Gregory House. Revealing spoilers from the latest episode is punishable by death. This is also true for The Walking Dead.

Do not answer the door; if you're not expecting visitors, you do not answer the door as usually the person on the other side is after money, usually owed to them by someone in the house.

*according to a survey done in 1985
** it's not better than Nottingham's left Lion though, hell, it's not even better than the right Lion!
*** on occasions, meaning from October – March.

You’ve Got 99 Problems, I Have One

“Oh yeah, they call me the recluse, ‘cos I don’t go outside for nothing...” sings Plan B, although I’m more into the; “Stab you in the eye, yo, with a fuckin’ biro...” style he adopted earlier on in his career, but that first line sums up my current existence brilliantly.

I have become a recluse [thought I’d come out and say it in case you aren’t familiar with Ben Drew’s work]. When I’m not at work [in a storeroom, usually on my own], I’m locked up in my bedroom, usually getting a tan from the glow of my PC monitor. The thought of trekking outside is enough to tire me out. If my house was set alight [extremely likely to happen on the street I live on], I’d still probably have to be talked into leaving the premises as if I’ve developed Stockholm Syndrome with my abode. I’m not agoraphobic, at least I’m quite sure I’m not and I’ve watched enough House M.D. to qualify myself as my own ‘medical advice giver’ and acting as my medical advice giver, I say I’m fine.

But that’s the thing, I’m always fine, it’s everyone else that’s the problem – he says from his ivory tower. I’m sure if I was to delve deeper into my own subconscious and really pin-point what the fuck is the matter, I’d finally see that it is me. Yet, I’m stubborn, much more stubborn than most and while self-deprecation is an art form I’ve mastered, I’m no where near close enough to the point of blaming myself for my own actions and feelings. Basically; it’s me, but seeing as I won’t acknowledge that, it’s YOU! You’re the fucking problem.

Not definitely you, per say. I’m not saying you [the reader] have done something to offend me, you probably haven’t done something to hinder my existence, but most people have. You see, wondering out of my house presents me with the opportunity of bumping into someone. This is something that happens to everyone on a daily basis, the thing is, I’m starting to loose patience with people... or ‘time parasites’ as I’m starting to refer to them. What is it with people and their need to communicate? Can’t they just focus what they need to articulate into blog form like me? What is this incessant desire to share every opinion, emotion and problem? Right now you’re almost certainly going to point out the irony that on this very blog I share my opinions and problems, yet they are easy to get away from; just click the little ‘X’ in the top right-hand corner [how many other Bloggers give their readers detailed steps to take to get away from their blog? – None, because I’m a trailblazer] Here are the facts people; you have two ears and one mouth [unless you’re hilariously disfigured – if so; complaints and pictures to the usual address, you fucking freaks], that means you should do twice as much listening as talking. Nobody ever learned anything from talking constantly.

When did it become so ‘normal’ for everyone to discuss their problems with each other? Whatever happened to bottling it all up until you had a nervous breakdown or went on a murderous rampage? You may argue the point that now people are discussing their problems there are less nervous breakdowns and murderous rampages, but at the end of the day, if it’s a toss up between listening to a person’s tediously, mind-numbingly, boring ‘problem’ or getting shot in the face by a stressed out, problem filled nutter on a murderous rampage, I’ll take the bullets thanks and keep shooting until you can’t make out my features anymore, I want a closed casket [ceremony] anyway.

I’ve kind of veered off course here, but never mind. To sum up people moaning about their problems is my problem and therefore causes me to live life as a recluse. See you around... although I probably won’t.

Who's Really Behind the Riots? An Alternative View

There have been a couple of riots lately, but you already know that. Us; average, non-rioting motley crew of stay-at-homes have had every type of daily medium we deal with taken over by the riots; TV, radio, Facebook, Twitter ... We’ve been absolutely bombarded with images, videos and stories of the riots, I think we’d have seen less rioting if we’d have actually been out rioting.

Of course, as always people are desperate to get to the bottom of what caused the riots? And they’re serving up the usual batch of shit. But don’t fear, because I don’t have a narrow minded view of the revolting classes that choose to revolt. I have no bias towards the police, or as I call them; “murderous, racist scum pigs”. I do hate Cameron, but that goes without saying. People are too restricted with their views on what is causing the riots; I’m here to suggest some alternative views.

The Kaiser Chiefs
Firstly let me say; I’ve even seen Hip Hop mentioned as a cause... yet I didn’t realise that the riots had a soundtrack. I think instead of initially suspecting that ‘urban types’ only listen to Hip Hop, we as a public should acknowledge that Hip Hop is fair superior to any other type of music as it’s subject matter spans the widest range of topics and it captivates every single emotion humanly possible, and that, at the end of the day we are all Hip Hop fans, so it should no longer by dragged into the spotlight and labelled as a causation of crime. The next time some buffoon decides to falsely acknowledge that a genre of music is a causation of violent or criminal behaviour, I’mma pop a cap in ass! Word to his crack-smokin’ momma!

In 2004 the Kaiser Chiefs predicted a riot. Yep, seven years ago these guys knew it was coming and they did nothing to try and stop it. In my opinion that is completely shameful. Why aren’t the media turning on them? I’ve seen a rapper on Newsnight condemning the actions of these rioters, but where the fuck are the Kaiser Chiefs? They aren’t condemning what they predicted, they aren’t apologising for not working more closely with the police to put together a plan to halt or even curb the rage we’ve seen lately. I think there should be a national campaign against the band until they are demoted to Kaiser Constables.

Out-of-Work Builders
For a change we need to take into account who’s really profiteering off of these riots. Yes, maybe a looter has got a new flat-screen TV or brand new pair of Nikes, but it is out-of-work builders that are going to see an increase of cash flow over the coming days, weeks and months. For this reason we must suspect that they could be the ones inciting these riots.

Let’s face it; the economy isn’t at its strongest these days and companies aren’t splashing out money on rebuilding stores, so builders must create business for themselves. How would they go about doing that? By burning buildings down! It’s the fucking out-of-work builders, people, think about it!

JD Sport/Currys
Two of the most looted stores in the riots have been JD Sport and Currys. Is this a coincidence? No, of course not.

As I have already mentioned we are currently in an economical downturn and in the world of capitalism flagging companies will do anything to stay afloat. Let’s face it, out of all of the chav attire supplying, discount sports shops JD has to be one of the weakest. Also; not too long ago there was a Currys in Derby’s Westfield Centre (a big mall/shopping centre) until it relocated because the company could no longer afford the rent! This is a national supplier of electrical goods that can’t afford to pay rent, I’m constantly broke and even I can afford to pay rent, which means, I, as an individual, am currently more successful than Currys. These two companies probably aren’t turning over money like they used to. So the riots and looting have almost certainly given them the chance to cash in on some major insurance claims. These companies will more than likely make more money from insurance claims over the next few days than they would have made all year.

Rupert Murdoch
It’s become a struggle to remember what the news was reporting on before the riots, some people are even suggesting news coverage never existed before the riots, well it did people! And the biggest news story was the phone hacking scandal. Do you remember now?

I wouldn’t put it past Mr. Murdoch and his vile excreting media outlets to create a national ruckus to defer attention away from himself and the News of the World story. Both The Sun and The Times [both owned by Murdoch’s NewsCorp] have been reporting on the riots, this only acts as further proof, surely! Now with the riots in full swing people’s minds have been overloaded and actions of Murdoch’s minions have been cast to the never regions of our collective memory bank. I’m willing to bet those investigating the scandal have forgot about it, leaving everyone involved to get off scot-free.

So there it is people. Instead of blaming a couple of youths that like setting buildings alight and looting clothes and electrical goods, maybe we should start casting doubt over the individuals and companies that are really making financial and personal gain over what has been taking place. Then, perhaps, we will see who is really to blame [hint; it’s those people I’ve just mentioned] ... and the Kaiser Chiefs, don’t forget about the fucking Kaiser Chiefs.

A Different Kind of Sick Blog

Hello loyal follower/random passer-by/Facebook Friend that clicked a link; how are you today?

Enough with the pleasantries you tossers, I don’t really care how you feel today because I feel like shit. Not just any regular shit, but proper shit, really fucking shitty. You know them shits that you take and then examine for a good five minutes before you flush, while thinking; “Now that’s a shit!” well that’s how I feel at this instant. Right now I’m sat quarantined in my bedroom with the curtains drawn, lights off, surrounded by brittle, discarded tissues like some 13-year-old virgin that’s just discovered PornHub. I’m not in an emotional state in case that’s what you were wondering, I’m not mulling around in darkness because of feelings of guilt. Guilt is for convicted paedophiles and embarrassed MPs and I’m neither of them ... yet. I’m wallowing in a sea of self-pity because I’m ill. Not just ill though; infected.

I don’t get “poorly-sickies”, easily. It’s quite a surprise that my immune system is able to keep me safe guarded from the many viruses floating around the contaminated public that inhabit Derby, due to my complete lack of staying healthy and continued consumption of alcohol randomly discovered on the street. The pure fact that I spent 99.9% of my life disease-free should be viewed as a medical mystery. But on those off occasions that a Trojan Horse penetrates my Firewall, not even a [Spyware] Doctor can remove the Infection. Sometimes I wish humans were more like computers, so that when we did fall victim to some sickness we could just System Restore to a previous day or turn ourselves off and start from Last Known Good Configuration. Plus if women were more like computers it’d be much easier to turn them on [Hey lads, am I right? Or what?] and they’d be easier to boot up [although domestic violence is wrong, no matter how drunk you claim to be].

What makes this matter worse is that today is my day off. One of the very few times I get to spend relaxing, sitting around doing nothing and I’m stuck inside; relaxing and sitting around doing nothing... while being ill. There’s a massive difference in there, somewhere, because now instead of watching random videos and YouTube in my boxers, I’m watching videos on YouTube in my boxers coughing up chunks of phlegm that could drown a kitten, small dog or a new born child. Detainees at Guantanamo Bay had it piss easy compared to my current situation. Suffragettes can suck a dick; I’m the one that’s suffering here.

My sinuses are more blocked than the A38 in rush hour. My oesophagus feels as if I’m deep-throated a spiked bat. I’m dripping sweat like a chunky porn star in a steam room scene. My skeleton aches like someone’s been into my room last night and stolen all my fucking bone marrow to sell on the black market. I’ve got pale mucus slithering out of orifices I didn’t even know I had. And loads of other shitty analogies that I’m too tired to think of...

Now I’m off to cram in a bunch of Halls and Soothers in my month in an attempt to nullify my gullet long enough to enjoy a smoke.